DIALOGUE IN THE PLAYLET
We have now come to one of the least important elements of the
playlet--yet a decorative element which wit and cleverness can
make exceedingly valuable.
If it is true that scenery is the habitation in which the playlet
moves, that its problem is the heart beating with life, that the
dramatic is the soul which shines with meaning through the whole,
that plot is the playlet's skeleton which is covered by the flesh
of the characters--then the dialogue is, indeed, merely a playlet's
clothes. Clothes do not make a man, but the world gives him a
readier welcome who wears garments that fit well and are becoming.
This is the whole secret of dialogue--speeches that fit well and
are becoming.
1. What is Dialogue?
It has been said that "Romeo and Juliet" played in English in any
country would be enjoyed by everyone, even though they could not
understand a word of what was said. There is a story told about
a Slav in Pennsylvania who could not speak one word of English,
but who happened to come up from his work as a laborer in a coal
mine just as the people were filing in to the performance of "The
Two Orphans," and as he had nothing in particular to do, in he
went--and nearly broke up the performance by the loudness of his
sobbing. I shall never forget an experience of my own, when I
took a good French friend to see David Warfield in "The Music
Master"; this young chap could not understand more than a word
here and there, but we were compelled to miss the last act because
he cried so hard during the famous lost-daughter scene that he was
ashamed to enter the theatre after the intermission.
Every great play is, in the last analysis, a pantomime. Words are
unnecessary to tell a stage story that has its wellspring deep in
the emotions of the human heart. Words can only embellish it. A
great pantomimist--a Mlle. Dazie, who played Sir James M. Barrie's
"The Pantaloon" in vaudeville without speaking a word; a Pavlowa,
who dances her stories into the hearts of her audience; a Joe
Jackson, who makes his audiences roar with laughter and keeps them
convulsed throughout his entire act, with the aid of a dilapidated
bicycle, a squeaky auto horn and a persistently annoying cuff--does
not need words to tell a story.
The famous French playwright Scribe--perhaps the most ingenious
craftsman the French stage has ever seen--used to say, "When my
subject is good, when my scenario (plot) is very clear, very
complete, I might have the play written by my servant; he would
be sustained by the situation;--and the play would succeed."
Plutarch tells us that Menander, the master of Greek comedy, was
once asked about his new play, and he answered: "It is composed
and ready; I have only the verses (dialogue) to write." [1]
[1] Reported in A Study of the Drama, by Brander Matthews.
If it is true that a great play, being in its final analysis a
pantomime, is effective without dialogue, and if some famous
dramatists thought so little of dialogue that they considered their
plays all written before they wrote the dialogue, then speech must
be something that has little _comparative_ value--something primarily
employed to aid the idea behind it, to add emphasis to plot--not
to exist for itself.
2. The Uses of Dialogue
Dialogue makes the dramatic story clear, advances it, reveals
character, and wins laughter--all by five important means:
(a) _Dialogue Conveys Information of Basic Events at the Opening_.
As we saw in the discussion of the structural elements of plot,
there are of necessity some points in the basic incidents chosen
for the story of a playlet that have their roots grounded in the
past. Upon a clear understanding of these prior happenings which
must be explained immediately upon the rise of the curtain, depends
the effect of the entire sequence of events and, consequently, the
final and total effect of the playlet. To "get this information
over" the characters are made to tell of them as dramatically as
possible. For instance:
Angela Maxwell knocks on Miss Carey's door the instant the curtain
rises on "The Lollard," and as soon as Miss Carey opens the door
Angela says: "Listen, you don't know me, but I've just left my
husband." And the dialogue goes on to tell why she left Harry,
clearly stating the events that the audience must know in order
to grasp the meaning of those that follow.
At the very beginning of a playlet the dialogue must be especially
clear, vividly informing and condensed. By "condensed," I meant
the dialogue must be tense, and supported by swift action--it must
without delay have done with the unavoidable explanations, and
quickly get into the rising movement of events.
(b) _Dialogue Brings out the Incidents Clearly_. Never forgetting
that action makes dialogue but that dialogue never makes action,
let us take the admirable surprise ending of "The System," for an
example:
The Inspector has left, after giving The Eel and Goldie their
freedom and advising them to clear out and start life anew. The
audience knows they are in hard straits financially. How are they
going to secure the money to get away from town? Goldie expresses
it concisely: "Well, we're broke again (tearfully). We can't go
West now, so there's no use packing." This speech is like a
sign-post that points out the condition the events have made them
face. And then like a sign-post that points the other way, it
adds emphasis to the flash of the surprise and the solution when
The Eel, stealthily making sure no one will see him and no one can
hear him, comes down to Goldie, sitting forlornly on the trunk,
taps her on the shoulder and shows her Dugan's red wallet. Of
course, the audience knows that the wallet spells the solution of
all their problems, but The Eel clinches it by saying, "Go right
ahead and pack."
Out of this we may draw one observation which is at least interesting,
if not illuminating: When an audience accepts the premises of a
playlet without question, it gives over many of its emotions and
most of its reasoning power into the author's hands. Therefore
the author must think for his audience and keenly suggest by
dialogue that something is about to happen, show it as happening,
and make it perfectly clear by dialogue that it has actually
happened. This is the use to which dialogue is put most
tellingly--bringing out the incidents in clear relief and at the
very same time interpreting them cunningly.
(c) _Dialogue Reveals Character Humanly_. Character is tried,
developed and changed not by dialogue, but by action; yet the first
intimate suggestion of character is shown in dialogue; and its
trials, development and change are brought into clear relief--just
as events, of which character-change is the vital part, are made
unmistakably clear--by the often illuminating word that fits
precisely. As J. Berg Esenwein says, "Just as human interest is
the heart of the narrative, so human speech is its most vivid
expression. In everyday life we do not know a man until we have
heard him speak. Then our first impressions are either confirmed,
modified, or totally upset." [1]
[1] Writing the Short-Slory, page 247.
It is by making all of his characters talk alike that the novice
is betrayed, whereas in giving each character individuality of
speech as well as of action the master dramatist is revealed.
While it is permissible for two minor characters to possess a hazy
likeness of speech, because they are so unimportant that the
audience will not pay much attention to them, the playlet writer
must give peculiar individuality to every word spoken by the chief
characters. By this I do not mean that, merely to show that a
character is different, a hero or heroine should be made to talk
with a lisp or to use some catch-word--though this is sometimes
done with admirable effect. What I mean is that the words given
to the chief characters must possess an individuality rising from
their inner differences; their speech should show them as not only
different from each other, but also different from every other
character in the playlet--in the whole world, if possible--and
their words should be just the words they and no others would use
in the circumstances.
If you will remember that you must give to the dialogue of your
chief characters a unity as complete as you must give to plot and
character as shown through action, you will evade many dialogue
dangers. This will not only help you to give individuality to
each character, but also save you from making a character use
certain individual expressions at one time and then at another
talk in the way some other character has spoken. Furthermore,
strict observance of this rule should keep you from putting into
the mouth of a grown man, who is supposed to be most manly,
expressions only a "sissy" would use; or introducing a character
as a wise man and permitting him to talk like a fool. As in life,
so in dialogue--consistency is a test of worth.
Keep your own personality out of the dialogue. Remember that your
characters and not you are doing the talking. You have laid down
a problem in your playlet, and your audience expects it to fulfill
its promise dramatically--that is, by a mimicry of life. So it
does not care to listen to one man inhabiting four bodies and
talking like a quartet of parrots. It wants to hear four different
personalities talk with all the individuality that life bestows
so lavishly--in life.
You will find little difficulty in keeping your individuality out
of dialogue if you will only remember that you cannot write
intelligently of characters you do not know. Make use of the
characters nearest you, submerge yourself in their individualities,
and you will then be so interested in them that you will forget
yourself and end by making the characters of your playlet show
themselves in their dialogue as individual, enthrallingly entertaining,
new, and--what is the final test of all dialogue--convincing.
(d) _Dialogue Wins Laughter_. There are three sources from which
laughter rises out of dialogue. First, from the word that is a
witticism, existing for its own sake. Second, from the word that
is an intensely individual expression of character--the
character-revealing phrase. Third, the word that is funny because
it is spoken at the right instant in the action. All three have
a place in the playlet, but the last, the dialogue that rises out
of and illuminates a situation, is productive of the best results.
This is but another way of saying what cannot be too often repeated,
that the playlet is plot. [1]
[1] See Chapter V, in which humor was discussed in relation to the
monologue.
Even in dialect, dialogue does not bother with anything much but
plot-expression of character. Indicate the odd twist of a character's
thoughts as clearly as you can, but never try to reproduce all his
speech phonetically. If you do, you will end disastrously, for
your manuscript will look like a scrambled alphabet which nobody
can decipher. In writing dialect merely suggest the broken English
here and there--follow the method so clearly shown in "The German
Senator." Remember that the actor who will be engaged to play the
part has studied the expression of that particular type all his
life. His method of conveying what you intend is likely to be
different from your method. Trust him--for you must.
(e) _Dialogue Advances the Action and Rounds Out the Plot_.
Precisely in the way that incidents are brought out clearly by
dialogue, dialogue advances the action and rounds out the plot at
the curtain. Clear as I hope the method has been made, I wish to
point out two dialogue peculiarities which come with the rise of
emotion.
First, as the action quickens, there inevitably occurs a compression
inherent in the dramatic that is felt by the dialogue. Joe Maxwell's
epitome of vaudeville as he once expressed it to me in a most
suggestive discussion of the two-a-day, illustrates this point
better, perhaps, than a chapter would explain: "Vaudeville is
meat," he said, "the meat of action, the meat of words." There
is no _time_ in vaudeville climaxes for one word that does not point
out, or clinch home the action. Here action speaks louder than
words. Furthermore, in the speed of bodily movement there is
actually no time for words. If two men are grappling in a life
and death struggle they can't stop for speech.
And second, as the playlet nears its ending there is no _need_ for
explanatory words--if the preceding action has been dramatic.
Every new situation rises out of the old, the audience knows it
all now, they even foresee the climax, and, in a well constructed
playlet, they feel the coming-to-an-end thrill that is in the air.
What need is there for dialogue? Only a need for the clearing,
clinching kind, and for
_The Finish Line_. While the last-speech of a playlet is bone of
the bone and blood of the blood of plot, the finish line is
peculiarly a part of dialogue. It is here, in the last line, that
the tragic has a strangely illuminating force and the comic must
be given full play. Indeed, a comedy act that does not end in a
"scream" is hardly worth anything. And, as comedy acts are most
in demand in vaudeville, I shall relate this discussion solely to
the comic ending. Here it is, then, in the last line of a comedy
act, that the whole action is rounded neatly off with a full play
of fancy--with emphasis on the use of wit.
Of course I do not mean that the last line may be permitted to
stray away from the playlet and crack an unrelated joke. But the
last line, being a completing line, may return to some incident
earlier than the closing action. It may with full profit even go
back to the introduction, as "The Lollard's" last line takes Miss
Carey back to her interrupted sleep with, "Now, thank Gawd, I'll
get a little sleep."
Or it may be merely a quaint line, like that which ended a very
successful playlet which has stuck in my memory, but whose title
I have forgotten. Here the sweethearts were brought together,
they flew into each other's arms, they kissed. Naturally the
curtain was on that kiss, but no--they drew apart and the girl
rubbed her lips with the back of her hand. "Aw," said the boy,
"what you rubbing it off for?" And the girl, half-crying,
half-laughing, answered, "I ain't rubbing it off; I'm rubbing it
_in!_"
Or the last line may be a character line, rounding back to the
opening, perhaps, but having its mainspring in character, like the
last line of "The Village Lawyer": "Well," he sighs--as he watches
the money with which he could have satisfied his longing to buy a
clarionet, disappear--"Maybe I couldn't play the darned thing
anyway!" [1]
[1] Chapter XV, section I.
Example after example might be quoted to illustrate every possible
variation, yet in the end we would come to the very same conclusions
these four instances reveal. The finish line is the concluding
thought of the action. It may round back to the opening plainly;
bring out sharply the most prominent point developed; vividly
present a pleasing side-light with a punch; illuminate a character
point; take some completing element and twist it into a surprise--
indeed, the finish line may present anything at all, so long as it
thrills with human interest and laughter.
3. Fit and Becoming Dialogue
In playlet dialogue there is as much need of the dramatic spirit
as in the playlet plot. Not what is said in real life, but what
must be said to express the action concisely, is its aim. Playlet
dialogue cannot take time to reproduce small talk. It must connote,
not denote, even the big things. To omit is more important than
to include. A whole life must be compressed into a single speech
and entire stages of progression be epitomized in a single sentence.
True enough, in really big scenes a character may rise to lofty
expression; but of all playlet moments, here sane selection and
compression are most vital. The wind of talk must be made compressed
air.
Conversation for conversation's sake is the one thing, above all
others that stamps a playlet as in vain. I have seen producing
manager after producing manager run through manuscripts to select
for careful reading the ones with short speeches. Those weighty
with long speeches were returned unread. Why? Because experience
had taught them that a playlet filled with long speeches is likely
to be filled with little else. They realize that conversation as
an art died the day the first automobile did the mile in sixty
flat. Speed is what the playlet needs, and talk slows the track.
In the classic words of vaudeville, if you must talk, "hire a
hall."
Where is it you hear more clever lines than anywhere else? In
vaudeville. Where is it that slang hits the hardest? In vaudeville.
On what stage do people talk more nearly like you and I talk? The
vaudeville stage. For vaudeville is up-to-the-minute--vaudeville
is the instant's dramatic review.
And it is this speech of the instant that playlet dialogue needs--
the short, sharp, seemingly thoughtless but vividly pulsating words
of everyday life. If today men talked in long speeches filled
with grandiloquent periods, the playlet would mimic their length
and tone, but men today do not speak that way and the playlet must
mimic today's shortness and crispness. As Alexander Black says,
"The language of the moment is the bridge; that carries us straight
to the heart of the whole world, and all the past. Life or fancy
that comes in the language of the moment comes to us _translated_.
Fantastically, the language of the street is always close to the
bones of art. It is always closer to the Bible and to all the big
fellows than the language of the drawing rooms. Art is only the
_expression_ of ideas. Ideas, emotions, impulses, are more important
than the _medium_, just as religion is more important than theology.
There is just as much excuse for saying 'theology for its own sake'
as for saying 'art for art's sake.' The joy of a new word should
make us grateful for the fertility of the street out of which most
of the really strong words come. The street doesn't make us fine,
but it keeps us from being too sweet and thin. It loves the punch.
And the punch clears the path." It is the punch in dialogue that
the playlet demands.
Before we agree upon what is fit and becoming dialogue, I think
it advisable to condense into a few words all that I have said on
the subject. In its final analysis a playlet is a pantomime.
Dialogue is primarily employed to add emphasis to the plot. It
does this by conveying information of basic events at the opening;
by bringing out the succeeding incidents clearly; by revealing
character humanly; by winning laughter; by advancing the action;
and by rounding out the plot in a finish line which thrills with
human interest and, in the comedy playlet, with laughter. And
now, what is fit and becoming dialogue? Fit dialogue is--what
fits the plot exactly. Becoming dialogue is--what makes the plot
_seem_ even better. But dialogue cannot make plot better, it can
only make it seem better--it can only dress it. Remember that.