THE DECLINE OF THE STAR SYSTEM

James L. Ford

And the Changing Attitude of Managers Toward It

FOR some time past the wise men who scan the theatrical heavens for signs and portents have observed the steady diminution in the size, brilliancy, and number of fixed stars, while the various constellations are shining with steadily increasing radiance, and attracting, to a greater degree than ever before, the interest and attention of the public. In plain speech, present theatrical conditions point to the decadence of the iniquitous star system and a growth of intelligent, discriminating interest in plays and in acting.

I have learned from the column of theatrical routes in that reliable organ of the theatre, "The Dramatic Mirror", that four years ago no less than sixty-four stars were traveling through the country. To-day there are only thirty-one while the number of plays without stars has increased in an astonishing degree. Moreover, very few of the recent successes have been star plays. "Potash and Perlmutter", "On Trial", "Under Cover", "Within the Law", "It Pays to Advertise", "The Miracle Man"—not one of these has a star.

We constantly hear the cry "Why don't the managers return to the old stock system? " but those who utter it do not yet realize that the stock system under modern conditions has come in to its own again. Wallack, Daly and Palmer had stock companies of a score or more of players, but the manager of to-day draws from a stock company of five thousand unemployed actors, many of whom are specialists in some particular field of acting.

TT is impossible, within the brief limits of a single article, to recount the many evils of the star system, a system which probably originated in our national love of character work and which has done more to lower public taste and injure both playwright and player than any other force that can be named. If the stage is intended really to reflect human life and character, then the star system may be likened to one of those distorted mirrors which confront us now and then in places of amusement and which never fail to excite the delight and risibilities of the groundlings.

The system, in its efforts to give undue prominence to one player, compels the dramatist so to twist and distort his play that the star must always be the centre of interest. In doing this it is usually necessary to weaken the other characters for fear some of them will please the audience. This would be bad enough were the star part one of supreme importance in the illusion. But the laws of the stage demand that interest shall centre in the humble rather than in the mighty; in the one knowing the least of what is going on in the mimic scene rather than in the wise and strong. That is why the blind orphan became automatically the central figure of "The Two Orphans" and it will be remembered that in "Trelawny of the Wells" the old actress whose life has been spent in playing minor roles declares that she was made to impersonate countless queens and that she found every one of them a "rotten part."

I honestly believe that the art of writing plays has been kept back twenty yearsby the preposterous demands of the stars who have largely controlled the market. The dramatist who is called upon to write a play around" some actor in such a way as to conceal the actor's defects and introduce the few theatrical tricks of which he is the master, soon finds himself engaged in a craft that is very different from that of the real dramatist. The late Clyde Fitch excelled in work of this kind. No one could fit a star better than he and he usually contrived to give prominence to at least one other member of the cast so that his crop of stars was self-perpetuating. A man of extraordinary cleverness in this work of dramatic fitting and tailoring, and with almost a genius for frothy and amusing dialogue, he still left no enduring work behind him. Had he but devoted the same time and talent to writing legitimate plays, the result would have been a far different one.

THE star system is enough to break the heart of the ambitious young player. He is in constant fear of offending the star. The comedian who is engaged to make the audience laugh must be careful not to be too funny or he will get his two weeks' notice. The actor who plays scenes with the star must abstain from exhibiting too much talent, and those who venture too near the august presence in the course of the scene, will meet with the familiar reprimand: "You want to smother me from the boxes!"

There are stars who dress with the door open and with an ear keenly attuned to any sign of approval on the part of the audience. Yes, the player who so far forgets himself as to give the public some entertainment for its money while the star is off the stage, does so at his own risk. I have known other stars who will stand in the wings on a first night and make note of every speech that wins favor. The next morning at rehearsal these lines have either been appropriated by the star or else cut out altogether. I have seen at one of these Tuesday rehearsals a star—one of the most talented women in this country—cut a whole part out simply because a young actress had made a hit in it the night before.

"But didn't I make good?" pleaded the girl tearfully, as she saw her great opportunity slipping away from her.

" Certainly you did, my dear," replied the star pleasantly, "that is why I'm cutting out the part. This play was written for me, not for you."

TT is not necessary to consult a fortune-teller

in order to learn the effect of this policy of depriving the public of its full measure of entertainment. Those who have studied the stage carefully during the past quarter of a century may have noticed that those actors who have been distinguished for their selfishness and jealousy are the ones who are now complaining bitterly of their inability to secure good plays and, even at the very height of the season may be seen at the first representation of dramas presented by their more sensible rivals.

Experienced play-goers have frequently remarked on the superior training of the English actors who fill minor rôles in American companies and have attributed it to the beneficent influence of the London actormanager, in which theory they have been sustained by nearly all the ill-informed persons who write about the stage. As for the superior training of the lesser English actors it may be traced directly to their own desire to perfect themselves in the art of acting and to the more critical demands of the British public. The influence of the British actor-manager has, in reality, been extremely baneful, as he has largely controlled the work of the dramatists, and insisted in getting from them plays with strong hero parts and with very little for the heroines to do. It is because of the British actor-manager that many of the very best actresses in England are unable to obtain engagements worthy of their abilities. Very few young women are coming to the front on the stage in England to-day.

One of the most offensive of the many earmarks by which an actor-manager may be known is an anxiety about the night's receipts that leads him to count the gallery at the most critical moment in the play. I devoutly wish that all the students and all the dramatic schools in the land could have been taken— as I was—to the theatre in which "Othello" was given not long ago and compelled to sit through the performance to the very end. At the moment in which Iago found himself with his hands tied behind his back, Othello dead before him, Desdemona murdered in her bed and all his own sinister activities brought to naught, Iago—the actor-manager—was anxiously "counting" the gallery instead of listening to the voice of the player who was pronouncing sentence upon him. Imagine Nathan Hale with a halter about his neck and his lips visibly moving, not in prayer but in an attempt to estimate the number of citizens assembled to witness his execution! Imagine a murderer called to the bar to hear the pronouncement of the jury and thinking of anything save the word that shall either set him free or send him to the gallows! It is only when an actor-manager is on the stage that such absurdities are possible.

TT is quite true that the delicate and useful art of publicity—once known as "working the press"—has been brought to a high state of perfection by the star system. It is to this art that several stars owe their popularity and the public its distorted perspective. We have to thank the press agent for the introduction into our language of the terms " temperament" and "psychological acting" which have served as a cloak for so many artistic sins. And it is because of the great white light of publicity shining upon the private lives of players that the old illusion of the stage, the barrier that divided the audience from those behind the footlights, has been hopelessly broken down, to the everlasting detriment of our theatre.

THE star system is perhaps found in its very worst form in the shape of the "allstar cast", an abomination with which it is customary to commemorate such important occasions as the closing of the regular season. A performance by a company of stars should properly be classed among acrobatic events. The struggles for the centre of the stage, the efforts to "queer" fellow players, the utter indifference on the part of the actors, to anything save the sound of their own voices and the endeavors of each one to arrive at a louder diction than his rivals, creates a chaotic spectacle in which all illusion soon vanishes.

Stars who drew enormous audiences a few seasons ago are no longer "playing to capacity," while many of them are "resting." The most successful recent plays have been those that were not written around a star but reflected life as the dramatist really saw it. Good plays make good actors and, with the star system rapidly disappearing, the chances of minor players are constantly brightening.