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, naïve, 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 rôle. 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 Halévy's "Indian Summer" (published by Samuel French) are here reprinted with marginal notes explaining how these effects are obtained.

CHAPTER VI

REHEARSING
III

The dress rehearsal usually takes place on the night before the regular performance.

Every effort must be made on this occasion to have conditions, on the stage and behind it, as nearly as possible like those under which the play is to be given. Scenery, lighting, costumes, must all be ready, and the performance carried through with as few interruptions as the director can afford to make. The director should be in the back of the "house", and stop the players only when they do something absolutely wrong. It is very unwise to change lines or "business" at this eleventh hour. The stage manager and his assistants must be in their assigned places, the lights manipulated, actors "called", the curtain rung up and down on schedule. The director watches the general effects, sees that the stage is not crowded, that the lights are in order, and above all, watches the tempo of the performance.

The actors must be informed that on the occasion of the performance the audience is likely to distract them by applause, laughter, etc., and that they, the actors, must pause for a moment when there is any such interruption. A little advice as to resting, not worrying about lines, etc., will not be out of place.

Besides the acting dress rehearsal, there should be a scene and light rehearsal. This is merely for the assistants behind the stage. The different scenes (if there is more than one) should be set and "struck" (taken down), furniture and "props" stationed, lights worked, exactly as they are to be on the following night. Everything should go according to clockwork, the stage manager "holding the book" on all his assistants.

The performance should begin on time. Every one knows the irksome delay usually incident to amateur performances, and it ought to be the object of every director to remedy a defect which is inherent in our usual slipshod method of reproducing plays. Promptness is the prime requisite of efficiency, and the production of plays is successful only when the component elements are organized on a sort of military basis. The actors must be in the theater on time, and "made-up" in costume, at least half an hour before the curtain rises. It is well for each actor to see the property man and make sure that all the "props" necessary to his part are in readiness. The property man himself must also check up his list for the last time, in order to avoid confusion during the performance.

When everything is in order, there is little more to be done. The director might make a few general remarks to the cast, endeavor to inspire them with confidence and impress upon them the necessity of playing together harmoniously, and so on, but if his work has been well done during rehearsals, this will not be necessary.

The prompter must follow the play line for line and be ready to prompt any actor who forgets his part. It is well for the stage manager to be near the prompter, in order that every cue for lighting, "business" off-stage—like ringing bells, shooting, etc.—may be acted upon as required.

CHAPTER VII

THE STAGE

A great deal more attention is being directed—in this country, at least—to the improvement of the physical requirements of the stage than heretofore. During the past few years, numerous writers[10] have made a systematic study of theaters abroad and at home, and revealed the fact that on the whole our theaters, both before and behind the curtain, are antiquated, ill-equipped, and fall far short of the infinite possibilities which have been made realized in certain cities of Germany and Russia.

Revolutionary experiments in lighting, as well as in the disposition of stage settings, have, during the past ten or twelve years, opened up fields formerly undreamed of.

It is not the purpose of this chapter to describe at great length these innovations; the reader is referred to the books of Moderwell and Cheney mentioned in the footnote above. A few elementary suggestions, however, which may be used by skilled and intelligent amateurs, will prove suggestive to the average director and stage manager.

It is likely that by far the greater number of amateur plays will be performed on a stage which is already built and equipped. In such cases, all the stage manager can do is to use his own scenery and at least have a voice in the matter of lighting. Still, many plays are performed on improvised stages, in private homes, clubs, or schoolrooms, or out-of-doors. This allows the stage manager a little more leeway, and often he may modify the size of the stage to suit himself, and introduce some innovations of his own.

To those who are in a position either to build or temporarily construct their own stages, this chapter is primarily addressed.

We shall now proceed to a consideration of a few of the more important innovations on the modern stage. The first of these is undoubtedly:

The Cyclorama. This is "a white or tinted backing for the stage, built in the form of a segment of a vertical cylinder. It may be constructed of canvas or of solid plaster.... Now, if made of canvas, it is more usually kept, when not in use, on a vertical roller, at one side of the stage, near the front, and carried around behind the stage, unrolling from its cylinder the while, until it connects with a similar cylinder at the opposite side of the stage. It hangs from a circular iron rail, and almost completely encloses the stage, rising to the required distance.... It can be rolled up on its original cylinder when it is not needed, leaving the stage once more approachable from all sides.... The chief uses of the cyclorama are evident. It presents a continuous dead white or tinted background, which, when played upon by the proper lights, gives a striking illusion of depth and luminous atmosphere.... But perhaps the chief value of the cyclorama, from the standpoint of the stage artist, has not yet been mentioned. For the new device changes altogether the problem of lighting. Ordinary sunlight is, as we know, not a direct light, but an infinitely reflected light, bandied about by the particles of air and by the ordinary physical objects on which it strikes. The mellowness and internal luminosity of ordinary sunlight is wholly due to this infinite reflection. It was the lack of this that made the old stage lighting, with its blazing direct artificial glare, so unreal. The cyclorama, and especially the dome cyclorama, permits the stage to be lighted largely or wholly by crisscrossing reflection. The mellow and subtle lighting which makes it possible was altogether unknown under the older methods."[11]

The construction of a cyclorama, either of cloth or of plaster, is rather difficult, but there are certain simple substitutes which may be used to secure some of its elementary effects. The following system has been used by some amateurs with signal success.

First take a wooden rod, or better, iron pipes, curved to the desired shape.

Fasten this framework either to the ceiling of the "loft" or, if that is too high, to the wings. On the rod hang curtains of burlap, or some similar material, or else two or three thicknesses of cheesecloth, so that they fall in simple folds. The color will depend on the sort of play to be produced and the kind of lights used. As a rule, dark tan, green, or dark red are the best colors, and can be used on many occasions and for nearly every sort of play. Whether the "cyclorama" thus improvised be permanent or temporary, this is one of the best possible backgrounds. In out-of-door scenes, it gives a suggestion of distance.

In Constance D'Arcy Mackay's book on "Costumes and Scenery for Amateurs" the author describes how a "desert and oasis" scene can be made from the simplest means:

"A plain sand-colored floor cloth. A backdrop or cyclorama of sky-blue against which very low sand mounds appearing as if at great distance, with palm trees, also made small by distance. These mounds and palm trees should be painted low on the backdrop, since a vast stretch of level sand is what is to be suggested. It would even be possible to use a plain blue sky drop, and run some sand-colored cambric into mounds across the back of the stage, so as to break the sky line."

It is not necessary, though, to paint the cyclorama: darker cloth, made to represent mounds, thrown across the lower part of the cyclorama, would be equally effective. Further examples of what can be done with the cyclorama will be cited in the chapter on "Lighting."

Another of the recent innovations which is of particular value to amateurs is the system by which the proscenium opening can be made large or small, according to the demands of the play. Usually the proscenium looks like the following diagram.

Suppose one scene of a play calls for a large courtroom filled with people. Obviously, all the stage space is required. But suppose that the next scene is a small antechamber. On the average stage the discrepancy is at once observed, and the effect is more than likely ridiculous. Even if the sets used are "box sets" (that is, with three walls and not mere conventional screens or curtains), the effect of great size can easily be obtained in the first scene, and smallness in the second, by means of the device about to be described. This applies, of course, to plays where the same set must be used for both scenes. If, however, a different set is used for the antechamber scene, the new device is imperative.

First, construct two tall screens (on a wooden framework), made either of painted canvas or draped cloth, of some dark and subdued tone, and place them on each side of the stage, just behind the proscenium arch, as in the diagram:

These screens can be easily set closer to the center of the stage, thereby diminishing its size on the sides. Then the "grand drapery" above, which hangs down from behind the top of the proscenium arch, and which should be of the same color and material as the side screens, is lowered. This process makes, from the inside, a smaller proscenium arch. Many of the German and some other stages have added a fourth side to this frame, by "boxing" the footlights:

This last, besides giving the effect of a detached picture to the set, prevents the direct rays of the footlights, when they are used, from shining up into the gallery.

To return to the smaller scene made by the inner proscenium arch, it will readily be seen that the cyclorama—if there is one—or back wall of the set, or else the curtain, must usually be brought forward a little. The advantage of the inner proscenium becomes apparent when such a play as "The Merchant of Venice" is performed, and the absurdity of using a stage of the same size for the Portia-Nerissa scene in the first act and the casket scene, is forcibly brought to our attention.

The Revolving Stage and The Wagon Stage. These are fully described in the books which have been referred to. They are both extremely valuable, but as yet too complicated and expensive to be seriously considered for amateurs.

The introduction of simpler scenery and simpler lighting does away with much that was difficult to manage under the old system, and a few well-trained amateurs should be able to set and attend to almost any production without having recourse to the revolving stage and the "wagons."

As much space as possible should be kept clear behind the curtain; occasions are likely to arise when the entire stage may be used, and manipulation of scenery on a full stage is a difficult task.

A few suggestions as to lighting and its relation to scenery and color and action will be set forth in the next chapter.

CHAPTER VIII

LIGHTING

It has been rightly urged that recent inventions and discoveries in lighting constitute the greatest contribution to the modern art of the theater. This manual is intended primarily to help the producer and the actor, but the present short chapter may assist the former or his associates in their effort to improve the physical conditions of the stage.

The prevalent system of using footlights and border lights is on the whole bad, because it is false, unnatural, and above all unnecessary. Says Moderwell (pages 107-108, in "The Theatre of To-day"):

"Before we can begin work in artistic lighting we must do some destroying. One element in the old lighting must go, and go completely. We can say this with careless ease now that the Fortuny system has given us a better way. But even before this invention was made known, the case against the footlights must have been obvious to any sensitive man of the theatre; that the 'foots' continued as long as they did indicates the stagnation of the old theatre in all but purely literary art.

From "The Architectural Review."

Operation of the Fortuny Indirect Lighting System.

"The footlights, with their corresponding border lights from above, give a flat illumination. They make figures visible, but not living; they destroy that most precious quality of the sculptor, relief.... It is the shadows, the nooks and crannies of light and shade, that show a figure to be solid and plastic."

The Fortuny system mentioned is a device by which light is reflected and diffused: "An arc-lamp and several pieces of cloth of various colours—these comprise the Fortuny apparatus in its simplest form." While only an expert electrician and, if the effects are to be artistic, an artist, can erect and manipulate a system built on Fortuny's principles, still amateur electricians and directors should do their best, by means of experimentation, to use indirect lighting.

Just how this can be done must rest with individuals, but two or three experiments may be briefly described.

Suppose that the cyclorama, or the hangings masking the back of the stage, are made of white or light-colored cloth. In this case, an arc lamp or ordinary calcium light can be placed up in the loft, above the top of the cyclorama, and behind it. A little experimenting will reveal many striking light effects. If one light or lamp is not sufficient, others can be placed in various positions to reënforce it. As conditions vary so greatly, it is impossible to supply more concise directions.

Where box sets are used in which there is at least one window, and provided the scene does not take place at night, it is much better to have all, or at least an appreciable portion of the light come in through one window. In the second act of Charles Klein's "The Music Master" played by David Warfield and produced by David Belasco, the stage was at one time brilliantly lighted, supposedly by sunshine from the outside, from the two opposite sides of the stage! If, however, screens and curtains are used (see chapter on "Scenery and Costumes"), then it is best to introduce some sort of central reflected light. To station lights on all sides of the stage will first of all make the stage too bright, and furthermore produce unnatural and distorted shadows: there is no chance for effects of relief or any illusion of plasticity. If possible, the footlights should be entirely eliminated; if not, then most sparingly used. Our stages are for the most part overlighted.

The production of Lady Gregory's "The Rising of the Moon" by the Irish Players was one of the simplest and at the same time most effective of stage pictures. The following diagram will show in a rough way the general disposition of the settings:

The back of the stage (the shaded area) was flooded with white light to suggest moonlight. There were no "foots" or "borders"; anything besides the single light would have ruined the effect of perfect placidity.

CHAPTER IX

SCENERY AND COSTUMES

Very little need be said regarding the usual conventional sets, whether they represent interiors or exteriors. The purpose of this chapter is (1) to suggest simple but effective means of staging without using the conventional sets, and (2) to lay down a few principles as to costuming.

By means of the simple devices about to be described, the amateur is enabled to do without "box sets" and all the paraphernalia of the old stage. The tendency nowadays is away from naturalism in setting; the aim is rather to supply simple but beautiful backgrounds with as little obvious effort as possible; to suggest rather than to represent. When the word "conventional" is used it is intended to convey the meaning not of "old" and "hackneyed", but of "simple", "suggestive." Beardsley's drawings are conventional because attitudes and lines are conventionalized.

In the main, there are three sorts of setting which may be used for practically all kinds of plays. They have been successfully tried out on numerous occasions, and few plays have been found which cannot fit at least one of them.

1. The first and simplest of them all consists of draperies and tall screens. The Greek classics and Shakespeare are particularly effective with this sort of background. Where Greek plays are given, a peristyle of wooden pillars up-stage, behind which may be hung white or tinted curtains, is especially desirable. Any Greek, and most Latin plays, can be produced with this setting. Often such plays are given in the open. If the performance takes place in the daylight, there is no difficulty as to artificial lighting; but if it is at night, then a flood-light must cover the stage. This is placed toward the back, or else behind the audience.

Shakespeare is seen at his best with the simple background. A sort of cyclorama may be constructed by using curtains hung at the back of the stage, upon which is thrown light from one place: behind the proscenium arch, from above, or from one of the sides. Suppose that "The Comedy of Errors" is the play to be performed. The first scene of the first act is "A hall in the Duke's palace." This, of course, should be printed on the program, but on the stage all that is needed is a suggestion or two, like a gilded chair, and a painted white bench or two. These are not needed in the action, but they serve to create an atmosphere. The second scene is "A public place." Absolutely no "props" or furniture are needed; indeed, their very absence indicates the "place." The first scene of the second act is the same. The curtains around the stage must be made in sections, in order to allow the actors to enter and exit through them. The lines are always sufficient to indicate where a person is coming from or going to. In the first scene of the third act, Dromio of Syracuse says:

A house is evidently intended to be represented, but it is not necessary that we see it: Dromio of Syracuse can speak from behind the curtain. The convention will readily be accepted. Nor is it necessary to differentiate the various "public places", except for the sake of variety: perhaps a bench or two now and then will accomplish this purpose. And when, in the first scene of the fifth act, the public place is "before an abbey", still there is no need of any definite set pieces. From time to time, doubtless some special article of furniture or set piece of some kind will be mentioned in the text, not elsewhere, in which case it can easily be supplied.

This "Shakespeare-without-scenery" is not the only method by which Shakespeare can be performed, but it is the easiest and, if done with taste, the most effective.

Let us now take rather a more difficult play, "Twelfth Night." The first scene of the first act is "An apartment in the Duke's palace." The Duke sits on a sort of throne or sofa. In Max Reinhardt's production of this play at the Deutsches Theater in Berlin, the set consisted simply of a semicircular lounge extending all the way across the stage. It was covered with dark blue plush; the hangings were of the same color. A warm yellow light directed from above flooded the stage.

Either a throne or sofa for the Duke, then, and a few other chairs for the remaining characters, who sit down—the musicians stand—or else, following Reinhardt, a semicircular lounge. This is all. The second scene is "The seacoast." The stage is bare here. The third scene is "A room in Olivia's house." Different chairs or sofas and a throne for Olivia. The following scene is the same as scene one. The first scene of the second act is the seacoast once more. The next is "A street." No furniture. The third scene is "A room in Olivia's house"; evidently not the same as that in which Olivia first appeared. The room is probably in or near the wine cellar. A table, therefore, and three or four chairs, will not be amiss. The next is the same as in act one, scene one. The fifth scene of the second act is "Olivia's garden." Here the stage business requires a few definitely placed shrubs and a bench or two. The best arrangement of this scene is suggested in the diagram:

Malvolio comes down-stage Center, while the others are hiding behind one of the benches, either Left or Right. These benches, as indicated in the diagram, are partially concealed by shrubs. Baytrees, planted in green-painted tubs, make especially good decorations. They can be used on many occasions, as will be shown later. Nor, in the case of the scene from "Twelfth Night", are they so high as to conceal the actors who are supposed to be hidden behind them. The following scene is the same. The second scene of the third act is the cellar room again. Following this is "A street"; then "Olivia's garden" once more. The next new scene is the first of the fourth act: "A street before Olivia's garden." Perhaps a little variety can be introduced in the shape of a shrub or two. The remaining scenes are repetitions of those already considered.

The suggestions above given are extremely summary, but, if acted upon, will be seen to prove sufficient.

2. Out-of-door scenes of a more elaborate character, in plays like Rostand's "The Romancers", often require more complicated sets; they may still be produced with the most elementary sort of background, however. The stage directions of this play are as follows:

Scene: The stage is divided by an old wall, covered with vines and flowers. At the right, a corner of bergamin's park is seen; at the left, a corner of pasquinot's. On each side of the wall, and against it, is a rustic bench.

This is set in the following manner:

The background hangings may be of tan burlap or else dark green. Gaps, covered by the folds, must be made up- and down-stage to allow the actors to enter and leave the stage. The wall must be constructed of solid wood, in order to support the actors, and painted to suggest bricks. There is a rustic bench against each side of the wall. Though they are not mentioned in these preliminary directions, there are other rustic benches, down-stage to the extreme right and left. These are used later in the act.

In the second act, "the wall has disappeared. The benches which were formerly against it, are removed to the extreme right and left. [The extra benches mentioned in the first act have of course been removed.] There are a few extra pots of flowers and two or three plaster statues. To the right is a small garden table, with chairs about it." This scene is set as follows:

The third act stage directions are: "The scene is the same except that the wall is being rebuilt. Bricks and sacks of plaster lie about." A few bricks may serve to indicate the partly finished wall.

Since the scene of this play is laid at first in parks, there ought to be some suggestion as to this fact. Here bay- or box-trees can be used. Perhaps three or four should be arranged more or less symmetrically at the back of the stage, and as many to the right and left, down-stage. One or two can be added, close to the wall. This is all that is absolutely necessary.

The foregoing remarks have been applied largely to romantic plays, but what is to be done in modern realistic pieces? There are two courses open, besides the conventional one (using box sets):

The first method is to use the regular hangings as before and set a few needful articles of furniture about the stage. This is not realistic, but there are many realistic plays which can be produced without correspondingly realistic settings. Of course, where windows are referred to and used, there must be real windows, and where a character is directed to hang a picture on a wall, there must be a wall. However, there are many realistic plays where box sets are not required. Hermann Sudermann's "The Far-away Princess" is a case in question. The author has definitely suggested a certain setting for the play, but as his suggestions are not absolutely essential they may be modified. The directions are:

"The veranda of an inn. The right side of the stage and half of the background represent a framework of glass enclosing the veranda. The left side and the other half of the background represent the stone walls of the house. To the left, in the foreground, a door; another door in the background, at the left. On the left, back, a buffet and serving table. Neat little tables and small iron chairs for visitors are placed about the veranda. On the right, in the centre, a large telescope, standing on a tripod, is directed through an open window. ROSA, dressed in the costume of the country, is arranging flowers on the small tables. FRAU LINDEMANN, a handsome, stoutish woman in the thirties, hurries in excitedly from the left."

If the dramatist's stage directions are implicitly followed, a realistic set will be required. The scene as set according to the diagram, has, however, often been used: