THE CHORUS

Waipa Post, Volume 36, Issue 2144, 14 April 1928, Page 3

THE CHORUS

MANY CALLED—FEW CHOSEN. A mathematician, if he could have been lured into St. James’s Theatre recently, might have posed himself some pretty problems (states the Sydney Morning Herald). At least 300 would-be chorus ladies and ballet girls were given trials by the Fuller management. About sixty were chosen. The rest were politely ushered into outer sunlight. The joyous sixty began rehearsing immediately.

For those who have never witnessed the ordeal through which aspirants to stage-life must go, the following is a brief description of the methods adopted by the management. The girls stream into the stalls. Many of them are little more than schoolgirls, and are accompanied by their mothers. A vast chattering fills the auditorium. The stage, dreary in the morning light suddenly blazes into artificial brilliance.

“Chorus ladies, please come on to the stage; ballet girls, please get ready,” cries the alert music director. Half the girls rush away to the dress-ing-rooms; the other half crowd on to the stage. The stage-manager, with hawk-like intensity, watches the chorus ladies as they range themselve's in lines. Flashlight photographs are taken. The hustlers get themselves into front positions. A few little quarrels begin and quickly die down. A tall and beautiful brunette falls into an uncontrollable fit of giggling. A sturdy blonde, who has manouevred her way well to the front, loses her temper because the girl behind her refuses to be obscured. Quickly the stage-manager, standing in front of the stalls, grades the girls according to height. The stage becomes a moving masis of vivid colour; for these would-be chorus ladies know how to dress effectively. Red and purple jostle with brown and maroon; blue and yellow clash with primrose and orange; scarlet and black shout against pink and grey and cream and snow white.

Each girl is numbered, and one of the theatre staff takes the names and addresses. Seated in the front row of the stalls, the burly stage-manager rapidly scribbles notes and as the last name and address is written down, he calls out the number of those chosen for voice trials —the second part of the ordeal. These girls are given seats on the stage. The rest are politely told “that is all this morning, ladies. If any of you are wanted, you will be communicated with by post.” Murmurs and moans* The disappointed fair ones troop down into the stalls, there to whisper criticisms of their luckier sisters.

“Miss Ninety-seven, please.” A trembling girl, nervously clasping her hands, steps towards the footlights and sings. At least, her mouth opens and her lips move to the accompaniment played by the music director. But not even one of her thin notes travels across the footlights. “That will do, thanks. Miss Fifteen, please!” Miss Fifteen hands her music to the accompanist. Jauntily she walks to the centre of the stage. Nasally she sings three bars of a jazz song.

“Stop! That will do, thanks. Miss Sixty-three, please!” Miss Sixty-three electrifies everybody. She sings like a young Melba. “That will do nicely, thanks,” purrs the manager. “Miss Twenty-nine, please!” And so on. Voice after voice is heard. A few girls have forgotten their numbers. The stage manager shouts passionately, “If you can’t remember your numbers” —he shrugs—“what more will you be able to remember?”

At last the chorus is chosen, and dismissed for the day. “Ladies of the ballet, please come on to the stage.” Scores of girls, clad only in trunks and tunics, are ranged at the back of the stage by the ballet-master, a stern young man, with a firm jaw. And then comes the agonising business of “try ing out.” The girls are asked by the ballet manager to pirouette, to highkick, to turn cart-wheels, to toe-dance. Many are called,' but few are chosen. The lucky ones have their names and addresses taken; the others are dismissed, pleasantly but firmly. By 1.30 p.m. the ordeal is over. The girls pour from the theatre, most of the successful ones recognisable easily by the faraway look in their eyes, the rapt expression on their faces; dreaming that they have set their feet upon a ladder that leads to stardom. A few of these dreams may come true. Who knows ?