ON TO UR

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 98, 16 July 1927, Page 22

ON TO UR

(Written for THE SUN A

The show is over. Down comes the curtain. In front the "Band” is blaring out “The King in G” to a more or less heedless, homeward-bent audience. Behind the scenes the artists are rushing for dressing-rooms, deftly dodging falling cloths, descending ropes, and the rushing labours of the mechanist and his assistants dismantling the scenery. The dressing-rooms reached, a hurried but methodical doffing and packing of clothes proceeds through a cross lire of talk about the quality of the audience. In country theatres the dressing accommodation is usually primitive—the girls all sharing' one room and the men another, but each member has a “make-up” box which holds grease paints, powder, towels, mirror, etc.

E&ch man has a suitcase for his dress and dinner suits, shirts, shoes and other personal gear, and for this case and his small “make-up box” he is responsible till he places them in charge of the mechanist for transport. All the girls’ frocks, as well as male costumes, for scenic numbers — Gypsy, Chinese, Dutch, Old English, etc., are cared for by the wardrobe mistress, who usually packs immediately after each item. Packing done and make-up removed, each man removes his grip and “makeup” box to the stage door, where the mechanist holds sway, and then there are shouts of “What’s the call tomorrow?” The voice of the stage manager booms, “Cootamundra tomorrow. Train call 7.30 a.m. Luggage 6.30,” followed by mock groans and growls, and “What did he say? Where do we go and what and why and when and where?” Follows a babel which is entirely misleading to an outsider, or a stage-door admirer, but everything is all right. The artists know where they are going and they know the time of departure and arrival. They know everything but it’s their privilege and custom to question and to censure, and the S.M. also knows this when he shouts above the din: “You heard —you ain’t blind!” The sudden temporary extinction of the lights is a sign that the switchboard man has had enough entertainment for one night, and in little groups the theatricals depart in search of supper. No! There are no “parties” to-night—for that very necessary theatrical meal, common enough in New Zealand hotels, is not on the menu of the average Australian hotel. Coffee or tea and sandwiches to the accompaniment of jazz from a loud speaker or an indifferent gramophone in a garish Greek cafe, is the best most country towns have to offer. That paid for, the next thing is bed at the hotel.

Morning comes ere you have time to turn in your bed, and you wake to find you have barely time to get to the station. Your luggage has gone, you paid your bill the night before, and th er •’« no morning tea, so you have only to make a hurried visit to the bath-room or the wash-basin, cram night wear, brushes, etc., into a bulging hand-bag, grab overcoat and rug and make a dash for the railway. On the road you catch others all running, all panting, all carrying little

grips, and almost forgotten articles. There is much laughter, and “ My Godding” and helping of girls in absurdly heeled shoes.

But you all get there and are greeted with shouts of laughter from the “trimmed lamp” crowd (who are never late and never hurry), and the welcome intimation “that the train’s not in yet, and there’s a refreshment room on the station.” Away you go in a laughing group, divested of grips and coats and “lefts,” and partake of fresh tea and buns in the very excellent station cafes that the Australian State Railways provide.

On the arrival of the train the company finds a carriage reserved for them, and little groups of four and six gather in the comfortable compartments that are a feature of Australian trains. Officials are kindly to theatre cals, and tolerant of their irresponsible ways.

Settled down in the train the girls, with the aid of mirror and comb and powder puff, proceed to repair the ravages caused by the hasty uprising and frantic rush to the station, and that important business over the resi t of the journey is spent in penny poker or “casino” or “coon can.” Shortly before arrival at their destination the S.M. goes through each compartment and reads from a list the different hotels with their tariff, and the names of those booked at them. Babel follows. “What’s the Criterion like?” “Anyone know the Metropole?” “Rotten,” or “Not bad,” or “Good.” “Fourteen bob’s too much, anyhow. Jenkins knows we can’t afford it. Wait till I see him!”

Jenkins is the “advance man,” one of whose duties is to book the members of the company, and he is always in hot water for one reason or another, but as he rarely has personal contact with them he doesn’t care. Suddenly someone calls, “Were here,” and Jenkins is forgotten. There is further "dolling up” on the part of the girls and admonitions from the men to hurry, and away they go taxi ward with a smile to the barrier man and a word to the effect that Mr. Blank has all the tickets.

Arrived at the “Cri” or the “Met”, an eager barrage confronts Mrs. Publican, ample and exasperatingly slow. Ere she has booked the third person the first is back at the head of the stairs to signal to a dozen pairs of upturned questioning eyes the exact grade of the hostelry. It may be the whistled opening bars of the “Sailor’s Hornpipe” or that funny movement like the hitching of trousers associated with Jack Tar, or the single word, “Jellicoe,” and if it is any of these signs the crowd knows the accommodation is bad. Booking slackens accordingly, but if the scout just smiles they know no peace till madame has signed them in, and they are free to rush upstairs to hot water and showers. I do not know why the navy should be coupled with poor hotels, but all theatricals seem to connect the one with the other. The afternoon is spent in muchneeded rest, and afterwards a walk to the theatre to pick out a dressing “pozzi,” and to lay out one’s clothes after which one is free to “do” the town. Most of the company wanders along to the theatre about seven, to spend from that hour till eight in making-up and dressing. The conductor’s call of “Orchestra, please,” warns them that work is about to begin. . . . And so ends an average day “on tour.”

Vince Courtney, well known to Fuller folk, has been writing more sentimental songs for the gramophone. Two of his latest recordings are “The Silver in My Mother’s Hair” and “When I Was One Year Old.”

Beppie de Vries, who is playing in “Madame Pompadour” in Sydney, says she would “just love” to play in “The Student Prince.” having played Kathie in the play, “Old Heidelberg,” from which it was taken. But that is not to be. The cast, complete with Harry Hall as producer, will arrive in Sydney by the Tahiti. Daisy Belmore, another old friend, is with them. Elize Gergley, for Kathie, sounds as though she might be from somewhere near old Heidelberg itself. An interesting feature of the new musical piece is that the book and lyrics are by a woman, Dorothy Donnelly. Nellie Stewart was Australia’s first Kathie in the dramatic version. Frederick Blackman, from Daly’s Theatre, London, produced the beautiful musical comedy, “Madame Pompadour” for J. C. Williamson. Ltd., in Sydney. Mr. Blackman was 24 years at Daly’s: one of his earliest tasks was understudying Haydn Coffin. “Haydn Coffin,” says Mr. Blackman, “is still, at a ripe old age, playing parts. He speculated commercially with disastrous results to himself. Lily Elsie, the originator of the famous ‘Merry Widow,’ is one of the stars who passed through the hands of Mr. Blackman as producer and stage director under George Edwardes. Gerty Miller (now Lady Dudley) is another.” Mr. Blackman is of the opinion that the chorus of Daly’s was a wonderful training ground: Gladys Cooper, Iris Hoey and Marie Lohr —all now great London stars—were in the chorus of Daly’s at the same time.

Richard Taber and Mary Ellen Hanley, who have been very entertaining in “Six-cylinder Love” and “Is Zat So?” in New Zealand, will return to America shortly. Hale Norcross is another leading player in that company who is saying good-bye to this side.

So?” in New Zealand, will return to America shortly. Hale Norcross is another leading player in that company who is saying good-bye to this side. * The Frank Neil comedy, “Getting Gertie’s Garter,” at the Grand Opera House, Sydney, has been so successful that Neil has purchased another farce with an even snappier title called “Not To-Night, Dearie,” which he will play here. Titles appeal to Mr. Neil and evidently spell success. * * * A survivor from the old music-hall and pantomime days, Fred Griffiths, ox* the comic Griffiths Brothers, has been saying farewell in London after 66 years on the stage. He claims that no one living has such a record, but probably this will not go unchallenged, as a stage career may begin at any age from babyhood onward. Still, few are likely to make a last appearance in the manner chosen by Mr. Griffiths. For the occasion he starred as the fore legs of the remarkable stage animal Pogo, with his son as the hind legs and his daughter as the trainer.

' The Frank Neil comedy, “Getting Gertie’s Garter,” at the Grand Opera House, Sydney, has been so successful that Neil has purchased another farce with an even snappier title called “Not To-Night, Dearie,” which he will play here. Titles appeal to Mr. Neil and evidently spell success.

“East Lynne” is still staged *il! over the world, and will no doubt prove to be the best box-office attraction of Muriel Starr’s season at the Princess Theatre, Melbourne. Though a film version was shown recently, 15 year* have elapsed since this tearful drama was played in Melbourne, and the Princess was its home on that occasion. Miss Starr has never yet appeared in “East Lynne” in Australia. She will be Lady Isabel and Madame Vine. The company has been augmented for the occasion, and the newcomers include the vivacious young actress, Kerry Kelly, who will be Suzanne, and Master Kenneth Spargo, son of the former champion boxer, who will be Little Willie. Harvey Adams is responsible for the production: and he will be Archibald Carlyle, while Carl Lawson will take the role of Sir Francis Levison. * * • When the J. C. Williamson Gilbert and Sullivan Opera Company revisits New Zealand “Patience” and “Ruddigore” will be presented. The latter is described as being written in Gilbert and Sullivan’s best vein, and containing much witty dialogue and fascinating music. “Ruddigore” was looked upon as one of the best of the operas for which this remarkable pair were responsible, but as someone in authority thought that the susceptibi'itie* of another nation might be offended, the censor intervened, and the opera was banned for many years. * * * Most typical of the boulevard, but a boulevard touched by genius, is Sacha Guitry, who is back in Paris from America. His latest play, “Desire,” though its one hour of actual duration is drawn out by entr’actes to last tbs whole evening with even more than Sacha’s usual effrontery, and although it contains passages which aire little more than flippant charade, has other things which, as usual, are delightful. The fancy and the wit of then® best moments are well worth the padding and the entr’actes. Sacha play® the part of a butler who is in love with his mistress. This lady, though she is not quite a lady, is Yvonne Printemps. The play is, however, something quite other than a sort oi modern and comic “Ruy Bias.” _** has no heroics, even burlesque heroic*, and it is full of subtlety. The butler is a servant because he finds in obeying an intellectual repose and a satisfaction which others find in commanoing, and it is because he recognise* that the strength of his character w not equal to that of his heart t»J*j instead of becoming the lover of «*• mistress when each has discovered tn other’s secret, he disappears altogether from her life.

Here is a recent picture of Pamela Dartrey , who , when she was in New Zealand was known as Lady Patrica Blackwood. She first went on the stage under the J.C. W illiamson banner in Australia, but later returned to London and took up a stage

career. Recently Miss Dartrey has been very ill in London.