A cross-section model of the Munich Art Theatre, showing clearly the arrangement of boxes, auditorium, exits, stage, hidden orchestra pit, double proscenium, etc.
A part of the auditorium of the Munich Art Theatre as seen from the stage. This is interesting chiefly as illustrating the arrangement of the boxes at the back, and the unbroken tiers of seats with side exits.
CHAPTER III.
PROVISION FOR BACK-STAGE WORKERS
I have noted in an earlier chapter that the architecture of the theatre is always governed by the function of the drama performed in it. The use to which the stage is put determines always the shape and style of the auditorium. There is no doubt that some great change is soon to overtake the theatre; the drama will assume a new form, demanding a new mode of presentation, and so a new theatre. Presently I shall discuss what forms this new theatre may assume, but for the moment it is enough to observe that it will be marked by a closer bond, one way or another, between the audience and the players, between the audience and the play.
For a long while, the theatre has shrouded itself in a sort of pseudo-mystery. “Back-stage” has had the lure for the layman of a hat from which rabbits are drawn by a conjurer. Of course, under inspection, such a hat is found to be as empty as any other, bearing even, in most cases, the mark of a respectable maker. And the inspection deepens the mystery. The stage has shunned this sort of scrutiny, because our drama of to-day and our theatre live mostly by “effects”. And if the effect is stripped of wonder, the theatre is almost as good as dead. What a sign of weakness this is! If the snowstorm is seen to be bits of paper shaken out of a bag, and if it is found that the imitation wind is produced by the scraping of paddles on canvas, the public will lose interest in the theatre.
And the people of the stage! How hungrily necks are craned for a glimpse of the popular actor or of the beautiful actress, should one pass in a hotel or on the street. They inhabit that mysterious, unexplored back-stage. And a clever manager will encourage this sort of curiosity by advising his people not to show themselves in the street, except unavoidably. The matter of seeing the actors close may be dismissed with a quip,—they might be found respectable upon acquaintance, or, more likely, dull. But the truth about the back of the theatre is the truth about the conjurer’s hat,—there’s nothing there to see, except the pitiful little bag of tricks, the snowstorm and the wind. There is not even the maker’s label. But this emptiness is not all, for as with the hat, it’s quite engrossing while the rabbits are there. The worst of it is that it is so poor, so mean often, so dirty, so cramped and littered, to the last, dark cranny, that we wonder how the actor-rabbits endure it all and keep their fur so white.
A rudimentary shame on the part of the managers, and a very human pride on the part of the actors, have helped to keep these matters from the theatregoer. Out front, there is warmth, light, comfort, elegance. The spectator is lulled into forgetfulness of work, and the play casts its spell over him. But a glimpse of the wretched barrenness of the dressing-room or shop would make short work of his peace of mind, just as a knowledge of the tricks sheers them of illusion.
These things are becoming known, because the bond between the spectator and the theatre-worker is already being formed. When it is full grown, such facts will not be discovered; they will no longer exist. For two movements that are bound to affect the theatre of the future are bringing the lay public clambering over the footlights and crowding in at the stage door. One, the Little Theatre Movement, is almost altogether a lay insurgency. In scores of communities, it has made its way; tradesmen, students, clerks, mechanics, people of leisure and working people with a little leisure, have come together and in a short time have plumbed the silly little mysteries of back-stage, and have brought into their theatres a little bit of the real Mystery of life and art that belongs there. And the more extensive, democratic Community Drama movement is making play-actors and theatre-workers of thousands who have heretofore been auditors. There will always be a professional group of artists of the theatre, but in their theatres there will be a close understanding and perhaps a physical connection between the audience and the stage; in the great, popular theatre it is conceivable that there will be very little distinction between the auditorium and the stage. It may be that they will be interchangeable or be one and the same. Then, it is certain that the conditions of comfort and convenience that apply to the one shall apply fully to the other, that the actor shall be as well cared for in the theatre as the public.