How To Produce Amateur Plays Part 6

When an impression of vast numbers of people is desired--as in "Julius Caesar"--large numbers of "supes" are not needed. Eight or ten or twelve people, well managed, are sufficient to create an effect of this sort on a small stage, and perhaps twenty on a large. The basic principle of the art of the theater is suggestion, not reproduction.

In the "forum scene" of Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar" there are practically no stage directions. The management of the mob, therefore, is left entirely to the director. When the Third Citizen says: "The n.o.ble Brutus is ascended. Silence!" we are of course given to understand--by the word "Silence!"--that there has been some noise and confusion. The text affords the most important indications.

Plot out, for practice, the position of the various members of the mob throughout this scene.

As a rule, the best impression of a crowd is made by ma.s.sing and manipulating groups of from three to six individuals. If movement is demanded, it must be precise and measured out carefully during rehearsals. Therefore, since it is nearly always impossible to get trained actors to compose mobs, it is well to intersperse two or three "leaders" in any crowd, who will give the cue for concerted action.

The foregoing discussion, both in the present and preceding chapter, has been made largely from the director's and the stage manager's viewpoint.

Let us now go back to the actor, and suggest a few methods which will help him.

An easy and vivid way of remembering "business" at first is to make a very simple diagram, thus:

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Supposing A, who stands down-stage before the sofa, crosses up-stage to the small table, as he says: "I'll not stand it any longer!" Just after this line, the actor places a mark referring him to the margin of his "script", and makes another diagram:

[Ill.u.s.tration]

This represents A crossing to up-stage, left of the small table. In this way, when the actor is studying his lines, he cannot help studying the "business", and vice versa; and since lines and "business" almost always go hand in hand, he will run no danger of having first learned the one without the other.

Considerable confusion is likely to arise when an overzealous director insists that his actors be "letter perfect" before the "business" is well formulated and worked out and thoroughly learned.

In the first chapter on Rehearsing, the blocking-out process was discussed, but the order in which each act was to be rehea.r.s.ed, the time to be spent on it, etc.--these matters were deferred, and will now be taken up.

At the next rehearsal--that is, after the blocking-out of the first act--the second is treated in the same way. And after the last act has been blocked out, the first should be rehea.r.s.ed with greater care.

Details of "business", grouping, the delivery of lines--especially the correction of errors in interpretation--must be carefully considered.

Probably some of the "business" blocked out in the first rehearsal will have to be changed, or at least amplified. Entrances and exits must be repeatedly rehea.r.s.ed until they go smoothly. The crossings and recrossing of one, two, or more characters, can scarcely be rehea.r.s.ed too often.

Let us take a few examples of this sort of detail work. A man comes home late, tired and hungry. Outside the sitting room through an open door, is seen the hatrack. How can this simple incident be made to appear true and interesting? Here is at least one manner of accomplis.h.i.+ng it: a door is heard closing off-stage; footsteps resound in the hall. A, the man, appears, wearing a hat, overcoat, and gloves, at the Center door, looks into the room to see whether any one is present, seems surprised, utters a short exclamation, and then turns to the hatrack. His back to the audience, he takes off his hat, hangs it carelessly on a hook, then slowly draws off his gloves, allows his coat to fall from his shoulders, looks at himself in the gla.s.s for an instant, and then, with a sigh, comes into the room again.

The incident, of course, is capable of a hundred variations, depending upon the character of the man, the circ.u.mstances under which he comes home, and so forth.

Or, a little more complicated instance: A, B, and C, three men, are seated, talking after dinner. They are stationed as follows:

[Ill.u.s.tration]

A sits on the arm of the davenport, B on the davenport itself, and C in a chair at the lower right-hand side of the table.

Notice first that the davenport is not placed at right angles to the audience; this is done so that two people, sitting side by side, may be better seen by the "house." Notice, too, that A is at the extreme left-hand corner of the davenport. Visualize this for an instant: here is proportion, line, and balance, but without the appearance of stiffness or symmetry, which should always be avoided. B rises and stands before the fireplace: again notice the grouping:

[Ill.u.s.tration]

A then rises and goes to the center of the stage, standing near the left of the table:

[Ill.u.s.tration]

This simple moving about the room should never be obtrusive; that is to say, the audience must never be conscious of the director's hand. First, every bit of "business", every move, every gesture, must be justified, otherwise it calls attention to itself. This is a distinct problem with amateurs, who naturally find it difficult not to move about when they have nothing else to do. They feel self-conscious unless they are "acting." The best rule for any amateur--although it is again the director who is responsible and should look after this--is, never to do anything unless he knows precisely why he does it, and unless he _feels_ it.

One further example: imagine a five-minute conversation, in the text of which there are no stage directions. It is between two women: D and E.

They are seated, one in an arm-chair by the fire, the other in an ordinary chair to the right of a library table:

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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 a.s.sume 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 wis.h.i.+ng 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 rehea.r.s.ed, 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 rehea.r.s.ed in like manner. Each act, after it is finished in this way, must be rehea.r.s.ed 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 rehea.r.s.e 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 ma.s.sed 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 att.i.tude 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 rehea.r.s.ed 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, nave, unprofessional tone to the part he is impersonating, but this can only be done by constant rehearsing.

The director usually finds that the amateur's first instinct is to imitate the tricks of the professional actor, and not allow himself to _feel_ the character of the role. The professional quickly a.s.similates 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 cla.s.sics, 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, pa.s.sions, 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, att.i.tudes, and tricks, but they should not be permitted--except in rare cases--to lay much stress on the acting. This also applies to such purely conventional matters as kissing, dying, fighting, etc., for which a set of recognized technical tricks has been evolved. Any competent director can train actors to do this.

One more point before this part of rehearsing is dispensed with: amateur productions suffer largely from a lack of continuous tension and variety. Often the action is slow, jerky, and consequently tedious.

Constant rehearsing, with a view to inspiring greater confidence and sureness in the actors, under a good director, is the best means to overcome these great drawbacks. The last eight or ten rehearsals, after the cast are familiar with their lines and "business", are the most important in the matter of tempo. Details of shading, well-developed and modulated action, and a well-defined climax, are what must be worked for. When the actors are no longer thinking of when they must cross or sit down or rise, they are ready to enter whole-heartedly into the spirit of the play as an artistic unit.

As an example, on a small scale, of how a scene may be modulated and shaded, two pages from Meilhac and Halevy's "Indian Summer" (published by Samuel French) are here reprinted with marginal notes explaining how these effects are obtained.

{ADR. Just a moment ago I forgot that such a thing {was out of the question-- _Slowly_ { _and_ {BRI. Why out of the question--?

_quietly._ { {ADR. Why, because--

{BRI. Because what? How much did that American _Slight increase_ {family pay you? I'll give you twice as much--three _of_ {times as much. Whatever you want!

_speed and_ { _tension._ {ADR. Only to read to you?

{ {BRI. Why, yes.

{ADR. That wouldn't be so bad--there's just one {thing against it--it might be just a wee bit {compromising!

{ _Slowly_ {BRI. Oh!

_rising_ { _tension_ {ADR. Really, don't you think so? Just a bit?

_and speed._ { {BRI. At my age?

{ {ADR. (_gaily_). Oh, it's all very well--a young {person like me--alone with you. (_Seriously._) Oh, {if you only didn't live alone--!

{ _Staccato._ {BRI. If I--? If I weren't alone?

{ADR. If you only had some relatives--married {relatives--your nephew, for instance, with his {wife--then I might--

{BRI. Once more, don't speak to me of--! He's the {one that brought all this trouble on us--that {letter that forces you to--that letter came from _Emphasis._ {him. (ADRIENNE _makes a quick movement of {protest_.) 'Tisn't his fault, I know, but I hold {a grudge against him as if it were--

_Momentary_ {ADR. And yet, if I told you-- _pause._ { {BRI. (_stopping her_). Shh! If you please.

{(_Pause._)

{ADR. (_moved_). Then I must go. That was the only _Diminuendo._ {way; and you don't want to do that. I'm sure I _Tense,_ {don't know what will happen afterward. I still _but quiet._ {hope--But for the moment, I must (_Mild access of {crying_). Oh I'm sorry--so sorry--(_Falls into {chair at side of table_).

{BRI. (_excitedly_). Adrienne!