Every musical production has its wardrobe mistress, and sometimes, if large enough, her assistant, both good seamstresses. The dressing room assigned to them is called the wardrobe. All costumes are in the care and charge of the wardrobe mistress. She alters and keeps them in repair, and sends out to be pressed or cleaned when occasion demands.
The wardrobe women also have a union.
The Company Manager represents the owner of the show and controls the "front of the house." He has nothing whatever to do with matters back of the curtain line, which are strictly within the province of the producer or stage manager. He has enough cares and important duties of his own without going back stage to find more to add to them.
Moreover, any effort on his part to dictate to the producing end would cause an immediate rupture. He knows that, and attends strictly to his own affairs. Probably in no other craft, trade or profession is the line so carefully drawn between the business end and the producing end as in the show business. It is the Company Manager who is the custodian of the funds, handles all the finances and acts as paymaster. He maintains a close supervision over the sale of tickets sold at each performance and with the aid of the resident house manager and house treasurer "counts up" the tickets directly after the sale has stopped for each performance, usually after the curtain goes up on the second act. He makes up the payroll at the end of every week and pays the company on Saturdays during either the matinee or evening performance, as is required by the standard theatrical contracts.
The Company Manager is the watch dog of the show from "front." The box office receipts tell him a story that he must heed, and he is quick to catch its warning. There comes a time when even the most successful play must be withdrawn from the stage or continue at a financial loss.
He is a wise company manager who can correctly determine the exact point to call a halt and terminate a run for the best interests of the owner and all others concerned. And it is because he can do this that he holds the important position that he does. He is almost invariably an experienced showman. Furthermore, his multiple duties require him to be a diplomat if he would maintain his standing for preeminence.
When the company travels, he arranges the transportation, provides rail or other transportation, supervises and controls everything connected with the entire trip. He is held financially responsible, and signs many contracts. The Company Manager handles everything connected with money and transportation and is an important cog in the wheels of things theatrical.
There is a press representative connected with the show who finds plenty to do in attending to all newspaper advertising and advance writeups, publicity, photographs, billboard posters, photograph lobby frames and other display matter, as well as all other printing, including the newspaper ads and the distribution of printed matter.
The fixing of the prices for tickets, which is most important, is usually his duty, provided he is a shrewd showman. The Press Representative, or Director of Publicity, or "Agent" as he is known professionally, is generally found about two weeks in advance of the company arranging every detail to anticipate a successful opening or presentation in each city, or "stand," as it is called.
So much for the personnel of the show's management and working crew.
Now we will say our company has just arrived in town and taken over the theatre in which it is to appear for an engagement.
It finds at the theatre a resident house manager, a resident house treasurer, in charge of the local box office, and his assistant treasurer, who acts at times as relief for his chief, opens the box office in the morning, and sells the gallery tickets at show time.
There is a house music director, a permanent chief usher and the other ushers, front ticket takers, an advertising agent, bill poster, a day and night stage door tender, who are usually watchmen, who are custodians of the building, besides the janitor and cleaners.
[Illustration: RAY DOOLEY]
There is no conflicting of authority by reason of the arrival of our show upon the scene. It is understood by all hands that the show staff takes precedence of the house staff, and all work together for the general good, to put over a perfect and complete performance and get the public's patronage and approval.
One thing you will do well to remember if you ever become a member of any theatrical business or mechanical staff:
If you have occasion to purchase anything for the show or theatre at any time, be sure to get the company's stage manager's OK, or order or voucher of some kind in advance. It is an invariable rule of the craft that any purchase of over five cents made without this formal sanction will not be paid by the management, but will be considered as a donation--however involuntary--on your part.
There is one very important man behind the curtain at every performance on every stage, whose rule is arbitrary and absolute, and who is not on the company payroll. This is the house fireman, a city officer, with the power of the city and state behind him. The fire regulations are posted in plain sight on every stage. "No smoking" is one peremptory order that admits of no violation. Woe unto the actor or actress, principal or chorus girl, who tries to sneak a smoke in a dressing room, if found out! The fireman is using his nose as well as his eyes, and the familiar odor of a surreptitious cigarette will lead him straight to the culprit. Mr. Fireman is authorized by law to enter any dressing room under such circumstances, and no matter what the state of your toilet, he will exercise his authority, enter your room--and remove you forthwith. Fine or imprisonment, or both, are the legal penalties for violation of the no smoking law, and for using a flame or canned fuel, in most theatres. Principals have before now been taken off the stage in the midst of a performance and landed in jail, necessitating the dismissal of the audience. It is a mighty important man who can do a thing like that, and consequently the fireman commands the profoundest respect of every member of every company, from the chief all the way down the line.
No man is ever employed back of the curtain line in any first class theatre who is not known to be of good character. Those who are old in the theatrical business know this fact. If you harbor any other idea of these men, get it right out of your mind. Every theatre manager today demands that his employees be qualified in respect to character as well as in ability.
Now that I have taken you back of the curtain line and out into the front office and shown you just how the wheels go 'round that make the show go, you have become aware that there is something more in the theatre business than a mere group of good actors and singers and dancers doing their best to please you up on the stage. The more the machinery of the stage is kept out of sight, the better the management and the greater the satisfaction, both to the folks behind the curtain and the audience out front. Your attention should not be distracted from the play, the opera, the spectacle, by the intrusion of any noise or the appearance of anything or anyone not concerned with the actual presentation. The drop curtain or the tableau curtain should move silently and without revealing the human agents that manipulate them.
Scenes and sets should be made in silence and out of view of the spectators. No person should ever be in evidence on the stage, not even momentarily, save only the actors, whose presence you expect and welcome. Otherwise the illusion is interrupted, perhaps destroyed--and ours is an art where illusion holds a major place in imparting pleasure. Such an extraneous element would also break the continuity.
It is not tolerated in the best houses.
So you see there is a definite reason why the "men behind the guns" in the battery of the stage are out of sight and so, often, out of mind.
The hard work of the producer and his faithful subordinates is shown only in the superior attainments of his troupe and the ensemble as presented to your vision. They, themselves, the men who finance, prepare, rehearse and drill the show into shape, are seldom in evidence--never on the stage.
[Illustration: NW]
PROFESSIONAL COACHING AND PRODUCING FOR AMATEUR ENTERTAINMENTS
[Illustration]
I am often called upon to "put on" an amateur show, and the call is not confined to New York alone, but extends to many far distant cities. These are usually community or social affairs, charity organizations, college shows, or entertainments by the employees of some large establishment. Once I have put a show across for these lovers of theatrical activities, the habit of continuing the plan of giving a show seems to have become established, for with many cities and clubs and associations the call continues year after year, an annual or periodical production under my direction being demanded.
This indicates that I have been successful in directing the non-professional in a theatrical way, and I am sure it is so, for I have handled the whole situation and the "company" just as I would if they were going on the professional stage, taken personal charge of everything, coached principals and subordinates, put the show across, and been on hand to see the results.
Spread here before you is the story of just how I organize, coach, develop and handle an amateur company in a musical comedy or revue performance to occupy a full evening's time on a theatre stage; from the first "call" of an untrained troupe of inexperienced actors to the final curtain of the actual, completed performance.
[Illustration: MOONLIGHT BALLET, FOLLIES OF 1923]
First of all, I make a call for anyone and everyone who would like to take part in the entertainment. This call is usually made in a hall, sometimes in the ballroom of a hotel, but usually in a large hall where there is a good floor and a piano. I always have a pianist in attendance.
I take the people who are going to take part in the ensemble first and arrange them according to their height, always having the shortest person to my left. Sometimes a great many people will try out for a thing of this kind. I have had as many as three and four hundred at many of the calls, and possibly more than that. I have always arranged them, as I say, from my left according to their height.
Then I get them to stand in a huge semi-circle before me, as large a semi-circle as the hall will permit, and if I have too many for that one semi-circle, I put the others behind them into other semi-circles.
I begin by placing my first semi-circle shoulder to shoulder. I watch their shoulder heights and their head-lines all the way along the semi-circle. The semi-circle will begin at my left, cover the whole side of the hall--whichever is the longest side--and the end of the semi-circle will be at my extreme right. I have my table and chair in the center, but near the wall opposite this semi-circle. The pianist I usually have on my left-hand side, if it is convenient. He must have his piano turned in such a position that by looking slightly over his shoulder he can see me as well as the group.
I number the entire group, beginning with number one and running consecutively from my left as far as they will go. Then they are required to sit down in the same order. Each person must have a seat and they occupy the same seat at each call, after the elimination process. Before I do anything else I have their names taken, with addresses and telephone numbers; the first and last names directly opposite the number that I have given them. Then they stand up and I arrange them in straight lines across. Sometimes I will have eight in a line across, and I may have six lines of eight to begin with; sometimes eight lines of ten, and perhaps as many as twelve in a line, all depending on the shape and size of the hall.
After they have been arranged in perfectly straight lines one directly behind the other, the next thing I do is to teach them the eight different directions, which are so important. Let me recall them to you: (1) left oblique, (2) left, (3) left oblique back, (4) back, (5) right oblique back, (6) right, (7) right oblique, and (8) front. They are taken through these directions until I am sure they understand them thoroughly. Then I divide the foot into four different parts, just as I do in my courses: the toe (the end of the shoe), the ball (the half-sole), the heel, and the flat. I always make them stand with their knees together, their heels together, the left toe pointed to left oblique, the right toe pointed to right oblique, hands down at their sides, the weight equally distributed between the two feet, heads up, and looking straight front on a line with their eyes. I insist upon their standing this way. Every time they come to their places on the floor during rehearsal, I remind them of it.
Now, I begin to show them simple movements in order to get them to shift their weight easily and to give them confidence. First the hopping step. When they do this I can immediately tell just how far they can go in my dancing--by giving them what I call the hopping test. They hop on the ball of the left foot eight times and they repeat that eight more times, on the ball of the right foot to a 4/4 tempo. Then they hop on the ball of the left foot for eight counts, and alternately for eight on the right foot, through a number of refrains or popular choruses. I caution them to be careful about bending the knee when they land the weight of the body on the floor, because many of them have never danced before in their lives. They know nothing about it, but by bending their knee they make a cushion for their weight, and they must land on the ball of the foot, not on the heels.
After I try them out doing that, I put them in a circular formation, where everybody can see me, for I stand in the middle of the ring. I turn them toward the left hand, and I start them around in a circle on the hopping steps; left hop, right hop, left, 2, 3, 4; right hop, left hop, right 2, 3, 4; alternately through, in time with the music of a popular 4/4 tune. This test has never failed with me. I can immediately find the clumsy, awkward ones and select the apt ones.
This, of course, I do in my mind, making mental notes of their numbers. After I get them back in a straight line at the end of the hall I call out the numbers of those who have qualified, but I do not hurry to do this because many times they are nervous at a first tryout. So I encourage them as much as I dare to. One has to be tactful at such times. But right away you can find your awkward people and also those who have a natural grace. I can pick them out immediately.
They move around in a circle. Many times I will stop them and divide them into smaller groups, all the time noting the ones that get it and the ones that don't. I will get to know number 1. I will watch her or him, and I will say to myself, 1, 3, 5, 8, 9, 14, 16 and 18 have it; the rest haven't. Then I ask them to sit down. I can find out just about the way they are going to do my work from this little tryout. I never individualize my criticism.
The main idea is to find out the ones who are interested. There are always some people who come to these calls who are out for a lark, and they must be eliminated at the first call. After the hopping test I am able to pretty well decide just which ones are going to get the ensemble work--and very often you will find some splendid natural dancer in a group like this.
Then I have another little test that I use in a 2-4 movement. Two hops on the left, two hops on the right, two on the left and two on the right. Get them to do that to a 2-4 tempo.
After I determine in my own mind those who are most apt, I ask the members present if they have ever done anything in the way of any individual stunt, either a dance or a song, or if they ever played a part in amateur theatricals. Usually a few will stand up, and I bring them around my table one at a time to get an idea of what they have done. I get them to write down their names and addresses and exactly what they have done or what they think they can do, gradually getting the whole thing on paper. In this way I am getting all of the available talent organized.
In the meantime I am watching the members of the ensemble. I am trying them out in some of the simple routines. I gradually work them into it before they realize it. I get them all enthused about it, and through long experience I am able to tell which group is going to be what I call my dancing girls or boys. They will be the smallest ones, five foot one, five foot two, three and four. Then I pick out those who are a little slow in picking up the steps, and they will be the "mediums,"
the sort of "in between" ones. Then I pick out the very best type of show girl, usually the taller girls, who can't move as fast as the smaller girls, but who have grace and good figures, and who are good looking. Until I have the three final groups, of course, I make all the members of the ensemble dance. The show-girl will be more dignified perhaps, with a stately bearing. Naturally I pick out the girls who have natural aptitude to do my work properly and make them the real dancers. I have eight, twelve or sixteen of these in a set, never any more. Then the others who don't dance quite so well will be the mediums, and then the show-girls who can stand in the back of the stage, or at the corners, and dress the stage or do "parade numbers,"
or walking numbers. After I get these sets worked out I give them their next call and take the principals in hand.
Then I have copies of the manuscript, and usually carry along three sets of the parts. If it is a play, I have the play completely read.
If it is a revue, I have all of the skits and numbers with me.
I have the principals come in and sit down in a semi-circle before me while I seat myself behind the table on which I keep my papers and the brief case in which I carry the "scripts," parts, etc., and we have a meeting similar to the meeting that was held with the ensemble. The pianist is there, and they bring along their songs. Whoever is going to be the stage manager of the company is also there. He is usually one of my coaches that I carry with me. The local casting director and usually the president or chairman, also sit at the table at the left side of me, with my own assistant (the "coach") at my right.
Now, those who want to read parts for me are put at one side into one group; that is, those who wish to try to handle important parts in the dialogue. Then I place another group together which expects to do solo dancing--at the other side. They are called principal dancers. Then I make a separate group of those who expect to sing, or to do any sort of a musical specialty, or any kind of a "stunt" that might be included in the show. I have had the greatest variety of specialties in a show. I have had them do magic, burlesque magic, play ukuleles, and all sorts of stunts which I have placed effectively in a show. We had a man in the Princeton show who did a little trick with a cigarette that was a scream. I saw him standing around, and I asked him if he could do a specialty. "I don't think so," he said. He was smoking a cigarette at the time, and he said "This is the only thing I can do." He took the cigarette from his mouth, broke it in two, lit both ends of it, and he was smoking with both ends of the cigarette sticking out of his mouth. Then he put another cigarette in his mouth and did the same, and finally he lit the third cigarette without using his fingers but from the other butts in his mouth. Well, I had him do this stunt in the second act, in a proper spot, and it stopped the show every performance. Some of those connected with the show told me before the show that they didn't think what he was doing was going to get over, but I told them in as nice a way as I could to mind their own business, as I always do, and I put this "bit" in. I put a 50-ampere spotlight (very strong) on his face, and he did just this little trick beautifully. Well, there was more talk about that than anything else in the whole show. It had commercial value and it helped the box office. People went especially to see him do it. We had stunts there that had been planned for a year, and they didn't get as much favorable comment as this one little trick did. Of course, it was properly fitted in, cued in, as we call it, just as everything else has to be in the right spot.
[Illustration: WILL ROGERS]
I only point this out to you to tell you that sometimes in arranging your recitals or shows--whatever you may call them--you will find a lot of talent which you would otherwise overlook unless you go about it the thorough way that I do. I do the same with a professional organization, because after all I am a builder of entertainments and I must know entertainment values in order to make a success of my business. I must be able to recognize and fully realize talent when it is present. You must have a lot of patience to do this work. Some people are able to do lots of things that will prove entertaining.
After all, what you are concocting is an entertainment. You should always aim to present something different, something original or novel that will surprise and amuse your audience, not the hackneyed old stunts that everyone has seen time and again.
After I get them divided into groups and get their names down, I go through the tests for principals. I will always hear the songs first; but before you hear them sing they have to put down on paper what they have ever done before, how much training they have had, and so on.