Amateur Theatricals.—These form an excellent amusement for winter evenings, and may be made highly instructive to young members of the family, besides aiding in developing a degree of culture in manner and speech with proper guidance. A moderate amount of ingenuity, with some pasteboard, paper and paste, will suffice to extemporise a stage and scenery. A few hints on “making up” may be useful.
Making up.—Given a clean shaven face, the features of which are not specially prominent, and it is comparatively easy for an artist in make up to transform it into a fair likeness of any type of character he wishes to represent, or even to imitate a particular individual. Of course the actor cannot remould his features, but by putting on different coloured paints he can present an effect which, viewed from a little distance, has all the appearance of having been remoulded. The great secret underlying all the triumphs of this art is that white brings into prominence and black depresses. For instance, take a nose that is reasonably straight. Suppose it is desired to make it a pug. Put a little dark brown on the bridge and make the end lighter than all the rest of the face. The gradations have to be nicely shaded, and there comes in the art. To reverse the process, and produce a marked aquiline, hook, or Jewish nose, put white on the bridge and darken down the tip a little. That will bring forth an aristocratic nose that would do credit to any duke in the British peerage.
Grease paints can now be purchased. These are colours mixed with a hard grease, a little of which is rubbed on the face and then smoothly spread over with the finger. One of its most valuable properties is that it is not affected by perspiration, and requires grease or soap and water to remove it. Generally the actor rubs a little vaseline or cold cream over his face and wipes this off with a rag before washing, thus removing most of the paint and getting the soap to lather more easily. It does not seem to injure the skin when it is properly washed off at night, but persons who are careless may let it block up the pores of the skin or remain in the roots of the hair or eyebrows. The number of shades in which grease paint is now made is very great, and every actor who takes pride in his make up will have from a dozen to twenty kinds. Even in flesh tint alone there are six varieties, from the very delicate creamy white of youth to the leaden sallowness of extreme old age. Besides these there are shades for Chinamen, and for every gradation of Indian and negro blood. Then there are whites for “high lights” and for whitening mustaches or eyebrows, browns for shading, blues for veins and hollows, reds, blacks, and yellows. You must not think they are all used in one make up, though often seven or eight colours are combined in an elaborate one. The first thing to do in making up is to select the proper flesh tint. This having been chosen and applied, the next thing is generally the rouge. Except in the case of very old characters, some red must be put on the faces, or the yellow glare of the footlights will make them look perfectly ghastly. But where the red is to be put and how much of it and what shade to use, depend entirely upon the age of the person to be represented. The younger the person the more delicate the tint of rouge should be and the higher it should be upon the face. Thus, for a very young man, the rouge is put on in a half-moon shape, one horn beginning at the inner corner of the eye and the other extending well up the temple as high as the eyebrow. As the age increases we cease to run the colour up so high on the outer side, until for mature years it settles down into the hollow below the cheek bone.
The rouge being properly applied, we next go to work upon the wrinkles or hollows. In representing age the principal lines to be emphasised are those from the nose to the corners of the mouth, from the corners of the mouth to the chin, from the inner cornersof the eyes to the hollows of the cheeks, and those on the forehead. Some actors make the wrinkles in blue, others in brown, and others in grey. It is a matter of taste. The lines are made with thin sticks of the paint cut to a point, or with a pointed leather stub upon which the paint has been rubbed. After the wrinkles have been put on it may be necessary to accentuate them by a line of white or light colour on the edges, and these lines must be graduated into each other so as not to seem too hard or abrupt. In representing old men the strong muscle above the line from the nose to the mouth must be brought out very strongly with white. The cheek bones under the eyes must be treated in the same way. Then the eyelids require darkening for age, and crows’ feet are carefully drawn with a number of thin irregular lines at the outer comers of the eyes. Where youth is shown, the upper eyelids and skin under the eyebrow are delicately rouged. If hollows in the cheeks, temples, or neck are wanted, these are the next things to be done, and the outlines of the cheeks may be rounded out with light shades or made to assume eccentric shaped with darker ones. The muscles of the neck may need bringing out, and hollows put under each side of the chin. Lips require rouging for youth, and blueing or darkening for age. Large mouths are made small by putting rouge only in the centre of the lips, and small ones made large by rouging all the way, and even extending the corners with a line of red. Where toothlessness is desirable the teeth are covered with a thin coating of black wax, which renders them quite invisible. The process is technically called “stopping out.” The face being now coloured, rouged, lined, wrinkled, and hollowed, the next things to be attended to are the eyebrows, and hair or beard if any are required.
Very few people are aware how important a part the eyebrows play in forming the expression of the face. Bringing them very close together will cause a look of meanness or villainy; a high arch will ensure surprise or vacancy of expression. A slight upward turn of the inner corner makes some faces very handsome. Eyebrows are often painted; but if very heavy ones are needed they are stuck on over the true ones. If the actor is going to wear his own eyebrows or mustache, he colours them to match his wig with grease paint, which, after being rubbed on, is combed so that each hair is coloured and there is no matted appearance. The use of mustaches and beards made on wire and hung from the ears has almost entirely gone out except among supers and utility people, as, being independent of the skin of the face, they did not move with it, and consequently never appeared natural. The best mustaches and beards are now made upon a thin foundation of silk, each hair being drawn through separately and knotted. The foundation is fastened to the face with spirit gum, another modern invention of great value to actors. It consists of gum dissolved in collodion and alcohol. This mixture dries immediately it is exposed to the air, is impervious to moisture, and can only be removed by spirits or grease. When the actor had to depend upon plain glue or gum, he was always in fear of losing his false beard, and many are the funny stories told of swallowing mustaches or transferring them to the faces of ladies who have had to be embraced in the course of the action of the piece.
Many actors prefer to make their own beards or whiskers nightly, as they do not like the feeling of the solid foundation on the skin, and, indeed, an all-round beard is apt to restrict the easy working of the jaws. Whiskers or beards are made from wool or crape hair, both of which can be obtained of any desired shade of the theatrical wig makers. The hair or wool is drawn through a coarse comb to a little longer than the length desired. It is then cut close to the teeth on the under or more solid side. An even mass is thus obtained which is readily fixed to the gummed cheek. The real art is in the subsequent trimming, with very sharp scissors, to the shape desired. Wool is more easily handled, but hair which comes in short lengths, plaited, is the most realistic. It is this that detectives use for disguises, and when well put on it is almost impossible to detect its falsity, as each hair seems to grow out of the skin.
Almost the last stage is the putting on of the wig. If this is not a bald one, thehair is brought down so that the junction with the forehead is not seen. Many foreign actors prefer to have their wigs made with a forehead piece, painted to match the face. Bald wigs are, of course, made in this way, and the edges are hidden with a thick dressing of grease paint, or, as it is sometimes called, joining paste. This being done, a coat of powder of the proper colour is delicately dusted on the face. Powder is prepared in every shade from white to orange. It has the effect of deadening the shininess of the grease paint, of softening the lines and blending the work into one harmonious whole.
Be careful, too, to make up your hands, a thing which many a good actor forgets. Yet how absurd it is to see an old, wrinkled face accompanied by young, plump hands. For an old man, the knuckles should be whitened, the hollows between them darkened, and the veins marked with white blue.
Actresses very seldom use grease paint, and, in fact, it is not necessary for them, as they rarely consent to line their faces. They generally use a liquid white, which has some mineral basis, and is in the end hurtful. The safest compound is a preparation of oxide of zinc, rose-water, and a few drops of glycerine. A little rouge, the darkening of the eyebrows, and a touch of red on the lips complete a lady’s make up. Most of them line below and above the eyelashes with black, which gives brilliancy to the eyes. They are very apt to overdo this, and then their eyes look like burnt holes in a blanket.
Stage Illusions.—Many of the peculiar effects which are produced upon the stage, imitating moonlight, sunlight, thunder, wind, rain, and other natural phenomena, are a puzzle to those outside of the business. How such realistic representations of these things as are often witnessed upon the stage can be made is a question that often enters the mind of the spectator, and is seldom answered in a satisfactory manner. It is always the ambition of scene painters and stage carpenters to devise improved methods of imitating these things, and hence the stage may be said to try to hold the mirror up to nature in a material as well as a moral sense. Years of experience have tended to bring these imitations to a high state of excellence; but the limits do not yet seem to be reached, and new contrivances are continually appearing. The electric light is not yet used, but as its pale blueish tint would be serviceable in particular effects, stage machinists are now deliberating how it can best be employed. All of the operations mentioned, together with some which will be described, are classed under the general term, “stage effects.” Authors, in writing plays, are always on the look-out for an opportunity to produce a telling effect. The amount of work bestowed upon their production in a theatre is simply astonishing to those unacquainted with that mysterious realm known as “behind the scenes.”
Thunder is a common stage effect, and is used with great advantage in many plays. In former days it was produced by shaking a large piece of sheet iron immediately above the prompter’s desk. This contrivance produced a good imitation of sharp, rattling thunder, but failed to give the dull roar which is always heard in storms. A contrivance for this purpose was soon invented. A heavy box frame is made, and over it is tightly drawn a calf skin. Upon this the prompter operates with a stick, one end of which is padded and covered with chamois skin. A flash of lightning, produced with magnesium, and a sharp crack of the sheet iron, followed by a long decreasing roll upon the “thunder drum,” produce an effect which is startlingly realistic. Travelling companies are compelled to be satisfied with the sheet iron alone; and the tragedian who enters a theatre provided with a complete thunder apparatus always is happy to think that his battle with the elements in “King Lear” will be worth fighting.
The rain machine in large theatres is a fixture placed high up in the “flies.” A cylinder is made of “half-inch” wood. It is usually 5 ft. in circumference, and 4 ft. in length. Upon the inside are placed rows of small wooden teeth. A lot of dried peas is placed in the cylinder, a rope belt is run around one end of it and down to the prompter’s desk, and it is ready for a drenching shower. By turning the cylinder, the peas rolldown between the teeth, and the noise produced by them makes a good imitation of rain falling upon a roof. A sudden pull of the rope, accompanied by a gust on the “wind machine,” gives the sound of the sweep of a blast of wind during a storm. Travelling companies often meet with theatres where there is no rain machine. A sufficiently good one, however, is easily produced. A common child’s hoop is obtained, and a sheet of heavy brown paper is pasted upon it after the manner of a circus rider’s balloon. A handful of birdshot is placed upon the paper. The “machine” is canted from one side to the other, and the shot rolls around the paper, producing a fairly good rain effect.
Wind is an item that is very useful in heightening the effect of stage storms. It is often dispensed with in theatres where strict attention is not paid to details, but not without a loss of “realism.” It has, moreover, a great influence over the feelings of spectators. The blindLouisein the “Two Orphans” is much more pitied when the audience can hear the pitiless blast that makes her shiver. Hence in every large theatre the wind machine plays an important part. It is not a stationary apparatus, but can be moved to any quarter of the compass from which it is desired that wind should blow. In the last act of “Ours,” every time the door of the hut opens snow flies in and a shriek of wind is heard. The wind machine in that instance is placed just outside the door, and the property man works it, while his assistant amuses himself by trying to throw his paper snow downLord Shendryn’sback. The wind machine is constructed in this manner: A heavy frame is made, in which is set a cylinder provided with paddles and resembling very much the stern wheels seen on Ohio River towboats. Across the top of this cylinder is stretched as tightly as possible a piece of heavy gros-grain silk. This silk remains stationary while the wheel is turned by a crank. The rapid passage of the paddles across the surface of the silk produces the noise of wind. Often travelling companies are in theatres where there is no wind machine. Then the property man groans audibly and proceeds to do what, in theatrical parlance, is called “faking” the wind. He selects a heavy piece of gas hose, called by stage gasmen “flexible,” and, finding a quiet corner where there is sufficient space to swing a cat without danger—to the cat—he whirls it around his head with the greatest possible rapidity. This method produces very satisfactory results—to every one but the property man. He is a long-suffering person; but the extraction of wind from “flexible” causes him to find life tedious.
Every one has heard the startling crash that is produced when the hero kicks the villain through a four-inch oaken door. One would think that not only the door but the villain must be completely shattered. This noise is produced by the crash machine, one of the oldest implements of imitation still used on the stage. It is similar to the wind machine in construction. A wheel with paddles set at an angle of about forty-five degrees to the radii is the main part of the machine. Upon the top of the wheel one end of a stout piece of wood is pressed down by fastening the other end to a portion of the framework. When the wheel is turned, the slats passing under the stationary piece produce a rattling crash. The principle of the machine is illustrated by the small boy who runs a stick along a paling fence and is gratified by introducing into the world an additional morsel of hubbub.
There is nothing that can be so well counterfeited on the stage as moonlight scenery. And yet there is nothing which requires more work. The artist begins the task by painting a moonlight scene. In daylight such a scene is a ghastly sight. It is done in cold greys and greens, in which Prussian blue and burnt umber play an important part, and the lights are put in with white slightly tinged with emerald green. The strong moonlight of the foreground is produced by a calcium light thrown through a green glass. The fainter light upon the scenery at the back of the stage is obtained from “green mediums,” a row of Argand burners with green chimneys. These are placed upon the stage just in front of the main scene, and are “masked in” from the view of the audiencea “ground piece.” A row of them is often suspended from the “flies,” in order to light the top of the scene. This upper row is masked in by “sky borders.” Thus a soft green light is thrown over the entire distance, while its source does not meet the view of the spectator. A usual feature of stage moonlight scenes is water, because it affords an opportunity for the introduction of the “ripple”—a charmingly natural stage effect. The main scene in a moonlight view is always painted on a “drop”—that is, a scene made like the curtain let down between the acts. The position of the moon being determined, immediately under it, beginning at the horizon, a number of small irregular holes is cut in the drop. These are then covered on the back with muslin and painted over on the front to match the rest of the water. Behind these holes is placed an endless towel, about 8 ft. in height, running around two cylinders, one at the top and one at the bottom. The lower cylinder has a crank by which the towel is turned. In this towel is cut a number of holes similar to those cut in the drop. A strong gas burner is placed between the two sides of the towel. When the machine is turned the flashing of the light from the passing holes in the towel through the stationary ones in the drop produce a fine ripple. It is always better to turn the towel so that the holes pass upward, as that helps to make the mimic wavelets seem to dance up toward the sky. Instead of a towel a large tin cylinder has been used, but it is cumbersome and noisy. It is necessary to turn this towel with great steadiness, otherwise the ripples will go by fits and starts, and entirely lose their natural appearance. Stars are easily put into the sky. Each twinkling orb consists of a spangle hung upon a pin bent into a double hook. The slightest motion of the drop causes these stars to shake and the flashing of the light upon them produces the twinkle.
One of the most beautiful effects produced upon the stage is the change from day to night or from night to day. Of these the former is the more striking, and a description of it will serve to explain the principle of both. In order to produce the proper effect the back drop is made nearly double the height of the usual scenes. The upper half of it is painted to represent a sunset sky, and the lower half to represent moonlight. It is hung so that the upper half alone is visible. The scenery of the distance is then painted upon a separate piece, which is “profiled”; that is, the irregular line of the horizon made by trees, mountains, or houses, is sharply cut out with a circular saw. This piece is placed immediately in front of the sky drop. A few feet further in front is hung what is known as a cut gauze drop. This has sides and top of canvas painted as the case requires; while the centre is filled with fine gauze, which lends an aerial effect to the distance. Red “mediums” are employed to give a soft, sunset glow to the scene. At the proper moment, the back drop is very slowly and steadily hauled up, while the red “mediums” are slowly turned off and green ones turned on. The moon is made in the night half of the sky drop, and rises with it. When it rises above the distant horizon the green “mediums” are turned on to their full power and the green calcium light is brought into play. The effect of this change, when carefully managed, is always very beautiful, and is sure to draw forth applause from the audience.
Moonrise, in a scene where there is no change from daylight to darkness, is often produced with a muslin drop and a “moon box.” The muslin drop is painted to represent the sky, the clouds being painted on strips of canvas cut in the required shape and sewn on. The moon is made with a box on one side of which a circular hole is cut. Over this hole is pasted a piece of white muslin. A couple of wires serve to draw the moon upward. Of course the white illuminated circle shows plainly through the muslin sky, but disappears when passing behind the canvas clouds. By having another piece of muslin painted red and imperceptibly fading to white, placed at the back of the drop in the moon’s path, the orb of night can be made to appear red at the horizon and gradually change to pale yellow as it sails slowly upward. Floating clouds are easily imitated by hanging in front of the sky drop a gauze drop upon which are sewn muslin or canvas clouds, and moving the whole slowly.
An ocean of heaving waters is made in this way: Each bounding wave is cut out separately. The first row is set up with a distance of three or four feet between each billow; and the second row is set so as to show in the openings left by the first. Small boys furnish the motive power. The waves are rocked back and forth, not from side to side; and the effect is very good. The noise of water rolling upon a beach is well imitated in a simple manner. A box of light wood is lined with tin. By putting two or three ounces of bird-shot into this and causing it to roll around, the desired sound is produced.
Fire scenes are sometimes dangerous; but with proper care they may be rendered comparatively safe. That they are not so hazardous as is generally supposed by the uninitiated beholder may be learned from the following description:—One of the most familiar fire scenes is that which occurs in the “Streets of New York,” in which a three-story house burns down, the roof caving in, the shutters falling, and the walls breaking with a wonderful appearance of realism. The house is painted on three separate pieces, the top one of which is swung from the flies; this constitutes the roof. Upon the second is painted half the wall, and it is joined to the bottom piece in an irregular zigzag line. The simple dropping in succession of these pieces to the stage produces the falling of roof and wall. The fire itself is represented by chemical red fire and powdered lycopodium used separately, the former to give a red glow and the latter to represent flames. The shutters, which are to fall, are fastened to the scene with a preparation called “quick watch.” This is made of powder, alcohol, and a lamp wick. The window frames and sashes are made of sheet iron, covered with oakum soaked in alcohol or naphtha. These sashes and frames are not fastened to the canvas scene at all, but are placed a short distance behind it on platforms. The quickest possible touch of flame ignites the oakum, and, in a moment, the fire runs round the sash, and nothing apparently is left but the blackened and charred wood. Steam is used to represent the smoke that issues from the crannies in the walls of the burning building; and an occasional crash, followed by the ignition of a little powder to produce a sudden puff of smoke, gives the spectator the idea of a falling rafter. Behind the entire scene is placed a very large endless towel, upon which is painted a mass of flames. This is kept in constant upward motion, and, when viewed through an open window in the house, gives a good idea of the supposed furnace raging within.
Selecting a Play.—The following excellent list of plays adapted for amateurs was published in theQueensome years since.
In 3 or More Acts.M.F.Remarks.Babes in the Wood74Don Cæsar de Bazan92Drama.Game of Speculation94Heir at Law103Jealous Wife125John Bull143Ladies’ Battle52Robertson’s translation.Love Chase107New Men and Old Acres115Palace of Truth65Plot and Passion72Drama.Pygmalion and Galatea54Rivals84Five acts.Society115Still Waters Run Deep93Can be acted in a drawing-room.
Most of the above are beyond the talent and stage resources of any but the strongest amateur companies.
In 2 Acts.M.F.Remarks.Bachelor of Arts82Good comedy.Charles XII.72Very good dress piece.Charles II.42Popular comedy and dress piece.Court Cards54Follies of a Night62House and the Home33Jacobite33Liar43Little Treasure53Very pathetic.My Heart’s Idol73Not a Bad Judge92Capital for amateurs.Our Wife72Good dress piece.Paul Pry72Secret Agent83The best dress piece for amateurs.Sweet Hearts22Time Tries All62Who Killed Cock Robin?22Wonderful Woman63Very popular.Woodcock’s Little Game43Capital light comedy.
In 1 Act.Area Belle32As Like as Two Peas32A little vulgar.A.S.S.32B.B.42Bamboozling63Betsy Baker22Birthplace of Podgers73Boots at the Swan44Very sparkling.Book the Third21FrenchProverbe.Box and Cox21Box and Cox Married33Brown and the Brahmins47Burlesque.Comical Countess31Conjugal Lesson11A little vulgar.Cool as a Cucumber32Cozy Couple22Creatures of Impulse43Burlesque.Cup of Tea41FrenchProverbe.Cut off with a Shilling21Day After the Wedding32Dead Shot52Deaf as a Post44Dearest Mama43Delicate Ground21Light comedy.Diamond Cut Diamond71Done on Both Sides32Acts well in a drawing-room.Double Bedded Room33Doubtful Victory32Dumb Belle32Eclipsing the Sun32Eton Boy32Faint Heart Never Won Fair Lady62Pretty dress piece.Fitz Smyth62Funny.Give a Dog a Bad Name22Grimshaw Bradshaw Bagshawe42Funny.Happy Pair11SparklingProverbe.He Lies Like Truth52Very funny.He’s a Lunatic32Very amusing.His Excellency42Household Fairy11Proverbe.Ici on Parle Français34Popular, but difficult.Irish Tutor42John Dobbs52Capital for amateurs.Lend me Five Shillings52Funny.Little Toddlekins38Almost the best farce for amateurs.Loan of a Lover42Love and Rain11PrettyProverbe.Love Laughs at Locksmiths66Mad as a Hatter52Morning Call11Proverbe.Mummy62My Heart’s Idol73My Preserver55Nice Firm82Nice Quiet Day53Night at Notting Hill32Funny.Nine Points of the Law43No. 1 round the Corner20Good two-character piece.Only a Halfpenny22Funny.Our Clerks84Pacha of Pimlico62Funny extravaganza.Perfection32Easy and pretty little piece.Phenomenon in a Smock Frock42Mathews’ piece.Pipkin’s Rustic Retreat53Poor Pillicoddy23Very funny.Pork Chops31Extravaganza.Quiet Family44Raising the Wind63Capital old farce.Regular Fix64Very good light comedy.Retained for the Defence51Difficult.Rifle, and How to Use it43Rough Diamond42Popular farce.School for Coquettes33Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing74Pretty drama.Slasher and Crasher52Slowtop’s Engagements22Light comedy.Spectre Bridegroom72One of the most telling of farces.Spitalfields Weaver41Telling.Taming a Tiger30Thumping Legacy71Very funny.To Oblige Benson32To Parents and Guardians173To Paris and Back for £597Funny, but a little vulgar.Too Much for Good Nature47Trying it On33Very good indeed for a drawing-room.Turkish Bath52Turn Him Out32Tweedleton’s Tail Coat42Twice Killed63Two Bonnycastles33Two Flats and a Sharp12Pretty comedy.Two in the Morning20Best farce for two males.Uncle’s Will21Very sparkling.Unwarrantable Intrusion20Under the Rose22Good.Vandyke Brown33Good farce.Whitebait at Greenwich32Popular, but difficult.Who Speaks First?32Your Life’s in Danger33
First catch your actors, then choose your play. In other words, fit your available square men into a square piece, and do not try and pare them down to the exigencies of a round one. As a rule dramatic talent and ambition is more common among the emotional than among the sterner sex. Women, too, adapt themselves more easily to any part. Also, their range of parts is narrower. It is easier to make people laugh than to cry, and they also prefer being amused to being harrowed. Of course low comedy is just as difficult as a higher line, but a feeble imitation passes muster better than in the serious parts. Englishmen are less averse to playing the fool in a fool’s part than risking an exhibition of deeper feeling. It is easy, therefore, to group your lesser lights round the central low comedy man, reflecting his genial glow, more or less, according to their several abilities, and to graft upon the whole a farce. A farce need not be vulgar. A farce, too, like charity, covers a multitude of sins in the way of dress, properties, or scenery. Almost any incongruity of the former is allowable, and any makeshift or hitch in the latter can be carried off by a ready wit. But supposing comic talent to be altogether absent in your company, you will probably find the “old man” element predominating. The younger, better looking, and more stalwart the individual the more convinced he will be that his strong point is the impersonation of old men. Yet old men’s parts are difficult. The very make up in anything but the broadest farce is a work of art in itself, and the gait, the tone of voice, the laugh, the down sitting, and the up-rising must never be lost sight of for a moment. Usually, too, the old man character is an adjunct rather than the central figure in a piece, and does not bear upon his shoulders the burden and heat of the day. Yet in skilful hands it is capable of unlimited expansion, and with weaker vessels can, at worst, but sink to the level of low comedy.
Of all the parts most difficult to fill that of the lover is the worst. Like good tenors, there are not enough stage lovers brought into the world. Englishmen are so shy, so afraid of making themselves ridiculous by exhibiting sentiment and emotion. They are not given to making love particularly prettily in real life, much less upon the boards. The result in amateur circles is generally a stick. All the same, the lover is an absolute necessity in most plays, and must be procured somehow or other.
A judicious weighing of the strong points of each member of your company, and a nice balancing of their weak ones, must decide you finally in the choice of the piece to be acted. Take into consideration which characters have much to do together, and whether the weaker one can be pulled through by the stronger. The performance is sure to hang fire if a pair of feeble knees have the stage all to themselves for long, making each other and the audience nervous. On the other hand, if your company is much of a muchness, choose a “level” piece in which the parts are fairly equally divided. If the opposite is the case, give your best actors the strong parts, and subordinate the others to them.
Make up your mind from the beginning that some one is sure to consider him or herself ill-suited and ill-used. Women are greater sinners in this respect than men—more vain, more jealous. But if a piece, however small, is to “go,” each one must subordinate his own importance and his own part to the general effect. The cleverer the actor the more he will make of the smallest part. Nevertheless, the fact remains that private theatricals are productive of more quarrelling and bad blood than any other known form of social amusement. For this reason a stage manager, pure and simple, is absolutely essential. His word must be law and his rule of iron. He must give an eye to the general effect; he must order the sitting down and the getting up, and the crossing, and especially see that there is plenty of the former. He must see that when several characters are on the stage together they group well, do not get behind each other, and balance on the stage. At full rehearsals he should see that, if it is not practicable to rehearse on the stage itself, they take place on a square as large as the stage, and with each piece of furniture and property in its right place; also that the correct exits and entries are adhered to. This prevents amateurs feeling strange when they come to a final dress rehearsal on the stage itself. Any special little scenes between two characters can be gone over and over again privately.
Finally, having got your ingredients together, do not aim too high. The more plot, the more action in a piece, the easier it is to act. Beware of plays which read well, are full of smart dialogue—they require very finished acting.
A “dressed” or costume piece, though more trouble to get up, is more attractive than one of modern time. But when feasible, evening dress refines a modern play very much. Powder must be carefully put on, or after much heat and action, the performer assumes merely a grizzled aspect. In a dressed piece do not neglect the smallest details, and take care the female and male characters are dressed in the same period. In an outdoor scene, avoid an open parasol or umbrella as you would poison. It shades the face unless very dexterously manipulated. Let ladies look well to their “chaussure,” and the length, and especially the hang of the short skirts. These ought to be round, nothing looks so bad as a dab behind, showing the lining from the front.
“Making up” is a very delicate matter in a room where the audience is so near. It is generally overdone. Rouge is usually put on too low, it ought never to come below the cheek bone. Many people do not need to pencil their eyebrows at all, and a mere dab of black on the lower lid is better than a continuous line. When this latter is used, however, it is becoming to continue it a very little beyond the junction of the two lids towards the temples. For a bucolic part of either sex, a nice fat rosy cheek can be made by adding a little cotton wool judiciously rouged. Remember an “old man” does not want his eyes blacked at all.
Now, to touch on a few faults of amateurs.
Firstly, there is a tendency to play too much to the front of the stage. Do not be afraid of the stage; use it all. Do not come on and stand front face to the audience, addressing your remarks to them instead of to the character with whom you are conversing. Turn well away for your asides, or they sound ridiculous, and give the other a similar chance of making his. Remember, it is no crime to take a turn up the stage, with your back to the audience, and say a sentence, with your head well thrown back over your shoulder.
A second most important point is not to run your sentences together. Divide them well, giving each its particular character and its full value. Pause between them. Each word tells, and is put there for a purpose. And here let me beseech the amateur prompter to have some mercy on his victims, and not to hound them on, if they stop a moment, as if their lives depended on their getting the words out.
This brings me to a vital point, that of playing slowly enough. Amateurs can hardly do “business” of any kind—such, for instance, as writing a letter—too slowly.
Do not be ashamed of over-acting; it is better than under-acting a part. Learn your cues with your part, and insist on getting them correctly. Amateurs cannot take too much trouble.
One word as to elocution. Find out the pitch of your voice which carries best, and which is at the same time the most natural and the least exertion to you. You cannot fail then to be heard, always providing you remember not to drop your voice at the end of a sentence, and not to clip the final consonants of words.
A few practical hints, to close, as to stage and scenery. Do not attempt to put a piece with much action and several characters on to a small stage. The result is simply ridiculous. The stagemustbe raised, but a foot or so is enough in any ordinary-sized drawing-room. If it is too high, the players’ heads appear too near the ceiling. If possible, keep the front row of audience at least five feet from the footlights. Take care these latter are not too strong, but have plenty of lamps fixed on the back of the front wings and over the curtain inside. For this reason wings, though more trouble to set up, are preferable to a box scene. They also obviate the necessity of practicable doors, which do not shut or open properly, and never look real. It looks better to cut off the corners of the stage at the back, or, at any rate, to make the side narrow towards the back. Any trouble devoted to details of furnishing and setting the stage is well repaid by the effect; but of course the size and quantity of furniture must be ruled by the size of the stage. In an evening room scene, take care the lamps or candles are in the centre of the stage. Outdoor scenes are very difficult to manage on a temporary stage. A back painted scene is necessary, and in a room painted scenes look so coarse.
Any carpenter can run up a temporary stage in a drawing room, from a slight sketch, in a day, without doing any damage to the walls. The curtain ought to be rehearsed as much as the play, till it goes up and down or pulls aside without a hitch. (E. E. C.)
Tricks and Illusions.—Much amusement may be derived from the practice of conjuring tricks and illusions, and such entertainments are not without an educational value, as they excite curiosity and develop a desire in young minds to acquire knowledge, and induce an exercise of the reasoning faculties in endeavouring to learn how they are performed.
Sleight of Hand.—The following notes on sleight of hand tricks are taken from a chapter inA Curious Company, by that entertaining writer, Max Adeler.
“Before beginning to explain themodus operandiof the impromptu illusionist, let me just tabulate eight golden rules, which you must always bear in mind if you hope for anything like success.
“1. Never look at your hands, unless to attract attention to one of them.
“2. Cultivate the art of chattering freely, with as much original wit as you can invent, or plagiarise without fear of detection.
“3. Never tell a lie that you cannot stick to, and illustrate if necessary. You can always ward off an explanation for a few instants whilst you remove the chances of discovery, and you will find as you get on that you can boldly do the most outrageously transparent thingscoram populo, without being found out or observed.
“4. Your hands must always worktogether, never be easy with one hand and constrained with the other; unless you can by no other means distract the attention of some horribly sharp person from one hand, when an awkward movement of the other will often divert his undesired watchfulness.
“5. Cultivate the art of scoring off rude people, who ask awkward questions. If any onethinkshe has discovered ‘the way it’s done’ (but not the right way),lethim think so, and swagger his astuteness, and his desire to slip through to New Zealand will be all the greater when you prove him wrong.Sæpe interereunt aliis meditantes necem.If you are really found out beyond recovery, don’t try to carry it off; throw yourself atonceon the generosity of the discoverer or discoverers, and ask him or her not to expose you; remember you are only an amateur, and not getting your living.
“6.Nevergo on an instant after you detect the least signs among the audience of ‘having had enough of it.’
“7. When doing anything quite harmless, make a greatunostentatiousparade of your innocence; your audience will be all the more ready to take you on trust when you are taking them in.
“8. Never perform a trick in public which you have not amply rehearsed in private.
“Your dress will of course, as a rule, be the ordinary evening dress, and unless you have a great reputation as a prestidigitateur, no alteration is required. However, a little pocket an inch deep, contrived in and hidden by the seam of the trousers just where the tips of the fingers fall when the hand is naturally lowered to the side is a great convenience for getting rid of small articles when palmed, or for producing them suddenly by the same means. Otherwise, the natural movement of getting at one’s handkerchief, &c., will answer the same purpose, if neatly and unostentatiously done. It is as well to turn up the coat-sleeves, for though they areneverused in legerdemain, it is impossible to disabuse people of the notion that they are.
“These maxims (which are, after all, the chief art to be acquired by the amateur conjuror) having been digested, let us turn to the considerations of the principles and practice of the science of legerdemain. These may be summed up thus: Every conjuring trick or illusion, not involving the use of a stage, apparatus, and accomplices, is performed in, and has for its foundation one of three proceedings; these are, (1) The Palm, (2) The Pass, (3) The Slip, and the motive power of the trio is the same, and is expressed in one word, viz. ‘cheek.’
“1.Palming, is the art of holding in one hand any article (coin, card, &c.) unknown and unseen by the spectators, or of retaining in one hand anything which, by the ‘pass’ has apparently left it.
“2.Passing, is the art of so palming any article that it isapparentlytransferred to some other receptacle, or altering the position of the cards in a pack unseen by the audience.
“3.Slipping, is the art of moving, altering the position of, or getting possession of anysinglecard without being detected, and,
“4.Cheekis—[3].
“Coin Sleights.—Palming.—1. Place a penny or florin across the middle joints of the second and third fingers of either hand, as ata, Fig. 99, reproduced from illustrations by Miss Dora Noyes; on slightly bending the hand in an easy and natural manner, the coin will be clipped, as atb, by the fleshy part of the other two joints, and the hand may be turned over, and in fact placed in any position, so long as the backof the hand is presented to the audience. This is a useful palm on an emergency, as when people suspect that the coin is in the palm of the hand it may be shown empty, the top joints of the fingers hiding the coin thus held.