REHEARSING
II
While it is true that the possibilities of variation in the matter of
grouping, crossing, and so on, are infinite, still there are some
definite principles to be followed.
Suppose that the blocking-out process is over with, and the actors have
a fair idea of their entrances, positions, business, and exits. The two
following extracts (the first from the third act of Jones's "The Liars",
the second from Edouard Pailleron's "The Art of Being Bored") serve to
illustrate two ways of going about the problem of grouping actors on the
stage. The first contains specific directions, the second only the
merest suggestions. Below is the diagram of the stage in the third act
of "The Liars":
[Illustration]
Up to page 107, which is reproduced on page 50, the characters are
grouped as indicated:
[Illustration]
Following carefully the stage directions in the text and on the margin,
the action is traced as follows:
Mrs. Crespin shakes hands with Sir Christopher. Then (marginal
note) "_Sir C. opens door L. for Mrs. Crespin_":
[Illustration]
(_Exit_ MRS. CRESPIN.[5] _They all stand looking at each other,
nonplussed._ SIR CHRISTOPHER _slightly touching his head with
perplexed gesture_.)
[5] _Sir C. opens door L. for Mrs. Crespin; after her
exit, closes door. They all turn and look at Sir C. He
sinks into a chair up C., and shakes his head at them._
SIR C.
Our fib won't do.
LADY R.
Freddie, you incomparable nincompoop!
FREDDIE.
I like that! If I hadn't asked her, what would have happened?
George Nepean would have come in, you'd have plumped down on him
with your lie, and what then? Don't you think it's jolly lucky I
said what I did?[6]
[6] _Lady Jess. sits L.C. Sir Chris. puts hat on
bookcase C., and comes down C._
SIR C.
It's lucky in this instance. But if I am to embark any further
in these imaginative enterprises, I must ask you, Freddie, to
keep a silent tongue.
FREDDIE.
What for?
SIR C.
Well, old fellow, it may be an unpalatable truth to you, but
you'll never make a good liar.[7]
[7] _Lady R. and Lady Jess. agree with Sir C._
FREDDIE.
Very likely not. But if this sort of thing is going on in my
house, I think I ought to.
LADY R.[8]
[8] _Crosses to him C. Freddie sits R.C. annoyed._
Oh, do subside, Freddie, do subside!
LADY J.[9]
[9] _5th call. George._
Yes, George--and perhaps Gilbert--will be here directly. Oh,
will somebody tell me what to do?
Then, "_after her exit, closes door_. _They all turn and look at Sir C.
He sinks into a chair and shakes his head at them._" Into which chair
does he sink? Since in a moment he must put his hat on the bookcase,
Center, he had better sit on the chair to the right of it:
[Illustration]
Then, at the end of Freddie's speech, "_Lady Jess. sits L.C._ [left of
Center]. _Sir Chris. puts hat on bookcase C., and comes down C._"
[Illustration]
The last speech of Lady Rosamund on this page is accompanied by the
following stage direction: "_Crosses to him_ [Sir Christopher] _C.
Freddie sits R.C. annoyed_."
[Illustration]
This is very simple, but only in the rarest instances are stage
directions so carefully worked out and indicated. The director will
usually be confronted by long pages where there are few or no definite
or dependable directions. The original text of Shakespeare affords us
only the most elementary explanations of stage "business", so that when
Shakespeare is produced it is wisest to use one of the many stage
editions, in which the traditional directions, or others equally good,
are given at some length. Usually, however, the director will be aided
by directions which are fairly full and fairly accurate, but never quite
dependable. The following excerpt--from "The Art of Being
Bored"--contains the ordinary sort of directions, the kind that are
found in good plays and bad. The set is described in the first act as
being:
"_A drawing-room, with a large entrance at the back, opening
upon another room. Entrances up- and down-stage. To the left,
between the two doors, a piano. Right, an entrance down-stage;
farther up, a large alcove with a glazed door leading into the
garden; a table, on either side of which is a chair; to the
right, a small table and a sofa; arm-chairs, etc._"
This may be plotted in the following manner:
[Illustration]
There are no specific directions as to the position of the sofa and
chairs, but as a large number of characters are on the stage at one
time, a great many will be necessary. The exact number of chairs, as
well as the positions they will have to occupy, depend largely on the
size and shape of the stage. The above diagram will serve at first as a
working basis. Turning to the opening of the second act, we find the
following directions:
(_Same as Act 1._
(_Bellac, Toulonnier, Roger, Paul Raymond, Madame de Ceran,
Madame de Loudan, Madame Arriego, the Duchess, Suzanne, Lucy,
Jeanne seated in a semi-circle, listening to Saint-Reault, who
is finishing his lecture_).
[Illustration]
SAINT-REAULT. And, make no mistake about it! Profound as these
legends may appear because of their baffling exoticism, they are
merely--my illustrious father wrote in 1834--elemental,
primitive imaginings in comparison with the transcendental
conceptions of Brahmin lore, gathered together in the
Upanishads, or indeed in the eighteen Paranas of Vyasa, the
compiler of the Vedda.
JEANNE (_aside to Paul_). Are you asleep?
PAUL. No, no--I hear some kind of gibberish.
SAINT-REAULT. Such, in simple terminology, is the _concretum_ of
the doctrine of Buddha.--And at this point I shall close my
remarks.
(_Murmurs. Some of the audience rise_).
Here two or three--Bellac and Roger, and one of the ladies, let us
say--rise, and chat in undertones in a small group among themselves.
SEVERAL VOICES (_weakly_). Very good! Good!
SAINT-REAULT. And now--(_He coughs_).
MADAME DE CERAN (_eagerly_). You must be tired, Saint-Reault?
At this, Madame de Ceran might well rise, as if to put an end to
Saint-Reault's speech. The others are impatient, and perhaps one or two
start to rise. The others whisper, or appear to do so. Then Saint-Reault
continues:
SAINT-REAULT. Not at all, Countess!
MADAME ARRIEGO. Oh, yes, you must be; rest yourself. We can wait.
It is likely that here Madame Arriego would rise and go to Saint-Reault.
Two or three others would follow her.
SEVERAL VOICES. You must rest!
MADAME DE LOUDAN. You can't always remain in the clouds. Come
down to earth, Baron.
SAINT-REAULT. Thank you, but--well, you see, I had already
finished.
(_Everybody rises_).
Saint-Reault's audience may then form into small groups, somewhat as
follows:
[Illustration]
Care must be taken not to give the stage a crowded appearance, nor yet
an air of too well-ordered symmetry. To continue:
SEVERAL VOICES. So interesting!--A little
obscure!--Excellent!--Too long!
BELLAC (_to the ladies_). Too materialistic!
PAUL (_to Jeanne_). He's bungled it.
SUSANNE (_calling_). Monsieur Bellac!
BELLAC. Mademoiselle?
SUSANNE. Come here, near me.
(_Bellac goes to her_).
ROGER (_aside to the Duchess_). Aunt!
The direction "_aside to the Duchess_" shows that (1) Roger, after the
company rose, either went to the Duchess; or that, (2) meantime he goes
to her. This may be done either way, so long as the two are within
reasonable whispering distance.
DUCHESS (_aside to Roger_). She's doing it on purpose!
SAINT-REAULT (_coming to table_). One word more! (_General
surprise. The audience sit down in silence and consternation_).
Bearing in mind the change of position of Bellac, Roger, and
Saint-Reault, we may reseat the characters as follows:
[Illustration]
While, as has been said, grouping depends to a great extent on the size
and shape of the stage, it should always be borne in mind that the stage
should in most cases be made to resemble a picture as regards balance
and composition. This means that the director must avoid crowding; that
the actors must learn to take their places as part of that picture, and
not attempt either to usurp the center of the stage or to disappear
behind other actors. No grouping should ever be left to chance or the
inspiration of the moment; every actor must have marked down in his own
script every movement he makes. Groups and crowds require a great deal
of rehearsing, in order that they may always assume the right position
at the right moment.
When an impression of vast numbers of people is desired--as in "Julius
Caesar"--large numbers of "supes" are not needed. Eight or ten or twelve
people, well managed, are sufficient to create an effect of this sort on
a small stage, and perhaps twenty on a large. The basic principle of the
art of the theater is suggestion, not reproduction.
In the "forum scene" of Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar" there are
practically no stage directions. The management of the mob, therefore,
is left entirely to the director. When the Third Citizen says: "The
noble Brutus is ascended. Silence!" we are of course given to
understand--by the word "Silence!"--that there has been some noise and
confusion. The text affords the most important indications.
Plot out, for practice, the position of the various members of the mob
throughout this scene.
As a rule, the best impression of a crowd is made by massing and
manipulating groups of from three to six individuals. If movement is
demanded, it must be precise and measured out carefully during
rehearsals. Therefore, since it is nearly always impossible to get
trained actors to compose mobs, it is well to intersperse two or three
"leaders" in any crowd, who will give the cue for concerted action.
The foregoing discussion, both in the present and preceding chapter, has
been made largely from the director's and the stage manager's viewpoint.
Let us now go back to the actor, and suggest a few methods which will
help him.
An easy and vivid way of remembering "business" at first is to make a
very simple diagram, thus:
[Illustration]
Supposing A, who stands down-stage before the sofa, crosses up-stage to
the small table, as he says: "I'll not stand it any longer!" Just after
this line, the actor places a mark referring him to the margin of his
"script", and makes another diagram:
[Illustration]
This represents A crossing to up-stage, left of the small table. In this
way, when the actor is studying his lines, he cannot help studying the
"business", and vice versa; and since lines and "business" almost always
go hand in hand, he will run no danger of having first learned the one
without the other.
Considerable confusion is likely to arise when an overzealous director
insists that his actors be "letter perfect" before the "business" is
well formulated and worked out and thoroughly learned.
In the first chapter on Rehearsing, the blocking-out process was
discussed, but the order in which each act was to be rehearsed, the time
to be spent on it, etc.--these matters were deferred, and will now be
taken up.
At the next rehearsal--that is, after the blocking-out of the first
act--the second is treated in the same way. And after the last act has
been blocked out, the first should be rehearsed with greater care.
Details of "business", grouping, the delivery of lines--especially the
correction of errors in interpretation--must be carefully considered.
Probably some of the "business" blocked out in the first rehearsal will
have to be changed, or at least amplified. Entrances and exits must be
repeatedly rehearsed until they go smoothly. The crossings and
recrossing of one, two, or more characters, can scarcely be rehearsed
too often.
Let us take a few examples of this sort of detail work. A man comes home
late, tired and hungry. Outside the sitting room through an open door,
is seen the hatrack. How can this simple incident be made to appear true
and interesting? Here is at least one manner of accomplishing it: a door
is heard closing off-stage; footsteps resound in the hall. A, the man,
appears, wearing a hat, overcoat, and gloves, at the Center door, looks
into the room to see whether any one is present, seems surprised, utters
a short exclamation, and then turns to the hatrack. His back to the
audience, he takes off his hat, hangs it carelessly on a hook, then
slowly draws off his gloves, allows his coat to fall from his shoulders,
looks at himself in the glass for an instant, and then, with a sigh,
comes into the room again.
The incident, of course, is capable of a hundred variations, depending
upon the character of the man, the circumstances under which he comes
home, and so forth.
Or, a little more complicated instance: A, B, and C, three men, are
seated, talking after dinner. They are stationed as follows:
[Illustration]
A sits on the arm of the davenport, B on the davenport itself, and C in
a chair at the lower right-hand side of the table.
Notice first that the davenport is not placed at right angles to the
audience; this is done so that two people, sitting side by side, may be
better seen by the "house." Notice, too, that A is at the extreme
left-hand corner of the davenport. Visualize this for an instant: here
is proportion, line, and balance, but without the appearance of
stiffness or symmetry, which should always be avoided. B rises and
stands before the fireplace: again notice the grouping:
[Illustration]
A then rises and goes to the center of the stage, standing near the left
of the table:
[Illustration]
This simple moving about the room should never be obtrusive; that is to
say, the audience must never be conscious of the director's hand. First,
every bit of "business", every move, every gesture, must be justified,
otherwise it calls attention to itself. This is a distinct problem with
amateurs, who naturally find it difficult not to move about when they
have nothing else to do. They feel self-conscious unless they are
"acting." The best rule for any amateur--although it is again the
director who is responsible and should look after this--is, never to do
anything unless he knows precisely why he does it, and unless he _feels_
it.
One further example: imagine a five-minute conversation, in the text of
which there are no stage directions. It is between two women: D and E.
They are seated, one in an arm-chair by the fire, the other in an
ordinary chair to the right of a library table:
[Illustration]
There are not many plays in which two characters _merely_ converse for
so long a period without well-motivated reasons, but it is well to take
an extreme example. Let us assume that D is telling E the story of her
life, and that for two minutes her speech contains little more than
straight narrative. Suddenly she tells a sad incident, and E, who has a
sympathetic nature, wipes her eyes with her handkerchief. D continues,
and E, no longer able to restrain her tears but not wishing to show her
emotion to D, rises and goes to the left of the stage for a moment or
two. The long conversation scene is now broken up by a natural bit of
action. While in life such a conversation might consume hours, on the
stage it must be made more attractive and emotionally stimulating; in
the theater, the appeal is through the eye and ear, to the emotions.
Such a scene as the one just outlined must be repeatedly rehearsed,
until every detail of the "business" is worked out perfectly.
After approximately ten days' work on the first act--during which period
each of the other acts should be run through at least three times--the
actors should be letter perfect and able to give a fairly smooth
performance.
Then the other acts are rehearsed in like manner. Each act, after it is
finished in this way, must be rehearsed at least every three or four
days. When all the acts have been worked out, then each rehearsal is
devoted to going through the whole play. Minor points in acting, minor
"business", rendering of the lines, voice, gesture, etc., must naturally
be insisted upon. Special cases must be dealt with outside the regular
rehearsals, for the play should be interrupted as seldom as possible,
because it is wise to let the actors become accustomed to going through
the entire piece. It will be found expeditious, too, for small groups of
characters who have scenes together to rehearse by themselves. The full
rehearsals of the play are valuable both to actors and the director, for
the latter is given a general view of his stage pictures which could in
no other way be afforded him, and he is in a position to judge of his
general and massed effects. At the same time the actors will more
readily enter into the spirit of the work if they are permitted to play
without interruption. Where the actors forget their lines, they should
be prompted without other delay, but if they do anything actually wrong,
or if the director wishes to make an important change, the performance
must, of course, be stopped for a moment.
The number of rehearsals necessary for the production of a play by
amateurs depends largely on the attitude of the amateurs themselves, and
the amount of time at their disposal. It is safe to say that ninety-nine
out of a hundred such performances suffer noticeably from need of
rehearsing. Nor is this to be wondered at, for the average professional
play usually requires four or five weeks' rehearsing--seven to eight
hours daily--for six and sometimes seven days in the week! Of course, an
amateur is an amateur because he is not a professional, and he cannot
afford very much time for work which is after all only a pastime. One
other point should be well borne in mind: the average amateur has not
the patience of the professional. If he is rehearsed too long or too
steadily, he will grow "stale", and lose interest in his work.
Still, no full-length play can safely be produced with less than four
weeks' work, on an average of five rehearsals of three hours each, per
week. (This does not include special and individual outside rehearsals.)
Four weeks is the shortest time that can be allowed, while six or seven
should be devoted to it. So much time is not necessary in order that the
company may attempt to become professionals; that would be impossible
and not at all advisable. The amateur, if rightly trained, should be
able to impart a certain natural, naive, unprofessional tone to the part
he is impersonating, but this can only be done by constant rehearsing.
The director usually finds that the amateur's first instinct is to
imitate the tricks of the professional actor, and not allow himself to
_feel_ the character of the role. The professional quickly assimilates
mannerisms which are only too likely to become mechanical, but which the
amateur, because he is an amateur, is not likely to learn, if at first
he is trained to avoid them.
There is no particular excuse for presenting plays which can be seen
acted anywhere and any time by professionals; amateurs should strive to
produce classics, or modern plays which for one reason or another are
not often seen, and impart to them that peculiar flavor which charms as
well as interests and attracts. Nor is there much use in the amateur
actor's striving to become professional in manner: he cannot hope, in
the short time he can spare for his work, to become a good professional;
or, if he gives signs of becoming such, then he no longer belongs in
amateur dramatics. Allow the amateur plenty of leeway in the matter of
interpretation, if he has any original ideas of his own; but of course
these must never be at variance with the general idea of the play. Let
him work out his own salvation: here lies the value of amateur
production, both to the actor and to the audience.
Often amateurs are called upon to portray feelings, actions, passions,
of which they have no knowledge or experience. Love scenes, for
instance, are invariably difficult. In this case, the actors must be
taught a few conventional gestures, attitudes, and tricks, but they
should not be permitted--except in rare cases--to lay much stress on the
acting. This also applies to such purely conventional matters as
kissing, dying, fighting, etc., for which a set of recognized technical
tricks has been evolved. Any competent director can train actors to do
this.
One more point before this part of rehearsing is dispensed with: amateur
productions suffer largely from a lack of continuous tension and
variety. Often the action is slow, jerky, and consequently tedious.
Constant rehearsing, with a view to inspiring greater confidence and
sureness in the actors, under a good director, is the best means to
overcome these great drawbacks. The last eight or ten rehearsals, after
the cast are familiar with their lines and "business", are the most
important in the matter of tempo. Details of shading, well-developed and
modulated action, and a well-defined climax, are what must be worked
for. When the actors are no longer thinking of when they must cross or
sit down or rise, they are ready to enter whole-heartedly into the
spirit of the play as an artistic unit.
As an example, on a small scale, of how a scene may be modulated and
shaded, two pages from Meilhac and Halevy's "Indian Summer" (published
by Samuel French) are here reprinted with marginal notes explaining how
these effects are obtained.
{ADR. Just a moment ago I forgot that such a thing
{was out of the question--
_Slowly_ {
_and_ {BRI. Why out of the question--?
_quietly._ {
{ADR. Why, because--
{BRI. Because what? How much did that American
_Slight increase_ {family pay you? I'll give you twice as much--three
_of_ {times as much. Whatever you want!
_speed and_ {
_tension._ {ADR. Only to read to you?
{
{BRI. Why, yes.
{ADR. That wouldn't be so bad--there's just one
{thing against it--it might be just a wee bit
{compromising!
{
_Slowly_ {BRI. Oh!
_rising_ {
_tension_ {ADR. Really, don't you think so? Just a bit?
_and speed._ {
{BRI. At my age?
{
{ADR. (_gaily_). Oh, it's all very well--a young
{person like me--alone with you. (_Seriously._) Oh,
{if you only didn't live alone--!
{
_Staccato._ {BRI. If I--? If I weren't alone?
{ADR. If you only had some relatives--married
{relatives--your nephew, for instance, with his
{wife--then I might--
{BRI. Once more, don't speak to me of--! He's the
{one that brought all this trouble on us--that
{letter that forces you to--that letter came from
_Emphasis._ {him. (ADRIENNE _makes a quick movement of
{protest_.) 'Tisn't his fault, I know, but I hold
{a grudge against him as if it were--
_Momentary_ {ADR. And yet, if I told you--
_pause._ {
{BRI. (_stopping her_). Shh! If you please.
{(_Pause._)
{ADR. (_moved_). Then I must go. That was the only
_Diminuendo._ {way; and you don't want to do that. I'm sure I
_Tense,_ {don't know what will happen afterward. I still
_but quiet._ {hope--But for the moment, I must (_Mild access of
{crying_). Oh I'm sorry--so sorry--(_Falls into
{chair at side of table_).
{BRI. (_excitedly_). Adrienne!
_Slight increase_ {
_again._ {ADR. (_recovering mastery over herself_). I beg
{your pardon--there! There! (_Brushing away her
{tears_).See, it's all over!
{BRI. Adrienne!
{
{ADR. (_rising_). Monsieur!
{
{BRI. It's true, then, if there were some way, you
{would--? Not the way I mentioned just now--but
{another--you wouldn't leave, would you? You'd
_Quickly_ {stay here--near me--always--and be happy?
_increasing_ {
_rise._ {ADR. (_lightly_). Oh yes, it's too--I say it from
{the bottom of my heart!
{
{BRI. Very well, you shan't go.
{
_Quickly._ {ADR. I--?
{
{BRI. No, you shan't go.
{
{ADR. But--how?--Why?
{BRI. I have found a way!
_Moment_ {
_of suspense._ {ADR. And it is?
{BRI. To make you my wife!
_Climax._ {
{ADR. (_Sits down again, overcome_).
{BRI. I'll do it!--Go and speak to your Aunt--Here!
{Come here! (_Enter_ NOEL, _right, carrying a
{bundle of papers_). Come here! Don't be afraid! You
{may go and get your wife. Bring her here! I'll
{forgive her as I forgive you! (_Shakes hands warmly
{with_ NOEL).
{
_High tension_ {NOEL. Uncle!
_after_ {
_the_ {BRI. You were right--now I know it! What do I
_climax,_ {care if she is a watchmaker's daughter? Go and get
_and preparatory_ {your wife--bring her here--and we'll live together,
_to another_ {the four of us us--
_climax_ {
_later on._ {NOEL. All four of us?
{
{BRI. Yes, all four! (_To_ ADRIENNE). I am going
{to speak to your Aunt--I'll be back at once.
{(_Exit Center_).
[Illustration: "SISTER BEATRICE" OF MAETERLINCK, PRODUCED AT THE
WESTERN RESERVE COLLEGE FOR WOMEN.
The simple hangings produce a good cyclorama effect. (Courtesy of Miss
Ida Treat).]