Both Kicks and Ha'pence

Radio Record, Volume III, Issue 49, 20 June 1930, Page 1

Both Kicks and Ha'pence

For Those Who

Know "Mike ike’’

Jay6

Elsie

Lloyd

OI get: micro- | phone . fright? B Well now and again. . one has it badly. Sote"9% | one misses his ‘eure, or a‘w#61 noise fails to. present itself just as everyone expects it

and we all feel suspended, in mid-air-waiting-waiting- ; Tt-is terrible though (thank

heaven!) not often.. I remember one occasion, when. a-particularly tense episode was to be

punctuated with a revolver shot. One of, the party stood near the microphone with a piece ‘of foliggil carboard:in his hand-the sort of thine with

whith schoolboys shatter the: silences at moments when everything should be still. The play had run smoothly ‘until the time for .the shot,

and we had received telephone messages or congratulation. But the "revolver" refused ‘to function, despite perspiring. efforts. of the man who ‘held it. Not even an Edgar Wallace "plop" came from the cardboard, and the party waited with. agonised perplexity, until someone relieved the tension by stepping briskly — to the "mike" and smartly clapped his-hands together. . My first impression was one of fear, but of what-I simply couldn’t say. Real fear, it was-I absolutely trembled-which seemed very strange to me, since I had played many times. be-. fore in amateur shows in London. ° ; The trouble is, X think, that one doesn’t know where ‘he stands. when facing the microphone (figuratively, I mean) for the first time. With 2 visual audience you "feel" you have them with you, but with an unnumbered radio audience . . . © OW, of course, I know exactly where I stand. I actually have an idea when broadcasting that I do "feel" an audience some-

where, I believe there 1s "something" coming: through to us. This sounds somewhat spiritualistic, I- suppose, but there it is. * . Broadcasting is enjoyable work,-and people are very kind, particularly those at 2YA. But we gets lots of kicks, plenty of them, as well as many letters of appreciation® frorh all over New Zealand. which help us considerably

(the letters of appreciation, I mean) to do our. best. I well remember one night when my hus‘band and I were making love to each other ‘in a. © play from 2YA. Someone rang up to say’ the fo ve-making wasn’t at all convincing. . How . ‘could it be, when. my, husband.’ stood beside the microphone, grinning hugely, while I depicted ‘him in terms of loving extravagance? | Which brings to my mind the word "atmosphere," and of the difficulty one sometimes has faithfully to produce it. a Not only. must voice * inflection convey situation or sentiment, but’ one has to create mental ‘ pictures for thousands of people who cannot follow ~ our gestures, helping listeners to live in the period | or circumstances portrayed by the sketch. . ‘Imagine the difficulty. of depicting extreme fear to a microphone! .Sometimes when -we are work:

ing very hard I wonder what people are doing ;-whether they are saying; "Let us shut off this stuff," or whether they are feeling kindly disposed. And then the station telephone bell rings, and Mr. Announcer gives us some cheery message. Quite-a lot of people think it the simplest matter to broadcast ~--a matter of gabbling a few lines from a book-but it is far from jthat. Everything, noises and all, is carefully rehearsed before pubme ¢lic presentation, and everything is most strictly censored. \ Nothing which. might hurt people’s susceptibilities is allowed to pass the "mike," unless, of course, it is. thought that by too heavy censorship a’ character or some situation might.be upset. One. cannot have a tippler saying "Dear, dear!"-he would say something desperate. Women are more appreciative of plays, but that is because they are more easily moved in their emotions. Make them cry, and they enjoy it. Men like detective plays. They,

like to sit guessing who ‘committed the crime, hut they like to get the surprise at the end. Some people, par-

ticularly those in the DackDIocks, like to have thrills running up and _ down their spines. People out back, | who cannot get to the. talkies often, .

and who are not so critical as City TOM, © who see and hear so much, like thrillers.

So. we really endeavour to reach people, Wie cannot see town shows-they are. the people a*¢e . 4g. «ty

we work for, and tor City pcopie wae ‘round their fires listening to the radio players. It is eratifying to receive kindly letters. of congratu-

lation. But there aré a few who seem to Stand at thet telephones, awaiting the opportunity for violent criticism. One’s main difficulty before the sensitive ear of the "mike" en Ce ee a, be

is absorbing a part completely alien tO CVel Oey ee those sort of things which would never happen to him (or her). The other is wondering how we sound. A " would love to hear myself over the air, because I feel certain it would be more helpful than anything else I know. It would be nice to have a record taken, so that we could obviate mistakes which sometimes creep in, careful though we may be. _ Artists’ awaiting their turn at the studio often listen-in.. 436 each other’s broadcast, then they try to help with frank criticism, 1 mean frank criticism. ae For example. One man attempted to make a noise like a fog» horn, but succeeded only in making a noise like a cow looking for its young. We told him so. sO oy One fights shy. of destructive eriticism, the sort which sweeps over the telephone wires with: "That was awful . . . the whole thing . . 4" but. we do welcome constructive criticism, which helps us «enormously. . P

It is harder to please broadcasting audiences than to phay} before people in a theatre. If one is giving a play "on the boards," and the subject is one which does not appeal to theatre-goers, they merely, stav away. But with a radio audience it is vitally

different-and difficult.. In paying their annual license fees, radio listeners feel they are entitled to something good, and if what they receive isn’t good they: switch off their sets and that’s all there is about it, except that complaints are sure to follow-and rightly so. ‘The theatre audience simply stays awaythat is the tenor and substance of their come. plaint. , To overcome the difficulty of pleasing everybody. (or almost everybody) we give wide selection, and thus are able to contribute a different type of play every time we broadcast. — Sometimes listeners offer most helpful suggestions. "The voice of So-and-so is coming through distorted," comes the information over telephone. Mr. Announcer, or someone connected with the studio, conveys the information to the artist, who steps farther away from the "mike."

Many artists have told me that for a long time they found it. extremely difficult to convey an impression of extreme fear in some episode which demanded it. tO eae Remember, one is faced with an ice-cold, dispassionate instru ment that gives one no quarter. a It is-hard to play in cold blood, as it were, but before ‘the microphone the fear you express as a dramatic character enjoins you to be really afraid. . Bote « If you.are not, if you do not really live and breathe the life of your character subject, you have failed. So a _In "Danger," ‘three people ate trapped in a coalmine, where water is rising. To place onesélf in the fear-full state of mind demanded by the play, it is essential one’ sees in a vivid mental. pio~ ture himself (or herself) as one of the three drowning’ people. And then someone says that radio artists simply read their parts! ©