VOICES FROM THE GODS

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 76, Issue 96, 26 April 1933, Page 8

VOICES FROM THE GODS

HUMOUR IN THE THEATRE PLAYERS AND AUDIENCES UNREHEARSED INCIDENTS. The voice from the gallery is nut so active in the theatre to-day as it was at one time, but it has been responsible for some classic laughs, especially in heavy melodrama. When a version of “Monte Cristo” was produced at the Adelphi—says Mr. John Aye, in a collection of amusing stage stories, entitled “Humour iu the Theatre”—the play dragged badly. At length the curtain rose un a darkened bedroom in which an old man sat beside a bed, with a lighted candle. “I say, mister,” shouted one of tho gods in the ominous silence, “wcTc not keeping you up, are we?” Arthur Roberts was once persuaded to take part in a romantic play with Florence St. John, and caiue ou in the likeness of the starving poet, Chatterton. The audience, however, preferred Arthur Roberts, the comedian. “Chuck it, Arthur, old sport,” came a voice from the gallery, “and put a bit of red on your nose, me lad.” A rapt audience watched, with bated breath, the plight of the heroine. Deserted by her lover, cast off by her family, dogged by tho villian, she was at her last extremity. “I must end it all,” she wailed, “1 must indeed end it all; but where can I buy poison?” “You try the bar of this theatre, missie,” came a voice from the gods. The final word is not always with the audience. A fit-up manager who had experienced a very bad season made his meagre audience a farewell speech. “I have to thank you one and all.” he said, “for the noble way in which you have Tallied to this—er —Temple of Thespis. I thank you for tho kind manner in which you have patronised our efforts.” Then, after a moment’s bitter reflection, he added: “But, God help me, if I had opened a season on the Goodwin Sands, I should have had more support from the shipwrecked sailors. ’ ’ Tho vanity of actors and actresses is proverbial. A young actress who had been brought out of obscurity by Tree began to insist on being billed in larger type. “I want,” she said, “to be announced thus, ‘Sir Herbert Tree and Miss X. ’ ” “Yes. my dear child.’ retorted Tree, “but why ‘and*? Why not ‘but’?” Another classic retort was to a somewhat illiterate Cockney comedian who told Sir Herbert: “Look here, guvnor. 1 shall expect you to bill the ‘and’ before my nyme. ” “Alas’ my dear friend,” replied Tree. “How* can I do so? You know it is ’ard to give the ’and where the ’art can never be.” There is story of a celebrated actor who strolled, into his club and made for the telephone box, leaving the door open so that he might be overheard. “Hello, hello,’’ he began, “is that you, Mr. X? (naming a manager high in the theatrical world). Good, I got your letter this morning, but £lOO a week is no good to me. A'ou’ll make it £150? No, £2OO is my price, not a penny less. You agree to £200? Very well, I’ll come round to-morrow and sign the contract. Good-bye.” The actor came out of the box and beamed on the listening crowd. At that moment the club secretary entered the room. “Excuse me, sir.” ho said, “but that telephone has been out of order since yesterday. We’re expecting a man in to see to it shortly.”