Newspaper Reporting and Correspondence / A Manual for Reporters, Correspondents, and Students of Newspaper Writing

XVI DRAMATIC REPORTING

Dramatic reporting is one of the most misused of the newspaper reporter's activities. To many reporters, as well as to their editors, it is just an easy way of getting free admission to the theater in return for a half column of copy. Hence it is treated in an unjustly trivial way; the reports of theatrical productions are printed most often as space fillers or as a small advertisement in return for free tickets. But after all the work is an important one and should be done only by skillful and expert hands. Dramatic reporting is included in this book, not because it is thought possible to give the subject an adequate treatment, but because theatrical reporting is a branch of the newspaper trade that may fall to the hands of the youngest reporter. In mere justice to the stage the reporter who writes up a play should know something about the real significance of what he is doing. It is much easier to tell the beginner what not to do than to tell him exactly what to do. The faults in dramatic reporting are far more evident than the virtues; and yet there are some positive things that may be said on the subject.

The first important question in the whole matter is "Who does dramatic reporting?" One would like to answer, "Skilled critics of broad knowledge and experience." But unfortunately almost anybody does it—any one about the office who is willing to give up his evening to go to the theater. To be sure, many metropolitan papers employ skilled critics to write their dramatic copy and run the theatrical news over the critic's name. Some editors of smaller papers have the decency to do the work themselves. But in most cases the work is given to an ordinary reporter—and not infrequently to the greenest reporter on the staff. Worse than that, the work is seldom given to the same reporter continuously, but is passed around among all the members of the staff. Even a green cub may learn by experience how to report plays, but if the work falls to him only once a month his training is very meager. It would seem in these days of much discussion of the theater that editors would realize the power which they have over the stage through their favorable or unfavorable criticism. But they do not, perhaps because they know little about the stage, and the appeal must be made to their reporters. Every reporter, except upon the largest papers, has the opportunity sooner or later to give his opinion on a play. In anticipation of that opportunity these few words of advice are offered.

The first requisite in dramatic criticism is a background of knowledge of the drama and the stage. To children, and to some grown people, too, the stage is a little dream world of absolute realities. Their imaginations turn the picture that is placed before them into real, throbbing life. They do not see the unreality of the art, the suggestive effects, the flimsy delusions; to them the play is real life, the stage is a real drawing room or a real wood, and they cannot conceive of the actors existing outside their parts. But the critic must look deeper; he must understand the machinery that produces the effects and he must weigh the success of the effects. He must get behind the play and see the actors outside the cast and the stage without its scenery; the dramatic art must be to him a highly technical profession. For this reason, he must know something about dramatic technique; he must have some background of knowledge. He must study the theater from every point of view, from an orchestra seat, from behind the scenes, from a peekhole in the playwright's study, and from the pages of stage history. All the tricks and effects must be evident to him. The only thing that will teach him this is constant, intelligent theater-going. He must be familiar with all of the plays of the season and with all of the prominent plays of all seasons. A child cannot criticize the first play that he sees because he has nothing with which to compare it. In the same way a reporter cannot justly judge any kind of play until he has seen another of the same kind with which to compare it. Hence he must know many plays and must know something about the history of the theater. Dramatic criticism is relative and the critic must have a basis for his comparison.

This background of knowledge may seem a difficult thing to acquire. It is; and it can best be acquired by watching many plays with an eye for the technique of the art. The critic may judge a play from its effect upon him, but his judgment will be superficial. He must try to see what the playwright is trying to do, how well he succeeds, what tricks he employs. He must judge the work of the stage carpenter and of the costumer. He must try to realize what problem the leading lady has to face and how well she solves it. The same carefulness of judgment must be given to each member of the cast. Only when the critic is able to see past the footlights and to understand the technique of the art, can he judge intelligently. And as his judgment can be at best only relative, he must have a background of many plays and much stage knowledge upon which to base his estimate of any one production.

The ideal criticism, based upon this background of knowledge, would be absolutely fair and unprejudiced. But unfortunately this ideal cannot always be followed. Much dramatic criticism is colored by the policy of the paper that prints it. Very few critics are so fortunate as to be able to say exactly what they think about a play; they must say what the editor wants them to say. Some theatrical copy, especially write-ups of vaudeville shows, is paid for and must contain nothing but praise. Sometimes it is necessary to praise the poorest production simply because the paper is receiving so much a column for the praise. In many other cases, when the copy is not paid for, the editor often considers it only fair to give the production a little puff in return for the free press tickets. And so a large share of any reporter's dramatic criticism is reduced to selecting things that he can praise. Yet, one cannot praise in a way that is too evident; he cannot simply say "The play was good; the staging was good; the acting was good; in fact, everything was good." He must praise more cleverly and give his copy the appearance of honest criticism. Perhaps the principle is wrong, but nevertheless it exists and happy is the dramatic critic whose paper allows him to say exactly what he thinks. However, whether one may say what he thinks or must say what his editor wants him to say, he must have as his background a thorough knowledge of the stage upon which he may base a comparison or a contrast and with which he may make intelligent statements. The following illustrates what may be done with a paid report of a mediocre vaudeville show in which every act must be praised—the report was written on Monday of a week's run and is intended to induce people to see the show:

This week's bill at —— Vaudeville Theatre is dashed onto the boards by a very exciting act, "The Flying Martins," whose thrilling tricks put the audience in a proper state of mind for the sparkling and laughable program that follows—a state of mind that keeps its high pitch without a break or let-down to the very end of Dr. Herman's side-splitting electrical pranks. This man, who has truly "tamed electricity," does many remarkable things with his big coils and high voltage currents and plays many extremely funny tricks upon his row of "unsuspecting-handsome" young volunteers.

The musical little playlet, "The Barn Dance," is very jokingly carried off by its Jack-of-all-Trades, "Zeke," the constable, and its pretty little ensemble song, "I'll Build a Nest for You." Many a young husband can get pointers on "home rule" from "Baseballitis;" it is a mighty good presentation of the "My Hero" theme in actual life. Hilda Hawthorne gives us some high-class ventriloquism with a good puppet song that is truly wonderful. There's a lot of good music, very good music in the sketch executed by "The Three Vagrants," as well as a lot of fun; one can hardly realize what an amount of melody an old accordion contains. Audrey Pringle and George Whiting have a hit that is sparkling with quick changes from Irish love songs to bull frog croaking with Italian variations.

For the purpose of a more complete study of the subject, however, we shall consider only dramatic criticism that is not restricted by editorial dictum or by the requirements of paid-space. That is, we shall imagine that we can praise or condemn or say anything we please concerning the dramatic production which we are to report. When we look at the subject in this way there are some positive things that may be said about theatrical reporting, but there are many more negative rules, that may be reduced to mere "Don'ts." The same principles hold good in dramatic criticism that is hampered by policy, but to a less degree.

In the first place, the one thing that a dramatic reporter must have when he begins to write his copy after the performance is some positive idea about the play, some definite criticism, upon which to base his whole report. It is impossible to write a coherent report from chance jottings and to confine the report to saying "This was good; that was bad, the other was mediocre." The critic must have a positive central idea upon which to hang his criticism. This central idea plays the same part in his report as the feature in a news story—it is the feature of his report which he brings into the first sentence, to which he attaches every item, and with which he ends his report. To secure this idea, the reporter must watch the play closely with the purpose of crystallizing his judgment in a single conception, thought, or impression. Sometimes this impression comes as an inspiration, sometimes it is the result of hard thought during or after the play. It may be concerned with the theme of the play, the playwright's work, the lines, the staging, the effects, the tricks, the acting as a whole, the acting of single persons, the music, the dancing, the costumes—anything connected with the production—but the idea must be big enough to carry the entire report and to be the gist of what the critic has to say about the play. It must be his complete, concise opinion of the performance.

When, as the critic watches the play, some idea comes to him for his report he should jot it down. As the play progresses he should develop this idea and watch for details that carry it out. There is no reason to be ashamed of taking notes in the theater and the notes will prove very useful at the office afterward. Perhaps after the play is over the critic finds that his jottings contain another idea that is of greater importance than the first; then he may incorporate the second into the first or discard the first altogether. Even after one has crystallized his judgment into a concise opinion he must elaborate and illustrate it and the program of the play is always of value in enabling one to refer definitely to the individual actors, characters, and other persons, by name. But, however complete the final judgment and the notes may be, it is always well to write the report immediately. When one leaves the theater his mind is teeming with things to say about the play, thousands of them, but after a night's sleep it is doubtful if a single full-grown idea will remain and the jottings will be absolutely lifeless and unsuggestive.

This is the positive instruction that may be given to young dramatic critics. It is so important and is unknown to so many young theatrical reporters, that it may be well to sum it up again. A dramatic criticism must be coherent; it must be unified. It must be the embodiment of a single idea about the play and every detail in the report must be attached to that idea. It is not sufficient to state the idea in a clever way; it must be expanded and elaborated with examples and reasons and must show careful thought. It is well to outline the report before it is written and to arrange a logical sequence of thought so that the result may be well-rounded and coherent.

The following is an example of a dramatic criticism in which this course is followed. It neither praises nor condemns but it points out gently wherein the play is strong or weak—and every sentence is attached to one central idea:

A POLITE LITTLE PLAY.

Never raise your voice, my dear Gerald. That is the only thing left to distinguish us from the lower classes. Lord Wynlea in "The Best People".

The new comedy at the Lyric Theatre is written in accordance with Lord Wynlea's dictum quoted above. It is mannerly, well poised, ingratiating and deft. As a minor effort in the high comedy style it is welcome, because it affords a respite from the "plays with a punch" and the prevalent boisterous specimens of the work of yeomen who go at the art of dramatic writing with main strength.

"The Best People" is by Frederick Lonsdale and Frank Curzen, who manifestly know some of them. It was done at Wyndham's Theatre in London, and we think that in a comfortable English playhouse, with tea between acts and leisurely persons with whom to visit in the foyer, it would make an agreeable matinee. Certainly it is admirably acted here, and, as has been intimated, its quiet drollery and its polite maneuvering make it a relief.

Whether American audiences, used to stronger fare than tea at the theatre, will find it sustaining is a question that would seem to be answered by the announcement, just received from the Lyric, that the engagement closes next Saturday evening.

The fable relates how the Honorable Mrs. Bayle discovered that her husband and Lady Ensworth had been flirting with peril during her absence in Egypt, how she blithely threw them much together, with the result that they grew intensely weary of each other, and how at last everybody concerned was happily and sensibly reconciled.

The spirit of the piece is sane and "nice," the decoration of it whimsical and graceful.

Miss Lucille Watson, embodying the spirit of witty mischief, gives a very fine performance of the part of Mrs. Bayle, a "smart," good woman, and Miss Ruth Shepley is excellent in byplay and flutter as a silly, good woman.

Cyril Scott is graceful and vigorous as a philandering husband, Dallas Anderson comical as a London clubman with a keener relish in life than he is willing to betray, and William McVey wise, paternal and weighty in that kind of a part.

"The Best People" is a pleasant spring fillip.

The first admonition in theatrical reporting is "Don't resumÉ the plot or tell the story of the play." This is almost all that many dramatic reporters try to do, because it is the easiest thing to do and requires the least thought. But, after all, it is usually valueless. The story of the play does not interest readers who have already seen the play and it spoils the enjoyment of the play for those who intend to see it. The usual purpose of any theatrical report is to criticize, but a report that simply resumÉs the story of the play is not a criticism; hence space devoted to the story is usually wasted. To be sure, this admonition must be qualified. If the development of the critic's judgment of the play requires a resumÉ of the story, there is then a reason for outlining the action. However, even then, the outline should be very brief.

The following is a typical example of the usual dramatic reporting which is satisfied when it has told the story of the play. In this, the first two sentences are a very bald attempt to repay the manager for his tickets. The resumÉ of the story, given very obviously to fill space, is not of any critical value. The only real criticism is at the end and is inadequate because the praise is given without reason.

Grace George and her small but excellent company of artists added one more to their long list of successful performances last night in the production of Geraldine Bonner's clever comedy of modern life, "Sauce for the Goose," at the —— Theatre. That the moody and sparkling Miss George has a good claim to the title of America's leading comedienne, no one who saw the performance last evening could deny. In this piece she is cast for the part of Kitty Constable, who is in the third year of her married life and living with her husband in New York City. Mr. Constable has been engaged in writing a book on the emancipation of woman and as a result has come to neglect his pretty little wife and seek the companionship of a certain woman of great intellect, Mrs. Alloway, who leads him on by an affected sympathy with his work. He chides his wife for her seeming negligence of the culture of her mind, telling her that she lacks grey matter. The climax comes when Mr. Constable tries to get away from his wife on the evening of their wedding anniversary to dine with Mrs. Alloway. Kitty tries the emancipated woman idea and goes to the opera with another man and has dinner with him in his apartments. She lets her husband know of her plans and he comes to the room in a rage. By thus playing first on his jealousy and then by ridiculing his ideas, she wins him back to herself. The company was made up of artists and there was not a crude spot in the whole performance. The part of Harry Travers, the friend of Mrs. Constable's, was excellently done by Frederick Perry, as was that of Mr. Constable by Herbert Percy. Probably the most difficult character in the play to portray was that of the "woman's rights" woman, Mrs. Alloway, which was most admirably done by Edith Wakeman.

The word criticism must not lead the reporter to think that, as a critic, his only function is to find fault. To criticize may mean to praise as well as to condemn. If the critic is not restricted by the policy of his paper, he should be as willing to praise as to condemn, and vice versa. But whichever course he takes he must be ready to defend his criticism and to tell why he praises or why he condemns. There is always a tendency to praise a play in return for the free tickets; this should be put aside absolutely. The critic owes something to the public as well as to the manager. If the play seems to him to be bad, he must say so without hesitation and he must tell why it is bad. Too many really bad plays are immensely advertised by a critic's undefended statement that they are not fit to be seen. Had the critic given definite reasons for his condemnation, his criticism might have accomplished its purpose. In the same way it is useless to say simply that a play is good. Its good points must be enumerated and the reader must be told why it is good.

However, criticism must be written with delicacy. If your heart tells you to praise, praise; if your heart tells you to condemn, condemn with care. Remember that your condemnation may put the play off the boards or at least hurt its success, and there must be sufficient reason for such radical action. The critic's debt to the public is large, but he owes some consideration to the manager. He must hesitate before he says anything that may ruin the manager's business. Critics very often condemn a play for trivial reasons; they feel indisposed, perhaps because their dinner has not agreed with them, the play does not fit into their mood and they turn in a half column of ruinous condemnation. Perhaps they like a certain kind of production—farces, for instance—and systematically vent their ire on every tragedy and every musical comedy. They do not use perspective; they do not judge the stage as a whole. No matter how poor a play is or how much a critic dislikes it, he must consider what the stage people are trying to do and judge accordingly. In many cases it is not the individual play that deserves adverse criticism, but the kind of play. All of these things must be considered; every dramatic critic must have perspective. He must be fair to the stage people and to the public; his influence is greater than he may imagine.

No matter how strong the occasion for condemnation may be, the dramatic critic is never justified in speaking bitterly. The poor production is not a personal offense against him nor against the public. It is simply a bad or an unworthy attempt and his duty is confined to pointing how or why it is not worthy. That does not mean that he is justified in using bitter, abusive, or even sarcastic language. It is great sport to make fun of things and to exercise one's wits at some one's else expense—it is also easy—but that is not dramatic criticism. The public asks the critic to tell them calmly and fairly, even coldly, the reasons for or against a production—the reasons why they should, or should not, spend their money to see it—bitter sarcasm overreaches the mark. Just as soon as a critic tries to be personal in his remarks on a play he is exceeding his prerogative and is open to serious criticism himself.

The necessary attributes of a dramatic reporter, as we have seen, are: fairness, logical thinking, and a background of stage knowledge. And of these three, the background is of the greatest importance; it is the stimulus and the check for the other two. The more a critic can know about every phase of the theatrical profession, contemporary or historical, the better will be his criticisms. The more knowledge of the stage that his copy shows, the more greedily will his readers look for his "Theatrical News" each day. However clear his idea of a play may be he cannot express it clearly and readably without a background of other plays to refer to. And, by the same sign, a wealth of allusions and a quantity of theatrical lore will often carry a critic past many a play concerning which he is unable to form a clear opinion. To develop your ability as a dramatic reporter, watch the theatrical criticisms in reputable dailies and weeklies and learn from them.

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