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A historical study of the stage directing theory and practice of David Belasco

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A historical study of the stage directing theory and practice of David Belasco

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Content A HISTORICAL STUDY OF THE STAGE DIRECTING THEORY AND PRACTICE OF DAVID BELASCO by Noah Franklin Modisett A Dissertation Presented to the FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY (Communicat ion) January 1963 UMI Number: DP22309 All rights reserved INFORMATION TO ALL USERS The quality of this reproduction is dependent upon the quality of the copy submitted. In the unlikely event that the author did not send a complete manuscript and there are missing pages, these will be noted. Also, if material had to be removed, a note will indicate the deletion. Dissertation Publishing UMI DP22309 Published by ProQuest LLC (2014). Copyright in the Dissertation held by the Author. Microform Edition © ProQuest LLC. All rights reserved. This work is protected against unauthorized copying under Title 17, United States Code ProQuest LLC. 789 East Eisenhower Parkway P.O. Box 1346 Ann Arbor, Ml 48106- 1346 C o p y rig h t (cT) by N oah F r a n k lin M o d ise tt 1963 U N IV E R S IT Y O F S O U T H E R N C A L IF O R N IA GRADUATE SCHOOL UNIVERSITY PARK LOS ANGELES 7, CALIFORNIA This dissertation, w ritte n by Noah Franklin Modisett ; under the direction of hX&—-D issertation Com mittee, and approved by a ll its members, has been presented to and accepted by the Graduate School, in p a rtia l fu lfillm e n t o f requirements fo r the degree of D O C T O R O F P H I L O S O P H Y * c . Dean D a te January,.. 1 . 9 . 6 3 .......... IRTATION COMMITTEE ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I wish to thank, in part, the following friends for their patience and charity: my advisers, for their sound judgment and sure guidance; George Freedley, for allowing free access to the Belasco Collection in the New York Public Library and for encouraging my progress; the interviewees, for giving of their time and memories; Jeanne Daigle, for her un flagging loyalty as my volunteer typist during the long research; Les Boston, for his catalytic advice and expert proof-reading; Betty King, for her professional execution of the final typing; Pat Parsons, for her inspiration and aid throughout; and to many others. I I TABLE OF CONTENTS FRONTISPIECE ACKNOWLEDGMENTS iii Chapter I. THE PROBLEM 1 Statement of the Problem Importance of the Problem Definition of Terms Delimitation of the Study Method and Procedures Preview of Remaining Chapters Biographies Autob iographie s Theatre Histories Theatre Surveys Memoirs Critical Studies and Reviews Unpublished Materials Types of Plays Selected Types of Plays Produced in New York During the Belasco Period Criteria for Play Selection II. REVIEW OF THE LITERATURE 18 III. SELECTION OF THE PLAY 40 iv i Chapter Page I IV. CASTING...................................... 56 Criteria for Casting Procedure for Casting V. REHEARSAL.................................... 82 Theories of Rehearsal Rehearsal Procedure Belascofs Rehearsal Procedure as Seen by Others Final Rehearsals, in Washington, D. C. Short Post-performance Rehearsals Rehearsal Techniques VI. TECHNICAL ELEMENTS.......................... 142 Scenic Design Stage Effects Properties Costumes Light ing VII. ACTING....................................... 188 Schools of Acting Belascofs Acting Theory VIII. SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS..................... 205 Summary Conclusions APPENDIXES........................................... 218 A. Edited Interviews B. List of Performers Who Appeared in Belasco Productions and Their Respective Years of Appearance C. Holdings in the David Belasco Collec tion in the New York Public Library BIBLIOGRAPHY......................................... 370 v CHAPTER I THE PROBLEM David Belasco worked as a playwright and stage director in New York City from 1882 to his death in 1931. The cooling winds of time have taken some of the subjec tive fire from the memory of this controversial figure and one may agree with George Middleton that now . . . critics can more accurately appraise his place in the stream of drama history. . . . He had no broad culture and was unaware of social and economic readjustments in the world about him. He produced no important play, I recall, which reflected the new moralities touching on man and society. . . . Yet within his capacities, no one surpassed him as a producer. Everything he touched became sheer theatre. To thrill or amuse an audience so that it escaped from realities into a make-believe but recognizable world, is one of the theatre*s functions. There Belasco seldom failed.^ This study was initiated to learn how Belasco created ,fsheer theatre** and the methods which caused him ^George Middleton, These Things Are Mine (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1947), p. 275. 1 seldom to fail as a stage director. ' i i Statement of the Problem It was the purpose of this research to make a historical study of the stage directing theory and practice of David Belasco. To accomplish this goal, certain ques- i tions were posed: ! 1. What were Belasco*s criteria for selecting a play for production? 2. What methods did he use in casting plays? 3. What rehearsal procedures did he follow? 4. How did he help actors to develop characteri zations? 5. What techniques did he employ for developing mood and tempo in his productions? 6. What emphasis did he give to the technical elements in his productions and what innova tions did he introduce? 7. How did he work with stage designers, lighting technicians, and other members of his production staff? 8. What unique methods did he employ in directing his actors and his staff? 9. What were his attitudes about acting and the training of actors? This study attempted to answer these questions by auditing the records of observers, both dead and living, and by studying Belasco*s own writings. No attempt was made to appraise the validity of Belascofs theories or methods, nor was this study initiated to inflate or deflate a legend. The sole purpose was to describe the practices, based on theory, which David Belasco employed as a stage director. Importance of the Problem The problem is important because the theory and practice of stage direction has ascended in importance during the last century. Less than a hundred years ago the director was only an ideal nurtured by disgruntled critics of the chaotic Victorian theatre. He did not even have a name, for the terms ’’ director,1 1 ’’ regisseur,” and , f metteur en scene1 1 had barely begun to acquire their present theatrical meaning. He was imaged as a ’’ disciplinarian1 1 . . . who would be I T at one and the same time a poet, and antiquarian and a costumier. ” When the director did finally appear toward the end of the nineteenth century, he filled so pressing a need that he quickly pre empted the hegemony that had rested from time immemorial with playwrights and actors.^ o Toby Cole and Helen Krich Chinoy, Directing the , - The balance of power in the theatre shifted in the late nineteenth and, particularly, the early twentieth cen tury more toward the director. The scattered elements of stage production needed his coordinating hand to return to the theatre some of its primitive, communal function. A reunification was called for between the play, the produc- , tion, and the spectators. The movement toward realism and naturalism in plays required his unifying hand. Expres sionism and symbolism required his artistic mind. The shift was not abrupt nor complete, but there has been more emphasis on the director in the twentieth century than in any previous period of theatre history. This problem is important because of the recognized status of Belasco as a stage director. Historians and critics during his lifetime and after his death are almost unanimously agreed that, for better or worse, David Belasco was an important professional of the theatre. Barrett H. Clark wrote in 1921: Probably the most prominent figure in the theatrical world of the past quarter-century, both as a dramatist and producer, is David Belasco. As Play, A Source Book of Stagecraft (Indianapolis: Bobbs- Merrill, 1953), p. 13. 3 John Dolman, The Art of Play Production (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1946), p. 1.____________________________ 5 a dramatist, he should be considered rather as a skillful, and occasionally inspired collaborator; as a producer, a careful, painstaking, and yet illuminating artist. He was the first in the country who studied stage-effects down to the minutest detail. . , .4 Two years earlier Hornblow was even more compli mentary : Among America’s leading play producers at the present time David Belasco is foremost. He stands alone in his field and has no competitor.^ A more recent appraisal of Belasco came from Eric Bentley, who linked Belasco with some noteworthy theatre personalities. Faced with a subject like The Theatre, 1900- 1950, the critic historian should provide a list and an account of the outstanding performances of the past half-century in all countries, a first hand description of Duse and Bernhardt, Irving and Moissi, Chaliapin and Mei Lan-Fang, Jouvet and Laurette Taylor, not to mention the production methods of Belasco . . No greater encomium has been written of Belasco than that of Cole and Chinoy: #,In the history of American theatre, David Belasco was the first significant director ^Barrett H. Clark, The British and American Drama of Today (Cincinnati: Stewart and Kidd, 1921), p. 285. c J Arthur Hornblow, A History of the Theatre in America (Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1919), p. 335. ^Eric Bentley, In Search of Theatre (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1953), p. 404. ial figure."^ j More cryptically, we could say with Glenn Hughes in writing of American producers and directors that: "For our purpose the most interesting is David Belasco, the Dean of j i American Producers."** Belasco was born in the heyday of Dion Boucicault, the author and producer of melodrama (for whom he was a secretary), and lived to see the symbolistic and expres- sionistic drama of Eugene 0fNeill. The year of Belasco's birth, 1853,9 there were seven legitimate theatres in Man hattan; whereas in 1927, four years before Belasco*s death, there were eighty theatres which produced 302 plays. Writing in 1923 Oliver Sayler lauded Belasco: Only a single dominant figure out of these days survives--David Belasco, master of traditional 7 Toby Cole and Helen Krich Chinoy (eds.), Directing the Play, A Source Book of Stagecraft (Indianapolis: Bobbs- Merrill, 1953), p. 38. **Glenn Hughes, Story of the Theatre (New York: Samuel French, 1928), p. 373. ^Despite the confusion about his birth date (char acteristic of many people of the theatre), writers of the last two decades agree he was born July 25, 1853, in San Francisco. ■^Glenn Hughes, op. cit.„ p. 170; and Edmond M. Gagey, Revolution in American Drama (New York: Columbia University Press, 1947), p. 232. 7 finesse, inheritor, practitioner and interpreter of that past as well as occasionally willing stu dent of the new, living link between two distant and unacquainted generations*H Not only was Belasco a transitional figure in the evolution of the American Theatre but he has also been given credit for influencing the nature and character of the embryonic art of the motion picture* In his study, Stage to Screen, Vardac devoted a chapter to the influence of Belasco and his productions on the ”galloping tintypes,” which was summarized in the line: Belasco forms a bridge between Tottenham Court Road and Hollywood, and thus occupies a salient position in the realistic-romantic devel opment from Garrick to Griffith.12 Some viewed the passing of Belasco as more than the death of a man. Gagey mentioned that: After the crash, Broadway staggered on, but the financial ruin of many producers . . . the de mise of Theatre Magazine, the deaths of Belasco in 1931 and of Ziegfeld the next year, seemed to mark the end of an era. In 1941 Norris Houghton had seen little change in ■^Oliver M. Sayler, Our American Theatre (New York: Brentano*s, 1923), p. 48. 12 A. Nicholas Vardac, Stage to Screen (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1949), p. 109. 1 ^ JGagey, loc. cit. r 1 8 * the director's art since the apogee of Belascofs career: Broadway in the past twenty-five years has had no Reinhardt, no Meyerhold, no Stanislavski or Craig, no Belasco even, to refashion the theatre, or any part of it, in his own image. The mainte nance of the representational style has been our director’s concern and to that style they have added little to make Broadway direction of 1940 different from that of 1920.^ And thus it is that the major significance of Belasco’s work is as a transitional f i g u r e . - ^ This study is important because of the need for a factual record and evaluation of the stage directing por tion of the life of this controversial man. Belasco was revered by many, accepted with qualifications by some, and hated by a few. William Winter’s preface to his biography of Belasco is highly favorable: David Belasco is the leading theatrical mana ger in the United States; the manager from whom it is reasonable to expect that the most of achieve ment can proceed that will be advantageous to the stage, as an institution, and to the welfare of the public to which that institution is essential and precious. •^Norris Houghton, Advance from Broadway, 19,000 Miles of American Theatre (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1941), p. 306. IS •'John Mason Brown, Upstage, The American Theatre in Performance (New York: W. W. Norton, 1930), p. 186. William Winter, The Life of David Belasco (New York: Moffat, Yard and Co., 1918), preface p. xxvi. 9’ Brown took a middle position: As a technician he has been one of the great influences of our stage, as well as one of its great pathfinders, and it is in his laboratories that he has shown his greatest courage. But, as is the sad fate of the leaders of new tendencies, the times have passed beyond him for the definite well-being of our theatre-And as the years have slipped by, it has become increasingly clear that, in spite of Mr. Belascofs fidelity to realism and his fondness for truth, his first allegiance has been neither to truth nor realism, but to what he thought his audiences would accept as truth.17 George Jean Nathan, however, said resignedly: [Belasco] suavely invites me to his eighth- rate plays; I write that they are eighth-rate plays; and such is the tragedy of prolonged repe tition, no one any longer believes me.18 In addition to encountering a diversity of opin ions about the manfs work, the student of Belasco is con fronted with conflicting and spurious reports regarding his life. Belasco admitted that he may not have remem bered the facts exactly. Winter, his most complete biog rapher, was well aware that Belasco1s life story in Hearst's Magazine was inadequate and often u n r e l i a b l e , ^ Many of the panegyric comments about Belasco in the news- 17 x/Brown, op. cit., p. 190. -jo °George Jean Nathan, The Theater^ The Drama, and The Girls (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1921), p. 270. ■^Winter, op. cit., preface p. xxi. 10 papers were releases from Belascofs own press agent. (Identical articles were found in the newspapers of many different cities.) Cecil B. DeMille posed the controversial nature of Belasco well: Probably millions of words have been written about David Belasco as writer, producer, director, and man. Some thought of him as the greatest fig ure in the American theatre, towering over two generations. To others, he seemed almost a char latan, an admittedly magical showman, but one who contributed next to nothing to dramatic art. Which estimate of him was true?20 Despite the wealth of words which have been written about Belasco, this question has remained unanswered, par ticularly regarding Belasco*s stage directing talents. No specific, complete study has been made of this part of Belascofs theatrical accomplishments. It is the intention of this study to resolve some of the unanswered questions about the directing theories and practices of David Belasco. Definition of Terms Four terms, and combinations thereof, are of extreme importance to this study. They are stage, stage ^Cecil B. DeMille, The Autobiography of Cecil B. DeMille, ed. Donald Hayne (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Ha11, 1959), p. 58. — li directing, stage directing theory, and stage directing practice. Stage. - -In this study the word ’’stage" was used to refer to the legitimate theatre as it was in the Broadway area of New York City during Belascofs lifetime. Stage directing.— Stage directing was interpreted to mean conducting and guiding play rehearsals, employing close artistic guidance and control of all the components of a produced drama. It included ultimate judgment for selection of the play, casting, set design, set construc tion, rehearsals, lighting, properties, costumes, sound, salaries, publicity, and house management. Many of these responsibilities would seem to be the function of a pro ducer. Since Belasco’s death the producer has tended to acquire financial responsibility and the director artistic responsibility, but in Belasco’s theater they were combined in him. Clayton Hamilton’s definition of the stage-director was appropriate as a definition of "stage directing" for this study: It is the business of the stage-director to coordinate the contributions of the author, the actors, the designer of the scenery and costumes, 121 and the manipulator of the lights, into an harmoni ous work of art. The stage-director is often, in the contemporary theatre, the dominant artist of the drama; and in any critical consideration of a play that has passed through his hands, it is fre quently more necessary to devote attention to his artistry than to that of either the actor or the author. Any play, for instance, that has been produced by Mr. David Belasco must be studied as a Belasco play, regardless of who wrote it or of who the actors were.21 Stage directing theory.--Stage directing theory was interpreted to mean the principles a director uses to guide his directing practice. A personfs stage directing theory usually reflects his ideas about the function of the the atre and the proper way to accomplish this function. Often it is not stated by a stage director. However, there are many records of what Belasco thought were the principles for accomplishing the functions of the theatre as he viewed Stage directing practice.--Stage directing practice was interpreted to mean the methods a stage director em ploys to manifest his stage directing theory. Regardless of what the director stated should be done, this term indi cated what he actually did. In the study of such a flexible ^■^Clayton Hamilton, Studies in Stagecraft (New York: Henry Holt, 1914), p. 8.__________________________ 13 and personal activity as stage directing, it was imperative to focus on what was actualized, rather than on what was theorized. In this study of the stage directing theory and practice of David Belasco, the theory is that expressed in Belasco1s writings and reported oral statements, and the practice is that described by first-hand observers. Delimitation of the Study David Belasco, in addition to being a stage direc tor, was a dramatist, a teacher, an author, and occasion ally an actor. It was not the purpose of this study to investigate these other talents. Although Belasco as a young man enjoyed a varied degree of success (depending upon what source of informa tion you consult) in the theatres of San Francisco, it was not the purpose of this study to include this period of his development. Belasco was not a stage director until he came to New York. As a man of the theatre, Belasco lived an unusual private life. In his lifetime he was famous for at least thirty-five years, and therefore was sought for himself and his fame. This interesting facet of Belasco, however, was not included in this study. Nevertheless, it was impos sible to divorce the personality of the man from his abil ity. Therefore, this investigation did note Belasco*s unique personality, but only as it affected his stage directing technique. In short, this research was limited to the profes sional New York stage directing activities of David Belasco, Method and Procedures \ The procedures used in this study repeated the pat tern of other historical studies in some ways and deviated from some of them in at least one way. Because the research dealt with a person who had lived in the modern era, and because he had been famous, there was much that had been written about him and much of this is still avail able. Because he died only thirty years ago, there are approximately thirty people who worked with him who are still living. To plumb the depths of the printed material, exclu sive of secondary sources, all the available periodical and newspaper articles by and about Belasco were assembled and studied. Some articles about Belasco contained eye witness reports of his stage directing. All of the extant 15 Belasco scrapbooks were deposited in, and became the basis for, the Theatre Collection in the New York Public librar- 22 y. There are over two hundred scrapbooks, containing press clippings, pictures, letters, and scenery plots. They were studied for contemporary material pertaining to stage directing techniques. Many of the scrapbooks had deteriorated until the source of the article was missing.^ Where possible, the Dramatic Index and other bibliographies were searched to locate the missing information. However, in some cases the search was unsuccessful. In addition to locating and studying the written record of deceased past observers, an attempt was made to locate living past observers of Belasco’s techniques. This source was basically the surviving actors who had worked in his productions. A list was compiled of all the performers who had speaking parts in the original casts of all of Belasco’s New York productions.^ Over twenty former actors and actresses whom Belasco had directed were found, 22 ’’ Belasco Career Records Sent to Public Library,” New York Telegram. August 6, 1931. oo JWhere references in this study are to articles from this collection, source data for which are incomplete, the footnote carries the notation, ’’ Belasco Collection.” ^See Appendix B. 16 and fourteen were interviewed in depth. The interviews were structured around the questions posed in the statement of the problem of this study and varied in length from thirty minutes to three hours, de pending upon the length of time of the interviewee’s affiliation with Belasco, and on the interviewee’s memory. A portable tape recorder was used and a typed transcript was made from the taped recording. If there was any doubt regarding the wording of a crucial statement on the taped recording, the interviewee was contacted for verification or correction. Preview of Remaining Chapters Chapter II deals with a preview of the literature. This is followed by a presentation of the data, which includes a chapter on selection of the play. Additional chapters cover casting, rehearsal techniques and proced ures, technical aspects of the productions, and acting. The final chapter contains a summary and some final con clusions. Appendix A contains the edited taped recordings of former Belasco performers. Also included is an appendix of all performers who had speaking roles in the New York 17 openings of all Belasco productions. Appendix C is a list of the volumes in the Belasco Collection in the New York Public Library. CHAPTER II REVIEW OF THE LITERATURE References to David Belasco and comments on his work in the theatre are multitudinous. Despite the absence of any single work devoted to his stage directing tech niques, many writers have alluded to Belascofs stage directing. Biographies There are two biographies of Belasco: William Winter1s The Life of David Belasco.^ which was completed in 1918, thirteen years prior to Belasco*s death, and Craig Timberlakefs The Life and Work of David Belasco; the o Bishop of Broadway, which was published in 1954. The former, a two-volume work, contains a few examples of the directorial problems which Belasco encountered., In the ^(New York: Moffat, Yard and Co., 1918), 2 vols. ^(New York: Library Publisher, 1954), 491 pp. 18 - majority of these citations, however, Winter quoted from o Belasco*s own biography, ”The Story of My Life,1 1 using this as a basis for fact, despite Winter’s earlier admoni tion that much of this source material was inadequate and unreliable. In the main, the references to Belasco*s stage directing techniques are more relevant to the result than to the process. There are no first-hand reports of Belasco*s stage directing. Except for the account of the celebrated snowstorm in The Girl of the Golden West, which is discussed in Chapter VI of this study, there is no detailed explanation of a stage event which would have required the personal coordination of the director. The second biography of Belasco, understandably, duplicated the Winter volumes in many instances but expanded certain facets of Belasco*s life. His colorful youth is treated in great detail; more anecdotes of his New York life are interspersed; and the transcripts of a few of his lawsuits lend authenticity to the record. Some areas of historical controversy concerning Belasco*s life are examined and resolved. The bulk of the comments about Belasco*s stage directing, which remarks are very general, ^David Belasco, l!The Story of My Life,*1 Hearst*s Magazine, March, 1914, to December, 1915. 20 are found in Chapter 23, "Belascoism and the Belasco Myth,1 1 and Chapter 26, "A Kind of Genius.1 1 Timber lake also drew heavily upon Belasco*s autobiography. Autobiographies A The Theatre through Its Stage Door. Belasco’s venture into autobiographical writing (the book was edited, and probably written, by Louis V. Defoe), which was basi cally a compilation of magazine articles about subjects as varied as ,fThe Problems of the Child Actor,1 1 and f , The Drama's Flickering Bogey--The Movies,1 1 contains one chapter concerning the theory of stage directing. This is "The Evolution of a Play,1 1 and it is the most complete revela tion by him of stage directing as he saw it. This chapter was included in Directing the Play. Source Book of Stage- craft. The serialized autobiography, "The Story of My Life,” is a sentimental recounting of Belascofs private and public life. His ancestry, his boyhood, his early 4 David Belasco, The Theatre through Its Stage Door, edited by Louis V. Defoe (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1919). 5 Toby Cole and Helen Crich Chinoy (eds.), Directing the Play, A. Source Book of Stagecraft (Indianapolis: Bobbs- Merrill, 1953), 341 pp. 21 theatrical activities, his work at the Baldwin Theatre in San Francisco, his first job at the Madison Square Theatre in New York, his stage direction of Mrs. Leslie Carter, and his fight with the Theatrical Syndicate, are all given some space. However, this source has lost some credibility as more research on Belasco1s life has been completed and it was used sparingly as a source for this study. Theatre Histories Theatre historians have been almost unanimous in stressing Belasco*s importance as a stage director. Mac- gowan and Melnitz pointed out Belasco*s contributions to realistic staging and reforms in stage lighting. In addi tion they mentioned: Realism in production came to the American stage through David Belasco. He had always been a pioneer of illusion through lighting, but it was not until after the turn of the century that he began to use solidly-built box sets. In 1909, for The Easiest Wav, he literally transferred to his stage wallpaper, doors, and furniture from a dilap idated rooming house. A few years later he reached the climax of his realism by copying a corner of one of the Child*s Restaurants for The Governor*s Lady. . . . Belasco had a theatrical instinct that forced his actors beyond the realism of his sets. Kenneth Macgowan and William Melnitz, The Living Stage (New York: Prentice-Hall, 1955), p. 425. 22 Cheney also noted Belascofs realism in stage set tings.^ Freedley and Reeves pointed out that in 1889 Belasco . . . staged Sophocles Electra at the Lyceum Theatre in which he made the first extensive use of the artistic stage lighting for which he was to become famous in later years. It was then, in all probability, that he realized that his real forte in the theatre lay in direction and production.^ Later they stated that Belasco became famous as a fore runner by using naturalistic effects in staging but not in writing. He also developed many stars, some of whom were ineffective without him. In his first historical work on the theatre, Glenn Hughes summarized Belasco's directorial ability: Much idolatry has been laid at Mr. Belasco's feet and as much abuse has been hurled at his head. Friends and enemies alike, however, join in prais ing him for his thoroughness, his valuable contri butions to the technique of play production. His laboratory has been engaged for years in the advancement of stage-lighting, and his scenic effects have frequently proved startling in their Shelden Cheney, The Theatre. Three Thousand Years of Drama, Acting, and Stagecraft (New York: Tudor Publish ing Co., 1929), p. 451. Q George Freedley and John A. Reeves, A History of the Theatre (New York: Crown Publishers, 1941), pp. 332, 333. r 23" realism. His actors have generally shown careful training in diction and pantomime, and have there fore helped to maintain a standard in such matters. Mr. Belasco has no patience with hasty effects, with good intentions minus good execution.^ Allardyce Nicoll noted that in America at the turn of the century there was a development . . .of Belasco realism, in which living ani mals appeared in the farm-yard scenes and even theatrical meals had to be cooked before the eyes of the spectators with real ingredients.-^ John Anderson opined that ^Belasco's most imagina tive production was himself.*1 He also noted the Boucicault influence on Belascofs techniques and his genius as a show man. ^ In summarizing the lives of various actors and actresses, Coad and Mims alluded to Belascofs part in developing these personalities; however, they also referred specifically to his directing. They noted that yGlenn Hughes, The Story of the Theatre, A Short History of Theatrical Art from the Beginning to the Present Day (London and New York: Samuel French, 1928), p. 373. ^A1lardyce Nicoll, The Development of the Theatre. A. Study of Theatrical Art from the Beginnings to the Present Day (London: Harcourt, 1927; rev. ed. 1957), pp. 196, 198. Hjohn Anderson, The American Theatre and the Motion Picture in America (New York: The Dial Press, 1938), p. 78. 24 • . . the secret of Belasco's success is that he is never in a hurry. Unlike some of his brother managers, who hastily throw their plays on thei stage, he takes his time. Each play is carefully prepared and rehearsed--sometimes as long as a year being spent on one production--and as a result he seldom has to record a failure.^ Of his many talents, Arthur Hornblow believed: . . . Belascofs contribution on the American drama is that of a producer and stage director rather than that of an author. His plays--mostly melodrama--have little permanent value, but as a creator of stage effects, in elaboration of detail, in arrangement of action and stage pictures, he is recognized to be without a master in modern the atre. Glenn Hughes, in his book on American theatre his tory, commended Belascofs attention to detail, his direct supervision of the technical aspects of the production, his realistic effects, his showmanship, his solid workman ship, and his well-trained actors.^ Although Sayler included an extensive entry about Belasco, it was primarily devoted to a description of his personality and appraisal of his ability rather than to 12 Oral Sumner Coad and Edwin Mims, Jr., The Amer ican Stage, Vol. XIV: The Pageant of America (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1929). 13 Arthur Hornblow, A History of the Theatre in America (Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1919), pp. 335-36. T / Glenn Hughes, A History of the American Theatre 1700-1950 (New York: Samuel French, 1951), p. 241. 2 y 1 s information about his stage directing talent. J Many theatre histories contained capsule comments of a general nature about Belascofs stage directing. Necessarily the entries were disjointed and fragmentary, but they established a foundation for study. Theatre Surveys Survey works on the theatre, defined for this study as books which record and analyze theatre history in a less-specific or pervasive way than theatre histories, similarly contained information of a general nature about ■I £ Belasco*s directing. Cheney (writing in 1914 of the New Theatre), was particularly caustic in appraising Belascofs methods. He dwelled at length on Belasco*s attention to detail. Belasco believes in the little things; he believes that if he puts together enough little details that are "real*1 or "natural11--that is, true to the outer material aspects of life--he can build a whole that will be artistically, or spiritually, true to life. 7 15 Oliver M. Sayler, Our American Theatre (New York: Brentano*s, 1923), passim. 1 ft °See theatre survey section of bibliography for volumes not cited in text. 17 Sheldon Cheney, The New Movement in the Theatre (New York: Mitchell Kennerley, 1914), p. 110. 26" Cheney also believed that Belasco realism was a "false stage religion" which, if contrasted with "true stage art," 18 would be found wanting. Eaton's book, The American Stage of Today, was a compilation of reviews and essays about theatre. Its rather lengthy entry about Belasco was concerned primarily with the sentimental nature of some of the dialogue and situations in Belasco plays. Eaton lampooned the unneces sarily long discussion The Girl of the Golden West contains 19 about a kiss. Gorelik provided the most searching appraisal of Belasco's brand of naturalism. He discussed the Romantic play in the Naturalistic setting with Realistic dialogue, which was Belasco's trademark. Gorelik included specific examples of the Belasco type of stage setting. He believed that Belasco's stage settings . . . acquired a unique, and not undeserved fame. It was not only that they set a high stand ard of execution at a time when careless, slipshod settings were the rule. They contained a good deal of the lyricism which gave life and distinc tion to scripts otherwise hackneyed. Belasco had 18Ibid. 19 Walter Pritchard Eaton, The American Stage of Today (Boston: Small, Maynard, 1908), pp. 203-14. 27 an eye to the poetry of American environment--even though he was no Whitman--and he could bring that environment convincingly to the stage,^0 Another theatre survey noteworthy for its length and clarity of comment about Belasco was Barnard Hewittfs Theatre U.S.A., 1668 to 1957. Hewitt 'touched on Belascofs realism, his stage management, and his stage lighting, and concluded that: The regisseur, the all-powerful producer- director, was not new to this country, but . . . Belasco . . . used his authority to create life like stage pictures, most of whose effectiveness lay in their surface resemblance to actuality.21 An exception to these general comments was Krows’s specific entries of Belasco1s stage directing. He remem bered a blackout scene shift which Belasco*s technicians made in The Phantom Rival during the 1914-15 season. Belasco had his men in black clothes and noiseless shoes remove a complicated set while a soft light played on the face of a sleeping lady. Rrows noted that the timing was flawless.^ ^^Mordecai Gorelik, New Theatres for Old (New York: Samuel French, 1940), p. 163. 21 Barnard Hewitt, The Art and Craft of Play Pro duction (Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1940), p. 248. 22 Arthur Edwin Krows, Play Production in America (New York: Henry Holt, 1916), p. 97. 28; The same year Belasco produced Marie-Odile, in which he allowed several opening minutes of silence to establish the nunnery scene, a practice which Rrows ad mired: It was some time after the curtain rose, before the heroine, who was discovered dusting the convent table, chaise, floor, and so forth, or any other character, uttered an intelligible word. Nuns passed and repassed, the bell was rung, Latin prayers were mumbled, and so on. The complete atmosphere of the convent was conveyed with the scene before the play began. Those who missed the atmosphere did not miss the play; and those who were present for the atmosphere found that much more enjoyment. Memoirs The allusions to Belasco and his work contained in the biographies and memoirs of theatre people were diverse in nature and content. Many were anecdotal, some irrele vant, and a few pertinent to Belascofs stage directing practice.2^ in most cases the remembrances of Belasco were interspersed through these biographies and memoirs, sometimes forming a pattern, but more often only a part of a larger plan. Daniel Frohman Presents was an excellent 23Ibid., p. 172. 24 See memoirs section of bibliography for works not cited in the text. 2W example of this. In addition to the many entries describ ing occasions when the lives of Frohman and Belasco crossed, there was a short indication of how Belasco used the directorial approach while collaborating with Henry C. DeMille in the writing of a play: DeMille would write a few lines of dialogue, then Belasco would act out each part, alternating the lines to meet his most exacting tests as stage manager. f , Now, Henry,1 1 I have heard him specify, "give me a speech that begins here--1* pacing slowly across the stage, "and takes me over here. Then I turn suddenly like this--and see the woman I love." The business was all sketched out, the exits and entrances timed, before even the first draft of an act ever appeared in manuscript.25 Elsewhere in this same work Frohman remembered an enlightening example of Belasco*s sense of drama: Belasco had an instinctive, almost uncanny feeling for drama. "That isnft right," he would say instantly of a line or a piece of business. Then he would rehearse that bit in other ways, again and again, until he was satisfied that it rang true.2° Frohman recalled how Belasco would work out stage blocking on a restaurant tablecloth, saying: "Helen should not go upstage there.1 1 "Why not?1 1 Charles would demand. "Because I know it." 25 Daniel Frohman, Daniel Frohman Presents (New York: C. Kendall and Willoughby Sharp, 1935), pp. 70-71 26Ibid., pp. 41-42. Sure enough, when we worked out the business with | the real Helen, we would find Belasco’s dramatic instinct was unerring.^7 In his autobiography, Cecil B. DeMille told of his i father, Henry C. DeMille, working with Belasco at Echo Lake,^^ Belasco's use of DeMille's plot in Hie Return of 29 Peter Grimm, purchase of Belasco's plays for motion pic- ; 30 3' tures, and his indebtedness for many Belasco techniques. ’ "Believability, Belasco realism, was what I was trying to 32 get into this first Belasco play to reach the screen." Of Belasco's influence, DeMille wrote: "Belasco's methods 33 of work left a lasting impression with me." Percy MacKaye's Epoch contained many references to Belasco but there are, understandably, more Belasco com- 34 ments about Steele MacKaye than vice versa. Marcosson's ^ Ibid., p. 42. o o Cecil B. DeMille, Autobiography of Cecil B. DeMille, ed. Donald Hayne (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Ha11, 1959), pp. 18, 21. ^ Ibid. , pp. 58-61. ^Ibid., pp. 106-107. ^ Ibid. , p. 61. ^Ibid., p. 110. ^ Ibid., p. 61. ^Percy MacKaye, Epoch: The Life of Steele MacKaye (2 vols.; New York: Boni and Liveright, 1927). -------------------------------------------------------------------------- biography of Charles Frohman contained personal conversa tions between Frohman and Belasco. Many of these revealed their financial problems and their indomitable spirit, but one entry indicated how Belasco’s set in one scene of The Girl I Left behind Me was too ’’ real” for Frohman: Then Frohman ventured to criticize the mountain torrent. , f Whatfs the matter with the torrent?” called Belasco, while Cigarette and her horse stood on the slope. ”It doesn’t look like water at all,” said Frohman. Just then the horse plunged his nose into the torrent and licked it furiously. Criti cism was silenced.35 Some of the most salient appraisals of Belasco were made by the playwright, George Middleton. His book abounded with individual examples of Belasco’s ability and with general analyses of Belasco's importance. Middleton described him thus: To his fingertips and the ends of his small, slim shoes, Belasco was a man of the theatre. His clerical garb with its closed collar and black rabato effect set off his marked oriental fea tures. Were it not for his thick-lipped mouth and inscrutable dark eyes a casual observer might have suspected something ascetic in the parchment-like face that I never saw flushed. His reverence for the stage often took strange turns: he eyed sus piciously the new production heresies of groups 35 Isaac Marcosson and Daniel Frohman, Charles Frohman (New York: Harper and Bros., 1916), p. 223. 3Y which challenged, or made him question himself . . . which, in earlier days, he had himself defi antly embraced. Yet he loved the theatre; it was the first law of his life, his heaven and hell.36 Later he wrote: I was thus to see him intimately at work on every phase of a production. . . . There is little like it [the Belasco process] today; there was nothing like it then. But it was Belasco, no theatre man I ever knew had his mania for perfection. That must also be remembered in any appraisal.37 Of his directing technique Middleton wrote: I soon made a discovery: Belasco thought in immediacies. He was not interested in arrival, only in the going. When he altered lines I would call attention to the effect that would have on ,fsomething coming.? f He would smile: ’"We1!! cross that bridge when we come to it."38 Many more examples from Middleton’s book were used in the presentation of the data. Generally, the biographies and memoirs contained information about the author's association with Belasco, a short statement of opinion regarding Belasco and his abil ity, and some recollections of encounters between Belasco and the author, either on or off stage. Most of the mater ial from these sources was unusable, but 'where it was appropriate, it was included. JOGeorge Middleton, These Things Are Mine (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1947), p. 273. 37Ibid.,p. 278___________ 38Ibid.. p. 280. 33 Critical Studies and Reviews .... — 1 1 1 ■ ■ i The critical studies and reviews corroborated other types of theatre literature in describing Belasco's j methods. In the main the critical reviews revealed his 39 methods through his results. Like most of the other literature in book form, the critical reviews contained general comments pertaining to Belasco's showmanship, his attention to detail, his use of realistic scenery, his selection of melodramatic plays, and his production innova tions . One of the most complete entries about Belasco was in Montrose J. Moses' The American Dramatist. Although the preponderance of this material dealt with Belasco as a playwright, there were corollary comments about his stage directing techniques, for in Belasco "one cannot separate the manager from the author.Moses wrote of Belasco’s association with Boucicault, his collaboration with Henry C. DeMille, his training of actors, and his procedures as an author and manager. Of Belasco's teaching ability, Moses wrote that 39 See critical studies and reviews section of bibliography for works not cited in the text. ^(Boston: Little, Brown, 1917), p. 239. 34 Belasco could carry an actress to the heart of a character with a few instructions; of his stage directions, he com plimented Belasco for his intricately planned business; of his talent as a lighting director, he recorded Belasco’s personal control of each play’s lighting; of his rehearsal manner, he recalled Belasco’s flexibility with problems during rehearsal.^ Most of the compilations of critical reviews written by George Jean Nathan castigated Belasco as a director. Nathan, in his early work, Another Book on the Theatre, was particularly opposed to Belasco's realistic / O staging. In Comedians All, Nathan attacked Belasco's theatricalism.^ Encyclopedia of the Theatre contains Nathan’s definition of Belascoism.^ In another work written after Belasco's death Nathan bemoaned the "excessive civility” shown Belasco's memory, and opined that there were many living stage ^Ibid., pp. 241, 245, 247-49. ^George jean Nathan, Another Book on the Theatre (New York: B. W. Huebsch, 1915), pp. 355-56. ^George Jean Nathan, Comedians All (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1919), pp. 70-72, 217. 44 George Jean Nathan, Encyclopedia of the Theatre (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1940), pp. 52-53. I directors more competent than Belasco ever was and that | i Blanche Bates was the only actress who could stand alone 45 after his development.f l In his The Popular Theatre, Nathan laughed at Belasco, but preferred his scenic affec tations over those of later producers.^ Nathan was particularly vitriolic toward Belasco in The Theatre, The Drama, The Girls. While deflating the American dramatist, he climaxed his attack by declaring that "his philosophy is generally the philosophy of an adolescent; and his sense of life generally that of one to whom life is a spectacle produced less by God than by David Belasco.1 1 ^ Next, about Belasco1 s realism, he said: . . . When I go to the new Lyceum Theatre and see a character lift a window-shade and then see the room flooded by a Belasco fabrication with a sunlight as realistic as the real thing, I am fooled for a moment into believing that Ifm out of a theatre and in an actual scene. And I donft relish it. Nor, I dare say, does anyone else . . 45 ^George Jean Nathan, The Morning after the First Night (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1938), pp. 8-10. 46 George Jean Nathan, The Popular Theatre (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1918), p. 79. 47George Jean Nathan, The Theatre. The Drama. The Girls(New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1921), p. 67. 48ibid., p. 169. 36" Albright, in his Principles of Theatre Art, was particularly critical of Belasco's method of guiding an actor toward a desired emotion. After describing the type of director who attempts to help the actor relax in the rehearsal situation, Albright wrote: There is another type of director than the one described here--fortunately a rare one--who be lieves that the finest work comes from an actor who is emotionally aroused, and that the actorfs personal emotions are more easily evoked than those of the characters he plays. In his coaching, therefore he deliberately uses criticism, abuse, sarcasm, ridicule, and intentionally nerve-racking repetition in order to make the actor nervous, angry, defiant, or frightened. He especially likes to provoke an actor to ,!the release of tears.” When his victim is at a peak of emotion, he drives him back to the rehearsal of a scene, and obtains, he says, a more complete emotional response be cause the actor is already emotionally stirred. He believes that this transferred emotion becomes a part of the permanent motivation of the scene. This is said to have been a practice of David Belasco in his long and successful career. ^ There were critics who adjudged Belascofs techni cal achievements as superior, Clayton Hamilton wrote an essay on the ’’ Drama of Illusion” as revealed in The Return of Peter Grimm. He pointed out that though most directors cannot attain this technical excellence, Belasco succeeded ^Harry Darkes Albright, Principles of Theatre Art (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1955), p. 453. 37 through f t his mastery of the subtle art of lighting.”^ One compilation of critical reviews which appraised Belasco was The American Theatre as Seen by Its Critics, 1752-1934. In one of these reviews Alan Dale evaluated The Easiest Way in his characteristically complimentary manner, particularly noting the detail in Laura Murdochfs C -I ’’furnished room” in Act II. Also included in this work is another Nathan re view, wherein Nathan indicated how he felt the Belasco legend was generated. He attributed it to Belasco’s wooing of the press, to his publicity gimmicks, such as a series of profound essays on artistic stage illumination and like subjects (signed by Mr. Belasco, but written by Mr. Louis DeFoe) and a legend-boosting autobiography written for the 52 Belasco signature by a needy member of the Drama League. 50 Clayton Hamilton, Studies in Stagecraft (New York: Henry Holt, 1914), p. 42. "^Montrose J. Moses and John Mason Brown (eds.), The American Theatre as Seen by Its Critics, 1752-1934 (New York: W. W. Norton, 1934), p. 187; originally in Alan Dale, ’’ Eugene Walter’s The Easiest Way,” New York American, January 20, 1909. 52 Ibid., p. 233. Also found in George Jean Nathan, Mr. George Jean Nathan Presents (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1917). Nevertheless, Nathan*s evaluation of Belasco is not always vitriolic. In that same essay he gave Belasco credit for one talent: He has brought to the theatre a standard of tidiness in production and maturation of manuscript, a standard that has discouraged to no little extent that theatre’s erstwhile not uncommon frowzy hustle and slipshod manner of presentation.53 Arthur Ruhl reprinted in Second Nights some reviews of Belasco plays produced during the 1905 to 1912 period. Primarily these were synopses of the plays and cast cred its, but occasionally Ruhl made a more fundamental comment about the play, such as his one-sentence analysis of The Governor’s Lady. Here is the familiar external realism and inner absurdity, the familiar attack on the easiest emotions--impossible character changes accompanying mother’s real Irish stew, crocodile tears wept into the real gravy.^ An analysis of the critical reviews indicated that they cannot be used as an ultimate basis for an under standing of Belasco’s stage directing, for they were often affected by the critics’ general opinion of the production. Most of the reviews were not specific. ^Ibid., p. 235. 54 Arthur Ruhl, Second Nights (New York: Scribners, 1914), pp. 260-61. r "* 39 i i Unpublished Materials \ Five Masterfs theses and three Doctoral disserta- 55 tions have been written about David Belasco. None have i investigated his directing techniques in depth. Both the C £ c "7 Kleinfield and Batcheller dissertations contained chronological records of Belascofs professional theatrical activities, including pre-production planning of the plays. None of the other studies used the Belasco Collec tion in the New York Public Library or material from living 5 8 Belasco contemporaries except the Forde study which contains a letter from Beth Merrill. All of these previous studies were useful in help ing to delimit this study. The Batcheller dissertation was valuable in helping to establish the chronology and rela tionships of events. 55 See unpublished materials section of bibliography for works not cited in the text. “ ^Herbert Leo Kleinfield, ,fThe Theatrical Career of David Belasco1” (unpublished Ph. D. dissertation, Har vard University, 1956). 57 Joseph Donald Batcheller, ”David Belasco” (unpub lished Ph. D. dissertation, University of Minnesota, 1942). ^Gladys I. Forde, nDavid Belasco” (unpublished Ph. D. dissertation, Western Reserve University, 1956). " 1 CHAPTER III SELECTION OF THE PLAY Belasco was involved in some way with the produc tion of ninety-nine different plays during his New York career from 1882 to 1931* He directed ninety of these productions, and either wrote, collaborated on, or adapted twenty-one of them. Except for seven plays he directed for the Mallory Brothers, Belasco selected most of the plays he directed. The choices Belasco made help to answer three questions. , t What types of plays did he select? How did they compare with the other plays of his time? What were his criteria for selecting plays? Types of Plays Selected The plays Belasco selected for production, in the main, ranged during his career from melodrama to historical spectacle to domestic drama. ^ i A. Nicholas Vardac, Stage to Screen (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1949), p. 109. 4 0 41 Melodrama.--In the first category, melodrama, were The Stranglers of Paris, a Belasco adaptation from the French by A. Belot; Belasco *s May Blossom; The Main Line or Rawson’s Y , by Henry C. DeMille and Charles Barnard; The Highest Bidder, by Maddison Morton and Robert Reese; The Great Pink Pearl, by R. C. Carton and Cecil Raleigh; and Edithafs Burglar, by Gus Thomas and Edgar Smith. These do not include the plays he directed for the Mallory Brothers. Even the later productions of The Girl I Left Behind Me. The Heart of Maryland. The Girl of the Golden West, and Vanderdecken contained melodramatic tendencies. The plays Belasco selected in that early period were not as patently melodramatic as his earlier Jim Black or The Regulator’s Revenge, but they did contain unusual, intense, and often bizarre situations. This description of a scene in The Main Line or Rawsonfs Y is indicative of the melo dramatic plays which Belasco directed in this stage of his career: The heroine’s lover leaves the way station, known as Rawson’s Y, in the last car of a freight train. As the train makes its way into the moun tains, the car breaks loose and plunges back down the steep grade of the branch road. The brake fails, of course, and a switch above the station 421 is open so that the car will run onto the siding and be smashed to pieces against the mountainside. The heroine, taking quick stock of the situation, and supplying the audience with a running commen tary on the startling events occurring off stage, throws the switch that will send the car past the siding and saves her loverfs life. She then manipulates another lever which will transfer the car to the main line, where it will run out on the level and stop unharmed. At that very moment the whistle of the night express is heard in the dis tance. The heroine is presented with a familiar and frightening dilemma which she resolves in the nick of time to save the lives of hundreds of passengers in the approaching express. Under the awful wreckage of the solitary freight car she sees the white coat of her lover and swoons as the curtain falls.^ Historical spectacle.--Belasco1s selections in the category of historical spectacle included Zaza, a Belasco adaptation from the French by Pierre Berton and Charles Simon; Under Two Flags, by Paul M. Potter; Madame Butter fly, from a story by John Luther Long; Belasco*s Dubarry, The Darling of the Gods and Adrea, both Belasco-Long col laborations; Sweet Kitty Bellairs. adapted by Belasco from Castle’s The Bath Comedy; Belascofs and Tully’s The Rose of the Rancho and The Warrens of Virginia, by William C. DeMille. Although Belasco was not concerned with histor ical accuracy in the plots of these plays, he was 2 Americafs Lost Plays (Princeton: Princeton Uni versity Press, 1941), vol. XVII, p. 41. -- meticulous in gaining historical accuracy for the settings and the costumes. This was the type of play which gave Belasco his reputation for opulence in production. This i was particularly true in DuBarry and Adrea, where the per formers were overshadowed by the scenery. Adrea, a romantic tragedy set on an island in the Adriatic Sea in the fifth century A.D., also serves as an excellent example of the type of plot which these histori cal spectacles contained. Adrea, a princess, is the oldest daughter of King Menethus, but she cannot succeed him to the throne because she is blind and therefore physically imperfect. Her younger sister, Julia, is to be crowned and married to Kaeso, who loves Adrea. Julia demands that Kaeso tell Adrea their love is finished, but Kaeso cannot and he implies that he is going to marry Adrea. Julia deceives the blind girl by costuming the court jes ter:, Mimus, as Kaeso and marrying him to Adrea. The un aware Adrea is overjoyed until she returns after the wed ding night to entreat her dead father to tell her who possesses these strange lips. Mimus binds her wrists and is dragging her to a waiting barge when she clasps the altar, calling, “Father.1 1 w As Mimus would go toward Adrea, a stream of lightning, accompanied by a sudden roar of thunder, darts from the dark sky and strikes down Mimus. He lies flat on the floor at a little distance from Adrea, the guiding strings still wound about his wrist. The altar is overturned; Adrea totters, still clinging to it, and falls lying on it. The fallen brazier’s light still shines. The rumble of thunder dies away, but the stage is still dark; a storm seems to hang over the city, surrounding it. Adrea, stunned, covers her eyes, then opens and shuts them, looks about and vaguely comprehend ing that she sees, passes one hand before her face, staring at it. Adrea: I seel I seel (Then she looks again, seeing something she had never known before, then stares about at all the strange scene and the mystery of it. Suddenly finding on looking down that her guiding strings are still held, the memory of the past night comes over her. With terrible anticipation, she tracks the strings until they lead her to the figure on the floor.) You! . . . (on her hands and knees she stares at Mimus. Then still on her knees, with a mad im pulse lifting up the unconscious body until her face peers into his, the brazier light swinging past her, falls on his face. In a whisper) God! God! (She lets him drop. Then with a low cry of horror, shuddering, her eyes staring, her out stretched fingers stiffened, she draws in a long breath of terrible realization, swaying where she kneeIs.)^ It is obvious that Belasco selected this play for Mrs. Leslie Carter, who was a strong, emotional actress. Although he later renounced the overly opulent production, he repeatedly selected, during the middle por tion of his career, plays which allowed this type of 3 Arthur H. Quinn, History of the American Drama (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1923). Vol. 2. pp. 185-86. 45 presentation. Domestic drama.--In his later years Belasco turned to domestic drama. Examples of plays of this category were Eugene Walter's The Easiest Wav and Just a Wife; Is Matrl- money a Failure? adapted by Leo Ditrichstein; The Lily, adapted by Belasco from the French by Pierre Wolff and Gaston Leroux; Nobody1s Widow% by Avery Hopwood; Alice Bradley's The Governor's Lady; and The Secret, by Henri Bernstein. The Governor's Lady was indicative of this type of drama. The central character is a simple, strong woman who does not develop intellectually with her husband. The husband turns to a younger woman, who tries to persuade the wife to get a divorce. The governor and his lady are reconciled in the last act in an unbelievable setting, Child's Restaurant. Belasco was unable, even in this play, to avoid ultra-realism in setting, for he reproduced Child's Restaurant in the minutest detail. Other types of plays.--Other types of plays pro duced by Belasco were those containing elements of the supernatural, such as The Return of Peter Grimm, written by Selasco from a play by Cecil B. DeMille, and Edward Locke's _ _ 46 The Case of Becky. He produced many farces, such as Roi Cooper Megruefs Seven Chances; Polly with a Past, by George Middleton and Guy Bolton; Laugh, Clown, Laugh, adapted by Belasco and Tom Cushing from the Italian of Faurto Martini; and Itfs a Wise Child, by Laurence E. Johnson. Also, he presented a few comedies with moral overtones, namely Ladies of the Evening, by Milton Herbert Gropper, and Tiger! Tiger! by Edward Knoblock. Although these were ex ceptions to the trend of the times, Belasco justified his selections as the appropriate play for that season. Types of Plays Produced in New York during the Belasco Period How did the plays Belasco selected for production compare with the other plays which were produced in New York during the same period? When Belasco came to New York in 1882, the theatre was in the process of changing from an actor's theatre to . 4 a manager s theatre. The Mallory brothers; Charles, Daniel, and Gustave Frohman; Augustin Daly; and Lester Wallack controlled the theatres once directed by the Booths, Jeffersons, and Keans. ^Margaret G. Mayorga, A Short History of the Ameri can Drama (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1932), p. 171. ------------------------------ — - 47 The plays of the 1882 season included The Parvenu, an English drama considered "a gratifying relief after a 5 series of coarse melodramas ,, f An Unequal Match, a Tom Taylor revival; The Silver King. a creditable old melo drama; The Snowball: La Belle Russe: a Belasco play, The Romance of a Poor Young Man: The Black Flag; an English melodrama, The Rivals, with Joseph Jefferson; Brighton, a re-working of the farce, Saratoga: A Parisian Romance; The Passing Regiment; Mankind, another melodrama; The Squire, by Arthur Wing Pinero; Colly Cibbers* She Wou*d and She Wou*d Wot: 7-20-8, a highly successful farce; The Corsican Brothers: Othello, with Salvini; The Gladiator, with McCullough; and Ingoman, with Mary Anderson. As this listing indicates, most of the season was devoted to melo drama; Augustin Daly presented some light comedies; the foreign actors played the classics. This was the general picture in 1882. Four years later, when Belasco began to have more of a voice in the selection of plays he directed, he chose The Main Line or Rawson*s Y , the aforementioned melodrama. That year, 1886, was the final one for the melodramas at George C. D. Odell, Annals of the New York Stage (New York: Columbia University Press, 1940), Vol. XII, p. 2, Wallack*s, but Daly was producing comedies like After Business Hours, Love in Harness, and The Taming of the Shrew. Elsewhere productions were presented of Jim, the Penman, Margery*s Lovers, and Masks and Faces, all come- dies; Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Frou Frou, and A Scrap of Paper, all melodramas; Hamlet, Othello, and Rip Van Winkle, all classics. By 1886 the theatrical taste of New York theatre-goers was satiated with melodrama, but Belasco continued to produce them successfully. In 1895 Belasco produced The Heart of Maryland, a Civil War play with melodramatic elements. It was the most 7 successful play of the season. However, that same year Camille, Measure for Measure, The Lyonfs Mail, Becket, Adrienne LeCorivreur, Phedre, and She Stoops to Conquer were produced. Most of these classics were presented by repertory companies. The salient point is that while the general literary and dramatic caliber of the better plays of the season was higher, Belasco selected and mounted a melodramatic-realistic production which ran for 240 per formances . 6Ibid.. Vol. XIII, pp. 208-232. 7 John Chapman and Garrison P. Sherwood, eds., The Best Plays of 1894-1899 (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1955), p. 18 About this time Belasco moved into his historical spectacle period. By 1905 he had produced Madame Butter fly. The Darling of the Gods. Sweet Kitty Bellairs, DuBarry, Adrea, and Zaza; the last three he revived that year. The rest of Broadway was occupied with comedies, musical comedies, and a few farces. Musicals such as The Pearl and the Pumpkin. The Catch of the Season, Miss Dolly Dollars, The Rogers Brothers in Ireland, The Duke of Diluth, Wonderland, and Moonshine were successful at the box office. Some comic operas were presented and vaude ville revues such as The Ham Tree found favor. Shaw's Man and Superman had 192 performances. Other Shavian works such as Candida, The Man of Destiny. You Never Can Tell, Mrs. Warrenfs Profession, and Arms and the Man were also successful. Among the plays opening in 1905, The Lion and the Mouse, which closed in 1908 after 686 per formances, had the longest run. The next most successful was Belasco*s The Girl of the Golden West, with 224 per formances; Barriefs Peter Pan, with 223, followed in popu larity. The Squaw Man had 222 performances and was con- o sidered one of the best dramas, of the season. ^Burns Mantle and Garrison P. Sherwood, The Best Plays of 1899-1909 (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1944), pp. 207- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - g g On The Girl of the Golden West, Belasco was riding the crest of popularity from an audience attracted to plays about the Far West. The Squaw Man and The Great Divide were also highly successful plays containing this same appeal. However, contrary to the trends of that time, Belasco revived three historical spectacles to unrewarding runs of twenty-three, eight, and sixteen performances. The next year he returned to a successful formula and produced The Rose of the Rancho for 359 performances. In the next decade Belasco turned his attention to domestic drama. The Easiest Wav and The Secret were the most successful. The Secret ran for 143 performances in 1913. That year there were other domestic dramas on Broadway; The Family Cupboard, Today, At Bay. The Things That Count» and The Truth are a few examples. However, there were more musicals and comedies, such as The Zieg- field Follies and H.M.S. Pinafore, which were successful that year. Only a few classics (like Much Ado About Noth ing, which ran for 24 performances) were presented and received favorably. During the remainder of his career Belasco selected 241, 492-515. 51i plays similar to his earlier successes, but not necessarily attuned to his time. In 1921 when Eugene O'Neill received the Pulitzer Prize for Anna Christie, Belasco produced a ; lightweight, Kiki. In 1928 Elmer Ricefs Street Scene won the Prize and Belasco produced The Bachelor Father and Mima. By then he was seventy-four and not as imaginative or creative as he once had been. Criteria for Play Selection In his writings and interviews Belasco revealed no definite philosophy for his choice of plays for production. He indicated various qualities or ingredients which he felt to be essential for a play, but these ingredients changed as the types of the plays he produced changed. Belasco wrote that a play must be "convincing," He defined "convincing" to mean it first must meet the public demand and be in accord with public taste; second, the plot must appeal; third, the construction must conform harmoniously to dramatic law; and fourth, the characteriza tions must be vital. Belasco believed that in selecting a play the director should be guided by its action rather than its dialogue. He was opposed to the developing trend of - 5 2 - dramatizing novels. Belasco wrote that ”the essence of i success in a theatrical production, I have always believed, lies in its surprises, which the book play could not have.”^ ^Surprises1 1 were interpreted to mean crises which came to a climax and then surprised the audience by their outcome. Belasco felt it was unlikely that this kind of play could come from a book. Another reason Belasco gave for opposing the book play was that it was verbose. Often he changed words in a play during rehearsal because he felt the language too heavy or literary. He stated that a person under stress would not form beautiful sentences in proper syntax but would be epigrammatic and select short, common words. If an actor had trouble with a line, Belasco would replace it with one containing shorter words. Belasco wrote that often his selection of a play was determined by intuition. He did not know why he selected a certain play, it just seemed appropriate, as if some supernatural power were guiding him. It is noteworthy Q David Belasco, ”My Struggles” [Belasco Collec tion], March 29, 1903. *^”David Belasco, Conducting Rehearsals,” New York Telegram, March 8, 1903, p. 30. that he expressed this idea when he was producing The Return of Peter Grimm, a play about the supernatural power the dead have over the living.^ Belasco searched contemporary writing, primarily magazines, for stories and articles with situations which, he believed, had a ’’ universal theme of interest.1 1 He be lieved that the best drama should ’’ dramatize the present.”-^ This meant selecting plays which dealt with contemporary problems or events which excited the public interest. A Belasco play, containing appeals to courage, pure love, and integrity, was aimed at pleasing the great middle class. The theme of a play also needed to appeal to women for they went to the theatre, and the men accompanied 13 them. In an attempt to acquire plays which reflected the public’s ever-changing taste, Belasco organized a play bureau, where untried scripts were read for possible 11 David Belasco, ’’ Stage Realism of the Future,” Theatre Magazine, September, 1913, p. 10. 12 David Belasco, ’’ Dramatizing the Present,” Harper’s Weekly, April 12, 1913, p. 101. •^David Belasco, ’’ Money Rules the Stages, World’s Worst Trust,” Chicago Tribune, January 12, 1908, p. 27. 54 production. Three readers read the thousands of manu scripts sent in and the promising ones were passed on to Belasco for consideration. He found no plays worthy of production and after many lawsuits charging plagiarism, the play bureau was disbanded.^ To find a play appropriate for a particular star was more difficult for Belasco than to select a play for a special company. Normally he wrote or adapted plays for his stars. In this way he groomed the leading role to fit the personality of his star. Of this practice Lillian Russell said: I don’t believe in writing a part to fit a per sonality. I’ve had it tried on me several times, and the part never fitted. Belasco is the only one I know who comes anywhere near doing the trick. He studies a star’s peculiarities and finds a way of working them into the play.^5 Belasco said that when writing a play for a star he followed an established procedure. First, he decided the period for the play, then researched the period, read ing books and, if possible, interviewing people who had lived in that period. 14 David Belasco, ’’ The Evolution of a Belasco Play,” Saturday Evening Post, September 2, 1916, p. 8. ■^Parker More11, Lillian Russell: The Era of Pluck (New York: Random House, 1940), p. 224. 55 Belasco told a reporter: Now, the plot is really the essential thing. There should be but one real plot, you know--call it the main plot; sub-plots should only be used as steps to it. Then the motive--there should be one tremendous motive. While the four passions may be used, only one must stand out, you see? It is most important, too, that you make very careful use of your hero and heroine; one must dominate. You cannot make them both do big things, though some times we merge them if the play makes it necessary. (Graphic illustration signifying merger.) They will make a sacrifice together--Romeo and Juliet — ONE— you see?16 Often Belasco!s stated criteria for selecting a play varied with the play selected for that season. Not only did he try to select a play which would attract an audience, but he used his reasons for selection in order to attract publicity. 16 Garnet Warren, "Belasco Tells How He Makes a Play [Belasco Collection], May 23, 1909. -T CHAPTER IV CASTING Often the success or failure of a director is determined by his selection of a suitable cast. Casting an untried neophyte in a part is a gamble; however, risk is also present when casting an established actor. The former may rise to the challenge or break under the strain, while the latter may present a steady performance or be unresponsive to the mood of the ensemble. Also, there is always the question of whether to choose the actor who more nearly fits the physical qualifications of the part, or the one who is not right physically but will be more able to give a good performance in the role. For historical purposes it is important to know more about the methods of casting used by directors who have been highly successful. For this reason Belascofs casting theories and the techniques he used are highly significant. ______________________________56______________________________ _ 57 Criteria for Casting In a preface he wrote for Arthur Hornblowfs book, Training for the Stage, Belasco revealed a part of his credo for casting; In preparing a play for the stage, the first requisite is to see that it is properly cast. And so important do I consider this part of the work that I have often spent a year in selecting a suit able company. It is then that the manager must call into service all his knowledge of human na ture. He must study the author's meaning of a particular character as to appearance and tempera ment ; he must find an actor who not only can look the part and think the part, but who, in addition, has a special and particular ability to give life to the author's creation. Among the thousands of actors in New York there might be, perhaps, not more than one who could suit a particular role, and invariably he is a hard person to find when he is wanted. Perhaps not even this one is to be found, in which case the manager must select an actor of temperament and intelligence sufficiently pliable to allow the author or stage manager to lead him along the right path, and to mould his abilities into proper form. I have spent months in looking for the right actor for a certain part, and then, when I have been about ready to give up in despair, have run across some unknown man play ing a small part in an obscure company, and have felt instinctively that he was the very one I was after. These "finds," as a rule, turn out well, for such an actor feels that at last his opportu nity has come, and he will work doubly hard to make the best’ of it.l Arthur Hornblow, Training for the Stage (Philadel phia; Lippincott, 1916), pp. 15-16. (This excerpt is an exact reprinting of a portion of a magazine article Belasco wrote thirteen years before for Leslie's Weekly Magazine. May, 1903, entitled, "How I Stage My Plays." 58 Most of Belasco's comments about casting referred to the requirements an actress must satisfy to be selected. Beauty, meaning classical beauty, was not an overwhelming requirement demanded by Belasco for casting. Although an actress could not be ugly and succeed in many roles, still she did not need to be an exceptional beauty to be a poten tially successful actress and therefore considered for casting. Belasco felt it was necessary that she be an attractive woman, . . . whose face lights up when she speaks or when she smiles; the woman who is so bright, whose face is so expressive that you forget that her features are not especially regular. The success ful actress must be attractive, she need not be beautiful.^ Belasco believed that education was unessential for an actress, if it meant only the number of courses a person had taken in school. I do not care whether or not a girl knows any thing about arithmetic or geography, but she must be well read, she must know what is going on in the world today. So I look for intelligence rather than education.3 2 David Belasco, nThe Making of An Actor,n New York Times, April 18, 1915, p. 31. 3Ibid.t p. 30. 59] He wrote that he received many letters from college girls asking his advice for beginning a stage career. They listed as a quality in their favor their intellectual and highly-educated brain. Belasco responded that this was to their disfavor, for he believed it made them analytical and critical rather than emotional. He stated that he wanted not ,fthe education of book, but of life, of experi ence, of sympathy, of intuitive understanding."^ Belasco often indicated the qualities he deemed essential for success as an actress. One of these was imagination. He felt it was imperative than an actress be able to create a mental image of the immediate situations in the play. He did not believe it was necessary for an actress to have experienced an emotion personally in order to be able to create it on stage, but it was essential that she be able to imagine an unknown emotion from the basis of a known one. At the turn of the century he volunteered that he did not feel an inexperienced girl could effectively play emotional roles. ^William C. Sage, ,fThe College Girl Cannot Act,” The Cleveland Leader, June 17, 1910, p. 15. 60 "I say to a woman,1 1 he resumes, "perhaps you will be cast as a mother mourning her child, or a mother robbed of her child, or to show a motherfs devotion to her child. Are you a mother?" Belasco pauses psychologically, and I ask, "Do you believe that an inexperienced girl can effectively play emotional roles?" "It is almost impossible," he answers quickly. "Sometimes a mother comes to me with her daughter and says, fMy girl is pure. I do not wish her illusions to be dispelled.f And I answer, *Go back with your girl, my dear Madam. I must ask her questions. I must understand her emotions. I must know her views upon the drama of life, and what she thinks of this humanity. I must ask her what she would do if the man she loved lay dead at her feet. If you are afraid of such questions, take her home.1"-* Later he amended this statement slightly, but he clung to the requirement that a young actress must be able to imagine deeply if she would be a competent actress.^ Another term Belasco used to define an actress with potential ability was "personal magnetism." In an article in 1915, he wrote: Imagination and personal magnetism are abso lute essentials. . . . Personal magnetism I do not pretend to define: I can simply say that it is the quality that makes for leaders, and that it mani fests itself in all walks of life.? Alan Dale, "Some Surprising Behind the Scene Secrets," New York Journal, December 8, 1900 [Belasco Collection]. David Belasco, "Stagecraft,” Green Book, August, 1915, p. 40. 7Ibid. 61 Six years earlier an interviewer had asked Belasco what magnetism was. He answered: , f Why, there is no such thing as magnetism: that is the real truth if you want to know it. At least not in the popularly accepted sense. Mag netism is hard work; that*s what it is. Itfs heart and intellect and spirit, and when they come to gether this way11--he brought the points of his supple fingers together--,!they strike flame--so. And people call it magnetism because it is a con venient word, though it really does not mean any thing.11^ If a performer was to be a success, in Belasco*s estimation, he must have temperament. The most important possession of an actor or an actress is temperament--that is the necessity. It is a necessity for any one who succeeds in any profession or line of work. . . .9 By temperament apparently Belasco meant an uninhibited nature, one which gave free and natural expression to emo tions. He more than once wrote that often beauty re stricted a woman from free expression of emotions and therefore from a development of temperament. The woman whose beauty is without flaw, the woman with the faultless face and form rarely has temperament to any great extent. . . . ^, f David Belasco on Magnetism,1 1 Birmingham Alabama Age Herald, June 20, 1909 [Belasco Collection]. Q A Surprising Interview with David Belasco1 1 [Belasco Collection], January 31, 1904, p. 53. 621 You watch the pretty, doll-like face, surrounded by the soft beautiful hair, perhaps. There is something lacking there, some warmth, some swift, wild emotion that springs from the heart and soul and is imprinted on the face by a lightning. You note again the face of a fascinating, interesting woman, you note the swift look of intelligence, her grace, her laugh. You could put that woman in a room where there were a hundred women magnificent from the standard of classic beauty and she will be the most admired, the most sought after, the most remembered one there. Why? Because she has that mysterious marvelous quality we call temperament. It is that quality which the manager must seek for. Often it is latent, undeveloped. It is his duty and his privilege to find it and bring it forward.^0 Belasco was aware that the word "temperament" had gained various and often vulgarized meanings. He first set himself the task of declaring what temperament is not: Temperament has come to mean temper--that is, bad temper. Temperament has come to mean lack of moral principle. . . . And over and above every thing else it has come to be a synonym for lazi- ness--just plain, common, old-fashioned garden variety of laziness. Now, as a matter of fact, temperament is none of these things. ^ Ibid. Belasco commented on this same subject in his article, "David Belasco the Famous Playwright and Manager Discusses Beauty as a Factor in the Success of the Dramatic Aspirant," Memphis Commercial Appeal, May 28, 1910. 11 David Belasco, "Temper and Temperament, Number Two of David Belascofs Articles upon Factors in Dramatic Success," Memphis Commercial Appeal, June 5, 1910, p. 10. 63 Next Belasco addressed himself to defining what temperament meant to him: Indeed I should, perhaps, best define tempera ment as a condition, an attitude, a mental atti tude --rather than any concrete emotional charac teristic. Asked for a precise definition, I should say that temperament is feeling tempered and con trolled by reflection, and that it involves the possession of what--for want of a better term--I shall call an emotional memory. An extension of this definition indicated that ’’temperament” was very akin to ’’imagination.” Although a potential actress might have great will power and industry, Belasco definitely felt that she should not attempt to be an actress if she lacked temperament. Success as an actress, based on Belascofs criteria, required that she be attractive, but not necessarily beautiful; intelligent, but not necessarily educated; and have imagination, magnet ism, and temperament. And the greatest of these was tem perament . ■^Although Belasco and Stanislavski met and ad mired each other, there was no way of knowing whether the term ’’ emotional memory” meant the same to both of them. In some cases, which will be expanded later in this study, Belasco caused actors to experience an emotion that they might acquire a ’’ memory” of their actions for future stage use. 64 Procedure for Casting Belasco, in more than one instance, wrote about the procedures he used for casting a play or a part in a play. However, his indicated procedures were often at variance with each other. Also, the reports of actors,as to the way they were cast, variously agreed and disagreed with his stated procedure. At various times in his career Belasco gave differ ent reports of how he cast a play. In 1900 he indicated that he knew intuitively whether an actor was right for a role. An interviewer asked him: Suppose I had just come in--a perfect stranger --to ask you if you thought I could act. Should you know already? . . . Belasco smiles. "Yes," he says, f , by this time I should know precisely what you could do. . . . With me it is all intu ition. I feel, and I know. It was my custom to to ask them a few questions on the subject of their emotions, their habits, their ideas of life, their humanity. I do not believe they ever lied. But if they lied it would not matter, I should know it. 13 Years later he repeated his dependence on intuition, but he added some specific ingredients which he evaluated: I meet all the applicants for stage positions that my time and health permit. I usually reach a decision quickly, partly by intuition, partly by 13 Alan Dale, loc. cit. 65 noting the tone of the voice, the expression, man nerisms of all kinds, and the alertness and under standing.^ In 1916 he wrote that the selection of a cast was so important that he sometimes labored a year in selecting a cast. He said he searched long for a person with the proper appearance and temperament, **who not only looks the 15 part but can think the part.1 1 Elsewhere in that same statement Belasco became more specific as to the method he used: I talk with him as to a new friend. I draw him out. I persuade him to talk of himself, of his life, and while he does so, I am studying him --studying his face to see what it discloses, and what it hides; studying his hands, his feet, his body, to gauge their possibilities of expression. One of the procedures which former associates said Belasco used was to visit theatres of all types searching for talent. This apparently was a continual activity in which he delighted and which helped him find rising per formers. He alluded to this procedure and others in one of his revelations of casting procedure: ^Belasco, Stagecraft, p. 40. ^Hornblow, op. cit., p. 15. 16Ibid. 66 I have been on the lookout for actors and actresses suitable to the various characters from the moment I make up my mind to accept the play. Applicants for parts come to my office in swarms, but generally they are members of the profession j who are too familiarly known to the public since I, as far as possible, develop my own actors. I ransack the varieties and the cheap stock compan ies, and I both go to see the people, and have them come to see me.^ If the role called for a particular nationality, Belasco attempted to find actors with a suitable back ground. One of the best examples of this approach to casting was Belascofs selection of German soldiers as extras in Marie-Odile. Belasco believed that as much at tention should be given to casting the supers as to casting the speaking roles: In selecting my Uhlans, I made every effort to secure men who would make them seem real. As everyone knows, the best cavalrymen are usually short men, men with short legs and thickset. Naturally, the men composing the Uhlan regiments must be a mixed lot in size, and most of them short. Accordingly, I searched everywhere for actors who would make up a typical Uhlan company. ° As his experience and fame increased, Belasco be came more specific in his writings about his casting pro cedures. In addition to the previous evidence of his 1 7 David Belasco, nThe Evolution of a Belasco Play,1 1 Saturday Evening Post. September 2, 1916, p. 10. 18 Belasco, Stagecraft, p. 40. 6T specific requirements, he wrote about the attention he devoted to the voice and vocal qualities: In the cases of players of speaking roles, the quality of the voice is a strong persuading factor in my calculations. If I happen to have selected an actor with a deep voice for a certain part, I try to put him opposite an actress who has a highly-pitched voice, for when the talk floats across the footlights it must blend as a song. In casting a play for a star, I am also careful to avoid temperamental people, for it must be the star who has the monopoly of temperamental quali ties. Such small details as these are not ordi narily noticed by audiences, nevertheless, they are unconsciously felt in every artistic produc tion of a drama. *9 Besides the voice and temperament, Belasco noted the complexion and color of hair, so that actors might com plement each other. In selecting my actors, I take into considera tion the complexion and the color of the hair. If there are to be several girls or boys in a family, I try to have the girls resemble the mother and the boys look like the father. Such seemingly trivial details as these are not always detected by the theatregoer, but they greatly help the general effect of the play. In making my group ings on the stage I prefer, if possible, not to place two pronounced brunettes together, or two pronounced blonds.^0 •^Belasco, loc. cit. ^^David Belasco, "Aids to the Actorfs Art,1 1 Munseyfs Magazine. March, 1918, p. 38. 68 He was particularly concerned at one stage of his career about family likenesses among a stage family. On' the assumption that married couples tend to resemble each other after years of marriage, Belasco noted the facial features and expressions of actors in tryouts, attempting to arrange a family resemblance. He did this most obvi ously in 1909 for Is Matrimony a Failure? where ffthe con tour of the face is the same in both, and the likeness o 1 extends to temperament.” Belasco was as detailed in stating his procedures for casting as he was on other facets of his stage directing practice. Belascofs actual casting procedure.--With some unproved actors Belasco used the tryout method. Sometimes he asked them to prepare a scene; other times he improvised a situation or had them read from a script. He deferred Mary Pickford (then Gladys Smith) many months before he saw her, and then he asked her to prepare a scene for him for the following night. With her ”Aunt Minnie” she went to a performance of The Rose of the Rancho and after the final curtain Mr. Belasco came to the box and, 21 ”Family Likenesses Is New Belasco Demand,” Philadelphia Evening Times, August 10, 1909, p. 82. 69 . . . grasping my hand, led me onto the stage. "Would you like any props?" "I would like a chair, sir, to represent a policeman." I apologized to Mr. Belasco for the poor dialogue, saying it was the only scene I knew, but that since I hadn’t had time to study anything else, I hoped he would realize that the lines were from a very melodramat ic play. Mr. Belasco merely nodded from a seat in the front row of the orchestra and signaled me to begin. . . . When I reached the last line of my monologue I closed my mouth and stood there ice- cold and trembling. Mr. Belasco climbed upon the stage and took my two hands in his. "So you want to be an actress, little girl?" "No, sir," I re plied without hesitation; "I have been an actress. I want to be a good actress now."22 Belasco recognized some talent in this thirteen year old girl and cast her that night. Five years later, in 1912, Belasco needed two children for The Good Little Devil, and tried to get Percy Helton, but David Warfield would not allow Helton to leave the Peter Grimm touring company and so Belasco sent for Ernest Truex. When Truex was asked how Belasco cast him, he replied: I was rehearsing in a musical show. David Belasco had a star part for a boy. It was a part like Peter Pan. His stage director told him that there was a man who had lots of experience and yet looks like a boy. So Belasco sent for me. ^yiary Pickford, Sunshine and Shadow (New York: Doubleday, 1955), p. 59. For a more complete story, refer to pp. 56-62 of this biography. 701 He asked me if I would put on a Scotch kilt because this was a Scotch boy, and he wanted to see if I moved like a boy. So I had to put on these Scotch kilts and get out on the bare stage in an empty theatre with a footlight on me, and Mr. Belasco would tell me to run and play and jump and move while he sat out and watched me, to see if my movements were like a young boyfs. Then he got me up in his office and noticed that I had some hair on my legs and started pulling it off, saying, , ! Wefve got to get rid of that.1 1 Of course, to go to Belasco, I would do anything. Then he told me to go over and knock on a door in his big, cathe dral-like office as if I was calling on my little sweetheart. So I went over and knocked on the door and it opened and there was a little girl with long, blond curls. We made a few halting remarks to each other, and he started to applaud and say we were wonderful. Then he introduced me to Mary Pickford.23 Although Belasco cast some of his actors through the tryout method, he usually cast a person on the basis of his prolonged observation of the actor in many roles. Once he noticed a performer who interested him, he followed him throughout his career. There were many instances of this technique. Rowland V. Lee reported that after Belasco had cast him in Seven Chances, He turned to me, a very warm and ingratiating smile; he had a monolithic character, a great depth Personal interview with Ernest Truex, April 11, 1961, in Los Angeles, California. 71" of feeling which he projected and which sur rounded him with an aura that to me, particularly at that time, seemed to belong to an arch-angel, and not to any living human being, and he said, , f You know, Mr. Lee, I have watched you for several years. I saw you first when you were playing Tony Lumpkin in She Stoops to Conquer in a high school production in the Carnegie Lyceum.1 1 I gulped, **You did.11 1 And he said, r , And I saw you when you were giving a special performance here in the Astor Ballroom at the Actors* Equity Asso ciation, a play for entertainment to raise funds for the Actors* Equity. I thought you were excel lent at both performances. You have the actor in you; it will be up to me to see if I can bring some of it out.*’ . . . It was a very unique thing for a man of Belasco*s stature to remember a high school actor even though we had played the Carnegie Lyceum and it was supposed to have been the best amateur theatre group. He saw these things all the time.24 Belasco had observed David Warfield for years as a comic with Weber and Fields and had perceived an underlying element of pathos in his character. He talked to Warfield, learned he was bound by contract, and waited eighteen months before summoning him again for a specially-written role in The Auctioneer. Later he cast Warfield in The Return of Peter Grimm with Percy Helton. Helton recalled how Belasco first became aware of him when he was appearing with his father at the Hackett Theatre in 42nd Street. 24 Personal interview with Rowland V. Lee, May 29, 1961, in Beverly Hills, California. One night there was all the excitement in the world backstage because someone said Belasco was out front. At this point I was about thirteen or fourteen and I was terribly impressed and all night long everybody kept saying, ”1 wonder if he will come back; I wonder if he will come back?1 1 Well, he didn’t come back but he sent his stage manager, William Dean. This was 1907, three years before Peter Grimm, because we opened in Boston with Peter Grimm in 1910, on Broadway in 1911. So in 1907 this man, William Dean, came backstage, and he didn’t go to anybody else; he just came to my father and my dressing room and he said: ”Mr. Belasco is very impressed with your son’s perform ance and he asked me to come back and tell you that within the next two years he is going to have a very fine part for him.” That’s how far ahead that man thought.^5 Another example of how Belasco cast his plays while attending other director’s productions involved Frances Starr. Belasco wrote that: Duting the season of 1905-06, I looked into a Broadway theater one night on a performance of Gallops, in which Charles Richman was appearing, and although the play itself did not interest me in the slightest, a young actress playing a small part attracted my attention. It was not so much what she did,--for in it she had little to do,-- but it was the quality and intonation of her voice and her facial expression that made me seek out Frances Starr, whom I soon afterwards engaged to appear with Hr. Warfield in The Music Master.^ 25 Personal interview with Percy Helton, June 8, 1961, in Hollywood, California. ^Belasco, Stagecraft, p. 40. tS When Belasco was preparing to produce The Darling of the Gods in 1902 he was searching for someone to play the Japanese minister, Zakkuri. Belasco fully realized the vital importance of the part and was looking about him for someone to play it when chance led him to the theatre in which Arliss was playing in Mrs. Campbell’s sup port, light modern comedy. According to my inform ant . . . Belasco watched him during one scene and then proceeded to engage him for this tragic role, knowing well that he could play it. ' An indication of the length to which Belasco would go to watch the actors he was interested in may be gained from the remembrances of Percy Helton. Helton was appear ing for Belasco in The Return of Peter Grimm, but in the summer he took a part in a vaudeville show in Peekskill, New York: Well, one night I’ll never forget, Genevieve Tobin came back before the show and said, ’’ Percy, you know what.’ Belasco is out front." And I said, "Oh, you’re kidding." And she said, "No, I’m not, my mother saw him come in." He came all the way out to Brighton Beach to see Pinafore. He saw everything I did after that, up to the time he died; he always came to see me. ® 27 James Lauren Ford, Forty-Odd Years in the Liter ary Shop (New York: C. P. Cutton and Co., 1921), pp. 329- 30. 28 Percy Helton, interview, loc. cit. 74 Naturally enough, another procedure which Belasco used was to cast well-established performers. This was the case with Frank Reicher, Robert O’Connor, George Arliss, and others. For these occasions Belasco was less deliber ate. Belasco had decided, after seeing George Arliss act, to cast him in The Darling of the Gods. Arliss remem bered he was mysteriously summoned to Belasco's office where the interview took place. Mr. Belasco said that he was producing a play called The Darling of the Gods--a Japanese play-- in which he was starring Miss Blanche B. Bates, and he wished me to play the part of the Minister of War. I said, ,T0f course, I must read the part first.1 1 He answered, nI think that I could not do this as the play is not yet finished.1 1 I demurred at this. . . . I mentioned my salary, thinking it might frighten him as it had Mr. Frohman. But he agreed immediately. So I said I would think it over and let him know the next day. . . . The next day I returned to the Republic Theatre and inti mated that I wished again to see Mr. Belasco. . . . Although some twenty-four hours had elapsed since my former visit it was obvious that Mr. Belasco had never moved since I left him. He had waited patiently and silently, perhaps without food or water, for my return, and lo.* I was here. That, at any rate, was the impression I received. He at once became animated and very cordial; I could not have been received with more courtesy if I had been the President of the United States. . . . X opened up with my conditions and after he had listened to me for a moment, he waved a kindly hand towards me, lifted himself by the hair into a standing position, picked two sheets of paper from 75 a shelf above him and said, r*Mr. Arliss, here are two contract forms; if you will take them home, and fill in anything you wish, sign them both, and send them back to me. I will sign your copy and return it to you at once." This, I afterwards found to be Mr. Belascofs system--to create a bond of friendship and to inspire confidence in those with whom he was to work. I consider his great success as a producer to be largely due to the following this broad and generous method. 9 Belasco used this contract-signing technique with many established actors, and may have acquired their serv ices cheaper thereby. Frank Reicher recalled that he used the same pro cedure with him. However, Reicher recalled another idio syncrasy of Belascofs when casting a play. And so I said, nMr. Belasco that was very nice of you to call me in; now will you give me a copy of the play so I can read it?, y ”1 never give an actor a play to read,1 1 Belasco said. We were sit ting there in the little Green Room, with his stage directors. And I said, l f Mr. Belasco, I can not; I must know.1 1 And he said,' "For Godfs sake, Reicher, donrt you think I know what you can do?1 1 I said, 1 f You do, of course, I am the only one who knows what I canrt do. . . .”30 Belasco never gave a script to an actor prior to the reading rehearsals. Reicher indicated how adamant ^George Arliss, Up the Years from Bloomsbury (New York: Blue Ribbon, 1927), p. 207. 30 Personal interview with Frank Reicher, November 24, 1960, in Playa del Rey, California. 76 Belasco was: I said, "I'm sorry,1 1 and he said, ’'Bill, go upstairs and get a blank contract and I will sign it in blank," and I said, "Mr. Belasco, it isn't the money. I am at a place now where I can't afford to take a part that doesn't speak to me and I want to know if you've got one," and nothing came of it. I didn't take the part and he didn't give me the play. Well, I thought, of course, that Mr. Belasco was through with me. 31 Nevertheless, years later Belasco cabled Reicher from Paris asking him to take a role in The Secret, which Belasco had seen in Paris. With another established actor, Robert O'Connor, Belasco was expeditious and candid. O'Connor received a call from Bert Simmons, Belasco's stage manager, that Belasco wished to see him. O'Connor arrived, and was admitted to Belasco's office. As I walked into this studio, I saw it was full of art objects and vases that went almost to the ceiling and at the end of this long white run ner was Mr. Belasco, this decrepit little figure in pajamas and a bathrobe plucking at his forelock; and of course the humor of it struck me, and as I walked down the runner I started to grin. Belasco came right out of it and straightened up and reached out and put his arm around my shoulders and said, "Hello, Al, another hit for you, son." What he meant by Al, was that I had done The Old Soak on Broadway the season before and Al was the character I played. Anyhow, he said, "Would you 31Ibid 77 mind standing behind that vase. I have another man I have to see.1 1 So I stood behind this high vase that went all the way to the ceiling and the door opened--I don't know how that signal was prear ranged, but the door opened and I could hear Bert Simmons1 voice saying, kr. Belasco, Mr. John Carmody." John walked down the runner and he started to grin and Mr. Belasco straightened out of it and called me out from behind the vase and put his arms around both Johnny and myself and said,f , All right, boys, just right. Youfll fight it out with Simmons."■* To "fight it out with Simmons1 1 meant to settle the terms of the salary. This instance revealed another part of Belasco*s casting procedure: his creation of a mystic atmosphere prior to and during the casting interview. George Arliss indicated that there was an air of mystery around his sum mons and conference: . . . a mysterious messenger came to the stage door at Wallack's Theatre during a matinee. He asked for me and told me in a mysterious way that Mr. Belasco would like to see me. I afterwards discovered that this aura of mystery was something that surrounded everybody who emanated from Mr. Belasco*s office. There was no real reason for mystery. There was no reason why I should have been conducted with an air of secrecy to Mr. Belasco*s sanctum and the door closed silently and darkly upon me. Why are all of Mr. Belasco*s assistants so inscrutable? . . . I can only sup pose that these assistants live in the atmosphere 32 Personal interview with Robert O'Connor, June 12, 1961, in Hollywood, California. — w of the theatre and carry with them, intentionally, an air of suspense which they know to be the very essence of drama. Mr. Belasco was very pleasant and quite h u m a n . ^3 Although Belasco became "quite human" with exper ienced, established actors like George Arliss and Robert O’Connor, he used this mesmerizing atmosphere to impress novices. Rowland V. Lee remembered he was ecstatic before his appointment to see Belasco. I was playing in the theatre at that time and someone remarked that I had the "Belasco fever" which, of course, was true. I passed the theatre many times because I was in the neighborhood about an hour before I was supposed to appear and final ly it came time for me to go into the sancto-sanc torum. I was taken up in a small elevator to his studio. His studio was a hallowed place, also, that everyone knew about but very few were per mitted to see. That was my impression at the time, certainly. After getting out of the elevator I had to go up another flight of stairs and then into a hallway and into the museum itself. I was told to sit down inside his studio on the bench. I did and the man disappeared and left me alone; so I sat there for ten or fifteen minutes. As the minutes went along I became more and more conscious of the fact that my stomach was pressing upwards on my Adam’s apple, and finally a man appeared from another doorway and said would I go into the vesti bule there, and I was ushered into a smaller room, and I sat on another bench for another fifteen minutes. It never occurred to me, at this time, that this was part of the staging of an act--that this interview was being staged. Then a man 33 Arliss, op. cit., p. 207. 79 appeared--they always seem to appear--and said, ”Mr. Belasco will see you now, you can go in that door.” There was a door on my right and as I opened this rather wide door at my left I could see there was a huge mirror, very large, and then I saw myself. Well, I had already taken off my coat but now I took off ray muffler, straightened my tie in the mirror, and gave a pat to my hair, looking at myself, trying to avoid my own eyes, and suddenly in the mirror I saw the reflection of Belasco and he just sat in his chair, pushed back ward behind the screen and there he was. Well, I turned and saw him and he got up very smiling and very nice and he said, ”1 am happy to see you, Mr. Lee,” and he was very warm indeed. And he said, ”1 think, perhaps, I have a part for you in my play. I want a young man like you and I have a feeling you are a very good actor. What is your salary?” At that moment I would have worked for him for nothing. And that is the reason Belasco very candidly arranged these interviews, because people would work for him for very little.34 As has been noted, when an actor saw through these tactics, Belasco immediately broke the spell of mystery and became natural. In a few instances Belasco allowed his stage man agers to cast some roles for him. Either these were small q c parts, as with Ruth St. Denis, or when time was of the essence, as with Mary Nash in The Woman. ^^Rowland V. Lee interview, loc. cit. ^~*Ruth St. Denis, Ruth St. Denis: An Unfinished Life, an Autobiography (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1939), pp. 34-35. 80 Once Blanche Yurka asked a famous character actor what was Belasco's secret for acquiring high quality casts. "What's the Guv'nor's secret? He just engages four-hundred-dollar-a-week actors for forty-dollar parts. That way you can't go wrong." I couldn't help feel that there was a little more to it than that.36 Blanche Yurka, Dear Audience (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Ha11, 1959), p. 54. ★ Belasco (left) rehearses Pedro de Cordoba and Lenore Ulric in play, Tiger Rose CHAPTER V REHEARSAL Belasco revealed his talent and established much of his reputation as a stage director during his rehearsal period for a play. Here his theories were put into prac tice and his methods manifested in results which his con temporaries noted and theatre historians can study and analyze. This chapter is devoted to a consideration of Beleasco's theories of rehearsal, his comments about re hearsals, his rehearsal procedures and some of the tech niques he employed. Theories of Rehearsal Belasco clearly stated his theories regarding play rehearsals on numerous occasions. Certain principles con tinue to recur in these writings. First, he believed the director should enjoy play rehearsals; second, he believed the individuality of the actor should not be violated in rehearsals and that the director should adapt to this 82 . 83 individuality; third, he felt the director should use various techniques which helped him to call forth from the actors the reactions he wanted. Belasco firmly believed that handling and directing rehearsals was an art, albeit a transitory one, which required an artist's temperament and imagination. He looked upon rehearsals as an enjoyable, challenging, cre ative event, and said: One of the greatest pleasures of life is in taking raw material and developing and molding it. I do this more for the pleasure of the work than for the results attained. To me it is a delight to play on the human emotions; to watch the bud of imagination expand and the intent but dormant talents awaken and come to life. I like to reach into the very soul, to play on the sensibilities and bring out all that is best in the subject. Were this not true--did I not enjoy the hard work of training compromising material for the stage-- I would never do the hard work required. The results attained are seldom worth the effort to one who does not truly enjoy the task. He believed the stage director should be a stu dent of human nature if he was to understand the uniqueness of each actor. He felt that for a director to be success ful he ". . . must study the person and must find out just David Belasco, "The Making of an Actor,1 1 New York Times, April 18, 1915, p. 30. 84 o how much to leave to that person's interpretation.* Most actors, by virtue of their nature and experience, would be able to portray sentimental or violent emotions, but any gaps in experience or knowledge would need to be filled by the director before an actor could represent the subtler emotions. An understanding of human nature would help a director give the correct aid to an individual actor, Belasco felt. This ability to deal individually with his actors was a basic part of his theory. He was aware that some actors were aroused by violence, others by tenderness. Regardless of his personal opinion of the actor or the play which he was rehearsing, he used the techniques neces sary to help the actor. . . . In dealing with actors and actresses at rehearsal, I adapt myself to their temperaments. There are some persons who require a kind of bully ing. You must storm, you must scold, or you will get nothing from them. If I know at the beginning of a rehearsal that I shall have to use such tac tics to waken someone I say: ”Now I am going to 2 Lloyd Morris, Curtain Time (New York: Random House, 1953), p. 299; and ’’ How Belasco Creates Dramatic Stars,’1 Current Literature, Vol. 42, April, 1907, p. 435; more on human nature in ’’ David Belasco Tells How He Develops Stars and Produces Plays” [Belasco Collection], April, 1904. 85 play that I am angry today, but don’t mind. Only do what I say. The anger is play.” We understand each other. When in the course of a rehearsal it becomes necessary for me to say, as I have said: ’’ You walk across the stage like an elephant going to a snail’s funeral,’1 the actor knows that he must change that walk, yet he feels none of the rancor that would interfere with the development of his part. On the contrary, if there is some sensitive, half-hysterical girl at fault, I should have to persuade her, to gently make her see that her walk is atrocious, without wounding her feelings. She has to be talked to as a lover talks to a woman he is wooing. I act all through rehearsals, but I always say: ”Do this, but do not imitate me. Do it in your own way.”3 Of the two approaches, bullying or coaxing, Belasco said he preferred the latter. He wrote that although with some actors it was necessary to speak savagely, . . . As a rule kindness and gentleness will accomplish more than all the harsh words that were ever spoken. I never scold at rehearsals. I do not believe in the snapping of the verbal whip. . . . The great thing is to have your actors and all the stage people in sympathy with you.^ One of the reasons he opposed berating actors was his conception of their basic nature. Actors are the most sensitive of human beings. If they were not they would not be good actors. 3 Arthur Hornblow, Training for the Stage (Philadel phia: Lippincott, 1916), pp. 19-20 of preface by Belasco. ’ David Belasco Tells How He Develops Stars and Produces Plays* [Belasco Collection], April, 1904, p. 63. Call them thin skinned if you like, but that is what an actor should be. I want nothing to do with actors that are not thin skinned and sensi tive. And that is why I do not believe in pro fanity, harsh manners or loud commands on the stage at any time.^ One of Belascofs recurring themes was that the stage director at all times must guide the rehearsals of a play so that he sees it from the audience1s viewpoint. An example which demonstrates this was the comment he made in an article about a rehearsal problem in The Return of Peter Grimm. The play dealt with the visitation of a ghost to his former home. For a most effective denouement Belasco wanted the returned spirit to become visible to one of the characters. After rejecting many experiments he settled on the idea of writing into the play the part of a little child, who, in his dying delirium, would see the spirit, Peter Grimm. He was aware that the scene would be painful to an audience, so he softened it by introducing in the opening act the effect of a circus passing the house, to the delight of the child as he stood at the window. Then in the childfs death scene he reproduced these sounds, as if they were parading by in the disordered mind of the 5Ibid. child, who died smiling and happy. ,fSo the effect upon the audience, though deeply pathetic, was neither harsh nor cruel. Although he paid attention to what the audience would accept or enjoy he did not believe the audience's desires should be the basis for all the stage director's decisions. The actor particularly should not allow the audience during production to change his interpretation, nor should the stage director alter his conception of the play to please the audience. The actor should not wonder if his portrayal is effective for the audience, he should rely on the stage director conducting the rehearsal.^ These two attitudes of Belasco indicated his opin ion of the power the director should have in rehearsal. The director, and he alone, should determine what the audience sees and what will affect them; the actor must divorce himself from the audience and interpret his role through the director. In other writings Belasco admitted that the ^David Belasco, "The Evolution of a Belasco Play," Saturday Evening Post, September 2, 1916, p. 9. ^David Belasco, "The Meaning of the Theatre," Munsey's Magazine, January, 1914, p. 17. 88 director could not know everything; that he must consult experts about specific elements of the play. When he was rehearsing Frances Starr in The Case of Becky, he hired someone skilled in psychic phenomena to teach her the way g of going into and out of a trance. Belasco wrote that it was quite proper for a stage director to consult a lawyer on a legal point in a story or question other professionals about details of their work which would aid the actor in developing a complete characterization.^ In The Darling of the Gods he brought a Japanese artist to rehearsals, to show the actors some things about Oriental acting. In The Rose of the Rancho he consulted a priest, having him read the beads and cross himself repeatedly to learn his exact manner.^ Consulta tion with other people about the validity of a scene or action was one of his habitual practices. He asked for opinions and suggestions while rehearsing. Rowland V. Lee remembered that he . . . would ask advice from those old employees of his such as Mattie, the propman, and Louis 8 9 Ibid. Ibid. 10 Montrose J. Moses, f , David Belasco !s Tricks1 1 [Belasco Collection], December 8, 1912, p. 91. 89 j Hartmann, and he would ask advice even of actors that weren’t in certain scenes.H Belasco wrote in scattered articles of what he considered to be the ingredients of a good rehearsal and the duties of the director. He felt that a stage director should have a broad understanding, a lively imagination, and an awareness of the smallest details of ’’stage business1 1 and stage groupings. The stage director, he believed, should think in pictures to insure that the audience1s eyes are as occupied as their ears. During rehearsal he felt that he must think of such details as the reading of a line, the intonation, the emphasis, the facial expres sion, the glance of the eye, the raising or lowering of an eyelid, the walk, the position, the grouping, and other 12 points which might affect the play as a whole. Rehearsal Procedure The most complete record of Belasco*s conception of a proper rehearsal procedure was found in his article, 11 Personal interview with Rowland V. Lee, May 29, 1961, in Beverly Hills, California. ■^David Belasco, ”How I Stage My Plays,” Leslie1 s Weekly, May, 1903, p. 39. 90 13 ,fThe Evolution of a Belasco Play.1 1 Belasco wrote that his first step of rehearsal planning was to talk to Ernest Gros, his scenic designer. While Gros sat in the audience,! Belasco acted out the entire play, indicating groupings of characters and their surroundings. He devoted four or five evenings to this detailed planning.^ This presents a paradox in Belasco*s statements about his rehearsal procedure. Seven years earlier, in 1909, he had answered an interviewer1s questions about stage arrangements: I cannot prepare, I cannot prepare. For formfs sake I make some directions in the manu script— a picture here, a fireplace there* but I am liable to change them all next day. He told Montrose Moses in 1912: Stage things grow with me, for I always approach a manuscript unprepared. . . . When I go upon the stage for rehearsal, I have no arith metical rules to follow as to the arrangement of detail. I just allow myself to pass into the atmosphere time. At one time I am in Japan with Madame, Butterfly, at another in Japan with Darling of the Gods. I can go into the slums or mount David Belasco, ITThe Evolution of a Belasco Play,*1 Saturday Evening Post, September 2, 1916 [Belasco Collec- tionj. ^ Ibid. , p. 9. 15 Garnet Warren,"Belasco Tells How He Makes a Play," [Belasco Collection], May 23, 1909, p. 58. 91 toward heaven with the angels. To be a creative manager, that is what one has to do.^6 Evidence from actors who worked for Belasco indi cated that Belasco was well-prepared when he began rehears al, but that he adapted quickly to the changing situation and mood. Continuing in ,fThe Evolution of a Belasco Play,1 1 Belasco wrote more about his standard procedures for rehearsal. He said he allotted six weeks for rehearsal. Notices were sent to his cast indicating the first rehears al day. Belasco planned to be present to greet the cast. nI want them to feel from the outset an intimate relation- 17 ship to me and to one another.1 1 Next he invited his new cast to the reading room where he gave them a few preliminary instructions. First, he cautioned them to avoid discussing the play outside the theatre. Next, he extolled the virtues of cooperation among the entire company. Then he warned them not to judge the value of their characters by the number of lines allotted to them. 16 Moses, op. cit., p. 91. 17 Belasco, ”The Evolution of a Belasco Play,1 1 op. cit., p. 11. 92] . . . Above all, I ask them not to be selfish, but to assist one another, because after all, they are only the component parts of a single pic ture . IS After these instructions he read the play without comments to the cast. Then he distributed the individual parts, had lunch served, and had the cast read the play. When this reading was completed, he conversed with the cast about the play. This reading procedure was repeated daily at ten- thirty each morning for a week. During this time Belasco studied the individual actors, noting where assets and deficiencies lay. He noticed if they could not sustain a scene, if they were not good listeners, and decided what approach he would make to them on stage.^ The second week of rehearsal occurred on stage under the direction of a stage manager who had discussed the direction of the play with Belasco. He said he avoided the first , f blocking1 1 rehearsals because: When I am present the actors stand still and depend upon me for directions. I always caution the stage manager to let them give him everything, that he must give them nothing. In this way they rely upon their own initiative. They seem to grow when they know they can do as they please. 93 With this confidence gained I take control of the play again and we go at it in earnest.^0 After taking charge during the third week of this most active phase of the rehearsal, Belasco believed in working until a particular goal was achieved, regardless of the length of rehearsal. He also tried to allow the individuality of the actor to reveal itself, that he might better capitalize upon it. Belasco wrote that he spent a week to ten days rehearsing each act, during which he encouraged his actors to avoid memorizing the roles unless the lines came from the characterization. Each act was rehearsed separately until the play was finally combined into one run-through. The first rehearsals were on an empty stage, but soon substitute scenery was included. Finally, when the set was finished, the cast was moved on stage and adjustments were made in the blocking. When these changes were accomplished, Belasco viewed the play as an entity, dictating notes to a nearby stenog rapher (such as Rowland V. Lee). After the rehearsal was completed these notes were discussed with the actors. 20T, Ibid. — 9 4 - It is noteworthy that Belasco*s avowed rehearsal procedure was very similar to that used by most modern stage directors. Belasco*s Rehearsal Procedure as Seen by Others The reports of the rehearsal procedure used by Belasco corroborate in many ways Belascofs writings on the subject and differ in some ways. Belasco had reading rehearsals at the outset; he allowed a stage manager to handle early rehearsals; he injected the technical aspects of the play into the rehearsal early, and he directed each activity personally, but the details were remembered dif ferently by various people. Belasco*s procedure during the early rehearsals was remembered by many of the actors interviewed. Frank Reicher was asked about the length of the rehearsal period: Reicher: He used to rehearse five and six weeks before the opening of the play. Int.: How long did his rehearsals run in one day? Reicher: All day with the interruption of lunch; that*s all. Int.: When did they start in the morning? Reicher: Ten o*clock and we rehearsed until five or six.21- Personal interview with Frank Reicher, November 24, I960, in Playa del Rey, California. 95 Percy Helton corroborated this, and added: . . . you came to the first rehearsal of a Belasco play and all you did was sit at a long table and read your part. You just sat around a table for two weeks and did that; you never went upon the stage. Int.: You did that in Peter Grimm? Helton: Oh, yes, in Peter Grimm and What1s Wrong and every play he ever did; that's the way he did it. You never saw a stage. You sat down in the basement of the Belasco Theatre. He had what was known as the "rehearsal room" and you sat there. Lunch was catered. It was served to you at that table and you talked about the play. . . . Int.: Did you feel when you first went into this reading session that he knew what he wanted and what he was doing? Helton: Oh, yes, definitely; he had it all worked out in his mind just exactly what he wanted.^2 Similarly, Robert O'Connor recalled the length of the rehearsals and the serving of lunch, but he noted a phase of Belasco*s procedure during these rehearsals which the others did not mention. O'Connor was asked what kind of director Belasco was: I would say this, Mr. Belasco was the greatest director that I ever worked under. . . . Belasco's a man who knew how to direct actors because he understood actors. For instance, Belasco never called you by your first name; he would say Robert O'Connor, James Kirkwood, Edna Hibbard, so and so, always the full name, never the first or last name. . . . But here is where he is an intuitive actor’s Personal interview with Percy Helton, June 8, 1961, in Hollywood, California. 96 director. He would feel that you were uncomfort able and he would say, ’’ Robert 01Connor, or James Kirkwood,” or whoever, ,fcome here a minute; I want to talk to you.” So, when the rest were gone, he would say, ’’ Now, you don’t feel comfortable in that scene, do you?” By this time you have pos sibly rehearsed under him for three days and you had enough confidence in him, you knew what he could do and you knew that he wanted to do the right thing by you. And you would say, ”No, Governor, I don’t feel comfortable doing what I’m doing there now. I would like to do it this way or that way.” He would say, ”Go ahead, do it, do it.’” So you did it. There wouldn’t be two re hearsals more before you begged to go back to what he had told you to do. And then his eyes would twinkle and he would say, ”Well, if I hadn’t let you try, you would have thought I was wrong all the time.”23 David Warfield wrote that Belasco engendered a freedom of expression in the actor. For the uncomfortable actor, .... the attempt is made to reorganize the actor to fit the scene. A. player may appear rest less in a chair. ”Are you uncomfortable?” Belasco will ask. ”Try another chair.” Chair after chair may be tried. In the end a special chair may have to be made. Everything with him is done for the actor’s sake. I believe David Belasco to be the greatest actor’s manager in the world.24 23 Personal interview with Robert O’Connor, June 12, 1961, in Hollywood, California. ^David Warfield, ’’ David Belasco” [Belasco Collec tion] , p. 47. 97 This direct contact by Belasco with an actor was not always accomplished in the first week of rehearsal. More likely the actors were assembled and given a free rein to express their conception of the role without any coaxing or directing by Belasco. The parts were handed to the actors, only a few instructions were given, and the cast was allowed to create their characters. Frequently a week passed without a single suggestion from Belasco. Often the actor or actress brought a new significance to 2S the role. Belasco used these reading rehearsals to cut and adjust the play. He would note whether an actor could handle a particular speech or scene, and if not he would rewrite it and have the new way tried the next day. He experimented with actors and with dialogue. This he did early in the reading rehearsal because he believed the actors were less confused by cuts and changes if they had 26 not memorized their lines. If the play was not going well, Belasco would hold ^H. A. Harris, ”David Belasco, The Man and His Work,*’ Cosmopolitan, November, 1907, p. 93. 26 f , How Belasco Creates Dramatic Stars,” Current Literature, XLII (April, 1907), 424-38. 9 8 j I the cast longer. The signal for an extended rehearsal was j Belascofs removal of his collar. This was the prelude to fourteen or sixteen hours of intensive rehearsal, during 27 which Belasco was a bottomless well of enthusiasm. The cutting and adapting of a new play often required more time than the usual rehearsal period. Most actors, although they were not paid for it, did not mind the extended rehearsal time needed. However, Frank Reicher recalled one who pointed out to Belasco: , f Mr. Belasco, I canTt rehearse six weeks; I need money.” n0h, but my dear boy, we have so much to do in editing and rewriting.” ”1 know, Mr. Belasco, and you use actors for pencils. Good-by! ”28 While he was rehearsing a new company in the read ing room, Belasco might be engaged in other activities throughout the theatre. Rowland V. Lee, who held book and took notes for Belasco, remembered that when he went to the first rehearsal, he learned that Belasco was rehearsing two plays simultaneously. . . . The theatre was so constructed that he had a full rehearsal room with the exact dimen sions of the stage, real stage, and thatfs ^Harris, op. cit. , p. 93. ^Reicher interview, loc. cit. 99 where most of the rehearsing was done, . . . at the same time he was writing another play, working on Tiger Rose in his studio with Willard Mack. He had an indefinite capacity for work. He never seemed sleepy; he never seemed tired; and I never saw him yawn. He was just a captive from the mood of the theatre. Int.: Would he move between these three jobs during the day? Lee: He would be with us in the morning, for example, rehearsing. He would leave; of course it was none of our business where he went, and finally if I happened to go down into the green room which was beside the rehearsal room downstairs, I would see him down there rehearsing these other people. And then Roi McGrue would take up some of the rehearsing or the stage manager would hear us in our lines, and then pretty soon someone would ask, , f Where is Mr. Belasco? We would like to ask him about this.” f 1 Well, he is up there with Mr. Mack now, working on Tiger Rose.11^ Belasco moved from job to job, checking on an actor here, a costume there, seeing a playwright in his office or a set designer in his workshop. He expected the set and the properties to be ready early in the rehearsal period. When Nance OfNeil was asked about the technical aspects of the early rehearsals, she said: . . . the scene was set for our first rehearsal; all properties were given us with our parts; we had that from the very first. For instance, there was a tea scene that we had in the second act. We went over that scene, I think, sixty times until 29 Personal interview with Rowland V. Lee, May 29, 1961, in Beverly Hills, California. 100 it moved just exactly with the ease that a natural tea would have.30 Belasco expected his property man to have the hand properties available for the actors the second week of rehearsal. Percy Helton recalled that: ^ When you walked upon the stage after the second week you had every prop, every piece of scenery, every piece of paper that you were ever going to use in that play; it was there. You rehearsed for two more weeks on the stage with the prons. If you had to drink coffee, you had coffee.31 Mary Nash was another actress who remembered how Belasco had the properties available early. She noted that he was one of the first stage directors to provide properties or their substitutes so early in a rehearsal. Int.: What difference did it make to have them? Nash: Oh, it makes a great difference, particular ly in time. If, at the dress rehearsal, you have to get used to all the things you have to do, as well as play the part, the night before you open, thatfs a very difficult thing. Be lasco didn’t put people through that; he had the props a long time before the opening. For instance, in that play I had the old-fashioned telephone. That was a great convenience to have' that because I had to learn the technique of the telephone switchboard of that time, automatic, you k n o w .32 30personal interview with Nance O’Neil, July 12, 1961, in New York City. ^^Helton interview, loc. cit. 09 J Personal interview with Mary Nash, April 22, — — roT After one week of reading rehearsals and one week of blocking rehearsals, Belasco moved the cast onto the stage. Here his procedure was to sit at a desk on a plat- ' form over the orchestra pit and allow the actors to adjust to the new area. When it was necessary, he went onto the stage to give directions and to talk with actors. The personal contact he engendered with his actors was an inte gral part of his directing procedure. In anticipation of the first Belasco-directed rehearsals, the actors were required to memorize their lines by a certain day and then he began ensemble rehearsals. He rehearsed each act thor oughly before moving into the next a ct . Belasco first allowed his actors to develop their roles on their own, but when they met obstacles, he would talk to them, helping them over the problem. When David Warfield came from the burlesque stage to a Belasco play, he was not confident of his ability to play a serious role. Belasco, after many rehearsals, took him aside and said: Look here, Dave, we've got to get a pathetic note in here. Here you are, a little Hester 1961, in Los Angeles, California. 33 Franklin Frederic, ”How Belasco Stages a Play,1 1 Bohemian, March, 1907, p. 6. 102" Street Jew who has developed from a shoestring peddler into a semi-millionaire. You have real ized the height of your ambition. You own a house on Lexington Avenue. You have given a house-warm ing. The guests are all gone. You and Esther, your wife, the woman that is the Madonna of the world to you, are left alone. I want you to go over to her, just touch her gently on the cheek and say to her, "Esther, are you happy?" "Oh, pshaw," said Warfield; "they won*t take pathos from me." "Try it," Belasco said, "as a favor to me. Just get up on the stage there like a good boy and try it once. If you don't feel it the moment you do it, I111 cut it out, but please try it just once as a favor." He tried it. A moment later Warfield, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the footlights, exclaimed: "Gee! That's bully; it lifts up the whole act! This procedure of telling the actor what he wanted and verbally setting the scene was used by Belasco through out his career. Almost all of the actors interviewed stated that he normally told the actors what he desired rather than showing them. Percy Helton was asked if Belasco ever acted a role to show the actor what he wanted: Helton: No, he never tried to show anybody how to do anything. I don!t ever remember him in my experience; maybe he has with some, I donft know. He would just come to the footlights and lean over to you and he would tell you quietly what he wanted you to do, how he thought it should be done and you would go back and try it. That was when he would pull the silver dollar thing. If he didnft think you did it 34Harris, op. cit., pp.,.94-95. .................................................. - ....TGS as well as he thought you should, he would only toss you a quarter. He always had a pocketful of silver, always. If you did it right and you finally hit it the way he wanted it, that was when you got the dollar. Int.: Did he ever explain characterization to you? Helton: Oh, yes. That was all done at the table the first two w e e k s .^5 Others remembered this part of Belasco!s technique. Robert O’Connor pointed out the confidence Belasco in stilled during the first rehearsal. When asked how Belasco did that, O’Connor replied: He would say if you were wrong, ’’ Have you thought over that line?” And then he would give you what he thought the line meant, possibly give you a whole new angle. The next day you would read the line perfectly, the way he wanted it read, and get the meaning for him that he wanted gotten out of that verbiage.^6 Ruth St. Denis had only small speaking roles during the years she was with Belasco, but she remembered watching him quietly suggest changes from his table on stage. To watch David Belasco direct a play was to see a really great artist at work. He always sat at a little table near the footlights, pulling the famous lock over his very white brow. Glasses dangled from his neck. Secretaries stood near to take notes, and in the quietest of voice he indi cated the atmosphere of the scene. I can hear him 35 Helton interview, loc. cit. 36 O’Connor interview, loc. cit. 104 saying to Campbell Go 1 lan in the second act of DuBarry, f*Yes, Gollan, that is one very good way of doing it. But suppose we try another, and if the second feels right to you, let's play it that way." He exerted an almost hypnotic stimulus on actors. To watch him direct a scene was like watching an engineer put together the pieces of a model bridge.3' Mary Nash was asked whether she thought Belasco told actors what he wanted or showed them. She indicated that because the actors were relatively experienced in The Woman, Belasco talked to them about their roles, but she felt that with more inexperienced performers he demonstrated the action. The Merchant of Venice, done by Belasco in 1922, was a play which Belasco had dreamed of producing. His method of directing the actors in this play probably was affected by his personal attraction toward the role of Shylock. Mary Servoss, who played Portia, remembered that Belasco acted out his directions to Shylock. Int.: You had a feeling that he relished acting the Shylock role? Servoss: Oh, yes, he would have loved to have played that. He would often talk about that ^Ruth St. Denis, Ruth St. Denis, An Unfinished Life, An Autobiography (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1939), p. 41. O Q QNash interview, loc. cit. 105 black-haired boy in San Francisco who was an usher there, and this desire to sometime put on The Merchant of Venice.39 The assumption that Belasco used a verbal tech nique with his experienced actors and a visual one with inexperienced actors was reinforced by an article which appeared in the New York Mail and Express of April 14, 1888. At that time Belasco was an instructor at the New York School of Acting, which later became the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. The article described a scene of acting instruction led by Belasco; Mr. David Belasco, not only of the school but the Lyceum Theatre as well, takes the class upon the large stage and drills the pupils in a scene from The Two Orphans. It is the opening scene where old Mother Frochard makes her appearance with her unhappy son, Pierre. "Charity, charity,1 1 quotes Mr. Belasco in a conversational tone of voice, after relating the scene. "Now, I want each one of you to repeat those words as they should be given." Each in turn tries his larynx, and with vary ing degrees of success. An uninitiated outsider might have thought it was a training school for professional mendicants instead of a school for acting. Mr. Belasco waits until the exercise is over, and then giving the line with telling effect, proceeds to correct each scholar, one by one. "Now, pose as Pierre.” Although almost everyone has seen'the living photograph of the stage cripple, it is not so easy to imitate his helplessness as it might seem. So Q Q ^Personal interview with Mary Servoss, May 27, 1961, in Hollywood, California. 106" the pupils find. "You are too stiff,1’ is the instructor’s com ment. "Get more repose. I will show you how. Lift up your arms. Now drop them to your side like wet rags. There, that will do very well. Now let your head fall on your breast, relax the muscles of your back, collapse, sink down into a heap. There, that is repose. Now I don’t want you to be as limp as that on the stage. But in order to play Pierre you must know how to do this.” The exercise goes on rapidly from this point until it becomes necessary to produce a sob. ”No, no, no,” corrects Mr. Belasco. "Listen.” Here follows the analysis of a sob. A catch of the breath. This repeated once, twice, thrice. A short hysterical struggle in the throat. A long breath drawn in slowly and expelled tremu lously. This repeated thrice. Several more catches of the breath. Now comes the breakdown. This requires the speech. It doesn’t matter what word is begun, for it is never finished. The first syllable is choked and finally is lost in the flood of imaginary tears and the sob is ended. ^ To guide these untutored actors, Belasco asked them to imitate him. Many actors recalled Belasco*s talent for giving them free rein with a role. They indicated, as O’Connor had stated, that he would sense when they were uncomfort able and ask them their opinion of the way to handle a particular scene. George Arliss wrote that during a re hearsal of The Darling of the Gods he became distracted ^"A School of Acting," New York Mail and Express, April 14, 1888 [Belasco Collection], 107 by "some spies shooting about during a certain speech of mine.*’ He asked Belasco if the action was necessary. "Do you find it distracting?" I said, "I do, rather," "Then, of course, it shan’t be done," he said. He looked at his watch and then beckoned everyone on the stage to come round him. "Come here, folks. Mr. Thompson (to his assistant stage manager), bring your script here. Now, folks, I want you to understand this is Mr. Arliss’s scene. Whatever he says goes. Mr. Thompson, I’m going out for half an hour, and Mr. Arliss will take this scene and whatever he wants done, you put it down in the script and it stays. It’s Mr. Arliss’s scene and he knows just what he wants. Now, folks, pay attention to Mr. Arliss," And he went out of the stage door. I suspect that he went no farther than the front of the house and that he watched every detail of what happened. But he was follow ing out his system--to give me confidence. He came back apparently much refreshed by his half- hour’s rest, and although I had done nothing of the slightest importance, he expressed himself much gratified at the vast improvement.^ A similar situation occurred to James Kirkwood in Ladies of the Evening. Beth Merrill recalled that Kirkwood wanted to try a stage cry during a particular scene. Mr. Belasco said, "Oh, we could try it, James." The company at last got out of the rehears al room and so he started, tears in his voice and all that. So Mr. Belasco said, "Well, that’s one way of having it, James." He never made him feel badly. "Now, here’s another way." He never was the one who would act. He wasn’t like a lot of directors who act all the time, unless he was ^George Arliss, Up the Years from Bloomsbury (New York: Blue Ribbon, 1927), pp. 209-10. 108; practically compelled to, and he was in this re spect, because he was going to show him something else. And he said it; he didnft act particularly, , ! And this would be another way you could handle it.”42 Belasco then demonstrated a method of creating a stage cry which gained Kirkwoodfs admiration. Belasco felt it was important to allow an actor to experiment even if it was unlikely the innovation would be used. Kirkwood corroborated the use of this type of rehearsal procedure by Belasco, remembering that if an actor was having difficulty understanding a particular characterization, Belasco would say, . . . Well, now, maybe we1re a little mistaken about this; now, how would you do this? Int.: Did he ask the actor? Kirkwood: Oh, yes. You’d do it your way, and then he*d work on your way. That’s why he was so great.^ Sometimes properties were left to the discretion of the actors. Belasco wanted the actor to study his character and select the appropriate costumes and proper ties. Mary Pickford recalled an example of this in The 42 Personal interview with Beth Merrill, July 12, 1961, in New York City. / Q Personal interview with James Kirkwood, April 7, 1961, in Hollywood, California. 109 Warrens of Virginia. She had a scene with Dick Storey in which they sat quietly for a long time. She thought that some ”business” with properties was needed, and she asked Belasco about it. f , What do you want to play with--blocks?” ”1 guess Ifm too big for blocks,” I replied. '’ Couldn't I have a doll?” ”What kind of a doll, Betty? As you are a little Southern girl during wartime, you must think of the playthings she would be most apt to have.” ”1 remember my mother talking about a doll she played with when she was a little girl. It had a flat china face, with painted black hair.” Mr. Belasco smiled reflectively. , f My mother had one, too,” he replied. Then turning to Dick Storey, "What do you want, Dick?” ”A horse and a hoop,” came Dickfs prompt reply. And so it was that. Mr. Belasco had these toys made for us and they traveled with us across the country when The Warrens of Virginia left New York on to.ur.^ Belasco not only asked for advice from the actors but he also consulted other people who were watching the rehearsal. When Rowland V. Lee held book for Belasco, Belasco asked him, ”Do you think that is a good scene? Do you think it is light enough? Do you think that holds your attention?”^5 44 Mary Pickford, ”Daily Talks,” Cincinnati Tribune, June 19, 1916. ^Rowland V. Lee, loc. cit. . no On another occasion Belasco was reported to have asked rehearsal spectators what they thought was wrong with a scene about which they had been unenthusiastic. As the rehearsals progressed Belasco changed his point of observation. A, runway was constructed across the orchestra pit and Belasco moved to the third or fourth row of the auditorium. From then until opening night, Belasco directed the play as if he were the audience.^ Final Rehearsals, in Washington, D.C. The period of free interchange of opinions about the performance of a role was usually the middle two weeks of the rehearsal period. Normally Belasco rehearsed his cast in New York for these two weeks and then moved the play to Washington, D.C. for final rehearsals, dress re hearsal, and tryout performances. Louis Hartmann, who was Belascofs lighting technician for decades, recorded the procedure succ inctly: The last four weeks were taken entirely with rehearsals, each of which started at 10:00 A.M. and usually lasted until 3:00 A.M. the following morning. David Belasco spent at least twenty hours out of every twenty-four in the theatre. Frederic, op. cit., p. 6. ill When the rehearsal was over he would still remain, absorbed in watching his staff make the changes he had ordered during it. Five A.M. was the time the crew generally left the theatre, to return at 9:30 A.M. to be ready for the next rehearsal at | 10:00 A.M.47 The rehearsal hours became longer in Washington, which Belasco chose for his openings because, apparently, he had been successful there and believed it was a good tryout town. As the opening night approached, Belasco became a different director in Washington from the director he had been in New York. In the metropolis he is a modest man who dis claims having any part in the success of his pro ductions. In Washington he is a general, master of the play, the players, and best of all, master of himself. At those rehearsals you have a chance to see the real Belasco; you have an opportunity to see a great play come out of chaos Belasco was aware of the slightest detail in a production. He knew more about the properties than the property man, more about the costumes than the costumer, and more about light effects than his chief electrician. Throughout rehearsal he minutely groomed the 1 ! business ^Louis Hartmann, Theatre Lighting (New York: D. Appleton, 1930), p. 120. AO *f David Belasco Conducting Rehearsals,1 1 New York Telegraph, March 8, 1903, p. 30. 112 costumes, and properties of stars and supers alike. Belasco drove the actors through scenes time after time until the desired effect was attained. With all the rush and hurry of rehearsal it seems strange that the actors do not get rattled. This is probably because Belasco gives reasons for everything he does. If a blunder is made Belasco corrects it and tells why he does it. Some of his explanations are quite sarcastic, but they are at least amusing.^9 In 1905 Belasco was deeply engaged in a contro versy with the Theatrical Syndicate. He was denied access to their theatres around the country, and so in Washington he was forced to open in Convention Hall. It was not suited to theatrical productions, but Belasco spent thou sands of dollars to convert it for his production of Adrea. During the dress rehearsal the scene was not moving properly, and Belasco vented his emotions on the actors: ,rI thought,” he said, with sad eyes, ,fthat I was dealing with brains and heart, but at the eleventh hour--” here his voice wailed off into tfagedy--lfI see that I am dealing with idiots! Your souls, where are they? If you have none, plunge a knife into your bosom in an effort to discover some." It had the desired effect, and in a moment or two the master was again tender, subdued, kittenish. But his kittenish mood did not last 49Ibid. Ilf long. He was once more the tiger--ferocious, ter rifying. Another contretemps had aroused his rage, and he bellowed at a group of shrinking wantons of the court. "Unless you do better than that, I111 break up the show with an ax!1 1 The silence of the catacomb followed this awful threat.^0 As the opening day approached, Belasco spent more time in the theatre. He gave more attention personally to each facet of the production. On Christmas Eve Belasco . . . came to the theatre at four in the after noon not to leave until six o'clock Christmas morning, and then merely for an hour's rest. . . . Here he listened to a bacchante of Yulia's who, fair haired, rose-hued, and dimpling, asked con cerning some detail of her costume; there he tossed paper roses to note their effect on green boughs, and all that he did was done with an ear nestness that left no doubt of the artistic im pulse in the man.^ David Warfield was a Belasco star from 1901 to 1922. In those years he completed many dress rehearsals with Belasco. He reported that as the night of production neared, rehearsals lasted eighteen hours, after which Belasco tested various lighting effects far into the night. The day preceding the first night he never leaves the theatre. A hasty supper is eaten on the stage, and after the last curtain has fallen, -^Aubry Lanston, "A Rehearsal under Belasco” [Belasco Collection], February 1, 1905, p. 74. 51Ibid. 114 and the crowds have gone, there, in the deserted theatre, he will sit, peopling the vacant stage with the creatures of his wondrous fancy till dawn streaks the eastern sky and in the street rise the shrill cries of the n e w s b o y s .^2 Short Post-performance Rehearsals After a play was in production and prior to the New York opening, Belasco held short rehearsals after most performances to adapt and improve the play. After the last curtain Belasco went to his studio, changed clothes, and returned to the stage. If the flaw was in a scene contain ing three or four players, Belasco recited the lines in order, giving new meaning and intonation to the speeches. He explained his changes and then retired to the auditor ium to watch the actors try his innovations. , f The chances are about ten to one that he has so intelligently conveyed his meaning to the players that it is not necessary to go c o over the scene a second time.I1J Rowland V. Lee recalled that after these post performance rehearsals Belasco became a different man, very social and paternal. Lee said: S2 David Warfield, ! l David Belasco,1 1 op. cit. , p. 46. 53riBeiasco1 s Touches Add Zest to Insipid Plays,1 1 Brooklyn Eagle, October, 1910, p. 21. 115 When we were on the road, every night, we always had a short rehearsal after the evening perform ance. The play was not really a good play and it needed a lot of work and while it was never fran tic there were always changes made. We would have these rehearsals as soon as the curtain went down. Then, he would say, nas soon as you get your makeup off there is a birthday party at the Willard Hotel1 1 (in Washington, this particular instance). And so we would go and he would have the whole cast there and bought them a supper and we had champagne and whatever we wanted to have to drink, and he sat at the head of the table and I always sat (flLeely, you sit here11) near him. Why he liked me I donft know, maybe it was because I was costing him $75.00 a week. Anyway then he would laugh and he was hav ing so much fun. He never drank himself, but he would toast different people as if he were really having a drink and then he would pour the drink into my g l a s s . When he had polished the production sufficiently, Belasco would leave the play to its own devices and move to a different play. Occasionally he would drop in on his long-run shows and make corrections, but usually he left the stage manager in charge and relegated the play to history. Rehearsal Techniques The heart of Belascofs directing ability con sisted of the techniques he used in rehearsal to gain the result he wanted. Most of the actors who worked for him 54 Rowland V. Lee, loc. cit. 116 praised this part of his ability, while some were uncom plimentary. Belasco seemed to sense and select the appropriate technique to use in a given situation, for his former actors reported a variety of methods. Nevertheless there were similarities. When a rehearsal was not progressing at the desired pace, Belasco became angry and vented his anger on his actors. However, he rarely directed his anger toward one individual. Often he would berate a group of minor players when he actually was angered by a lead. Also these tirades usually occurred only once during the rehearsal period of a play. If a star forgot an important line, or the costumer sewed a dress wrong, Belasco would call out William Dean, his general stage manager, and, in earshot of the entire company, would tell him every weak point in the play. Of course, the actors responsible for these weaknesses learned of these flaws without being personally chastised. . . . Usually there is a short recess after one of these tirades, and Belasco puts his collar on and goes out arm in arm with Mr. Dean to drink a loving glass of ice cream soda at the nearest drug store. Of course, the actors are never per mitted to see this anticlimax; it is for them to hear, mark, learn, and inwardly digest. This is a 117 trick which Belasco learned very early in his career.55 He used this trick of directing by indirection throughout his career. His scorn was focused on someone other than the one he was really speaking to. Any kind of incompetence, fault, or bad stage habit would trigger his wrath. George Middleton remembered: I once saw him force an unimportant actor to a dozen repetitions of his scene, to convey a thesis on acting to the leading man--whose faults were indirectly commented on. Belasco thus got over what he wanted to the leading man without offending him. 56 One of the most revealing accounts of Belascofs use of anger as a rehearsal technique was written by Mary Pickford. She was a teen-aged girl when she first acted for Belasco in The Warrens of Virginia. In the course of the rehearsal things were going smoothly until Belasco shouted the rehearsal to a halt. He climbed onto the stage, walked to the table, tasted the contents of the molasses jar. Then he roared for Matty, the property man. The property man dipped a spoon into the thick fluid and brought it to his lips. "What is it?1 1 55 Harris, op. cit.» pp. 93-94. 56ceorge Middleton, These Things Are Mine (New York: MacMillan, 1947), p. 283. 118 bellowed the Maestro. "Maple syrup, sir." "And if you please, what does the manuscript call for?" "Molasses, sir." "And you dare waste my time and the time of the ladies and gentlemen of my company with maple syrup?" With that he dashed the jar into a thousand pieces on the floor, and began to jump up and down on the sticky mess, thereby driving it deeper and deeper into the beautiful Oriental rug. When at length his fury was spent, he ordered the property man to clean up the stage, and gave one last shout, "Never, never presume to take such liberties with me again!" Mr. Belasco suddenly made a sticky beeline for the box where I was seated in frozen immobility. I tried to copy Alice in Wonderland by making myself as small as possible but to no avail. . . . Mr. Belasco looked at me and with twinkling eyes asked: "Betty, tell me, what did you think of my per formance?" And all I could mutter in reply was, "I--I--I don*t think I understand, s-s-sir." "This is a great secret between you and me, he said in mock confidence. "I find it absolutely necessary to break something at least once before opening night in order to keep the cast on their toes."*7 Almost every source which mentioned Belasco*s rehearsal tirades also pointed out that Belasco was act ing, and yet the technique was effective; the cast was regenerated and accelerated. When James Kirkwood was asked if Belasco ever told him his tirades were put on, Kirkwood answered: "^Pickford, op. cit., pp. 60-61. 119 Kirkwood: No, but you knew damn well they were. He never told me that, but you knew it. He was shooting at Frank Kennon or Blanche Bates or Robert Hilliard. Int.: Did he ever break any properties in anger? Kirkwood: Yes, he did. If the thing was slowing down after two or three weeks1 rehearsal, hefd come up on the stage and go over to the table where the properties were, and he*d smash a lantern, dishes, or some damn thing--throw them off the table and yell, f , These things are no damn good!1 1 They*d be perfect. That would perk everybody up. I think they knew that he meant them.*** Another corroborating report came from Mary Nash. She believed that .... he used to lose his temper when he thought that was the thing to do. I think all of his temper tantrums were thought out and worked out when he thought it was the time for it to be worked out. He was very wise theatrically, very. He was a theatrical man, very much so.^9 Asked if she thought Belasco was acting almost all the time, she said, l f Yes, fitfs just between us,111 and went on to indicate Belascofs versatility. Miss Nash was a member of the cast of The Woman, which was a low- key, slow-tempo play. During this rehearsal Belasco never berated the cast. She opined: I think he was versatile to change his methods with different things. I think it depended on the 5 8 Kirkwood interview, loc. cit. SQ •^Mary Nash interview, loc. cit. 120 person he was working with and the type of play. I think if he wanted great emotional height he would probably jack people up to the point where they forgot themselves and everything else and just let go.60 When Mary Servoss was questioned about this part of Belascofs directing, she said: He would get mad. I can't remember if he would get mad at Mr. Warfield, but he would come on the stage and really go into a Toscan- nini thing almost. Int.: Directly at Mr. Warfield? Servoss: It didn’t seem to be directed at any one person; it was just a nice show. Int.: What wohld he do? Servoss: Well, he would--I think one day he knocked over the stand where he kept his manu script. It sounds like Mr. Toscannini, doesn’t it? Int.: Yes--what was your reaction? As an actress, of course, you were experienced and estab lished. What was your reaction to that kind of directing? Servoss: I liked it. I liked everything he did for me and for the rest of the cast. I thought he knew The Merchant of Venice perfectly. I liked itT®1 Frank Reicher was another established actor when he acted in Marie-Odile for Belasco. Reicher remembered Belasco’s ’’ tantrums” at rehearsals. He was asked to elab orate : 60Ibid. Hlary Servoss interview, loc. cit. r 121 Oh, they were put on. I had heard that but I got the proof of it in Marie-Odile. It was right in the middle of the Franco-Prussian war; the Huns were coming and, of course, there was rape and everything. The girls weren’t terrified enough. Belasco ranted and raved. He walked around and through them. I was standing at the proscenium arch watching this. Int.: Did he berate them as a group or individu ally? Reicher: No, no, he walked around, through them, they were all just in a group. His language was carmine, blasphemous, oh terrible, and he walked as I say, and as he passed me he gave me a wink. I had heard that he put things on, but that was the proof that I got.62 This technique was not restricted to the actors. Belasco berated his technical crew when he felt they needed acceleration. Belasco became annoyed at the crew during a rehearsal of Polly with a Past: ’’ What’s the matter,” asked Belasco, ”have you gone dumb?” and then he walked up and down the stage. He suddenly disappeared into the property room. ”An ax, an ax!” he shouted, looking around.63 Belasco found an ax, and proceeded to chop the scenery into firewood. The people involved recognized that this was his method for accelerating them. One stagehand recalled: 62 Frank Reicher interview, loc. cit. ^Macgregor Bond, ”The Gov’nor on Warpath Didn’t Frighten His Crew,” New York Times, May 19, 1931. 122 He*d give one of us hell, to see what effect it would have on the rest of us, and it never failed. When it was all over he*d have his arm around our shoulders.64 Some actors believed Belasco occasionally used cruel methods. Reicher considered Belascofs technique as 6 5 a , f mixture of hypnotism and cruelty.” However, he felt the cruelty was put on. Ernest Truex volunteered that Belasco used some cruel methods to get a desired effect. He remembered that in one play he played a little Scotch boy who was taken from his family and nurse to London to become a lord. The actress playing the old nurse never became emotional enough in the separation scene to suit Belasco. . . . So he walked up behind her while she was playing the scene, and while she was on her knees holding on to me5 , he hit her across the back. He used the back of his hand. It wasnft his fist or anything, but he really let her have it. This woman became so emotional from this surprise attack and the blows that were raining on her, that she really cried and played the scene. I suppose that every time she came to that scene, the memory of what happened to her came to her, and she always played it that way. 64Ibid. 65 Reicher interview, loc. cit. ^Ernest Truex interview, loc. cit. 123 One of his more famous instances of cruelly driving an actress to a desired emotion was with Frances Starr in The Easiest Way, Frances Starr was playing the role of a kept woman who tries to commit suicide, but is too cowardly to pull the trigger. Belasco wanted her to scream in despair when she realized the utter hopelessness of her position. The dress rehearsal had taken all night, and the next noon Belasco reassembled the cast to run through a few selected scenes. Beginning with the last act, he wasted little time in reaching the scene of the heroine’s ulti mate defeat. The great manager, usually consider ate of his actors, began to harry Frances Starr, to shout at her, to find fault with everything she did. The company watched with smothered resentment. nHe made me go over and over that moment with the revolver, from noon till eight o’clock at night. The scream never suited him. I was tired and des perate. I would stand there with that gun at my head and think, ”If this were loaded, I’d shoot!” After eight hours of that, he made me go back another time. He said in his most cutting tone, , f You can’t do that scream. Bernhardt could do it, Duse could do it--but you can’t. Oh, no!” All of a sudden I screamed. Where that cry came from, I don’t know. Then I fainted. They sent me home. My sister put me to bed, and the doctor gave me a sedative. Late in the evening, Mr. Belasco came. ’’ How’s the little girl?” he asked my sister. She was frigid. ’’ She’s in bed and the doctor has been here,” she told him; but he insisted on coming in to see me. He was in a wonderful humor. ’’ Well, little girl,” he said, ”we accomplished something tonight. That was a — 12-^ great piece of work you did! Great!” ”But I111 never be able to do it again/1 I said. He smiled, , f Donft you worry/1 he told me. 1 f You can always do it, after this. That thing is there. It will always be there!” "And/1 added Miss Starr, ,fit always was. For me, that was a surgical operation. I grew years in that day's work/167 Belasco!s reputation for cruelty was reinforced by newspaper articles and cartoons depicting him dragging Mrs. Leslie Carter about the stage by her flaming, red hair. This was supposed to have occurred while he was teaching her to become an emotional actress. This legend sprang from a widely-publicized lawsuit. During the trial, Belasco explained the training he had given Mrs. Carter. The newspapers reported that he had mauled Mrs. Carter to 6 8 stimulate emotional fervor. When asked later about this incident, Belasco repeatedly denied the story: That old story of dragging her about by the hair to make an actress of her was simply a myth. f,Ohce, in a newspaper interview, I happened to say how I trained her to play Nancy Sykes in Oliver Twist, and the story that I dragged her by the hair went all over the country. The fact is that I did nothing more than play Bill as the 67Helen Ormsbee, Backstage with Actors (Oxford: Crowell, 1938), pp. 20-21; and a personal interview with Frances Starr, July 11, 1961, in New York City. ^^Morris, op. cit., p. 299. 125 part was played in the good old violent days. It was the custom then to drag Nancy across the stage by a band hidden beneath her hair. But people generally believed the story that I had trained Mrs. Carter as an actress by brute force.^9 Belasco encouraged an actor, when that technique would bear the most fruit. He allowed the performer to try a different approach and then, regardless of the re sult, he would compliment him and encourage him to express himself more. . . . he never reprimands. Rather he becomes absolutely prodigal with compliments. Then, after he has blarneyed the actor tremendously he will suddenly say: ’’ The way you play that scene is great, simply splendid, but how do you think it would be now if you walked around the table at such and such a place and then delivered that line directly to the audience? Try it, and let’s see.1' The actor does it immediately, Belasco bursts out in loud applause and, after a whole bushel of encomiums, remarks in the most Innocent way, ”Gee Whitlikens, but thatfs a great improvement! How did you ever think of that?”70 Mary Pickford was worried about her performance in The Warrens of Virginia because Belasco had given her no direction. When she could stand the suspense no longer, she went to Belasco and asked him when he was going to 69 Charles Darnton, ”Work, Secret of Stars David Belasco Has Made,” New York World, October 10, 1914, p. 25; also in ”David Belasco,” Pearson’s Magazine, February, 1904, p. 56. ^%arris, op. cit., p. 93._______ _ _ _ : T26 begin criticizing her. He gave her a reassuring smile and then told her that his doctor had watched her rehearse the role of a blind girl with complete attention. "Betty,” Mr. Belasco said, "that doctor told me you appeared so blind that you must have been living with blind people. He just wouldnft believe you had figured that role out by yourself. Feel better now?”71 On another occasion Belasco had cast an inexper ienced actor to portray a minor character with only a few lines. As rehearsals progressed it became more obvious that the actor was not adapting to the role. Other members of the cast came to Belasco asking him to replace the in competent. Belasco was unmoved. On the night of the dress rehearsal, after the actor had revealed no percep tion of the role, Belasco took him aside and told him how pleased he was with his performance. He continued to com pliment him, stating specifically what the actor was sup posed to have done well, at the same time demonstrating the appropriate voice and action as if he were imitating the actor. The actor in his happy pride unconsciously assumed Belasco*s directions and played the role splendidly thereafter. 71 Pickford, op. cit., p. 94. 127 A few of Belasco*s productions required large crowds on stage. He was usually praised by critics for his crowd scenes. One noted that Belasco used larger casts than most producers, rehearsed the actors until they looked like a crowd, paid his supers top wages, and usually gave them, in addition, a dollar a day for lunch during rehearsals.^ The best record of exactly how Belasco directed his crowd scenes was found in an article describing his direction of Julius Caesar for the Lambs Club. Some of the stars who are to take part in the mob are still upon the road and will report for rehearsals later, so that yesterday Mr. Belasco's group numbered only sixty men. These he placed in file in military fashion and made them count from right to left on fours, each man being told to remember his number and also to remember No. 1 of his particular four, which actor would be con sidered as guide and captain. These captains were then told to form a second rank. They, of course, were fifteen in number, and instead of counting groups of fours, they were told to make their full count of fifteen, each man again remem bering his serial number so obtained. These fif teen captains Mr. Belasco then divided on the other side. The remaining men of the first rank, that is to say the numbers 2, 3, 4 of each set of fours, were told to report in loose order to their respective captains. Mr. Belasco then had upon the stage two separate groups of thirty men, one 72 George Oppenheimer, The Passionate Playgoer (New York: Viking Press, 1958), p. 396. 128; group under the command of seven captains numbered, respectively, 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12 and 14, the other group under the command of eight captains bearing the corresponding odd number. The subordinate threes were then instructed to closely imitate the actions of their captains and to follow them to whatever stage position they took. As a result of this sub-division, if the stage director told captains 1, 3 and 7 to move upstage, brandishing their right hands and shout ing in a threatening manner, he immediately ob tained such an action from twelve men, all perform ing it with a seeming spontaneity. If 5, 9, 11, and 13 were told to mildly remonstrate with those excited brethren, he had sixteen men promptly tak ing a very natural attitude of pacification. And so through the rehearsal by simply calling these respective members, odd or even, and quickly desig nating the action he wished performed he produced a general effect, absolutely disarming in its nat uralness, yet moving with the precision of clock work toward a cohesive e n s e m b l e .73 For the play Lulu Belle, Belasco cast many Negro actors as members of a mob in a realistic street scene. Belasco assembled the group and explained the situation. "Now this girl is going to come out of this door. She’s Lulu Belle. You’ve all heard of her. Some of you would like to get a better look. Some of you don’t want to even see her! She’s a bad woman! Now, let’s see what happens if we just think of this as a street scene. You people scat ter out, act naturally and we’ll have Miss Ulric enter. 73 ’’ David Drills Stage Mob for the Lambs’ Gambol,” Cleveland Leader, May 9, 1909, p. 51. ^Personal interview with Elizabeth Ginty, in 1940, by Joseph Batcheller, ’’ David Belasco” (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Minnesota, 1942). 129 The actors took their respective positions and, when Miss Ulric entered they reacted in an ’’ ad-lib1 1 manner very characteristic of a Harlem street scene. During his long tutelage of Mrs. Leslie Carter, Belasco gained a reputation for being especially adept at directing women. He supposedly understood the feminine heart and mind better than other directors. Certainly he developed more female stars (Mrs. Leslie Carter, Blanche Bates, Frances Starr, Lenore Ulric, Ina Claire) than male stars (David Warfield). Franklin Frederic was quoted as writing that: He can take an actress whom others have passed over with indifference, and, provided she is plas tic and conformable to suggestions, make her show powers that fairly astound o n e .75 Belasco revealed this talent early in his career, when he met and coped with a temperamental actress. Rose Coghlan was a successful actress when Belasco directed her in Hearts of Oak in 1882, and Belasco was a fledgling New York stage manager. He demanded that Miss Coghlan don a rubber suit and realistically rehearse a water-throwing scene. Miss Coghlan refused, saying that the night of performance would be soon enough. They argued mildly. 75»How Belasco Creates Dramatic Stars,” loc. cit. I301 Suddenly Belasco flew into a fury, and for five minutes he electrified the members of that company as few of them had ever been able to electrify an audience. He told Miss Coghlan that the stage door was open for her, that her under study was ready and itching to play the part. When he had finished, Miss Coghlan, who had been furious for a moment or two, suddenly burst out laughing. ’’ Bravo!” she cried. nMy dear young man, you are wasting your time as a stage manager, you ought to be a tragedian. After seeing such a superb exhibition of acting as that, the least I can do is to don my rubber clothing.”76 Seldom again was it necessary for Belasco to use anger to direct actresses at rehearsal. Normally they were zealous in their attempts to please him. His tech nique with actresses was to talk to them softly, explain ing the desired action. When Mary Nash was cast in The Woman, Belasco chose her for her innocent, untheatrical manner. However, because she was inexperienced, she began to assume the theatrical, vocal affectations of another member of the cast. As Belasco escorted Miss Nash home after a performance, he cued her on the lines which had become distorted. In that casual atmosphere she gave the lines a natural intonation. ’ ’Now state it that way when you’re on the stage.1 1 He wanted me to get so used to saying it that I wouldn’t take her tone, it would be so “ ^Harris, op. cit., p. 95. 131 automatic with me that I could play it simply like that. But he never told me what not to do, he just said, "Do it that way tonight." Finally I got into the idea of what he wanted, he just didn't want me to get dramatic and emotional, too.77 Where Belasco gained the desired reaction in one case by avoiding discussion about the line, in another case he discussed the dramatic situation with an actress to try to help her cry. Beverly West was playing in an emotional scene in Seven Chances but she was unable to shed tears. He explained the situation to her in such a manner that she 78 began to cry spontaneously. Belasco wrote in 1910 of the proper technique to cause a woman to cry on stage. He said that whereas men' are not called upon to weep on stage very often, a woman needs to develop this talent. To help her the director must not intimidate her, but rather aid her in imagining the dramatic situation. He wrote that roughness with an actress is fruitless, for it abuses the average woman, she becomes rebellious and either is angry or stubborn. He impressed her imagination by explaining the situation to her. 77 Mary Nash interview, loc. cit. ^^Rowland V. Lee interview, loc. cit. 132 nThat figure which has just been brought in upon a litter is not a dummy. It is not even one of your fellow players. It is the body of your own sister. You went to school together. And then she married. The family did not approve of the marriage, and so you drifted apart. You loved her, yes,: but you had other interests. You were engrossed in your profession. Sometimes you wake up in the night and thought how nice it would be if you could see her, but the next day brought new interests--and so the years passed. But now you are old. The profession you have toiled in, so many years, welcomes newcomers. The man you loved is dead. New ties are not easily formed. You long for some of the old ones. Your thoughts go back to the littje sister; to your nursery days. Yes, you were hard on her. She had the right to love the man of her choice. You will seek her. The dear old association shall be revived. You can almost feel her hand clasping yours, her face pressed against your cheek. Ah, after all, blood is thicker than water. f , But it is too late, as you pass out someone lifts the cover of that litter. It is the little sister grown old. You fling yourself beside the silent form, but she does not hear your prayers for forgiveness. The years will not roll back. More than ever you are alone. AloneIJ,79 By this time the actress is crying, visualizing this tragic situation which Belasco had made graphic to her. In his direction of women Belasco played on'the imagination most, but he also directed by creating business for an actress and showing her what possibilities were ^^David Belasco, "Some Odd Photographs of Real Tears,1 1 The Toledo Times, May 22, 1910, p. 8. 133 inherent in the action. In one of his productions a woman was required to call a man a coward. Her manner of doing it was not suitable to Belasco. He called Matty. (We used to bet that if Matty were asked to produce an elephant he would go into the property room and lead one out.) This time the Governor shouted: ”Matty, Matty.1 Get me a fan--a large fan, with feathers; yes, white feathers.1 1 Presto--it arrived. Then Belasco gave it to the actress. ~”Here ... you have been fanning yourself ... before ... so ... so ... it wonft seem like a device ... See? Fan slowly ... see, this way ... now ... when he speaks--What is the line? Oh yes! When he hesitates to go to fight for'his country ... you smile ... Lady on top-- claws underneath ... See? Now--fan yourself ... That1s it ... look at him ... look at the fan ... no emotion ... brain. Yes, wait ... Now, throw it into the air ... no, blow it up--over your head ... yes. Natural--as though amused--see? Now fan it ... no, too much. Fan it and watch it as it settles slowly to the ground ... You both watch it. Now ... you speak.” He turned abruptly to the playwright: ”Now get me a line there for her to say.” And for a hundred nights the actress mur mured what she thought of a man ”who showed the white feather. Belasco seemed to enjoy his fame as a director of women. He was asked about his technique by many interview ers. His answers usually projected the image of a mystical man who intuitively sensed the feminine disposition and who played on it as he might a musical instrument. This ^Middleton, op. cit., pp. 281-82. 134 example was characteristic: Oh yes, I study her--I study her temperament. Yes, yes, I look at my girl; I think I am going to make that girl Agnes. I say now, l f Girl, you sit on that chair. No, no, I don’t want you to wipe your eyes on that handkerchief--just do it like this1 1 (descriptive pantomime with one finger). I develop that way. I donft believe in crowding it-- just things that a woman would do. I may change the whole thing tomorrow. He pauses, then con tinues :-- "Now, girl, there fs that speech--do you get the sense of it? Yes? Now try it." Now I say, ,fLet us watch our little adjectives, a little adjective means a lot. How much emphasis do you want on it? No, no, that is too much--there, leave it, leave it. Do not underline your adjec tives. Now read it, and try to feel it--feel it, see? Don’t take it in a cold-blooded way.1 1 I say, "Always listen to me but don’t imitate me-- feel it like I do--but don’t imitate me." My golden rule is not to destroy a personality. I cannot change it; only God can. I appeal to their imaginations, their emotions, their intellects. For all his confident purpose and sure guidance with women on stage, apparently "in the presence of a woman off stage he is abashed."^ All the actresses interviewed praised, in varying degrees, Belasco's ability to understand their feelings and to direct their talents. His competency when directing 81 Garnet Warren, "Belasco Tells How He Makes a Play" [Belasco Collection], May 23, 1909, p. 57. 82 "Belasco’s Work and Plans," Munsey’s Magazine, January, 1896, p. 3. ■ n r women seemed to come from his unusual powers of observa tion and perception. Most people who met him commented about their feeling that he understood them, almost to the point of knowing what they were thinking. George Middleton, who wrote Polly with a Past and who worked with Belasco during its rehearsal, recorded an incident between Ina Claire and Belasco which revealed Belascofs perception, his directing ability, his acrid tongue, and his basic compassion. Miss Claire was asked to make a sweeping exit through a door: She turned to him: ,fBut, Mr. Belasco, I canft go out that door: there’s a chair in the way.1 1 He became icily polite as he said: ”Miss Claire, when youfve had more experience, you’ll learn that on the stage nothing should ever be in your way.” Then, to illustrate, he dashed up the runway from orchestra to stage. He began to patch-quilt dialogue from his many plays--his eyes flashing and his white hair rumpled. He fell on a chair as though dying, with legs aimlessly distended and arms limp. Then he slipped easily to the floor-- he had thoughtfully cushioned the place--moved over, turned, came to apparent consciousness, real ized his imagined grief, beat his hands in agony amid sobs, got up slowly, then tottered to a large round table blocking the way. He edged up to this with his back against it, murmuring ’’ Bernhardt,” to show how his favorite actress would get about it. All the time talking gibberish, he slowly backed around it till he faced the door. Then with hand on high he sailed out amid more sobs. But without a second’s pause he rushed back to the center of the stage, where Ina was supposed to start from. With more disjointed words, as he 136 ill-recalled her lines, he moved to the chair, majestically swept it aside, and strode out with a bravura cascade of words--as he wanted her to do. We were watching spellbound, so dynamic was that electrically charged man, the master of his medium. We a11--including Ina--burst into applause. . . . Yet he felt maybe he had offended Ina in front of the company, and his conscience (sometimes confused with his business sense) began to hurt him. Before the scene was over he had an expensive blue kimona brou given it to Ina. In addition to previously-mentioned individual techniques, Belasco used some rather unusual tactics while directing. One of the most repeated was the "family watch" tactic. Belasco carried an attractive watch which he often referred to as a family heirloom. When actors lagged in their zeal to rehearse, Belasco flew into a tantrum, climaxed by his throwing the watch to the floor and crushing it with his heel. He never failed to inspire the actors. One spectator at rehearsals remember it thus: One day I overheard the stage managers whis pering together. It seems the old man was wearing a different watch. That was a bad sign. Sure enough, later in the day he had a tantrum and threw his watch on the floor. They, having been with him in other productions, knew that when he intended to lose control of himself and break his watch, he always wore an old one.84 §ht down from his studio and had 3 oo Middleton, op. cit., pp. 284-85. ^Oppenheimer, op. cit. , p. 338. 137 Frank Reicher also reported that Belasco bought cheap watches which he destroyed before his actors to re energize them. ^ If Belasco felt the rehearsal sessions were slow ing in pace or lagging in energy, he called for what he termed a tempo rehearsal. This was intended to help the actors sense the proper pacing of the lines in various scenes of the play. Ernest Truex reported that: ^ I never saw anyone else do this. He wanted ^ us to start the play and go through it, but he was going to stand on the side of the stage and tap his foot on the floor to give us the tempo of the scene. He would do that practi cally throughout the entire play. At times his foot would be going very fast, and at other times it would be going gently. Int.: Was it effective? Truex: I don’t know. He was a bit of a charla tan, you know. He was a terrific ham and actor himself. Some of his methods I don’t think were quite necessary. Nevertheless, he had top results.86 Belasco had another unusual habit which he repeated after the show was in its tryout run. He sat backstage and listened to the play rather than viewing it from the house. From his backstage post he audited the oral aspects of the play, dictated notes, and encouraged actors. oc °^Reicher interview, loc. cit. QfL ° Ernest Truex interview, loc. cit. . 13g, It is difficult to recreate the technique of a director without presenting verbatim excerpts of his state ments and actions while directing. George Middleton took notes of Belasco*s procedure while directing. In this instance Belasco rearranged and added to a set to convey events which had occurred prior to the opening of the cur tain. In the play a lawyer had worked all night preparing a defense for his client. The original staging had been the curtain’s opening to reveal the lawyer pacing the floor in agitation. But Belasco rushed to the stage. He clapped his hands for Matty. It went something like this: ’’ Matty, Matty. (Matty appears.) This man is a lawyer--lawyer ... Yes. (Gazing about.) That bookcase--with books. Open one of its doors. (He does it himself.) Take out several. (He does it himself.) He has been worried, hasn’t he? ... He has been wondering how he could save the woman he loves, hasn’t he? ... He’s desperate ... He loves her. His conscience is torn. ... Books. ... Get me larger ones. ... (As he walks up and down large law books suddenly appear.) That’s it. ... Now ... Open one here ... (He does it himself.) On the table ... Paper ... Get me paper clips. (He tears a French newspaper on table into long slips and puts them into several books to mark places.) Throw one on floor by couch ... It has nothing in it to help him ... All night he has worked--all night. It is morning now. ... Those curtains ... Pull them to. (He does it himself.) The sun is up ... He hasn’t noticed it. See? Have a fan offstage to blow those curtains a bit ... Have a shaft of sunlight come in--on wall ... The lamp--keep it on ... See? (He turns desk 139 light on.) Papers on floor ... Notes ... wait ... Pin some about (He does it the way he pins his own play notes in studio). He mustnft forget that thought--it may save her. Cushions on floor ... Throw them down. (He does so himself.) Throw that big one on sofa--ruffle it ... See? (He thumps cushion himself.) He has thrown himself down on it to try to get some sleep ... His head was there ... See? (He buries his fist in cushion to make impression of his head.) There ... there. (He stands surveying the room.) There. That's how the room should look when the curtain goes up. That shows at once what the man has been through.1 Now anyone can see, right away ... (to me). You donft dramatize enough, George. When will you ever learn?* During rehearsals of the play, Accused, George Middleton recorded some typical stage directions of Belasco: "Don't think: agree with him.*1 , l Youlre talking to his brain: donft look at him.*1 "You bring the feeling of uncertainty with you into the room.1 1 "Punctuate. Pause and yet no pause. Only a comma’s worth. His hesitation makes you suppli cate .1 1 "You mustn't anticipate that. It's a new movement, and a new passage of interest." "Almost get into the chair without the audi ence seeing it. They must be thinking of him, not watching you." "Now you're building up the air of mystery." 0 7 Middleton, op. cit., pp. 289-90. 140 "Now we're nearing it. This scene is final. Then comes change. A new interest suddenly builds up. That other scene was the end of the world. The iron curtain has fallen.1' "This line is just as big as though we had the kick of an elephant.” "That's what I call a dangerous moment. Get over it quickly. Don't give the audience time to think." "Each sentence here is a bullet." (stamping foot)88 When necessary, Belasco became a strict disciplin arian. He encouraged free expression among his actors, but he would not tolerate impudence or incompetence. Dur ing rehearsal one day, Frank Craven became prankish. He changed some lines and disrupted rehearsal. Craven was the star of the show; nevertheless, Belasco came on stage, positioned himself down center, and addressed Craven: Frank Craven, there will be no more of this levity on this stage. If it is your intention not to give a good performance, if it is your intention to disrupt the discipline of this re hearsal, if it is your intention to make fun of other actors in the cast, I no longer have need of your services. It is your decision, what is your decision?" Of course he said, "I'm terribly sorry" and apologized to Belasco and apologized to the whole cast at once.89 8 8 jbid., p# 283. Q Q ^Rowland V. Lee interview, loc. cit. 141 During the early tryout performances of Polly with a Past Belasco was watching from the auditorium when it became apparent that Anne Meredith had not made her en trance. Cyril Scott ad-libbed an exit line and went off to get her. George Christie remained on stage improvising until it was obvious she would not arrive, whereupon they cut around her scene and completed the show. When the usual ”notes” were given to the cast, Belasco spoke of everything but that delay. Finally, he said: ”Anne, you were a little late today.” Anne burst into tears, expecting to be fired. ”0h, Governor, I went to my dressing room and completely forgot that scene.” 111 rushed all the way down to her door and banged on it,” volunteered Cyril Scott, ”and yelled for her to come on stage.” ”But I couldn’t,” Anne blurted. ”You see I didnft have a stitch on.” Belascofs eyes gleamed during a long suspensive pause. We all felt so sorry for her. Lightning hovered. Thunder backed up. But he only smiled sweetly, like Coquelin in L’Abbe Constantin. ’ ’ That’s all right, Anne.” Then, with a sudden satanic glitter, he turned to me. ”You see, George, that scene was no good any way. I’ve been trying for weeks to get you to take it out; but you were too stubborn. It’s out now.”90 Belasco in rehearsal used whatever technique was effective, whether it was ridicule, anger, cruelty, encour agement, histrionics, or iron discipline. 9^Middleton, op. cit., p. 286. CHAPTER VI TECHNICAL ELEMENTS Belasco was renowned for his brand of stage real ism, achieved by meticulous ^attention to detail.” His productions contained settings which looked more like the actual locale they represented than did those of any other American stage director!s productions of the: same period. This chapter is devoted to an investigation of the direc torial influence Belasco exercised over the technical elements such as scenic design, stage effects, properties, lighting, and costumes for his productions, and the inno vations he introduced. Scenic Design Belasco made a few direct comments about his the ories of scenic design. His productions contained manifes tations of his attitude about the kind of scenery he thought provided the best framework for the plays he directed. In most of his productions the scenery was as realistic as it ______________________________ 142____________________________________ 143 was possible to achieve on the stage. Regardless of his declaration that he rarely planned the action of his plays prior to rehearsal, he did plan the design and supervised the construction of his sets in great detail. He wrote that first he studied the scenes, seldom using the playwrightfs stage directions. His scenic de sign and lighting were influenced by the mood of the scene; for example, sunlight implied happiness, moonlight denoted romance, and shadows indicated tragedy. Comedy scenes were always staged in interior settings. Next Belasco made a rough sketch of the set and properties, arranging the furniture and other properties for the best dramatic action. Then he showed his ideas to Ernest Gros, his scenic artist, who made complete working drawings. Within a month scene models were made and ar ranged in a miniature theatre to be studied and rearranged. Belasco believed that scenery was as important as dialogue. He wrote that he strove to coordinate the scenery and the dialogue into a cohesive unit. He defended his belief in realistic scenery by asking: . . . Why should I have a scene painter achieve a brick-red woodland because it is sup posed to be symbolical, when I can have them con struct the same scene in its natural colors and at 144 least give an impression of the original? Why should I dress my players to fit the wall-paper and furnishings of a room, when in real life the hostess, when she invites her guests to a ball, does not tell them what they must wear to harmon ize with her home? I repeat that naturalism is not an enemy of the imagination; rather, it is the element that makes for imagination, for it clothes a situation in what the mind and eye expect. ^ Even though he advocated realism for stage set tings, Belasco felt that some symbolism should be used in the sets. He believed that although the spectator of his day might have been offended by , r mountains that sway and trees that waver,1 1 this was no excuse for him to abandon the realistic set for less scenery. He felt rather that he should construct more detailed scenery. He supervised the construction of his scenery, partially because close supervision was one of his procedures and partially because few scenery shops were able to construct the type of scenery he demanded. . . . I will allow nothing to be built out of canvas stretched on frames. Everything must be real. I have seen plays in which thrones creaked on which a monarch sat, and palace walls flapped when persons touched them. Nothing so destructive “ 4)avid Belasco, "Stagecraft,” Green Book, August, 1915, p. 38. _ 145 to illusion nor so ludicrous can happen on my stage.2 The incorporation of detail into his sets was motivated as much for his belief that they aided the actors in creating their roles as by his attitude that it helped the audience. In Nobody^ Widow. Roxana Claytonfs bedroom was furnished with a bed, the coverlet was turned down, bedroom slippers and a little stand were in their proper place, even though they were unseen by the specta tors. In The Concert, a music cabinet was behind the piano; operatic scores and Liszt and Mozart letters were on it; a silver loving cup was inscribed "To our beloved master, Gabor Aragny, from the Philharmonic Society"; all these items were out of the audiencefs vision. In The Return of Peter Grimm, the unplanted trees were labeled in English script, as a Dutchman would write the letters, *to increase the realism for the actors. Belasco believed These trivial items react as powerfully upon the spectators, and that added sense of actuality is reflected in every posture and every tone. The" effort, apparently wasted,' to gratify a pre posterous whim of the manager, reaps its reward in the appreciation of the spectators. His method 2 David Belasco, "The Evolution of a Belasco Play," Saturday Evening Post, September 2, 1916, p. 9. 146 may differ from the idealist, but his aim remains identical--to obtain adequate illusion.3 The scenery of a Belasco production was singular enough to identify its director without a program. Records of actors and spectators at selected Belasco productions indicated the type of scenery he normally used. In 1905 The Girl of the Golden West opened with a unique set. Prior to the rise of the curtain, the audi ence was shown two curtains, one representing a golden sunset and the other a mountain trail, with a lighted cot tage high up the mountain along a winding path.^ Once the curtain went up, the backdrop moved to reveal the scene in the manner of the motion picture ”pan” shot. In the distance one saw a wild range of the Sierras, rising to a great height. In a blue and cold sky the moon hung over the snow-capped mountain peaks. A. purple mist rose from a deep ravine through the light shin ing from the cabin of ”The Girl.*1 . . . As his first impression gradually moves up out of view, the audience is presented to the 3 David Belasco, nStage Management in Theory and Practice,” New York Dramatic Mirror, February 8, 1911, p. 36. ^”Belasco and Art of Actors at the Best,” Cincin nati Times Star, April 16, 1907 [Belasco Collection]. rcr exterior of the Polka saloon . . . at the foot of the mountain. It is a rough pinedab building, not new, not old, but weather-beaten, and a roughly painted sign blazons the name, under the glare of the kerosene lamps of the resort. A light streams through the windows into the darkness, which en velops the now desolate, ominous mountain. Here and there a minerfs cabin is shown, and in the distance the shaft of a mine is described.^ The panorama effect was accomplished by rolling the drop on a long roller which extended beyond the limits of the proscenium arch. As the drop was rolled upward the painted scene moved the audience closer to the Polka Saloon; the disappearance of the drop revealed an interior view of the saloon and the play began. For the traveling production of The Warrens of Virginia, which opened in 1907, Belasco used the scenery from the New York production. One baggage car was needed to transport the scenery alone.^ One of Belascofs unusual technical procedures which enhanced his reputation as the ultra-realist was the method whereby he acquired the scenery for the 1909 produc tion of The Easiest Way. One of the main sets was a 5 Dennis A. Harris, 1 f A, Study of Belascofs Genius,” Pittsburgh Leader, July 2, 1912, p. 6. 6 , f Belasco Never Thinks of Expense,” Waukegan [Illinois] Sun, February 1, 1909 [Belasco Collection]. 148 representation of the room of a struggling chorus girl living in the Tenderloin District of New York. Belasco took Eugene Walter, the author; Wilfred Buckland, the art director; Ernest Gros, the scenic artist; and an unidenti fied chorus girl on a tour of New York searching for the type of room appropriate for this scene. When it was found, Belasco bought the contents outright. . . . Moving men removed the bureau, bed, wash- stand and^wardrobe to the Stuyvesant Theatre. The wallpaper was reproduced, and also every detail of hardship and poverty.^ As with most examples of Belasco scenic realism, the reactions to this set were mixed. Some felt Belascofs action was designed for publicity; some felt it was perfect staging. Alan Dale felt that: The detail, the touches, the atmosphere are absolutely perfect. it is a triumph of stage man agement. I have seen garrets and boarding-house rooms, and the squalid resorts of the shabby gen teel a thousand times, but never did I see any thing so unmistakable as Laura Murdockfs ,!furnished room1 1 in Act II. Its wall paper, its ceiling, its sordid appurtenances, its "decorations," its owner were indescribably real. This room alone 7 "Bought a Girl*s Room to Equip His Play," New York Morning and Evening World, January 21, 1909 [Belasco Col lection] ; and similar story in "Belasco Genius in The Easiest Way," New York American, January 21, 1909 [Belasco Collection]. 149! beats any stage setting I have ever looked at.^ The Woman was produced in 1911 and contained a hotel setting which Belasco admitted was one of the most difficult he had ever used. The setting depicted a public corridor in a hotel. Belasco added hundreds of details, many unnoticed by the audience, to increase the realism of the scene: a porter with a trunk, bell boys, a whistling bartender, and travelers going in and out of the telephone booths; all were included to create the natural bustle of a hotel.^ ^ I n 1912 Belasco presented one of his most famous sets in The Governor1s Lady. One of the scenes was written to occur in Child’s Restaurant. Belasco told how he han dled this problem. first, he appeared before a committee representing the restaurant and explained the case. They agreed to allow him to prepare a set for their inspection. This set was approved and the scene was built. After my scene was built, the Child’s Company sent their men to furnish it. . . . The manager of Child’s let my man watch his waiters in oper- 8 Alan Dale, ’’ The Easiest Way, Not for Young Per sons,” New York Telegraph, January 20, 1909 [Belasco Col lection] . ^Montrose J. Moses, ’’ David Belasco's Tricks,” [Belasco Collection], December 8, 1912, p.,,92. 150 ation. Then everything was repeated at rehearsal when we got to the theatre. . . . And at the final rehearsal the Child's Company sat in judgment. . . . "It's more real than the original. Mr. Belasco." That's the manager's reward!^0 It is noteworthy that Belasco believed the highest accolade possible for scenery was to declare it more real than the original. There were critics, Eaton included, who considered this judgment of scenery misguided. Eaton noted that whereas the photographic fidelity of the scenic reproduction of Child's Restaurant was impressive, it could not compensate for the weak and unmotivated charac ters in the play: We all know Child's Restaurants have white walls, a griddle-cake grill in the window, and a cash register. But the problems of the workers who eat there we do not know, or know but dimly. Through the years Belasco's stage scenery received mixed reactions from the critics. In 1888, the Kaffir Diamond contained a swamp set which was described as "elaborate, extensive, and handsome," and was acclaimed "highly effective. 10Ibid. “ Walter Prichard Eaton, "The Theater.," New York American, January 1913, p. 97. ^ New York Tribune, August 31, 1888. 151 Two years later, The Charity Ball was given a dif ferent scenic appraisal: Most of the scenery used last night was coarsely painted and awkwardly constructed and the stage management was conspicuously clumsy.^ For Madame Butterfly, which Belasco considered one of his highest accomplishments in scenic art, curtains depicting a Japanese scene were used in place of the regu lar stage curtain of the theatre. These curtains parted to reveal three drops, representing Japanese scenes. A. reviewer recorded the effect: The scenes created "atmosphere1 1 and when the interior of Madame Butterflyfs house was disclosed and the play really began, the audience were in just the right mood to follow the pathetic tale. ^ In criticizing The Girl of the Golden West, one reviewer noted the disparity between the Belasco story and the Belasco scenery. He felt that: . . . Producing the whistling of the wind or the hoof beats of a horse are all right but when the more essential elements are subordinated to this alone the drama cannot rise very high. All that can be said in Belascofs behalf is that he is a clever stage carpenter. As an artist his standard is not exceptionally high, and if the American stage is to be measured by his art we ^ New York Tribune, January 21, 1890. ^ New York Herald, March 6, 1900. 152 will not take a high place in theatrical achieve ments. ^ Adverse critical reviews of his stage scenery had little effect on Belasco. He continued to use highly realistic scenery throughout his career, even when the main stream of scenic design was moving to a more selective form of realism and symbolism which had been ushered in by the ”New Stagecraft Movement.” Stage Effects Belasco devoted an unusual amount of time to ex perimenting with various equipment to create desired stage illusions. During his prime production years he was more renowned to some people for his unique stage effects than for any one other component of his stage directing. In the few statements Belasco made about the value and impor tance of stage effects in a stage production, he revealed his credo of production. One of these indicated that staging and the effects used should be contiguous with the overall effect desired from the play. To him, the art of illusion was . . . the handling of those elements which contribute to the convincing effect which the 1 S The Grizzly Bear, May, 1909. 153 actor is endeavoring to create. These elements are scenery, stage settings, costumes, lights, natural effects--snowstorms and the like--and music.^ Belasco pointed out that, whereas formerly melo dramatic stage effects had been artificially injected into plays, the realistic plays of his day required more assim ilation of the scenic illusions into the plots of the plays. He indicated his procedure for determining the proper scenic atmosphere of a play. When he was preparing for a production, he said he imbued himself with the mood of the scene. What he could not know about the scene from personal observation or study he left to his imagination. He demanded specific stage effects. When producing The Darling of the Gods, I directed my scenic artist to give me a Japanese moon. In France they have one moon, the same in Germany, Italy or New York. But the Japanese moon, while the same, is different. How so? We went into books. Was it the position of the orb, its distance from the earth, its color--what? Was it larger, rounder? We studied and painted models until we were positive that we had a Japanese moon, with its peculiar bluish tint.*^ 16 ‘'Illusory Effects on the Stage,1' New York Tele graph , July 25, 1908, p. 36. 1 7 Ibid. 154 Belasco declared, however, that he did not believe in inserting an effect for itself alone. Regardless of how I novel it might be, if an effect drew attention to itself, he felt it should not remain. During rehearsals for DuEarry, a large horn of plenty, on gilded wheels and sur- j rounded by cupids, was wheeled on stage. Amid protests from Mrs. Leslie Carter, Belasco had it eliminated from the play. ”Too distractlag,” explained Belasco, ’ ’ the audi ence wouldn’t look at anything else.”^ Another example of this was his reaction to a trained pigeon which flew on stage in Marie-Odile and which the Mother Superior talked about. The pigeon performed flawlessly, so that many ■ people asked how the bird was trained. Belasco discon tinued using the pigeon, because . . . The audience watched the bird more than the performance, waited for it to commit some fault, speculated on its training--and, for the moment, forgot about the play. When, by any means, a producer distracts the attention of the audience, he has perpetrated an intrusion. Bizarre scenery and costumes and freakish lighting take away from the actor and the story, because the eye always seeks the unusual. Thus the illusion is d e s t r o y e d . 1 9 18 ’’ David Belasco Conducting Rehearsals,” New York Telegraph, March 8 , 1903, p. 30. •^’’Illusory Effects on the stage,” loc. cit. 155 During the same play, Belasco created an effect by eliminating the effect. The Uhlans were disrupting the convent when their sergeant quieted them to listen for gunfire which he thought he heard. They listened and agreed they heard the distant roar of guns. Separate reports indicated that the audience also heard the guns. Nevertheless, no gunfire was used. Belasco had used drums during rehearsal, but as the actors became more familiar with their characters, he had the volume of the drums gradually lowered until they were eliminated entirely. The actors were so attuned to this illusion that the actual On effect was not needed. w Belasco revealed how he created some of the ef fects he used. He said he produced snow by shaking bits of paper through perforated cardboard. An ordinary snow storm cost about 20 cents.^ One of Belasco*s most memorable stage effects was the River of Souls illusion in The Darling of the Gods. The scene called for the illusion of the dead swimming to the lower depths in preparation for entering the celestial hereafter. Belasco spent sixty-five hundred dollars build 2 0 Ibid. 2 1 Ibid. 156 ing a translucent scene in which fifteen girls swam badly and others became tangled in their harnesses. Belasco decided to postpone the opening night a third time. I ordered the scene struck and my carpenters hoisted all the opaque setting which had been made at great cost, leaving a single gauze curtain suspended in irregular folds at the front of the stage. Just at this moment one of the workmen happened to pass between the curtain and the light at the back. Seen through the folds of the curtain his movements were almost ghostly. I saw at once that the effect for which I had been striving had come to me ready-made. Each of the fifteen girls was told to count ten and then cross the stage, using her arms to suggest a kind of swimming motion. The effect was remarkable, for the number of figures seemed multiplied a thousandfold. Hav ing already thrown away sixty-five hundred dollars, I built the scene in a day for ninety dollars, and it is being imitated yet.^2 Belasco was reared in an age of melodramatic stage effects which he adapted and perfected during his New York career. In one of his first big successes as a director in New York, May Blossom, he revealed his inclination toward the use of unusual effects. Mrs. Thomas Whiffen played Aunt Deb in that play and recalled some of these examples: . . . In the first act I was supposed to hang out clothes on a line in the backyard. Belasco 99 David Belasco, ,1The Evolution of a Belasco Play,1’ Saturday Evening Post, September 2, 1916, p. 10. 157 caused comment by having the wind blow the clothes, very naturally. A draught was created in the wings by men who waved huge fans back and forth. Belasco reveled in little details like that. . . . I believe the scene that really counted in May Blossom was the one where the children had a funeral for a dead bird. It was so natural and moving that many tears were shed nightly, and people asked each other, everywhere, if they had seen the little children burying the dead b i r d .23 Prior to this production, in 1884 Belasco had used such effects as real water in a stream in The Rajah and an unusual moonlight effect in Young Mrs. Winthrop. The Heart of Maryland, presented in 1895, was the first big success for Mrs. Leslie Carter and a staging success for Belasco. Critical reaction to the stage man agement was laudatory: In every particular the production is thor ough, careful and conscientious. . . . Mr. Belasco has left nothing to chance. The play is brimful of scenes which depend to a large extent, upon effective accessories, each of these scenes is perfect in its w a y . ^ 4 Some of the specifics which prompted this praise were the sound of water from a brook trickling behind stage ^Mrs. Thomas Whiffen, Keeping off the Shelf (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1928), p. 132. ^ New York Dramatic Mirror, March 28, 1896. This identical paragraph was published in an article entitled f , A Stage Storm That Makes One Shiver,1 1 in the Evansville [Indiana] Courier, April 8, 1907. I58T rocks and the sound of horses1 feet from horseshoes clopped against a wooden board.^ One account was more detailed in recording the sequence and manipulation of the various effects used in The Heart of Maryland. On a cue from an actor's line the stage manager cued a stage hand to begin "clattering horse hoofs, off R.U.E." . . . On each of his hands was strapped a block of wood, deftly hollowed in the middle, in which a horseshoe was nailed. He beat the boards with these curious instruments till the exact effect of a galloping horse on a smooth, hard road was accurately simulated. . . . Some more dialogue and Mr. Kellard yells, "Break down the fence." The crash box, as it is called, is thereupon turned on and by Mr. Caldwell. This is a prelude for the entrance of the artillery. The orchestra fiddles itself into a patriotic frenzy, and at a signal from Mr. Mill- ward two men drag heavy chains over the floor, three men bang big iron weights around, and two others pull-a small strongly built wagon to and fro; the wheels of the wagon are very nearly square, which gives a rumbling effect.^6 Another stage effect which became legendary was the snowstorm Belasco produced in The Girl of the Golden West. The scene was in the cabin of the girl on the slope of Cloudy Mountain. The storm is necessary to maroon the characters in the cabin and force a climax in the play. 25 New York Dramatic Mirror, March 25, 1896. ^"A Stage Storm That Makes One Shiver," loc. cit. 159 One report indicated: * Nothing that David Belasco has ever done in the way of stage effects exceeds in realism this storm. The wind whirling down the mountain side; the whirling sleet and snow, which drives in through the door as the storm blows it open, the rattling of the windows and the circulation of chilling air on the stage are all so naturally accomplished that an audience invariably feels an inclination to turn up its coat collars and put on its wraps. It is a matter of fact that the audience in orchestra seats actually shiver, because the wind which drives the snow before it is, in reality, a cold wind, manufactured behind the scenes and blown across the stage and out into the house. This mountain storm has been called one of the most thrilling and impressive bits of realism credited to a producer. ^ The way this effect was generated was recorded by a reporter who observed it backstage during a performance. After some description of the effect produced--the shrieks of the gale, the rattling of windows, the chills of the audience--he explained the cause: There are six wind machines. Four are the drum-shaped affairs revolving under strips of cloth. One is heavy canvas, one light, one with silk over the canvas, the other, silk under it. Each produces a different kind of wind. Two tanks of compressed air 250 pounds pressure, passes through a many-whistled escape, giving the ”height- of-storm1 1 effect. Several men throw rock salt against the win dows to simulate sleet, others rattle the doors and windows, man the regulation nsnow machines,” 16CT and the two electric fans which produce the swirl ing effect. Spot lights and floods are in abun dance. A boy over the door sifts salt and flour down to give the effect of fine snow and the sliding of the stuff off the roof. The blankets and curtains in the room each time the door opens flutter desperately. This is accomplished by means of two revolving fans blow ing through tubes. When Johnson, the villain, makes his second act entrance he has shaved ice on his cap, dripping wet. . . . The wounded man in the left is discovered by means of blood dripping through on Johnson*s hand. This is accomplished by means of a bulb fixed in the loft and the wounded hero, as he lays half- conscious, presses it at the proper cue, with his elbow. The act is impossible of detection even at close range. This, as do the other feats of stage-craft, shows the genius of David Belasco, the man who planned it all.28 Thirty-two men were used for that one effect. Twelve years later, in 1917, Belasco produced Tiger Rose and created for it another stage storm, this time a rainstorm. The play ran 384 performances and dur ing the latter portion of its run, Charles Darnton wrote a review highlighting the effectiveness of the rainstorm. From the time a character mentioned that it looked "like a storm was coming up" until the end of the second act was almost an hour, but the audience was held spellbound. O Q Terre Haute Gazette, November 5, 1905. 161 Darnton went backstage to watch how the storm was created. Belasco guided his tour. MItfs coming now,1 1 he whispered, and led me across the back of the stage to a corner where a man x^as turning the handle of a machine that gave forth the sound of a sighing breeze. Electric fans set the curtain fluttering. . . . Glancing over my shoulder I discerned, in the dim light, a solemn-looking individual performing gently on a huge drum. . . . Drops of water began to fall from [a horizon tal] pipe, which reminded me of a reluctant shower bath. A bright flash left me blinking, while overhead the flskins, f were getting up to concert pitch. Here, there and everywhere stage hands were intent upon their mysterious duties. . . . There was a big racket on the other side of the stage, with added commotion over our heads, and then the stage hands--thirty-two of them, by the way--released the rigid positions they had been holding for half an hour. The "crash," I learned later, was caused by cannon balls and rocks hurled down a wooden chute lined with corrugated iron. And yet you can hear every word that is spoken in the play. "Everything,*1 Mr. Belasco murmured, 1!is attuned."^ Belasco was as minute in rehearsing and presenting his stage effects as he was in presenting the dialogue of the play. ^^Charles Darnton, "Belasco Stage Storm Made as Real as Rain Surprise of the Season," New York World, October 6, 1919, p. 27. 162 Properties Belascofs attention to the selection of properties added to the stage realism which became his trademark. If it could be acquired, he believed the actual piece should be used rather than a fabricated substitute. The best way to suggest a setting, he felt, was by outfitting it with the actual properties which would be normal in that set ting. This helped the actors and the audience to attain a feeling of the atmosphere of the play. Belasco considered properties one of the most im portant means for establishing atmosphere in a play. He stated that lffurniture and costumes are the prime attri butes of atmosphere.,!^ He kept a large, filled property room in his theatre and on occasion showed the various authentic items he had collected to reporters and other visitors. He loved to talk about the history of certain pictures or pieces of furniture. He replenished his supply of proper ties by going to antique auctions and second-hand stores. In 1910, when he was in Rochester, New York, he told a reporter he planned to search in Rochester for antiques, o n ’Illusory Effects on the Stage,1’op. cit., pp. 36-37. _ 1 6 3 since he had "practically exhausted the supply in New York."^l By 1904 when he produced The Music Master, Belasco had perfected his ability to dress his plays in realistic properties. In that production he hung a certificate of membership to the musician*s union on the wall of Von Barwig*s room. There was a metronome on the shelf and sheets of music scattered about. One scene took place in a garret which Von Barwig was forced to rent. On the wall was a picture of "The Voyage of Life," which was a very famous painting of the middle nineteenth century and a perfect selection to be relegated to the garret in the QO early twentieth century. The extreme realism of the scenery in The Easiest Way has already been indicated, yet the properties for the show were just as authentic. One of the scenes was an expensive apartment where Laura Murdock was "kept” by her rich suitor. Belasco accentuated this luxury with a real pianola. When the play went on tour this pianola went 3-^"Belasco a Wizard of Stagecraft,** Rochester Evening Times, January 28, 1910, p. 13. ^ New York Globe, September 27, 1904. 164 with it. Willard Brockton, the suitor, played by Joseph Kilgour, was provided with expensive cigars for each per formance to indicate his wealth.^ For The Return of Peter Grimm Belasco created an appropriate mixture of properties which would indicate Grimm1s life: It was such a room as would be dear to all old-fashioned, home-loving people--unlike a room of the present, from which every memento of par ents and grandparents would be banished in favor of strictly modern or antique formal furniture. In this room, the things of Peter's father min gled with those of Peter!s boyhood and young man hood. This was done in order that the influence of his familiar belongings might be felt by the people of the play. When his niece stood with her hand on his chair; when she saw the lilies he loved; when she touched his pipe; or any of the familiar objects dear to her because of their associations, Peter was brought vividly back to her mind, although she could not see him. ^ The Woman, produced in 1911, contained a hotel telephone switchboard. Belasco had a working switchboard installed and had Mary Nash trained to operate it. During This was reported in almost identical articles in "Detail in The Easiest Way," Kansas City [Missouri] Post, April 10, 1910; and "The Belasco Way as Shown in The Easiest Way," Louisville [Kentucky] Times, April 23, 1910. Belasco had an efficient press agent. 34 Montrose J. Moses, Representative Plays by American Dramatists (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1925), p. 825. 16T the performance the calls came on cues from the dialogue. The head electrician stood behind a partition and watched Miss Nash through a peephole. Beside him was a cue board containing the last four words of each cue. ”. . . such little hands, too,” says the handsome son of the big politician at the end of a sentimental speech. The electrician throws his switch and there is a buzz at the board as the light flashes on for a call. "Excuse me,” says Miss Nash drily as she turns to the board and responds to the supposed call of a hotel guest. This play contained many more realistic properties. Many were out of the audience's sight, but were there to help the actors maintain the atmosphere of the play. The pad Mary Nash used for taking notes had the name of the stage hotel printed at the top. Telephone directories of Washington, Philadelphia, New York, and Boston were hanging on the desk. The minor characters who passed through had the latest Washington newspapers in their pockets. In the third act the senator takes down the actual law book referred to, opens it to the pas sage and reads it word for word. The bookcases are the real thing, of a style of 40 years ago. Many such are still to be seen in the older Wash ington hotels, while in the center of the rooms may be a mahogany desk of the latest design, such 35 "Producing Dramatic Atmosphere,” Christian Science Monitor, February 4, 1913, p. 100. 166 as that used in this play. . . . The report on the list of numbers called on the phone is specially printed, and is headed with the card of a well-known detective agency. Every call is printed on this slip and a new slip is used every performance.^ Mary Nash was asked about Belasco*s use of real istic properties in The Woman. She confirmed that the switchboard and accessories were authentic and were avail- 37 able early in the rehearsal period. The same authenticity of properties was noted in The Case of Becky, a psychological drama. Dr. Emerson*s desk contained stationery stamped with the name of the sanitorium and his bookcases contained books on hypnotism and suggestion.^8 With the realistic scenery of Marie-Odile, Belasco provided realistic properties. The scene was the interior of a convent during the Franco-Prussian War. In the second act the soldiers invaded the convent and the nuns fed them, using century-old casserole dishes. The property man bought new casserole dishes; Louis Hartmann remembered Belasco*s reaction when Frances Starr used the new dishes: 36Ibid. 37 'Personal interview with Mary Nash, April 22, 1961, in Los Angeles, California. 3 f t ___________Popular Magazine, May, 1912._______________________ T6T "My God, new casserole dishes. Do you want to spoil this scene? These nuns are supposed to have handled the dishes.1 1 He broke them on the stage. Then he calmly brushed the pieces out of his hair and resumed the rehearsal.39 Frances Starr, who played Marie-Odile, recalled how Belasco handled his designer of stage properties with out offending him. The man had designed and constructed a tile stove which Belasco knew was not appropriate. How ever, rather than order its elimination from the scene, Belasco used another approach: Whenever anyone came in, Belasco would send for the designer and tell the guest that the stove was absolutely accurate and a marvelous piece of authentic furnishing. As time went on and the settings were built and the stove was built, it became increasingly evident that the stove, while perfectly accurate, did not fit. Belasco waited his time, however, until during a rehearsal, one of the theatre matron1s children asked her mother, "What's that, mummy?1’ and pointed at the stove. Belasco immediately stopped the rehearsal, called for the designer and told him that he was sorry, he liked the stove, but the child’s reaction had convinced him that nine out of ten in the audience would also wonder at the stove and that it would detract from the show, so it would just have to be eliminated. 39 MacGregor Bond, "The Gov'nor on Warpath Didn't Frighten His Crew,*1 New York Telegram, May 16, 1931 [Belasco Collection]. 40 Personal interview with Frances Starr in 1940 by Joseph Donald Batcheller, "David Belasco" (unpublished Ph. D. dissertation, University of Minnesota, 1942). 168 Belasco deferred to the opinions of scrubwomen and theatre employees on theatrical matters, because he felt their reaction was more like a possible audience*s reac tion than his own. Just as Belasco sometimes was dissatisfied with the properties his crew provided, he occasionally encoun tered interference from another quarter. He was rehears ing a scene in which he wanted a star to eat a real banana. When the time came, no banana was on the fruit dish. Belasco summoned the property man. "Where*s that banana?1 1 he demanded. "I told you to have one on that fruit dish, didn*t I?1 1 **Yes, sir,*1 replied the property man. "Well, why isn*t it there?1 1 "Because,1 1 came the reply, "you just finished eating it, Mr. Belasco. Wait--I can get the peel ing and show you." "Never mind!" said Belasco. "Get another banana and keep me away from it."^l Costumes Probably the technical aspect of his productions which Belasco researched most was costuming. He studied numerous history books and scanned many pictures to guar- Bide Dudley, "Belasco*s *Human Side* Recalled by Dudley in Intimate Anecdotes Over Last Two Decades,1 1 New York Telegram, May 15, 1931 [Belasco Collection], 169 antee the proper costume for a particular character. Un like most directors, Belasco wrote at length about costum ing. He left a complete record of his approach to costum ing a play: Ordinarily I decide upon all matters of cos tumes myself, although in regard to the leading women of my companies I take care, as far as pos sible, to defer to their personal tastes. But in the end the costumes must harmonize with the pre dominating color-schemes of the stage. He went on to point out that he bought all the costumes worn by his actors, in period or modern dress. He felt this afforded him more control. In this respect he indicated that it was easier to costume a period play than a modern one, because of passing fashion. With a modern play his costuming method was this: First, after consultation with my actors and scene-painters, I settle upon the general color effects I intend to use. Then I instruct my actors and actresses to imagine themselves to be in the stations in life which their characters represent, and to go for their wardrobe to such places as these persons would be likely to choose. If they are to appear in a play of polite social life, I send them to the best Fifth Avenue mo distes and tailors. If, on the other hand, they belong to a humbler stratum in life, I instruct ^David Belasco, ’’ Aids to the Actorfs Art,” Munsey1s Magazine, March, 1918, p. 38. This is in direct conflict with his statement in Green Book, quoted on page 144 of this study. 170 them to observe such economy and tastes as these humbler people would be likely to u s e . In another article Belasco corroborated this pro cedure and indicated the detail of planning he devoted to costuming. He said he usually waited until after the first week of rehearsals to consider costuming. For a costume play he wrote a full description of the characters and then called a costume consultant to design the costumes. For a modern play he said he allowed the actors and actresses freedom to choose their dress, so long as they preserved the color scheme of the play and the temperament of their characters DuBarry was an opulently-produced play containing detailed costumes. Belasco had the sketches for Mrs. Leslie Carterfs costumes made by artists of the Comedie- Francaise. However, when he received the sketches he was ) * dissatisfied and discarded them. He had fabrics purchased in France and dyed a DuBarry red, which he had found to be a color prevalent in portraits of the court of Louis XV. In 1902 he produced The Darling of the Gods, which 43Ibid. Belasco, "The Evolution of a Belasco Play," op. cit., p. 12. 171 was set in Japan. The costumes for the principal actors were ordered from Japan. For the Music Master, in 1904, Belasco acquired the costumes from the ready-made and second-hand clothing stores of the East Side, the setting of the play. In costuming Tiger Rose, in 1917, Belasco con fronted the difficult problem of finding an appropriate dress for Lenore Ulric to convey the wild, free spirit of Rose Bocion. After Belasco had spent fourteen hundred dol lars in experimentation on costumes, he was still searching for one dress for Miss Ulric, when one day she wore a simple soft chiffon frock to rehearsal. Belasco spotted it immediately as the perfect dress for Rose Bocion. Belasco wrote his most detailed record of a char acter^ costumes and their motivation when he wrote about Frances Starrfs costumes in Tiger. Tiger. In the play, Sally, a cook, fell in love with Clive, a member of Parlia ment, on a moonlit night. Belasco wrote how he used cos tumes to indicate the hopelessness of her situation: When love mesmerizes Sally into going back to Clive Cooper!s rooms with him one can see with the first flash of lights that she is not a woman of the streets. Her clothes tell that before she has uttered a word. They say that she earns her living in an honest, though humble way. They deny the possibility of her being a stenographer, typist, manicurist, or clerk. They are too unostentatious for these callings. Clean, without a touch of tawdriness; thor oughly respectable they proclaim the girl. She wears a brown skirt with a tiny stripe running through it, a flimsy little pongee waist that cries out her womanliness in the little green wreath embroidered in silk around her throat. Her stockings are brown, and her black shoes have a black bow which adds another touch of femininity to the green wreath on the waist. On the black straw sailor is a flowered band and a red quill,-- the girl's instinct for color again showing it self. . . . And, womanlike, she enlists clothes as her chief aid,--clothes that must be incongruous, piti ful in their efforts toward beauty in the eye of the distinguished Parliamentarian, but which quite satisfy Sally's concept of feminine loveliness. If there were but few lines in the play these clothes would tell Sally's story as from the first act, they reach out a stronger and stronger hand to hold her lover. On her "evening out" Sally comes to her M.P. in a flowered voile caught up with pathetic sprays of pink roses around the overskirt; again in a little brown frock and hat, the dominating note of which is found in groups of bright red cherries. Red ribbons find their way into black satin slip pers to match the cherries, and a bizarre roman- stripe silk lines the queer little brown cape which completes the costume. One does not need to be told that it is all homemade, nor can imagination fail to picture the little cook-lady spending every moment of her spare time not given to her lover studying the hats and frocks in fashionable London shops. The mission of those dresses is to stir in the imagination of an audience some very vivid picture of the sacrifice at which Sally has pro cured them. They must talk of late night hours when the girl has worked,--after a long day in the kitchen,--night hours given like all of herself 173 for the love she has found, and is making so tre mendous an effort to hold against such tragic odds.45 Another play in which Frances Starr needed unusual costumes was The Easiest Way. Mention has been made of the attention given to details of properties and scenery in this production. This stage realism was extended to costumes: . . . Scrupulous attention to detail reaches its climax in the gowns worn by Miss Starr as Laura Murdock. It is a simple enough dress she dons for the second act, and necessarily so, in asmuch as at that stage of her career she is in dire poverty; but when she returns to The Easiest Way, all her gowns are in accordance with her changed condition. Brockton, her admirer, is made to say in one of his lines that her simplest gowns ’’flirt with a hundred dollar note,’1 but as a mat ter of fact, the least expensive of them repre sents a sum far exceeding that amount. Miss Starr was given perfect freedom in ordering her dresses for this play, and she went to the first artist in New York for her ’’ creation. ”46 When the problems of costuming had been overcome and the rehearsal was in its final week, Belasco called for a dress parade. Belasco explained his procedure: ^^David Belasco, ’’ Dressing the Play,” Harper1 s Bazaar, May, 1919, p. 48. 46”The Belasco Way as Shown in ’The Easiest Way,1” Louisville [Kentucky] Times, April 23, 1910 [Belasco Col lection] . 173 Every member of the company is required to dress exactly as he will appear in his role, even to the details of neckties, gloves and jewelry. Then I watch them carefully as they march back and forth on the stage in all the various lights which are to be used during the scenes. Sometimes it happens that colors which were satisfactory in natural light present a totally different effect under the artificial illumination of the stage.^7 The Belasco ’’ attention to detail*1 was at its zenith when he costumed a play. Light ing The technical aspect of directing which Belasco considered primary and to which he gave the most personal attention was lighting. He spent thousands of dollars experimenting with lighting effects. The one thing which most embittered Belasco in later years was that he did not receive credit for the lighting innovations he felt he had created. Belasco wrote extensively about the importance and use of lighting in stage productions. He declared light ing the best way to establish mood. He wrote: Lights are to the drama what music is to the lyrics of a song. No other factor which enters 47 Bavid Belasco, **Aids to the Actor’s Art,” Munsey’s Magazine, March, 1918, p. 38; also in ”The Evo lution of a Belasco Play,” loc. cit. 175 into the production of a play is so effective in conveying its moods and feeling. They are as es sential to every work of dramatic art as blood is to life. The greatest part of my success in the theatre I attribute to my feeling for colors, translated into the effects of light. Sometimes these effects have been imitated by other produc ers with considerable success, but I do not fear such encroachments. It may be possible for others to copy my colors, but no one can get my feeling for them.^? In an interview with Charles Darnton, Belasco indicated that his paramount purpose in staging plays was to simulate the imagination and that, to accomplish this, Scenery and costumes come second with me, lighting first. . . . Nature itself tells us that love of the romantic sort suggest twilight or moonlight. Poets have been singing this for ages. We all know, too, that gaiety and joyousness are best expressed in sunlight or the brilliantly il luminated ballroom. We also know that the thief and the murderer seek the shadows of night, that the sick charmer has its subdued light, and so on. In other words, lights reflect various emotions. Belasco saw himself as the leading innovator of lighting techniques. He believed that his methods and inventions were taken by "foreigners," who then received credit for them. 48 Belasco, "The Evolution of a Belasco Play," op. cit., pp. 9-10. ^Charles Darnton, "David Belasco Throws His Light on New Ideas for Staging of Plays," New York Evening World, February 6, 1915, p. 29. 176" For years, ever since I was financially able to equip and maintain it, I have had an experi mental electrical workshop in the basement of my theatre. So far as I am aware, it is the only laboratory of its kind in the world. Every illu minating appliance I have ever used on my stages has been invented in it. . . . Many of the inventions we have devel oped here have been adopted in theatres all over the world. . . . Everyone is invited to come in and watch us if he wishes, because whatever devices I use in one production will be changed and improved in the next. We try never to stand still; our method is always to move ahead.^ Although he was benign toward other managers here, in his later life, and at a more candid moment, George Middleton recorded his saying: Ifm going to sue every manager in New York about the-way they’ve stolen my lights. All I want to show is that I was one of the first to use these things which the young critics praise because they say thefve come from abroad. I’m getting all my things together and going to make lithos of them, if it takes my last cent; just so they’ll know what I’ve done as a pioneer. A less emotional and more reflective appraisal of Belasco*s lighting innovations was made by Moses. He gave Belasco credit for his labors in evolving new lighting techniques when others were content with the standard Belasco, "Aids to the Actor’s Art,” op. cit., p. 34. -^Middleton, op. cit., p. 279. 177 switchboard and spotlights. . . .So, when the "revolution” broke upon him, when the artist came pellmell into the theatre, splashed color in unforeseen places, tore out the footlights, upset the proscenium, psychol ogized the switchboard--claiming that all these innovations were born of the foreign theatre, Mr. Belasco felt abused, neglected. He was the living illustration of being no prophet in his own country.^2 One trend in the theatre which Belasco believed he led was the elimination of footlights. There were those who agreed with him. Rennold Wolf wrote in 1915 that Belasco was ahead of others in omitting footlights from so the theatre. Fifteen years later a reporter for the New York Times repeated this sentiment by writing that "Belasco has . . . done more actually to usher the footlight out of the playhouse than any other producer. Belasco began the elimination of footlights early in his New York career. In The Rajah, produced in 1883, he CO Montrose J, Moses, "Belasco Put to Paper; Man, Myth, and Method," Boston Transcript. November 22, 1930 [Belasco Collection]. 53 Rennold Wolf, "Belasco Ahead of Foreigners in Cutting Out Footlights," New York Telegraph, January 30, 1915, p. 28. 54«, Mr. Belasco and a Passing Matter of Footlights," New York Times, February 2, 1930. 178 omitted the use of footlights in the dell scene. That same year he did not light them for the glass conservatory scene in DeImar1s Daughter. In 1902, with The Darling of the Gods, no footlights were used in the bamboo forest, River of Souls scene, or the death chamber scene. Not one foot- light was lit for the 1905 production of Adrea, or the 1911 production of The Return of Peter Grimm. They were used in the first act of The Phantom Rival but not at all 55 in Marie-Odile. After the 1915 production of Boomerang, 56 footlights were no longer used in the Belasco Theatre. As with most of the other facets of play produc tion, Belasco spent many hours of study and work devising the lighting plots and schedule of lamps for his produc tions. Moses has the most complete record of this proced ure in his article, ’’Psychology of the Stage Switchboard.1 1 He wrote that Belasco first constructed his rough light plots, then gave them to his electrician to complete. Then in rehearsal he modified and rejected until he found the 55 See Wolf, loc. cit. -^”Mr. Belasco and a Passing Matter of Footlights,” loc. cit. 179 tone and shade he desired.57 In a lighting rehearsal, Every electrician is in possession of his cue, khows the story of the play, and is made to cal culate the emotional requirements in terms of his switchboard. He is no machine, no mere feeder of the stage with light . . . lights should glide; sharp edges should be made to blend. In that rehearsal for lights, the manager must consider the balance of white surface and shadow. A glint is thrown on a ribbon, a bit of lace, a bare arm or neck; this must be balanced by the absence of light somewhere else . . . the light is guided by the color of a costume, toned to contrast with other dresses possibly; even the hair limits the intensity of light, and if the features of an actor are strong, light upon the face would only serve to reveal a "war map” of lines. . . . Rehearsal is a matter of constant shifting; a thousand and one directions are given which never find their way on the prompterfs script of the play.58 Of this procedure Belasco wrote: My process of producing light effects bears the same relation to the stage that the painter does to his canvas. . . . I have directed the dis tribution of lights on the canvas as a painter manipulates his colors, shading here, brightening there, till the effect was complete.*9 When all the changes had been made, the lighting 57 Montrose J. Moses, "Psychology of the Stage Switchboard,” Theatre Magazine, August, 1909, p. 64. 58Ibid.. p. 65. 59 David Belasco, "Stage Realism of the Future,” Theatre Magazine, September, 1913, pp. 101-102. 180 plot was set, and Belasco made few if any changes during the run of the play. Each new play posed a new lighting problem for Belasco. Some he solved with complicated equipment and coordination; others with simple devices. Many of these innovations were credited to Louis Hartmann, Belasco!s head electrician after 1902. Nevertheless, Belasco stressed the importance of the proper use of lights before Hartmann joined his staff. In 1895 The Heart of Maryland contained a climax which saw Mrs. Leslie Carter swinging on the clapper of a bell forty feet above the stage. To light this scene, 475 lamps colored red, amber, and blue were used in ground rows.^ For DuBarry, Belasco again initiated unusual light ing for Mrs. Leslie Carter. He used DuBarry lights, or baby spots, which he wrote were necessary because of Mrs. Carter1s red hair and unusual complexion: I contrived a system of small, moving individ ual lights, which were kept fixed upon the impor tant characters as they moved about the stage. On account of Mrs. Carter's coloring, the ^%ew York Dramatic Mirror. March 25, 1896; and "Behind the Scenes," op. cit., p. 4. 181 light constantly cast upon her was a delicate pink which tended to accentuate her beauty by softening the sheen of her hair and removing the lines from her f a c e .61 The year Louis Hartmann was first employed by Belasco, special lighting became even more a characteristic of a Belasco play. The Darling of the Gods was presented, which required an oriental atmosphere. Belasco later wrote a detailed account of how he attained it: I foresaw that it would be hard for my audi ence to step out of the glare and excitement of the New York streets and enter at once into the mood and spirit of ancient Japan. To put them in a receptive state, I began the story . . . by showing a series of tableaux symbolical of the theme of the play. I called this silent picture ,fThe Chase and Death of the Butterfly,” and made it indicate what was to be the fate of the hero ine. It was timed to picture Japan in the spring, when the cherry trees are in haIf-blossom and it showed the lapse of the hours from the sunshine of midday to the gloom of night--suggestive of the passing of l i f e .62 The next scene was called "The Feast of a Thousand Welcomers" and was "brilliantly illuminated by vari-colored 6 * 5 lanterns. Then the play moved to the sword-room of Zakkuri. At intervals the door leading to the dungeons below was opened, lighting the scene with the red glare of the torture-changer, to which Kara was 61_, . , Ibid. 6 2 Ibid. 6 3 Ibid. 182 soon to be sent. The suspense and thrill of this scene were gained solely by my manipulation of lights. . . . I worked upon the imagination of my audiences by the sinister glare of the torture fires as Zakkuri wrung from Yo San the confession which meant life to Kara, but death to his devoted band. After Yo San committed hari-kari, Belasco needed a device to indicate that she was ascending to heaven. He experimented with painting the clouds and heavens on a backdrop, but the ascension appeared ludicrous. So I surrounded Yo San with white unpainted canvas, and began experimenting to evolve a color suggestive of celestial blue--not the pale blue of the sky* but the radiant blue of the heavens above the sky. I secured the requisite shade of blue by throw ing an intensive white light through powerful lenses covered with peculiar blue silk. When these rays fell upon the white-canvas scenery, they became partly absorbed, and produced exactly the right indefinite, far-away effect. Over all was spread a gauze veil which tended to soften the scene. The figures of Yo San and Kara were held in deep shadows--so deep that their outlines could barely be seen as they slowlv approached each other with arms outstretched.^^ The actors in this scene, Blanche Bates and Robert T. Haines, wore white clothes and walked among strips of white cloth. The color was derived entirely from the lights. Ibid. Ibid. 183" One of the most memorable lighting accomplishments of Belasco was the conversion of afternoon to night to morning in the production of Madame Butterfly, As Cho Cho San waited patiently for Lieutenant Pinkerton to arrive, over sixteen minutes of stage time was used to advance the scene twelve hours. Hartmann wrote that this passage of time was indicated by: A simple contrivance consisting of a band of silk mounted on a frame that slides into a holder in the front of a lamp housing, and is moved up ward or downward past the light on rollers. The angular dividing line between the two colors makes a gradual blend as they merge in or out of the field. The several colors of silk were in long strips. These strips were attached to tin rollers; the rollers were set into bearings fastened on a wooden frame that slid into the color groove of the lamp. The turning of the rollers passed the colors in front of the light and they were projected on the windows in a series of soft blends. ° The Girl of the Golden West contained a scene in the foothills of the Rockies. When the play opened: . . . The stage was suffused with the mellow light of a glorious afternoon. But gradually as the story unfolded the twilight deepens, the gray of evening swallowed up the golden tint of the afternoon sun, and the curtain went down. ^ 6 b Louis Hartmann, Theatre Lighting (New York: D. Appleton, 1930), p. 17. 6 7 "Belasco Atmosphere,1 1 Cincinnati [Ohio] Commercial Tribune, March 11, 1910 [Belasco Collection]. 184 This effect had not been the original lighting for the play. Belasco said he worked three months and spent five thousand dollars to develop the changing colors of 6 Q the sunset, and then sold the equipment and started over. Another California setting was required for Rose of the Rancho, and a special atmosphere to be conveyed by lights. Belasco wanted to establish the burning heat of the noonday desert sun. I had been using intense white lights, but the effect they produced upon painted canvas was not what I desired. The glare was there, but not the suggestion of heat. Then it occurred to me to cover the lamps on my stage with yellow silk and change the adobe walls of the church to neutral colors, which would absorb the rays. The result was that I obtained exactly the effect of dry, hot sunlight. It seemed as if the sun were actually burning into the plaster walls. . . . I was able to hold the scene for six minutes without sound or movement from the stage, except an occasional snore from the sleeping padre and a yawn or two from the stupefied donkey-driver. The audience looked and listened, and literally felt the heat of a tropical day. Many people told me the scene was so real that they became actually uncomfortable.^ Sixty lampstands and twenty-two operators were used to light Rose of the Rancho. 6 8 Belasco, ’’ The Evolution of a Belasco Play,1 1 and ’’ Adis to the Actor’s Art,” loc. cit. ^Belasco, ”Aids to the Actor’s Art,” loc. cit. 185 One of the most detailed records of the lighting of the play was kept by Moses. As the play progresses, the day progresses, and the lights vary; these changes occur in accordance with the electrician’s cues. The siesta hour of this first act approaches the even tide, and Juanita falls deeper in love with the ’’ Gringo,” Kearney, as the shadows grow more and more. Thus the ’ ’light plot” reads: At cue: ’’ Meet me at my posado,” change lenses Nos. 7, 5, 3, on lower bridge to light amber, also lens on upper bridge R, and lenses on stage R, 3E; also lens back stage on bridge L, and the four open boxes in 3. Put on 1st border blue to 3/4 and 2d, 3d, and 5th borders red to full; take down whites to 1/3.” . . . Then comes Kearney’s caress ing words: ’’ Let me hold your little brown hand in mine.” Many the lovers who have strayed in a gar den of roses during the gathering twilight which creeps upon them! But here on the stage there must be a ’’ change of all lenses on bridges, and open boxes to red, except the two on bridge left, which go to salmon; take down foots to 1/2, and amber borders to l/4; also dim the tubular lamps on window and arbor R.”^^ Moses’ description of the play and its lighting continued into the third act, where he explained the deli cate control the electricians had over the lights in this play. For The Concert in 1910, Belasco used special lighting to make the play a success although it had been a failure in London. The play involved a romantic young wife ^Moses, ’’ Psychology of the Stage Switchboard, op. cit., p. 66. 186i I who becomes infatuated with her music teacher who already ! has an understanding wife. The paramours elope to the Catskills only to be followed by their respective spouses. ! The final scene was crucial and Belasco used lighting to create the desired mood. As the day lengthened the lights dimmed, which made more plausible the increased ardor of the lovers. Then the other couple arrived; lights were turned on; the romantic spell was broken. Belasco ex plained his reason for lighting it thus: The lighting treatment of this act in The Concert brought the note of genuine romance into the play and saved it from seeming tawdry and merely scandalous. When it was acted in London, in the full light of day, the second act was re garded as vulgar, and the reconciliation with which it ended was judged to be inconsistent with what had gone before. The result was that there it ran only eight performances, while at my theatre in New York it continued through an entire season without at any time provoking crit icism on the score of vulgar suggestiveness. The next year Belasco produced The Woman, which contained the authentic switchboard already mentioned. In the last act six men cross-examine the telephone girl to gain evidence. To light this, six baby spots were used to follow each man. No footlights were needed and attention ^Belasco, "Aids to the Actor*s Art,” op. cit., p. 38. T87: was focused.^ The Return of Peter Grimm involved the return of a supernatural being from beyond. Traditionally a green light had been used in the theatre to indicate a super natural being. Although Belasco was told he could not sustain the ghost-illusion without the green light and wax- 73 white actor, he tried a different technique. Percy Helton, who played the young boy in that play, was asked about the lighting. Helton: We had more electricians than we had actors. Int. : How was that? Helton: Well, every character in the play had a baby spot on them. All through the play no matter where they went, right on their face. Because the characters were all supposed to be alive except Peter Grimm, in the last two acts Peter Grimm was in this very weird light ing effect. It made him ashen-like; it made him look ghostly. Belasco believed lighting was the most important technical aspect of a production and his productions revealed that he put that belief into practice. 72 JIProducing Dramatic Atmosphere,1 1 op. cit. , p. 100. 73 David Belasco, "Dramatizing the Present,1 1 Har per^ Weekly, April 12, 1913, p. 102. 74 Personal interview with Percy Helton, June 8 , 1961, in Hollywood, California. CHAPTER VII / ACTING Belasco was the stage director for ninety-four of the ninety-nine productions with which he was involved in New York City. Close contact with actors and his earlier acting experiences allowed him to write about acting and to compare the "old*1 and ! f newf l styles of acting. In addi tion to directing actors for forty-nine years in New York City, Belasco was involved with teaching acting at at least two acting schools. Schools of Acting When Belasco went to New York in 1882 and was hired as a stage manager by the Mallory Brothers, he was also required to do some directing. Soon he became a teacher at the Lyceum Theatre School of Acting (now the American Academy of Dramatic Arts). But as his work at the school became more demanding, his frictions with the Mallory Brothers increased, so that in 1884 the New York 188______________________________ 1891 Times reported: The latest engagements for the theatre and school of acting include David Belasco . . . whose contract with the Madison Square Theatre comes to an end in a few days now, and who has sent in to the management of that house a noti fication to the effect that he will not renew the relations hitherto existing. At the Madison Square he was in general charge of the stage department and has been kept exceedingly busy by the confining business of his position. At the Lyceum he will for the immediate future take charge of one of the departments of instruction. Belasco took charge of the rehearsal department and by early 1885 it was reported that he was rehearsing stu dents in plays: Belasco holds the manuscript, . . . and tells the youth to say: ’’ Madam, do not perjure your self!1 1 at the same time indicating the manner, / gesture, etc. that should accompany the words. (/ Then the young woman is told to reply with appro priate fervor, ”1 am innocent.” In this way it is hoped that bad habits will be avoided.^ Although first-hand records of Belascofs teaching techniques are sparse, apparently he taught by rehearsing his pupils in scenes. His method, unlike his later pro cedure of telling experienced actors what he wanted, was to demonstrate and have the novices imitate him. A reporter ^’’ Gossip of the Theatres,” New York Times, October 26, 1884. 2 Boston Beacon, January 17, 1885. who visited a Belasco acting class in 1885 described how Belasco conducted his class. Belasco sat in front of the stage and observed, but, when a student needed tutelage, he jumped on stage and showed him how an action ought to be done. On this instance he spent ten minutes teaching a young woman the proper way to sit down for her character. The reporter noted that Belascofs was the highest class and that he was renowned as a stage manager (only three years after coming to New York City). He is a fire--thawing the very icy, putting life into the most lifeless. In his own person he is every character in the play by turns, and his "bits of business1' (stage expression for light and shade) are bits of genius.3 \ Belasco continued directing and teaching acting at the Lyceum Theatre until 1890, when he left to devote his time to teaching Mrs. Leslie Carter to act. Some of the misconceptions about his teaching methods with Mrs. Carter have been previously discussed on pages 124 and 125 of this study, but regardless of his techniques, he was suc cessful in raising her to star stature. The actor in the time of Belascofs youth learned his trade in the stock company. There he could play hundreds 3 Hartford,[Connecticut] Times, January 29, 1885. 191 of different roles and work with many talented veterans. In 1903 Belasco published an article furthering the thesis that the stock company was a thing of the past as a train ing ground for actors, and that the new vogue was the dramatic school. In his opening paragraph Belasco paid homage to the stock company, where a young actor came in contact . . . with men and women of genius, from whom he might acquire, not only the treasures of a ripe experience, but also that far more subtle something--the influence which seems to emanate, like the scent of flowers, from the minds of all great artists.^ Then he presented his thesis and its justification: The stock company is a thing of the past, and the school has come in its stead. In these days of specialization, the added number of theatres, together with the general inter change of opinion and the greater breadth of crit icism engendered by an ever-growing culture on the part of the public, have made it more than ever imperative that all persons entering the dramatic profession shall somehow learn the tools of the trade before they essay to give the result of their work to the world.^ After stating how not to be successful Belasco indicated what was necessary for an actor to be successful. 4 David Belasco, Dramatic Schools and the Profession of Acting,” The Cosmopolitan, August 8, 1903, p. 40. "*Ibid. 192? First, the actor must know the tools of his trade. This meant that he must be technically proficient. He might learn this proficiency on the stage or in a school, but the success of even exceptional talents "may be seriously jeopardized for the time being by his or her ignorance of £ the merely technical aids of the art." The second ingredient of success was work. Belasco agreed, after slight amendment, with Monsieur Regnier that "talent is long patience." Belasco translated this state ment to mean "... given the initial inclination, there is but one password into the Castle of Success, work! work! work! In 1912 Belasco initiated plans to establish a school of acting at his theatre. He accepted applications, confirmed acceptance or rejection, and completed other pre liminaries for instituting a school. He wrote an article indicating the objectives of the school and discussed the mechanics of the school in an interview With Burns Mantle. He planned to select no more than twenty-five candidates 6Ibid. Ibid. In this article, Belasco also advocated a national theatre, subsidized by the government, containing a dramatic school. 193" and give them courses in fencing, dancing, French, German, Italian, and voice. If a student needed financial assist ance, it would be provided. Some students would be given However, for unexplained reasons, the school never came to fruition. Actually it was unnecessary. Actors working for Belasco received from him a more intensive schooling in the technique of acting during rehearsal than from any other director. essential qualities of an actor, studying the part, char acterization, creating emotion, and enunciation. As to the first, Belasco felt that: Ability and intelligence, character and power of application; these are the ingredients that go to make for success with the actor as with others. The greatest of all is character.9 Belasco had some opinions concerning what mixture of intelligence and natural ability an actor should pos- o minor roles in Belasco!s productions. Belascofs Acting Theory Belasco stated his theory of acting regarding the ^Burns Mantle, "Master Belasco Will Start School in Fall," Chicago Tribune, April 28, 1912, p. 64. ^David Belasco, "What I Am Trying to Do," World1s Work, July, 1912, pp. 75-76. sess. He felt that there were three types of artists: those who merely have the intelligence of their profession; those who have unusual intelligence, but no natural abil ity; and those who have great natural ability and general intelligence. The first were exemplified by the large, unknown majority, the second by an actor such as Richard Mansfield, and the last by actors such as Booth and Jef ferson. ^ Belasco felt that whereas unusual intelligence and hard work could produce success in any profession, natural ability and general intelligence could produce success in acting. When discussing his recommended method of studying a part, Belasco compared the actor to the painter or sculp- who creates the art object in his mind before commencing the work. Belasco believed the actor should do likewise. The character to be realistically enacted and presented on the stage must first of all be devel oped in detail in the mind of the actor, and to make it live and breathe he must study it, not as a part of himself, but as an abstract quantity. Therefore, a thorough analysis of the charac ter itself comes first; the written part, the words to be spoken by the character is a secondary consideration. No line should be committed to 1 0 Ibid., p. 77. 195 memory without its special significance and bearing on the play as a whole being thoroughly understood by the actor, H Belasco*s several techniques for attaining appro priate characterizations from his actors were stated in the chapter on rehearsal. It is worth repeating in this acting section that he first allowed the actor to bring his own ideas to the role; then, if necessary, he sug gested, coaxed, or coerced the actor toward an understand ing of the character. The actor, Frederic Perry, was asked once to explain why he had not evinced in his^/current role the same command he revealed as the Due de Richelieu * - n DuBarry. He explained that he had rehearsed the Due de Richelieu under Belasco, who allowed him to build the character from his own conception of the role. This pro cedure, he noted, was different from the guidance received from later directors,^ who forced the characterization to conform to their preconception of the part. This explanation strikes the keynote of Belas sos* s method. He leaves the initiative to the actor and aids the finishing touches to the por trait by stimulating the actor!s inherent power of expression. ^David Belasco, "David Belasco Tells How One Must Study His Part,1’ Vanity Fair. December 4, 1905. 12 Franklin Frederick, "How Belasco Stages a Play," 19 6 1 If the actor was unable to bring enough to the role, Belasco became an actor-psychologist and showed the actor what he wanted. In one cast he was rehearsing was an actress who did not achieve the desired emotion. He allowed her to use her own resources rehearsal after rehearsal. Then he acted the part for her including every inflection, every gesture, every expression the role demanded. With her eyes riveted on his, she repeated the words as he interpreted them. They went over the scene together--the pathetic lament in gentle mono-psychological tour de force, the crescendo of passionate utterance. Again and again he repeated the scene with her, until the woman*s heart beat like a metronome and she sank into a chair in a state of hysteria. His method instantly changed. He was all kindness, all sympathy, bending over her and pet ting her on the head and shoulders, as a father might a weeping child. In effect he had per formed a successful operation. He had stirred her nature to its utmost soundings and made her develop feelings she did not know herself were lying asleep in her breast.^ As his contemporary Stanivslavsky had also indi cated, Belasco believed the hands were highly important in Bohemian, March, 1907, p. 4. 13Ibid., p. 5. •'•^Wendell Phillips Dodge, "The Hand of the Actor,” Strand, March, 1910, p. 105. developing a characterization. He was aware of how inde cision, nervousness, cruelty, strength, and deceit might be revealed by the hands. I always try to impress upon the members of my companies the importance of studying the character istics of hands and of using their hands as well as their voices in acting. . . . ^5 It is evident that Belasco helped to elicit inner emotions from his actors by perfecting and working on out ward details. His realism in staging helped; his exacti tude in rehearsal added; his standard in performance com pleted the picture of the exterior world1s determining the interior emotion. He demanded a specific emotion for a specific scene, and if the actor was unable to attain it, he devised effects and initiated directorial tricks to help him. Belasco gave much attention to enunciation, believ ing it a prime requisite that an actor be heard. He sent his stars to voice teachers and continually impressed on his casts the necessity for good projection and enuncia tion. Rowland V. Lee remembered that Belasco considered the audience in the balcony as worthy of hearing the play I -i z: I as the occupants of the box seats. Belasco believed that good stage speech was not an i end in itself, but an instrument of universal instruction: j Improve the music of the stage and you will improve the music of the homes. Improve the man ners of the stage and you will improve the manners of the street. Improve the speech of the stage and you will improve the speech of all the people, standardizing pronunciation and establishing a purer language. ' During Belasco*s career the style of acting changed. As the plays evolved from melodrama to social drama to expressionism, the approach of the actor to the role evolved from extreme external motivation and manifes tation to inner emotion and motivation. Belasco was aware of this trend and, although he retained many of the old methods, lauded the arrival of the new. He believed that the audience demanded the change. They no longer accepted the shouting and screaming of the melodramatic actor. Belasco did not agree with some that this meant people were tired of emotion: They had not denied the truth of emotional experiences; they had simply found out that there ■^Personal interview with Rowland V. Lee, May 29, 1961, in Beverly Hills, California. •^Belasco, "What I Am Trying to Do," op. cit., p. 78. 199 was nothing athletic in them. This sort of emo tional display became too unreal even for the license of theatrical illusion that old theater goers allowed their actors. So the ranting hero ine of melodrama was banished from the stage. 1*8 With the melodramatic heroine, the hero and vil lain exited from their last scene, and a new style of acting emerged. Belasco felt he was a forerunner of this trend as a stage director during the melodramatic era. I made my players speak in their natural voices because it was natural. They nearly all do it now, and how much better, how much more convincing, and how much more it adds to the il lusion! ^ In utilizing the new style of acting, Belasco prided himself on his knowledge of "real1* emotions. He wrote repeatedly of watching people die, of visiting morgues to view death, and of observing happiness and grief. Some of this may have been said for publicity's sake; nevertheless, his keen observation was a hallmark of his talent. He wrote: It was now that the long, silent hours of my receptive watching told. Now the madhouse and the hospital, the death-beds and the broken hearts, 18 David Belasco, "Dramatizing the Present,” Harper's Weekly, April 12, 1913, p. 102. ■^David Belasco, ”How I Develop a Star,” New Idea Magazine, October, 1909, p. 8 8 . 200 which had given up their secrets to my patient vigilance won the battle for me. I knew how the real events of life were enacted--how the real despair, the real death agony revealed itself, and I persisted in the real upon the stage. There are many well-known player-folk who would not like me to tell of the hours we wrestled together, while, with a feverish forgetfulness of time or fatigue, I worked to make them weep and laugh, to show scorn, to cajole, to "suffer and be strong.1 1 Soon the leading exponents of the drama were playing so effectively, the simple human nature of human beings was brought out with such good taste, that others began to imitate us, and realistic work struck a death-blow and artificiality gradu ally passed a w a y . ^ 0 Obviously, there was often a contradiction between Belascofs advice and his action. This is nowhere more evident than in the following statement of his acting credo: From the beginning I have relentlessly opposed two things--method and imitation. I donft believe in method. The mood of the moment must govern the artistic temperament in order to insure that natu ral spontaneity which sets the fixed star above her twinkling sister. Nor am I less at war with the work which savors of imitation. Though I may work until four o’clock in the morning rehearsing every gesture, every intonation, every facial expression--yes, even every pause--I emphasize the fact that my pupil must not imitate me. "Does it appeal to you?" I say. "If it does, then take it and make it your own. Don’t put your arm up to accentuate that declaration because I do. Do it because it ap peals to you, now that it is brought to your 2 0 lbld. zor 21 notice, as the instinctive thing to do.1 1 Another Belasco paradox was the disparity between his statements about his use of the ”star” system and what he really did. During his career he raised to star status David Warfield, Mrs. Leslie Carter, Blanche Bates, Frances Starr, Lenore Ulric, Ina Claire, Beth Merrill, and others. Yet he wrote repeatedly of the , f evil star system.1 1 Appar ently Belasco did not class himself with those . . . managers who believe that it is necessary to feed the public with novel attractions. So they find clever young men or women and spoil their whole nature and development, when, had they been left alone, in time they would amount to something which would last; they are just a makeshift, con venient to managers.22 It is interesting that Belasco criticized this coercion when . . . it is also true that he expected to dom inate every player of either sex who worked for him continuously. It is said that when he first met David Warfield--they were both comparatively young--he said to him: ,fI can and will make you a star. But you must give up your present friends and most of your present habits. You must live where I tell you--join the clubs I appoint--even go to a tailor whom I will name for your clothes.” In other words, the director who has the ability 21 Ibid. 22 ”A Surprising Interview with David Belasco,” [Belasco Collection], January 31, 1904, p. 54. 202 and the will to "make1 1 players must almost own them. 23 In 1913 Walter Eaton raised his voice in criticism of Belasco as an actor’s director: Nor has his contribution to the art of acting in America been so great as is sometimes supposed, even though that appears to be the goal of every actor to be under his management. As far back as 1882 he taught the gospel of naturalism in acting, and in ’ ’ The Governor’s Lady” he is still teaching it, and teaching it with marvelous results. It is difficult to see how that drama could be acted with greater illusion of life. We gladly give him full credit for this. But what becomes of the actors and actresses he makes? Do they go on growing? Do they enlarge their scope, their repertoire?24 These questions were answered in part by Guthrie McClintic in his autobiography. He recalled his experi ences trying to direct Mrs. Leslie Carter twenty years after her performing for Belasco. He noted initially that she wanted everything done as ”Mr. Dave” had done, and, when methods were at variance, she expected him to change. During reading rehearsals Mrs. Carter wanted the other actors to get on their feet and walk through the play with ^Harry Irvine, The Actor’s Art and Job (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1942), p. 194. 2^Walter Prichard Eaton, ’ ’ The Theater,” New York American, January, 1913, p. 97. 203 her. McGlintic objected until the normal blocking rehears als in the second week. When she got to her feet I found out she was a star of the school whose one spot on the stage was upstage center and the only time she deserted it was when she obliquely turned to make an exit. 25 She had difficulty learning lines and she continu ally referred to days of former glory. When McClintic com plained about her not knowing her lines, she answered, ffI do. I just keep my part in my hand because I always did that with Mr. Dave.”26 After a series of emotional confrontations between Mrs. Carter and McClintic, dress rehearsal night arrived. Mrs. Carter refused to make up or wear costumes. McClintic ordered her to wear the costumes, hoping she would disobey and break her contract. However, Mrs. Carter . . . sent her two maids to the theater to await the costumes* arrival, and after they were hung up proceeded to rip out every seam, so on the night of dress rehearsal she produced her dresses with the undone seams and won her p o i n t .27 After more such disgusting incidents, Mrs. Carter was finally removed from the cast. ^Guthrie McClintic, Me and Kit (Boston: Little, Brown, 1955), p. 245. 26Ibid., p. 246 > p. 249. 204 McClintic pointed out that whereas Mrs. Carter was impossible as a fading actress, Blanche Bates was a real trouper and a gracious lady besides. He paid her this compliment: Blanche had enormous vitality. She was as receptive of direction as a beginner, courteous and prompt, and had a magnificent sense of humor.28 How well an actress did after leaving Belasco seemed to depend on the actress, not on her training from Belasco. However, most of Belasco's actresses never main tained the success they achieved with him. Belascofs statements of his theory of acting were paradoxical, but the record indicates he believed in real istic acting based on technical proficiency. 2 8 Ibid. CHAPTER VIII SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS Summary Belasco was a practicing stage director and play wright in New York City from 1882 until 1931. He was involved in one hundred and twenty-one productions of ninety-nine different plays. Of these he wrote, collab orated on, or adapted twenty-one and directed ninety. Because of the length of his career, his combination of talents, the times in which he lived, and his far-reaching influence, he was a significant figure in the American theatre. This study investigated his stage directing theory and practice. In order to help reveal this, the following specific questions were posed: 1. What were Belascofs criteria for selecting a play for production? 2. What were his methods used in casting plays? _________205____________________________ 206 3. What rehearsal procedures did he follow? 4. How did he help actors to develop character izations? 5. What techniques did he employ for developing mood and tempo in his productions? 6. What emphasis did he give to the technical elements in his productions and what innova tions did he introduce? 7. How did he work with stage designers, lighting technicians, and other members of his produc tion staff? 8. What unique methods did he employ in directing his actors and his staff? 9. What were his attitudes about acting and the training of actors? Conclusions Belasco^ criteria for selecting a play.--Basically Belasco selected three types of plays to direct during his career: melodramas, historical spectacles, and domestic dramas. In selecting these plays, Belasco used general criteria. First, the play had to appeal to the general public. Second, the play needed to emphasize action. 207 Third, the play needed to be about current problems. Fourth, these problems had to be the problems which would appeal to the large middle class. Fifth, the play needed to appeal to women, who decided, according to him, theatre attendance. Sixth, appeal to Belascofs intuition was often the deciding criterion for selecting a particular play. Methods of casting plays.--Belasco1s method of casting varied with the situation. When casting untried actors, he required a tryout scene or improvisation. How ever, most of his casting was accomplished by observing actors in other theatres. A recurring characteristic of his casting method was the creation of a mystical atmos phere about hkmself when interviewing an actor for a part. Belasco went to plays and observed actors in other theatres almost daily throughout his career. When he found an unusual talent, he "followed1 1 the performer from show to show. He mentally cast future plays with these actors, often two years in advance. Rehearsal procedures.--Belasco rehearsed each week day from 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. for four to six weeks. He devoted the first week or ten days to reading rehearsals, usually in their latter stages guided by a stage manager. This was followed by rough blocking in a rehearsal room, again under the direction of a stage manager. About the third week, Belasco took charge of the rehearsal and began the personal guidance of each role. He changed lines, changed blocking, and changed the interpretations of roles. When the play moved into the dress rehearsal week, Belasco took it to Washington, where he increased the rehearsal pace up to the moment of production. Although this pro cedure is common to most modern directors, it was unusual in Belascofs time. Many observers reported that his pro cedure was unique for its time. His tendency to control the concentration of the actors by keeping them in the theatre for lunch and extending the rehearsal day until a scene was completed was characteristically Belascan. Development of characterizations.--Belasco used various techniques to help actors develop their characteri zations. During the early days of the reading rehearsal, he used explanation. As the rehearsals progressed he al lowed the actors to experiment on their own. If an actor was uncomfortable or did not understand a scene, he allowed the actor to try any personal ideas of interpretation. After that, Belasco took command and suggested characteri- — 2 W zation and action which expanded the understanding of the character. If it became necessary to excite the cast to a better performance, Belasco faked losing his temper and, without localizing his wrath, generated enthusiasm and energy among the actors. Realistic properties, which were visible only to the actors, were included to aid character izations . Belascofs greatest talents as a director were his perception of human psychology and his adaptability to the individuality of the actors. Many actors marvelled at his apparent ability to understand their thoughts. They felt he "understood1 1 them from the first rehearsal. Actors also appreciated the freedom of expression he allowed them to experiment with new blocking or "business" which he knew would be inappropriate. Techniques for developing mood and tempo.--In order to develop a desired mood and tempo, Belasco paced the actors through a tempo rehearsal, during which he beat time like a metronome to give the actors a rhythm to main tain (an innovation in his time). Whereas in a play which needed enthusiasm and quick pacing he seemed angry and cruel in order to increase the energy of the actors, in a 210 low-tempo, low-key play he avoided these techniques. When he was directing experienced actors he tended to use a verbal approach to directing, but if the actor was inexperienced Belasco occasionally used the visual approach and showed the actor what he wanted. He seemed to act out the character*s roles more when he was a fledgling director and to talk more to the actors when he became established. Technical elements.— The technical aspects of his productions were highly important. Belasco believed scenery should be as realistic as possible to "suggest1 1 the intended setting. Although he did not want the scenery to overpower the actors, he felt it should be realistic to help the actor and the audience stay in the mood of the play. Many of his productions were opulent and photograph ic in their reproduction of a setting. Two of his most famous detailed sets were The Easiest Wav and The Governor*s Lady, in which rooms were recreated in great detail on stage. Belasco used stage effects as an integral part of the "atmosphere" of his productions. Reared in an age of melodrama, he polished and adapted many melodramatic tech niques and incorporated them into his shows. Some of his _ 211, effects were simple and easily devised, but most were complicated and required a large, well-trained stage crew. Although Belasco declared he would omit any effect which called attention to itself, he seemed to use effects as much for publicity as he did to suggest the mood of the play. Belasco demanded authentic properties for his pro ductions, to aid not only the audience’s perception of the atmosphere, but also the actor’s attainment of an appro priate mood. He often experimented with various stage ’’ props” only to discard them for less expensive, real ones. He provided stage ’’props” for his actors early in the re hearsal period to aid them in blocking and timing (unique to Belasco). Often he demanded an extreme degree of authenticity in stage ’’ props,” requiring, for instance, dishes to appear worn. To gain the desired effect in costuming, Belasco studied books of paintings and photographs. The cut of material, manner of wearing, and accessories were re searched and reproduced in detail. The appropriate color scheme of the set was followed in the costumes. Once the basic decisions had been made, and the costumes purchased or sewn, Belasco called a dress parade, where he made final ---------------- 2Ti: adjustments under stage lights. The lighting used in a Belasco production was probably the most developed technical aspect of a Belasco play. Belasco believed lighting to be the most effective way of establishing mood and atmosphere. He did this most effectively in The Darling of the Gods and The Rose of the Rancho. He used lights to indicate the passage of time, as in Madame Butterfly and Tiger Rose. He created unusual fog scenes in Just a Wife and Van der Decken. He spent many hours and much money experimenting with lighting effects. He was a pioneer in eliminating footlights. His most noteworthy innovation was the devel opment and use of the baby spotlight to illuminate and follow the individual actors. Belasco caused the lights to reproduce realistically the action of the sun. With his sensitive and responsive head electrician, Louis Hartmann, Belasco made great strides in using stage lights effec tively and artistically in his productions. The most realistic elements of a Belasco production were its technical aspects. The scenery was built solidly and constructed out of materials normally not used for stage scenery. Effects were devised to create more realis tic stage snow, wind, fog, and sounds. The stage ,fpropsn 213 were usually the most realistic ones that could be found. Belascofs method of presenting a romantic story in a realistic setting presaged the similar technique of many motion picture directors, particularly Cecil B. DeMille. Working with production staff.--Belasco was for tunate in having such a competent staff. His business manager, Benjamin Roeder; his lighting man, Louis Hartmann; his scenic designer, Ernest Gros; and one of his stage managers, William Dean, were unusually talented and loyal. Belasco gave them full rein to express themselves, but all final decisions were his own. Much of the credit for Belasco*s lighting innovations should go to Louis Hartmann, but it is unlikely that his improvements would have come ito fruition without Belasco*s laboratory and patronage. Belasco was in personal contact with his staff and worked concurrently with them through the problems of production. Unique directing methods.--Belasco used some rather unique tactics in directing. One of these was the destruc tion of a fake ,!family heirloom1 1 watch to impress the * actors with the extremity of his emotions. Also, he would cause an actor to experience a particular emotion to aid him in representing that emotion. These tactics were not — — 2 T 4 - intended to be mere theatrics but were used to help the i actor generate a particular emotion to play a scene more effectively. Attitudes about acting and the training of actors.- Belasco believed that the repertory companies were being supplanted by dramatic schools as a training ground for actors. He was an instructor for years at the Lyceum School of Acting, which later became the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. Belasco supported the dramatic school concept, for he believed knowing the tools of the trade and working hard were the basic ingredients for success as an actor. Belasco wanted a technically-proficient actor who could reveal inner emotion. This inner emotion could be generated best by perfecting outer realism. To view Belasco in perspective is to view a kalei doscope. His outward appearances were colorful and ever- changing, but the contents of the different Belascos remained the same. What were these immutable qualities which were revealed so variously? He was hard-working; he prepared for a play in great detail and rehearsed long hours. He was observant; he is noted for detecting the slightest change in an actor _ 215 or the technical elements of a play. He was considerate; actresses, particularly, remembered his attention to their minor comforts. He was self-motivating; although he often developed a scene by trial and error, he brought more to the individual roles than did any actor. He was egocen tric; he relished his fame as a director and innovator. He was theatrical; he saw life in dramatic and melodramatic scenes. He was commercial; his plays were financially suc cessful even if they were not artistically successful. He was professional; the play was the thing, and he might use cruelty and abuse to attain the desired emotion to make the play. However, to some actors he was completely democratic, allowing them as much freedom in the creation of a role as they wanted and used. He saw himself as the only true authority of the meaning of a role or a play, but he was so perceptive of human psychology that he realized that with some people he would get the desired result more quickly by apparent freedom, and with others by obvious control. It seems apparent that every play Belasco pro duced had his unmistakable stamp upon it. Belasco was the prototype of the modern all-power ful stage and motion picture director. He was the fore runner of the Tyrone Guthries and the Cecil B. DeMilles ------------------------------------- 23.61 who were to follow. Both of these men had seen him direct, had been durably impressed, and had passed some of his idiosyncrasies on to later directors. , i But to imply that Belasco was a combination of obvious and transferable talents is to misunderstand and misinterpret the man. He was larger than the sum of his parts. A biographer might reveal that his subject had a long apprenticeship in his art, an obsession for his work to the exclusion of a normal personal life, a theatrical sense which permeated his every action, and a driving com pulsion to succeed--a11 true of Belasco--but one could not conclude that he was referring to Belasco, for Belasco possessed additional qualities which elude definition as they do in other unusual men. The people who;worked with Belasco were affected by these indefinable qualities. They spoke of the confidence he instilled, of his ability to know what they were thinking, of his talent for inspir ing an emotion, and of his perceptive adaptability to their suggestions, but for them these attributes were effective because , ! he was the greatest.” Belasco*s most significant role during his forty- nine years on the New York stage was himself as a director. 217 He did more than any other man to increase the importance of the director in the American theatre. APPENDIX A EDITED INTERVIEWS APPENDIX A, EDITED INTERVIEWS Because of the informal atmosphere peculiar to the taped interview, some incorrect diction and trivial com ments were included in the original interviews. It was necessary to edit these tapes to improve their grammatical structure and to exclude irrelevant entries. Whenever sizeable changes were made, they were indicated by an ellipsis. MORGAN FARLEY June 12, 1961 Farley: This man, Belasco, was a man of wide interests and wide culture. He had a great art and he had his own the- atre--his own establishment. His lighting man, Louis Hartmann, was the inventor of many new lighting techniques. He created DuBarry pink for Mrs. Leslie Carter. . . . Belasco had almost a mesmeric quality over his stars. One of the curious things about him was that he was almost a Svengali. A, lot of his stars were unsuccessful after they left him. Lenore Ulric never approached, after she left him, what she had been with him. . . . Belasco believed in the star system. Lionel Atwill was the star in the two Belasco plays I was in. Belasco would say in rehearsal, ’ ’ Now, you are here to support the star." He made it very plain. The other members of the company were there to support the star. Of course, he did everything to put the star in the shining light. Every trick of the trade was used, whether it was costume or the lighting of the scene; whether Mrs. So-and-So talked better sitting down than standing up, lying on her face, or what have you. He would favor what she was most comfortable with. Int: Then he listened to his star’s ideas? Farley: No, he didn’t listen to his stars. But his method ■of directing was this. He would play a scene and then he jwould say, ’’ Let’s do it another way. We’ll do it another jway. We’ll do it standing up, sitting; we’ll do it stage -right or stage left.” He would do it a multiple of ways ‘ and then, since he was a histrionic person, he would feel 221 Z2T which was the right way to do it. Then he would ask his actors for their reaction, and finally he would say, "This is the way to do it." When I was in The Grand Duke, we prepared the play under the direction of an assistant director, just to get it into a run-through condition. Int: How long did the assistant director direct it? Farley: Oh, only a couple of weeks. Then Belasco came in and said, "This is frightful; this is awful. You’re not playing this as a farce." The first thing he did was to speed up the cast. He had us just race through the play. And then the Grand Duke entered and took it in the most leisurely way. So, of course, it looked as if he was just wonderful. Int: Do you think Belasco had told his assistant director what he wanted? Farley: I don’t know. It is a pedestrian job. We just needed to get on our feet and learn the lines. We all expected Bealsco would come in and change things. Int: When Belasco took over the directing of the play, do you think he was acting the part of a director when he bemoaned its condition? Farley: Oh, no! I think he was shocked by the triviality of the play. He realized that a drastic change was needed. I believe Belasco had misgivings about the play. You see, the year before he had starred Lionel Atwill in another French play called Deburau. For this, he had imported lavish sets from France. Much of the decor and properties were brought over from Paris. Apparently he thought that Lionel Atwill was star material, and he wasn’t. Int: When he took over the directing of The Grand Duke, how did he straighten it out? Farley: Well, his directions consisted of reblocking it, and redirecting the love scenes of the mistress. He em bellished Lionel Atwill*s role and greatly increased the tempo. The love scene was played on, and it was just as suggestive, just as amorous, just as sexual as possible. He played that up a great deal. 223 Int: Do you think he used that technique much? Farley: Oh, he did it in all of his plays. i Int: If he emphasized the stars, how did he get any ensemble acting? Farley: By getting good actors. The better the actors are1 , the better they work together. A few years later he did an English comedy, Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, in which he starred Mrs. Fiske, one of the finest actresses I*ve ever seen. He got her an excellent cast and, using the same formula he had used in The Grand Duke, he played up her great talent, her stellar quality. That production was absolutely intoxicating. Of course, he produced much that was trivia. His choice of plays ranged from the melodra matic to the sentimental. He had risen as a director dur ing the era of the melodramatic play, where the set con sisted of a fancy door center, an exit right, and an exit left. There it was: you had a drawing room or you had a hovel. But Belasco spared no expense in creating realis tic sets. Int: Did he also get realistic acting? Farley: Oh, yes. But in my juvenile part in Deburau he never directed me. You see, he used the type-casting sys tem for his supporting roles. An old English actor named Iris Simpson had helped me to prepare for the play. Bel asco had auditioned many other actors for the part, but after I read, he hired me immediately. The play had a large cast and over a hundred extras, which required much of Belasco*s attention. So he only directed me in blocking and very little in characterization. He was kind to me, but he just left me alone. You see, my youthful quality fit his idea of the play: I was unsophisticated, I was fresh, I was extremely ardent, and those qualities were what he wanted. Many of the supporting actors in that play were seasoned troupers. Int: He had the sensitivity to know how much to direct and how much to let alone? Farley: Yes, he didnft ride you. So many of the directors of that day would make young people overact. 224 ilnt: Could you tell me some of the ways that Belasco i |helped the actor develop characterization? j |Farley: This was probably one of his deficiencies. This j was why by a certain group he was criticized for being the I developer of empty realism. I talked to playwright, Tom Cushing, who had worked with Belasco on scripts such as Tiger Rose, and he said that Belasco was a divided person ality, a gypsy and a Jew. The gypsy is warm, friendly, and outgoing, attracted by beauty; the Jew is crafty and shrewd. Cushing could see one of these sides revealed on any one day. He enjoyed working with Belasco. Of course, he did it for a fee. Belasco hired him to help whip his ; scripts into shape. Belasco got credit for a lot of scripts which someone else probably did; undoubtedly other people did them. As to whether Belasco was a really cre ative director remains an enigma to me; so much of his direction seemed physical to me--where the actors moved, where they sat, their costumes, their make-up--and all the embellishments of the play. He did have the imagination to see the play in the script, but he left other things flex ible so that his star might adapt the part to a comfortable mold. It was a process of elimination with him. Int: Did you ever see him in disagreement with an actor? Farley: Often he would have a violent tantrum, in which he threw things. He seemed to use this time to vent his personal grievance with someone indirectly. He was very personal and easily wounded. At these times, he would be sarcastic; most of the time he was fatherly. . . . He was unique in that he served luncheon to the cast during rehearsal. To some of us, it was a horror. But he thought he was doing the kind thing, and, of course, it was the practical thing because he held his cast together. They didn't have a chance to lose the mood. . . . Actually, I don't think it was a good policy. It gave me a violent headache. . . . During this time we would talk about the play, but it was mostly chit-chat. I Int: Would you say Belasco showed you what he wanted or told you what he wanted? i Farley: He was not an analytical director, like Arthur | Hopkins, but after the first few days when you sat around the table and read and corrected and trimmed, you had the set and props to work with. i Int: Did he give you the script before rehearsal? Farley: Yes, I had the play before my tryout, because I gave a prepared reading. Int: Did he read the script to you at the first rehearsal? Farley: No, he may have done that when he was younger. Int: When he moved the cast on stage, did he expect you to know your parts? Farley: Yes, he did not discuss the parts with you. He made it clear that he did not want many gestures. I remember that he told me to avoid the use of my hands and just let them relax. . . . I remember one time Lionel Atwill came on stage in a custom-made dressing gown that must have cost two hundred dollars. Something irritated Belasco and he came on stage and tore that gown to shreds. He made a complete scene of it. Int: Did this have any effect on the cast? Farley: Oh, this kind of thing doesn’t mean much. It gives them a chance to relax while the director acts. Int: Was he sincerely angry? Farley: Those things are usually letting off steam from some other problem. I think Mr. Belasco was an artist in his own way. He created a beautiful playhouse. He gener ated a marvelous mood in the theatre. He developed inno vations in lighting such as the balcony spots. He had this huge gong backstage. When the house lights faded and I 226 and the stage lights began to come up, this gong was hit, and it established a most unusual mood in the theatre. Int: How much of the finished product was Belasco*s and how much was his assistant*s? Farley: It was a team. It was a great team effort. Int: After a play had gone into its run, did Belasco return to do some additional directing? Farley: No, once a play was out of his hands he turned to other work. He had a very good stage managing staff to oversee the production. Of course, he would come to see the play. We would hear that he had seen the play a cer tain night, but I don’t remember him calling a rehearsal. • • • He was a sensualist. He loved things of beauty, particularly women. It was a great revivifying thing to him, this parade of young women. They appealed to him and he saw that he could make money with them. He had this strange domination over them. They kept, and he expected them to keep, a great loyalty to him. I PERCY HELTON June 8, 1961 Int: Mr. Helton, why don’t you tell me again what you told me earlier about the particular kindness that Mr. Belasco showed you. Helton: Well, he was one of the most amazing men that I have ever come in contact with in the theater. To prove this, he did this one thing for me that I don’t think any other manager has ever done or will ever do. I had played for him for three years with Warfield in Peter Grimm and the end of the third year he had nothing for me in the following season so, of course, I went on my own into the comic opera, Victor Herbert’s, The Madcap Duchess, which was a big hit in New York. We played the Globe Theater on Broadway, and after it had been running for about four months I suddenly got a wire from Mr. Belasco asking me to come to his office the following week. I went, and he wanted to know what kind of contract I had with the Duchess, and I told him an ordinary two-week- clause contract. He said, ”Would you be willing to leave to come to work for me?” And I said, ”1 certainly would.” He said, ”0.K., get your notice in next Monday night because we are going to start rehearsing in three or four weeks on a new play.” I did; I gave my notice and we started re hearsing, and we rehearsed four weeks on a play called What’s Wrong. We went to Washington and opened on Monday night and on Tuesday morning the papers came out and said ’’ everything.” Mr. Belasco had-- Second and third act was on a farm in New Jersey and ’’ dear David” with his realism ruined the play because he had twenty-five chickens running the stage and a cow sticking his neck out of a barn door 227 ; 228 i I and a horse. He had all the things--the actors didn’t have a chance, that's all. So, as I said, the papers said, "What's wrong? Everything," and the play closed ; Saturday night. When we went back to New York on the plane] Sunday morning, the manager of the company came to me and said Mr. Belasco wanted me in his office the following Tuesday. I went, and he sat down at his desk pulling his white hair, as he always did, and he looked at me and said, "Well, Percy, I guess you made a mistake." And I said, "No, I didn't make a mistake, Mr. Belasco. It's a chance you take. The theater is a gamble, always. You never know whether a play is going to be a hit or not. I don't consider that I made a mistake. If it had been a hit, I would have had a job for all next year." He said, "Well, The Madcap Duchess is still running over there at the Globe Theater." I said, "Yes," and he said, "As long as it runs you will get a check Monday morning through the mail." I said, "That isn't necessary, Mr. Belasco. I don't want you to do that. As I said, it's a gamble and we lost." He said, "No, no. I want to be sure, if you are in a hit in three or four years time, and I send for you, you would have no reservations about coming to me." Int: When you went with him in The Return of Peter Grimm in 1911, how old were you then? Helton: Let's see. I was sixteen years old. 1 was very small for my age; as a matter of fact, for a long time they thought I was going to be a midget. I was playing a child of eleven in the play. I looked eleven; I even could have passed for nine. Int: You had been on the stage for years before that? Helton: Yes, I had been on the stage since 1897. I made my first appearance in *97 with my Dad in vaudeville. Belasco was an amazing man in many ways. The thing he did, for instance, in his rehearsals--you came to the first rehearsal of a Belasco play and all you did was sit at a long table and read the play. Everybody had the script and everybody read their part, but you just sat around a table;for two weeks you did that; you never went upon the stage. - 229 Int: You did that in Peter Grimm? Helton: Oh, yes. In Peter Grimm and What1 s Wrong? and every play he ever did. That's the way he did it. You never saw a stage. You sat down in the basement of the Belasco Theater. He had what was known as the "rehearsal room,",and you sat there--lunch was catered. It was served to you at that table, and you talked about the play. Int: When you read the play, when you read your part, did he make comments about how-- Helton: Oh, yes. He would give you readings and so forth and say, or tell you, to emphasize certain words or some thing. Then when you walked up on stage after the second week you had every prop, every piece of scenery, every piece of paper that you were ever going to use in that play--it was there. You rehearsed for two more weeks on the stage with the props. If you had to drink coffee, you had coffee. Int: It was a standard four-week rehearsal, but the first two weeks-- Helton: The first two weeks would be around a table, just reading. Int: Did you feel that when you first went into the play and this reading session, that he knew what he wanted and what he was doing? Helton: Oh, yes, definitely. He had it all worked out in his mind just exactly what he wanted. And then, of course, when you finally got into your dress rehearsals, when you had had about a week and a half with rehearsal on stage with the props and everything, the last four or five days of the fourth week you would have dress rehearsals. He would sit down in front in the first row, maybe, or the third or fourth row, and if you played a scene and he felt that you played it particularly well, he would toss you a silver dollar. Tommy Meighan never got more than a quar ter from him. He used to tell Tommy he was a lousy actor. Many times before the entire company he said, "Tommy, you're a lousy actor, but by God, you're a good looking man and that's why you're here." 2301 , Int: He spoke with honesty? | Helton: Oh, yes, he was a very honest man. Tommy always used to kid about it. Hefd say, ”0h, yes, Ifd like to get | a dollar.1 1 I have five silver dollars he threw at me, at different times. Int: When he did this, what did you think of it? Of course, you were a teen-ager then, but what did you think? Did you think it was rather silly? Helton: Well, we just thought it was a mannerism; that it was a little piece of fun that he was having, that's all. Of course, he would never toss anything but dollars to the girls. The girls never got less than a dollar. Int: Did he have other psychological tricks that he used, that you remembered? Helton: Well, not particularly; I don’t remember any others. Of course, he was a great prankster, too; he loved to kid people. We had this scene in the first act where Warfield and Joseph Brennan, who played the doctor, had to eat waffles and put maple syrup on them. One night, after the play had been running for a long time, Belasco came in and fixed it up with the property man--he filled the molasses bowl or pitcher full of castor oil. Oh, my God, they had to eat it, of course, because Belasco was noted for his realism. And there they sat on this stage a and oh, their faces as they ate; they died. And another trick that he did--did you ever read Peter Grimm? Int: I know the idea of the plot. Helton: At the end of the last act where Peter Grimm finally says good-bye to this little girl, Janet Dunbar, who is supposedly his niece in the play, he has straight ened everything out by this time, and then he has this long speech to her, which is a very beautiful speech. She couldn’t see him but she did feel his presence, supposedly, and he was standing behind her chair, and she had a line where she said, ”0h, Peter, I wish you could talk to me. I'd love to hear your voice again.” With that she put her head in this bowl of tulips. He smeared limburger cheese 231 on all the petals of the tulips. She put her head down, and had to leave it there for the whole speech that War field had, which was about three or four minutes--a long speech saying good-bye to her; a beautiful speech, inci dentally. He would do interesting little things like that. Int: When he was directing, how would he get the actor to attain the mood that he wanted, or the particular manner that he wanted? How would he get the actor to see the way he wanted the role portrayed? Helton: Well, his method was just to talk to you and tell you what he wanted. He would never show you. Int: He didn’t? Helton: No, he never tried to show anybody how to do anything. I donft ever remember him in my experience; maybe he has with some, I don’t know. He would just come to the footlights and lean over to you and he would tell you quietly what he wanted you to do, how he thought it should be done, and you would go back and try it. That was when he would pull the dollar thing. If he didn’t think you did it as well as he thought you should, he would only toss you a quarter. He always had a pocketful of silver, always. If you did it right, and you finally hit it the way he wanted it, that was when you got the dollar. Int: Did he ever explain characterization to you? Helton: Oh, yes; that was all done at the table the first two weeks. Int: The Return of Peter Grimm was a very nostalgic, sort of heart-rending, play. Do you remember how he got that mood into the play? Did he do anything other than tell each actor what he wanted done? Helton: No, no, he didn’t. Of course, he put the mood into it to begin with. He was a terrific dramatist. He bought this play--Peter Grimm was originally written for Frances Starr, one of his female stars. When he got the play, Warfield had just made a tremendous hit in Music 232^ Master and he was looking for a play for Warfield. He decided that it would be better to take this play and re write it, making the leading part a man instead of a woman. It was originally a woman. . . . Belasco rewrote the play, and, of course, itfs not the least bit dated, I don’t think. I read it just a year ago when we were toying with the idea of doing it here. . . . We had more electricians than we had actors. Int: How was that? Helton: Well, every character in the play had a baby spot on them. All through the play no matter where they went, right on their face. The characters were all supposed to be alive except Peter Grimm. In the last two acts Peter Grimm was in this very weird lighting effect. It made him ashen-like, it made him look ghostly. I, of course, play ing the little boy, was the only one in the play who even tually saw him. I was supposed to be dying of consumption and he finally gets his message across to me, the boy. He takes the boy at the end of the play; the boy dies, and Belasco had really a terrific piece of dramatics--a tech nical thing that was really marvelous. I was carried down stairs by the doctor because I wanted to come down. I knew Peter Grimm was there, and I wanted to come down. He brings me down and he lays me on this couch. It was an old-fashioned wooden structure, and there was a cloth supposedly like padding but there was no padding; it was just the cloth. It was a cloth that lifted and there was another boy back here that looked exactly like me; we could have been twins. I died on this couch and as I got up I threw the cover down on the couch and covered up, supposedly, the body. This boy, as I got up, would roll under the couch and the cover would be there. Peter Grimm would take me and put me on his shoulder and say, n0.K., we’ll go now. Sing your song to me.” And I started sing ing the song and as I sang the song and we were going through the back door, going out supposedly, to heaven, the doctor came in— he had gone for a glass of water for me--he came in, pulled down this cover, and here was this boy. I was on his shoulder and the boy was here and women used to faint in the audience. Oh, it was a tremendous dramatic thing. You could hear the women scream and then 233 many times they would come back and say, "Well, we had two more fainting spells out there tonight." Terrific thing, it really was. That was the end of the play. . . . It’s a beautiful play, of course, spiritual. You see the doctor believes in spiritualism and Warfield scoffs at it, acts silly. . . . Int: Belasco must have made a great impression on you for you to recall that situation now; is that right or not? Helton: Oh, yes, definitely. Of course, naturally being a child, I think he impressed me more than anybody I'd ever known or ever will know. Simply because I was a child at that point. Another thing which impressed me, he was such a realist. He was a very truthful man. Now Peter Grimm, for instance-- I had been in plays in New York, usually with my Dad, because my father at that point wouldn’t let me go on the road alone, naturally, so he would play a part in the play and I would be in it. We were doing a play with Louis Mann and Clara called, Julie Bon Bon. We were playing it at the Hackett Theater on 42nd Street in New York City. One night there was all the excitement in the world backstage because someone said Belasco was out front. (At this point I was about thirteen or fourteen, and I was terribly impressed.) And all night long every body kept saying, "I wonder if he will come back, I wonder if lie will come back." Well, he didn’t come back but he sent his stage manager, William Dean, whom you have prob ably heard of. Well he [Dean] was with him [Belasco] out front. This was 1907, three years before Peter Grimm, because we opened in Boston with Peter Grimm in 1910; on Broadway in 1911. So in 1907 this man, William Dean, came back stage and he didn’t go to anybody else; he just came to my father in my dressing room and he said, "Mr. Belasco is very impressed with your son’s performance and he asked me to come back and tell you that within the next two or three years he is going to have a very fine part for him." That * s how far ahead that man thought. Int: When Belasco directed you, you had been on the stage for quite a few years, but did he leave you alone or did he give you a lot of guidance? 234 Helton: Oh, he gave you a lot of guidance but he never really showed you how. He would do it all in just telling you. Int: Was he good at that? Helton: Oh, terrific; absolutely terrific. The only one he could never touch was Tommy Meighan. Tommy never got more than a quarter. Int: Did you ever see a time when he and Warfield didn't agree on just how the character-- Helton: No, no, not in this particular play, but he and Warfield had a terrific battle over the Merchant of Venice. Int: We've talked some here about his kind of magnetism; is that a word we might use in regard to Belasco? Helton: Oh, definitely yes--absolutely. Int: This ability to in some way or another create the theme for the actor by words--again, I don't want to put words in your mouth, but I'm trying to rephrase what you've said. He seemed to have a way of gaining your allegiance, your loyalty, and almost your love as an actor. Helton: Oh, definitely. I don't think anyone could ever work for Belasco that didn't feel that he was quite the most wonderful man in the world. Everybody felt that way. Int: But did you ever feel at times that he was tricking you or doing something that was just for the effect of it? Helton: Oh, no, I don't think so. I do think sometimes that he went overboard with his realism. He carried it too far, sometimes. Like I say, in the second play that I did for him. Int: Let's talk about that. You explained earlier about the animals. I particularly want to talk about that play because it was a failure. He was a successful director; he had many successes and, of course, we are aware of all 235 of those. But here was a play which didnft even get to New York, and I wondered if you could explain why? Helton: Well, the only reason I can say is it wasn't a good play to begin with. He thought it was; he probably thought, with his supposed touch for realism, he could put it over. But it really did more harm than good in this instance. Int: By that time you were older; besides being a profes sional actor for a good while, you were almost a man, so you could judge. I wonder if you were aware at the time that he wanted to do this play just for the effect of try ing to put animals on the stage and just trying that realistic idea. Helton: Could be, could be. Of course, I'll never forget our dress rehearsal in Washington. During the course of the second act I was playing a part, supposedly a farm boy around the barn. There was one scene in which I put six chickens, one by one, two at a time, as a matter of fact, I put them in a crate, crating them to send to market. I played the part barefoot. Later on, in the act, the hero ine, Janet Beecher, and the leading man, Frederick Burton, played a love scene in which she sat on the crate with the chickens under her. And, of course, one of them pecked her on the fanny. She let out the darnedest yell. Of course, everybody was in hysterics. So they made a differ ent crate with a solid top so the chickens couldn't do it. Luckily that happened at rehearsal and not the opening night. Int: How early in that rehearsal did behave the animals there? Helton: Oh, right from the second we went up on stage. He always had everything. If you had to drink coffee, you drank coffee right from the start. You got everything right from the start with him. He was a nut on wheels. Int: Now, during the rehearsal of this play, did you ever notice his attitude changing about it? Do you think he realized that there were problems? 236 Helton: I think so, yes. I think he knew when we went to Washington that it wasn’t going to be a hit. We never saw him again after the dress rehearsal. Int: He wasn’t at the opening? Helton: Oh, he was at the opening, but he was out front, he didn’t go back stage. And he didn’t come back stage after the show, as he usually would, to congratulate people. We didn’t see him and the next morning we all expected, naturally, that there would be a rehearsal with notes and things, but there was no rehearsal because Belasco went back to New York that night. Int: He dropped it just like that? Helton: Just like that, absolutely. He didn’t even wait for the notices. Int: You think he would have come out and said, "We have a real turkey on this farm, and " But he didn’t say anything? Helton: He just went back to New York. Int: There wasn’t any problem in the play with the actors then, getting what he wanted, or-- Helton: That was another thing with Belasco. He usually had wonderful casts; his people were hand-picked; he knew what he wanted. For instance, in Peter Grimm, he wanted a very handsome, good looking, leading man. It was the smallest part in the play. It didn’t matter that Tommy wasn’t a good actor, as long as he looked good, and he was a handsome man. Int: You think he hired the best people? Helton: Definitely, definitely. Int: The fact that he had planned for two years ahead to use you revealed that he was always looking-- Helton: Oh, yes, he always looked. He saw every play 237 that was ever done in New York. . . . One summer, after we had played in New York all year--there was a man named Max Hart, a vaudeville manager, and he got the idea that he wanted to do a juvenile Pinafore during the summer months-- a half-hour version of Pinafore. Belasco came all the way out to Brighton Beach to see me in this. Int: So he was just seeing plays every night of the week practically? Helton:, Oh, yes. He went to the theater all the time. He saw everything I did after that, up to the time he died, he always came to see me. Int: He kept in touch with you? Did he send you cards? Helton: Oh, no. He would come back though-- Int: I don’t mean that. I mean birthday cards-- Helton: Oh, no, he didn’t do that. He would send a Christmas card. That was another thing, the difference between him and Warfield. Now, I was in a play with War field for three solid years. I was a child, so everybody in that company would give me a present on Christmas. Warfield wouldn’t even send you a card. He was the sting iest man that ever lived, absolutely. He died with seven million, you know. Yes, he owned about a quarter of Loews, Inc. Oh, yes, he was a good friend of Marcus Loew. Int: I didn’t know that. I knew that Warfield and Belasco had put money in Loew’s company when he opened with one reelers. But I didn’t know Warfield had made such a fortune. Helton: Oh, yes. He was one of the wealthiest actors that ever lived. Int: I heard that when he played Shylock he wanted to play him sympathetically. I can see why he felt Shylock was right. So we’ve established that Belasco was looking for good actors all the time, was just engrossed in the theater, probably seeing a play, if not his own, every night. Let * s move to another area. The Return of Peter 238 Grimm went on tour; you were with it for a year or two. Helton: Three years. Int: Did you see Belasco again during the run? Helton: Oh, yes, he came down all the time when we were in New York. We never saw him when we were on tour. We saw him for the first two weeks we were in Boston. You see, we opened that play, if Ifm not mistaken, in January, 1910, in Boston. We played Boston, Washington, Baltimore, and Chicago the first year. As a matter of fact, Peter Grimm was the first play at the Blackstone Theatre in Chicago--we opened the theatre. That was in 1910. In September of 1911, we opened in the Belasco Theatre in New York, and played all through that year. The third year we went to the coast. We toured out here to the coast. Int: When you were doing the run in New York, would he drop in? Helton: Oh, yes. At least once a week. Int: Would he make comments? I mean more than congratu latory- - Helton: Oh, yes, he would come back to your dressing room. He would visit everybody and tell them what or where he thought they were overdoing it, or doing something wrong. He changed anything he didnft like; he would tell you about it. Int: Of course, he had a stage manager with the show. William Dean? Helton: No, William was his general stage director. He did all the plays. . . . Int: What I am trying to arrive at is how much control did he give to his stage managers, his company manager, and how much remained with him? Helton: The stage manager, in a Belasco production? When a play was in New York, he had no control, because Belasco 239 would always do it himself. But naturally, when you went on tour, Belasco would, perhaps, never see it. He would have the stage manager watch. But I donft think many actors pay much attention to a stage manager, anyway. Int: No, that’s rather traditional, isn’t it? Helton: And, of course, there is another thing that Belasco did. When we were on tour, on the way to the coast, we were playing in Detroit, Michigan, and I got a wire from Belasco. He very seldom wrote you; he always sent wires. He sent me a long telegram telling me that I was to leave the Return of Peter Grimm in four weeks, and I was to come back to New York, to go into a new play, The Good Little Devil. Int: And Ernst Truex got it. I talked to Ernst Truex about his performance. Helton: This is true. I have the wire to prove it. Ernie Truex got that job simply because Warfield wouldn’t let me go. He screamed and yelled that he was going to San Francisco for the first time in fifteen years and he wasn’t going to go with an understudy and all that sort of thing. Oh, he raised hell. I never forgave him for that, either. Of course, he was a great artist; there was no doubt about that. But he was a very strange man. He wouldn't even put a thing up on the bulletin board to his company at Christmastime, wishing them a Merry Christmas. He was the star. Int: The plays that you played in for Belasco didn’t have any female stars. Did you ever notice Belasco handling his actresses any differently than his actors, or consid ering that they had a different problem in acting? Helton: Oh, I don’t think so. He may have with some. They say that naturally he was always more or less in love with several of his stars: Frances Starr, Ulric, and Beth Merrill. The leading woman with us was Janet Dunbar; there was never any romance there at that time, I'm sure of that. Of course, the other woman was Janet Beecher and I'm sure there was nothing there. But they do say that he was in love with Blanche Bates and Frances Starr. 240 Int: He seemed not only to be able to meet the personal ity of the actresses but, at the same time, the actors. Did you feel that he adapted to your personality? Helton: Oh, yes, he definitely did. Int: Did you feel that he understood you? Helton: He understood everybody; he had a great under standing. Of course, I think Warfield was his greatest male star. This man had a terrific following. I don't think we ever played to an empty seat the whole three years we were playing. Int: Warfield was really in demand? Helton: Oh, yes, he was a big star. Why, in San Fran cisco, for instance-- We left Seattle, closed in Seattle, and we always had our own car for the company and the crew. We left Seattle and we got caught in a snow storm and, of course, our set was a solid wood set. It took eight hours to put it up. We had a bridge running straight across the front of the proscenium arch. On that bridge were eleven electricians, each one with a baby spot. We didn't get to Seattle until about three o'clock in the afternoon, and the curtain didn't go up the opening night. When we got to San Francisco, late in the afternoon and, of course, it was supposed to be an 8:30 curtain. The curtain didn't go up until a quarter past eleven, on account of this set, and there wasn't one single ticket turned back; they waited for this man. He was a great actor, there is no doubt about that. Int: Well, have we left anything unsaid about Belasco? I'm concerned, as I said earlier, about his technique-- those things that made him a different kind of director. If he is worthy of being famous, why? And we've mentioned quite a few things. Helton: He had a terrific insight into people. He got so that you almost felt he was a father to you. Everybody loved him. They thought, of course, that he went overboard with his realism, so much so that it became phony. But this isn't true. I don't think I would ever call Belasco a phony in any respect. He was too real to be phony. JAMES KIRKWOOD April 7, 1961 Kirkwood: When I went to New York, I played in one play at the American Theater over at 8th Avenue, on 42nd Street. But outside Of that I didnft do anything in New York until I went with David Belasco. Int: That was The Girl of the Golden West, wasn't it? Kirkwood: Yes. Int: In 1905? Kirkwood: 1905 and 1906, I believe. Int: In 1905 you opened in Washington, and then brought the play into New York later. Kirkwood: Yes, Blanche Bates was the star, and there was Robert Hilliard. He was a very handsome man. Frank Keenan played Jack Ranee; he made a big success of it. Int: The Girl of the Golden West ran for 224 performances. It was really a successful play. This was right in the heyday of Belascofs directing ability and his career. Kirkwood: He was the greatest.1 He was, without question! Int: In what way? Kirkwood: Well, when he put a play on, it was a cinch it would run a whole season; that's a most remarkable thing. He was a great student of the drama, and he knew values. When he engaged a cast there never was a change made. He 241 . 242 knew the actors and actresses, and he was so great that if you were playing a part and you couldnft get his idea of the characterization, he'd say, "Well, now--this was his great thing--’Veil, now, maybe we're a little mistaken about this. How would you do this?" Int: He did ask the actor? Kirkwood: Oh, yes. "How would you do this?" You'd do it this way, and then he'd work on your way of doing it. Int: He did? Kirkwood: Oh, that's why he was so great. Int: When he was first working with an actor on a part that was difficult for an actor to perceive, how did he do it? Did he ever show an actor what he wanted, or did he explain what he wanted? Kirkwood: He would explain, but then sometimes he would show them. Int: He stayed right on stage and went through the block ing? Kirkwood: Yes. Int: Do you remember where you rehearsed The Girl of the Golden West? Kirkwood: That was at the Belasco Theatre. The Belasco Theatre was then on 42nd Street. . . . Int: And he just talked to you across the footlights and, occasionally if he wanted to show you something, would he walk up on the stage and go through the blocking? Kirkwood: One day, when we were rehearsing Ladies of the Evening, he had luncheon sent in and it was good food, not any cold stuff. It was really good food from a fine res taurant. You never left the theatre during the day when you were rehearsing. 24J Int: Why do you think he did that? Kirkwood: Well, he wanted his people there, and while you were all eating at this long table set up on the stage, he would study people, watch them, and watch their reactions. Oh, he was a wizard, he was really a wizard. Int: You mentioned playing in Ladies of the Evening in 1924. Kirkwood: Yes. Int: Did Belasco, in the earlier play, The Girl of the Golden West, feed the actors lunch at the theatre? Kirkwood: Oh, yes. Int: He did it in 1905 and 1924? Kirkwood: Yes, and one day we were rehearsing at the Lyceum Theatre--that1s where Ladies of the Evening went on--but we rehearsed at his theatre with all these differ ent pictures. And he said, ,fLook at that red-headed boy up there.” And I said, ”Yes, sir, I am.” Great tremendous cast it was, and he said, ”James, what’s the difference between $35.00 a week and one thousand dollars a week?” ”0h, I said, ”you've been looking up the salary list.” He said, ”Yes, I have,” and he laughed. I was getting a thousand dollars for Ladies of the Evening, and I got thirty-five dollars a week for The Girl of the Golden West. Int: In nineteen years you had changed a little bit. Kirkwood: Oh, he was a wonderful man. . . . Another thing that I found out in the ”taIkies” and on the stage. I remember Belasco saying that the boy in the top row paid fifty cents, and he’s entitled to hear every word spoken on this stage. I always remembered that. Int: Would it help an actor today if he could study how to be a director? Kirkwood: That’s a good question. Some actors would make very good directors and others wouldn’t. 244 Int: I don*t mean that they would study to become direct ors, but rather that they would learn what is involved in directing. Kirkwood: Yes. In the last scene of Ladies of the Even- JLng, Beth Merrill had been a prostitute and it was through me that she became decent. We were rehearsing the last scene. It took place in the bedroom, but the censors walked in and we had to change it, and we made it into a street scene. One day she said to Mr. Belasco, who was in love with her and she was in love with him, l f Every time I stop talking, Mr. Kirkwood will say, fI love you.1 He has that phrase in his part eight times. He says it about fourteen or fifteen times, Mr. Belasco.1 1 Mr. Belasco was out in the auditorium. He said, "When my James says, fI love you* the way he does, he can say it a hundred and fifty times.” She hated me. Int: You mentioned the scene in the bedroom that the censors forced you to change. Do you think Belasco cre ated these scenes that were apt to be censored, knowing that they would make for good box-office? Kirkwood: Oh, certainly. Interviewer: It seems like a paradox, because he walked around with his clerical collar and appeared to be very religious. Kirkwood: He was wonderful. He was glorious. . . . Int: When you were in Ladies of the Evening, did Belasco have the set on stage when you started rehearsal, or did that come in later? I had an indication that he might have already had the set made before you started rehearsal. Kirkwood: He would have them made pretty quickly. He was very particular about his lighting. He was a master. Int: Did you ever know his lighting man, Louis Hartmann? Kirkwood: Yes. N iV 245 Int : 1*111 trying to weigh how much Hartmann :did and how much Belasco did in creating the lighting effects. Kirkwood: I think sometimes Hartmann would know instinc tively what Belasco wanted. He was an artist. He would always get a script long before a play went into rehearsal and he would study it over. He was wonderful. Int: Would Belasco be there at the first rehearsal to block the show, or would he have an assistant director or stage manager do that? Kirkwood: Sometimes he*d have his assistant at a couple of the rehearsals; but that*s all. He couldnft keep away. He said to me one time, years after I was with him for Ladies of the Evening, f f James, do you remember coming to see me the first time for The Girl of the Golden West?1 1 I said, ,fIndeed I do.1 1 He said, **When you came into my office to see me, you came in with your hat on and then, of course, you took it off. Did you buy that hat because you knew this was a western play?1 1 After all those years! I said, "Indeed I did, Maestro!** He laughed, and said, flI knew you did!*1 I had an engagement to see him, and I was walking on Fifth Avenue, going by Brooks Brothers, and here was this hat. It was semi-western--ten dollars. And I went in and got it. He laughed. Imagine him remem bering that. No actor would go in to him with his hat on; but I did, because I wanted him to see me with it on. Int: You were pretty shrewd in doing such a thing at that stage of your career. Kirkwood: Sure. Int: You told me that he would get angry at somebody in the cast--it might not be the one he was really angry at. Did he ever tell you that he was just doing that in fun and that he didn’t really mean it? Kirkwood: No, but you knew damn well he was. He never told me that, but you knew it. He was shooting at Frank Keenan or Blanche Bates or Robert Hilliard. Int: Did he ever break any properties in anger? 246 Kirkwood: Yes, he did. If the thing was slowing down after two or three weeks* rehearsal, he*d come up on the stage and go over to the table where the properties were, and he*d smash a lantern, dishes, or some damn thing-- throw them off the table--and yell, f , These things are no damn good!*1 They*d be perfect. That would perk everybody up. I think they knew that he meant them. Int: Could you tell me again about Mr. Belasco*s temper? Did he really lose it? Kirkwood: Oh, well, I told you about how he would have two or three people, and he would just raise cain with them and they would look at him in amazement, but he was shoot ing for somebody else, do you understand? Int: Do you think he used this loss of temper to get people excited? Kirkwood: Oh, yes, but he would talk to these people and say, **Now why did you act like that? Why don*t you have some gumption? Why don*t you have some spirit?** And they would look at him in amazement. They were all right, but in the meantime they thought he might have meant Frank Keenan or Robert Hilliard or John Cope, or the star--you see what I mean? Blanche Bates was the star. . . . Int: Blanche Bates was a successful actress before she started working for Belasco? Kirkwood: Yes, she was. But it*s a funny thing--of course, you needn’t publish this--but they talk about salaries the people get today. She was a Belasco star and she got five hundred dollars a week; just five hundred dollars a week. ROLAND V. LEE May 29, 1961 Lee: These are a few impressions that I have of Belasco and they have lasted very vividly over a period of many years because of the unique personality of the man. He is one of the few people that I had ever heard of who was a legend while he lived. He lived the legend to the hilt. A fascinating man who was so deeply imbued with everything that had to do with the theatre that there was no other kind of life for him; there was no time in his life for anything but theatre. And, of course, theatre to him meant the handling of actors and the handling of an audience which was one of the most important things and which, of course, is the very essence of showmanship. Not only the actors but how the actors can catch the attention and imagination of an audience--this was a particular phase of Belascofs work, part of his creative pattern in which he was a wonderful master. His work extended through the ac tor to the audience to the theatre so that the whole theatre seemed to take on an atmosphere, glow, warmth that I have never seen in any other theatre throughout the world He had that gift of making an audience feel that when they entered the theatre and gave their ticket stubs to an usher, that they were going into a sanctuary of the the atre. There was never any loud talk at any time in the theatre. Very few directors have been as audience-con scious as Belasco. There was never a white light inside his theatre. They were all soft warm lights, and so imme diately he captured an audience even before the curtain went up. Well, of course, this is a mark of a true artist. In the handling of his people he was very unique. The first thing he did in engaging an actor was to impress that actor with his own presence--! mean Belascofs pres- 247 2481 ence. He staged his interviews with an actor exactly as he staged a play, and I can best illustrate that by giving you an annecdote of how I happened to work for Mr. Belasco. When I was sent for for an interview with Mr. Belasco, two days before I yias to see him I donft think that I even saw the sidewalk or was conscious of any other personality in the world. I was in a haze of indecision, a little fear, apprehension, and yet, even to be selected for an inter view, was such a wonderful experience that I just floated and I had a complete loss of appetite. I was playing in the theatre at the time and someone remarked that I had the nBelasco fever,1 1 which, of course, was true. On the morn ing of the interview, I remember plodding along in my Barbizon because there was slush and snow on the ground. I passed the theatre many times because I was in the neigh borhood about an hour before I was supposed to appear, and finally it came time for me to go into the sanctum sanc torum. I was taken up in a small elevator to his studio. His studio was a hallowed place that everyone knew about but very few were permitted to see. After get ting out of the elevator I had to go up another flight of stairs and then into a hallway and into the museum itself. The museum looked like his studio really, but you see, the Belasco studio had a central aisle and then certain cubi cles and it had wonderful paintings and those little cases with ivories and jades and things that he had collected over a period of years. I was told to sit down inside his studio on the bench. I did, and the man disappeared and left me alone, so I sat there for ten or fifteen minutes and as the min utes went along I became more and more conscious of the fact that my stomach was pressing upwards on my adamfs apple. Finally a man appeared from another doorway and said to go into the vestibule. I was ushered into a smaller room and I sat on another bench for fifteen min utes. It never occurred to me at this time that this was part of the staging of an act--that this interview was being staged. Then a man appeared--they always seemed to appear, and said, , f Mr. Belasco will see you now. You can go in that door.” There was a door on my right and as I opened this rather wide door at my left I could see there was a huge mirror, very large, and then I saw myself. 249 Well, I had already taken off my coat but now I took off my muffler, straightened my tie in the mirror and gave a pat to my hair, looking at myself, trying to avoid my own eyes. Suddenly, in the mirror, I saw the reflection of Belasco; he just sat in his chair pushed backward behind the screen, and there he was. Well, I turned and saw him, and he got up smiling, very nice, and he said, ,!Ifm very happy to see you, Mr. Lee., f He was very warm indeed, and he said, nI think perhaps I have a part for you in my play. I want a young man like you and I have a feeling that you are a very good actor. What is your salary?” At that moment I would have worked for him for nothing. That is one of the reasons Belasco very candidly arranged these interviews, because people would work for him for very little. He always paid a low salary, but somehow or other I told him I wanted seventy-five dollars a week. He raised his eyebrow. ”Seventy-five dollars,” I said, ”yes, yes.” Where I got the tone of decisiveness, I donft know. ”Well, there is another gentleman I have just interviewed and he is waiting over here. I would like to see you two together because you will have a number of scenes together.” So from some other part of this very large studio appeared a man by the name of Hayward Gine, an actor, a very likable guy. So he turned us back to back, he turned us around. ”Shake hands. Fine. Do you sing, Mr. Lee?” ”1 sing. Ifm not a singer.1 1 He said, ”Neither am I. Come out into the studio. I want to talk to Mr. Royer,” his manager. ”Here. You might be interested in some of these things I got in Japan, and I will see you again in a few minutes.” Well, then came this awful period of waiting. We probably made some conversation between us, Mr. Hayward Gine and myself, but I have no remembrance of that because all I could think of was, ”1 was very strict about that seventy-five dollars. Maybe I will lose this job.” And I was just kind of heart sick because I was afraid I had made a mistake. Finally he came in with his manager. He took me by the arm and said, ”1 like you both very much.” And so the manager said to him, Louis Madsen was his name, a large, fat, red faced man. He was his casting director, or part of his managerial staff anyway. Louis Madsen said to Mr. Belasco, ”How much salaries do these gentlemen want?” He said, ”Mr. Ginefs salary is sixty dollars a week and Mr. Lee wants seventy-five.” And Madsen said, ”Dear, dear.” I ! thought I was through at that moment and I had a horrible feeling. And Belasco said, "I like them both; we*11 pay them both seventy-five." Somehow or other I floated down, lifted by the wings of angels or something, and made my way back to my family in uptown New York. I didn*t want to talk to any body until I saw them and could tell them... I forgot to tell you that one of the strangest things happened after Mr. Belasco said he liked me for the part. "He has the youth and the quality that I want." He turned to me, a very warm and ingratiating smile; he had a monolithic character, a great depth of feeling which he projected and which surrounded him with an aura that to me, particularly at that time, seemed to belong to an archangel and not to any living human being. He said, "You know, Mr. Lee, I have watched you for several years. I saw you first when you were playing Tony Lumpkin in She Stoops to Conquer in high school production in the Carnegie Lyceum." I gulped, "You did?" And he said, "And I saw you when you were giving a special performance here in the Astor Ball room at the Actors Equity Association play for entertain ment." They gave a special entertainment to raise funds for the Actors Equity. "That was just two months ago and I thought you were excellent at both performances. You have the actor in you; it will be up to me to see if I can bring some of it out." I found out later that Belasco saw every show and that he followed actors. Any actor, to him, belonged in the theatre and, as he belonged in the theatre and was part of the theatre and was certainly the king of the theatre at that time, he knew his subjects as Napoleon knew the members of his army. It was a very unique thing for a man of Belasco*s stature to remember a high school actor, even though we had played the Carnegie Lyceum and it was sup posed to have been the best amateur group. He saw these things all the time. I spoke to you before about Belasco*s being so much a part of the theatre that he was the theatre. When I went to the first rehearsal I discovered that he was not only rehearsing our play, which was Seven Chances by Roi 251 Cooper McGrue, but he was also rehearsing another play called Little Lady in Blue in the stage upstairs. The theatre was so constructed that he had a full rehearsal room with the exact dimensions of the stage, real stage, and thatfs where most of the rehearsing was done so he would be rehearsing two things at once--or he was at this partic ular time. The Little Lady in Blue had already been on the road, but he was changing a number of the actors for it and at the same time he was writing another play, Tiger Rose, in his studio with Willard Mack. He had an infinite capac ity for work. He never seemed sleepy, he never seemed tired, 1 never saw him yawn. He was just a captive from the mood of the theatre. Int: Would he move between these three jobs during the day? Lee: He would be with us in the morning, for example, rehearsing. He would leave. Of course, it was none of our business where he went and finally, if I happened to go down into the green room, which was beside the rehearsal room downstairs, if I remember correctly, I would see him down there rehearsing these other people. And then, if Roi McGrue would take up some of the rehearsing, or the stage manager would hear us in our lines, pretty soon someone would ask, , f Where is Mr. Belasco? We would like to ask him about this.1 1 , f Well, he is up there with Mr. Mack now, working on Tiger Rose.1 1 So he would come down and, in this particular show, it was cast almost entirely with young people and they were all so thrilled to be there and everyone was working so hard to please Mr. Belasco. That is something you shouldn*t do--work to please him--because he wasn't thinking about being pleased himself. He always saw through the actor to the audience and this is what he wanted to get--that projection. I have seen him, on occasion, prove this very thing that I just told you. Now 1*11 go into some of his rehearsal technique. I remember very vividly an actress who was very tense, terribly tense. She was an excellent actress, already had an established reputation on Broadway, her name was Ann Meredith, and she was a very serious, tense student of the drama. We played for about eight or ten weeks and then we 252; went to the Belasco Theatre and we played there until along the first of November. In other words, it was seven teen weeks and then they were going to go on the road. Seventeen weeks wasn’t too bad a run, but it wasn’t one of his big shows. Ann Meredith was extremely tense and eager and a real student of the drama. After she had rehearsed a scene, she turned very dramatically to Belasco, clasped her hands together, and said, "Mr. Belasco, I have the feeling that I am not pleasing you.” He advanced toward her and rather sternly rebuked her by saying, ’’ Miss Mere dith, I am not at all interested in having you please me. The thing you must always bear in mind is, you must please the audience, and in order to please the audience you have to have complete rapport with the rest of your fellow players. Please, Miss Meredith, please stop thinking of me. Now, play the scene.” Belasco, as everyone else in the theatre, had his ups and downs. He had a down period for several years and the season previous to the one in which I worked for him he had a big success called The Boomerang. This brought him back on his economic feet and so he was very amiable, very kindly toward the world, and in this company composed, as I told you, of young people, he seemed to enjoy working with young people, it was probably a new springtime of his later years, I would say. Of course, his hair was white then. I think his hair was always white. I don’t know how old he was, probably in his late fifties at this time. He exuded good humor because he was surrounded with people that were earnest students in the first place, people who took their work seriously, and yet had the bubble of youth. It seemed very contagious and he got inoculated with this. Roi Cooper McGrue who had written this play, and who had written a couple of very successful plays, had tossed this play off. It wasn’t a good play, really. It wasn’t Belas co material, I think; it wasn’t meaty enough for him. They would sit out in the third row. Belasco was in the shadows where you couldn't see, laughing down there. He seemed to enjoy the company itself. Matty, who was the famous prop man, and Louie Hartman, who was the incompar able stage electrician, said they had never seen Belasco in that mood before, so it was particularly fortunate for me to have been associated with him at this time. 2531 I want to show how he invoked his discipline. First, I will tell you a little amusing incident that hap pened with me. They discovered that I could not say the word particularly1 1 without having to stop and kind of stumble over it. I just muffed the word, and diction was something he was very, very adamant about. "There is no use opening your mouth unless people can hear you, and people must be able to hear you in the top-most balcony. Read that line again, Leely., f Interpose here that he gave me the nickname and I donft know that he nicknamed anyone else. But Belasco and Will Rogers are the only two people in my life that ever called me Leely. He said, "Read that line again,1 1 and I read the line. We were in the process of rewriting the play during lunchtime. After lunch, they would be writing, and after lunch they handed me a couple of new speeches and I looked at it; it was very long. I said, "Gee, this is great." What more could I say? So I started on the scene, and he said, "Read that," and I went in. Well, every other word was "particularly." Here I went into this thing, "particularly if you liked this particular place." I was just beginning to get wise to this thing and perspiration was really spouting from me when I heard this wonderful laughter down below. Belasco came right to the front, put his hands on the brass rail of the orchestra pit, and he looked up and he said, "Leely, you won’t ever have to say that word again." But if anyone has ever started to get a little fresh or out of hand, Belasco would step in with that most incisive biting sarcasm sometimes, and sometimes just bluntly say, "Stop it." There was one particular day, Frank Craven, who was playing the leading role in this play, was feeling very funny, and he cut up some pranks. Changed some of the lines, twisted them around, and Belasco came up the stairs, stood right in the middle of the stage and Craven had, of course, great distinction because he occupied the star dressing room. So he said, "Frank Craven, there will be no more of this levity on this stage. If it is your intention not to give a good performance, if it is your intention to make fun of other actors in the cast, I no longer have need of your services. It is your decision. What is your decision?" Of course, he said, "I’m terribly sorry," and apologized to Belasco and apol ogized to the whole cast at once. 254 There are no director’s tricks that Belasco didn’t know. He was the master of handling people. He would appear to be mad to get an effect; he would laugh sardonically, sarcastically at people to get an effect; he would embarrass people to get an effect, but there was nothing personal about the man at all--it was only a part of his profession that made him do these things. I will give you a real incident. There was a girl named Beverly West who was playing in this story, and she had an emo tional scene to do, the only emotional scene in this com edy. Though she sounded emotional, it never satisfied Belasco. There were no tears in her eyes and it wasnTt an all-out performance. He took her aside one day and near to a place where I was sitting on the rehearsal stage, and he said, , f Now, Hiss West, why can you not cry? How can you play, if you cannot feel the part? Now, if you can see the situation this girl is in, a situation that breaks her heart and makes her cry. You’ve cried in your own life, haven’t you?” Beverly West said, ”T know I shall cry tonight, Mr. Belasco.” ”Yes, but that is on your time. Now you must cry. Unless you can feel that emotion--a real actor can never act unless he himself has felt that emotion which he is trying to convey. Having actually felt that emotion, having had that emotion possess him completely, then, if he is a good actor, he can simulate it the next time.” . . . I am pretty fortunate to have seen a side of Belasco that does not seem to appear in stories about him, or in biographies I have read of him, or experiences I have heard about him from other actors. He enjoyed the company, enjoyed these people, as I have said. And when we were on the road, every night we always had a short re hearsal after the evening performance. The play was not really a good play and it needed a lot of work, and while it was never frantic there were always changes made. We would have these rehearsals as soon as the curtain came down. Then, he would say, ”As soon as you get your makeup off, there is a birthday party at the Willard Hotel (in Washington, this particular instance).” And so we would go and he would have the whole cast there, and bought them a supper, and we had champagne and whatever we wanted to have to drink, and he sat at the head of the table and I always sat--”Leely, you sit here”--near him. Why he liked 255* me I don’t know. Maybe it was because I was costing him seventy-five dollars a week. Anyway, then he would laugh and he was having so much fun. He never drank himself, but he would take a look, and he would pour the drink into my glass. I didn’t know anything about drinking either, you know, and one night I am sure I had--this is the time when people drank martinis after the theatre very late at night anyway--I must have had three or four because I know that I needed the help of another member of the cast to get up the staircase, but I was just feeling wonderful. It was just great, but he had such amusement pouring that drink, a little joke that a child would do, you know, really a great man! In the summer, when we were playing our last weeks of rehearsal preparatory to opening in August, Belasco was rehearsing two companies: ours, with Seven Chances, which was occupying the rehearsal room below stage, and The Little Lady in Blue, starring Frances Starr on the stage itself. He was starting rehearsing with us' down below to find out that we were going along all right. Working an act that I wasn’t in, he said, "Leely, come and hold this book for me," which was a distinct honor and a rare privi lege. So I sat down next to him with the script and the pad in the third row left in the center, and he started his rehearsal. Now, this play, of course, most of the actors had played it for a season in New York, but there were some new people, and he would turn to me every once in a while and say, "Jerome Patrick should not make his exit with so profuse an exit." I would make a note in kind of haIf-shorthand, though he remembered usually. It was rarely that he gave me notes, but he would turn to me on more than one occasion and say, "Do you think that is a good scene, Leely?" "Do you think that is light enough?" "Do you think that holds your attention?" which, of course, is a most complimentary thing. As a matter of fact, it was so complimentary that I couldn’t answer. I remember today that I was never bold enough to make any comment whatsoever. . . . In fact, Belasco never thought that he was holier- than-God, though many of the actors that surrounded him were quite sure that he was. Wore a broader halo than the Almighty Himself, particularly when they were working with 256 him. But he would always ask advice. He would ask advice from these old employees of his, such as Matty, the prop man, and Louie Hartmann, and he would ask advice even of actors that weren’t in certain scenes. He would say, "Do you think that was a good scene?" "Were you interested in that scene? I noticed everyone was walking out and paying no attention. There must be something wrong with the scene. I noticed also that that must be a good scene in the second act because everyone comes back for that par ticular scene. If we could only do that through the whole play, then we would have a hit, I am sure. There are points that are soft parts here, and whether we can ever strengthen them or not I don’t know." Belasco was so penetrating in his knowledge of human beings and their emotions that he was able to read their thoughts. He could tell the slightest bit of affectation on the part of any acting, and any slightest bit of fawning, which he de tested. They would say, "Mr. Belasco, you were such a wonderful director, it is such a privilege to work with you." This just disgusted him. He just turned and walked away and grunted something. He didn’t like that at all. I remember one particular actress of this cast who told him this several times, and he said, "You just mind your business." BETH MERRILL July 12, 1961 Merrill: When I first saw Mr. Belasco, he was berating a playwright. Mr. Belasco always used to say that nobody could stop him when he was angry. "It's like a snowball rolling downhill, and you cannot get anywhere with me until I hit the bottom." You know, he gathered momentum all the time. He said, "I will not have a man like you ruin my actors for me. Actors are like strings on a fine instru ment, and I will not have you treat them that way, and don't think I can't do without your play. I have several of these actors under contract, so I can still keep them and put them in a play. With my saying so, you're through. The line will just stay that way." Of course, I thought I would never get along with this man. A little while later, right in back of me when I was going on with the lines or something, he said, "Were you frightened?" I said, "Yes, I am," and he said, "Don't be. We had to do something about him. We can't have that interference." And we didn't have it. Many years later he had that same author-- who was going to write a play for Jack Dempsey; it was a musical play at the Belasco Theatre. He chased that author all the way out of the studio at the top of the Belasco Theatre along the corridor. The man just ran down one flight of stairs after another, and the chorus girls opened their dressing rooms and said, "Shall we get him for you, Mr. Belasco?" You know, speaking of his method of directing, Jimmy Kirkwood said to him one day, "Mr. Belasco, you know that scene that I have where Kay leaves and I talk to the other man? I've always wanted to cry on the stage, and I think that this is the first time that I have really had a 257 258 i part with a good place to cry." Mr. Belasco said, n0h, we could try it, James." The company, at last, got out of the rehearsal room, and so he started, tears in his voice and all that. Mr. Belasco said, f f Well, thatfs one way of having it, James." He never made him feel badly. "Now, herefs another way." He never was the one who would act. He wasn’t like a lot of directors who act all the time, unless he was practically compelled to, and he was in this instance, because he was going to show him something else. "And this would be another way you could handle it." I will give Kirkwood credit. He went over to him and put his arm around him and said, "Mr. Belasco, you could sell me the Woolworth Building." But Mr. Belasco let him do it. I said to him afterward, "Oh, Mr. Belasco, why?" And he said, "Why? All his life (and he had been in the theatre for years and years) he has wanted to do it, and he would always be frustrated about it. I knew he was an intelligent man, and he could see it." . Mr. Belasco said to Curtis Cooksey, "I expect Miss Beth to lift up her skirt and pull out her petticoat and wipe your nose with it.' . . . Put more manliness in it. I remember that play you did for Mr. Bradley--a very strong man of the North woods. Thatfs what I engaged you for-- that solidarity. Where is it? Itfs gone. Your voice is weaker than Miss Merrilfs." Someone had said that Mr. Cooksey was a vegetarian or a Theosophist, and they thought that was the reason his voice was so weak and had no resonance. Mr. Belasco, when he flew off the handle and laid down the law, said, "Mr. Cooksey, I understand that you don1t eat meat. Will you please do something for me? Get the biggest, juiciest steak you can find and eat it down; every last bit of it. Charge it to me; I111 pay for it. Youfve got to do something about getting some virility in the thing." Int: He must have come out of it; he stayed in the part. Merrill: Well, yes, he stayed in the part, yes. I don’t know what he did--whether he tried to do something to get more voice or what. He stayed in the part. With Mr. Belasco, as I say, every individual was different. He would watch a person. Today I was thinking about him and his direction, and I thought, when he was listening he 259i i wasn’t just listening as David Belasco, the director, was listening, but he was listening to those two or three j hundred people out front--what that would do to them. ! jWould that emotion carry? He didn’t have any trouble with | me because that was second nature to me. When he and Bill Herbert were writing this play called Virgin City for me, I would go to his office. And, of course, he had a dressing gown on when he was writing. He would have pins and a one-panel screen with burlap. His writing desk was a sewing table that had legs wound around with string to keep it intact, because he had written all his big successes on it. I don’t know whether it was superstition, or whether he liked it. He had his ! scissors. After the play had already been typed, they would read it again, and snip, snip would go the scissors, and he would cut out one page or one speech, and he would take that one speech and pin it there. He wouldnft throw it away unless he knew it wasn’t any good in the first place. He would transpose that into the second act. He would always know--because he knew the play. He lived it, and that’s why in the direction he knew all about it before anyone else did. I read in an article--I believe it was Guy Bolton who said it--Mr. Belasco never made a point of studying the play. Well, Guy Bolton was all wrong, because he knew more about Guy Bolton’s play than Mr. Bolton knew himself. He might loathe a play. He would be so much a part of it and it wouldn’t be the way he had plotted it as a director but, because he knew the play, he knew how those in the play functioned. Int: He knew the characters in the play, and he knew the plot and the plot line. Did you feel that he had in his mind the blocking he wanted when you worked a scene, or do you think he tried one idea and then another? Merrill: If something didn’t please him, he would immedi ately know if it was wrong. He would mentally make a note, and he would let them go through it. That was always for the actor; he was always thinking about not confusing the actor. But the next day, when they arrived, he would say, ’ ’Let’s try this scene this way.” Spmebody at Northwestern University asked me atout the overproduction of scenery in ! 260 i his plays. And I said, f , No.n I happened to be in a posi- i tion where I could refute that. Mr. Belasco always used to give me a play to read, i and he told me one time, ,fIf you ever get tired of acting in the theatre, you should be a play agent.1 1 He could sell practically any play, because after he would get through explaining it he would say, ”1 think we will sign for it.1 1 I would say, ”0h, no. Itfs lousy!” And he must have thought that expression was so foreign to me that sometimes he would direct something and he would say, n0h, no! What is that word that you use? Well, that is the way that was.1 1 He would say that about his own direction at the moment. So this play was brought up. I had read it, and I said, ”Mr. Belasco--” (It was a marvelous part, you know. The only girl with a bunch of men on a ship at sea, and, of course, all of a sudden I could just see what a wonderful storm, and the beginning of the storm starting to work, and the characteristics of the people, and the sea as it became more violent.) And when I said, ”That would certainly be exciting,” he said, ”The actor has a hard enough row to hoe on the stage without embattling scenery.” Now, thatfs the answer I used when they asked me about over-production. Always the actor came first. He never let any thing interfere, whether it was scenery, elaborate produc tion, or whatever. It wouldn’t interfere because, with him, it was drama or comedy. He was just as clever with comedy. A playwright had said, one time, that Belasco sometimes put a play that wasnft too great a play in the frame he did to make even the author think he had a better play. People would say Belasco collaborated, but it was the author’s play at first. Well, the author’s play would never have seen the light of day if it hadn’t been for what Mr. Belasco did with it. Of course, they resent it. I suppose all of them who worked for Mr. Belasco told you about the three ”p*s”? Patience, perseverance, and pluck? Int: No, I don’t think so. Merrill: Well, that is what he would always give as a ! recipe for success. He said he was raised on that by his mother. He just worshipped his mother. Just two days before he died, when I was with him and he hadn’t been j well, he spoke about his mother. She always called him | ’’ Baby.” She had told him about the three ”p*s”: patience, perseverance, and pluck. And he would always add, , f A little luck.1 1 When he made a speech about me on opening night, he used that, too. It was really, I am sure from what I’ve read about his life, long before I ever met him that that was part of his credo. The last time I saw that marvelous man was the day before he died. I don’t know whether he knew how fateful i everything was becoming. I didn’t. I knew he was ill, | but he said, ”1 want you to know what you have meant, coming into my life, epitomizing truth. There have been times when you have said, ’No,1 to a suggestion or some thing that I had made, where everybody else who had ever worked for me would have relished it, or said, ’Why, yes, I think you’re right.* And you could not bring yourself to saying ’Yes,* because you didn’t feel like it or didn’t feel that way. You didn’t know but what you would be through that very minute with our organization, and you still said, ’No.*” You asked me for an opinion: he told me that the last time I saw him. Somebody asked me one time, ’’ Did he leave you any money?” I said, ”He left me more than that. He left me appreciation.” MARY NASH April 22, 1961 Int: You worked with him in one play , The Woman? Nash: Yes, in 1911. . . . The Woman was a modern play, one of the first of his modern plays that was a great success. It was a political play about politics in Washington and most of it was spectacular in the way of production. That was his great genius. He was one of the first to be very careful about authentic things on the stage. The back grounds, costumes, and things like that should always be very authentic. The Woman was laid in a hotel in Washing ton and didn't require any costume or any-- Int: It was modern? Nash: The Woman was modern at the time, not elaborate in production at all. Just a part of a lobby where the tele phone exchange was. I played the telephone girl. There was a suite where all the politicians tried to get this telephone number out of me, and I didn't tell. Belasco, before that, had sort of a reputation for making people act, being able to control them, and brow-beat them into acting, so I was very thrilled at the idea. I thought that Belasco would do so much for me. But as a matter of fact he was so eager to have the part so natural and so simple that he wouldn't tell me a thing. Int: He didn't direct you? Nash: No, not at all. As a matter of fact, that was a great disappointment to me because I thought I would be dragged around by the hair of my head and made to act, 262 i 263, i " I ! which didnft happen at all. I remember one scene--I was young at the time, and hadnft done too much, and I was , sort of responsive and imitative. A woman playing the other part was a little bit hammy, you might say, and so she would get a little bit emotional in one scene. I, being young and not too experienced, would take her tone a little bit. Belasco didn't like that. He wanted my part to be very simple. So, after we went out of town with this, he would say to me, when we were going home, "What do you say to her when she says, *1 can't go on alone1?" And I thought, my goodness, he doesn't remember. I told him just last night what I said. And then I went on, sort of jabbering off quickly, because I was getting a little bored with the idea. Then he finally said to me, "Now state it that way when you're on the stage." He wanted me to get so used to saying it that I wouldn't take her tone; it would be so automatic with me that I could play it simply, like that. I had taken her tone. I had followed her--like, in music, you follow along--but he was anxious to get rid of that. He never told me what not to do, he just said, "Do it that way tonight." Finally I got onto the idea of what he wanted. He just didn't want me to get dramatic and emotional, too. . . . I remember he wanted the part to be very natural and simple and sort of helpless, so that in the scene when I was locked in the room with all of these politicians bang ing at me--there were about seven men in the scene--he had the chair built up so that when I sat there I couldn't touch my feet on the ground, you know. It would give me that sort of helpless kind of quality. That was a visual thing for the audience, too, and it helped me, too. You were just sort of like a puppet or doll. He was very keen on things like that. He always would have an artificial means that would help the actor and the audience, too. Int: Did he give the actor much business? Nash: Not too much, not in my case. I can't say about others. I know in some cases he was very full of business, but in this part he wanted this little telephone girl against all the politicians. He wanted that contrast to make it very simple. 2 6 - 4 _ j Int: How did he cast you for the part? j j Nash: That was a strange thing. The man who was his gen eral manager at the time, William Dean, suggested me for the part. Belasco had me learn the whole part on a gamble.: So I went--Stuart Walker was kind of an assistant there-- and so he had him come out and rehearse on the stage, and Belasco was way in the back of the theatre where I couldnft even see him. Stuart Walker read all of the other parts. One thing that kind of steadied me was that Stuart Walker got so nervous doing it all. So, then, it was all over, and I had really learned the whole part just on that gam ble. When I went home, I said to my mother, "Well, Ifve done the best I could with this. If I donft get it, I donft know whether I111 go on with the theatre or not." And I never heard a word from Belasco that day. The next day, late in the afternoon, he asked me to come down and sign my contract, and I said to my mother, "Well, I think he could have said something after I finished." He left me in that awful state of uncertainty and discouragement and he didn’t say anything until he told me to come down and sign the contract. Int: You had learned all the lines and you had been given a tryout? You’d been expected to have almost a character ization by then, before he cast you? Nash: Yes, I had, really. Int: Do you think he had done that with other people? Nash: I don’t know. I don’t think so. I don’t know why he did it. But I’ll tell you one thing. He tried this play out earlier, many months before, with Helen Ware in the part, and he thought she was too strong, too big a woman, and that it spoiled the effect. He wanted somebody who he thought was sort of young and unsophisticated. He only tried it out in a couple of towns, and then he decided he would change. Helen Ware was too powerful a woman, too dramatic an actress; he wanted more of an ingenue for the part. . . . Then he chose me for it. Of course, Belasco was an actor himself, you know. Very much of one. I remember my sister was in a play of his called The Lily. It was a big ! success, and when they applauded for Belasco he was always j so reluctant, and Nance OfNeil would practically have to j drag him on the stage. Florence was a sort of a wide-eyed j youngster at the time. She saw Belasco getting all ready before this, fixing his hair and everything, knowing he was going to go out. He caught her eye and he said, f l You and I are the only ones who know.” But you see, he covered it quickly by taking her in with him instead of having everyone think, Oh, what a charlatan he is. Int: He arranged this so that it was a little secret between the two of them? Nash: Yes, the little secret that he really intended to go on but was allowing himself to be dragged on. He didn’t want to really disillusion her, so he took her in right away and covered that. Int: Did he ever lose his temper when he was directing The Woman? Nash: No, not in The Woman, he didn’t. But I think he used to lose his temper when he thought that was the thing to do. I think all of his temper tantrums were thought out and worked out when he thought it was the time for it to be worked out. He was very wise, theatrically, very. He was a theatrical man, very much so. Int: Do you think he was almost acting all the time? Nash: Oh, I do. Int: When someone caught him in an unguarded moment, he said, "I’m just acting." Nash: Yes, "It’s just between us." Int: When you went into the show, I wonder how much of the set was on the stage when he started rehearsal. Nash: Nothing. One thing about Belasco, he was one of the first to get substitute props, if necessary, for people in the early rehearsal. If it wasn’t exactly the one you were going to use, it would be something like it. He was one of the first of the producers and directors to do that. Int: Early in the rehearsal? Nash: Yes, much earlier than other people did at that time. Int: What difference did it make to have them? Nash: Oh, it makes a great difference, particularly in time. Some producers don’t want to spend the money. If, at the dress rehearsal, you have to get used to all the things you have to do as well as play the part, the night before you open, that’s a very difficult thing. Belasco didn’t put people through that; he had the props a long time before the opening. For instance, in that play, I had the old-fashioned telephone. That was a great conven ience to have, because I had to learn the technique of the telephone switchboard at that time. So it got to be as it would be in a hotel at that time--automatic, you know. Int: When he directed that, where did he place himself? Nash: Well, he very rarely came up on the stage, as far as I was concerned, in that play, but I think he came up on the stage more in the play that Florence was in, The Lily. This one had already been broken in, so I couldn’t say as much about it as I could if I had started at the very first rehearsal. Int: Even though it was broken in, he was there at every rehearsal? Nash: Oh, yes, and then besides that he went on tour with us. It was on tour, just as we were walking along the street back of the hotel, that he would say to me, ’’ Now what do you say when she says, *1 can’t go on alone’?” Int: How often did you say he did that? Nash: Well, he did it two or three nights. And then, finally, the last time--each time he said it as if he 267“ : couldn’t remember--he said to me, "now you say it that way tonight." And then I grasped what he meant: I was getting too emotional. Int: But he didn’t tell you you were too emotional? Nash: Oh, no, nothing like that. He wanted to put it over without my being too self-conscious about it, you know. He knew that if I rattled it off that way to him, I would slip into the quality he wanted. Int: Do you think he told the actors what he wanted, or showed them? Nash: I don’t know. In this case, all the men who were in it were very experienced character men and he didn’t show them anything, nor the two women characters. But I think there were probably other places that he showed them. He didn’t in this case. Of course, with Mrs. Carter, he was supposed to have just beaten acting into her. She was a society woman. So he got the reputation of just beating acting into people. I think he was versatile to change his methods with different people. I think it depended on the person he was working with and the type of play. I think if he wanted great emotional height he probably would just get people up to the point where they forgot themselves and everything else and just let go. Int: Now, that’s interesting. In this play, didn’t it require a slower pace, or a lower key? And so he never blew up? Nash: No, he was versatile. He suited his methods to what he wanted and the type of play. Int: Did he ever take notes? Did he ever have a confer ence? Nash: No, I never knew him to. He knew exactly what he wanted and I never knew him to take notes. Int: Did he talk to the,cast as a group very much? 26W Nash: Well, I don’t know. John Colton was playing the j leading part opposite me. He had been in many plays before and had a style of his own, so I don’t know. I don’t think he did. I know that in the play Florence was in with Nance O’Neil, she couldn’t get the part. She would storm around and he handed her a kitchen chair and said, ’’ Break that.” She was annoyed because she couldn’t get it to suit her self. Int: Do you think he tended toward strong women in his plays? Larger women with strong voices? Nash: Oh, I don’t know. Of course, Frances Starr is i small. Frances is about my size. Lenore Ulric was small. Now Mrs. Leslie Carter was a bigger woman and Blanche Bates was a bigger woman and Nance O’Neil was a bigger woman. There was another thing. In those days, producers gambled their own money. Belasco was very extravagant, a spendthrift. If things weren’t right, he would throw them out and get new ones. Int: Did you get a feeling that he was fair, or maybe even a spendthrift, with his wages? Nash: Well, I don’t think so in wages. With Frances, and she was one of his top stars, he would pay her rent and everything was furnished to her, but he didn’t give her very much money. But, in my case, the salary was adequate. I got what I asked. I think he wanted the best talent he could get for each part. Int: If he wasn’t niggardly, you wouldn't be niggardly with your talent. Nash: I don't think actors ever are. If they are happy, or think they are appreciated, that makes a difference. I don’t think money has too much to do with it. I ROBERT 0*CONNOR June 12, 1961 Int: I thought we would talk about your experiences with Mr, Belasco in the production, Ladies of the Evening. O’Connor: Well, I’ll tell you. I had always wanted to work for David Belasco. In fact, all my life I had two great goals--and I made them both--that is, they were great goals to me. First and foremost, I wanted to be a Lamb. I am a Lamb, and then, before I finished in the theater I wanted to work for either David Belasco or Charles F. Frohman. By this time, ’24, Frohman was dead, so I had been doing a revival of The Deluge in Chicago under the management of Guy Bates Post. When I got back to New York they called me up from the Lambs. ”Mr. O’Con nor, the Belasco office wants you.” I said to the girl, who we were all very fond of, a girl by the name of Miss Kelly, I said, ’’ Who’s kidding me around there?” She said, ’’ Nobody’s kidding you. If you don’t believe it, I’ll get you the number.” So they gave me the number of the Belasco office, and I called it up, and I said, ’’ Robert E. O’Connor calling.” You see I never used Robert Emmett in the theater. I became Robert Emmett O’Connor when I came into pictures here in ’27. I spoke to a man by the name of Bert Simmons, who was Mr. Belasco*s general stage manager and he says, ’’ Can you come over right away?” ”No,” I said. And he said, ’’ What.”1 And I said, ”No.” I wasn’t bathed or shaved, and I had been drinking the night before--rather, well, Scotched-up--and I was carry ing a bit of a hangover, so he said, ”How about one o’clock?” and I said, ”0ne-thirty would be better.” So he said, ’’ Make it one-thirty, Mr. O ’Connor,” and I said, ’’ All right.” Anyway, I went down to the Lambs, had lunch, 269 270 and went over to the Belasco office and saw Mr. Simmons. Mr. Simmons said, "Well, Mr. 01 Connor, we can’t see Mr. Belasco until four ofclock.1 1 Mr. Belasco had been ill at the time. So I said, “That’s all right. I’ll be over at the Lambs. Call me up when you’re ready.” So, anyhow, at four o’clock I got back to the theater and was taken up this long stairs about which actors of those days used to say, "Each step your salary was reduced.” Of course, Mr. Belasco had an elevator when he went up, but the actor walked. Mr. Simmons, who was ahead of me, stood away from the door and flung the door open and said, "Mr. Belasco, this is Mr. Robert E. O’Connor." As I walked into this studio I saw it was full of art objects and vases that went almost to the ceiling, and at the end of this long white runner was Mr. David Belasco. This de crepit little figure in pajamas and a bathrobe, plucking at his forelock, and of course the humor of it struck me, and as I walked down the runner I started to grin, and Belasco came right out, straightened up, reached out, put his arm around my shoulders, and said, "Hello, Al, another hit for you, son." What he meant by A,1 was that I had done, The Old Soak on Broadway the season before and Al was the character X played. Anyhow, he said, "Would you mind standing behind that vase? I have another man I have to see." So I stood behind this high vase that went all the way to the ceiling, and the door opened. I don’t know how that signal was prearranged, but the door opened and I could hear Bert Simmons’ voice saying, "Mr. Belasco, Mr. John Carmody." John walked down the runner. He started to grin, and Mr. Belasco straightened out of it and called me out from behind the vase and put his arms around both Johnny and myself and said, "All right, boys, just right. You’ll have to fight it out with Simmons." So that was that and Mr. Simmons said to me (I don't know what he said to Johnny, but this is what he said to me), "Mr. O’Connor, do you want to talk salary today? If you do, you will have to wait." I said, "There is no hurry. We’re not opening until the latter part of November." He said, "How about tomorrow around eleven o’clock?" I said, "No," and he said, "Oh, no--how about one-thirty?" I said, "Fine. I’ll be over here around one-thirty." So, at one- thirty the next day, I was in Simmons* office and I will never forget his greeting. "Well, Mr. O’Connor, all we have to do is fight salary." I said, "There is no fight, Mr. Simmons.” "Well, Mr. 0fConnor, what is your salary?1 1 I said, "Before I tell you my salary, I have to preface it 1 by saying I have had two great ambitions as a young actor: One was to work with either Charles F. Frohman or David Belasco, and the other was to be a Lamb. I am a Lamb, C. F. Frohman is dead, but if I work with David Belasco, the price must be right. This what I want. You say this is the part (I had read it)., f He said, ’ Yes.1 1 'Veil, I go on the stage at ten-nineteen and I come off at ten- thirty; eleven minutes I am on the stage. 1*11 tell you what I want, and I want it before I start to rehearse.1 1 He says, "What's that, Mr. O’Connor?” ”1 want three hundred and fifty dollars a week,” which was fairly good money in 1924. It was the equivalent of fifteen hundred today. ”And I want ’the run of the play* contract before I go to rehearsals.” He looked at me a moment and said, ”Mr. O’Connor, you’re the most candid actor I ever spoke to. You know we can’t see Mr. Belasco until four o’clock or after. Can you be back at four-thirty?” I said, ”Yes.” I came at four-thirty and I not only got the things that I had demanded, but I got the thing that got me in trouble. He took an option, gave me a ’run of the play* contract and an option at three hundred and fifty a week. Then we went to rehearsal. You asked me what kind of director Mr. Belasco was. I would say this: Mr. Belasco was the greatest director that I ever worked under, and don’t forget, my friend, I have worked under many great direc tors, including Arthur Hopkins. But Belasco*s a man who knew how to direct actors because he understood actors. For instance, Belasco never called you by your first or last name. He would say ’’ Robert O’Connor,” ’’ James Kirk wood,” ’’ Edna Hibbard,” so and so, always the full name, never the first or last name. But he could sense if you were uncomfortable in a scene. If we were rehearsing, we were called to rehearse at ten o'clock in the morning. If, by eleven-thirty, two waiters had come into the rehearsal hall with the silencer and the linen and set up, we knew we were in for lunch. We always had lunch with Belasco between the morning and afternoon rehearsals. Always delicious food from the best places. As I say, Belasco never knew the value of a dollar. But here is an- example of an intuitive actors’ director. He would feel that you were uncomfortable and he would say, "Robert O’Connor,” or James Kirkwood, or whoever, "come here a 272 j 1 minute. I want to talk to you.” So, when the rest were I | gone, he would say, "Now, you don!t feel comfortable in | that scene, do you?" By this time you have possibly j rehearsed under him for three days and you had enough con- ! fidence in him. You had more confidence in him, you knew what he could do and you knew that he wanted to do the right thing by you. And you would say, "No, Governor. I don't feel comfortable doing what Ifm doing now." He would say, "Well, what do you want to do?" "I want to do so and so." And he would say, "Go ahead. Do it, do it!" So you do it. There wouldn’t be two rehearsals more be fore you begged to go back to what he had told you to do. And then his eyes would twinkle and he would say, "Well, if I hadn’t let you try, you would have thought I was wrong all the time." But he was always right. . . . Now, there is a theater that every actor who has served any years, it is his dream theater. Belasco gave it to you. Your stages were padded; your stage hands all wore rubber-soled shoes; there were no outside noises; you weren’t responsible for a hand prop. If you were using, for instance, a cigarette case with cigarettes, cigars, etc., or cards, there was a property man in the entrance before you made your entrance. He would say, "Here, Mr. O’Connor, here is your--" whatever you were using. So you weren't responsible for anything except your perform ance. Another thing about Mr. Belasco: there were no "don'ts," or no "musts." You don't do this, or you must do that. Now I didn’t go on until ten-nineteen at night. Had he told me that I had to be in the theater at the time the curtain went up, I would have resented it, and would not have come then. As a consequence, because he never told me anything, I was there before the curtain went up every night, and in my dressing room. . . . The next day at rehearsal, I had thoroughly made up my mind that I was going to play it my way or I wasn't going to play it. When we came to this scene, I suppose my Irish jaw was out six inches. It’s a wonderful thing that I can laugh at myself, because I know my own weak nesses. And so we got to this scene, and we started to rehearse it, and when we had finished it, Belasco said, J’ Wait," and he started to walk up and down. And he always had a pitcher of ice water and a great big glass to pour 273 1 I the ice water in on the prop table. He started to walk up and down in front of the footlights, and when he came j back to the table the second time he picked up this big glass and hurled it against the back wall of the theater. And he turned around and he said, "Milton Gropper, I know actors. Possibly you don't believe that. That is the ego of youth." And then he walked away from him again, and he came back again. This is the profane, in a way, and it is exactly what he said, "Milton Gropper, you are a very lucky young man. You will not realize that until later— that is the ego of youth. You’re lucky in the first place that I accept your rotten play, because it is a g--d rotten play." And he walks back and forth. Any way, the first minute I was elated when he was going after Gropper; a minute later I was never so sorry for any man in my life. Oh, how he did rave. At the finish of it he came up to me and he said, "Robert O’Connor," and I said, "Here it comes," and out in the alley I’m going. And I said, "Yes, sir?" And he puts his arm on my shoulder, and says, "You know what you want to do with this fellow, don’t you?" And I said, "I think so, Gover nor," and he said, "Go ahead and do it!" So that was the Belasco that I knew. . . Now we go to Atlantic City, and from there to Baltimore--no, we go to Washington for the try-out. Now, I’ve still got three blue lines iii this after the rehears al that I have been trying to get out, and I have found the easiest way of getting anything out. If you have to get them out, the stubbornness of the writer and the pro ducer will keep them in. So instead of drawing blue lines around them, or trying to hide them, I just hit them as hard as I could every time I played them. So, in Wash ington, as I make my exit, a hand comes out and grabs me. It’s the Governor, David Belasco, and he says, "Robert O’Connor, do you think such and such a line has any value?" and I always answered him the same, "I don’t know Governor. I’m still very nervous." And he says, "I don’t think it has; take it out." Now one line was out. I had two more to get out before I opened in New York. On Saturday, the same thing happens: as I make my exit, a hand comes out. It's Belasco, and he says, "Robert O’Connor, do you think such and such a line has any value?" And I answered him the same. He says, I don’t '274 think so. Take it out before the opening in New York.1 1 So we go to Baltimore. I play Monday night in Baltimore, Wednesday matinee, and Wednesday night, and I'm pounding that gosh-danged line trying to get it out. Through to Saturday matinee, and on Saturday matinee, when I am mak ing my exit, and my heart is down in my stomach, and a hand comes out and a voice says to me, "Robert 0*Connor, do you think such and such a line has any value?1 1 I said, "I don't know, Governor. I'm still very nervous." And you know, he said to me, "I don't think it has any value, Robert O'Connor. Take it out. But you know, I worried you all week!" So that's the Belasco that I knew--the kindliest man that ever lived, the man that loved actors. Well, he was an actor himself--he was always obviously acting. Int: He was? O'Connor: Why, certainly. I never saw the man walk up stairs. He always ran. And when he would say, "this little girl," and pluck at that forelock, he was acting, and it was good acting. The public believed it. Int: How about the actors? O'Connor: The actors? No, they didn't believe it, but they didn't deride him for it. They admired him for it. He was rehearsing The Dove, and he's got a--I forget who starred in that now. Int: Let me help you. Sidney Toler was in it. Holbrook Blinn? O'Connor: Hal Blinn! That's the one I'm trying to think of. And I'm trying to think of Frohman's Theater that they just tore down in New York. Int: The Empire? O'Connor: The Empire. He produced it at the Empire, and he overly produced it. We were playing, as I say, to capacity, and we were the first of the dramas that ever got six-sixty in New York on a Saturday night. What we were making was thrown in to keep The Dove, because The 275 ' Dove had been overly produced and with capacity audiences was losing money at the Empire. So, anyhow, he's rehears- 1 ing Hal Blinn--Blinn told me this himself--he is rehears- j ing Blinn and he's got a leading woman in there who is: supposed to be a voluptuous Spanish or Mexican lead and Belasco wanted him to take her and lift her up and seat her on the bar. Now Belasco, at the time, was seventy- six, and Blinn can't get it through his head, and Belasco says, "Stand down there; I'll show you." And Belasco goes into the scene, takes this woman, and lifts her up on the bar and says, "That's all I want you to do, Harry." He was a marvel among men. Not only that. When you first went in, of course most actors--with the exception of O'Connor, who didn't have any brains--had a great fear complex. I never feared anybody in the theater because I was in it from the time I was knee-high to a grasshopper, and I knew what was to be done, how it had to be done, and if it wasn't done that way, then I was wrong. I had no fear when I went in with Belasco, but most actors would because here was the god of the theater, the last word in the theater was David Belasco, because Charles Frohman was dead. After one rehearsal with him, you had so much confidence in him you lost all your fear of him and he became your friend. Int: Now, this is one thing that almost everyone has com mented about. One of his attributes is this ability to instill confidence in the actor. I know it is difficult to define that, but how did he do that at the first re hearsal? O'Connor: He would say, if you were wrong, "Have you thought over that line?" And then he would give you what he thought the line meant, possibly give you a whole new angle. The next day you would read the line perfectly, the way he wanted it read, and get the meaning for him that he wanted gotten out of that verbiage. You would give him the meaning, you understand? Int: You had the feeling that he understood this play completely in many more facets than any one actor. 276" OfConnor: I will tell you an incident that will tell you more about Belasco. We were rehearsing one day, the third act of The Ladies of the Evening, and Belasco shook his head. He said, ”Boys and girls, this stinks! Now I don't want any of you to leave here. Go out and play bridge, play whatever you want to, but donft leave the rehearsal.” And he called for that yellow paper, you know, copy paper, and I watched that man write an entire new third act of The Ladies of the Evening. I saw him do it in two and a half hours. He only wanted us there so he could look at his different characters. Int: Was Gropper there? Sitting at the table? 0fConnor: Yes, sitting there at the table. Int: Did they work together on it? O’Connor: They did not. Belasco would look at him and say, ”You don’t know. Just keep out of this.” OfConnor: You know, the greatest tribute that he could pay you to show you that you were pleasing him? He carried new quarters in the pocket of his coat, the same as Rocke feller carried dimes and if you did something to please him he would give you a quarter, and how you would work to get one of those quarters. Int: It really made a difference? O’Connor: The next day we rehearsed it. He read it and said, ’’ How does it sound, children?” We said, ’’ Fine, Governor.” Of course, that was the natural thing to say, but it did. The next day we were handed the additions to our parts and the--of course, I had very little to do with it because I only had the eleven minutes and most of that dialogue, if I do say it, myself, was my own. It didn’t belong to either Gropper or Belasco. So, anyhow, I want to get down to this--go on with your questions. Int: The next day when they rehearsed it, did you see a change in it? 277 O’Connor: Oh, we saw the thing grow. We knew, as actors, that the third act wasn't going to play. Actors are intu itive, you know. They know whether the thing will play or not, whether an audience is going to believe it. i Int: Now, when you went into rehearsal, you said he came the tenth day. Let's try to trace through the rehearsal period. When you first started the rehearsal period, did you read the play? O'Connor: We sat around the table and read the play. Maybe we read it twice. But if you worked for Arthur Hop kins you never got up from that table for a week. Hopkins used to force you to read the play. His angle on that was when you got on your feet you knew the play. Int: What about Belasco on that? ■ O'Connor: Belasco never insisted on that. Of course, he wasn't there. You wanted to know from the beginning of rehearsals. We read for two days, as I remember. Then we got on our feet and then--I can remember Bert Simons say ing, "Now all of this business that I'm giving you, don't take it too seriously because when David Belasco comes in he will most likely change everything, but I just want to get you on your feet so you're moving. And before David Belasco comes in, I want you up on all the verbiage. That was Belasco*s reason for not coming in until the tenth day. But don't forget there was the greatest espionage about the Belasco office I ever saw in my life. Int: How do you mean? O'Connor: There wasn't a thing done at any rehearsal that Belasco didn't know about. * Int: How did he find out? O'Connor: Nobody ever knew, but he knew it. How did he know about Gropper and I having trouble. I didn't tell him. He must have known it or he wouldn't have done what he did, would he? Int: Do you think he could have sensed it by the way you were acting? 278 i i O fConnor: No, no. If he was at San Francisco, at the end of a rehearsal someone was on the phone to him, telling him exactly what happened that day. He had the most reten tive memory of anyone I ever knew. Int: Do you remember any evidence of that? O’Connor: Now, I don’t, but little things that he would revert back to. After he got to where he was chatting with me, he would say, ’ ’ Robert O’Connor, you remember so and so?1 1 And I would say, ”Yes, he came from so and so, and so and so.” And then he would laugh and say, ’’ You’ve got as good a memory as mine, if not better.” Of course, in those days, don’t forget this, the young actor of that day knew all of the elder actors. If he didn’t know them person ally, he knew what they did and what their triumphs were. Like a man came into the Masquers Club. We had a very fine steel engraving of Booth. Now had this man been young, I could have forgiven him, but this man was between fifty and sixty, and he looks at this engraving of Booth and says, ”Who the hell is that guy?” Well, you could have heard O’Connor down to Vine Street, hollering. As I look back, I can laugh at myself. How silly! But then, never theless, that’s the way we felt about the theater. And the only thing that saved me from being a drunkard was the discipline of the theater. I loved liquor, but I never took a drink until that curtain hit the stage after eleven o’clock. And I haven’t had a drink in twenty-five years of anything, not even a glass of beer. But I take no credit for that. I say I never quit liquor; liquor quit me. I lost my taste for it; don’t want it. I’m Irish all the way through. If I wanted liquor, I would have it, Int: Belasco came into the rehearsal and about what time did you start rehearsing? O’Connor: We started rehearsing at ten o’clock in the morning, and we rehearsed until eleven forty-five. At eleven forty-five we went over and sat down at the luncheon table. Belasco sat at the head of it, Beth Merrill at his right side, next to Beth Merrill, Jim Kirkwood. On his left side sat Edna Hubbard and next to Edna I sat. If I could remember the things he would talk about. But oh, what a memory he had for actors, what they could do. 279’ | Int: He would talk about his past and about other people? O’Connor: About other people, and other peoples’ successes and without any bit of jealousy say, ’’ What a wonderful job he did.*” So when they say that he was a charlatan, all that I can say when this has been said to me in the past, I look at them and say, ’’ Did you ever work for him?” ”No.” ”Why are you saying he’s a charlatan?” ”Well,” he would say, ’’that’s what I heard--” And I said, ’’ The only ones you heard it from are the ones who never worked for Belas co. You never heard anybody who ever worked for Belasco say he was a charlatan.” Because he wasn’t. He was the last thing; he knew what he was doing, knew what he wanted, and he didn’t give a damn about money. He was always accused of loving money. He didn’t. He was prone to over produce everything. He wanted perfection. He was a per fectionist. He was the man who invented the mirror in the table--you know, with the light up here and reflecting down into that table and reflecting back into the actor’s or actress’s face. That was Belasco*s. He and his head electrician did more for the theater, I think, than any other two. I’m going to tell you something. Our dress rehearsal in Washington started at seven o’clock in the evening--this is for the play itself--and finished at two o’clock in the morning. That was the final rehearsal of the play. The next night we had light rehearsal. We go in there at seven o* clock--what time do you think we got out of there? At five A.M. the next morning. Int: Just the electrical rehearsal? O’Connor: Just the electrical rehearsal of lights. Oh, brother, what he knew about lighting and what this elec trician knew about lighting. Int: What would they do? O’Connor: Belasco would tell him what he wanted--he knew what he wanted--and this electrician could understand what he wanted. And I am damned if there was anybody else that could. He would say, ”Do you understand what I mean, Jim?” ’’ That’s what I want!!” The light better not be out of focus because he could tell. He was the first one that crossed people into lights and cross-lighted people, you know. Oh, but he was a marvel. . . . I NANCE O'NEIL July 12, 1961 Int: You said he was a wonderful director. In what way? O'Neil: So many directors impose their personalities on the people they are directing. Mr. Belasco never did that, and yet he had perpetuity. Of course, I am speaking now of his own beautiful theatre, which was perfection. One had the sense of being in a perfect atmosphere, which, in itself, is inspiring. But all he did, of course, I've heard all sorts of tales about his directing. I remember when I cam back, I was in England when I got the cable from Mr. Belasco, asking me if I wanted to come to America, and of course I did. He put a manuscript in my hands and said, "Read that." I did, and as I read along I realized that he had given me a wonderful scene to play. Int: Was that play The Lily? O'Neil: The Lily, yes. I said, "Do you want to see me, Mr. Belasco?" He said, "Oh, no.” So that was that. When he engaged people to act in his plays he assumed that they knew what they were about. He was very careful, very care ful. I was with him again in a play that Morris Gest put on, The Wanderer, at the Manhattan Opera House. I heard something that Mr. Belasco had said that I accepted as a very great compliment. He wanted me particularly for a certain part. He said, "I know her heart." I mentioned that, not as a compliment to myself, but merely for his capacity for understanding and for bringing out certain qualities. The best qualities that one had, he always brought out. And, of course, his theatre was perfection. We did The Lily out of town, and then we came back for opening in New York. I wasn't in the first act and so I 280 ! 281 j ‘ sat out front watching, and after the act was over and the lights were put up in the theatre, I thought really it was just like a jewelry box. The dressing room and the green ; room had a sort of a green brocade and two beautiful mir- j rors, one on either side, and all the details and chairs perfectly charming. That dressing room was just the kind of room that youfd think an awfully nice woman would like to dress in. He had that wonderful taste. Speaking of his direction... When he gave the play to David Warfield, The Return of Peter Grimm--I saw that and it was perfectly extraordinary; you couldn’t tell when he got on the stage-- Int: The second boy? O’Neil: When David Warfield came in as Peter Grimm, one was absolutely startled to see him. And then, another thing in that play that I thought was very charming... Did you know his secretary, Elizabeth Ginty? Elizabeth was a great friend of mine. And that charming little song, , f Uncle Rat has gone to town to buy his niece a wedding gown; what shall the wedding breakfast be? Hard boiled eggs or a cup of tea?” Well, anyway, this child is lying on the sofa dying and the circus clown comes in and he sings that little song. It was arranged so that the boy which he took away and the boy who was left there changed places, and you couldn’t see it. Int: You know who was in that part? The part of the boy? Percy Helton. I talked to him in Hollywood. He explained to me how that was possible. You have said a couple of things here which are very important. One was that Mr. Belasco cast experienced and intelligent people. He ex pected them to know what they were doing when he hired them. Secondly, that he respected an actor and he gave them ade quate facilities to work with. O’Neil: Yes, quite right. Int: Now, when he was directing you in rehearsal, what did he do that would have made him a better director than others? O’Neil: Well, I couldn’t tell you, except that he was. I had an experience in The Lily which is apropos of Mr. David ' 28T i Belasco. At the end of the third act, there was a great climax. By the way, our opening night we got thirty cur tain calls! Well, I went through this scene and came to the climax of the whole scene. The last line I said was, "He wonTt touch you again.” That was really a tour-de- force. I would get to that and each time it would fall I down flat on the stage, and I said, "Mr. Belasco, what is ! the matter with this?1 1 And he said, "That's all right. You111 get it, you'll get it, don't worry." And surely enough, and one of the members of the company said, "Miss O'Neil, I think the mistake you make is you make a slight pause just before your last line and that lets the scene go." It's an extraordinary thing, holding a scene up to a big climax. ] Int: Did you talk to Belasco about that? O'Neil: He was very nice to me and I did enjoy my associa tion with him. Int: Did he talk to you much about the character you were portraying? O'Neil: Oh, no. Well, he seemed to have confidence in me. I remember when I came there, the reviews were very com plimentary and the next morning when I came to the Green Room, Mr. Belasco was sitting there. He said, "Well, Nance 0'Neil"~-he always called me Nance 0*Neil--"how do you feel now?" And I said, "Mr. Belasco, I am very happy and I am very glad to have justified your faith." Int: Do you remember in rehearsing The Lily, did he do anything unusual to increase the tempo, mood, or action of the play? O'Neil: One thing he did. The scene was set for our first rehearsal. All properties were given us with our parts; we had them from the very first. For instance, there was a tea scene that we had in the second act. We went over that scene, I think, sixty times until it moved just exact ly with the ease that a natural tea would have. After that scene, Odette, the little part I played, went about picking up little things and arranging them, and among others there was this little curate's assistant, a little 283" thing with shelves where you put plates. They were real DuBarry plates. Mattie, the property man, and his whole staff were always waiting there, and I was always so glad to give him the plates. I had a vision of them sliding down into the orchestra pit and breaking. It never hap pened, however. Int: You say the properties were all there when you began rehearsal? What about the scenery, the set? O’Neill: Oh, that was a facsimile of what we would have. To show how detailed he was, I came to rehearsal one morn ing and his technical man was down on his knees in front of a very handsome tapestry with a safety razor, going over it to make it look old. That’s how detailed he was. Int: When you first started rehearsing, did you read the play together? O’Neil: Oh, yes, we started in the rehearsal room, down stairs, and we read the play. And then, Will Dean, who was his stage director, had arranged all the movements. And I.remember the next week Mr. Belasco came, and Will Dean said, ”0h, I am so delighted the Governor didn’t change anything.” FRANK REICHER November 24, 1960 Int: I am interested in anything that you remember or know about Belascofs directing technique: his manner of handling the actors, his manner of handling the techni cians . Reicher: Well, he handled each actor or actress according to their individuality. I told you the story about Mrs. Leslie Carter and one of the "shrieks1* he wanted her to make? Int: Oh, yes. That*s an old standard. Reicher: So, he stuck a pin in her behind and said, **That,s the shriek; now you*ve got it." Int: As you remember it, he used a hat pin on her? It wasn*t that he made her repeat it and repeat it until she was so distraught? Reicher: He had her repeat and she didn*t get it, and so he used a hat pin. Int: I think you said that she did it like that every night afterward. I mean, that she remembered. Reicher: Yes, she got it; he knew she had it, and she knew she had it. She didn*t know how to shriek, that*s all. Oh, well, a lot of these stories are built up, as these stories go around they don*t lose in the telling. Int: Belasco was present at all the rehearsals all the time? 284 285- Re icher: Another thing, he didn't let anyone go to lunch. He served lunch in the basement. Nobody left that theater while the spirit of rehearsal was on them. Thatfs an im portant thing that I almost forgot. He served lunch to the whole darn company. All he ever had was, what do you call that in English? a dish of clabber. When he was in his sixties, they said that he had a complexion like a young girl of seventeen all his life. Int: What was his manner in rehearsal? Did he have cer tain conventions about a rehearsal? In other words, did he start at a certain time; was he very businesslike? Reicher: Well, he generally rehearsed one act a week, then went to the next one. Int: And about how many weeks into rehearsal did he start to combine them? Reicher: Right from the first minute. The set, the props, and everything was right there. No substitutes. Every thing from the beginning. He was the only fellow that ever did that. And then, there was another thing. This was in The Secret. He had the set built, and it was all clamped together, and it was pulled up. Int: He flew it out? Reicher: No, it was pulled up. So he flew it out. Every little bit, down to a pencil or a spittoon, was on that stage when you came to your first rehearsal. Int: Did he expect you to know your lines at your first rehearsal? Reicher: No. He did have reading rehearsals; we had those in Germany all the time, you know, when we get them all acquainted. But I didn't read the play to them; they read the parts. Int: Do you remember with Marie Odile--you started with that show first--did he read that play to the cast? 2861 Reicher: No, no, I donft remember if we had anything like that. That particular instance, I know he did not. . . . I told you he.rehearsed six weeks. Int: Did he put the show together, all three acts? Reicher: Oh, yes. That would come during the last week, of course, when he had the whole thing. Int: He would do that, say, in the sixth week? Reicher: Well, maybe in the fifth. Int: I see--he sustained it; that's interesting. What about costumes? Did you have those at the beginning? Reicher: Well, they were around, but we didn’t wear them. Int: You didn't wear those until the last week of the dress rehearsal. Reicher: Do you know that he was the inventor of the baby spotlight; well, not the inventor, but he had the most marvelous electrician who worked in the basement. Int: Louis Hartmann? Reicher: Yes, do you know what that man did when he was not working with his fingers and thinking? He played cello to himself. I caught him at it. Oh, we was wonder ful. You know The Girl from the Golden West? You know the card game that she plays with the sheriff, and she cheats? That's where the first baby spot came in. It came from the footlights, and it just lit up her ankle and the stocking. The stage was bright otherwise, but that was just another new--you didn't know it unless you were on the stage and saw it. But people saw what she was doing. Not just a gesture; they saw really in detail what she was doing with that card. That was Frank Keenan who played the sheriff. Int: Who else working with Mr. Belasco were his key help ers? We have Louis Hartmann and Benjamin Roeder. _ 287_ I Reicher: Of all the stage directors he had--there were so i many, I canft remember. Neither one of them, except Bill, ; j Jack, or something. ] I I ; Int: Were they pretty good men, or were they-- i Reicher: Oh, yes. Sometimes they got "hell,1 1 like with that dish that he had to smash that didn’t look old enough. Int: Well, what I am wondering is if they were good direc tors on their own, or if they were just helpers for Belasco. Reicher: They were stage managers. They ran the lights and everything, you know. Int: Did he allow anyone in the auditorium during the rehearsals? Reicher: I can’t remember. I don’t think I ever saw any one ever in there. Except maybe he had his stage manager there with him. But then, you see, he sat on that plat form there, so he was exposed to things, unless he stopped for something and caused a fracas, or something like that. But, no, he was on the level with his actors. Int: If he had a suggestion to make to an actor or an actress, did he just tell them from his table, or did he go and talk to them rather-- Reicher: Well, sometimes one thing, sometimes another. I don’t think he went up on the stage for lines, except for arrangements, groupings, and things of that kind. At least, I am only talking about two plays. Int: I only want your firsthand information. Reicher: I can’t really generalize it. I only know that he was supposed to be the ’Vizard of the Theater,” and he was in a way. Int: What way? Reicher: I donft think that there was another director 1 that would put a Child's Restaurant on the stage. Things j of that kind, you see. Going a little beyond or staying a little back of the accepted thing that people expect. Of course, he was wrong as far as I am concerned with that all-white Child's Restaurant. You couldn't hardly leave it out, and his troubles with lighting there, you know, that he must have had. Int: If he was a different kind of a man in his time, could you recognize that when he was living? Could you tell that here was an unusual man in the theater? Reicher: Oh, definitely, definitely. As I say, there was some sort of an aura, that hypnotic thing, that I am talk ing about. I recognized it, therefore it didn't affect me. The others didn't know what they were doing. At least, a lot of them. Int: How strong was Frances Starr? Did she need Belasco a lot? Reicher: Well, she wasn't bad, but she wasn't extraordi nary. Int: Well, do you think that Belasco carried her a lot? Reicher: She looked up at him as if she were looking at an icon. Always her eyes on him. It looked almost some times as if she wanted to mother him. Just the look in her face. Well, of course, he pulled her out from nothing at all. She was grateful; she was a very charming girl, very nice. Of course, she wasn't versatile to begin with, and if an actress isn't versatile--she's not an actor, that's all, not to me. You see, like this thing of jump ing into the Dauphin for making violent love to this woman, and playing a clown in the same play. That kind of a thing, but that's what you get on that stage when you shift and switch. Int: Did he have any unusual talent for handling groups of people on the stage, or was he most adept at handling individual actors? zsr Reicher: Oh, no, no. He knew his grouping, believe me. Int: He was a versatile director himself? Reicher: Oh, yes, yes, yes. He played the gamut from minute things to big ones. That Darling of the Gods was something. You know, in this play about the gambling house that flopped that I told you about--! donft remember the name of it. . . .It was a flop. As the curtain went up, there was a front of a house, close down to the footlights practically, just back of number one entrance. The char acter came on--I don’t know if it’s important or not--but he went to open the small door and you saw lights back there, and a restaurant, and this whole damn wall went out. Now, that’s an unnecessary effect because it is no effect. You know that kind of a thing? Once in a while he flopped completely on things, just to be different. He knew he was different; everybody thought he was different; and so he wanted to be different. The curtain went up on the front of the house--everything dark. And then a man came in a little bit of a door. You saw him there, and heard glasses tinkling. And the whole side of the house went up, and another curtain then. Int: So sometimes he did do it for just the effect alone? Reicher: Just something to be different. At that time he was at the height. He knew people expected different things of him, and sometimes he did the wrong different thing. That is, I only saw him that one time. I am try ing to find that article-- I will never forget. He said, ”1 will never let an actor read a play.” In that soft tone. But when he got mad, he could shout all right. Int: And he got mad at these nuns? Reicher: ’’ Dammit. Don’t you know what these lines are? You’re running away from bloody rape. For God’s sake, give me something!” That kind of thing. I will never forget that line, ”You’re running away from bloody rape!” That I can vouch for. And all that time, he walked in and out of this group of nuns. ! Int: In helping an actor see a situation, did he ever create an imaginary scene? Did he ever give the history of the situation? Reicher: Oh, yes, he did, he did. At least I know he did j from others. There was no occasion in my experience. You see, the first play I was in for him had already been re hearsed. I didn't see the rehearsal. I only saw the re hearsal on Marie-Odile. Int: So you have heard from others that he would help them to understand the history of the role? Reicher: Well, I know he did that, yes. You see, as I told you, Fannie Brice didn't know what he was talking about, when he used the vernacular of the theatre. She went off the stage, and there was a fellow who is now a famous movie director who was Belasco1s stage manager and who played some parts for him who was standing there. . . . I can’t remember the name, but it is in Fannie Brice’s book. Anyway, she goes to the wings and he translates Belasco*s lingo for her. Then she gives him what he wants. And Belasco said, ’’ Why didn’t you give me that in the first place?” She says, ”Well, I don’t know what ’so-and-so’ means.” Say, here is something! This is a real triumph. Look at this headline. Int: ’’ The most brilliant performance in the cast was given by Frank Reicher as the little commonplace, supersensitive husband of Henriette. No hint of caricature in Mr. Reicher*s acting. There is dignity, sensitivity, oddness and pathos. No better representative of the part could have been chosen.” That's a real triumph. Reicher: I have one in a Boston paper that I can't locate, a short one. It gives me a very good notice. This was in *15. Int: Walter P. Eaton was the critic. He was an important critic. Reicher: There was another one. He gave me a very good notice and ends up with "These Germans do know how.” Int: What had you been doing before you arranged to act in these plays? What were the circumstances of your being hired? Reicher: He yanked me in! He called me. The first time he did a play, I forget what it was--Poor Little Rich Girl, or something. Then I had just made a hit in two plays, The Scarecrow and The Pidgeon. Of course, everybody in New York wanted to go with Belasco. The big attraction! He called me and we had a chat there. He roasted poor Ames for producing The Pidgeon because it was an amateur show. f,That1s not theatre.1 1 And so I said, "Mr. Belasco, that was very nice of you to call me in. Now will you give me a copy of the play so I can read it.1 1 ”1 never give an actor a play to read," Belasco said. We were sitting there in the little green room with his stage director. And I said, "Mr. Belasco, I cannot. I must know." And he said, "For God’s sake, Reicher, don’t you think I know what you can do?" I said, "You do, of course. I am the only one who knows what I can’t do." And I want to say that nothing came of it. Int: Oh, I see. Then he meant it. Reicher: I said, "I am sorry," and he said, "Bill, go upstairs and get a blank contract and I will sign it in blank." And I said, "Mr. Belasco, it isn’t the money. I am at a place now where I can’t afford to take a part that doesn’t speak to me, and I want to know if you've got one," and nothing came of it. I didn't take the part, and he didn't give me the play. Well I thought, of course, that Mr. Belasco was through with me. Int: There are a lot of comments about how he handled his business and the way he interviewed actors. What was his manner with you? Did he make you wait long? Did he seem like he was creating some kind of atmosphere? Reicher: No, no, not at all. I got there on time, and maybe five minutes later we were in his downstairs office, not in his real office upstairs. We didn’t get to his big office. I don’t know why, but the way the theatre was situated, there were dressing rooms, and we were in a little room in the center of them, which in England is called the "green room." . . . 292’ | i i I 1 j i Int: You didnft go through a bunch of his secretaries to j get to him? Reicher: The appointment was made directly with him right | through his secretaries. I Int: Was it made through his manager, Benjamin Roeder? Reicher: Yes, Benjamin Roeder was his manager. Roeder fixed the whole thing. I got the notice from his office, by telephone to the Lambs Club, that was all. Int: Well, then, later he contacted you for the other play? Reicher: He cabled from Paris; he saw the play in Paris. Int: And this was The Secret? Reicher: Yes, this was The Secret. Then he cabled to Roeder to get me. Well, it so happened that I told him that I wasnft available. I had taken over the direction of a little theatre in Philadelphia, they urged me so. I put on two plays and then I quit. But I was still there at the time, and so he produced The Secret with somebody else. I think it was Cecil Yapp, but I am not sure. And then he headed on the road and got in touch with Roeder again. He said, f,Get in touch with Frank Reicher again because I don't dare bring this play to New York with this man." So Roeder called me up again and by that time I was free. I went to New York and he said, "Well, here it is," and he told me what I just told you. . . . He said "What's your salary?" and I told him and that was all right. Of course, two hundred dollars was a good salary on the stage at that t ime. Int: Belasco paid you two hundred dollars a week? That was an excellent salary. Reicher. Yes, well, I had been getting it. I didn't raise it because he was in trouble; that's not my way. "So what do I do?" "Well, you get on the 'Wolverine,' which leaves at nine-thirty tonight and report to Belasco in Detroit at once." By that time he had another stage director. I 293" i can't remember his name, but later on he had the Portman teau Theatre [Stuart Walker]. . . . And so I went and saw Belasco and saw the matinee. This was in the morning on Saturday. Int: Do you remember, when you went to see Belasco, any comments he made to you, or any directions on the part then? Reicher: Well, I saw the play. He was always on the stage, particularly every night. And even when he went on the road, he sat in a chair back on the stage and listened. Int: He was that close to it on the road? Reicher: Oh, yes. On the road and in New York, he was always sitting there, listening to the play in the corner somewhere. Int: After a show, would he come around to the dressing rooms and talk to the actors after the show had been run ning awhile? Reicher: No, no, not in my time. If he wanted somebody, he would call them. He probably visited the star*s dress ing room. And anyhow, I saw the matinee and Belasco asked me if I wanted to see it tonight again, and so I said, "No, Mr. Belasco.1 1 And then Cecil Yapp came to me and asked if there was anything he could do. I said, nNo, I have to figure it out by myself.1 1 So then I got on a train to Baltimore, which was the next stop that night. I had a stateroom and the stage manager went with me. And I got to the hotel in Baltimore and I went up to the clerk, and he said, "Yes, Mr. Reicher, what can I do for you?” And I said, l!I want a room and a bath.1 1 And he said, "No, no. Give Mr. Reicher a suite.1* And I said, ! t What for?1 1 And he said, "Well, you might want to walk up and down the room, and I can cue you.1 1 I said, "No, you can*t. You have a good night*s rest.1 1 I said, "I have already telegraphed my wife to meet me tomorrow, because she is the only person who can cue me." So then Belasco and the troupe came to Baltimore and we had a rehearsal on Sunday afternoon and Sunday evening in the hotel. And I knew my first act already perfect. Mr. Belasco said, "Will you open Tuesday?1 1 294 And I said, 1 f No, Mr. Belasco. Thursday, please.1 1 He left me absolutely alone. He didn*t ask me what I was going to do with the part, or what I thought about the part. I Because he knew I had seen it and I had told him once before that I liked it all right. So I opened Thursday night. Cecil Yapp played the first part of the week. You know what Belasco did? He got one of the important criticsi to come again and see the play. Int: This was a Baltimore critic? Reicher: Sure, sure. But he had already criticized the play on Monday, don*t you see. But he said, , f You have to encourage this boy. He has to open in New York on Monday.1 1 (He didnft say this, but you could feel it.) And, of course, with that he gave me an overwhelming notice. Int: Well, so at no time in that show did Belasco direct you? Reicher: Well, it was all directed; it had been running. He just watched me and we had a little talk about clothes. As far as I can remember, he left me completely alone as far as stage direction. Int: He did talk about costume to you? Reicher: Well, he wanted me to wear some kind of a coat in one act, and I didn*t want to. And then he left me alone and it wasn!t an argument at all. 111 haven*t got that kind of a thing, and where would I get it?" But that was the only thing that he wanted--a certain kind of a coat. Int: You provided your own clothes then? Reicher: You always do, except the costumes. When I first came into this country, the actors not only provided their clothes but they also provided their own costumes. They had to pay for them out of their own salaries. Int: How much work did the subordinates do for Belasco? For instance, Mr. Roeder and his stage manager? How much did they do as far as directing or guiding? 2951 Reicher: In some cases the stage director, Bill, laid it out in big strokes and then Belasco came for the details. Int: Then, in this play, Belasco used his stage manager to do the blocking? Reicher: Yes, and then Belasco took over. Int: Do you have any idea where the stage manager got his ideas? Reicher: Oh no, no, no. He already had his conference with Belasco and knew just what he wanted to drive at. Naturally, there was only Belasco. Int: What I am interested in is how much of the work Belasco did and how much of the work his subordinates did. Reicher: The important work, Belasco--by dictation or by being there and telling the boys personally. There were no ideas there except Mr. Belasco*s. Of course, he didn’t impose any Belasco ideas on me at all. He was so relieved, he wanted to leave me alone. The man knew how to do so. He didn’t want to make me nervous. . . . I’ll tell you something. I may have told you this before. You know, Belasco had his tantrums during rehears als, you know. Int: I wanted to know about those. Reicher: Well, it was put on. I’d heard that. But I got the proof when we did Marie-Odile. He had this nunnery there, with all these nuns and so forth. It is right in the middle of the Franco-Prussian War, and the Prussians are coming. That will mean rape, and so on. . . . And the girls weren’t terrified enough, and he raged, ’’This and that,” and ”My God.” He walked around them and through them--I was standing at the proscenium arch watching this. Int: Would he berate them in a group, or individually? Reicher: No, no. He would walk around through them, as a whole group, and his language was carmine, oh terrible. And he walked around them, as I say, and as he passed me, ! he gave me the wink. I had heard that he puts things on, ! but that was the proof I got. Int: You mentioned his getting right out on the stage there, in his direction. Where was he located when he directed plays? Reicher: Well, he had a platform built right over the orchestra pit. There he had his chair and his tahle and there he worked. He was right on the level with you. And he wasn’t on the stage taking up any room. It was too close; it was a regular little platform. Little supports j on the stage and the others resting in the orchestra pit. And it was pretty good sized, almost as wide as this room [ten feet]. And if he wanted to do anything, he could just step over this thing and he was on the stage; he didn’t have to come around. Int: Did he do this often? Reicher: Oh, yes. Int: How did he handle the actors? Did he tell them what he wanted done? Or did he show them? Reicher: Well, sometimes he had to show them, but he mostly told them. I suppose he showed them, but I never saw him do that. Int: Did he ever show you? Reicher: No, not even during any rehearsals with me. In the two plays, I didn’t see him show them how to play--you know, play an act for them. He may have, in other produc tions--! can’t guarantee that--but in the two plays I was with him, he did not. Int: When he wasn’t angry, either really or putting on, what was his manner with actors? Reicher: Well, he was polite at first, and if they didn’t get it, well, the angrier he grew. Int: He got impatient? 297’ I \ Reicher: Yes. He engaged Fanny Brice and she describes a scene where he directed her. It is in her autobiography. She didn’t understand his terms. He had her do that one scene over and over again. It was that love scene, and he used terms that are not known in vaudeville reviews. Int: Did you ever see him have an actress repeat a scene that wasn't done well? Very lengthily? Reicher: No, no. He gave suggestions, and he would say, "Why don't you do it...... , that's it!" You know what I mean? But the only tirade I ever heard of him, was with these poor nuns who were not frightened of the alarm. Here's something else. It was in Marie-Odile, there was this factory table, with the dishes and what-not, for the dress rehearsal. And they were all brand new. In this cloister, you know. So he went to this and he said, "Why did you put this damn thing here?" "What do you mean by this kind of a thing?" And he took this thing and he threw it to the floor. And it didn't break! So he picked it up and threw until it broke! He didn't give anybody the wink then. Then he had cheap watches that he used to use, they tell me. These Waterbury watches. And he used to trample on them. . . . Int: How long would he rehearse at one time? Reicher: All day. Except for a break for lunch, that's all. Int: What time did he start in the morning? Reicher: Ten o'clock, and we rehearsed until five or six. Oh, yes, that was it. There was this one actor who Belasco called over for an interview, and Belasco offered him a job, and the actor said, "But, Mr. Belasco, I can't rehearse for five or six weeks." And Belasco said, "Oh, my dear boy, it takes time to rewrite a play, and I have so much to do in editing." And he said, "I know, Mr. Belasco, and use the actors for pencils. Good-bye." I wish I could remember the name of that fellow. Int: Do you think that was one of Belasco's techniques? To write the play as he staged it? 298 !Reicher: Well, he rewrote a lot of stuff. jInt: Did he rewrite a lot of lines in The Secret? j I I (Reicher: Well, no. In The Secret he didn!t do much. Not \ that much that I can remember. j Int: On Marie-Odile? Reicher: Well, you see, it was a set play, and he liked the way it was done. He didn’t have to invent so much because he had it finished--he didn’t say so, but that is my idea. But he was fascinating. . . . He was a mixture of hypnotic influence and brutality. But the brutality was put on. There were several stars in his regime (here comes the hypnotic influence) who couldn’t do anything after they left his direction. Under other direction, they were gone. So you see he had something spiritual or hyp notic about him. Int: How do you know that they couldn’t succeed under other directors? Reicher: Well, I directed one of them. Int: Who did you direct? Reicher: Frank Keenan. The father of the Keenan who is now in the movies. I directed him after he left Belasco and I couldn’t do a damn thing with him. I was general stage director for Henry B. Harris. We did a Russian play --this was when my sister stepped out of the German theatre onto the English speaking stage. Int: So Frank Keenan couldn’t act for you after he left Belasco? Did Keenan realize that? Reicher: He simply balked at any direction from anyone else. He didn’t say it in so many words that he needed Belasco, but it came out so clearly. Mrs. Leslie Carter fell down flat after she left Belasco. There was this peculiar influence of that man. But I never got any of it, really, because I jumped in so fast that I could play him that one scene without getting laughs, that I never got it. Of course, he really didn’t want me in Marie-Odile. Int: He dicta*t? Reicher: No, but he had to use me or pay me. You see, in the second season Roeder called me in his office and said, f l The play is going on tour this season. How about a raise in salary?*' I said I didn't want a raise in salary, I wanted a twenty-week guarantee. But we didn't play the play for twenty weeks. So he had to keep me on. So he gave me this part as an old gardener till the twenty weeks were over. I only played in it in New York. You know the odd habit that a lot of producers have: when they send a play on the road they always advertise a complete New York cast, and then made minor changes. Belasco didn't. What did he do? He had that man put on the program the last week that play was in New York, and then he had the com plete cast. Do you see what I mean? The man was only in there a week, but he was a part of the New York cast. Oh, he knew everything. Of course, he had a couple of failures too. He did some kind of melodrama. And he thought he could dress it up, but it didn't work. It ran a couple of weeks in New York and that was all. And then, of course, he had that failure with Merchant of Venice. Int: Was a Belasco play markedly different from other plays? Reicher: Oh, yes. For instance, the Darling of the Gods. That was a very marvelous thing. All these Samurais commit suicide, but you didn't see it--you just got the last groan. Int: Was there any difference in Belasco*s stage settings? Reicher: Well, yes, he had one act as a scene in Child's Restaurant, and he really had Child's Restaurant. MARY SERVOSS May 27, 1961 Int: You started to tell me how you came in contact with Mr. Belasco. Servoss: Well, I had to play the part that was to be given to Ina Clare. It was part of the French play, Bluebeard’s 8th Wife, and William Harris asked me if I would be con tent to play it just two weeks in Atlantic City, because Ina Claire had a contract for the New York production. So I played it in Atlantic City. The first night there hap pened to be quite a number of producers from New York there, and I had some offers to play in New York. Among the people who saw it was either Mr. Belasco or one of his men, his managers. He sent for me, and that’s how I got Portia. Int: The first play you did was Merchant of Venice? Servoss: That was the first play I did with him. After that I did another play--Katherine Cornell and I. Int: Tiger Cat? Servoss: That’s it. I forgot the name of it. Int: Before you were cast for The Merchant of Venice, did you talk with Mr. Belasco? Servoss: Yes. Int: What was the situation? 300 301 I i | I j Servoss: Well, he had a studio on top of the theatre. The | grey-blue of the sun was coming through, and he sat me in ! j the window with the sun on me to find out what I looked | * like. Then he asked me whether I would like to do a comedyj, | a French comedy, or Portia. So I told him I would like to ! j do Portia. So I worked on it a year, and I used to re hearse on his stage at the Belasco Theatre on Sundays or when people weren’t around. Int: You worked on the part a year after you had it? Servoss: After I got the part, before I played it. Int: You played it in 1922. It opened on December 21, 1922. Now, in 1921, did other members of the cast work? Servoss: No, I just learned the part and worked on the stage with someone cueing me. I would go through the scene. Int: Did he tell you when you were cast that the play wouldn’t be produced for another year or two? Servoss: I don’t know. I can’t remember. But I knew it would be some time. Int: Were you paid by him during that period? Servoss: No,not while I was learning. . . . He kept watching it. Of course, I didn’t even know. I used to rehearse on the Belasco theatre stage, but he had a little hideaway way up in the gallery where he would go from his studio, and sit and listen. So he probably was listening to me, but he didn’t tell me about it. Int: He had this little peephole? Servoss: It was a door where he could go from his studio into the gallery of the theatre, that he could just walk through and listen, I suppose. Anyway, I remember of all the English-speaking actresses, I got it. So I suppose it was quite a thing. So many English actresses wanted it, as well. . . . I — 302' ! I j Int: Then you went into rehearsal with the entire cast in 1922. The Merchant of Venice was a departure for Belasco. He had never done Shakespeare before. Servoss: He had always wanted to do The Merchant of Ven ice . It was the dream of his life, from the time he was a young boy in San Francisco. Int: Did you hear him say that? Servoss: Yes. That was the high point of his career, to do The Merchant of Venice. He gave, as you see, a magnif icent production. Int: What approach did he make to the play? Did he tell you the kind of mood he wanted to generate? The kind of Shylock he wanted? Servoss: He wanted Shylock harder than Mr. Warfield wanted to play him. Mr. Warfield played him for sympathy, which was natural. You can understand his feeling that way. But, in that "pound of flesh1 1 scene, he wanted that played highly dramatically, and it took Mr. Warfield a little time for him to get it the way Mr. Belasco wanted it. I think Mr. Belasco would have liked to have played the part himself. Int: Why do you say that, particularly? Servoss: Well, because I think he understood the part so well that it would have given him satisfaction if he could have played it. He was very dramatic-looking, you know, very handsome, and he was a very charming man, as nice as he could be. Int: Did you ever notice how Belasco would try to change Warfield*s characterization of the role? What would he do with him? Servoss: Well, he would let him rehearse, and then he would tell us where he thought we could improve. I only know that he had a little difficulty in getting Mr. War field to be as harsh and dramatic as he wanted him to, because Mr. Warfield wanted to play him more for sympathy than Mr. Belasco wanted him to. 303 Int: Did it ever get to the stage where Mr. Belasco would get mad at Warfield to make him get angry? Servoss: He would get mad. I can’t remember if he would get mad at Mr. Warfield, but he would come on the stage and really go into a Toscanini thing. Int: Directly at Mr. Warfield? Servoss: It didn’t seem to be directed at any one person. It was just a nice show. Int: What would he do? Servoss: Well, I think one day he knocked over the stand where he kept his manuscript. It sounds like Mr. Tosca nini, doesn’t it? Int: Yes. What was your reaction as an actress? Of course, you were experienced and established. What was your reaction to that kind of directing? Servoss: I liked it. I liked everything he did for me and for the rest of the cast. I thought he knew The Mer chant of Venice perfectly. I liked it. Int: This little tactic he had, of getting angry at no one in particular but at the way the play was going, do you feel that this was effective? Servoss: I thought it was all right. But, of course, I was concentrating so on what I was doing that I thought anything that he did was all right. Int: He hadn’t directed you the year that you worked alone studying Portia? Servoss: No, he had never done one thing. Int: When you went on into rehearsal, what did he do, if anything, with you in your role of Portia? What did he recommend, or say? Servoss: I can’t remember exactly. I know he didn't do a great deal about me. . . . 3041 Int: Now, when you began the rehearsal of The Merchant of Venice, how much of the set was on stage? Servoss: We didnft have any set at first-- Int: Do you remember how long you rehearsed? Servoss: Well, I think we hearsed at least four weeks. Sometimes they only rehearsed three weeks, but I think we rehearsed four weeks. And then we did rehearse in the set. Int: At what time during the rehearsal period did you have the set? Servoss: We rehearsed in flowing robes almost from the beginning. We had, Miss Ellis and I, long robes, so that we could be used to handling long trains and things. I remember I had to kiss the Duke's hand, and I had to back down the stairs without looking. That always frightened me a little bit because one false step and I would have been on my fact. But you see, they were long robes, so Mr. Belasco gave us some sort of robes for rehearsal almost from the beginning. Int: Do you remember if you had many of the props early? Servoss: We had props, we had everything like that, very early. Int: You had the props in the beginning, but in this case not very much of the set? Servoss: Not in the beginning. No, I think we rehearsed in the set about a week. Int: This was a large cast, even of speaking parts, in addition to non-speaking parts. Did he rehearse with the full cast early? Servoss: Yes, fairly early. Int * How was he at handling crowds? Servoss: Marvelous. And he was a very kind director. 305 Int: Can you tell me how he revealed that kindness during the rehearsal period? Servoss: Well, he didn’t get you nervous. You know, some directors have a way of making an actor nervous, but he didnft. First of all, you knew he knew what he wanted so well, and he was such a fine director that you never doubted him. . . . I never did, and I don’t think anyone did. The only trouble with Mr. Warfield was that he just wanted to be a little too sweet, you know. Int: When Mr. Belasco handled a large scene like this, did he know the minor characters by name? Servoss: I can’t remember. I think he knew them by name, as a rule. He was very kind, I remember. The stage at the Belasco would be cold or a little chilly at times. And I remember one time he had a prop room way up at the top of the theatre, up a great many steps. He was in his seventies when he directed this, and he ran up all those steps to get a shawl to put around the shoulders of one of the extra women, because she was a little bit old and he felt she was a little bit cold. He did kind things like that. He was very generous. He would send out for lunches or he would have luncheon in the rehearsal room underneath the theatre. He would do very kind things. Int: As you said, he was older at this time. Was he an active kind of director? Did he move around much at this time? Servoss: Yes, when he got very interested, he would get up onto the stage and show people how to do things. Int: He would act out? Servoss: Yes. Int: Did he have assistant directors who worked with him? Servoss: Yes, he would have other directors with him. I think he had at least two. Int: How did he use those men? What would he use them for? 306 I Servoss: Take notes. They would sit up with him like a secretary and take notes of things that would pertain to the scene. After the scene was over, he would have his notes read to him and he would tell the cast what he wanted. Int: He didn't have those men come up on the stage and j work with the actors? Servoss: No, he did that himself; he would work with the actors himself, especially his principals. i Int: Did you feel that he was concerned primarily with the principal roles, or that he was aware, or concerned with, the whole cast? Servoss: He was aware of the whole cast, and naturally he concentrated on the principals. But he was very aware of the entire cast. As I say, this little woman, an extra, nearly dropped, and he ran upstairs to get a shawl. So you see, he was watching the entire cast. Int: Mow was he able to convey his feeling of what he wanted in a role or a scene? Servoss: He would act it out. He would tell you about it, and sometimes he would act it out for you. I can remember him acting out some of the Shylock scenes very well. I donft remember him acting out Portia, but I do Shylock. Int: You had a feeling that he relished acting the Shylock role? Servoss: Oh, yes. He would have loved to have played that. He would often talk about that black-haired boy in San Francisco, who was an usher there, and this desire to sometime put on The Merchant of Venice. . . . Int: It's interesting that you say he was a kind man and a kind director, and at the same time that he lost his temper and took it out on-- Servoss: Well, I think sometimes he did that in a great big act, purposely, to get a person emotional. 307 Int: Do you have any reason for thinking that? Servoss: No, I have no great reason for thinking that, but I never believed that it was always sincere. I thought a lot of it was put on, trying to get somebody to get into ; an emotional state that they didn't seem capable of reach ing. Int: But he didn't seem to go to that person? i Servoss: No, I can't remember that. He must have. How could you be a director and not go to a person, and not say, "Now, this is the effect I want." He might not say it in front of the cast, but when they were sitting. Int: Did he do much of that--private counseling or direct ing- -with you at all? Servoss: I can't remember. It went so smoothly. He was so fine. Int: It is interesting that, believing that he was acting or putting on an act when he berated the cast, you still thought this was a good or proper thing to do, and you didn't feel that it was out of place. Servoss: I thought he was doing it for an effect— to get somebody to do something that he wanted done, and that he thought that was the best way to do it. Maybe he had talked to those persons, too, but once in a while he would go into a thing, and it was very amusing. Like it was to watch Toscanini, if that second violin wouldn't get it after three rehearsals, knock over the stand and go off the stage in a fury. It's about the same thing. Int: How did he indicate to Warfield what he wanted in Shylock? Did you have a feeling that they had private conversations about this? Servoss: Oh, yes, I'm sure of it. He was just occasion ally more sympathetic than Mr. Belasco wanted. Int: The play ran ninety-two performances. Some of the reviews that I read were not complimentary. What do you think happened? 308 j Servoss: Well, I don’t know whether they thought Mr. 1 Belasco had done too much with it or not. I know one 1 thing, I had a quinsy sore throat that broke fifteen min- | utes before the opening night, and I remember that my voice, instead of being clear,,was quite husky. I probably shouldn't have opened, but I hated to be the one to post pone a great big Belasco opening. I know that the notices were not particularly good. Int: Do you think that the critics thought that it wasn’t Shakespearean enough? Servoss: I really can’t remember what they thought. I know that they didn’t give it all that Mr. Belasco had hoped for and had worked for, because it was a perfectly beautiful production, and it was beautifully played. It was really lovely. You see, we opened cold. We didn’t open outside of New York. After we all got into it, the performance was really beautiful. Mr. Warfield’s Shylock was very fine. Int: Do you think that that might have been a factor? That you opened cold? Servoss: I think that had something to do with it, and I think it was unfortunate. I think if we had played it on the road first, and then come into New York, it would have been a better performance. . . . Int: I thought we might shift to the other play, Tiger Cats, if you remember much about that. Servoss: I do rememb er a great deal about it. Int: It was a small cast? Servoss: Very small. Int: And entirely different from The Merchant of Venice. So I was hoping we might be able to draw some comparisons or some - differences in the way Belasco handled The Merchant of Venice and the way he directed an entirely different play, Tiger Cats. '309 Servoss: Well, there was quite a difference, because I think he knew The Merchant of Venice so well, and he had seen it played so many times, and had read it and worked it so much that he knew directly what he wanted. Tiger Cats had been done in London. Robert Loraine had played it in London, and he had brought Robert Loraine over. It I was a good part; it was comedy. But he didnft have such an easy time. I mean, I think he was perturbed. For in stance, Robert Loraine was an actor who didnft pay very much attention to other actors in the cast, Kit Cornell and I. He had the star dressing room and then, on the second floor, Kit had the next dressing room and I had the next. And so, she would say, "Come in, Mary, and make up with me.” So I would carry my make-up tray in and we would sit there and make up together. And she would say, "Did Mr. Loraine speak to you last night?1 1 And I would say, "Wo, he didn't speak to me either.1 1 So, he was a little difficult to know, very much of a star, and we were his cast. Int: How did that set with Belasco? Servoss: I donft know if he knew about it even, because when we were rehearsing on the stage, none of that showed and it wasn*t until after we opened that he just didn't speak to us. When we were around rehearsing, I don*t think we thought much about whether he spoke to us, but after we got into production and played night after night, we would say, , f Good evening, Mr. Loraine,1 1 and he wouldn't even know that we were there. It got to be sort of amusing to us. Donft put that into your story. Int: You said earlier that Mr. Belasco had a more diffi cult time with this play. Servoss: Well, Edith Evans had played the part that Katherine Cornell played, and she had played it in a great big, broad way. I think that is the way it had to be played. I donft think Miss Cornell saw it that way. She had a different interpretation of it. Guthrie, her hus band, was around all the time and he used to sit out in front a good deal. I think he was giving her ideas about how it should be played, too. It didnft work as smoothly for Mr. Belasco as Warfield had. Yet, he used to get cross with Warfield, too. 310 Int: Belasco allowed Guthrie McClintic to sit in the auditorium during rehearsal? Mr. McClintic wasn't a very old or established director then, was he? Servoss: No, but he knew what was good for Miss Cornell. There is no doubt about that. He knew the way she was most effective, and it wasn't in the same way that Edith Evans was effective. So it was played in a different way and it was interesting. Int: How did this conflict between Belasco's desire and Miss Cornell's playing reveal itself? 1 i Servoss: Well, I would see her at rehearsal, and I would i see Mr. Belasco try and have her put more dramatic quality into what she was going. I don't think that she saw it that way. So, there would be the discussion of how it should be played. She played it beautifully, but she played it differently than Mr. Belasco had thought it would be played. . . .1 don't think he would give her inflections. He would just say he wanted it more dramat ically or more--not emotional--but dramatic. It was the kind of part that could be played to the hilt. Like Edith Evans or Judith Anderson would play it, or it was the kind of part that could be played very quietly. It could be played either way and Miss Cornell played it quietly. . . . Int: You feel that Belasco was at home with this script, that he felt comfortable with it? Servoss: Oh, yes. I think he had an idea of having it played differently, though, from the way it came out. . . . Int: We could talk about the standard things in regard to Tiger Cats, like whether or not you had the set very early in rehearsal. Servoss: We always did, with Mr. Belasco, fairly early. At least we were a week in the set. Int: And the props? Servoss: Oh, we would get the props almost in the begin ning; as soon as we put the books out of our hands, we 3 111 had props. It made it so much easier. Int: Was he in any way unusual from any other director in his desire for you to get rid of the book, or did he expect you to know the script before you came to rehearsal? Servoss: No, I donTt think he expected you to know the script. Maybe in Shakespeare. No, I donft think he desired that particularly. I think most directors desire to have the script, the book, out of your hand as quickly as you can and yet, that doesnft mean to sit right down and gobble words at night. . . . Int: Did you notice any difference in Belasco tempo, of himself, his own dynamics, between these two plays in 1922 and 1924? I was wondering whether he was slowing down. Servoss: I never noticed it. 1922 and 1924 isn’t a very long time, and I didn’t notice that. I don’t think he was slowing down at all. Int: You felt he was a strong director in Tiger Cats? Servoss: I thought he was. I just think perhaps it was more exciting for him to direct The Merchant of Venice. Int: In Tiger Cats he was the director all the time? He didn’t have, for instance, an assistant director take the first week and block you? Servoss: Oh, no, he did everything. He was there from the first and he was very prompt and if anyone didn’t happen to be there at ten o’clock he would look at his watch and look around to find out if everyone was there. He was punctual and he wanted his cast there at ten o’clock and it wasn’t half past ten, it was ten. He was very punctual and very nice, very kind; I liked him. . . . Of course, that was in 1922. Now, I think that if I went on the stage and he were the director and he directed as he did then, I would still think he was just as perfect. And I have had quite a few directors since then. . . . You see, I just thought everything he said was perfect, and so I would try to give him what he wanted. He was an amazing man, I think. FRANCES STARR July 11, 1961 Int: You worked for Mr. Belasco longer as a star than any other actress? Starr: Well, I became one immediately. Int: You had been successful on the stage before Belasco? Starr: Not very. Int: How did you come to be cast by Mr. Belasco? Starr: He saw me in a play, Gallops. He gave me a five- year contract. I thought it was too long. I didn't like that, but I accepted. Int: How did Belasco direct? How did he create a living drama? Starr: There were so many different ways. I always knew from one to four years ahead what I was going to do. Then, sometimes, they were switched, something better came along. As to his directing technique, it was never twice alike. Of course, he handled me very differently than he handled other people. Int: In what ways ? Starr: Well, I was the youngest star he had ever had, so he treated me like a baby, giving me dolls and things like that. He'd had stars like Blanche Bates and Mrs. Carter, who had really arrived. I was being groomed. . . .You've probably read his autobiography, The Theatre through the 312 ; 313’ i i j Stage Door. Well, that was a little exaggerated. But when' I was in The Easiest Way, we had a dress rehearsal which i lasted probably twelve or fifteen hours. I have known him | ■ to rehearse continuously for twenty-six hours. He knew j how to get results. He never allowed his actors to go out for lunch. It would be sent in from the Lambs Club. Very | often he wouldn't be using the people at all. They'd just come in for lunch. The business manager had to get after them-- But this is my book. I can't be telling you all this. . . . I think Belasco has been very badly handled by writers. They've either made him a genius or a charlatan. He was neither. He was very normal and very simple, in a way, but he would put on a show to get a result. But overall, I don't believe it was truly him, at all. He was a man devoted to the theatre. Unlike men of today who serve other people, he had his own theatre backed by his own money. He could do what he wanted. He had his own carpenters and electricians on a yearly basis, not just for a production. Int: So the people who say he was a charlatan did not know all of Belasco? Starr: He would get very angry at something just to get a result. For instance, you would rehearse a play for three weeks, and it would be so perfect and appear to be working so marvelously that you would get rather sure of yourself. So then he would begin to destroy. It was very dangerous. Only a master could do it. He got every one so jittery that they wouldn’t know where they were. Then he would say, "Now, boys and girls, that's fine. Now let's do it right." Everyone would just get the chills, because he would go into a rage and berate everyone, especially the star. Int: Did he do that to you? On stage, in front of the others? Starr: Oh, yes. It was always very embarrassing. Then he'd come up and say, "Now, little girl, you go home and go to bed. You're wonderful." 314 Int: Then he’d compliment you? Starr: He was different from any other director. I’ve never known anyone who had the vitality and nerve that he had. Int: Did you have a feeling that he understood you better? Starr: Belasco gave everyone a belief in himself. He never scared an actor. I know that’s odd, after what I just said, but when people got too sure of themselves, he rebuilt them. It was like a modern artist who becomes tired of conventional painting and throws the whole thing out and begins doing abstract painting. I think that’s what he did. The idea was there, and he gambled that he could rework it better. He was very successful. He did another thing. You would be in Hartford, or Washington, doing tryout performances, and he would call a rehearsal in his suite, and he would have you go as fast as you could--lines, lines, lines. You had been rehearsing for four weeks and were working on emotions. He would clap his hands and set a furious pace. Then you’d go right to rehearsal and do it the way you’d always done it. You had to be on your toes. He’d do that just once, maybe the afternoon of the dress rehearsal; you’d be called down for a run-through. All of these run-throughs I suspected. I knew they would be unusual. But this I did get used to. It’s very confusing at first. Int: Is the story true that he practically drove you to exhaustion during a dress rehearsal of The Easiest Way? Starr: Oh, yes. It wasn’t actually a dress rehearsal. It was one of those special rehearsals he called the after- noon after the dress rehearsal. He forced me to repeat that scene with the pistol until, if the pistol had been loaded, I would have shot him. I was so tired and frus trated that I screamed in utter despair. He said later that I would never forget that scream, and he was right. When I did Marie-Odile, I prepared for the nun’s role by staying in a convent. I watched early mass and other rituals and then I went back upstairs and made notes on how they looked and what they did; how they rang the bell, how they went out of their rooms. 315 Int: Did Belasco suggest that you go to this convent? Starr: Oh, yes. I wanted to go. He got me in. I studied lines from the play while I was there. In The Case of Becky, we spent two weeks sitting around a table talking psychology--everyone. Int: Do you think that made a difference? Starr: I know it did. We all got in the atmosphere of the play. . . . When you talk about his directing techniques, he made everyone feel important. He might discuss a role with a minor actor until he thought he was the star. Of course, he hired competent people. He never made a mistake in casting. Int: He gave individual attention to blocking and charac terization? Starr: Oh, yes. That was after we had been in rehearsal a few weeks. . . . Int: Was Belasco unusual in regard to setting or proper ties? Starr: We had everything very early. Maybe it was not the actual prop you would use in the play, but it was so nearly the same that you did not notice the change. . . . He had his own technicians. His own lighting man and costumer. After a show, he let you keep your cos tumes. Those things don’t happen now. I had a beautiful dressing room. It was furnished with unusual period furni ture which made it seem like a home. It was a pleasure to come to the theatre. Int: Over the 14-year span you worked for him, did you notice a change? Starr: To me he always remained the same wonderful man. i ERNEST TRUEX April 11, 1961 Truex: One of the first plays for David Belasco was a play called The Good Little Devil, and that*s where I played opposite Mary Pickford. . . . I made a big hit just previous to that play in one called The Dumby in New York, in which I played a little, tough Eastside New York boy who worked for a big detective. . . . There was a little girl that these kidnappers had and these big detectives were trying to get me in as a plant to find out where they had this girl. Finally, in the unfolding of the play, I saved the little girl from the kidnappers. . . . The little girl was named Joyce Fair--a very clever little girl. X was about 22 then, I guess, and she was about 9 or 10. She wanted to play drop-the-handker- chief and post office with me, and I would keep telling her that I had a son and was married and that she was wasting her time. I never heard of the little girl again for a great many years. About 20 years ago when I was playing in George Washington Slept Here, in New York, one of my sons asked if I had read in the New Yorker the pro file of a very famous lady who said that she played with me when she was a little girl--Clare Boothe Luce. She was the little girl, Joyce Fair. She mentions me in her book, Ambassadress Extraordinary, and she tells about her real crush in the theatre on me. . . . Int: You did The Dumby, and then you sent with David Belasco. This, of course, was a step up, too, wasnft it? 316 317| Truex: Yes, this was quite a thing. Int: How did Belasco contact you? | i , | Truex: I was rehearsing in a musical show. I did quite | a lot of musicals. David Belasco had a star part for a boy. It was a part like Peter Pan. His stage director ( told him that there was a man who had lots of experience i and yet looked like a boy. So Belasco sent for me. He asked me if I would put on a Scotch kilt because this was a Scotch boy, and he wanted to see if I moved like a boy. So I had to put on these Scotch kilts and get out on the bare stage in an empty theatre with a spotlight on me, and Mr. Belasco would tell me to run and jump and move and play while he sat out and watched me to see if my movements were like a young boy*s. Then he got me up in his office and noticed that I had some hair on my legs and started pulling it off, say ing, "We've got to get rid of that!" Of course, to go to Belasco, I would do anything. Then he told me to go over and knock on a door in his big, cathedral-like office as if I was calling on my little sweetheart. So I went over and knocked on the door and it opened and there was a little girl with long, blond curls. We made a few halting remarks to each other, and he started to applaud and say we were wonderful. Then he introduced me to Mary Pickford. Miss Pickford meant nothing to me then. . . . Int: Before we leave this play, I wonder if you could tell us what kind of a man David Belasco was, and what experiences you had with him as to his directing. Truex: I could, but it would only be the beginning. As a matter of fact, I have invested in one of these machines [a tape recorder] and am supposed to be starting on my life's story. Several people are interested in it. It would take us too long, but we will touch on a couple of high spots. Belasco had a great many peculiarities. He dressed like a priest, you know. He wore a collar turned around, had white hair--and always pulled on a lock of white hair--and always called on everyone by their full name--like Ernest Truex. He had a very peculiar way of speaking. In his directing, he had some very cruel meth ods, but yet very effective. 318! i Int: What do you mean, crue1? Truex: Well, there was a scene in the play where I was playing this little Scotch boy. They come and take me away from the home that I had been living in to take me to London to become a lord--somebody had died, and I was the one to succeed. This old nurse, who had been taking care of me was to say good-bye to me, and was to break down and sob. Belasco thought that she just couldn’t unbend enough. She was quite a good actress, but she was a rather stolid woman, and it was hard for her to break down and go practically into hysterics. So he walked up behind her and while she was playing her scene, and while she was on her knees holding on to me, and he hit her across the back. He used the back of his hand. It wasn’t his fist or any thing, but he really let her have it. This woman just started to shake, all her stolidity vanished, and she became so emotional from this surprise attack and the blows that were raining on her, that she really cried and played the scene. I suppose that every time she came to that scene, the memory of what happened to her came to her, and she always played it that way. Int: She played it at that peak emotional level after that? Truex: More or less. She had reached it once, and it made such an impression on this woman. Int: I heard that he coached you prior to this role for a while. Truex: Yes, he did. He had me under contract. As a mat ter of fact, he found out I was married and had two child ren, and he said, ’ ’ Don’t ever speak of them to me. I don’t want to hear about your children. I want to think of you as a little boy.” I told him I was in a musical show then with Lou Fields, and he said, "Leave this musical show at once!" And I said, "My children would starve." He said, "Don’t mention children to me," and he turned to his business manager and said, "Reeder, give him something to live on and for his children to live on." So they paid me a living wage--a hundred dollars or something of that sort--for some months. He was doing other plays, and I had 319 had to be at all his rehearsals of the other plays and ; study his methods. Then he turned me over to a woman j named Mrs. Sara Cowell Lemoine, who had been a very fine actress--an English woman--and she worked on my diction. I was born in Missouri and raised in Colorado, and I had quite a trace of Missouri. In fact, there’s a little of it occasionally now, even through all my training. To my horror, people say I sound like Truman, occasionally. I know it's true. There's a little tinge of something that I still have after all that. . . . In one of the final dress rehearsals of the play, there was a scene where I had to step over the footlights and out of the picture of the play and appeal to the audi ence in a sort of Peter Pan "Do you believe in fairies?" I had to say, "Be kind to children--they1 re so little and fragile." I had to step out of the character and say, practically, "Do you believe in children?" At this dress rehearsal, which was the first time we had dresses and costumes and everything, I walked out and said, "Mothers, Fathers--everywhere..." And he said, "Stop, Mr. Truex! You're not measuring ribbon at Macys," because I had thrown my arms out. Int: So he was rather caustic in his approach? Truex: Yes, he was. But he felt that by putting a thing to people in a very extreme way, it would make an indelible impression, so that you would always remember that and be careful. Int: Do you think that this was an example of his general technique? Truex: More or less. At one rehearsal, he would have-- he called it a tempo rehearsal--a regular rehearsal and would say that he would not stop any of us. I never saw anyone else do this. He wanted us to start the play and go through it, but he was going to stand on the side of the stage and tap his foot on the floor to give us the tempo of the scene. He would do that practically through the entire play. At times his foot would be going very fast, and at other times it would be going gently. Int: So he paced the actors by tapping his foot like that? Truex: Yes, he paced us. I never saw anybody do it be fore . Int: Was it effective? Truex: I don’t know. He was a bit of a charlatan, you know. He was a terrific ham and actor himself. Some of his methods I donft think were quite necessary. Neverthe less, he had top results, I thought. It wasn’t that he couldnft be charming. He took many people and made great stars of them--people who didn’t do well with anybody else such as Lenore Ulric, Frances Starr, and Blanche Bates. . . . He took them. Of course, he didn’t hit George Arliss over the back. Int: You had come to him, even though you were a young man. You had more experience and were a competent actor. Did you notice any difference in how much direction he gave you, and how much he gave some of the other members of the cast? Truex: Possibly. This was bigger than anything I had really tackled since I had been a real professional actor. I can’t compare my little childhood scenes from Shakes peare. This was the biggest thing that I had tackled, and I did need help, and so he gave it to me. But he didn’t go to the extremes with me. I didn’t need that, appar ently. It was a very fascinating experience. Through the years, I would always get very lovely telegrams from him on opening nights: ’’ Dear Mr. Truex, I am so glad that you were so well received last night...” and all that sort of thing. Int: Do you think that he did that personally, or did he have someone who had a file of suspense dates for every one? Truex: He might have had help from his staff. He had a very big staff. And they might have said, ’’ Don’t forget that Truex is opening in a play tonight,” or something of that sort. After I went to England and stayed five years 321 and came back to New York as a star in an English play- called Many Wives--one of the most beautiful plays that Ifve ever been in~-he said in a telegram, "Welcome to our shores!" He was always very flowery. I have a number of letters from him. ROBERT WARWICK June 9, 1961 Int: You had been on the stage. You had been a successful actor before you were contracted by Mr. Relasco. Warwick: Well, I was a fairly well-known leading man. I was just about beginning to hit my stride. I was playing in a summer stock company when I received a cablegram from Mr. Belasco. He wanted to know what was the lowest salary I would take to play in his coming production. Int: What play was that? Warwick: The Secret. Frances Starr was the star. Int: What was your reaction? You went to see him then? Warwick: No. My cabling was done through an agent and so I thought this was my chance to ask for a good salary so I asked for $400 a week, which I never thought they would accept. To my great surprise it was accepted. That was a lot of money in those days. Naturally I assumed it was the leading part of the play. When my season was over in Columbus, Ohio, I went to New York and waited and I didn’t hear. Months passed and I finally called. He always rehearsed a play in what he called his rehearsal room, which is in the basement of his theatre, a very elaborate and large room, and from the time you were called there, you never left until your day’s work was done. Luncheon was served, but you never left this room. Int: How long do you suppose you were there during the day? 322 323 Warwick: Oh, from nine until five, I should say. So we started to read this play. It was Bernstein*s play, a French play. Int: You had not seen the play, or know what part you had before you went into the rehearsal room? J Warwick: No, I had not had an interview with Mr. Belasco. So we started reading the play, and to my great surprise this character didn*t appear in the first act. So my hopes kind of fell. Then, in the second act, he had a very fine scene. The third act he didn*t appear, so I didn*t know what to make of it. We had hardly ended read- j ing the play when Mr. Belasco said, "Robert Warwick, come j here.1 1 From that time on, he always called me "Robert Warwick,1 1 not Mr. Warwick or Robert; always called me "Robert Warwick.*1 "I know just what you are thinking and what your feelings are. You*re disappointed in the part, and if you play this part in New York you will make the biggest hit you have yet made in New York." So, I agreed to do it. We opened in Detroit. The play was a little advanced for those days, a bit sexy. I had a very sexy scene not only with my ex-mistress but with Frances Starr. He told me I would always have a round of applause when I left the stage in this act. In Detroit I played the scene, walked off the stage, and there wasn*t even that. The old fox was waiting for me in the wings. He said, "All right, Robert Warwick, that goes for New York. You should never leave the stage in New York without applause." And he was right. The first night, with all the manifold cares he had in his mind, when I made my exit he said, , f What did I tell you?" It was a revelation to play. Int: How do you mean? Warwick: Well, the detail the man would go to. For instance, when you made an exit--of course, in this play there was only one set, this charming chateau in Paris-- when you made your exit, you didn*t exit into a bare stage, you exited into a furnished room. No one could see this except the actors. Int: Do you think that made any difference to the actors? 324; I ! Warwick: Might of, I suppose. I was pretty fresh and I didn’t pay any attention in those days. Then, as I say, the scene, the locale was France. When mail was brought in to Frances Starr in the first act, it had all cancelled French stamps. The name of her character was Gabrielle Jannelot, and in her crying scene the handkerchiefs that she cried in were monogramed GJ. Int: How soon in the rehearsal did she have props like that? Warwick: Not until about the last week. Int: Do you remember how soon you worked in that complete set? Warwick. I should say the last week. I think we were about a couple of weeks in the rehearsal room. The great part in the play was this undersized, frightfully-jealous husband of the woman who had been my mistress. Belasco tried to make this actor, who was a well-known character actor-- Int: Mr. Yapp? Warwick: How did you know? Int: Well, I’ve been studying Belasco. Warwick: He could not get Cecil Yapp--he looked the part-- unattractive, rather--and he could not get the man to play the scene and build up to the tremendous climax. One day he stopped him and he just used the word ’’ bang.” This is the way the scene should be played: bang, bang, bang, bang. And he got the damnedest climax you ever saw. But after we opened in Detroit, Mr. Yapp was let out, and Frank Reicher succeeded him. During rehearsal, whenever you did something that pleased him, he stopped and he used to come up to the footlights and hand you ten cents or a quarter. Int: Do you remember, at the time, whether you thought that was silly? Warwick: I thought it was wonderful. He had a good many i 325; I tricks as a charlatan, but he was a great artist. You know, he always wore the clerical collar and he always pulled his hair. He always would stand in the wings, and if he wasnft called out, his heart would be broken. He j would come out most reluctantly. The minute an actor j entered that theatre, he was treated, not like an actor, but like an artist. Int: Did he do anything to set the stage for the actor? Was the theatre a different theatre than other directors you worked for? Warwick: Well, it was more beautifully kept up. You see, it was his own theatre. He had a green room that was a very delightful small room where the actors could meet friends afterwards. You were treated as an artist. I had a rather extraordinary experience with him. After the play had been running about three or four months, the company manager came back and said, "The old man wants to see you in the morning.” I said, ’’ What the hell have I done now?” The next morning I came down to the theatre. His offices were upstairs, above the theatre. I came up to his busi ness office. Mr. Ben Roeder was his manager. Right off Roeder’s office was a little door--you had to stoop to get through it, and I waited there. Pretty soon Mr. Belasco came and said, ’’ Come in, Robert Warwick. Go right in there.” I went through the rather little door into this magnificent apartment. There was a Napoleonic room; there was a room with magnificent glassware that he had accumu lated; there was this Japanese bedroom which was a great delight. He never slept in it in his life, you know. This great Gothic room was where he did all his writing, and most of it was done with notes. These notes he would pin to a screen. I couldn't imagine what he wanted to see me about. So after he gave me about fifteen minutes to wan der around and be tremendously impressed, he came in. He said, "Sit down; I want to tell you I am very pleased. Next season you are to play a great part. You are going to play the great soldier-lover of Queen Catherine of Russia.” Just then the war broke and he couldn't do a Russian play. It was a great thrill to me. I hate to hand bouquets to me but, as I say, this was the smallest part of the three men. He brought over ; 326 i \ an Englishman, Basil Guild, to play Frances Starr’s hus- I I band, and Frank Reicher played my mistress’s husband. | Alan Dale had never liked me, and he said that in this j cast there was an Englishman, a German, and an American, and the American was by far the best. Int: During the rehearsal, how did Belasco direct you? He said he was pleased with you. Do you think he affected how you played this role? Warwick: Oh, unquestionably. It had to be played according to his ideas, no matter who you were. Int: How did he get his ideas across to you? Warwick: By telling me what he wanted me to do. Yes, unlike Charles Frohman, who was a great producer and a great gentleman, and who couldn’t express himself at all. Frohman would say, ’ ’ Now, Warwick, you go over to the right side, you know what I mean?*' but he got his meaning over to you. I’ll never forget in New York at Frohman*s funer- al--the body was washed up off the coast of Ireland and brought back. Augustus Thomas, who was a great playwright of that day, and had written many plays that had been produced by Mr. Frohman, delivered the eulogy in his Jewish temple, Temple Manuel. Describing Frohman and this pecu liar quality, he said he was an "imprisoned and a fettered poet." He was the most ordinary little fat Jewish man-- the most wonderful person ever in the theatre, I guess. Never had contact with his stars, never. Int: In contrast, Mr. Belasco could tell you what he wanted? Warwick: I couldn’t quite tell you how, but he got what he wanted from us. Int: Did he ever show you how he wanted you to play a scene? Warwick: Oh, yes. If he couldn’t get his idea across--he always directed from the front of the house--he would get up on the stage. I believe we had that set two weeks before we opened. He was an extraordinary person and a man who was singularly handsome in a peculiar way. 327 Int: During the rehearsal, do you think he was happy with you? Warwick: Well, I never had the feeling he was displeased. I was corrected often enough. It was wonderful to work for him. Int: Did he try to engender ensemble playing or did he give precedence to his stars? Warwick: No, he gave precedence to the scenes. Naturally, he would see that the star was the star of the scene. But there were not many ensemble scenes in this play. There were only five or six characters in this play. . . . He knew the theatre. Perhaps, by today1s stand ards he would be considered theatrical. Of course, he was theatrical from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet. My nearest approach to greatness, I thought, was when he sent for me that day, and I had that talk with him. Int: Did you come back to work with Belasco later? Warwick: In only one other production, and that was the only production that he and Charles Frohman did together. It was The Celebrated Case, with an all-star cast, at the Empire Theatre. Int: Did Belasco direct this? Warwick: He directed it; he and Frohman. I was the only Belasco actor there. I think the only reason I was in the cast was because he had another year of my contract, and I worked it out that way. Int: Was he still paying you the original salary? Warwick: Well, he had to guarantee me so many weeks. It was a great cast, the all-star production. Otis Skinner, Nat Goodwin, Frederic Belleville, Eugene OfBrien, Florence Reed, Helen Ware, Ann Murdock. It was a revival of a bold melodrama. 328 Int: Considering it was an all-star cast and was a re vival, was there a difference in the way Belasco handled that, or directed it? i Warwick: No, he didn*t direct it so much. Frohman did most of the directing. . . . Int: Did he tell the cast what his intention was with the play? i Warwick: Oh, yes. We had several days just reading the play in this big rehearsal room which was underneath the stage and the theatre. . . . He would dissect it and analyze every move. He knew what he wanted. Int: When you began rehearsal, did he do the blocking or did he have the assistant director do the blocking? Warwick: Well, he had Stuart Walker as his assistant at that time. He let Stuart Walker block out some of the scenes. Int: Then Belasco came in in a week or so? Warwick: Oh, he was always there at rehearsal, but Stuart Walker did some of the work. Int: What was Belasco doing when Walker was up there? Warwick: Telling Walker what to do. There was never a rehearsal without David Belasco. Int: How much of the work did he do and how much did his assistant do? Warwick: He did all the work. Even the lighting on the stage. He knew everything about lighting. Int: You never had the feeling that he was just talking about this and didnft know much about it? Warwick: You knew that everything he said, he knew. Int: You mentioned earlier that he was a charlatan. He wasn't a charlatan in that respect? 329 Warwick: No, he was theatrical. Int: In what way, theatrical, besides wanting a theatrical performance? Warwick: In such things as that being coaxed out after a show. If he hadn’t been coaxed out, he’d have been broken hearted. He seemed reluctant. He had a peculiar way of talking. Brandon Tynan gave the greatest imitation of him. Brandon Tynan was a young actor who wrote a play about Robert Emmett and produced it himself at the Academy of Music. Belasco came to see it--this shows how wily he was--and immediately grabbed Tynan and told him he was going to make a star of him and going to produce any play he wrote. He had him for years. You know, Belasco really didn’t write. He gave writers like Brandon Tynan, and a fellow named Dean what he wanted, and they would grind out the scenes. He would write these notes and pin them on the screens. He hated writing. For years, Tynan wrote plays for Belasco. He gave him the ideas. Int: But, of course, any of the plays that came out of Belasco*s office were by-lined by-- Warwick: Belasco, of course! Nobody else’s name was even mentioned. Int: Despite his theatricalism you thought he was a great man? Warwick: Oh, yes. I would have worked for half my salary. I got this letter from his agent: what is the lowest salary you’ll expect to play the leading part in a Belasco pro duction next season? I was getting $250 to $300 in the summer stock, which was a good salary. And I thought this was my one chance, so I said $400, not dreaming that it would be accepted. Belasco's acceptance came from Paris, where he had seen this play. He had cabled his agent, pic turing the people he wanted. That’s why his agent called me. Belasco had never met me. He had seen me in plays around New York, but I’d never done very much. Int: What do you think made him a great director? Warwick: He had great theatrical imagination. j " 3301 | Int: Do you think that the great intellectual imagination i might be more important than emotional'involvement? Warwick: Oh, I know it is. Int: Did you develop under Belasco? I Warwick: Unquestionably. I was a better actor when I left him than when I joined him. Int: In what ways? Warwick: He toned me down. Int: And yet he wanted a theatrical performance? Warwick: He didn’t want it from me. He wanted it from Cecil Yapp. What he wanted from me was finesse and ability to play a scene with a woman and almost offend and yet not offend. He taught each actor that played under him some thing. He even taught David Warfield something. APPENDIX B LIST OF PERFORMERS WHO APPEARED IN BELASCO PRODUCTIONS AND THEIR RESPECTIVE YEARS OF APPEARANCE APPENDIX B LIST OF BELASCO PERFORMERS AND YEAR OF PERFORMANCE Abarbanell, Lina 1921 Abbott, George 1918 Abbott, Marion 1916, 1919 Abdo, Eduardo 1928 Abeles, Edward S. 1901 Adams, Annie 1890 Adams, Cora 1901 Adams , Lione 1 19 21 Adams, Maude 1890 Adams-My 11, Corah 1905 Addison, Fannie 1888 Adelman, Joseph 1893 Adler, Julia 1922 Alden, Betty 1922 Allen, Harry 1889 Allen, Leslie 1890 Allen, Viola 1893 A1lenton, Joseph 1926 Allison, George 1915 Alton, Royce 1925 Amory, John 1919, 1920 Anderson, Augustus 1921 Anderson, Gerald 1899 Anderson, Melville J. 1921 Anderson, Judith 1925 Andrews, A. G. 1916 Andrews, Frank 1902 Andrews, J. S. 1880 Anson, A. E. 1913, 1922 332 333 Anson, E. L. 1928 Arbuckle, Maclyn 1901 Archer, Ann 1887, 1888 Archer, Herbert 1887, 1888 Arden, Edwin 1883 Arey, Wayne 1906 Arliss, George 1902 Armand, Aida 1918 Armini, Auguste 1930 Armstrong, Harrison 1902 Armstrong, John 1897 Arms t rong, S idney 1890, 1893 Arriaza, Virgilio 1906 Aryton, Lulu 1920 Atwill, Lionel 1918, 1921, 1923 Ayrton, Randle 1920 Assaf, Jajeeb 1928 Backus, George 1888 Bainter, Fay 1923 Baird, Audrey 1922 Bancroft, Helen 1890 Banyard, Beatrice 1925, 1926 Barcay, Eva 1928 Barclay, Lila 1914 Barker, Joseph 1913 Barker, Mary 1900 Barlow, Reginald 1922 Barnster, Charles 1887 Barre 11, Adela ide 1910 Barr, 0. H. 1883 Barrows, James 0. 1893 Barry, Luther 1905 Barrymore, Lione1 1923 Barrymore, Maurice 1895 Bartlett, Kate 1886 Batchelder, Fannie 1890 Bates, Blanche 1900, 1901, 1902, 1910 Bates, Mrs. F. M. 1901, 1902 Bates, Marie 1899, 1901, 1904, 1911 Baulden, Howard 1921 Bayfield, St. Claire 1920 Bayly, Mary 1901 Beasley, A. Byron 1913 Beatiff, A. M. 1905 334" Beaumont, Lucy 1916 Bedouin, John 1914 Beecher, Janet 1910, 1914, 1915, 1920 Belasco, Walter 1901 Belden, Miss Sadie 1884 Belle, W. S. 1926 Bellow, Kyrle 1886 Bellows, Walter Clark 1887, 1889 Belmore, Daisy 1918, 1920 Bennett, Belle 1921 Bennett, Lelia 1929 Bennett, Wilda 1913 Benrimo, Harry J. 1897, 1902, 1905, 1906 Benton, Ethel 1916 Benton, Eva 1926 Bergman, Henry 1913 Bergman, Sallie 1920 Berkeley, Elizabeth 1901 Berlein, Annie Mack 1916, 1925 Berry, George 1915 Bevan, Tony 1901, 1904, 1911 Bevin, Warren 1901 Bickel, Fred 1920 Bickford, Charles A. 1919 Bimbi, Leon 1899 Bishop, C. B. 1888 Bishop, Phillip 1928 Black, Katherine 1900 Blackmer, S idney 1928 Blair, S. K. 1903 Blinn, Holbrook 1925 Bloodgood, Margaret 1910 Blue, Clarissa 1926 Blyden, Huron L. 1926 Boag, William 1901, 1904, 1911, 1924, 1926, 1928 Bogart, Humphrey 1929 Bolen, Samuel 1926 Bond, Gertrude 1921 Bond, Raymond L. 1907 Boniface, G. C., Jr. 1887 Booth, Agnes 1882, 1883 Booth, Marjorie 1922 Bostwick, H. E. 1895 Bottardy, Sam 1921 “ 3351 Bouton, Howard Bowers, Mr. D. P. B owland, Charle s Bowron, Mrs. William Bowyer, Arthur Boyce, E. J. Boyd, William Bradbury, James, Sr. Bradley, Mr. A. D. Braham, Horace Braham, Lione1 Braun, Helen Brawn, John P. Breese, Edmund Brennan, Joseph Brenska, Betty Brice, Fannie Briggs, Harlan Briggs, Jane Brigham, Edward Brokate, Charles Brown, Henry Brown, H. M. Brown, Leon E. Brown, Minnie Browne, Harry C. Browning, Frank Bruce, Arthur Bruning, Albert 1899, Bryant, Charle s Bryant, Sibyl Bryton, Frederick Buchanan, Arthur F. Buckley, May Buckstone, J. C. Buckstone, Rowland Bune, W . T. Bunny, John H. Bunyea, Mabel Burgess, Gladys Burgoyne, Ollie Burke, Charles Burke, Claire Burke, Marie R. 1928 1893 1887 1884 1924 1895 1916 1909 1916, 1919, 1922 1928 1909 1912 1913 1910 1911 1925 1926 1929 1929 1912 1905 1916 1922 1880 1917 1926 1912 1901 1901 1900, 1901, 1912, 1919, 1922, 1921 1897 1926 1883 1890 1897 1890 1887, 1888, 1920 1901 1883 1912 1923 1926 1883 1913 1920 Burkhardt, Harry Burnar d, Ly1ia Burnett, C. A. Burnham, N. A. Burroughs, Marie Burrows, Charles R. Burrows, Charles W. Burt, Fredrick Burton, Miss Annie Burton, Frederick Burton, Louise Busby, Georgia Butler, John Byron, Arthur Byron, Marinas Cadman, Margaret Cahill, Alfred Call, Mildred Ca1laway, Emily Ca1lender, George Ca1lender, Roma ine Cameron, Aubrey Cameron, Miss Bessie Campbell, Edith Campbell, Violet CanfieId, Eugene Cantzen, Conrad Carelton, H. G. Carlton, H. G. Carlyle, Franc is Carey, Eleanor Carlyle, Frank Carmody, John Carrington, Carter Carrington, Reginald Carroll, Alice Carter, Mrs. Leslie Carter, R. Peyton Cartwr ight, Charle s Cartwright, Edith Carvill, Henry Cayvan, Georgia Chaille, J. J. Chaillu-Dalton, F. du Chamberlain, Miss____ 336" 1921 1920 1906 1891 1883, 1884 1919 1921 1919 1910, 1914 1919 1895 1916 1915 1920 1915 1903 1920 1916 1926 1928 1923 1884 1910 1887 1901 1914 1916 1901, 1904 1901 1901 1887, 1888 1919, 1924 1922 1928 1915, 1916 1890, 1891, 1899, 1905 1903 1909 1910 1924 1884, 1887, 1889 1913 1925 1902 Chamberlain, Winthrop Chant ore, Li11ian Chapman, Mrs. Irvin Charters, Spencer Charwate, Tex Chase, Emma Christie, George Stewart Christy, Harold Claire, Ina Clark, George Clark, Grace Gayler Clark, Lois Frances Clark, W. T. Clarke, Carree Clarke, Dowing Clarke, George Clayton, Estelle C lement, Laura Clements, John Cleugh, Dennis Cliffe, H. Cooper Clinton, D. Lewis Coffin, Lillian Coffine, Estelle Coghlan, Rose Coleman, Louise Colfax, Frank Collins, Ruth Colton, Mr. Harry Connelly, Edward Colton, R. F. Connor, Frank Conover, Richard S. Cons tant ine, Norman Cooksey, Curtis Cooper, Leonard Cope, John W. Corcoran, Katherine Cornell, Katharine Corrigan, Emmett Cortez, Armand Cotton, R. F. Coughlan, Rose Courtleigh, William Cowl, Jane 1902 1890 1903 1926 1916 1899 1917 1919 1917, 1919 1882, 1883 1906 1915 1919 1913 1904 1883, 1884 1883 1891 1915 1913 1923 1919 1903 1903 1882 1906, 1907 1887 1916 1913 1890 1913 1906 1928 1916, 1926 1901 1906, 1910, 1911, 1913, 1917 1880 1924 1890, 1912 1928 1887 1920 1916, 1917, 1924, 1926 1903, 1904, 1906, 1907, 1909 338 Craig, Mrs. Chas. G. 1907 Craig, W. Gordon 1928 Crandall, Edward 1922 Crane, Edith 1903, 1905 Crane, William 1887 Craven, Frank 1916 Craven, Harry 1923 Crews, Laure Hope 1914 Croly, Vida 1887 Crompton, W . H. 1880, 1893 Cromwell, John 1926 Crosman, Henrietta 1903 Crowne, Harry C. 1912 Crowell, William 1919 Crowther, Alice 1887 Crume, Carmilla 1916 Cuabaye, Suzanne 1930 Cumming, Dorothy 1918 Cummings, Robert 1919 Cummins, Ellen 1883, 1897 Da ere, Arthur 1890 Da1la s, Mervyn 1890 Dalton, Charles 1912, 1913 Daly, Arnold 1917 Daly, John V. 1907 Daly, Orlando 1923 Dart, Adriana 1928 Dastner, Charles 1913 Davenport, W. 1887 David, Gertrude 1913 Davies, H. Rees 1903 Davies, Miss Phoebe Davis, Edwards 1918 Davis, Kate 1891 Davis, Maria 1905, 1906 Day, Dorothy 1925 Dayton, Ruth 1924, 1925, 1928 Dean, Julia 1909 Dean, J. W. 1880 Dean, Mildred 1915, 1917 Deaves, Rillie 1883 de Belleville, Frederic 1890, 1915 De Cordoba, Pedro 1917 de Dome, Agnes 1930 Deer, Chief 1916 Deffrey, Josephine 1925 339 ,De Knight, Fannie Belle Delaro, Sara De Leath, Vaughn Dellenbaugh, Harriet Otis Delmore, Ralph del Ray, Isobel Del Val, Jean De Mille, Cecil B. De Mille, H. C. Denin, Emily Dennis, Ruth Dennison, W. L. Denys, Marguerite Desborough, Phillip Deshon, Florence Deshon, Roberto Dewey, John A. de Wolfe, Jacques de Wo1fe, Warde Dickinson, Bishop Dickinson, Jenny Dickson, Charles S. Dillon, Louise Ditrichstein, Leo D ive r, Ke nne th Dixon, William Dolly, Edward Donaldson, Arthur Donnelly, Edward Dorrance, Gertrude Doucst, H. Paul Douglas, Gilbert Douglas, Melvyn D ovovan, Eugene Dowling, Millie Drewitt, Stanley Druce, Hubert D'tyl, Utoy Dubois, S. Ducret, Mauricetta Duffey, Henry Dumont, Andre Dunbar, Erroll Dunbar, Janet Dunn, Emma 1926 j 1903 1923 1913, 1915 1886 1925 1926 1907 ! 1886 | 1883 1901 1884 1923 1920 1916 1905 1912 1923 1922 1921 1923 1887 1887 1909, 1910, 1913, 1914 1922 1913, 1914 1913 1916 1915 1903 1923 1915 1930 1928 1889 1903 1920 1926 1886 1930 1919 1928 1913 1911 1907, 1909, 1912 340’ Dunn, J. Malcolm 1903 Dunstan, R. J. 1889 Dunton, John 1902 Dupont, Edwin, Jr., 1915, 1921 Dupree, Minnie Durand, Edouard 1913 Durand, Marie 1930 Du Roy, Lizzie 1899 Duva11, Rankin 1902 Dwight, Marquita 1923 Dyas, Ada 1883 EageIs, Jeanne 1918 Earle, Miss 1902 Eddinger, Lawrence 1926 Eddinger, Wallace 1915 Edgerton, Celia 1882 Edinborough, Oswald 1926 Edmonston, Grace 1912 Edney, Florence 1923 Edwards, Harry 1886 Edwards, Samuel 1900 Edwin, C. E. 1882 Edwin, Walter 1919 Elberts, Carrie 1884 Eliot, Arthur 1890 Elliot, Sidney 1926 Elliott, William 1906, 1907 Ellis, Dorothy 1913 Ellis, Mary 1922 Ellison, Jane 1926 Elliston, Grace 1901 Elman, Lillian 1891 Elton, William 1900 Ely, Edgar 1891 Emerson, Adelaide 1891 Epailly, Jules 1930 Erskine, Wallace 1918 Esposito, J. A, 1913 Esposit, Louis 1913 Estabrook, Howard 1914 Ethier, Alphonse 1915 Eure1le, Gladys 1890 Evans, F. L. 1905 Eyre, Gerland 1882 Eyre, Sophie 1886 34T Farley, Morgan 1920, 1921 Farnam, Ruth 1915 Farrell, Jane 1928 Faversham, William A. 1887, 1893 Fawcett, George D. 1887 Fax, Reuben 1907 Feldman, Gladys 1919 Felice, Frank De 1906 Fenwick, Irene 1923 Ferguson, Helen 1909 Ferguson, W. J. 1884, 1909 Fernandex, Jerome 1913 Ferrell, Jane 1919, 1926 Ferrell, Jean 1917 Figman, Max 1921 Findlay, Thomas B. 1917, 1919, 1921 Firmback, Charles, Jr. 1923 Fischer, Robert C. 1917, 1924 Fiske, Minnie Maddern 1923 Fitzgerald, George 1919 Fitzpatrick, Amy 1915 Fitzpatrick, Stephen 1911 Flaven, Aileen 1909 Flick, Ira M. 1905 Flockton, C. P. 1884 Florence, Katharine 1893, 1903 Florian, Myra 1923, 1928 Floyd, Ernestine 1887 Fogel, Clyde 1903 Forsman, Henry 1915 Fowler, Harrison 1912 Frankau, Joseph 1883, 1884 Fraser, Winifred 1917, 1918, 1923 Fredericks, Arline 1921 Freeman, Helen 1912, 1913 Freeman, Max 1883 Frye, Dwight 1928 Fuller, L. I. 1897 Fullerton, George 1897 Fursman, Georgia Mae 1913 Gahagan, Helen 1930 Galloway, Louise 1917, 1919 Gamb le, Warburt on 1930 Gardner, Amelia 1910 342 i Gardner, Gerald 1913 Gardon, George 1928 Game 11, Arthur 1902 Garry, Charles 1916 Gaston, George 1915 Gear, Luella 1919 Geisen, Vivienne 1928 George, James H. 1905 Gerald, Florence 1926 German, John 1886 Get, Fong 1897 Giddens, George 1916, 1918 Gilbert, John 1882 Gilbert, Thomas 1907 Giles, Arthur 1889 Gilfeather, D. 1890 Gill, Basil 1913 Gillingwater, Claude 1900, 1905 Gillmore, Frank 1914 Gills, Norbert 1906 Gillyn, Aliys 1924 Ginn, Hayward 1916 Girardot, Etienne 1913 Gish, Lillian 1913 G ivan, Charles B. 1913 Glassford, David 1928 Glendinning, Ernest 1910 Glynn, Elsie 1910 Golden, Bernice 1903 Golden, Florence 1928 Goldstein, Sam 1901 Goldthwaite, Dora 1901 Goode, Reginald 1922 Goodwin, N. C. 1915 Gorman, L. F. 1883 Gosnell, Evelyn Gossman, Little Belle 1923 Gossman, T. 1880 Gottschalk, Ferdinand 1930 Grady, James 1926 Graham, Frederick 1916 Gran, AIbert 1923, 1925 Grant, Erie W. 1913 Grau, Julio 1906 Granv i1le, Charlo 11e 1930 Gray, Eden 1920 Gray, Kitty 1928 Green, Mary 1915 Gregory, A. W. 1888 Greig, Robert 1930 Grey, Jane 1909, 1910 Gridier, Patricia 1930 Griffin, Edna 1903, 1910, 1913 Grimm, Louis 1905 Grimwood, Herbert 1922 Grismer, Mr. Jos. R. Grizel, Louis R. 1883 Grove, James 1912 Gruner, Lester 1899 Guernsey, HaroId 1905 Gullan, Campbell 1901, 1904 Gurney, Edmund 1920 Gwynette, Harry 1884 Hague, J. W. 1887 Haines, Master Louis 1890 Haines, Robert T. 1902 Hale, Allan 1928 Hale, Helen 1901, 1903 Hall, Howard 1907 Hall, Laura Nelson 1909 Hall, Mildred 1926 Hall, Pauline 1919 Hall, Porter 1929 Halpin, S. C. 1883 Hamilton, Do Hie 1880 Hamilton, Franee 1902 Hamilton, John F. 1922 Hamilton, Lillie 1880 Hammilton, Little Alice 1880 Hammond, N. Charle s 1903 Hammond, Virginia 1924 Hand, Frank 1912 Hansel, Howell 1909 Hanson, Gladys 1912 Harburg, Charles 1922 Hardin, Edwin 1905 Hardin, Helene 1925 Harding, Lyn 1912 Hardt, Mignon | Haring, Alice | Harrigan, William | Harrington, John I Harris, Charles L. Harris, Louis Harrison, Austin Harrison, Maude Hastings, Cuyler Hart, Edgar Harvey, Mr. Harwood, Harry Haskins, Ysobel Haskins Haverleigh, Florence Hawkins, Etta Hawley, H. Dudley Hayden, Arthur Hayne, Charles Haynes, Minna Gale HazeIton, J. H. Hedge, Charlie Hedley, King Hedman, Martha Heggie, 0. P. Helton, Percy Henderson, Grace Hendricks, Louis Henly, E. J. Herbert, Henry Herbert, J. W. Herbert, S idney Herne, J. A. Heron, Paul Hibbard, Edna Hickman, Alfred Hill, Arthur Hilliard, Robert Hindson, Will Hines, Samuel E. Hippie, Clifford Hogan, Harry Holden, William Holiday, Harry Holland, Edmund Milton 1903 1923 1925 1925, 1926 1887 1890 1919 1900 1911 1899 1880 1891 1897 1897 1884, 1886, 1887, 1888, 1890 1924 1890, 1893 1901 1915 1895 1928 1884 1915 1918 1911, 1914 1887, 1889 1904 1890 1923 1891 1921 1880 1930 1924 1909 1913 1905 1923 1922 1905 1884 1911 1916 1912 345 Holliday, H. 1882 Hollingsworth, Alfred 1899 Holmes, Raymond 1886, 1890 Holmes, Taylor 1907 Holt, Edwin 1911, 1917 Hopper, Edna Wallace 1893 Horn, Harry 1883 Horton, Edward Everett 1912 Houston, Edith 1914 Houston, Jane 1920 Howard, HaroId 1899 Howard, Mable 1899 Howard, Nellie 1890 Howland, Jobyna 1919 Howland, Le grand 1902 Howson, John 1887 Hudson, Janet 1900 Huebner, Fred 1883 Hull, Arthur Stuart 1928 Hull, Harold 1903 Hull, Henry 1923, 1926 Hull, Shelley 1903 Hungerford, Charles 1905 Hunt, Elizabeth 1915 Hunt, Lesli M. 1926 Hunter, Laraine 1926 Hunter, Rachel 1925 Hunter, T. Hayes 1905 Hurst, L. 1887 Huson, Alfred 1904 Hyde, Bert 1912, 1919 Ingram, Charles 1902 Ingram, John 1901 Irving, Isabel 1913 Irwin, Mrs. Selden 1883 Jackson, J. W. 1926 Jackson, James 1926 Jackson, Thomas E. 1922 Ja1iffe, Frances 1900 James, Horace 1905 Jarbeau, Marland 1928 Jeffreys, Harry 1883 Jennings, DeWitt 1907 Jennings, John W. 1895 346; I Jessup, Stanley 1922 Jevne, Jack 1916 Johnson, Ben 1924 Johnson, Mary 1910 Johnson, Orrin 1890, 1893 Johnson, Teft 1905 Jolly, A. 1901 Jones, Alice 1913 Jones, Altamay 1926 Jones, Herber 1913 Jones, J. D. 1901 Johnson, J. Louis 1926 Jordan, Jerome 1928 Joyner, Francis 1916 Kahn, Lucille 1923 Kane, Whitford 1918 Karle, Miss 1902 Kaufman, Charles W. 1915 Kaye, A. P. 1923 Keane, James 1925 Keating, Micheline 1923 Ke enan, Frank 1905, 1907 Ke ir, Angela 1914 Ke ith, Ian 1923 Kelcey, Herbert 1887, 1889, 1912 Keller, Louis 1905 Kellerd, John E. 1895, 1903 Kellerd, Ralph 1907 Kelly, Gerald 1905 Kelly, Margot 1920 Kelly, P. J. 1919 Kelly, William 1890, 1909 Kennedy, J. W. 1914 Kennedy, Jerome 1913 Kennedy, M. A. 1890, 1891 Kennedy, M. J. 1887 Kent, Edward 1921 Kerr, Geoffrey 1928 Kerrigan, Kathleen 1923 Kessler, Master Richard 1904 Kilgour, Joseph 1887, 1912 King, Edith 1915, 1918 King, Madeleine 1928 King, Sam 1925 347 Kinko, Naoe 1923 Kirkland, Hardee 1915 Kirkwood, Jame s 1905, 1924 Kittie, Little 1900 Klaer, Adele 1921 Klein, A. 1883 Klein, Sybil 1903, 1904 Kling, Saxon 1921 Knight, George S. 1887 Knight, Mrs. Sophie 1887 Knorr, Gladys 1916 Kohlmar, Leon 1904 Kralow, Olga 1929 Krilling, Anthony 1925, 1926 Kukuck, William 1890 Kyle, Frances 1921 Lackaye, James 1907 Lacy, Dan 1883 Ladd, Schyler 1922 Lamber, Richard 1928 Lamp, William 1900 Lance, Robert J. 1912 Landon, Thomas 1918 Lane, Albert 1912 Lang, Howard 1921 Langford, Edward 1909 La Nier, Vanita 1925 Lanning, Francis L. 1905 La throp, Frank 1893 Lawford, Ernest 1913 Lawler, Andrew J., Jr. 1923 Lawrence, Wm. 1880 Lawton, Mary 1912 Lawton, Thais 1921 Lee, Auriol 1918 Lee, Florence 1921 Lee, Henry 1883 Lee, Samuel S. 1926 Leeson, Dan 1886 Leighton, Harry 1916 Leighton, Isabel 1920 Le Moyne, W. H, 1884 Le Moyne, William J. 1882, 1883, 1884, 1887, 1889, 1900 Lenge1, Frank 1928 348 Lennon, Emmet 1903 Lennox, Ne s t or 1884 Leonard, Cooper 1902 Leonard, Miss 1901 Le Roux, Leah 1923 Leslie, Dora 1888, 1889, 1890 Leslie, Elsie 1890 Leslie, Enid 1883 Leslie, Marguerite 1913 Levain, Harry 1897 Lewes, Miriam 1921 Lewis, Ada 1902 Lewis, Martin 1920 Lindsey, Julie 1901 Ling, Richie 1913, 1914 Lister, Francis 1923 Little, Belle 1884 Little, Julian 1913 Livingston, Madeleine 1905 Long, Howard 1921 Long, J. N. 1884 Long, Nick 1922, 1923 Longeran, Lester 1917 Lopez, Leonardo Piza 1906 Lopez, Reginn 1906 Lorenz, William 1923 Loring, Teris 1922 Lorraine, Harriett 1928 Lorraine, Robert 1924 Losee, Frank 1906 Lotta 1887 Lowe, Edmund 1919 Lowell, Helen 1929 Lyn, May 1901 Lyn, Nina 1901 Lynch, Nellie 1901 MacArthur, Arthur 1928 Mac Donald, Ida 1890 Mac Fayden, Harry 1923 MacGuffin, Schuyler 1928 Mack, Albert 1915 Mack, Edward 1916, 1917 Mackay, Elsie 1920, 1923 Mackay, F. F. 1886 Mack, Willard 1916, 1917, 1925, 1926 349! ‘ Mackey, E. Mackintosh, Louise MacLaren, Ian | MacQuarrie, George Macy, Carleton Madison, Ada Terry Maginley, Benjamin Majeroni, Giorgio Mainha11, H. Malchien, Richard Ma ley, Denman Maley, Stephen Manning, Frank Mansfield, Richard Mantell, Robert B. Marinoff, Fania Marion, Edith Marlow, Richard Marshall, Madeleine Martin, Alice Martin, Charles H. Martin, E. Allen Martin, Jacques, Mrs. Mart in, Rea Maryatt, Arthur Mason, J. B. Mason, Louis Mason, Reginald Matlock, Thomas Maxwell, Fred Maxwell, Joseph Maxwell-Conover, Teresa Maynard, Edythe Mayo, Edwin F. Mayer, Annie McCabe, Julia McCa11, Angela McCarthy, Agnes McCarthy, Charles F. McComas, Carroll McCoy, Mildred McCullough, E. J. McCullum, H. H. McDougall, Rex 1890 1909 1922 1925 1911 1889 1884 1923 1880 1915, 1919 1914 1907 1909 1884 1884 1920 1893 1890 1915 1915 1928 1907 1922 1920, 1924 1905 1886 1926 1924 1895 1905 1895 1912 1915 1895 1890 1925 1895 1923 1919, 1925 1916 1929 1890 1913 1910 350 ; McEvers, Veda McGrane, Thomas McKeever, John McKeever, Johnny McKenna, John H. McLean, R. D. McNamee, John McNaughton, Anna McOwen, Bernard J. McRae, Bruce MeVay, Wi11iam McWade, Robert Jr. Mead, Harold Me grew, Doro thy Me ighan, Thomas Me lean, Martha Mellish, Fuller Mellon, John Meredith, Anne Merlin, Iva Merrill, Beth Mestayer, Harry Meyer, Greta Mer ivale, Phi1ip Merriam, Pauline Mervale, Gas ton Metford, Lee Miller, Fred Miller, Henry Millar, Lee Millford, Warren Millward, Charles Millward, Herbert Millward, H. S. Miltern, John Milton, Barbara Mindo, F. Newton Mirien, Miss Misko, Jah Mit che1, Thoma s Mitchell, Dodson Mitchell, Earle Mit che11, Grant Molineaux, Constance 1907 1905 1893 , 1895 ! 1912 1905 1914 1913, 1914 1924 1909, 1910, 1912, 1918, 1919 1907 1912 1904 1915 1911, 1925 1906 1917, 1922 1919 1916, 1917 1913 1924, 1926 1919 1930 1920, 1922 1920 1901 1914 1926 1882, 1887, 1889, 1893 1913, 1914 1902 1905 1899 1884, 1901 1913, 1916, 1925 1920 1909 1902 1928 1919, 1921 1909 1925 1912 1916 Monterey, Carlotta Montford, May Moodie, Louise Moore, Pauline Moran, Charles Mordant, Edwin Mordaunt, Frank Moreland, Margaret Moretti, Eleanor Morewin, Louise Morgan, Adrian Morgan, Claudia Morgan, Edward J. Morgan, Frank Morisini, Gertrude Morison, Rose Morris, Frank E. Morris, William Moxler, James Moyle s, Danie1 Murdock, Ann Murielie, Miss C. Murphy, John Daly Murray, Eloise Murray, Nona Murray, W. B. My 11, Louis Nannery, Edward Nash, Florence Nash, Mary Naucaze, Mme. de Nelson, August Nelwon, Fred Nesmith, Ottola Nesbitt, Cathleen Nevil, Ada C. Newton, A. R. Nicholas, George Nichols, Guy Nicholson, Will G. Nicolaides, Atalanta Noble, Grace Noble, Robert 1923 1901, 1902 1903 1921 1925 1916 1890, 1893, 1895 1916 1902 1901 1913 1930 1895 1916 1913 1923 1914 1884, 1890, 1893, 1909, 1910, 1913 1917, 1920 1905 1915, 1919 1915 1919 1912 1915 1899 1901 1926 1909 1911 1887 1915 1928 1914 1917 1915 1890 1883 1923 1912 1906 1905 1921 352 Noineux, Paulette 1918 No1ley, Edmonia 1923 Norman, Ethel 1900 Norris, Edmond 1919 Norris, William 1925 North, Bobby 1910 Oberle, Thomas 1890, 1893 O’Brien, Eugene 1912 O’Conner, Robert E. 1924 O’Madigan, Isabel 1915, 1916 O’Malley, Rex 1928 O’Neil, Nance 1909 Osborn, Laura 1905 Osborne, George 1897 Osborne, Henrietta Bert 1880 Otis, Elita Proctor 1915 Ottolengue, Helen 1883 Overman, Lynne 1930 Overton, Charles 1886 Owen, Catherine Dale Owen, Miss Lillie 1925 Parker, F. Waldo 1887 Parks, Josephine 1915 Pascale, Vincent de 1906 Patrick, Jerome 1915, 1916 Patterson, Douglas 1909 Paul, Logan 1928 Pawle, Lennox 1923, 1924, 1928 Pear s on, Arthur 1901 Pendleton, Eleanor 1916 Percival, W. I. 1922 Perry, Anto inette 1907 Perry, Frederic 1901 Pettit, Ethel 1912 Petty, Margaret 1926 Peyton, Jane 1911 Phillips, Helena 1901 Pickford, Mary 1907, 1913 Pierlot, Francis 1926 Piggott, J. W. 1887 Pike, Maurice 1902 Pile, Seifert 1926 Pioselli, Louis 1914 Platt, G. F. 1889 353 Pollack, Alice Leal Pomeroy, H. R. Ponisi, Mme. Power, Tyrone Powers, Carrie E. Powers, Francis Powers, Mark Preer, Evelyn Pr inc e, Adela ide Probst, Ben Pro c t or, Ca the r ine Profit, Herman Purcell, Irene Putnam, Alice Quinn, Mrs. Quinns, The Ramsey, Mr. Walden Randall, Gus Ranseer, Mignon Ranson, Herbert Rawlins, Harry L. Raymond, Augusta Raymond, Frederick Reed, Florence Reeves, Miss Fanny Reeves, Lawrence Reeves-Smith, Henry Recchio, Franceso Redpath, Olive Redmun, Mrs. Reicher, Frank Re imer, Helen Reinhardt, Beatrice Reinhardt, Julia Reinhold, Bernard A. Rennie, James Renry, Germaine de Revell, Dorothy Revelle, A. Hamilton Reynolds, Genevieve Reynolds, Nellie R. Reynolds, Thomas Reynolds, Wilson Rhinelander, Annie Ricciardi, W. G. 1910 1905 1882, 1886 1905, 1921 1897 1905 1912 1926 1910 1928 1910, 1915 1926 1930 1912 1918 1918 1883, 1884 1887 1921, 1925 1922 1901 1887 1928 1915 1883 1899 1917, 1919 1906 1900 1902 1913, 1915 1920 1913 1909 1920 1922 1930 1902 1901, 1906 1903 1926 1917, 1923, 1924, 1928, 1930 1925 1926 1904 Rice, Blanche j Rich, Henrietta ■ Richards, A. D. j Richardson, Lillian Richman, Charles Ridde11, George Riggs, Carlton Ripley, Lou Ritter, Karl Roache, Viola Rohe, Annie Roberts, H. R. Roberts, R. A.. Roberts, Theodore Robertson, C. H. Robertson, Ian Robertson, Willard Robins, Edward H. Robinson, Forrest Robinson, Margaret Robson, Robert Roche, John Rogers, Harry Rogers, Robert Ro1land, Gus tave Rosley, Adrian H. Ross, David Ross, Harriet Rossi, Jose Rossi, Susanna Rowland, Edith Royston, W. B. Rude11, Billie Ruiz, Fermin Rushton, Roland Russell, Helen Russell, Master T. Russell, Virginia Ryan, George Ryan, Georgia Sainpolis, John Sampson, William Sams, Master Sansome, Anthony J. 1901 1 1891 ! 1902 1887 1906, 1909 1928 1913 1909 1913 1928 1886 1901, 1905 1890 ! 1893 1895 1890 1907 1909, 1913 1884, 1917 1901 1909, 1915 1920 1901 1920 1930 1916 1913 1915 1911 1923, 1925 1903 1889 1925 1906 1916 1886, 1890, 1902 1884 1921 1928 1920 1911 1909, 1917 1901 1928 355' Sarony, Gilbert 1891 Sasse, Ethel Marie 1914 Sasse, Marie 1915 Sauermah, Carl 1916 Saunders, Westropp 1900, 1902, 1910 Sawtell, J. A1 1905 Schatts, M. Daniel 1913 Sehmedes, Hugo 1915 Schumann-Heink, Henry 1910 Scott, Cyril 1887, 1893, 1895, 1917 Scott, Gilmore 1899, 1901, 1905, 1906, 1909 Scott Jean 1921 Scott, Walter F. 1915 Seabert, Charles 1884 Seddon, Margaret 1914 Servais, Ivan 1930 Servoss, Mary 1922, 1924 Seton, Harold 1923, 1926, 1928 Seyffertitz, Gustav Von 1914 Shannon, Effie 1889, 1912, 1923 Shannon, Winona 1890 Shaw, James W. 1902 Shaw, Miss 1902 Shea, Loretto 1928 Sheldon, Harry S. 1905 Shelton, George H. 1912 Shepley, Ruth 1915 Sheppard, George H. 1883 Sherman, J. 1880 Sherman, Lowell J. 1905, 1915, 1916 Sherwood, Blanche 1901 Sherwood, George 1926 Shine, John L. 1920, 1921 Shirley, Ivan 1886 Shoemaker, Dorothy 1910 Shore, Jane 1914 Sidney, Clara 1920 Sills, Milton 1912, 1913 Silverstone, Joseph 1897 Simms, Alfred 1890 Simpson, Mr. 1887 Simpson, Russell 1914 Sinclair, Maud 1923 Singer, James 1912 Sipperly, Ralph Sitgreaves, Beverly Skinner, Mr. J Skinner, Otis Smith, C. Aubrey Smith, Dexter Smith, Mark Smith, Mark Snader, Edward L. Snaith, Judith Snyder, Matt Snyder, Rose Sothern, Edward H. Sothern, Sam Southbrook, Ellen Spencer, Willis Stallard, Ernest Stanley, Paul Stark, Rosa Starr, Frances St. Clair, Clare Steele, Vernon Steinver, Goldye M. Stephenson, Henry Stephenson, Mable Sterling, Harriet Stevens, Edwin Stevens, Mr. G. Y. Stevens, Messr. Stevenson, Charles A. Stewart, Katherine Stewart, Maude St. James, Wm. St. Leonard, Florence Story, Richard Strassberg, Morris Strozzi, Kay Stuart, Dora Stuart, Eleanor Stuart, Jane Stuart, Marshall Stuart, Walter S ture z, Maur ice 356 1925 1915 1915 1923, 1928 ! 1902 i 1912 1891, 1899, 1903 1916 1912 1901 1901 1887, 1888 1887 1922 1919 1923 1915 1888 1909, 1912, 1913, 1915, 1916, 1918 1920 1930 1924 1930 1882 1905 1903 1902 1901, 1905 1930 1882 1926 1901 1907 1922 1924 1886 1901 1887 1909 1899 1928 Suasman, Bernard Sullivan, Josie Morris Sumner, James Susman, Bernard Sutherland, Anne Sutherland, Hope Swanson, Douglas F. Sweeney, Joseph Swinburne, Nora Sylvester, Louise Talbot, Henry Ta1ford, Edward Taliafero, William Taurog, Norman Taylor, Estelle Tannehill, Sen. F. Tannehill, W. E. Ta shman, Lilyan Tearle, Osmond Temple, Jean Terry, Ethel Grey Terry, Ruth Tester, Ed. A. Theodore, Belle Theodore, Ralph Thill, Helen Thomas, Calvin Thomas, Edna Thomas, George Thompson, Edward Thompson, W. H. Thompson, Sydney Thomson, Frederick A. Thrower, Edna Tibbetts, W. F. Tillard, W. H. Tobin, Vivian Toland, Hugo Toler, Sidney Tooker, William H. Torres, Jose Totten, Joseph Bryon Tower, Catherine Tracy, Helen 357i l 1922 1 1909 : 1883 I 1928 i 1899, 1909 1 1920 1928 1926 1923 1914 1884, 1890 1902 1926 1913 I 1929 1890 1884 1919 1882 1916 1909 1919 1905 1910 1921 1899 1917 1926 1926 1926 1890, 1893 1924 1902 1926 1890 1890 1921 1897, 1899 1920, 1921, 1923, 1925, 1929 1912 1922 1913 1906 1895, 1899 : Travener, G. W. Treacy, Joseph L. Triggs, Barclay Trisvan, Thomas Truex, Ernest Turner, Carrie Turner, Dorothy Turner, Maidel Tuohy, Arthur Tyler, Annette Tyler, Odette Tynda11, Kathryn Tynan, Brandon Ulric, Lenore 1916, Valentine, T. C. Van Benthuysen, Edith Van Blake, George Vandell, Gretta Vanderfelt, E. H. Vernade, Louis P. Vernon, Grace Vernon, Ida Victor, Josephine Victor, Lacy Vivian, Perciva1 Vivian, Robert Vizini, Cyril Vogel, Henry Volare, Lorna Vonnegut, Marjorie Von Stamwitz, Madame Vosburgh, Harold Wainwright, Marie Walcott, Charles Walcot, Mrs. Charles Waldron, C. D. Wagner, Gertrude Waithe, Alan Walcott, George Walker, Antoinette Walker, Charlotte Walker, June Walker, Stuart Wallace, Edna 1891 I 1905 I 1926 1926 j 1913 1 1882, 1887 j 1915 ; 1914 ! 1902 j 1913 1893 1910 1900 1901 1917, 1919, 1921, 1924, 1926 1928 1890 1901 1911 1909 1890 1904 1914 1890 1913 1883 1922, 1926 1913, 1917 1901 1915 1918 1924 1884 1911 1915, 1917 1887, 1889 1887, 1889 1907 1915 1926 1929 1903, 1904, 1915 1907, 1910, 1920 1928 1912 1893 359 Wallace, Ramsey 1915 Wallace, Reggie 1913 j Wa1lace, Roland 1913 | Wallack, Lester 1886 | Wallie, James 1883 Walsh, Katherine 1919 Walshe, Pat 1913 Walter, Dorothy Walters, Miss J. C. 1914 Walton, Kraft Ward, Miss Ada 1928 Ward, Jean 1926 Ward, Gertrude 1889 Ward, Lawrence 1919 Ward, Smothers 1926 Ware, Helen 1915, 1921 Warfield, David 1901, 1904, 1911, 1922 Warner, Richard 1902 Warnick, John 1915 Warwick, Robert 1915 Waterman, Ida 1915 Watson, Frederick 1907 Watson, George 1884 Watson, Minor 1929 Watts, Garold 1903 Wayne, Mildred 1926 Wayne, Robert 1926 Weaner, Henry 1919 Weaver, Henry, Jr. 1895, 1901, 1914 Webb, Beresford 1901 Webber, John F. 1909, 1911 Webber, Joseph A. 1895 Webster, Carleston 1902 Weil, Regina 1906 Weinberg, Gus 1916 Welch, Marshall 1905 Weldon, Clare 1913 Wells, Loretta 1909 Wells, Venie 1897 Welsh, Betty 1925 West, Beverly 1916, 1919 West, Gordon 1905 West, Langdon 1911, 1916 West, Madge 1901, 1902 360 West, Percita West, Percy Westerton, Frank H. Weston, Charlotte Nicoll Wever, Edward W. Wheatcroft, Nelson Wheatcroft, Stanhope Wheatleigh, Charles Wheeler, John N. Wheelock, Joseph Whiffen, Thomas Whiffen, Mrs. Thomas Whitehawk, Chief Wh i t ing, Emme t Whitney, William Whittlesey, W. Wild, Wm. Wilkes, Joseph A. Wilkes, Mattie V. Wilks, Ef P. Willa, Suanne Willard, John William, Warren Williams, Cally Williams, Elizabeth Williams, Fritz Williams, Malcolm Williams, Odell Wilson, Harry B. Wilson, James E. Wilson, Jay Wilson, Paul E. Wilton, Mr. E. Winard, Miss Winfield, Henry Winfield, Virgie Winter, Maude Winter, Rose Winters, Lydia Wise, Mrs. Tom Wise, Thomas A. Withers, Helen Witherspoon, Cora Wolfe, Edwin R. 1893 1889 1903, 1906, 1914 1903 | 1922 1887, 1889 I 1907 ! 1883 1912, 1915 1884 1882, 1883, 1884 1883, 1884, 1887, 1889 1917 1921 1903 1889 1905 1913 1926 1900, 1902 1914 1919 1926 1915 1926 1889 1914 1895, 1901 1912 1893 1916 1922 1902 1926 1926 1901 1923 1903 1920 1914 1928 1910, 1913 1913 3611 Wood, Arthur J. Wood, Douglas Wood, Freeman Wood, Lawrence Wood, Louise Woodall, Walter Woodley, H. Percy Woodward, George Worre11, Devah Worthing, Frank Wren, Oliver Wr ight, Charle s Wyatt, Marguerite Wyngate, Charles Yardly, Fred Yates, J. Carrington Y1lera, Candido Young, Fanny Yousoff, Ali lima Yost, Herbert Young, Tammany Yovin, Jose Yurka, Blanche Yvonne, Mimi Zito, Salvatore 1917 1901, 1903 1916 1913 1909 1890 1921, 1922, 1928, 1930 * 1907 1922 1900, 1909 1883 1905 1926 1900 1905 1904 1906 1900 1928 1917 1916, 1926 1922, 1923, 1924 1907, 1909 1915 1906 APPENDIX C HOLDINGS IN THE DAVID BELASCO COLLECTION IN THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY 1 APPENDIX C HOLDINGS IN THE DAVID BELASCO COLLECTION IN THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY MWEZ n.c. 1 The Bachelor Father Photo* MWEZ n. c. 2 Miscellaneous Key Plates Photo MWEZ n.c. 3 The Boomerang' Photo MWEZ n.c. 4 Call The Doctor Photo MWEZ n.c. 5 Canary Dutch Photo MWEZ n.c. 6 The Comedian MWEZ n. c. 7 The Concert Photo MWEZ n.c. 8 Daddies Photo MWEZ n. c. 9 Dancing Partner Photo MWEZ n. c. 10 Darling of the Gods Scene and Ground Plans Micro** MWEZ n. c. 11 Darling of the Gods MWEZ n. c. 12 Deburou Photo MWEZ n.c. 13 The Dove Photo Micro MWEZ n.c. 14 The Easiest Way Photo MWEZ n. c. 15 The Easiest Wav Photo MWEZ n.c. 16 The Fighting Hope Photo MWEZ n.c. 17 The Girl from the Golden West Photo MWEZ n.c. 18 The Girl from the Golden West Photo MWEZ n.c. 19 The Gold Diggers Photo MWEZ n.c. 20 A. Grand Army Man Photo MWEZ n.c. 21 A. Grand Duke Photo Legend: * Photo means scrapbook and photographs. ** Micro means scrapbook is also on microfilm. *** Folio size scrapbook. x Means oversized scrapbook, xxx Means folio size scrapbook 363________________________ MWEZ n c. 22 MWEZ n c. 23 MWEZ n c. 24 MWEZ n c. 25 MWEZ n c. 26 MWEZ n c. 27 MWEZ n c. 28 MWEZ n c. 29 MWEZ n c. 30 MWEZ n c. 31 MWEZ n c. 32 MWEZ n c. 33 MWEZ n c. 34 MWEZ n c. 35 MWEZ n c. 36 MWEZ n c. 37 MWEZ n c. 38 MWEZ n c. 39 MWEZ n c.40 MWEZ n c. 41 MWEZ n c. 42 MWEZ n c. 43 MWEZ n c. 44 MWEZ n c. 45 MWEZ n c. 46 MWEZ n c. 47 MWEZ n c. 48 MWEZ n c. 49 MWEZ n c. 50 MWEZ n c. 51 MWEZ n c. 52 MWEZ n c. 53 MWEZ n c. 54 MWEZ n c. 68 MWEZ n c. 69 MWEZ n c. 70 MWEZ n c. 71 MWEZ X n.c. MWEZ XXX n. c MWEZ n.c. 95 MWEZ X n.c. MWEZ X n.c. MWEZ X n. C. ‘ MWEZ X n.c. MWEZ X n.c. The Harem Is Matrimony a Failure? It’s a Wise Child Just a Wife Kiki Ladies of the Evening Laugh, Clown, Laugh The Lily The Lily Lily Sue Little Lady in Blue Lulu Belle Lulu Belle Marie-Odile Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary The Merchant of Venice The Merchant of Venice The Music Master The Music Master One The Other Rose The Phantom Rival Polly with a Past Seven Chances Shore Leave The Son - Daughter Blanche Bates Photos Tiger Rose Tiger, Tiger Tonight or Never Van Per Decken The Very Minute Warrens of Virginia Mary E. Forbes 076 96 97 98 99 100 1925-1926 Adrea Press ----> Book, 1902-1904 Press Book, 1904-1906 Press Book, 1906-1907 Press Book, 1909-1910 Press Book, 1912-1914 Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Phbto Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo Photo 3'6V Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro MWEZ x n.c. 101 MWEZ x n.c. 102 MWEZ x n.c. 103 MWEZ x n.c. 104 MWEZ x n.c. 105 MWEZ x n.c. 106 MWEZ xxx n.c. 107 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 108 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 109 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 110 Annex MWEZ x n.c. Ill MWEZ x n.c. 112 MWEZ x n.c. 113 MWEZ x n.c. 114 MWEZ x n.c. 115 MWEZ x n.c. 116 MWEZ x n.c. 117 MWEZ x n.c. 118 MWEZ x n.c. 119 MWEZ xxx n.c. 120 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 121 Annex MWEZ x n.c. 122 MWEZ n.c. 123 MWEZ n.c. 124 MWEZ xxx n.c. 125 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 126 Annex MWEZ n.c. 127 MWEZ n.c. 128 MWEZ n.c. 129 MWEZ n.c. 130 MWEZ n.c. 131 MWEZ xxx n.c. 132 Annex Press Book, 1914-1915 Press Book, 1915 Press Book, 1917-1918 Press Book, 1917 The Auctioneer, 1901-1902 The Auctioneer, 1902-1904 The Auctioneer-, 1913-1915 The Auctioneer, 1918-1920 Bachelor Father The Big Fight Boomerang , 1919 The Boomerang, 1915, Misc. 1915-1916 Call the Doctor Canary Dutch The Woman The Comedians The Concert, 1911-1912 The Concert, 1912-1913 The Concert, 1910-1912 Daddies Dark Rosaleen, 1919 Belasco Clippings, 1903- 1904 Darling of the Gods, 1903- 1904 Darling of the Gods, 1904- 1906 Deburou The Dove DuBarry, 1901-1902 DuBarry, 1903 DuBarry DuBarry, 1902-1903 DuBarry, 1902 The Easiest Way, 1921-1922 365 Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro 366- MWEZ x n.c. 133 MWEZ xxx n.c. 135 Annex MWEZ x n.c. 136 MWEZ x n.c. 137 MWEZ x n.c. 138 MWEZ n.c. 140 MWEZ xxx n.c. 141 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 142 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 143 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 144 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 145 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 146 Annex MWEZ x n.c. 147 MWEZ xxx n.c. 148 Annex MWEZ x n.c. 149 MWEZ x n.c. 150 MWEZ x n.c. 151 MWEZ x n.c. 152 MWEZ xxx n.c. 153 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 154 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 155 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 156 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 157 Annex The Easiest Way, 1910-1911 Fanny Fighting Hope Girl of the Golden West Girl of the Golden West, 1909 Girl of the Golden West, 1905-1906 Gold Diggers, 1922-1923 A Good Little Devil, 1912- 1913 Governor!s Lady The Gold Diggers The Grand Duke, 1921-1922 The Harem, 1924-1925 The Harem Hidden, 1927-1928 Heart of Maryland, 1905- 1906 Is Matrimony a Failure, 1904-1909 Just a Wife, 1909-1910 Kiki, 1922-1923 Kiki, 1923-1924 Kiki, 1922-1922 Ladies of the Evening, 1924-1925 Laugh, Clown, Laugh, 1924- 1925 Laugh, Clown, Laugh, 1923- 1924 Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro MWEZ xxx n.c. 158 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 159 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 160 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 161 Annex MWEZ x n.c. 162 MWEZ n.c. 163 MWEZ xxx n.c. 164 Annex MWEZ xxx n. c. 165 Annex MWEZ xxx n. c. 166 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 167 The Lady in Blue, 1916-1918 Little Sue, 1926-1927 Lulu Belle, 1926-1927 Lulu Belle, 1925-1926 The Lily, 1909, 1911 Madame Butterfly, 1900 The Man Inside, 1913-1914 Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, 1923-1924 Merchant of Venice, 1924 Annex Merchant of Venice, 1922- 1923 MWEZ x n.c. 168 Annex Mima, 19 2 8-19 29 MWEZ xxx n.c. 169 Annex The Music Master, 1916-1917 MWEZ xxx n.c. 170 Annex The Music Master, 1906-1908 MWEZ xxx n.c. 171 Annex One, 1920-1921 MWEZ x n.c. 172 The Return of Peter Grimm, 1911 MWEZ xxx n.c. 173 Annex The Return of Peter Grimm, 1911-1912 MWEZ xxx n.c. 174 Annex The Return of Peter Grimm, 1920-1922 MWEZ x n.c. 175 Nobody's Widow, 1911-1912 MWEZ n.c. 176 Rose of the Rancho, 1907- 1908 MWEZ n.c. 177 Rose of the Rancho, 1906- 1908 MWEZ xxx n.c. 178 Annex The Secret, 1913-1914 MWEZ xxx n.c. 179 Annex Seven Chances, 1916 3681 MWEZ xxx n.c. 180 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 181 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 182 Annex MWEZ n.c. 183 MWEZ n.c. 184 MWEZ n.c. 185 MWEZ xxx n.c. 186 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c; 187 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 188 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 189 Annex MWEZ n.c. 190 MWEZ xn.c. 191 MWEZ x n.c. 192 MWEZ n.c. 193 MWEZ xxx n.c. 194 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 195 Annex MWEZ x n.c. 196 MWEZ x n.c. 197 MWEZ x n.c. 198 MWEZ x n.c. 199 MWEZ xxx n.c. 200 Annex MWEZ n.c. 201 MWEZ n.c. 202 MWEZ n.c. 203 MWEZ n.c. 203 MWEZ n.c. 204 MWEZ n.c. 205 MWEZ n.c. 206 Shore Leave, 1922-1923 The Son - Daughter, 1918-1920 The Son - Daughter, 1920-1921 Sweet Kitty Bellairs, 1903- 1904 Sweet Kitty Bellairs, 1904- 1905 Sweet Kitty Bellairs, 1905-1906 The Temperamental Journey, 1913-1914 Tiger, Tiger, 1924-1925 Tiger, Tiger, 1918-1920 Tiger Rose, 1920 Under Two Flags, 1901-1902 The Vanishing Bride, 1914- 1915 Van der Decken, 1915-1916 Van der Decken The Very Minute, 1916-1917 - The Wandering Jew, 1921-1922 Warrens of Virginia, 1907- 1908 What Never Dies, 1926-1927 The Woman, 1911 The Woman, 1911-1913 Years of Discretion Zaza, 1898-1899 Zaza, 1899 Micro Zaza, 1899-1901 Micro Zaza, 1899-1901 Micro Zaza, 1900 Micro Zaza, 1900-1901 Micro Theatrical Trust, Misc., 1904-1905 Micro MWEZ n.c. 207 MWEZ X n.c. 208 MWEZ X n.c. 209 MWEZ X n. c. 210 MWEZ X n.c. 211 MWEZ n.c. 212 MWEZ X n.c. 213 MWEZ X n.c. 214 MWEZ X n. c. 215 MWEZ xxx n.c. 216 Annex MWEZ X n. c. 217 MWEZ X n.c. 218 MWEZ xxx n.c. 219 Annex MWEZ xxx n.c. 220 MWEZ X n.c. 221 MWEZ X n. c. 222 MWEZ X n.c. 223 MWEZ X n.c. 224 #49 #50 #51 #52 #53 Theatrical Trust, Misc., 1905 Miscellaneous, 1907-1908 Miscellaneous, 1908-1910 Miscellaneous, 1910-1912 Press Book, 1910-1912 The Woman Bought and Paid For, 1912- 1913 Miscellaneous, 1912-1914 Miscellaneous, 1914 Miscellaneous, 1917-1929 Misce1laneous, 1917 Miscellaneous, 1920-1929 Miscellaneous, 1915-1923 Miscellaneous--Scrapbook (Theatre) Miscellaneous Pressbook, 1929-1930 Clippings and Halftones Daly Arnold, 1911-1915 Programs and Clippings, 1922 David Belasco Material David Belasco Material David Belasco Material David Belasco Material David Belasco Material 369" Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro Micro I BIBLIOGRAPHY Primary Sources Belasco, David, "Aids to the Actorfs Art,1' Munsey1 s Magazine, LXIII (March, 1918), 265-79. ________ . "David Belasco Tells How One Must Study His Part," Vanity Fair, December 4, 1905. ________ . "Dramatic Schools and the Profession of Acting," Cosmopolitan, August 8, 1903, pp. 359-68. ________ . "Dramatizing the Present," Harperfs Weekly, April 12, 1913, p. 18. ________ . "Dressing the Play," Harperfs Bazaar, May, 1919. ________ . "The Evolution of a Belasco Play," Saturday Evening Post, September 2, 1916, pp. 12-14, 46-49. ________ . "How I Develop a Star," New Idea Magazine, October, 1909. ________ . "How I Stage My Plays," Lesliefs Weekly, May, 1903. ________ . "The Making of an Actor," New York Times, April 18, 1915. _______"The Meaning of the Theatre," Munseyfs Maga zine , January, 1914, p. 17. ________ . "Money Rules the Stages, World's Worst Trust," Chicago Tribune, January 12, 1908. 371 372 j t Belasco, David. nMy Struggles” [Belasco collection], March1 29, 1903. | _________. "Some Odd Photographs of Real Tears," The Toledo Times, May 22, 1910, p. 8. "Stagecraft," Green Book, XIV (August, 1915), "353-61. "Stage Management in Theory and Practice," New York Dramatic Mirror, LXV (February 8, 1911). "Stage Realism of the Future," Theatre Maga zine , September, 1913. "The Story of My Life," Hearses Magazine, March, 1914, to December, 1915. "Temper and Temperament: Number Two of David Belascofs Articles upon Factors in Dramatic Suc- cess," Memphis Commercial Appeal, June 5, 1910. The Theatre through Its Stage Door. Edited by Louis V. Defore. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1919. "What I Am Trying to Do: A School for Actors and a Better Theatre for the Public," World1s Work, XXIV (July, 1912), 291-99. Books1 Theatre Histories Anderson, John. The American Theatre and the Motion Pic ture in America. New York: The Dial Press, 1938, pp. 48, 54, 55, 78, 93. To aid future research, particularly for unindexed books, page numbers which contain references to Belasco have been listed after the source. 373 Cheney, Shelden. The Theatre, Three Thousand Years of Drama, Acting, and Stagecraft, New York: Tudor Publishing Co., 1929, pp. 377, 451, 463, 494. Coad, Oral Sumner, and Mims, Edwin, Jr. The American Stage. Vol. XIV: The Pageant of America. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1929, pp. 182, 248, 268, 274-75, 278, 281, 282, 291, 292, 305-10, 330. Freedley, George, and Reeves, John A. A History of the Theatre. New York: Crown Publishers, 1941, pp. 17, 52, 68, 326, 331, 429, 506, 528, 574, 587, 610. Hornblow, Arthur. A History of the Theatre in America. Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1919, pp. 286, 287, 314, 315, 320, 335. Hughes, Glenn. A History of the American Theatre, 1700- 1950. New York: Samuel French, 1951, passim. Macgowan, Kenneth, and Melnitz, William. The Living Stage. New York: Prentice Hall, 1955, pp. 7, 409, 425, 499. Mayorga, Margaret G. A Short History of the American Drama. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1932, pp. 19, 166, 173, 179, 209, 213-220, 225, 247, 351, 352. Nicoll, Allardyce. The Development of the Theatre: A Study of Theatrical Art: from the Beginnings to the Present Day. London: Harcourt, 1927; rev. ed. 1957, pp. 196, 198. Odell, George C. D. Annals of the New York Stage. New York: Columbia University Press, 1940, Vol. XII, passim. Quinn, Arthur H. History of the American Drama. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1923, Vol. II, passim. Sayler, Oliver M. Our American Theatre. New York: Brentanofs, 1923, passim. is 37< S ! 1 Theatre Surveys ! Blum, Daniel. A Pictorial History of the American Theatre, 1950-1956. New York: Greenberg, 1950, pp. 11, 19, 22, 40, 45, 62, 84, 103, 189, 195, 199. Bricker, Herschel L. (ed.). Our Theatre Today. New York: ; Samuel French, 1936, p. 151. Brown, T. Allston. History of the New York Stage, 1732 to 1901. New York: Dodd, Mead 6c Co., 1903; Vol. II, p. 420; Vol. Ill, pp. 393, 426, 622. Cheney, Sheldon. The New Movement in the Theatre. New York: Mitchell Kennerley, 1914, pp. 100, 110, 162-67. Clark, Barrett H. The British and American Drama of Today. Cincinnati: Stewart and Kidd, 1921, pp. 285-86. . An Hour of American Drama. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott, 1930, p. 21. _________, and Freedley, George. A History of Modern Drama. New York: D. Appleton-Century, 1947, pp. 270, 357, 648, 652. Cole, Toby, and Chinoy, Helen Krich. Directing the Play: A Source Book of Stagecraft. Indianapolis: Bobbs Merrill, 1953, pp. 38-40, 65, 98-110. Crawford, Hary Caroline. The Romance of the American Theatre. New York: Little, Brown and Co., 1925, pp. 468-70. Dickinson, Thomas H. The Insurgent Theatre: Organization and Management of the Non-Commercial Theatre. New York: B. W. Huebach, 1917, p. 121. _________. An Outline of Contemporary Drama. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1927, p. 233. _________. Playwrights of the New American Theatre. New York: The Macmillan Co., 1925, pp. 4, 310. Dolman, John. The Art of Play Production. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1946, pp. 109, 141, 156, 165, 172, 209, 225, 299, 333, 339. i Eaton, Walter Pritchard. The Actor*s Heritage. New York: i Atlantic Monthly Press, 1924, pp. 32, 56-58. ________ . The American Stage of Today. Boston: Small, Maynard, 1908, pp. 203-14. ________ . At the New Theatre and Others. Boston: Small, Maynard, 1916, p. 98. ________ . The Drama in English. New York: Scribner, 1930, pp. 298, 302, 313. Gagey, Edmond M. Revolution in American Drama. New York: Columbia University Press, 1947, pp. 1, 3, 7, 14, 18, 19, 25, 27, 37, 117, 186, 187, 232, 237, 273. Goldberg, Isaac. The Drama of Transition. Cincinnati: Stewart Kitt, 1922, pp. 56-57, 153. Gorelik, Mordecai. New Theatres for Old. New York: Samuel French, 1940, pp. 159, 162, 172, 179, 181, 206, 334. Grau, Robert. The Stage in the Twentieth Century. New York: Broadway Publishing Co., 1912, pp. 22, 23. Green, Abel, and Laurie, Joe., Jr. Show Biz: From Vaude to Video. New York: Henry Holt and Co., 1951, pp. 65, 105. Hapgood, Norman. The Stage in America, 1797-1900. New York: Macmillan, 1901, pp. 351-353. Hartmann, Louis. Theatre Lighting. New York: D. Apple ton, 1930, passim. Hewitt, Barnard. The Art and Craft of Play Production. Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1940, p. 248. Hornblow, Arthur. Training for the Stage. Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1916, pp. 13-20, 133. Houghton, Norris. Advance from Broadway: 19,000 Miles of ; American Theatre. New York: Harcourt, Brace, | 1941, p. 306. \ i Irvine, Harry. The Actor*s Art and Job. New York: E. P. Dutton, 1942, p. 194. i Isaacs, Edith J. R. (ed.). Theatre: Essays on the Arts of the Theatre. Boston: Little, Brown, 1927, pp. 7, 110, 145. Krows, Arthur Edwin. Play Production in America. New York: Henry Holt, 1916, pp. 18, 30-31, 45, 59, 130-31, 170, 175, 193, 194. Lewisohn, Ludwig. Drama and the Stage. New York: Har court, Brace, 1922, pp. 47-52. ________ . The Modern Drama: An Essay in Interpretation. New York: The Viking Press, 1928, p. 175. Mantle, Burns. American Playwrights of Today. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1929, p. 234. ________ . Contemporary American Playwrights. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1938. Morehouse, Ward. Matinee Tomorrow: Fifty Years of Our Theatre. New York: Whittlesey House, 1949, pp. 53, 54, 59, 60, 89, 90, 91, 110, 111, 141, 201, 229. Sayler, Oliver M. Revolt in the Arts. New York: Brentano's 1930, pp. 187-190. Stevens, Thomas Wood. The Theater» From Athens to Broad way. New York: Appleton, 1921, pp. 207, 208, 231. Vardac, A. Nicholas. Stage to Screen. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1949, pp. 9, 13, 18, 19, 66, 89, 108-135, 140, 235, 240, 241, 244, 248, 249. 377 Memoirs and Biographies Arliss, George. Up the Years from Bloomsbury. New York: Blue Ribbon, 1927, pp. 204-210. I Bankhead, Tallulah. Autobiography. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1952, pp. 40, 56, 57. Barrymore, Lionel. Me Barrymores. New York: Appleton- | Century-Crofts, 1951, pp. 141, 216. Binns, Archie. Mrs. Fiske and the American Theatre. New York: Crown, 1955, pp. 122, 124, 204-205, 339. Brady, William A. Showman. New York: E. P. Dutton, 1937, pp. 29, 149, 151, 152, 159. Burke, Billie, with Shipp, Cameron. With a Feather on My Nose. New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1949. Cohan, George M. Twenty Years on Broadway. New York: Harper, 1925, pp. 192, 193. Daly, Joseph Francis. The Life of Augustin* Daly. New York: Macmillan, 1917, p. 372. Davis, Owen. My First Fifty Years in the Theatre. Boston: Baker, 1950, p. 24. DeMille, Cecil B. Autobiography of Cecil B. DeMille. Edited by Donald Hayne. Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1959, pp. 19, 23, 25, 48, 59-62, 114, 115. DeMille, William C. Hollywood Saga. New York: E. P. Dutton, 1939, pp. 15, 73, 129, 220. Drew, John. My Years on the Stage. New York: E. P. Dutton, 1921, p. 182. Fiske, Minnie Maddern. Mrs. Fiske, Her Views on Actors, Acting and the Problems of Production. New York: Century, 1917, p. 21. 378 i I Fowler, Gene. Good Night, Sweet Prince. New York: The Viking Press, 1943, p. 442. Frohman, Daniel. Daniel Frohman Presents. New York: C. Kendall and Willoughby Sharp, 1935, pp. 42, 50, 70. ________ . Encore. New York: Furman, 1937, p. 157. i ________ . Memories of a Manager. New York: Doubleday, Page and Co., 1911, pp. 7, 8, 9, 10, 12. Golden, John, and Shore, Viola B. Stage-Struck John Golden. New York: Samuel French, 1930, p. 268. Isman, Felix. Weber and Fields. New York: Boni and Liveright, 1924, pp. 273, 274, 312. Kinne, Wisner Payne. George Pierce Baker and the American Theatre. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1954, pp. 260, 289. Leavitt, M. B. Fifty Years in Theatrical Management. New York: Broadway, 1912, pp. 113, 207, 250, 282, 284, 353, 409, 455, 572, 584, 590, 708. Le Gallienne, Eva. With a Quiet Heart. New York: Viking Press, 1953, pp. 154, 155, 157. Magarshark, David. Stanislavsky. New York: Chanticlear Press, 1951, pp. 366, 380. MacKaye, Percy. Epoch: The Life of Steele MacKaye. 2 vols. New York: Boni and Liveright, 1927, 1:248, 262, 278, 319, 373, 374, 471-74, 476; II: 6, 15, 25, 41, 53, 146, 147, 222. Marcosson, Isaac, and Frohman, Daniel. Charles Frohman. New York: Harper and Bros., 1916, pp. 77, 84, 222, 223, 330. Marek, George. Puccini. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1951, pp. 227, 228, 263, 266. I I McClintic, Guthrie. Me and Kit. Boston: Little, Brown, 1955, pp. 142, 163. Middleton, George. These Things Are Mine. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1947, pp. 68, 247, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 280, 281. i Morosco, Helen M., and Duzzer, Leonard Paul. The Oracle of Broadway. Caldwell, Idaho: Caxton Printers, Ltd., 1944, pp. 254, 255. Morrell, Parker. Lillian Russell: The Era of Plush. New York: Random House, 1940, pp. 195, 224-25, 272-73. Morris, Lloyd. Curtain Time. New York: Random House, 1953, pp. 296, 297, 300. Moses, Montrose J. Clyde Fitch and His Letters. Boston: Little, Brown, 1924, p. 369. Oppenheimer, George. The Passionate Playgoer. New York: Viking Press, 1958, pp. 21, 46, 111, 192, 202, 325, 338, 391-405, 412. Ormsbee, Helen. Backstage with Actors. Oxford: Crowell, 1938, pp. 19, 20, 70, 173, 203-205, 232, 279. Pickford, Mary. Sunshine and Shadow. New York: Doubleday, 1955, pp. 56-59. St. Denis, Ruth. An Unfinished Life: An Autobiography. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1939, pp. 41, 42. Sennett, Mack. The King of Comedy. Garden City: Double day, 1954, pp. 25-27. Strang, Lewis C. Famous Actresses of the Day in America. Boston: L. C. Page, 1899, pp. 178, 196. Thomas, Augustus. The Print of My Remembrances. New York: Scribner*s Sons, 1922, pp. 425, 427. Timberlake, Craig. The Life and Work of David Belasco: The Bishop of Broadway. New York: Library Publish er, 1954. 380 l I Tyler, George C., and Furnas, J. G. Whatever Goes Up: The j Hazardous Fortunes of a Natural Born Gambler. New York: Bobbs-Merrill, 1934, pp. 74, 206. Whiffen, Mrs. Thomas. Keeping Off the Shelf. New York: E. P. Dutton, 1928, pp. 109, 120, 132-133, 143, ! 146-147. Winter, William. The Life of David Belasco. 2 vols. New York: Moffat, Yard and Co., 1918. The Wallet of Time. New York: Moffat, Yard, 1913, pp. 178, 180, 182, 197, 247, 249, 250, 252, 257, 259, 323, 328, 404, 479-81, 487. Yurka, Blanche. Dear Audience. Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1959, pp. 28, 29, 54. Zukor, Adolphe. The Public Is Never Wrong. New York: G. P. Putnamfs Sons, 1953, pp. 99, 100. Critical Studies and Reviews Albright, Harry Darke s. Principles of Theatre Art. Bos ton: Houghton Mifflin, 1955, pp. 162, 266, 466. America's Lost Plays. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1941. Vols. XII, XVII, XVIII. Andrews, Carleton. The Drama of Today. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott, 1913, pp. 95, 96, 97, 98, 103, 225. Bentley, Eric. In Search of Theater. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1953, pp. 149, 404. Bosworth, Halliam. Technique in Dramatic Art. New York: Macmillan, 1934, pp. 354, 355, 386. Brown, John Mason. The Modern Theatre in Revolt. New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1929, p. 39. Two on the Aisle. New York: W. W. Norton, 1938, pp. 173, 265, 266._______________________ Brown, John Mason. Upstage: The American Theatre in Per- j formance. New York: W. W. Norton, 1930, pp. 183- 190. Chapman, John, and Sherwood, Garrison P. (eds.). The Best Plays of 1894-1899. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1955, p. 18. Ford, James L. Forty-Odd Years in the Literary Shop. New York: E. P. Dutton, 1921, pp. 278, 279, 283, 330, 331. Gassner, John. Masters of the Drama. New York: Dover, 1940, p. 420. Goldberg, Isaac. The Theatre of George Jean Nathan. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1926, pp. 79, 185. Hamilton, Clayton. Problems of the Playwright. New York: Henry Holt, 1917, pp. 81, 82, 218-20. ________ . Seen on the Stage. New York: Henry Holt, 1920, pp. 92, 95. . _____. So You1re Writing a Play. Boston: Little, Brown, 1935, p. 164. ________ . Studies in Stagecraft. New York: Henry Holt, 1914, pp. 8, 35, 42, 52. ________ . The Theory of the Theater. New York: Henry Holt, 1910, pp. 42, 90, 155, 156. Hammond, Percy. This Atom in the Audience. New York: Ferris, 1940, pp. 17, 49-51, 81-83, 137. Mantle, Burns, and Sherwood, Garrison P. The Best Plays of 1899-1909. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1944, pp. 207-241, 492-515. Moses, Montrose J. The American Dramatist. Boston: Little, Brown, 1917, passim. ________ . Representative Plays by American Dramatists. New York: E. P. Dutton, 1925, pp. 47-99. 382 Moses, Montrose, and Brown, John Mason (eds.). The Amer ican Theatre as Seen by Its Critics, 1752-1934. New York: W. W. Norton, 1934, pp. 187, 228-35. Nathan, George Jean. Another Book on the Theatre. New York: B. W. Huebsch, 1915, pp. 355-56. ________ . Comedians All. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1919, pp. 70-72, 217. ________ . Encyclopedia of the Theatre. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1940, pp. 52ff. ________ . The Morning after the First Night. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1938, pp. 8-10. ________ . Mr. George Jean Nathan Presents. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1917. ________ . The Popular Theatre. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1918, pp. 58, 79, 181, 216. ________ . The Theater, The Drama, and The Girls. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1921, passim. Ruhl, Arthur. Second Nights. New York: Scribners, 1914, pp. 245-63. Towse, John Rankin. Sixty Years of the Theatre. New York: Funk and Wagnalls, 1916, p. 380. Woolcott, Alexander. Enchanted Aisles. New York: G. P. Putnamfs Sons, 1924, pp. 103-111, 152, 161, 162. ________ . Going to Pieces. New York: G. P. Putnam1s Sons, 1929, pp. 30-31. _______. Shouts and Murmurs. New York: Century Co., 1922, pp. 49, 56, 172. Periodicals "Belasco and Art of Actors at the Best,1 1 Cincinnati Times Star, April 16, 1907. j 383 "Belasco Atmosphere," Cincinnati Commercial Tribune, March : 11, 1910. ! I "Belasco*s Artistic Productions," Cincinnati Commercial Tribune, March 2, 1910. "Belasco a Wizard of Stagecraft," Rochester Evening Times, January 28, 1910. "Belasco Blizzard Beats the Bloomin* Band, Bo!" Cinein- nati Post, April 19, 1907. "Belasco Career Records Sent to Public Library,1 1 New York Telegram, August 6, 1931. "Belasco Directs," Green Book Album, December, 1910. "Belasco Genius in *The Easiest Way,1*1 New York American, January 21, 1909. "Belasco Never Thinks of Expense,** Waukegan [Illinois] Sun, February 1, 1909. "The Belasco Way as Shown in *The Easiest Way,**' Louis- ville [Kentucky] Times, April 23, 1910. "Belasco*s Touches Add Zest to Insipid Plays," Brooklyn Eagle, October, 1910, p. 21. "Belasco*s Work and Plan," Munsey's Magazine, January, 1896. "Belasco Works Out Scenes," Indianapolis Star. September 8, 1907. "Behind the Scenes," Munsey's Magazine. March 28, 1896. Bond, Macgregor. "The Governor on Warpath Didn't Frighten His Crew," New York Times, May 16, 1931. Boston Beacon, January 17, 1885. "Bought a Girl*s Room to Equip His Play," New York Morning and Evening World, January 21, 1909. 3841 ! Dale, Alan. "Eugene Walterfs The Easiest Way," New York American, January 20, 1909. ________ . "Some Surprising Behind the Scenes Secrets," New York Journal, December 8, 1900. ________ . "The Easiest Way Not for Young Persons says Dale," New York Telegraph, January 20, 1909. Darnton, Charles, "Belasco Stage Storm Made as Real as Rain Surprise of the Season," New York World, October 6, 1919. ________ . "David Belasco Throws His Light on fNewf Idea for Staging Plays," New York Evening World, Febru ary 6, 1915. ________ . "Work, Secret of Stars David Belasco Has Had," New York World, October 10, 1914. "David Belasco," Pearson1s Magazine, February, 1904. "David Belasco Conducting Rehearsals," New York Telegram, March 8, 1903. "David Belasco on Magnetism," Birmingham [Alabama] Age- Herald, June 20, 1909. "David Belasco Tells How He Develops Stars and Produces Plays" [Belasco Collection] April, 1904, p. 63. "David Belasco, the Famous Playwright and Manager, Dis cusses Beauty as a Factor in the Success of the Dramatic Aspirant," Memphis Commercial Appeal, May 28, 1910. "David Drills Stage Mob for the Lambs Gambol," Cleveland Leader, May 9, 1909. "Detail in fThe Easiest Way,1" Kansas City [Missouri] Post, April 10, 1910. Dodge, Wendell Phillips, "The Hand of the Actor," Strand, March, 1910. 385 jDudley, Bide. "Belasco's 'Hunan Side1 Recalled by Dudley | in Intimate Anecdotes over Last Two Decades," New ] York Telegram, May 15, 1931. I Eaton, Walter Prichard. "The Theater," New York American. January, 1913. | "'Family Likeness1 Is New Belasco Demand," Philadelphia Evening Times, August 10, 1909. Frederic, Franklin. "How Belasco Stages a Play," Bohemian, March, 1907. "Gossip of the Theatres," New York Times, October 26, 1884. "The Grizzly Bear," May, 1909 [Belasco collection]. Harris, Dennis A. "A Study of Belasco's Genius," Pitts burg Leader, July 2, 1912. Harris, H. A. "David Belasco--Man and His Work," Cosmo politan, November, 1909, pp. 755-64. Hartford [Connecticut] Times, January 29, 1885. "How Belasco Creates Dramatic Stars," Current Literature, XLII (April, 1907), 434-38. "Illusory Effects on the Stage," New York Telegraph, July 25, 1908. Lanston, Audry. "A Rehearsal under Belasco" [Belasco Collection], February 1, 1905. Mantle, Burns. "'Master1 Belasco Will Start School in Fall," Chicago Tribune, April 28, 1912. "Mr. Belasco and a Passing Matter of Footlights," New York Times, February 2, 1930. Moses, Montrose J. "Belasco and the Psychology of the Stage Switchboard," Theatre Magazine, X (August, 1909), 64-66. 386 j I I Moses, Montrose J. ’’ Belasco Put to Paper, Man, Myth, and j Method,1 1 Boston Transcript, November 22, 1930. ; |________ . ’’ David Belasco and the Psychology of the Switch board,1 1 American Dramatist [Belasco Collection], 111-34. ! ________ . f f David Belasco’s Tricks” [Belasco Collection], December 8, 1912. Nathan, George Jean. ’’ Down from His Lofty Pedestal Tumbles Belasco, Says Nathan,” Cleveland Leader, January 14, 1917. New York Dramatic Mirror, March 25 and 28, 1896. New York Globe, September 27, 1904. New York Herald, March 6, 1900. New York Tribune, August 31, 1888, and January 21, 1890. Pickford, Mary. ’ ’ Daily Talks,” Cincinnati Tribune, June 19, 1916. Popular Magazine. May, 1912. ’’Producing Dramatic ’Atmosphere,’” Christian Science Moni tor , February 4, 1913. Sage, William E. ’’ The College Girl Cannot Act,” Cleveland Leader, June 17, 1910. ”A School of Acting,” New York Mail and Express, April 14, 1888. ”A Stage Storm That Makes One Shiver,” Evansville [Indiana] Courier, April 8, 1907. ’’ Stage Types Changing, Says David Belasco,” Philadelphia Times, March 1, 1909. ”A Surprising Interview with David Belasco” [Belasco Col lection] , January 31, 1904. i 387 j Terre Haute Gazette, November 5, 1905. Warfield, David. t f David Belasco1 1 [Belasco Collection] . j Warren, Garnet. l f Belasco Tells How He Makes a Play,1 1 [Belasco Collection], May 23, 1909. Wolf, Rennold. f f Belasco Ahead of Foreigners in Cutting Out Footlights,1 1 New York Telegraph, January 30, 1915. ■ i Unpublished Materials i Personal Interviews Earley, Morgan, June 12, 1961, in Los Angeles, California. Helton, Percy, June 8, 1961, in Hollywood, California. Merrill, Beth, July 12, 1961, in New York City. Kirkwood, James, April 7, 1961, in Hollywood, California. Lee, Rowland V., May 29, 1961, in Beverly Hills, Califor nia . Nash, Mary, April 22, 1961, in Los Angeles, California. 0 fConnor, Robert, June 12, 1961, in Hollywood, California. OfNeil, Nance, July 12, 1961, in New York City. Reicher, Frank, November 24, 1960, in Playa del Rey, California. Servoss, Mary, May 27, 1961, in Los Angeles, California. Starr, Frances, July 11, 1961, in New York City. Truex, Ernest, April 11, 1961, in Los Angeles, California. 388| i Other Interviews 1 Ginty, Elizabeth, 1940, by Joseph Batcheller. I i Starr, Frances, 1940, by Joseph Batcheller. j Theses and Dissertations Batcheller, Joseph Donald. ”A, Comparative Study of the Contributions of Steele MacKaye and David Belasco to the American Theatre.” Unpublished Master’s thesis, University of Minnesota, 1938. _________. ’’ David Belasco.” Unpublished Ph.<D. disserta tion, University of Minnesota, 1942. Bergs, Bette M. ”The Contributions of David Belasco to the Theatre.” Unpublished Master’s thesis, Mar quette University, 1934. Davis, Sara Margaret. ”An Analysis and Evaluation of the Theory and Practice of David Belasco as a Direc tor.” Unpublished Master’s thesis, Cornell Uni versity, 1954. Fie, Lucy S. ”A Study of David Belasco as Theatrical Manager and Producer.” Unpublished Master’s the sis, University of Iowa, 1923. Forde, Gladys I. ’’ David Belasco.” Unpublished Ph. D. dissertation, Western Reserve University, 1956. Kleinfield, Herbert Leo. ’ ’ The Theatrical Career of David Belasco.” Unpublished Ph. D. disseration, Harvard Univers ity, 1956. Patterson, A. D. ’’ Modern Theories and Methods of Direct ing upon a Study of Belasco, Craig, Reinhardt, Stanislavsky, Simonson, and Robert E. Jones.” Unpublished Master’s thesis, University of Southern California, 1932. O N IV E R S lT -Y -G ^^rilE R N -G A L -tF G R N IA -L lB R A B X

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Creator Modisett, Noah Franklin (author)

Core Title A historical study of the stage directing theory and practice of David Belasco

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program Communication

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag OAI-PMH Harvest,theater

Language English

Contributor Digitized by ProQuest (provenance)

Advisor Butler, James H. (committee chair), [illegible] (committee member), Stahl, M. (committee member)

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c17-688114

Unique identifier UC11342805

Identifier DP22309.pdf (filename),usctheses-c17-688114 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier DP22309.pdf

Dmrecord 688114

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Rights Modisett, Noah Franklin

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