FIFTY YEARS IN THE THEATRE: A STAR OF THE OLD DAYS

Hawke's Bay Herald-Tribune, Issue 113, 29 May 1937, Page 13

FIFTY YEARS IN THE THEATRE: A STAR OF THE OLD DAYS

* Miss Kate Eorke, who is presenting some of her pupils in ' ' The Shining Hour" in London, is a remarkable person. She was a star at seventeen. She began - her career on the stage as a child, and one of her first recollections is of Ellen Terry wiping her nose. She was trained by Charles Wyndham. For many years she was with Sir Herbert Tree and John Hare. She has acted with Forbes-Eobertson and Irving. And, finally, as a teacher for twenty years, she has trained scores of young men and women who have since made names for themselves on the stage (writes a London theatre correepoudent). And there she i» waifcing for you at the restaurant, dressed in brown — brown hat, brown fur, brown coat and skirt — very vivacious, and looking extraordinarily young. "You are not a bit late," she says. "I really am sorry " "No, no, I've been here exactly one minute and a-half. Would you like a glass of sherry? A cocktail, then? And what will you have to eat? I've never been here*' before. So many interesting people. Are you sure you won't have a glass of sherry? Try eome of that tront. Do you recommend the trout, waiter? You know, we never did this sort of thing in the old days." "What sort of things, Miss Eorke?" You have the sensation of jumping at the last sentence and catching it. "Well, dining out at restaurauts. We never went out. We were never seen at restaurants. " "What, never?" "Once or twice, perhaps. But hardly ever. After I had finished at the theatre, I used to go home. Do try the trout. And do you know wliat the result was? There was a mystery about us. The public didn't know what we looked like off tbe stage, or what we ate, or what we drank, or what we looked like when we drank it." "I remember . *' No Short Cute. "But now — well, all that has changed. Why not have a sole? Are you sure you won't have anything to drink? They won 't like us here if we go on like this. What were we talking about? Yes. There 's really too much publicity. What — Greta Garbo? Yes, how clever she is. Hers is the cleverest publicity stunt of all." "And your pupils? Do you find great changes in them?" "My pupils? They're loyal. They're ambitious. They're full of latent talent. But " s "But ?" 1 "I hope you are gomg to put this discreetly?" "Miss Eorke, perhaps my only virtue — - — "Well,. now, when I began we really worked. You've no idea. None of us thought that there was a short cut to fame. But now, in these days "Yes?" "Shall I say that there 's not the same understanding of the importance of groundwork? WhicTi brings me to another evil side of all this exaggerat-

ed publicity. The newspapers — — "Miss Rorkel" "I beg your, pardon. A young girl goes into a play, becomes a succesa. She is boosted to the skies. She ds this, that, and the other. We even learn what toothpaste she uses. Then in about another week somebody else turns up. The first girl is forgotten. Even her toothpaste is forgotten. ' ' "But what's that to do with ' ground-work ' ? " "Because in nine times out of ten she has not mastered her art, and when she is suddenly pushed into the. limelight she makes rather a mess of it. Would you like some more trout? A sweet, then? Waiter, what is your nicest eweet? What were we talkiDg about? Yes, this publicity. The girl who becomes famous overnight. Well, the public, having learnt that Ellen Terry was a mere booby by comparison, come flockihg in, everybody 's eyes starting out of their heads. And then — what do they see? Can you answfir that?" "I—— " Through the Mill. "I'U tell you. They are disappointed. Whereas, when we became stars, we weren't boosted anto fame overnight. We joined a company under John Hare (what a charming man he was), or Tree (he was the .most dignified person I ever met), and were put through the mill until we really ltnew our jobs. Who was it who said, 'It will be a bad day for the stage when it gets mixed up with society?' " "I wouldn't know." "Well, it's true." "And the plays! How have the. plays changed?" "Of course. Are you sure you won't have anything else? The plays are quite, quite different. I suppose we'd find 'Diplomacy' rather old-fashioiied in these days. And yet — well, it was pretty strong meat. And I '11 tell you what these old plays did — they gave you a real chance to act. There were dramatic situations in which you couid let yourself go. They were melodramatic — yes. But I've always said to my pupils, 'if you can make people cry in a melodrama, you've achaeved something.' That is why I make them play in 'Broken Hearts,' for Instance. Melodrama? Of course. And that ie why some of my pupils turn up their noses at it. But I say to them, ' as I've just said to you, 'If you can make me cry, you have achieved somethingi" "What else do you say to them!". "I say, 'Brains in your mouths, thoughts on your lips.' " "Er — could you expand that a little?" "I mean that they must think when they're on the stage. You can't get across just by throwing your arms about. Like this." Yes, yes." "Or like that." She acts it all at the table, with expressive waves of the hand. And then: "Now T must be going. I have a pupil. You will be " "Discreet?" "Yes, that's it."