Newspaper Reporting and Correspondence / A Manual for Reporters, Correspondents, and Students of Newspaper Writing

by Grant Milnor Hyde

The first requisite in dramatic criticism is a background of knowledge of the drama and the stage. To children, and to some grown people, too, the stage is a little dream world of absolute realities. Their imaginations turn the picture that is placed before them into real, throbbing life. They do not see the unreality of the art, the suggestive effects, the flimsy delusions; to them the play is real life, the stage is a real drawing room or a real wood, and they cannot conceive of the actors existing outside their parts. But the critic must look deeper; he must understand the machinery that produces the effects and he must weigh the success of the effects. He must get behind the play and see the actors outside the cast and the stage without its scenery; the dramatic art must be to him a highly technical profession. For this reason, he must know something about dramatic technique; he must have some background of knowledge. He must study the theater from every point of view, from an orchestra seat, from behind the scenes, from a peekhole in the playwright's study, and from the pages of stage history. All the tricks and effects must be evident to him. The only thing that will teach him this is constant, intelligent theater-going. He must be familiar with all of the plays of the season and with all of the prominent plays of all seasons. A child cannot criticize the first play that he sees because he has nothing with which to compare it. In the same way a reporter cannot justly judge any kind of play until he has seen another of the same kind with which to compare it. Hence he must know many plays and must know something about the history of the theater. Dramatic criticism is relative and the critic must have a basis for his comparison.

This background of knowledge may seem a difficult thing to acquire. It is; and it can best be acquired by watching many plays with an eye for the technique of the art. The critic may judge a play from its effect upon him, but his judgment will be superficial. He must try to see what the playwright is trying to do, how well he succeeds, what tricks he employs. He must judge the work of the stage carpenter and of the costumer. He must try to realize what problem the leading lady has to face and how well she solves it. The same carefulness of judgment must be given to each member of the cast. Only when the critic is able to see past the footlights and to understand the technique of the art, can he judge intelligently. And as his judgment can be at best only relative, he must have a background of many plays and much stage knowledge upon which to base his estimate of any one production.

The ideal criticism, based upon this background of knowledge, would be absolutely fair and unprejudiced. But unfortunately this ideal cannot always be followed. Much dramatic criticism is colored by the policy of the paper that prints it. Very few critics are so fortunate as to be able to say exactly what they think about a play; they must say what the editor wants them to say. Some theatrical copy, especially write-ups of vaudeville shows, is paid for and must contain nothing but praise. Sometimes it is necessary to praise the poorest production simply because the paper is receiving so much a column for the praise. In many other cases, when the copy is not paid for, the editor often considers it only fair to give the production a little puff in return for the free press tickets. And so a large share of any reporter's dramatic criticism is reduced to selecting things that he can praise. Yet, one cannot praise in a way that is too evident; he cannot simply say "The play was good; the staging was good; the acting was good; in fact, everything was good." He must praise more cleverly and give his copy the appearance of honest criticism. Perhaps the principle is wrong, but nevertheless it exists and happy is the dramatic critic whose paper allows him to say exactly what he thinks. However, whether one may say what he thinks or must say what his editor wants him to say, he must have as his background a thorough knowledge of the stage upon which he may base a comparison or a contrast and with which he may make intelligent statements. The following illustrates what may be done with a paid report of a mediocre vaudeville show in which every act must be praised—the report was written on Monday of a week's run and is intended to induce people to see the show:

This week's bill at —— Vaudeville Theatre is dashed onto the boards by a very exciting act, "The Flying Martins," whose thrilling tricks put the audience in a proper state of mind for the sparkling and laughable program that follows—a state of mind that keeps its high pitch without a break or let-down to the very end of Dr. Herman's side-splitting electrical pranks. This man, who has truly "tamed electricity," does many remarkable things with his big coils and high voltage currents and plays many extremely funny tricks upon his row of "unsuspecting-handsome" young volunteers.

The musical little playlet, "The Barn Dance," is very jokingly carried off by its Jack-of-all-Trades, "Zeke," the constable, and its pretty little ensemble song, "I'll Build a Nest for You." Many a young husband can get pointers on "home rule" from "Baseballitis;" it is a mighty good presentation of the "My Hero" theme in actual life. Hilda Hawthorne gives us some high-class ventriloquism with a good puppet song that is truly wonderful. There's a lot of good music, very good music in the sketch executed by "The Three Vagrants," as well as a lot of fun; one can hardly realize what an amount of melody an old accordion contains. Audrey Pringle and George Whiting have a hit that is sparkling with quick changes from Irish love songs to bull frog croaking with Italian variations.

For the purpose of a more complete study of the subject, however, we shall consider only dramatic criticism that is not restricted by editorial dictum or by the requirements of paid-space. That is, we shall imagine that we can praise or condemn or say anything we please concerning the dramatic production which we are to report. When we look at the subject in this way there are some positive things that may be said about theatrical reporting, but there are many more negative rules, that may be reduced to mere "Don'ts." The same principles hold good in dramatic criticism that is hampered by policy, but to a less degree.

In the first place, the one thing that a dramatic reporter must have when he begins to write his copy after the performance is some positive idea about the play, some definite criticism, upon which to base his whole report. It is impossible to write a coherent report from chance jottings and to confine the report to saying "This was good; that was bad, the other was mediocre." The critic must have a positive central idea upon which to hang his criticism. This central idea plays the same part in his report as the feature in a news story—it is the feature of his report which he brings into the first sentence, to which he attaches every item, and with which he ends his report. To secure this idea, the reporter must watch the play closely with the purpose of crystallizing his judgment in a single conception, thought, or impression. Sometimes this impression comes as an inspiration, sometimes it is the result of hard thought during or after the play. It may be concerned with the theme of the play, the playwright's work, the lines, the staging, the effects, the tricks, the acting as a whole, the acting of single persons, the music, the dancing, the costumes—anything connected with the production—but the idea must be big enough to carry the entire report and to be the gist of what the critic has to say about the play. It must be his complete, concise opinion of the performance.

When, as the critic watches the play, some idea comes to him for his report he should jot it down. As the play progresses he should develop this idea and watch for details that carry it out. There is no reason to be ashamed of taking notes in the theater and the notes will prove very useful at the office afterward. Perhaps after the play is over the critic finds that his jottings contain another idea that is of greater importance than the first; then he may incorporate the second into the first or discard the first altogether. Even after one has crystallized his judgment into a concise opinion he must elaborate and illustrate it and the program of the play is always of value in enabling one to refer definitely to the individual actors, characters, and other persons, by name. But, however complete the final judgment and the notes may be, it is always well to write the report immediately. When one leaves the theater his mind is teeming with things to say about the play, thousands of them, but after a night's sleep it is doubtful if a single full-grown idea will remain and the jottings will be absolutely lifeless and unsuggestive.

This is the positive instruction that may be given to young dramatic critics. It is so important and is unknown to so many young theatrical reporters, that it may be well to sum it up again. A dramatic criticism must be coherent; it must be unified. It must be the embodiment of a single idea about the play and every detail in the report must be attached to that idea. It is not sufficient to state the idea in a clever way; it must be expanded and elaborated with examples and reasons and must show careful thought. It is well to outline the report before it is written and to arrange a logical sequence of thought so that the result may be well-rounded and coherent.

The following is an example of a dramatic criticism in which this course is followed. It neither praises nor condemns but it points out gently wherein the play is strong or weak—and every sentence is attached to one central idea: