VAUDVILLE - THE BOOK

FOREWORD

THE caterer of amusements has learned not only to supply the programme but also to stimulate the zest and eagerness with which it is anticipated. For this purpose he must spice his offering with novelty, more novelty and always novelty. Nowhere is this truer than in Vaudeville, for so rapid are the changes in the public appetite that the whole character of the entertainment may vary from one season to another. What is popular this year may vanish next, and no prophet can foretell the favorites of three years hence.

So in this book no attempt is made to cover the field of Vaudeville, for that field is as limitless as humanity itself. A few impressions which have projected themselves with more or less vividness upon the ever moving picture of public favorites during the last few years, is the utmost that I have attempted. Of the many whose "intent is all for our delight" I have spoken of only a few. And well I know that, even as I write, new faces, new motives, new achievements are pressing forward to take their places in the shifting panorama.


—Contents—
Introduction
The Force Or Personality
The Appeal Of Character
The Entertainer As
Music And Near-Music
The Lure Of The Dance
Plays And Sketches
Versatile Mimics And Proteans
Some English Visitors
Marvels Of Strength and Skill
Mysteries And Illusions
Miscellaneous Fun-makers
Some Other Turns

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An excerpt from the beginning of the:

INTRODUCTION

"OUR true intent is all for your delight." This line, from the halting prologue of the Clown's Play in A Midsummer Night's Dream might well be taken for the motto of Vaudeville. For it is ever the aim of the Vaudeville performer to seek the chord which shall evoke an answering vibration in his audience and to attune his offering in a key which, in spite of modulations and varying harmonies, shall strike constantly on that string.

The ability to recognize this answering vibration seems to call into play a sort of sixth sense, in response to which those whose "true intent is all for our delight" evolve for themselves an individual technique to accentuate the key in which they pitch their appeal. Into the discovery of this keynote and the creation of the technique it is inevitable that there will enter something of that mysterious quality which we call Art.

So little time is allowed to each performer that their appeal is necessarily frankly direct. It hides itself behind no subtleties but is personal and unashamed. It looks its audience straight in the face and says, in effect, "Look at ME! I am going to astonish you!" It makes no claim to aloofness or impersonality, but comes right down to the footlights and faces the crowd and tells it "All for your Delight We are—here."

I was witnessing once a performance in Vaudeville, in which one of the turns was a little one act comedy by an actor of considerable repute on the legitimate stage. I am not going to tell his name though most of you would know it if I did. Behind me sat two young ladies, one of whom evinced her familiarity with the various turns by a running commentary on the age or novelty of each act and comparisons of it with other turns by the same performers; by explanations of what was coming and a narration of personal details concerning the performers of the nature that find their way into the "theatrical notes" of the daily papers. When it came to the turn of the aforesaid actor the following conversation took place:

"D'ye know this one, Mame?"

"No, but I heard of him starrin' in highbrow stuff on Broadway."

"What did he quit for?"

"Search me!"

The comedy began and the actor made his appearance, absorbed in his part, taking no apparent notice of his audience. The comment behind me was resumed.

"Well! he certainly is a bum actor. See him turn his back on the audience!"

"Seems to be actin' to himself, don't he?"

"H'm, guess that's why he had to leave Broadway."

The play continued. As the interest developed the conversation languished somewhat but presently I heard a loud whisper:

"Say, he does make it seem sort of real, don't he?"

"Yes, but he don't act."

"Aw! but it's sort of real, ain't it?"

The climax found both ladies too absorbed to talk, but after the curtain fell on the third or fourth recall the final verdict was rendered.

"It did seem sort of real, but he ain't got no manners. I guess that's why he had to quit Broadway."