BACK-STAGE.

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 238, 8 October 1934, Page 3

BACK-STAGE.

TECHNICAL STAFF.

TASK OF THE DIRECTOR

MINUTE PREPARATIONS

A worried-looking man in overalls was perched at the top of a long ladder. In his hand was a pair of pliers, with which he twisted the bracket of an electric lamp. An orange beam from the lamp flooded the stage below and moved jerkily as the pliers were plied. The movements wore watched by an individual at the foot of the ladder.

"Up a bit, Charlie," said the individual. The orange beam rose a foot or two. '"Steady, steady; that's too much." Charlie, on his perch, swore softly, and the beam jerked down. By and by it reached a position that satisfied the individual, and Charlie climbed down the ladder. Ho shifted it along a little, climbed up again, and began operations on another lamp. There were at least a score of lamps attached in a row to a hanging batten. Each lamp took about five minutes to adjust. "Docs this have to be done every time you stage a show?" asked a reporter. "Every time," said the stage director, who stood beside the reporter and at intervals shouted orders in a queer, theatrical jargon. He was inclined to be brusque with his visitor, who had committed the hideous sin of asking him if he were the stage manager. "Howtver, once it is right, I suppose it is there for a whole season 1" "It is only used once—in one scene," said the stage director coldly. Staff of Fifty. Before long, however, he thawed. His task was progressing smoothly and. his shouts were less frequent. He found time to describe the little world behind the footlights—a world in which he is king. From the moment the producers of a big theatrical attraction hand their work of art to the care of the stage director he becomes a despot. The technical staff is his obedient army, and the members of the cast are his quaking subjects.

To the public the only people of interest about a theatre are the players. To a stage director the players are the pomp and parade of his show, but not the whole show. A third of the people responsible for the presentations of big productions are never seen by audiences. "I have a back-stage staff of 50," said the stage director. "In each town wo engage a certain number of experienced local-men, but it is becoming hard to get hold of them. There are fewer companies 011 the road, and men who used to wait for such jobs have found other things to do. Among those who travel with the company are electricians, technicians and fly-men. There are men who do nothing but repair and renovate scenery. There is a wardrobe master as well as a wardrobe mistress. That man over there is the chief electrician; he checks up 011 the lighting before every show." The chief electrician stood mid-stage gazing up into a forest of rope and painted canvas. He was carrying on a highly technical discussion with a voice named Alf, whose questions and answers floated down faintly. The conversation was handicapped by the chatter of a group of ballet girls in short practice frocks. "For the love of Mike!" screamed the chief electrician, turning suddenly and glaring. The girls giggled, and the chattering began again. Then the stage director gave voice, "Shut up, kids." Silence. "If you don't shut up I'll bring you back again this afternoon." More silence; the king had spoken and his word was law.

Popular Myths. As about many things theatrical, there are popular myths about stage hands. One is that they are stage hands and chorus men combined. This, snorted the stage director, was nonsense. For one thing, the trade union would not allow it; for another, a stage hand's work was highly specialised and he was 011 the job all the time. It appears that to be a stage hand a man must take part jn regular backstage rehearsals. This docs not mean that 50 brawny tradesmen are likely to be found doing fairy dancs to the music of a musical comedy score, but it does mean that every move in the setting and changing scenery is arranged and rehearsed as carefuly as in the show itself. "Every scene shifter and mechanician is letter-perfect in his 'part,'" explained the stage director. "We krep a big staff because no man must have too much to do. Too much work means noise, and noise must be avoided. Nobody must run. When I see a man running I stop him immediately. Either he does not know his job or he is not doing it properly." While the stage is being for a first night its cast ars the slaves of the shirt-sleeve army. On this occasion the girls of the ballet were present simply because the electricians wished to try out their spotlights on a living ensemble. "It's the detail that must be watched," said the stage director, after superintending miscroscopic adjustments to a curtain end. "We have to check everything. We even scrutinise the costumes before they go or.-stage. _ Sometimes in this cold weather the girls try to get away with woollen undies that spoil the shape of their <1 -esses. We have to stop that." The stage director looked at his watch. "Lunch time," he said loudly, and his army halted. One of its number approached holding a broom, and jerked a thumb toward the now completed set with its soft draperies and glowing colour. "Okay?" he asked. The stage manager walked to the footlights and turned. He looked up and down, to left and to right. Then he sighed a deep sigh, removed his spectacles and placed them with slow deliberation in a battered ease. The ai my looked 011 expectantly. "Okay," said the stage director.