This last week has been much taken up by theatrical matters.
All day last Tuesday rehearsing "The Great Adventure" with Leslie Faber at the Haymarket. He was very good in explaining to the usual incompetent young actors how to do a 'hesitating' scene in a 'clean' way. Also in explaining that the proper sequence in acting was "thought, movement, speech". These young people apparently know nothing and have to be shown the least things, the most obvious things. At the same time Faber, the star, was doing comic business with hot milk while Honoria made her great speech descriptive of the Abbey - a monstrous thing which would have absolutely ruined the speech. Of course I stopped him. He then said he thought I should! Good God! He also made even Hilda Trevelyan deliver 40 or 50 words straight up stage only because he wanted to be ranging to and fro at the back of the stage. I stopped that too.http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13894
Leslie Faber was born in Newcastle-upon-Tyne in 1879. A highly successful stage actor, perhaps his most notable performances were 'The Hypocrites' in 1906, 'Lady Patricia' at the Empire Theatre in 1912, 'Diplomacy' in 1914 and 'The Patriot' in 1928; also well-known on Broadway stage. Handsome smart gentleman who appeared in a few British silent films, making his debut in 'The White Hen' co-starring Mary Glynne and the popular comedy 'Candytuft, I Mean Veronica' in 1921, he will be best remembered in the lead role as Anthony Bond in 'Afraid of Love' in 1925 and as Weston in 'White Cargo' in 1929. Married stage actress Gladys Gray. Died of pneumonia in 1929 age 50.
In my two plays now rehearsing I have two unusually stupid actors. One tries, the other may try, but doesn't seem to. He has to be told everything, yet has the reputation of being a very good actor. In one scene he is patronising. Told to be very deferential and really worshipful, he said, "Yes, I see," and does the scene again exactly in the same manner. He did the scene several times. He is a conceited man and therefore can't learn. He knows little or nothing about articulation and enunciation, and cannot be heard clearly, or sometimes at all, even in the 3rd row of stalls.
X. complained much the other day about the producer's harsh attitude. "He never gives us any praise. I can't sleep. If it hadn't been for my kind author I should have walked out before this." This is a woman of 45-50, thoroughly experienced, ought to know life, married, etc. yet she behaves very much like a child. All stage artists very much the same. This producer is rude to young beginners and he ought not to be; but he is never more than hard or harsh to the others. He did spring onto the stage after a scene the other day and say: "This is appalling." But so it was appalling. It appeared that many of the company had been antagonised by him. I explained to this actress all the weight of worries and hard work on his shoulders - immense; far greater than hers, etc. She began to perceive things. The next morning I spoke briefly, but with a solemn beginning, to the producer: "You'd better give them some praise today." He said: "I give H. lots of praise in private." "The women," I said. He said, with significance: "Thank you." On the following day everything was all smiles, and X. radiant, positively. "How did you do it?" she said.
What a world!
Hilda Trevelyan (1877 – 1959) was an English actress. Early in her career she became known for her performance in plays by J M Barrie, and is probably best remembered for creating the role of Wendy in Peter Pan. Another early success was as Oliver Twist in a dramatisation of Charles Dickens's novel staged by Herbert Beerbohm Tree. Later in her career she performed in plays in London and on tour. She retired after her last London play in 1939. In 1924 Trevelyan appeared in a new production of Arnold Bennett's The Great Adventure. The Observer's critic wrote, "When I say that Miss Hilda Trevelyan's Janet Cannot seemed to me quite perfect there will doubtless be people to tell me that the part has been done better. But I don't think I shall believe them."
Yesterday at rehearsal of Act IV, Sc. 1 of "Great Adventure", Faber asked another actor what his feelings were - what it meant to him when carve showed his two moles. This actor hesitated some time, and then said: "It means I'm ruined." On being informed that the case was precisely the reverse he said: "The play as a whole has never been shown to me, and I don't know the story." He had rehearsed the scene several times; the scene explains itself; yet he had never understood its point. He had just gone on playing it with an entirely wrong set of simulated emotions within him. Even at the worst one would have thought that he might have bought a copy of the play for 3s. 6d. and read it. I admit that in my opinion the play ought to be read in its entirety to the Company.
See also, 'Theatrical adventures' - April 1st. http://earnoldbennett.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/theatrical-adventures.html
A man at the Haymarket told me yesterday that he had just seen in Piccadilly an old lady, parading with a board; "I am the widow of Bennett Burleigh, the famous war correspondent, and I am forced to this method - " I forget the rest. Anyhow she must be an old lady of some character.
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