Music and the Stage

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17527, 2 May 1925, Page 22

Music and the Stage

Messrs J. and N. Tail have now deli nitely announced that- New Zealand will be included in the coming tour ol : Madamo Galli-Curci. The management has received so many inquiries from New Zealand music-lovers about the prinia donna visiting this part ot the world that it lias been deided to include the Dominion in the prinia. douna:s itinerary. J. C. Williamson Ltd., hare secured the option by which they will control the company which at present owns the Coliseum Theatre in Queen Street, Auckland, on which a large sum has already been expended. Work has been delayed for lack of capital during the past few weks. If the arrangement is concluded, £30.000 will be'spent on. the completion ol : one of the linest theatres in Australia or New Zealand. Of considerable importance is the visit to Christchurch of the versatile Thurston Hall and his company. He will present two of his most notable successes, opening with “Sot This Is London,* * which is at once a satire, a parable, and a comedy of English and American types. Jn this lie appears as Hiram Draper, a rich American visiting England for the first time. His second production will be “The Broken Wing,** in which ho enacts the role of Captain Titnoeencio ties Sanies, a swash-buckling Mexican. The Christchurch season opens at the Theatre Royal on May 7. Madame Elsa Stralia, who commenced her Australian and New Zealand tour in Sydney on Easter Saturday, had an altogether unique experience in Paris. M. Joseph Salmon, the great ’cellist, an entire stranger to Stralia, happened to hear her sing in London. So struck was he that he said: “ We have no such singer in Paris; she must be heard there.” On his return to the French capital, he at once approached his intimate friend, M. Camille Clievillard, the renowned conductor of the Lamoureux. Symphony Orchestra. The concerts of this orchestra are the last word in art, as every member is practically a soloist in his own department. M. Chevillard, on the recommendation of his trusted friend, invited Madame Stralia to appear at the opening concert of the season, and she duly apeared for rehearsal and was coureously received by the notoriously reserved, impassive and martinet conductor, who, as he afterwards acknowledged, was “by no means sure of the wisdom of what he had done.” However, after Madame Stralia had sung her first aria at the rehearsal, the atmosphere cleared as if by magic. Chevillard was transported with enthusiasm and the whole orchestra rose and acclaimed her. As for the public concert, this was no longer in question. Her success was electric, and although the rigid rule of no encores prevails under Chev.ilard, she was recalled again and again, being led on by the great conductor himself. After the concert Madame Salmon arranged a dinner, followed by a reception, in Straliu’s honour, which was at tended by most of the leading musical lights of Paris. M. Chevillard did her the unusual honour of inviting her to ±epeat the performance. Incidentally, it may be noted that the appearance of English-speak-ing artists at these concerts is rare. Dame Clara Butt will open her Australian aud New Zealand tour at Melbourne on September 12. The cost of reserved seats (with hooking fee and tax) for the Kreisler concerts in Melbourne is £1 3s. A London “Graphic” critic recently referred to W. S. Percy as “one of the greatest laugh producers on the comic opera stage.” So successful was the Sydney season of Galli-Curci-that the celebrated prima donna had to give another concert before leaving for Melbourne. Instead of visiting New Zealand as scheduled Maurice Moscovitch, after lu’s Svdney season went to Brisbane. Die New Zealand tour will come later. Celia Gliiloi.i, who will he remembered by many New Zealanders, lias delinitelv retired from the stage. Katisba (“The* Mikado”) was her favourite role. There is more dancing in “Primrose,” at Melbourne His Majesty’s - , than in any other musical comedy staged in Melbourne for some vears. Mr Harry Burcher. the producer, calls it a dancot dancers conies’ on, and is followed by another. It is a quick succession of dancers that makes the pace rapid all through the three acts. Pauline Frederick, the noted American stage and movie star, is being carried on the crest of popularity wherever she goes in Australia. She received a thrilling reception in Sydney, but in Melbourne her welcome was almost maddening. Spencer Street station was lined, and cheer after cheer rent the air as the train moved in. “Had a prince of Royal blood arrived the welcome could not have been greater.” Miss Frederick will commence her Australian season in Melbourne in a play called “Spring CloanUsually the great ambition of an actor is to play Hamlet or to shine in some equally tragic role. Guy Bates Post is right at the top of the theatrical tree, but such an ambition lias never been his. He has no time for tragedy. Rather would he bring cheer and smiles to his audiences. “I don’t believe in dragging the sins and frailties of humanity across the stage,” he says. “For that reason 1 am leaving Ibsen and other so did dramas to other players. Why cause depression when so much can be achieved in comedy and happiness?” Allan Wilkie lias recently added “Two Gentlemen of Verona” to his Shakespearean repertory, which now embraces twenty-one of the poet’s works. The actor-manager has made . out a programme wherein he intends to produce two more plays annually for eight years and in that way to reach the goal of his own ambition apd of the public desire to stag© the entire J list of the bard’s creations. The new 1 two productions lie has in view are “ Measure for Measure ” and “ Coriobnus.” It is stated that “ Two GenTemen of Verona ” has not been staged in Australia since the sixties. When “ The Masquerader ” is staged , by Guy Bates Post at the King’s on April 18 (says the Melbourne “ Leadthe inevitable latecomers will suf- [ fer for their unpunctuality. The enure interest of the play depends on the

clear understanding of the first scene, when the two leading characters, John Chilcote and John Loder, are supposed to meet. The men are cousins, alike in appearance, and Guy Bates Post fills both roles with mystifying skill. .In order that the interest of the audience will not be distracted, no one will be admitted to the theatre during the action of the prologue, which commences promptly at 8. Mr Guy Bates Post, while playing at the King’s Theatre, Melbourne, in “The Green Goddess,” remarked that Australia is the best-catered for country in the world as regards theatrical productions. “Australia,” said Mr Post, “only gets the plays which have proved successful iri other countries. The very cream of theatrical attractions is placed before Australian audiences, and then only after they have stood the critical test of a lengthy run, whereas playgoers in New York and London, for example, have to put up with productions which are good, bad, or indifferent—or worse—and have to pay just the same to see the failures as the successes.” There was very nearly no appearance of the whirlwind dancers, Cunningham and Clements, in “Primrose,” at His Majesty’s Melbourne (says a Melbourne paper). At a rehearsal during tne week, Miss Clements and Mr Cunningham were practising an intricate movement on the stage, when Miss Clements’ belt gave way and she went into the air, so great was the impetus given by her partner. The dancer crashed against a piece of scenery, and was so stunned that the rehearsal had to be abandoned. Another two feet and she would have’hit the iron mechanism of the counter-weight system, and probably would have received serious injury. “It was a close thing,” said Miss Clements. She added philosophically: “however, a miss is as good as a mile, they say.” One of the features of the J. C. Williamson production of “Primrose” at Melbourne His Majesty’s is the costume colour spectacle, in which a ballet and male chorus appear in a dance number and, to the amazement of the audience, the costumes change before their very eyes. Even the men change into “niggers,” and everything, including the colour of the shoes, stockings and gloves, change their hue. This remarkable effect is achieved by means of a unique lighting scheme. A new lighting system was installed for the purpose, costing over £2,000. The costume colour spectacle was invented by the famous SamiJofF, and was secured in New York by Sir George Tallis during his recent visit. It was out of the biggest sensations in “The Music Box” Since the announcement was made that she intended to write a musical comedy. Maude Fane, who is appearing in “Primrose” at Melbourne His Majesty's, has received a great number of letters from playgoers and others, offering advice or tendering suggestions. One well wisher wrote:—“l am sending you two books which, I think, will 1 help you greatly in .making the language of your play above the ordinary, for. they contain the very best that there is in the English language.” The books were Shakespeare and the Bible. Another correspondent wrote: “I can supply you with all kinds of stunts for your play, including acrobatics, burlesques, and a scene in which all the best-known people in Melbourne will be depicted in the most humorous way, evoking roars of laughter.” Miss Fane has decided, however, to go her own way as regards the writing of the play, and expresses her intention of writing everything herself, including the lyrics. The music, however, will be undertaken by an Australian composer. “Can you do the Charleston?” is a question that this season's dancers will need to be prepared to answer (says a Melbourne paper). For the Charleston” is the latest American ball-room craze, and, like the tango, the fox trot, the one-step and tiie Chicago, it will have its day. To know how to do the “Charleston” correctly cue should see Little Jessie James, the new Hugh J. Ward musical comedy at the Princess Theatre, for in that show the “Charleston” is introduced to Melbourne by Dorothy Brunton in one of her snappy numbers. Harry Hall, Hugh J. Ward’s producer, saw it in New York in the cabarets, the theatres, private ballrooms and even on bystreet pavements. Everybody was dolng the “Charleston.” It had gripped New York, from the Four Hundred to the Four Million, and being a dancer himself he saw the catch in it. It’s easy when you know how. But it is just that catch that makes the "Charleston” worth while. There have been numberless occasions when mummers jn Australia received nothing at all for their services: but (writes a “Bulletin” correspondent) I think the 4*d handed to each member of a suburban sfiow in Sydney on a “snap” visit to Ashfield the .smallest actual payment on record for an evening’s performance. The “commonwealth system” used to prevail amongst “snaps” and suburban shows, and was sometimes tried on extended irips into the country: the manager, who supplied scenery, script and props, go’, an additional divvy for these and his .(usually roUpnJ manage-

ment, but bore no liability for salaries. Usually any extended trial of the system crashed, owing to the suspicion—frequently well grounded—that the manager charged the show more for expenses than he paid out. An English actor-manager, noted in Ins day, used to engage his people on the understanding that lie was to take 75 per cent lor expenses and the work oi himself and his wife. After the nightly count he would pass the rest to a representative of the assembled co. with a brusque “Here’s your share—cut it rip among yuh.” Greeted by cheers and prolonged applause that must have been almost unnerving Lo so highly strung an artist, Pauline Frederick started her first production in Alelbourue auspiciously on Saturday Isays “Table Talk.” of - April lb). The warm applause which followed the ending of each act m an ever-growing crescendo until it culminated in the ovatiou at the end of the play, must have convinced her that not only she but her company had won Melbourne hearts, aud “ Spring Cleaning ” was a success. It was truly a great event at the Theatre Royal, and those old walls can have witnessed few greater welcomes. At the close, when Pauline was called upon for a speech, she was obviously overcome with excitement, and was choked by strong emotion as she tried to utter a few words ot thanks; the audience was fully in sympathy with her, and showed it by the cordiality of their applause. The stage was loaded with flowers, among which was a great floral ladder with a wreath, at the top, implying she had reached the top of tli© ladder, and also a floral star" of truly great magnitude. That sense of elation—t]iat psychological something which tells of genuine approval and enjoyment—was plainly to be felt in the house as the audience gathered up tlicir wraps for departure. hi “ Some Leaves from My Log,” Sir Benjamin Fuller writes in the Melbourne “Herald”:—The Fuller purse was very flat and empty when we landed in Auckland thirty years ago. When we had paid for the hall and our bills for printing, there was not a shot in the locker left. It was hit or miss with us. Fortunately things, turned out all right. The crowd turned up, and we were launched. Then there began fur us all a series of adventures which would make any other kind of life look humdrum. Many a time wo seemed to be down and out, hub always the riohfc card turned up, and we went steadily on. Afy own .job was anything that cauie handy. I used to post lip bills, shift scenery, carry baggage, do advance work, manager the “ back of the house,” take tickets, chuck out, and the liundred miscellaneous duties that belong to a travelling theatrical life. . . These were days of great joys, great expectations, and great anxieties. I had quickly cottoned on to 1 lie show .business and flatter myself I taught my father a few new wrinkles. We were getting on, and about this time we bought our first theatre, the City Hall, in Dunedin. It is twenty-eight years since that day, and we have just sold that very theatre. It seems strange to look back oil that time of struggle and to think that now we have eight theatres in New Zealand and many more in Australia. When wo engage an actor in London lie is committed to travelling over the biggest theatrical circuit in the world. Bv the time lie gets borne he has travelled over 35,000 miles. Kubelik is very careful of. aud proud of, what is called his “£25,000 Strad.” He has other records. Jn Petrograd, two or three years ago, ho played to a house where as big a figure as 1.000.000:000 roubles had been paid for one ticket. llow thoroughly Galli-Curci studies ; and masters every detail of her operatic roles is indicated by her attention to every phase of her characterisation in “La Traviata” when sne made her first appearance in that opera in Rome. “When I studied the opera,” said the great singer, “I went to a physician to learn the correct use of the hands, the quick, almost jerky gestures and. incessant fidgeting that are i characteristic of the tuberculous. This doctor also impressed upon me that in the last stages of tuberculosis there is no cough, only a terrible pain stabbing the lungs. So in the last act of “Traviata” I do not cough, but keep clutching at my chest, as though to tear out or press back the pain.” “ Hard work is the surest road to success. Set a mark for yourself and when you reach it, set another still higher. Never be completely satisfied with yourself.” The advice is that of GafliCurci. “ There is no such thing as a * cold’ audience. An audience is what you make it. If you are really inspired, the audience will respond- It is all up to you. Some artists sing to the heart. Others sing to the brain. Both types have their audiences, but the size of the former’s audience is always bigger than the latter’s. There is no sincerity ir the so-called artistic temperament. Temperament is like a little mad horse, good when held up, but bad when it runs away. The real artist is a sensible person who does not concern himself with the petty jealousies oi the

Jn an effort to forestall the growing movement for. a censorship of the stage a, group of leading actors and actresses met at the Little Theatre, New York, and signed a pledge never to appear in any play “in which obscene lines occur.’ 5 The agitation has arisen spontaneously, says the “ Daily Mail,’’ as the result of a protest made by Miss Helen MaeKellar, the leadiug lady in the new play, “ A Good Bad Woman.” She served notice on the management that unless they cosnented to modify her lines she would abandon lier part.” “I believe that censorship must come from within the theatre,” sbe says. “If the public once revolted vo should have a State censorship, and that is wliat wc should, above all, try to avoid.” * Mr Fiuek, iu his recently published Musical -Laughs,” tells a story of a German conductor who made his orchestra repeat a certain passage over and over again, saying each time: “ Play just a little more softiy.” At last the first horn got bored with this and whispered to his colleagues. 1 he next time they w r ere asked to play the passage they put their instruments to their lips but did not play at all. 1 said the conductor. “Just a bit softer and you’ll have it!” Malibrun. the famous prim a donna, paid no attention to her health or her wonderful voice (says Mr Finch). She was passionately fond of riding. One day on which she was to appear on the stage she came hack from a gallop and was met by her husband. '* You’re tired out,” ho said. “ You’ll never he able to sing.” “ Yes, l shall,” she said. “This is what will make mo sing.” And before he could stop her she had turned to the diningroom table and, seizing the mustard pot, swallowed half its contents. LAUGH, FLEASE! THE GENTLE ART OF COAXING SMILES. “ Laugh and grow' fat ” says the proverb. This is a pity (writes George Robev, the famous comedian, in London “Tit-Bits”). A proverb like that is enough to prevent any self-respecting woman from ever smiling again. In these days, -when to be fat is a crime, that proverb ought to be suppressed. Anything that discourages laughter should be suppressed. As a professional laughter-maker, I speak with authority. There are already far too many people in the world who do not laugh. I am never really sure whether these people can't laugh, or whether they won't. I am inclined to thinkthat the majority could laugh if they chose. I wish they would. In the right place, of course For instance, in the theatre at which I happen, for the nonce, to be employed in the special business of making them laugh. It is difficult to keep on being excruciatingly funny if people simply will not realise-that you are being excruciatingly funny. Sometimes* audiences are like that. Sometimes they seem -to be brooding over their wrongs and take no notice of me. Sometimes they seem to bo taking notice, hut there is not "a smile from beginning to end of the. show. TILE LAST STRAW. X call to mind two dear old. ladies at a recent matinee. They were sitting in the front row of the stalls. I could not help noticing that I had not once succeeded in making them laugh. I worked as I had never worked before. I perspired in an endeavour to amuse them. Pausing for a moment to wipe the moisture from my brow, I heard one of these dear old ladies say to the other, referring to the programme, 1 ‘ and which is Tom Robey, my deac?” Broken, defeated, I retired to my dressing-room. And I remember that other time—it was a matinee too. I had been on for nearly an hour, and was in the middle of my best song when I heard an old gentleman shout into the speakingtrumpet of a friend: “1 think this must be the comedian!” Such experiences discourage a man. Our cook belongs to a different category. I gave Cook a couple of seats for our show the other night, and on the following morning I asked her how she had enjoyed it. After a moment's hesitation, she replied: “ Mo and my lady friend thought the piece was very COOK'S CAREFUL COMMENT. “And what did you think of me? ’ 1 inquired. She seemed embarrassed. 4 In a manner of speaking, it's not for me to find fault, so to say,” she observed. “ Speak out, Cook. Don’t mind me,” I said. “ Well, sir, if you must 'ave it,” she said, in a sudden outburst of candour, “the way you carried on, sir! Why, once or twice I could ardly keep from laughing! ” There are others like’ Cook. I have r.iet them. They do not laugh because it is rude to laugh. 1 want to reassure them on this point. I want them to understand that I do not object to their laughter. In fact, I like it. When they do not laugh, the management become terse with me. Mind you, it is jiussiblc to overdo.it. It is possible to laugh in the wrong place. Once, when I played the Moody Dane iu Tonypandy—bub that is another story. Generally speaking, I encourage people to laugh. It is good for them. It is a medicine. Doctors will tell you that a good hearty guffaw is worth a ton of physic. It airs the mind, expands the lungs, exercises the muscles of the diaphragm, and what not. But nothing will induce some people to try it. They refuse to laugh because their faces look better in repose. No doubt they are right. For the most part, when people don’t laugh it is because thev see nothing to laugh at. My wife has an aunt like that. Aunt Flora. She is in every sense of the word a sweet woman—T. might say a noble woman—but she breast because site is incapable of seeing a joke. The point is invariably AUNT FLORA ANNOYS ME. I have given her of ray best. I have tried her with short and snappy i ajid I have tried her with long I amusing anecdotes. I have told her j the story of the Scotsman and the ' waiter I have said to her: “ There was once a Scotsman who gave the waiter a tip. But the horse lost.” And Aunt Flora has frowned at me anxiously and inquired: “ Whose | horse my dear, and what did it lose? ’ Thereupon, in simple language, T ex- f plained the meaning of the pleasantry i io her. And 1 added: *• But 1 knew a

Scotsman once. Aunt Flora, who really did give the waiter half a crown.” “ The same waiter? ” asked Aunt Flora. “ .Boor man I I am glad.” " It doesn’t matter whether it’s the same waiter or another waiter,” I said. “ The point of my story is that Aunt Flora looked distressed. “A .Jew!” she murmured. “Of course, I am not prejudiced against Jews. 'There are some verv nice Jews in the world a “'lbis one. wasn’t,” I said, “but Hie Scotsman wasn’t a very nice Scotsman either. He gave the waiter half a crown and ” “ But surely that was nice of him, George ! ” SHE SAW THE JOKE. And the waiter died of lead poisoning,” 1 concluded. I looked at Aunt Flora hopefully. Her face was grave. “Dear me, liow- very sad ! ” ’ she observed. 1 don’t think you quite understand (lie joke, Aunt Flora.” I said. “Listen ! The Scotsman gave the Jew half a crown—and the Jew died of lead poisoning.” “Yes, 1 beard you the .first time.* said Aunt .Mora. “ I can’t help thinking Hie Scotsman must have been so glad be was kind to tho ! poor Jew before be died.” Aunt Flora, as I. said before, lias a sweet nature. There arc some who have not. I played to an audience in A orkshire once. At tlie end of an houi and a half T came to the conclusion that they, like Aunt Flora, had no sense of humour. The hour and a half passed without a smile. I danced to them; J sung to them; I pattered to them. Thev listened to me attentively with grim, set faces. My merry quips fell upon stony ground. Mien a. distressing thing happened. A careless stage-hand dropped a sandbag upon my head. It felled me to the ground. That did it. Never have ] yT* heartv, spontaneous