Writing for Vaudeville | Page 5

act is chosen, an animal act maybe, to
please the children, or a Japanese troupe with their gorgeous kimonos
and vividly harmonizing stage draperies, or a troupe of white-clad
trapeze artists flying against a background of black. Whatever the act is,
it must be a showy act, for it closes the performance and sends the
audience home pleased with the program to the very last minute.
"Now all the time a booking-manager is laying out his show, he has not
only had these many artistic problems on his mind, but also the
mechanical working of the show. For instance, he must consider the
actual physical demands of his stage and not place next each other two
full-stage acts. If he did, how would the stage hands change the scenery
without causing a long and tedious wait? In vaudeville there must be no
waits. Everything must run with unbroken stride. One act must follow
another as though it were especially made for the position. And the
entire show must be dovetailed to the split seconds of a stop-watch.
"Therefore it is customary to follow an 'act in One' (See below) with an
act requiring Full Stage. Then after the curtain has fallen on this act, an
act comes on to play in One again. A show can, of course, start with a
full-stage act, and the alternation process remains the same. Or there
may be an act that can open in One and then go into Full Stage--after
having given the stage hands time to set their scenery--or vice versa,

close in One. Briefly, the whole problem is simply this--acts must be
arranged not only in the order of their interest value, but also according
to their physical demands.
"But there is still another problem the manager must solve. 'Variety' is
vaudeville's paternal name--vaudeville must present a varied bill and a
show consisting of names that will tend to have a box-office appeal. No
two acts in a show should be alike. No two can be permitted to conflict.
'Conflict' is a word that falls with ominous meaning on a vaudeville
performer's or manager's ears, because it means death to one of the acts
and injury to the show as a whole. If two famous singing 'single'
women were placed on the same bill, very likely there would be odious
comparisons--even though they did not use songs that were alike. And
however interesting each might be, both would lose in interest. And yet,
sometimes we do just this thing--violating a minor rule to win a great
big box-office appeal.
"Part of the many sides of this delicate problem may be seen when you
consider that no two 'single' singing acts should be placed next each
other--although they may not conflict if they are placed far apart on the
bill. And no two 'quiet' acts may be placed together. The tempo of the
show must be maintained--and because tragic playlets, and even serious
playlets, are suspected of 'slowing up a show,' they are not booked
unless very exceptional."
These are but a few of the many sides of the problem of what is called
"laying out a show." A command of the art of balancing a show is a
part of the genius of a great showman. It is a gift. It cannot be analyzed.
A born showman lays out his bill, not by rule, but by feeling.
3. The Writer's Part in a Vaudeville Show
In preparing the raw material from which the manager makes up his
show, the writer may play many parts. He may bear much of the burden
of entertainment, as in a playlet, or none of the responsibility, as in the
average dumb act. And yet, he may write the pantomimic story that
pleases the audience most. Indeed, the writer may be everything in a
vaudeville show, and always his part is an important one.

Of course the trained seals do not need a dramatist to lend them interest,
nor does the acrobat need his skill; but without the writer what would
the actress be, and without the song-smith, what would the singer sing?
And even the animal trainer may utilize the writer to concoct his "line
of talk." The monologist, who of all performers seems the most
independent of the author, buys his merriest stories, his most
up-to-the-instant jests, ready-made from the writer who works like a
marionette's master pulling the strings. The two-act, which sometimes
seems like a funny impromptu fight, is the result of the writer's careful
thinking. The flirtatious couple who stroll out on the stage to make
everyone in the audience envious, woo Cupid through the brain of their
author. And the musical comedy, with its strong combination of nearly
everything; is but the embodied flight of the writer's fancy. In fact, the
writer