A Back-Cloth
The construction of home-made theatrical effects may be closed with brief hints regarding the much-needed and ever-useful back-cloth, which plays a part in most exterior scenes, such as park lands, gardens, &c. It consists of several lengths of calico joined together to form a square of the size required. This is then fixed on a large wooden roller with a similar roller at the bottom to weight it, and prepared with a coating of size and whiting.
A friend of unquestionable artistic ability should be asked to paint in a view or other scenery.
In scene-painting bear in mind that only the brightest and most vivid colors are to be used. The colors are made from powder mixed with size, and must be applied with broad touches for distant effects. The back-cloth can be fixed according to the means available.
For the proscenium, three pieces of wood to suit breadth and size of stage must be requisitioned, the portion destined for the top being gently sloped from an arch or apex in direct line with the center of the curtain, and covered with some tastefully-colored paper which gives the appearance of heavy satin panels.
A sewing bee should be formed among the ladies interested in the company, and she who has sufficient prowess with her scissors should be chosen to cut the garments and superintend the needlework of her friends. This will prove a profitable way of spending the long winter afternoons.
Imitation hair wigs, beards, &c., may be procured at various prices.
The best plan to adopt in finding a play suited to the limitations of material of an embryo company is to spend a small sum on some “Guide to Selecting Plays.” In these pages will be found abundant suggestions and explanations of specimens, dealing from the simplest one-act, thirty minutes’ production to the five-act, three hours’ drama. The outline of each plot is given, and a summary of the dramatis personæ required.
Miss Keating’s “Plot of Potzentausend,” for example, is an excellent one-act play, in which only male characters are required. Interest in the fair sex is, however, cleverly maintained, for the four swains have each a lass to occupy their affections.
The costumes, a description of which is given on the front page, are of the time of Louis XIV., and the scene is a small frontier village in Germany. This is an admirable, amusing, and not too ambitious performance for boys home for the holidays.
Grindstone is a miller of a sour and unfriendly disposition. He is secretly involved in small political intrigues, and, in order to meet the Chevalier d’Espion without the knowledge of the villagers, refuses to allow the lads and lasses their usual yearly privilege of dancing in his barn, to which they naturally take exception. Grindstone’s personality and physical appearance are as gray, grim, and cold as the substance after which he is named. He is tight of lip, thin of figure, and possessed of a countenance which expresses a miserly cunning, dislike of frivolities, and hypocritical semblance of virtue. Although vastly respected, he is not overwhelmed with the affections of his fellow-men, and is termed, even by his servant Sacks, to be something of a rogue.
Sacks, his man, is a thick-set hunchback, with a round, jolly face and optimistic temperament, which presents a strong contrast to his master’s saturnine character.
Max, a young sergeant, of smart demeanor, is weighted by a sense of his own importance, insipid of face, and overbearingly superior in manners.
Louis, a lawyer’s clerk, pale and meek, rat-faced and rather wily, grasping in disposition, and something of a flirt.
Fritz, a young peasant, whose sentences generally terminate with “as a body may say,” shows a priggish and cautious attitude to preserve his own skin at any cost. His expression is a delightful mixture of rustic placidity and guileless cunning.
The Chevalier d’Espion, a smart, condescending person of uncertain age and carefully preserved complexion; his gold lace and feathers lend him as irreproachable an aloofness and pride as the peacock demonstrates towards the jackdaw.
Plan of Room in Grindstone’s House
The table should be covered with a cloth sufficiently long to touch the ground on all sides. The rear of the high-backed chair and window-curtain are to be used as hiding-places, and must be practicable for the purpose. Small chairs and an old stool are also required. Except for a small lighted lamp which Sacks, the first to enter, places on the table, the stage is in darkness.
This play takes thirty-five minutes. The plot is built on the misunderstanding that arises between the four swains—who have unconsciously chosen the same place and hour to meet their ladies—and the Chevalier d’Espion, who, expecting to find a quartette of fellow-conspirators, mistakes them for such in disguise. Soldiers appear to arrest the Chevalier, who manages to escape. Sacks proves the identity of the rest, and so all ends happily.
The dialogue must be brisk and the action kept interesting. Acted in the right spirit, it cannot fail to produce roars of merriment. It has a further advantage of not being too great a strain on the memorizing powers of those who have never previously essayed to learn prose by heart.
A reliable prompter, concealed from the audience, should be close at hand. His business is to follow the dialogue intently, giving aid when necessary in a clear, low voice. Words should never be whispered, nor too loudly spoken. A happy medium is acquired by experience.
The make-up required by the characters is as follows:—
Sacks (florid flesh tint), grease paint (red) No. 21⁄2; a slight cobweb of good-natured wrinkles and crowsfeet, such as would be caused by laughter. Red, black, or gray wig, according to taste.
Grindstone (sallow flesh tint), chrome grease paint; peevish and discontented lines about the mouth, furrowed forehead, peruke slightly gray, nose paste to enlarge nose, sparse ruffled eyebrows.
Louis (sallow flesh tint), chrome grease paint; peruke any color fancied, premature wrinkles, small white. A few front teeth in upper gum stopped out with small noir.
Max sunburnt. Fritz ruddy. The Chevalier d’Espion bronzed. Officer and guard, 21⁄2 medium flesh.
Another fascinating play for boys is “The Poor Relation,” also written by Miss Keating, and included with “The Plot of Potzentausend” in “A Series of Original Comedies.”
Grease paints should be composed of pure chemical fat and colors free from lead, otherwise they will make havoc with sensitive skins.
Artificial complexions should never be scrubbed from the face by means of soap and water.
Cocoa butter gently applied on the corner of a soft dry towel will rapidly erase every mark, and is an excellent tonic for the skin.
Grease paints, rouge powder, cocoa butter, spirit gum, sponge-towel, puff, crêpe hair, hare’s foot, patches, tongs, hairpins, joining paste, brush and comb, lip salve, liquid blanc de perle, scissors, mirror, mustache, vanquisher, needles, cotton, soap, sponge, &c., can be purchased in compact make-up cases at prices from $15.00 down to $2.50.
Amateurs are sometimes prone to stiffness and artificiality of gesture and exaggeration of expression, also to too much or too little movement. A perfectly natural manner can only be gained by throwing oneself whole-heartedly into the play, and uniting oneself with the other dramatis personæ. Acting editions of both playlets mentioned above may be obtained of Messrs. Samuel French, of 28 West 38th St., New York.
Each actor has, as it were, his little orbit of movement, but this should not be circumscribed in a conventional, studied manner. Ease and self-control should cover all mastered technique in voice, attitude, and gesture. Words should be clearly delivered, and pronounced without any pedantic phrasing or forced utterance; and this will only be achieved by constant and careful rehearsing. The personality of each character must be distinct and individual.
When an amateur company is formed, each member should pay a fee in proportion to the strength of the casts and the drama they hope to produce. The stage-manager’s choice of characters should stand inviolable, providing, of course, he presents sufficient discretion and insight to distinguish between the different trends of talent possessed by his players.
In almost every company there are a few players who are inclined to fancy that they can do justice to a rôle given to some one else, rather than to the one they are studying. This is a form of very human discontent which Quince, the stage-manager of the players in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” had to battle against.
Flute bemoaned his fate, and excused himself from playing the woman’s part, on the plea, “I have a beard coming.”
Bottom was torn between a desire to undertake Thisby and the lion. “I will roar that I will make the duke say, ‘Let him roar again, let him roar again.’ ... I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove.”
As adamantine as the sagacious Quince against these eloquent appeals must be the modern stage-manager when the would-be tragedian importunes him to play the heavy rôle, or the individual who believes himself endowed with hidden genius, to portray the part of light comedian.
Thus only is success achieved.