Bottoms Up: An Application of the Slapstick to Satire

Chapter II: Foreword: A season or so ago, Mr. Cyril Maude and Miss Laurette

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Taylor attracted considerable attention in a one-word play--a play in one act, each line of whose dialogue consisted of a single word. In order to meet the insistent public demand for constantly increased novelty, I submit herewith what is probably the dernier cri in dramatic literature--a play in one letter._

CHARACTERS

ZACHERY EBBSMITH: The usual problem play husband. FELICIA EBBSMITH: The usual problem play wife. ROBERT CHARTERIS: The usual problem play lover. JENKINS: The usual problem play butler.

SCENE: The drawing-room of Ebbsmith’s house. Any old set will do, provided only there is a portière-hung entrance at R. 2, in which the husband may make his unexpected appearance.

TIME: An evening in May.

PLACE: New York.

_When the curtain rises, Mrs. Ebbsmith (a brunette with an uncanny likeness to Mrs. Patrick Campbell), is discovered in Charteris’ arms._

MRS. E.

(_in passionate ecstasy_)

CHARTERIS

(_ditto_)

(_Zachery Ebbsmith duly appears in doorway at R. 2. The lovers cannot see him as their backs are turned_)

MRS. E.

(_still in passionate ecstasy_)

CHARTERIS

(_ditto_)

(_Mrs. Ebbsmith frees herself reluctantly from Charteris’ embrace. She turns and catches sight of Ebbsmith_)

MRS. E.

(_cowering before her husband’s steady gaze_)

EBBSMITH

(_quietly_)

CHARTERIS

(under his breath)

MRS. E.

(_sinking to her knees before Ebbsmith, seizing his hands in supplication, and looking at him appealingly_)

“Z”!

EBBSMITH

(_angrily withdrawing his hand_)

U----

MRS. E.

(_in tears, interrupting_)

EBBSMITH

(_violently; between his teeth_)

A----

MRS. E.

(_in tears, again cutting in_)

EBBSMITH

(_with a laugh_)

CHARTERIS

(_in great surprise_)

EBBSMITH

(_repeating, nodding his head_)

J!!

CHARTERIS

(_in wonder_)

MRS. E.

(_ditto_)

EBBSMITH

(_with a grim smile, displaying a bundle of letters_)

(_Mrs. E. and Charteris look at each other in alarm, realising now what Ebbsmith’s ironic twitting means_)

MRS. E.

CHARTERIS

H----!

EBBSMITH

(_waving the letters tauntingly under his wife’s eyes_)

(_Mrs. E. endeavours to speak. She tries to summon courage to ask Ebbsmith how and where he got the carelessly-guarded, incriminating letters, but her lips are muffled through fear. Ebbsmith waits patiently, sneeringly. Then, seeing his wife’s hopeless struggle to phrase the question----_)

EBBSMITH

(_quietly taking a five dollar bill from his wallet, and holding it aloft, with a significant smile_)

A----.

CHARTERIS

(_puzzled_)

EBBSMITH

(_nodding toward entrance at R. 2_)

MRS. E.

(_beginning to comprehend_)

(_she rushes to bell. She presses it in order to summon the bribed Jenkins and lodge her accusations against him for his deceit. There is a pause. Enter Jenkins. Mrs. Ebbsmith makes to speak. Ebbsmith interrupts her._)

EBBSMITH

(_to Jenkins, quietly_)

(_Jenkins nods and exits. There is another pause. Charteris attempts to conceal his nervousness by puffing nonchalantly at a cigarette. Jenkins enters with the tea. Ebbsmith motions his wife and Charteris to take their seats at the small table. Puzzled, they obey. Jenkins pours and exits._)

EBBSMITH

(_taking from his pocket two railroad tickets, one of which he hands Charteris_)

CHARTERIS

(_perplexed_)

EBBSMITH

(_nodding firmly_)

(_Ebbsmith now hands the other ticket to his wife_)

EBBSMITH

(_as he gives it into her puzzled hands; in same tone as before_)

MRS. E.

(_in a tone of nervous bewilderment_)

EBBSMITH

(_nodding firmly_)

(_Mrs. E. and Charteris look at each other. Their expressions suggest anything but a feeling of personal comfort. They look at each other’s tickets_)

MRS. E.

(_reading name of road on top of ticket_)

“B----.”

(_her eyes, still dimmed by tears, prevent her from seeing the rest. She starts to mumble the “and” which follows the_ “_B_”)

“n----.”

(_but gets no further, and breaks down crying_)

CHARTERIS

(_finishing the name of the road_)

“O.”

(_Charteris and Ebbsmith look at each other fixedly across the tea-table_)

CHARTERIS

(_deliberately_)

U----.

(_Ebbsmith lifts his eyebrows_)

CHARTERIS

(_hotly_)

B----.

(_Ebbsmith lifts his eyebrows_)

CHARTERIS

(_choking back the “damned,” and, flinging down his hand in disgust at the whole business_)

’L!

EBBSMITH

(_rising, going to door and holding aside the portières, significantly_)

MRS. E.

(_sobbing out her reawakened old love for Zachery_)

“Z”!

EBBSMITH

(_insisting; in even tone_)

MRS. E.

(_sobbing wildly_)

“Z”!!

EBBSMITH

(_with absolute finality_)

Q!!

(_Charteris throws a wrap around Mrs. Ebbsmith’s shoulders and starts to lead her from the room. At the doorway, with a cry of anguish, Mrs. Ebbsmith breaks from Charteris’ arm and throws herself into the arms of her husband. A smile spreads over the latter’s features as he realises the complete effectiveness of the cure he has practised upon his wife, of the stratagem by which he has won her away from Charteris forever, of the trickery by which he has shown Charteris up to her for the insincere philanderer he is, of the device of pretending to concur in her and Charteris’ plan to elope. He clasps her close to him and presses a kiss on her brow. Charteris takes up his hat, gloves, and stick from the piano, and tip-toes from the room as there falls the_

CURTAIN

PROMENADES WITH PANTALOON

Broadway playwright--one who possesses the ability to compress the most interesting episodes in several characters’ lifetimes into two uninteresting hours.

The art of emotional acting, on Broadway, consists in expressing (1) _doubt_ or _puzzlement_, by scratching the head; (2) _surprise_, by taking a sudden step backwards; (3) _grief_, by turning the back to audience and bowing head; (4) _determination_ (if standing), by thrusting handkerchief back into breast pocket, brushing hair back from fore-head with a quick sweep of hand and buttoning lower button of sack coat; (5) _determination_ (if seated), by looking fixedly at audience for a moment and then suddenly standing up; (6) _despair_, by rumpling hair, sinking upon sofa, reaching over to table, pouring out stiff drink of whiskey and swallowing it at one gulp; (7) _impatience_, by walking quickly up stage, then down, taking cigarette from case, lighting it and throwing it immediately into grate, walking back up stage again and then down; (8) _relief_, by taking deep breath, exhaling quickly and mopping off face with handkerchief; and (9) _fear_, by having smeared face with talcum powder!

III

The leading elements in the Broadway humour, in the order of their popularity: (1) speculation as to how the Venus de Milo lost her arms, and (2) what she was doing with them when she lost them.

Broadway actors may in the main be divided into two groups; those who pronounce it burgular and those whom one cannot hear anyway back of the second row.

_The Syllogism of the Broadway Drama_

1. Someone loves someone.

2. Someone interposes.

3. Someone is outwitted, someone marries someone, and someone gets two dollars.

Such critics as contend that literature is one thing and drama another, are apparently of the notion that literature is something that consists mainly of long words and allusions to Châteaubriand, and drama something that consists mainly of monosyllables and allusions to William J. Burns.

VII

The test supreme of all acting is the coincidental presence upon the stage of a less competent actress who is twice as good-looking.

VIII

A Thumb-nail Critique--The plays which, in the last two decades, have in the United States made the most money: “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” “Way Down East,” “The Old Homestead,” “Ben Hur,” and “Peg o’ My Heart.” The plays which, in the last two decades, have, in the United States, made the least money: “The Thunderbolt,” “Strife,” “The Three Daughters of M. Dupont,” “The Incubus,” and “General John Regan.”

The unities of the Belasco drama: Time, place and (legal) action.

Constructive critic: One who builds up the newspaper’s theatrical advertising revenue.

The producers of our two-dollar music shows are rapidly gobbling up all the vaudeville actors. This will immeasurably help vaudeville.

XII

The circuses will soon go into winter quarters. They cannot compete with the Drama Leagues.

XIII

The world may be divided thus: actors and dramatic critics. The only difference between them is that the former do their acting on a platform.

XIV

Shakespeare’s plays fall into two distinct groups: Those written by Shakespeare and those acted by Beerbohm Tree.

Dramatic criticism: The theory that one is more interested in the devices with which a woman makes herself beautiful--cold creams, mascaro, false hair, eyebrow pencils, lip rouge, face powder, dental floss, whale-bone, curl papers, et cetera--than in the beautiful woman herself.

XVI

Something seemingly never remembered by dramatists when writing love scenes: the more a young woman really loves a man the less talkative, the more silent, she is in his presence.... Only women over thirty are chatty before the object of their affection.

XVII

The proficient actor is one who can completely immerse his own personality in the rôle he is playing. The star actor is one who can completely immerse the rôle he is playing in his own personality.

XVIII

Although it may have absolutely nothing to do with the case, I yet believe that, in a romantic stage rôle, no actress can possibly be convincing or persuasive if she is able in private life to eat tripe, chicken livers, calves’ brains or a thick steak.

XIX

Maurice Donnay, the talented gentleman of Gallic dramatic letters, observes, “The French dramatists treat of love because it is the only subject which every member of the audience understands, and a dramatist must, of course, appeal to the masses.” Which, in another way, may account for the great appeal and success in America of crook plays.

When a critic refers to a male actor’s “authority,” the betting odds are generally thirty to one that what he has done is to mistake for that quality the aforesaid actor’s _embonpoint_.

XXI

Mr. George P. Goodale, a good citizen and an honest taxpayer, was lately accorded a great banquet in honor of his fifty years of continuous service as dramatic critic to the _Detroit Free Press_. At the banquet, it was said, repeated, and emphasized that, in all his half-century as a critic of the drama, Mr. Goodale had never made a single enemy. Where, than in this banquet and its import, a smarter satire on the American notion of what constitutes dramatic criticism?

XXII

The hero of a Broadway play may not be bald. This would seem, in the Broadway drama, to be the first rule of heroism and, with heroism, of intelligence and appeal. So, Julius Caesar, Bismarck, George Washington, Napoleon and Shakespeare would be low villains.

XXIII

It is a favourite challenge of the average Broadway playwright to the dramatic critic that if the latter knows so much about plays, why doesn’t he write one himself. The same question might be asked of the average Broadway playwright.

XXIV

The financial success of the Broadway play is conditioned on the proportion of theatergoers who believe that singeing keeps the hair from falling out and that the American Indians were accustomed to use the word “heap” before every adjective. The last season was the most successful Broadway has known in years.

XXV

It took Molière and Sheridan, as it now takes Shaw and Bahr, years to fashion their comedies. And yet, when all is said and done, what is funnier, what provokes a louder laughter, than the mere articulation of the name Gustav?

XXVI

Literature is an art wherein one observes the effects of the thematic action upon the protagonist’s mind. Drama is an art wherein one observes the effects of the thematic action upon the protagonist’s heart. Burlesque is an art wherein one observes the effects of the thematic action upon the protagonist’s trousers-seat.

XXVII

“Trying it on the dog”--a phrase referring to the trying out of a play in the provinces before bringing it into the metropolis. In other words, testing the effect of the play upon an intelligent community to predetermine, by its lack of success there, its subsequent prosperity in New York.

XXVIII

The so-called “laughs” in an American musical show must, if they would “get over,” be devised in such a manner and constructed of such basic materials that they shall be within the scope of the intelligence of persons who can neither read nor write. This is why nine-tenths of the persons in a Broadway audience fall out of their chairs with mirth when anybody on the stage refers to whiskers as alfalfa or when a character is named the Duc de Gorgonzola.

XXIX

Royalties.--The percentage of the gross receipts which playwrights get from producers, after lawsuits.

XXX

The critic who believes that such a thing as a repertory company is artistically possible believes that a dozen modern actors, assembled into one group, are sufficiently talented and skilled to interpret satisfactorily a dozen plays. The critic who does not believe that such a thing as a repertory company is artistically possible knows that a dozen modern actors, assembled into one group, are insufficiently talented and skilled to interpret satisfactorily even one play.

XXXI

It is the custom in many New York theaters to ring a bell in the lobby so as to warn the persons congregated there that the curtain is about to go up on the next act and that it is time for them to go back into the theater. But it still remains for an enterprising impresario to make a fortune by ringing a bell in the theater so as to warn the persons congregated there that the curtain is about to go up on the next act and that it is time for them to go back into the lobby!

XXXII

Farces fall into two classes: Those in which the leading male character implores “Let me explain!” and the leading female character tartly replies, “That’s the best thing you do,” and those in which the leading male character’s evening dress socks have white clocks on them.

XXXIII

Mr. Florenz Ziegfeld succeeds with his shows because he addresses his chief appeal to the eye. Mr. George M. Cohan succeeds with his because he addresses his chief appeal to the ear. The impresarios of the Fourteenth Street burlesque shows succeed with theirs because they address their chief appeal to the nose.

XXXIV

The one big ambition of nine out of every ten American playwrights is, in the argot of the theater, to “get over the footlights.” The one big ambition of nine out of every ten audiences is exactly the same!

XXXV

Most so-called optimistic comedies are based on the theory that a cup of coffee improves in proportion to the number of lumps of sugar one puts into it.

XXXVI

Opening Night.--The night before the play is ready to open.

XXXVII

The chief dramatic situation in “The Road to Happiness” consists of a hero who, with hand on hip pocket, defies the assembled villains to advance as much as an inch at peril of their lives and who, having thus held them at bay, proceeds to pull out a handkerchief, flick his nostril and make his getaway. The chief comic situation in “Arizona,” produced many years ago, consisted of the same thing, save that a whiskey flask or plug of tobacco--I forget which--was used in place of a nose-doily. Thus, little boys and girls, has our serious drama advanced.

XXXVIII

_Derivations_

_First-Nighter._--From _Fürst_ (German for “prince”) and the English word _nitre_ (KNO_3: a chemical used in the manufacture of gunpowder); hence, a prince of gunpowder, or, in simpler terms, someone who makes a lot of noise.

_Manager._--From the Anglo-Saxon word “manger,” the “a” having been deleted in order that the word might be shortened, and so used more aptly for purposes of swearing. _Manager_ thus comes from “manger,” something which provides fodder for the jackasses in the stalls.

XXXIX

Practically speaking, it is reasonable to believe that the public doesn’t want gloom in the theater not because it is gloom, not because of the gloom itself, but for the very good reason that gloom isn’t generally interesting. Let a playwright make gloom as interesting as happiness and the public will want it theatrically. But the gloom of the drama is, more often than not, uninteresting gloom. In illustration: Take two street-corner orators. Suppose both are talking, one a block away from the other, on precisely the same topic. It is a gloom topic. For instance, the question of the large number of starving unemployed. One of the orators hammers away at his audience with melancholy statistics and all the other depressing elements of his subject. The other, equally serious, makes his points, not alone as does the first orator with blue figures, but with light comparisons and saucy illustrations. Which is the more interesting? Which gets the larger crowd? Which convinces? Take a second and correlated illustration. Two weekly magazines print articles on, let us say, the work of organized charity in its attempt to relieve the community’s paupers. In itself, not particularly jocose reading matter. One of the two magazines, in its treatment of the story, has its general tone exampled by some such sentence as “Last month the charity organizations of New York supplied the poor of the city with 30,000 loaves of bread.” The other magazine, expressing the same thought and facts, has its sentence phrased thus: “Last month the charity organizations of New York supplied the poor of the city with 30,000 loaves of bread, an amount almost 8,000 in excess of all the bread eaten during the same space of time by Mr. Diamond Jim Brady in the ten leading Broadway restaurants.” Which magazine has the bigger circulation?

The conventional treatment of gloomy themes in the drama is like the ancient tale of the proud old coon who, driving a snail-paced and ramshackle horse and an even more ramshackle buggy down a Southern road used largely by automobilists, suddenly perceived a small boy hitching on behind. “Hey!” exclaimed the old brunette, “Yoh look out dar! Ef yoh ain’t careful yoh’ll be sucked under!” The mechanic of the gloomy dramatic theme, like the old dinge, too often takes his theme too pompously, too seriously. And is generally himself sucked under as a result. Clyde Fitch took a so-called gloomy theme in his play “The Climbers”--the play that started bang off with a funeral--but his play is still going with the public in the stock companies because he didn’t let the gloom of his story run away with the interest. The final curtain line in “The Shadow” is: “After all, real happiness is often to be found in tears.” Tears are often provocative of a greater so-called “up-lift” feeling than mere grins and laughter. Take a couple or more of illustrations of the most popular mob plays America has known, say, “Way Down East,” “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” “The Old Homestead.” These, fundamentally, are what the mob calls “sad” plays. The yokelry would ever rather pay for the privilege of crying than laughing. What farce ever made as much money as “East Lynne”? The tears in “Cinderella” have made it the world’s most successful theatrical property.

The difference ’twixt tragedy and comedy is the difference of a hair’s breadth. Tragedy ends with the hero’s death. Comedy, with the hero’s getting married.

XLI

To be effective, acting must interpret not so much the playwright’s work as the audience’s silent criticism of that work.

XLII

... It is to be remarked that the New Movement in the theater, about which we hear so much, what with its scenery, lighting, stage architecture and what not, seems to concern everything but drama.

XLIII

The moving pictures will never supplant the spoken drama, contend a thousand and one critics. Well, anyway, not so long as the drama is being spoken as it is to-day in the majority of our Broadway theaters.

XLIV

Madame Karsavina of the Russian Ballet seeks in her chorographic pantomimes to interpret drama with the body. The Boston censors commanded that Madame Karsavina, who in her chorographic pantomimes seeks to interpret drama with the body, completely conceal her body in heavy draperies. The Boston censors may be expected next to command Mimi Aguglia, of the Sicilian Players, who seeks to interpret the body in terms of drama, to undress.

XLV

Comedy is but tragedy, cunningly disguised and popularized for the multitude.

XLVI

Men go to the theater to forget; women, to remember.

XLVII

Melodrama is that form of drama in which the characters are deliberately robbed of a sense of humor by the author. Problem drama, most often, that form in which the characters are deliberately robbed of a sense of humour by the audience.

XLVIII

How ashamed of themselves Galsworthy and Shaw, Molnar and Brieux, Hauptmann and Wedekind must feel when they read a book on dramatic technique by a member of the Drama League!

XLIX

The error committed by the critic who, night after night, goes to the theater in an attitude of steadfast seriousness and in such attitude reviews what he beholds therein lies in his confounding of the presentation with the institution. His respectful attitude toward the presentation is, therefore, under current conditions eight times in ten a direct insult to the institution.

THE AMERICAN ADAPTATION

_The Plot of the Play, in the Original_:

Gaston Beaubien tires of his wife, Gabrielle, and enters into a liaison with his wife’s best friend, Lucienne.

_The Plot of the Play, in the Adaptation_:

Gaston Beaubien tires of his wife’s best friend, Lucienne, and enters into a liaison with his wife, Gabrielle.

Brieux--Jeanne d’Arc on a mule.

LII

WHY DRAMATIZED NOVELS OFTEN FAIL THE HEROINE

(_In the book_)

“As nineteen-year-old Faith Draycourt stood there, she seemed for all the world like some breathing, living young goddess come down to earth in a chariot of cloud chiffon tinted orange-pink by the setting sun. Her slender body whispered its allure from out the thin folds of silk that, like some fugitive mist, clung about her. Her hair, a tangle of spun copper, fell upon her dimpled shoulders and tumbled off them, a stormy bronze cascade, to the ground. Her eyes, like twin melodies of Saint-Saens imbedded in Bermuda’s blue woodland pools; her voice, soft as the haunt of a distant guitar----.”

THE HEROINE

(_From the newspaper critique of the play made from the book_)

“The role of Faith Draycourt was ably interpreted by that accomplished and experienced actress, ---- ----, who is well remembered by the older generation of theater-goers for her fine performance of _Juliet_ in 1876 at the old Bowery Theater.”

LIII

An arm-chair beside a reading lamp is the only place for worth-while drama. If you are one of those who seriously contends that such drama should be acted in the theater, that the stage is the place for such work, that it stands a fair chance there, tell me what you think would happen to Hauptmann’s “Weavers” if, in that wonderful climax to the fifth act, the child actress playing Mielchen should accidentally drop her panties, or to “Hannele” if, at a moment of its poignant pathos, a shirt-sleeved Irish scene-shifter were plainly observable in the wings.... Think of Sudermann’s “Princess Far-Away” with a bad cold in her head and an obviously tender corn!

LIV

We hear much of the difference twixt the quality of London and New York theater audiences. It may be summed up in a single sentence. In London they do not put a chain on the dime-in-the-slot opera-glasses.

_A Shaw Play._--A moving-picture consisting entirely of explanatory titles.

LVI

You say it is possible for drama to reflect life? Very well, then answer me this. In the cabled dispatches from the European fighting countries, there appeared the other day an account of the astounding spectacular heroism, in the face of a death-filled fire, of a German soldier named Ludwig Dinkelblatz. If you can reconcile yourself to the notion of a man named Ludwig Dinkelblatz as the hero of a play of whatever sort, you win.

LVII

Mr. Edward Locke, who wrote “The Bubble,” “The Revolt,” and other reasons for bad theatrical seasons, observed in a recent interview that he always writes his plays by artificial light because plays are always produced by artificial light, and that, therefore, he believed that this was the logical way to go about writing plays. Mr. Locke will agree with his critics that inasmuch as people always go to bed in the dark, it is but logical that, when the lights go out in the auditorium and one of his plays gets under way, they should go to sleep.

LVIII

We hear a great deal of the American drama’s failure to hold the mirror up to nature. This is nonsense, nothing more nor less. The trouble is not with the drama, but with the mirror! The American drama tries to reflect nature in one of the little mirrors women carry in their vanity-boxes. Some day it may learn--as the French drama has learned--that when there’s any reflecting of nature to be done, you’ve got to use a pier glass. We like to believe, we Anglo-Saxons, that all drama lies in mortals’ faces, and that drama’s purpose is merely to reflect, as in a shaving mirror, men’s tears and smiles. The French, a wiser people, know that drama reposes alone in men’s bodies.

FANNY’S SECOND PLAY

NOTE.--_In Bernard Shaw’s “Fanny’s First Play,” there are introduced in an epilogue four characters representing as many dramatic critics of London--A. B. Walkley, Gilbert Cannan, etc. These four critics are made by Shaw to discuss the play in their four typical and familiar critical ways. When the play was produced in America it was suggested to Shaw that he come to the United States, study the peculiarities of the local critics, and alter his epilogue so that the indelible attitudes toward everything dramatic of the native criticerei might be lampooned for American audiences. Shaw was too busy. Being possessed of an hour’s spare time and considerable presumption, the present writer essays the task in Shaw’s behalf. “Fanny’s Second Play” may be any anonymously written play._

THE CRITICS

William Summers
Alston Hill
Carlton Dixon
Lawrence Fenemy

THE EPILOGUE

FENEMY

You ask me if I like the play. How do I know! If it’s by a foreigner, sure I like it; but if it’s by an American (particularly a _young_ American) you can bet I’ll roast it. Why, it’s got to the point where some of these young American playwrights are getting to be better known than we are, and I’ll be darned if I’m going to do anything to help the thing along.

HILL

You’re right, Fenemy. Besides, they know how to do these things so much better abroad than our writers do. Take this play. Pretty good, to be sure. But I’ll wager it was written by some fellow who used to be a reporter--probably on my very paper. And _I’m_ not going to be the one to give him the swelled head. No, sir!

DIXON

If Belasco had only produced this play it would have been a wonder. Belasco’s a wizard. I know it, because he has repeatedly told me so himself.

SUMMERS

Ah, gentlemen--gentlemen. Why indulge in this endless colloquy over this insignificant proscenium tidbit. Let us remember that howsoever good it may be it was still not written by Shakespeare and that however ably it may have been interpreted, Booth and Barrett and Charlotte Cushman, alas, are no longer with us.

HILL

Oh, you’re a back-number, Summers. You’re no critic--you’re a scholar! Why don’t you put a punch in your stuff and get a good job?

FENEMY

I wonder if it’s possible this play’s meant to be satirical. I’ll read what you say about it in the morning, Hill, and if you think it’s a satire, I’ll see it again and sort o’ edit my opinion of it in the Sunday edition.

DIXON

I must say again that I’m sorry Belasco didn’t produce the play. He’s a genius. Look what he did for _The Easiest Way_. If it hadn’t been for his lighting effects the show wouldn’t have stood a chance!

FENEMY

You’re right, Dixon. Anyway, _The Easiest Way_ was just like _Iris_. Our writers can’t touch the English. Besides, Pinero’s got a title and Eugene Walter, we must remember, once slept on a bench in Bryant Park.

HILL

I like the title of this piece though, fellows. _Fanny’s Second Play_. It’ll give me the chance to say in my review of it: “_Fanny’s Second Play_ won’t go for a minute.” Catch it? Second--minute. Great, isn’t it? I like plays with titles you can crack jokes about.

SUMMERS

Alack-a-day, things are not in criticism as they used to be. Dignity, my friends, is what I always aimed for--dignity and dullness. Poor Daly is dead and poor Wallack sleeps in his grave. Schoolboys, mere schoolboys and shopkeepers run the drama of to-day.

HILL

Oh, cut it out. Dan Daly wasn’t half as good a comedian as Eddie Foy is! And Shakespeare--why the only time that any interest in Shakespeare has been aroused in the last ten years was when Julia Marlowe and Sothern got married. Give me Sutro.

DIXON

But as I was saying, Belasco’s the man! Shakespeare in his palmiest moments never imagined a greater effect than that soft lamp-light that Belasco put over the chess table in the last act of _The Concert_.

FENEMY

Correct again, Dixon! Do you think Belasco would use German silver knives and forks on a dinner table in a play of his? Nix! The real stuff for him! _Sterling!_ And you can say what you want, it’s attention to details like that that makes a play. I suppose _Fanny’s Second Play_ may be pretty good drama, but I never had any experience like the hero in the show and by George, I don’t believe it could have happened! Besides, _my_ sister never acted that way and consequently I must put the whole thing down as rubbish. The author doesn’t understand human nature. No, sir, he doesn’t understand human nature!

HILL

The society atmosphere, too, is perfectly ridiculous. Why, I’ve been in the Astor as many as five times and I never saw any society people act that way. Our American playwrights are not gentlemen, that’s the rub.

SUMMERS

Ah me, when Sarah Siddons and Clara Morris and Ada Rehan were in their prime--those were the days! What use longer, I ask you, gentlemen, to inscribe praise to actresses if one is no more invited to meals by them? Times have changed. This Mr. Cohan, paugh! This Miss Barrymore, fie!!

DIXON

Sure thing! Warfield’s the only one left who can act and _Belasco_ taught _him_ all _he_ knows. Belasco--there’s the wizard! Did you notice the way he got that amber light effect in _Seven Chances_? Wonderful, I say, wonderful----.

FENEMY

(_interrupting_)

But did you ever smoke one of _George Tyler’s_ cigars?

HILL

About this play we saw tonight. I kind of think I’ll have to let it down a bit easy because the management’s taken out a double-sized ad. in the Sunday edition. And besides, say it should turn out next week to be by an English dramatist instead of an American! Then wouldn’t we feel foolish!

DIXON

(_vehemently_)

Well, we know who the producer is! Isn’t that enough? If it’s put on by Belasco, it’s great; if it’s put on by anybody else, it’s a frost--and there you are. That is, anybody but Klaw and Erlanger. No use throwing the hooks into them too hard. They pull too much influence with our bosses.

HILL

(_with a self-amused grin_)

I wonder what the magazine er-um-um critics, as they choose to call themselves, will think of this play?

DIXON

Humph! Magazine critics? Why they’re all _young_ fellows. Impudent, too! They think that just because they’re educated they know more about the game than we do--than _I_ do--and I’ve had my opinions quoted on as many as two hundred garbage cans in _one_ week!

SUMMERS

Ah, dear me, gentlemen. In _my_ time, a critic was a person with a taste for drama; to-day a critic is largely a person with a taste for quotation in the Shubert ads.

FENEMY

(_to the others, tapping his temple significantly with his forefinger_)

The poor chap actually thinks Molière knew more about playwriting than Jules Eckert Goodman!

HILL and DIXON

(_laughing uproariously_)

Fine! Fine!! Better use that line in your review tomorrow. Of course it hasn’t anything to do with _Fanny’s Second Play_, but that doesn’t matter. It’s too good to lose.

HILL

By the way, the Dramatic Mirror wrote me for my picture to-day. They’re going to print it in the next number. Pretty good, eh?

FENEMY

I should say yes! I wish I could get as much advertising as you get, Hill.

HILL

(_suddenly_)

By Jove! An idea! What if this play we saw tonight was written by Belasco, after all?

SUMMERS

Impossible, gentlemen. Had Mr. Belasco written it, we should have had an inkling of the fact through the recent lawsuit calendars.

FENEMY

Maybe it’s by Augustus Thomas. It’s got a lot of thought in it!

HILL

Yes, it certainly is full of thought!

DIXON

Sure, it’s got a pile of thought in it all right enough!

SUMMERS

(_lifting his eyebrows_)

What thought, gentlemen?

FENEMY

Didn’t you catch that curious new word in the second act? What was it, Dixon?

HILL

Psychothrapy.

DIXON

No, you mean psychothrupy.

FENEMY

No, no, it is psychothripy.

SUMMERS

Gentlemen, you mean psychotherapy.

ALL

Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s _thought_, anyway--something snappy and new. And Augustus Thomas is the only American playwright who thinks.

DIXON

Did you notice that reference to the “sweet and noble mother”? _I_ think Roi Cooper Megrue wrote it--and I don’t like Megrue. He’s too fat looking. I think the play is punk.

HILL

But that third act attempted seduction climax sounds to me like Sheldon.

DIXON

(_quickly_)

Oh, _then_ the play’s all right!

HILL

But we must remember that Sheldon is a _young_ man and that he is a Harvard graduate. He needs taking down a little.

DIXON

But he’s a good friend of my dear friend Mrs. ----. Anyway, if only Belasco----.

FENEMY

(_interrupting_)

Well, I’ve got to get down to the office and write my review.

(_looking at watch_)

It’s got to be in at twelve o’clock and it’s ten minutes of twelve now, and I’ve got to fill a column.

(_exits_)

HILL

Between us, Dixon, I personally enjoyed this play immensely; but professionally, I think it’s very bad.

DIXON

My idea exactly. Of course, if Belasco----.

(_Exeunt_)

GLOSSARIES

A Vaudeville Glossary

(_Embracing Translations and Explanations of Such Words and Phrases as Are Used Regularly in Vaudeville, and Necessary to a Comprehension of Vaudeville by Persons Who Do Not Wear Soft Pleated Shirts with Dinner Jackets._)

_Knock-out_--The designation of a performance which has succeeded in completely captivating the advertising solicitor for a weekly vaudeville paper.

_Wop_--A term of derision directed at an Italian who earns a difficult livelihood digging ten hours a day at subways by an American actor who earns an easy livelihood digging twenty minutes a night at Ford automobiles.

_A scream_--The designation of an allusion to the Prince of Denmark in Shakespeare’s celebrated tragedy as “omelet.”

_Team_--A term applied to two vaudeville actors who get twice as much money as they deserve.

_Sure-fire_--A compound word employed to describe any allusion to President Wilson or the performer’s mother.

_Swell_--An adjective used to describe the appearance of a gentleman performer who wears a diamond stud in his batwing tie or of a lady performer who is able to pronounce “caviar” correctly.

_Artiste_--A vaudeville actress who carries her own plush curtain.

_Dresden-China Comedienne_--Any vaudeville actress who is not a comedienne and who wears a poke bonnet fastened under the chin with pale blue ribbons.

_Headliner_--A performer of whom audiences in the legitimate theatres have wearied.

_Society’s Pet_--The designation of any young woman performer who has danced in a Broadway restaurant that was visited one evening by a slumming party from Fifth Avenue.

_Mind-reader_--A vaudeville performer who imagines the members of a vaudeville audience have minds to read.

A First-Night Glossary

_Rotten_--An adjective used to describe anything good.

_Author_--A noun used to designate the person who, in response to the applause, comes out upon the stage after the second act in a conspicuously new Tuxedo and talks as if he had written a play.

_Laugh_--A noise uttered by the audience whenever the comedian, casting an eye upon the prima donna’s hinter-décolleté, ejaculates, “I’m glad to see your back again.”

_Grate_--Something that is used to warm up vaudeville sketches.

_Wholesome_--An adjective used to describe any play which sacrifices art to morals.

_Dramatic_--An adjective used to describe a scene in which anything, from a vase to the seventh commandment, is broken.

_Sympathy_--The emotion felt by the audience for the woman character who lies, betrays, robs, deceives, steals, poisons, cheats, swindles, commits adultery, plays false, stabs, dupes or murders--in a beautiful gown.

_Program_--A pamphlet which assures the audience that the theatre is disinfected of germs with CN Disinfectant and that the play is disinfected of drama with actors.

III

A Glossary of British Slang

When George Ade’s “College Widow” was produced in London several years ago, a section of the program was devoted to a glossary of American slang. The British equivalents for the various specimens of Yankee vernacular were thus provided, so that the audience might comprehend the meaning of the words spoken by the characters in the play. By way of helping American audiences to a better understanding of the British vulgate, I append a reciprocating glossary:

_Actor_--A war-time patriot who shouts “God Save the King” as he hurries aboard the first steamer out of Southampton to accept an engagement in an American musical comedy adapted from the German.

_Beastly_--A condemnatory adjective applied by an actor (see above) to the treatment accorded an actor (see above) by Americans during his engagement in an American musical comedy adapted from the German, after the actor (see above) has returned to England following a declaration of peace.

_Handkerchief_--A small square of linen with which, when he has (or hasn’t) a cold, an Englishman blows his wrist.

_Old Top_--A term of endearment applied by an actor (see above) to an American who seems to be about to buy a drink.

A General Theatrical Glossary

STORIES OF THE OPERAS

I PAGLIACCI

(ē pal-yät-chē)

Two-act drama; text and music by Leoncavallo

CHARACTERS

THE STORY

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