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THE TECHNIQUE OF THE
ONE-ACT-PLAY

A TEXT-BOOK
 
THE TECHNIQUE OF
THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

 

A TEXT-BOOK

BY

ROBERT I. GANNON, S.J.

FORDHAM UNIVERSITY PRESS
NEW YORK
 

by

ted, 1925,
Forbpmam University Press

-

»

»
.

 
a te

TO
M.B.G.
AND THE CHARTER MEMBERS OF
THE FORDHAM PLAY SHOP

78 7TH7
 

 
PREFACE

HIS little book has no intention of lecturing
playwrights or even newspaper critics. It was
written for college men who are as yet unfa-

miliar with the more intricate aspects of dramatic lit-
erature, and aims to guide them through the one-act-
play to higher things —to Sophocles, Shakespeare,
and the classics of our modern stage.

It is not a catalogue of iron regulations. It is sim-
ply an ordering of the elements that are found in
most fine one-act-plays. We should, then, never
think of saying: “Follow these instructions and pro-
duce a masterpiece,” but rather: “Look at a master-
piece with care and this is what you will probably
see.”

The chapters are, as a rule, condensed, and where
a particular subject is treated at length, the reason is
not its relative importance, but the difficulty of
briefer explanation. We have presumed throughout
not only the living voice of a professor, but more
especially his individual experience and preferences.
That is our reason for not dogmatizing on questions
of taste, for leaving unsolved most of the points
introduced for discussion, and for asking at times
questions that reach down into depths only suggested
by the text. With regard to disputed definitions, it
was necessary, for the sake of order and consistency,
to formulate, with clear decision, those that seemed
best to the author. If the class can prove them in-
adequate and substitute their own, so much the better.

Where the public library is convenient, there
should be no trouble in obtaining plenty of plays to
work on. In remote districts, if the college library
A
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viii PREFACE

does not solve the problem, a few of the collections
listed in the last appendix would be sufficient for the
class, especially if, as the author presupposes, the
plays are read aloud and discussed while they are still

warm with life. For a small shelf, select Cohen, ¥ 1

LewispMayorga,vand the Atlantic collections. /

It is suggested that many of the topics introduced
under the headings “For Discussion” and “Exer-
cises,” would be appropriate assignments for short
essays, oral English, or library research.

Though not the primary aim of the course, exer-:

cises in the writing of plays inevitably follow a deep
interest in the technique. The work outlined in Part
Four is the result of actual experiment, and repre-
sents the general method followed in The Play Shop
of Fordham University.

If there is anything entirely new in the book, aside
from the classroom form, it has slipped in unknown
to the author. Certainly, the more fundamental prin-
ciples appear as the sum and substance of a hundred
modern critiques, although each writer has put them
down, as in the present instance, with a well-inten-
tioned freshness. For these no acknowledgment is
due. A few ideas and even phrases have been drawn
from sources that cannot now be traced. Such are
indicated by quotation marks without a reference.
Where, on the contrary, the chapter of another book
has been condensed to a sentence or to a few short
rules, we have expressed our indebtedness by a refer-
ence without quotation marks. The authorities whom
we have explicitly and intentionally quoted are listed
on page 153. The small numbers that occur through-
out the text refer to this list.

Of our contemporaries, three stimulating books
have placed us under far greater obligation than all
the rest. These are: “Playmaking,” by William

—

 

 
 

PREFACE ix
| , vo

Archer / “Dramatic Technique,” by George Baker,
and more than either, “The Craftsmanship of the
One-Act Play,” by Percival Wilde” The third is so
satisfactory that if it were a text-book instead of a
~ four-hundred-page reference work, this present vol-
ume would never have appeared. :

For the short-story, we have found much that was
helpful in Robert W. Neal, Berg Essenwein, Bran-
der Matthews, and Henry W. Phillips, but especially
in Walter Pitkin’s altogether delightful books,
“Short-Story Writing” and “How to Write Stories.”

Finally, to inject a personal note, we have labored
in an atmosphere of such kindly criticism, that these
acknowledgments would be incomplete without an
expression of gratitude for the constant assistance
given us in Fordham University, Woodstock College
and St. Andrew-on-Hudson. We are indebted most
of all to Mr. John A. Waldron, S.J., Professor of
English in Holy Cross College, who collaborated in
the matter of questions and exercises, and to Rev.
Francis P. Le Buffe, S.J., of the Fordham Uni-
versity School of Social Service, who, in the midst of
many labors, found time to see these pages through
the press.
 
:
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TT TRI A ed

i

 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

| INTRODUCTION: Dramatic TECHNIQUE

PART ONE: THE NATURE oF THE ONE-AcT-PLAY .

Technique — Drama — Theatrical — Three Kinds
of Technique ees RR Lb

Chap. I: Dramaric AND CLIMACTIC NARRATIVE

Narrative — Dramatic — Climactic — Plot — Its
Growth — Its Qualities — Unity — Of Action —
Of Subject — Of Theme — Of Persons — Truth —
Fundamental Thought — Incidental Thought —
Appearance of Truth — Probability — Consisten-
cy — Reasonableness — Naturalness — Planting —
Chance — Coincidence — Proportion

Chap. II: SiNGLENESs oF ErrecT

Definition — Crucial Moments — Unity of Im- °

pression .

Chap. III: CoNTINUITY

Definition — An Act — The Unities of Time and
Place . ob I ne RE SS

Chap. IV: PRESENTATION ON THE STAGE

Action — Its Definition — Its Importance — Its
Popularity — Its Varieties — Characterization —
Its Relation to Action — Interest — Properties of
Characterization — Probability — Consistency —
Life — Proportion — Means of Characterization
— Costume and Make-up — Facial Expression and
Gesture — Stage Business — Exits and Entrances
— Dialogue — Its Form — Its Aim — Its Varieties

PAGE

17

29

35

38
CORRE PL SL AONE, 4 ne NRT A lr ew

xii

PART TWO: Tae CoNsTRUCTION OF THE ONE-AcT-PLAY 59- 1044

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chap. V: Tue BEGINNING oF THE ONE-AcT-PLAY

Where It Should Begin — How — Three Types of
Opening — What the Beginning Should Accomplish

— Definite Impression — Atmosphere — Exposi-
tion — Fingerposts — Answering the Questions,
Who? Where? When? . . . :

Chap. VI: Tue MmpLE oF THE ONE-AcT-PLAY

Two Parts — Complication — Resolution — Law
of Logic — Link Scene — Cover Scene — Law of
Progression — Law of Continuity — Four Points
— Incentive Moment — Peripeteia — Crisis — Cli-
max — Tension — Suspense — Held Situation — |
Diagrams 79 §
Chap. VII: Tue Eno oF THE ONE-AcT-PLAY
Where the Play Should End — Direct Crisis — In-
direct Crisis . ol faite OSE
PART THREE: Tue Anarvsis oF A ONE-AcT-Pray . 105-124
PART FOUR: Writing THE ONE-AcT-PLAY . 125-141
Gathering Materials — Exercises in Characteriza-
tion — In Dialogue — Dramatizing Short-Stories —
Plot Work — Finding a Theme — Plot Stimula-
tors — Exercises in Using Formulae — Special
Scenes for Interest 127
APPENDICES . 143-154
1. Accidental Technique . . 145
2. An Outline History of the One-Act-Play 146
8. Classification of One-Act-Plays .siihe 148
4. List of Plays Recommended for Study . 150
5. Books and Authors Quoted in the Text . 153

     

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PAGE

63 |

 

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THE TECHNIQUE OF THE
ONE-ACT-PLAY

A TEXT-BOOK
 
INTRODUCTION

DRAMATIC TECHNIQUE

HE fact that the terms “dramatic” and “the-
atrical”’ are so frequently identified in the
thought and speech of every-day life, would

be in itself an excellent reason for drawing a line of
distinction between them. But this line of distinction
has taken on width and attained the dignity of a long
introduction, because upon it rests the definition of
Dramatic Technique, and hence, after a fashion, the
plan of the whole book.

Assuming for the moment, what we shall later
endeavor to prove, that most of the world’s drama is
enacted on the dark side of the footlights, that it
envelopes each one of us many times in our lives, it
is obvious that writing a play consists of nothing but
taking bits of that drama and making them fit for the
theatre. Dramatic technique, then, may be defined #)
the method employed in making drama theatrical.

Drama.

In using the word “drama” thus, we go beyond
Etymology mere etymology, which tells us only that
and History the original term, derived from the Greek
verb dpdopat, meant an action. We go, too, beyond
history and tradition as outlined, for instance, by
R. G. Moulton. He conceives all poetry, whether
epic, lyric or dramatic, as evolving from a “primitive Vv’
ballad dance,” which, in the earliest times, combined
the elements of all three species. The story element,
4 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

secondary in the lyric, is of prime importance in the
epic and the drama, with this difference: in the epic
it is presented by a narrator, while in the drama it
presents itself. On this basis he formulates the fol- |
lowing definition: “Drama is creative literature

/ whose story presents itself instead of being told from

outside.”
As this definition, however, excludes much that we
Seeking consider real drama and includes much

the Essence that we refuse so to consider, we begin to
grope inductively for a definition that is formal; that |
seems to give us the only elements common to all
drama and proper to drama alone. The first step in
such a process is to ask ourselves, “What does the
word mean as it is used every day by educated men?”
We shall find light in the accumulated answers to the
following questions:

Is every situation on the stage said to be dramatic
because it presents itself? Do we sometimes say that
the first act was well written, but hardly dramatic?
Or again, that the Summer is not the time for drama,
but rather for something less serious? The inference
in the second case seems to be that in hot weather we
do not care to think. But what is it in a drama that
makes us think?

Are many situations, on the other hand, said to be
dramatic which are not on the stage at all, but in life,
or in novels and poems? Is it merely in a transferred
sense that we call these situations dramatic? Do we
mean merely that they would be effective on the
stage? Perhaps we do. But why would they be effec-
tive on the stage? Is it because they are serious, emo-
tional, touched with character, unexpected, timely?
All these elements are very effective in drama: so, too,
are crisis, climax and suspense, but is their very pres-
ence enough to constitute drama?

 
INTRODUCTION 5°

Suppose, for example, we saw a ragged man of
The Rejected Whom we knew nothing, dart out sud-
Elements denly from behind a wagon and disappear
under the wheels of a street-car. The scene would be
serious, emotional, tinged with character, unexpected
and perfectly timed. Should we call it dramatic? Sup-
pose, furthermore, a vague suspicion were to cross
our mind that the victim might be our own eccentric
uncle. The car is stopped and in a state of great sus-
pense, we wait until we are assured that he is a perfect
stranger. Neither the suspense nor the crisis — that is,
the answer to the leading question of the situation, “Is
he my uncle?’ — have made the incident drama. In
much the same way climax, also, might be excluded.
If, for instance, the car had struck a milk-wagon at
Thirty-first street, a Scotch collie at Thirty-second,
and at Thirty-third the unhappy man in rags, there
would be climax certainly, but no more drama than
before.

So it is that, while not caring to appear too final
The Essential With regard to a mooted question, we re-
Element ject, as unessential to drama, every ele-
ment but one. We believe that the struggle of av”
human will against an obstacle is always dramatic
and that without it there is no drama. That is why
all situations on the stage are not dramatic. That is
why certain situations met in life would be effective
on the stage. Struggle it is that makes us think in a
drama, and the more intense or subtle is the struggle,
by so much is the drama more thought-provoking. In
fact, it seems that every other element we mentioned is
dramatic only when associated with this all-essential
note of conflict. :

This would explain, too, the enduring popularity of the the- va
atre, for this love of drama, love of struggle, is rooted in our
nature. “Life is a warfare.” Our sports are mimic wars, Even
ID A RR rs tel I

A ere

*

®
6 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

wordy battles have always been popular. The Greeks loved
their stichomythia; the Medisvals their estrif and flyting. For |
instances of the former, take any play of classic Greece; of the
latter, read over the quarrel scene in “Noah’s Ark” of the Ches-
ter Cycle. The Elizabethans relished the conflict between Brutus |
and Cassius, Benedick and Beatrice; while the Georgians took
equal pleasure in Sir Peter and Lady Teazle, Tony Lumpkin
and Constance Neville. In a later day, when William Gillette
was dramatizing Sherlock Holmes, he made Moriarty, who was
unimportant in the book, a principal, merely that the element of
struggle might be emphasized.

The struggle may be with nature, with fate, with #
man, or with one’s self. Sometimes we find one, some-
times all. In “Ile,” for instance, the main struggle
takes place chiefly in the soul of the protagonist, and
is waged between his predominant passion, pride, and
a deep love for his wife. The main struggle is exter-
nalized by the struggle between Annie and the Cap-
tain. The main struggle is motivated by the inci-
dental struggles between (1) the Mate and the Cap-
tain, and (m1) the Crew and the Captain. While
throughout the play all of them are struggling un-
consciously with the frozen North.

In formulating a definition, however, we wish to
The Formal emphasize the fact that the obstacle may
Definition he slight and, as in most comedies, the
struggle almost imperceptible. Hence, for the words
“struggle” and “obstacle,” we substitute the more
generic “reaction” and “difficulty,” so that our formal
definition now reads: Drama is the reaction of a man
in difficulty. 2

"By way of confirmation, we may consider a number
of situations drawn from daily experience, such as
those collected by Dr. Kate Gordon and quoted in
“Plots and Personalities” by Slosson and Downey.
In each case we are to decide, relying merely on our
own popular conception of drama, “Is this the germ

 

 
INTRODUCTION v7

of a good play?’ It will be found that those chosen
as the germ of a good play will contain this reaction
element, those rejected do not.

The definition given above is, in substance, that of
Modern any eminent critics. Freytag writes, “What
Opinion the drama presents is always a struggle
which, with strong perturbation of soul, the hero
wages against opposing forces. The essential nature
of the drama is conflict and suspense.”? Brunetiére:
v “Drama is essentially a struggle.”
Jones: “No adequate obstacle, no drama.” George
Bernard Shaw: “Drama is the resistance of fact and
vlaw to human feelings.””> And even William Archer,
who denies our definition, admits at least that “Con-
flict is always dramatic.”®v~

94

For Discussion:

1. There is no struggle in “Agamemnon;”’ in

“Oedipus,’lunless this writhing worm on a .

hook can be said to struggle; in “As You Like
It,” apart from the trivial scene of the wres-
tling match; in “Othello.” Still all these are
great dramas.’

2. There is no struggle in the balcony scene of
“Romeo and Juliet;” in the banquet scene in
“Macbeth;” in the death scene of “Cleopatra;”
in the screen scene of the “School for Scan-
dal.” Yet all are said to be dramatic.’

8. The essence of drama is crisis.’

4. The novel and the drama are exactly opposite,
one to the other.’ ?

5. Drama is one species of fiction.*

6. Drama is a poem accommodated to action.

7. The drama is the conclusion, the most interesting
moment in every novel.”

   

Henry Arthur,
8 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

8. A novel is a conviction of our fellow man’s exis-
tence strong enough to take upon itself a form
of imagined life clearer than reality.

9. The novel from which one cannot make a good
play is not for that reason bad; but there is no
good play from which a novel cannot be made.
It is merely a matter of technical rules that
differentiates the novel from the play.®

10. The novel is. a leisurely stroll for stroll’s sake.
Drama is a trip in the train when the destina-
tion is all that matters.

EXERCISE ON THE DRAMATIC ELEMENT:

Answer the following questions with regard to a
play read in class:

1. What desire causes the conflict?

2. What opposes, what favors the desire?

8. Are there forces in the struggle other than
human? ¥

4. Are these forces working in one of those “ulti-
mate passionate cruges of life where duty and incli-
nation come thre ,” or do we find them
working in some relatively minor crises of life?

THEATRICAL. 2%

What now is this “theatre” for which the play-
The Purpose Wright must adapt his drama, and what
of the do we mean by the word “theatrical”?
Andionce Etymologically, a theatre is a place where
things can be seen (9éatgov, being derived from
dedopon, I look on), but we know that what most
people see in a theatre is merely a means to an end.
Their ultimate object in going at all is to give their

 
INTRODUCTION 9

emotions a little necessary exercise. For rare is the
soul which can, in a month, call all its noble passions
into play,”and unused passions, like muscles, become
atrophied in time. One man’s life is drab, another’s
hectic; one has nothing but sunshine, another nothing
but tears. So each goes to the theatre as to a gym-
nasium, to supply, indirectly, what his regular life
denies him.

So far the object in view is very like that which a
booklover has when he fondles a fine piece of litera-
ture. The specific difference lies in the manner of tak-
ing the exercises. At the theatre, the audience is a
~ strange, multiple soul unified by the vague influences
of mob-psychology. It sits there in the darkened
house, thinking one thought, suffering one passion,
absorbed in the most absorbing of all mere human
studies — the open souls of men and women in con-
flict.

If this, then, be the theatre, we have a definition of
The Formal theatrical. “Theatrical is that which creates
Definition emotional response when presented on the
stage.”

The word response, which presupposes an audience,
emphasizes the truth of Sarcey’s remark, “In a play,
the tudience is the first fact. All principles are
derived from this.”® It might be profitable, from time
to time, to test the truth of this observation.

A Piay,

Having thus clarified our concepts of “dramatic”
and “theatrical,” we recall our definition of Dramatic
Technique: “The method employed in making drama
theatrical.” Such theatrical drama we call a play,
giving as our full definition of the term:

“A play is the reaction of a man in difficulty which
creates emotional response, when presented on the
or EN

:
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10 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

stage.” Expressed in more convenient form, “a play

is a dramatic and climactic narrative suitable for pro-

duction on the stage.”*
For Discussion:

1. There is no other rule of the theatre than that
of pleasing the public.'?

2. Whether you write or act, think no more of
the audience than if it never existed. Imag-
ine a huge wall across the front of the stage,
separating you from the audience and be-
have exactly as though the curtain had never
risen.®

. The screen scene in “The School for Scandal”
would have been improved, had the audience
been ignorant of Lady Teazle’s presence.

. A play is a just and lively image of human
nature, representing its passions and humors
and the changes of fortune to which it is

subject, for the delight and instruction of
mankind.!?

. A play is an action represented by men who
act on the stage in order to hold five hundred
spectators between four walls for three
hours, without their desiring to leave.’

. A play is any representation of imaginary
personages which is capable of interesting
an average audience assembled in the
theatre.®

7. A play is an orderly representation of life

arousing emotion in an audience.

8. ‘A play is significant human action in pattern

for stage presentation.'?

*Drama expressed in dialogue form, yet obviously unsuited for the
theatre, as distinguished from a play, is called “Closet Drama.” For
example: Milton’s “Samson Agonistes.”

w

the

Or

»

Sh
INTRODUCTION 11

9. Emotional response is not required for a play.
Aristotle put down ntddn as one of the mate-
rials of drama. It is enough that we have
esthetic pleasure.

Dramatic TECHNIQUE 1s oF THREE KINDS:

1. Essential: that technique which is unchang-
ing and universal.

2. Accidental: that technique which changes
with the changing ideals and
tastes of different peoples and
different generations. (Cf. Ap-
pendix 1.)

3. Special: that technique which is peculiar
to individual species of drama,
e.g., pageant, opera, one-act-

. play.
 
PART ONE
THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY
 
j
i]

PART ONE
THE NATURE oF THE ONE-AcT-PLAY

To study the nature of the one-act-play is to exam-
fe in detail the following definition:

A ONE-ACT-PLAY IS A DRAMATIC AND CLIMACTIC
NARRATIVE WITH A SINGLE EFFECT, SUITABLE FOR
CONTINUOUS PRODUCTION ON THE STAGE.

The process of arriving at such a definition is purely
experimental. After reading a large number of short
plays, we find that many of them are moulded in the
same artistic form. They constitute a species. So we
note their specific differences, combine them with the
generic notes of a play and then apply our new-found
definition to representative specimens of the type
until we are satisfied that it is complete and exclusive.

We notice at once that some of the best collections of
The Hyphens OD€-act plays include pieces to which this
in the definition does not apply. Such, for ex-
Bne-Act-Phay ample, are mere character sketches and
playlets. The latter, making no effort at singleness
of impression, differ in no essential from any other
kind of play, except that they are continuous. There
are, then, plays in one act that are one-act plays, but
are not one-act-plays. For this name, spelt asitis with
two hyphens, is a proper name given arbitrarily to
that one species of short drama which is the short-
story’s closest kin.

This relationship appears even in the words of the
The Short-Story definition, for “A. dramatic and climac-
and the tic narrative with a single effect” de-
One-Act-Play fines a short-story. The one-act-play
and the short-story have, then, the following elements
 

 

Se

 

 

ee
oe © A FEC eC
¢ Bile nie; Syiyiile
ee is tc * ie, «

16 . . THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

eile eee eee

in common: story, characterization, dialogue and sin-
gle effect. These elements, however, undergo very
real changes, owing to the fact that the one-act-play
suppresses the writer's personality, gains its effects
through the co-operation of other human beings and
is meant for appeal to a large gathering of people.

 

|
CHAPTER I
A DRAMATIC AND CrLimAcCTIC NARRATIVE

A narrative is a story or a detailed relation of con- |
Definitionof Dected events. A dramatic narrative is a |
the Terms story of human reaction to difficulty. A
climactic narrative is a story in which the events are
so ordered that those of highest emotional value are
most effectively placed.

This does not mean, necessarily, a constantly ascending grade
of emotion. By way of explanation, let us suppose that 1, 2, 3,
4, 5, represent five situations, where 5 is five times as emotional
as 1. The order might be just as truly climactic if we had 3, 1,
4, 5, 2, provided that in the individual case, 5 were more effec-
tive before 2 than in any other place.

A dramatic and climactic narrative in outline is
The Growth called a plot. A plot, though a kind of
ofaPlot pattern, etymologically it is a “weaving,”
is not arbitrarily imposed upon the matter of the story
like a sonnet structure upon the verses of a poetaster.
The structure grows organically from the themes and
the characters. As Galsworthy says: “A good plot is
that sure edifice that rises out of the interplay of cir-
cumstances on character and character on circum-
stances within the enclosing atmosphere of an idea.”*®
Moulton puts it very well when he calls plot “the
application of design to human life,” and likens the
dramatist’s use of life, incident and character to the
work of the scientist “tracing rhythmic movements in
the beautiful confusion of the heavenly bodies.” The
18 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

dramatist receives the shapeless facts of reality and I
returns them in an ordered economy of design.

The most elementary canons of art, applicablé to a §
Qualities Schoolboy’s paragraph or a Gothic Cathe-
of a Plot (ral, demand that a plot, as part of a liter-
ary production, possess the three familiar qualities, |
Unity, Truth and Proportion. The reasons are evi-
dent. Incoherence betrays a defective intellect; a lie,)
in art as in life, is a deformity and so a sin, at least |
against beauty; while lack of proportion denotes ab- |
sence of that sense of eternal fitness which we call
“good taste.” Furthermore, in the theatre we demand |
not only objective excellence, but effectiveness as
well. In other words, a play is good or bad in so far |
as it achieves the desired effect upon the audience, or
fails to do so. As will later appear, absence of Unity, |
Truth and Proportion will, besides marring the lit-
erary value, spoil the theatrical effect as well.

 

Tae First QuaLity oF THE Prot 1s UNITY.

“Unity is the inspiration of the one-act-play; unity
is its aim, unity is its soul; unity is at once its main-
spring and its escapement, its motive power and its
limitation.”'* This Unity or Oneness, most generi-
cally defined as “an absence of division,” takes on
many shades of meaning in connection with the vari-
ous aspects of a play, but may be conveniently con-
sidered under two principal heads: Unity of Action/
and Unity of Inipression. of

Unity of action is attained when, in the words of
Unityof Aristotle, “The action is complete and whole
Action and of a certain magnitude.””® By complete
is meant that “that specific ‘action which began the
fable must also continue throughout and be brought
to its conclusion at the end of the play.” A whole is

“that which possesses a beginning, a middle and an

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4
v
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THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 19

end.”® We may say that the proper magnitude is
comprised within such limits that the sequence of

| events, according to the laws of probability or neces-
sity, will admit of a change from bad fortune to good
or from good fortune to bad.

Aristotle did not intend to set down iron laws for all times
and forbid the invention of new dramatic forms. He studied
the Greek masters and said: “If you would attain the same ef-
fect, use the same means. Here they are.” So that if some of
the new forms do succeed in producing something great, they
are not to be banned as outlaw, nor can Aristotle fall into dis-
repute. As a matter of fact, however, great one-act-plays, since
they are concentrated on one episode, can hardly fail to have
one specific and continuous action; since they are idealized crises,
and any crisis in life has, after a fashion, a beginning, a middle
and an end, they can hardly fail to be whole; finally, being con-
cerned with crises they are concerned with change from at least
comparative good to at least comparative evil, or vice versa, and
cannot fail to possess a certain magnitude.

From this unity of action three subordinate unities
may be derived:

1. Unity or Susect: The subject answers the
question — “What is the play about?” War,
Love, Revenge and the like. For example, the
subject of “Allison’s Lad” is heredity.

2. Unity or TuEmE: The theme answers the
question — “What does the play mean?” For
example, the theme of “Allison’s Lad” is, that
noble blood will assert itself. The theme is
somewhat like the proposition of a speech, ex-
cept that it is proved by illustration only, i.e.,
by a story without any arguments. Syllogisms
have no place in the one-act-play. The theme
may be a platitude or a mere impression, but
in any case it can be stated in a declarative
sentence. It may stand out glaringly as in
20 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY
“Spreading the News” or it may be so hidden i
in the illustration, the story, that it quite |
escapes notice as in “A Night at An Inn.” In
any case, let there be but one principal theme. |

8. Unity oF Persons: The plot must concern it-
self with the same persons from the first to the
last. How many of these there should be in a
one-act-play depends on the material. Cer-
tainly, fewness of characters makes for clarity.
The playwright is fortunate if he can center
attention on one. In plays like “Joint Owners
in Spain,” “The Workhouse Ward,” and |
“Overtones,” two share the limelight almost
equally. In plays containing many PRarac- |
ters we seldom find more than two fully and
sharply etched. (Cf. Characterization.)

 

Unity of Impression will be considered under
Unity of “Singleness of Effect.” Five minor uni-
Impression ties contribute to the unity of impression,
namely, unity of type, mood, manner, time and place.
The first three will also be considered under “Single-
ness of Effect,” the last two under “Continuity.”

TaE Second QuaLrITY OF THE PLOT 1s TRUTH.

In a one-act-play, as in any other sort of literature,
we recognize two kinds of thought: Fundamental
and Incidental.

1. FUNDAMENTAL THOUGHT is the meaning which
underlies the whole plot. Such a thought must be at
least subjectively true, i.e., it cannot be professedly
false. This is another way of saying that a fine art
must possess sincerity. True, the artist may be mis-
taken, but the point is that he does not suspect it and
THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 21

hence can burn with as much noble passion for his
theme as though he were right. If, for example, he
believes in his heart that every ugly old woman in
town rides brooms and casts spells on the neighbor’s
children, he may write a play that glorifies even the
witch-burners of Salem and still remain within the
bounds of literature and fundamental truth.

Can a play, then, whose fundamental thought glorifies some-
thing intrinsically immoral, like murder or blasphemy, be litera-
ture if the author believes what he writes? It would be if a
sane author could believe such a thought. But we know from
reason, that owing to the existence of the Natural Law, there
are some things no healthy-minded man can sincerely believe,
no matter how hard he tries to deceive himself. The product of
a diseased mind, on the other hand, partakes of the source’s de-
formity and cannot be considered as belonging to a fine art.

2. INCIDENTAL THOUGHTS are all the various things
said and done in the course of the play. These
thoughts should aim not at “the truth,” but at “the
appearance of truth.” They should be probable ac-
cording to the standards of the play itself."

A play, if it is to take its place with the products of
Appearance any fine art, cannot be a photographic
of Truth picture of life. Some kind of idealization
is necessary. Hence, in quoting Hamlet’s famous line
about the theatre holding “as ’twere the mirror up to
nature,” the words “as ’twere” should be italicized.
For perfectly to mirror life would be not only useless,
but impossible. Useless, because “the world is here, it
would be absurd to repeat it;” impossible because, to:
choose the most practical reason, life is so badly ar--
ranged. “Logical, purposeful, emotive in its entirety,
sections small enough to come within the compass of
the stage may be devoid of these essential require-
ments.”

Moreover, the theatre is, of its nature, a realm of

appearances where green gauze veils can look more
22 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

like the sea than could tanks of the purest water;
where a compact, sparkling, dramatic and quite im-
possible conversation between two persons seated on
a canvas log under the warm rays of an amber spot
can seem more real than anything overheard on a
train. That is why Shaw called a play “a sane hallu-
cination” and Sarcey insisted that it was nothing more
than “an aggregate of conventions designed to pro-
duce on the spectators an illusion . . . to show life
in a certain aspect to twelve hundred assembled in a
theatre and to produce on the multiple soul of this
audience a certain impression.”® The same impression,
let us add, that it would have received had it watched
the story develop for years and known intimately all
the characters.

To produce this impression, we must “give the
events of life emphasis, proportion and perspec-
tive.”’® Wordsworth said that the simple recital of the
facts of a given phenomenon might be at once for-
mally accurate and essentially untrue, because it had
been made either mechanically or ignorantly, by not-
ing the unessential and the significant without dis-
criminating between them. The drama should then
paint “the truth of human life, not facts.”® The
truth here is the eternal element of a situation, e. g.,
mothers love their children. This is always morally
certain. But the facts are the particular situations
found in life, which, though actual, may seem unreal
and hence may be dramatically untrue, e.g., a mother
starves her baby to feed a stray cat. This was what
Amiel had in mind when he wrote in his “Journal”:
“The ideal is, after all, truer than the real, for the
ideal is the eternal element in perishable things, it is
their formula in the book of their creator, and, there-
fore, at once the most exact and the most condensed
expression of them.” From this it would appear that
THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 23

truth is not only stranger than fiction, but that fiction
is often truer than fact. Hence, Aristotle’s remark
that “the probable impossible is better than the im-
probable possible,” and the quotation he gives from
“Agathon”: “It is probable that many things should
happen contrary to probability.”

So, then, when we speak of a situation being prob-
able in the dramatic sense, we mean that an audience,
subject to all the influences of the theatre, will accept
it without internal protest. When such protest arises
it is because the action has been inconsistent, unrea-
sonable or unnatural. Hence, to be probable, or true,
the plot must be consistent, reasonable and natural.

1. To BE TRUE, A PLoT MUsT BE CONSISTENT, i. €.,
one part must not contradict another. A playwright
‘may begin by asking us to concede that two plus two
is equal to five, but he must afterwards adhere logic-
ally to the inference that four plus four is equal to
‘ten and eight plus eight is equal to twenty. This was
referred to, when, in speaking of incidental truths,
| we used the words, “according to the standards of the
play itself.” We should not use the same yard-stick
lon a children’s fairy play and on a comedy of man-
ners. What would win applause in Sophocles, might
be jeered at in Clyde Fitch, and many things, pro-
foundly moving in Paul Claudel, would be absurd in
Owen Davis.

2. To BE TRUE, A Prot MusT BE REASONABLE,
| i. e., motivated. Each step must be linked by causal-
ity with what has gone before. As in the drama of
| yesterday the heroine only too often “died of the
| fifth act,” so in a one-act-play the near approach of
| ‘the curtain is sometimes the only good reason for the
startling events that transpire. Especially important

3

is the motivation when there is a change of will at a

1
t

SRE TI,

_
24 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

crucial point. Evidence of such a change should be
external. As an example of good motivation for such
a change of will, see the constable in “The Rising of
the Moon.”

Motivation is effected by having any act or result
Adequate Spring from a clearly preconceivable and
Motivation adequate cause in the nature of the person
or situation. This preparing for future events, by
laying down preconceivable and adequate causes, is
called “planting.”

A preconceivable cause is one that satisfies analysis
after the effect has taken place. It does not, like a
preconceived cause, destroy the surprise element. On
the contrary, owing to the many possible effects of
every situation, the characters may act in a wholly
unforeseen manner and yet most reasonably. For
instance, a Prince is cheated out of his inheritance by
an adventurer. Who can say what the outcome will
be? He may triumph over his enemy in approved
movie fashion, or if the play be written for an art
theatre, likely as not, the poor Prince may go to the
wars, the dogs, or the devil. In any case, the audience
on the way home should say to itself: “I see now why
he did what he did.”

An adequate cause is one that is essentially as great
as the effect. Where the cause is inadequate, some
part of the effect has no cause at all. For instance:
A normal man could not murder a normal woman
because she appeared in a gown of peacock blue.
Preference for a particular color is in itself a trifle
and can, of itself, result only in a trifling aversion.
All the other passions associated with murder are, in
the present example, without any cause whatever. To
make the cause adequate we must add important fac-
tors. If the man, filled with nameless fears and super-
stitions picked up in the depths of the Ural Moun-
TE PA Er FT LT

THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 25

tains, were driven into a frenzy at the sight of pea-
cock blue, he might slay a normal woman. Or if the

“woman were a kind of fiend and intended that color

as a signal that would blot out most brutally every-
thing that we had come to love in the play, she might
be slain by a normal man.

In the nature of the person or situation. These im-
portant words are meant to exclude the use of stray
bullets and lightning bolts as means for clearing the
stage of undesirable characters. If a selfish man is
to die, we want him to die through his selfishness. If
a brave man is to triumph, we want him to triumph not
through an earthquake, but through his bravery. If
the heroine goes to certain death nursing the victims
of a horrible plague, we will not permit her to be
eaten by a panther. We demand that if she must die,
she die of the plague. For chance is never to usurp
the place of volition or character.

CHANCE may, it is true, figure in the complication, but never
in the solution. “The Deus ex Machina should be employed only
for events external to the drama.” 15 It becomes more improbable
in direct ratio to its importance. In the solution chance does
not show what kind of a man the hero may be. His action is
not dramatic or characteristic.

A CoINcIDENCE is even more to be avoided, since it is the ac-
cidental convergence of two or more events that have themselves
happened by chance. For example: At the conclusion of a
certain action the hero is compelled, by the exigencies of the
plot, to enter a submarine, after seeing the heroine securely
bound to the wing of a hydroplane. By chance, the plane is
forced to land on the deck of an ocean liner. By another chance,
our hero’s submarine blows up the self-same liner and said hero,
for protesting, is pushed off the submarine. Just as he is sink-
ing, however, for the third and last time, by a most refreshing
coincidence, there lands beside him in the water, still securely
bound to an ample piece of the hydroplane, none other than our
persecuted heroine.
26 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Although the quoted example was taken from an incredibly
bad story, the fact remains that, even when handled with charm,
a coincidence or “a double-barrelled chance” is almost never

true in the dramatic sense.

For specimens of skilful preparation or planting
Planting read. “Dawn,” “The Golden Doom,”
in “Tle” “Spreading the News,” “Allison’s Lad,”
and especially “Ile.” The last named we can study
here and now with profit. In this particular play the
planting is more than ordinarily important, because
the crucial moment verges on the incredible. We are
asked to believe that the very instant when a man
who loves his wife has promised to start homewards,
the ice breaks to the north. Thereupon, he changes his
mind and, in consequence, his wife becomes immedi-
ately insane. Thus baldly stated, we are inclined to
doubt the dramatic truth of the situation. In the first
place, the motives seem to lack proportion. Would
a faithful husband weigh a few barrels of oil with his
wife’s threatened insanity? And would a normal
woman go suddenly insane because she had to spend
another month in the North? In the second place, we
resent the long arm of coincidence. Why should the
ice break just at the right moment?

By perfect mastery of his technique, O'Neill has
made the crisis and the climax seem not only possible
and true, but inevitable. To achieve this result, it was
necessary, from the rise of the curtain, to prepare for
the crucial moment. Special emphasis had to be
placed, 1st on Keeney’s pride and hardness, to a less
extent on his love for Annie; 2d on the nervous strain
under which Mrs. Keeney is laboring, due to her gen-
tle womanliness and the cold, silence and brutality
of her surroundings; 3d on the imminence of the ice-
break. Before the exposition is complete, these points
have been emphasized as follows: 1st Keeney’s pride,

Fala

 
THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 27

8 times; his hardness, 13 times; his love for Annie, 4
times. 2d Mrs. Keeney’s nervous strain, 7 times; her
gentle womanliness, 7 times; the cold, 10 times; the
silence and monotony, 5 times; the brutality, 10 times.
3d the imminence of the ice-break, 5 times. In fact,
it can be said, with truth, that every line in the play
bears, directly or indirectly, on one of these three
points.

Like everything else in art, however, this planting
can be overdone. The preparation can be so complete
that preconceivable causes become preconceived and
the play closes with a stifled yawn. This is really the
trouble in “Followers” by Harold Brighouse. To
overcome such a handicap the author of this modest
and gentle comedy would need a genius for character-
ization, which he does not possess. The same is true
of “The Romancers” by Rostand.* What should be
a thrilling climax is flat and stale because of too much
planting.

8. To BE TRUE, A Prot Must BE NATURAL, i.¢€.,
nothing should be used that seems abnormal, whether
it deal with spiritual or material, mental, physical or
moral phenomena. For instance, a play built up
around a seven-year-old prodigy or a saint in ecstasy,
though historically accurate, would be abnormal and
hence dramatically untrue. This does not, however,
exclude uncommon situations. The proposal scene in
“The Old Lady Shows Her Medals” is an uncommon
situation, but not unnatural.

Although until now our principal concern has been
truth of plot, truth must be considered in every ele-
ment of the play. “Truth of theme makes a play
valid. Truth of character makes a play persuasive.

*Act I is a complete one-act-play. We may justly infer from this
that there is something wrong with the structure of the play as a whole.
28 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Truth of situation makes a play entertaining. Truth
of atmosphere, mood, point of view makes a play |
real.”

TuE THIRD QUALITY OF THE PLOT Is PROPORTION.

Proportion, in general, is equivalent to good taste.
With regard to the plot, it is a matter of correct em- |
phasis. Many situations are to be arranged in a design
that will most effectively set off the main crisis. To
accomplish this end, one situation will be lightly
touched upon, another lingered over; one will have
its little moment and be forgotten, another will recur
again and again; one will be given all the mechanical
effects that the theatre can draw upon, another might
as well be played on the back porch at ten in the
morning.

This is a very far-reaching principle affecting not only the
arrangement of incidents, but the relative importance of theme,

action, character and atmosphere. In fact, it must be considered
in almost every point hereafter discussed.

To test the general proportion of a play, we should
place clearly before us its main thought and dominant
emotion. Everything in the plot, characterization,

“atmosphere and style must be compared with that
thought and emotion, and used only so far as it will
make the thought more clear and the emotion more
effective.
CHAPTER II
SINGLENESS OF EFFECT

SINGLENESS OF EFFECT is the vivid playing upon
one emotion or idea so as to create in the audience one
definite impression.

A DEFINITE IMPRESSION is created when the audi-
ence is affected in a distinct and single manner, be-
cause they have beheld some one situation to laugh at,
cry over, think over. This some one situation is found
in the crucial momENT. This moment is the soul of
the one-act-play; the reason for its being written. It
is one specific and significant dramatic situation near
the end of the play; “the focus, the cap-stone, the
central dynamic theme illustrative and illuminative of
all before and after.”

This moment may be the last straw that is breaking
the camel’s back, as in “The Clod.” Here, Mary, a
poor, brutish, old farm drudge, such as we may find
among the “white trash” of the South, has been wor-
ried and harassed and frightened by the soldiers
until —

. . . (almost ready to drop, she drags herself to the window
near the back and leans against it, watching the Southerners
like a hunted animal. The Sergeant and Dick go on devouring
the food. The former pours the coffee, puts his cup to his lips
and takes one swallow; then, jumping to his feet and upset-
ting his chair as he does so, he hurls his cup to the floor.)

SerceanT: Have you tried to poison us, you damn hag?
(Mary screams, and the faces of the men turn white. It is
the cry of an animal goaded beyond endurance.)

Ss
30 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Mary: (screeching) Break my cup? Call my coffee poison?
Call me a hag, will yuh? I'll learn yuh! I'm a woman, but

yer drivin’ me crazy!
(She has snatched the gun from the wall and pointed it at the

Sergeant. She fires. The Sergeant falls to the floor, Mary |

keeps on screeching. Dick rushes for his gun.)
Tuappeus: Mary! Mary!

Mary: (aiming at Dick and firing) I ain’t a hag! I'm a woman, 1

but yer killin’ me! . . .

In “The Workhouse Ward” a striking revelation

of character gives us our crucial moment.

Mike McInerney has been fighting for years with | |

the old man who lies in the next bed. To-day the

chance has been offered to him of making his home |

 

!
|
|

with Honor Donahoe, his sister. As he is about to
leave the workhouse, his ancient enemy asks to be

taken along and the following scene ensues:

Mike McINerNEY: . . . Bring him out with myself now, Honor
Donahoe and God bless you!

Mgs. Donanoe: Well, then, I will not bring him out, and I will
not bring yourself out, and you not to learn better sense. Are
you making yourself ready to come?

Mike McInerney: I am thinking maybe . . . it is a mean thing
for a man that is shivering into seventy years to go changing
from place to place.

Mgrs. Donanor: Well take your luck or leave it. . . .

Mike McInerney: Bring the both of us with you or I'll not stir
out of this.

Mrs. Donanoe: Give me back my fine suit so, till I go look for
a man of my own.

Mike McInerNEY: Let you go so, as you are so wanstural and
disobliging and look for some man of your own, God help him!
For I will not go with you at all! .

A climax of passions, rage, shame, and finally love
that ends in a muffled sob marks the moment in
O’Neill’s powerful little play, “In The Zone.”
THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 31

The scene is laid on board a ship filled with muni-

tions during the Great War. Smitty, suspected of

being a German spy, has been bound and gagged by

his companions and now lies on the floor where he can
watch them examining his poor little personal effects.

A rubber bag, which they had thought an infernal
machine, is found to be full of letters written by a
cultured girl whose heart had been broken because of
Smitty’s weakness.

Driscorr: (‘reads slowly, his voice becoming lower and lower as
he goes on) “. . . and if it is any satisfaction to you, I lave
you the real-i-zation that you have wrecked my loife as you
have wrecked your own. My one remainin’ hope is that niver
in God’s worrld will I iver see your face again. Goodby.
Edith.”

(As he finishes there is deep silence, broken only by Smitty’s
muffled sobbing. The men cannot look at each other. Dris-
coll holds the rubber bag limply in his hand and some small
white object falls out of it and drops noiselessly to the floor.
Mechanically, Driscoll leans over and picks it up, and looks at
it wonderingly.)

Davis: (in a dull voice) What's that?

Driscorr: (slowly) A bit of dried-up flower . . . a rose maybe.

In “The Glittering Gate,” dramatic recognition is
the chief ingredient of the effect.

Two lost souls have reached the next world. One is
eternally punished by the constant disappointment of
opening empty bottles. The other, Bill, sees a huge
gate which he imagines is the gate of Heaven. With
a tremendous effort, he manages to open it. But from
the laughter of the demons that ensues we gather that
the bitterness of disillusionment is to be Bill’s particu-
lar Hell.

Birr: Hullo, Mother! You there? Hullo! You there? It’s

Bill, Mother!

(The gates swing heavily open, revealing empty night and

stars.)
 

32 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Bir: (staggering and gazing into the revealed Nothing in which §
far stars go wandering) Stars! Bloomin’ great stars! There
ain’t no Heaven, Jim!

|
A
(Ever since the revelation, a cruel and violent laugh has arisen *
off. It increases, etc.) . . . i

But whether the moment be one of dramatic recog- *
Economy nition, or character revelation or emotional |
of Means functioning or anything else, light is always
turned on one phase of character in one moment with
only as much before and after as is needed to give
that moment its full dramatic value. This is another |
way of saying that it is necessary to employ the great- |
est economy of means — whether in the number of
minor crises, the richness of characterization,* or the |
elaboration of atmospheret — consistent with the |
utmost emphasis. This economy may descend even to
the language and the number of words used and
should be exercised in proportion to the proximity of
the crisis. “Words,” says old Thomas Rymer, “are a
sort of heavy baggage which were better out of the
way at the push of the action.” |

The question, then, is never “Given the means, how
great an effect can you produce?” Tt is, rather, “De-
siring the effect, what are the least means with which
you can produce it?" :

One of the happy results of this strict economy is
Unity of the preservation of Artistic Unity or
Impression [Unity of Impression. This means unity
in the mode of treatment which determines the emo-
tional tone of the play. (Cf. Appendix 2.) For the
playwright who fixes his eye on the crucial moment
and never swerves from the principle of economy will
not be tempted to range through a variety of types,
moods and styles of drama calculated to leave on the

 

*Characterization is defined on Page 42.
+Atmosphere is defined on Page 66.
THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 33

a Lf Bh Te oh ed om 0 hn

‘mind of the audience the mingled impressions of a
‘three-act play. For in an ordinary play some types
‘do mingle freely, e. g., farce and melodrama, comedy
‘and tragedy. The moods, too, may be combined by a
skilful dramatist, as they are, in many gloomy plots
with happy endings.

~ But the one-act-play is more insistent upon artistic
unity than any other dramatic form and “should
never or very daintily mix hornpipes and funerals.”’®
However, if a genius, for higher purposes, should dis-
obey this law, “let us forget our primer and only ex-
amine whether he has attained this higher purpose.”

EXERCISE ON THE SINGLENESS OF EFFECT:

After reading plays in class, answer the following
questions:

1. What is the single impression produced by this
play?

2. What situation in this play presents the vital
crisis of the action, i. e., the moment of the play
in which plot, character, theme and atmosphere
come to focus and create the single impression
of the piece most vividly?

3. Does this central dynamic moment illustrate and
illumine all that went before?

4. Is the single impression produced by the play as
a whole, i.e., by a harmony of all elements
(one major and the others subordinate) work-
ing to a single end? (As a test: Would it be
difficult for the average play-goer to differ-
entiate in the final impression what the plot, or
theme, or character, or atmosphere has con- .
tributed?)
 

84 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

5. Is the single impression dependent primarily on |

a) plot?

b) character?
c) theme?

d) atmosphere?

6. Sketch briefly the reasons for your reply to
No.5.

7. Is “Beauty and the Jacobin” by Booth Tark-
ington a genuine one-act-play?

8. Discuss the following definition: “A one-act-
play is an orderly representation of life arous-
ing emotion in an audience. It is characterized
by superior unity and economy; it is playable
in a comparatively short space of time; and it
is intended to be assimilated as a whole.”

 
CHAPTER III
CONTINUITY

CoNTINUITY means uninterruptedness, or complete
development in one act. AN Act is a unit of presen-
tation, during which the playwright wants the atten-
tion of the audience unbroken. This is equivalent to
saying that the scene should not be changed, or the
curtain lowered ; in other words, that the unity of time
and the unity of place should be strictly observed.

This obligation is not imposed by the nature of art
Continuity and Or drama in general, as the French
the Single Effect critics believed in the seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries, but by the specific note of the
one-act-play, viz.: the single effect. Failure to ob-
serve these unities will, as a rule, do violence to the
single impression. For between acts, “the auditors
will reflect, ponder, discuss, agree, question, reconcile,
and this upon a basis of life’s norms.”*? The follow-
ing act must, then, make an impression all its own.
Thus, even where the emotion, theme and situation
are closely unified, if the action is not continuous, but
broken into distinct segments, a play in so many short
acts is the result. See for instance, “The Gods of the
Mountain” by Dunsany. An exception, however, will
be found in Drinkwater’s play, “X=0,” where,
though the scene flashes back and forth, from the
Greek camp to Troy, the singleness of impression is
retained because of the identical situation in each.

This word “continuity” limits the themes of the
Unity one-act-play far more than is the case in the
of Time short-story. It imposes a unity of time more
rigid than even the Greeks knew. The Greeks were
 

36 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

satisfied with a unity of “ideal” time.* The one-act-+
play must have a unity of time that is “real” in the ¥
dramatic sense. That is, it must seem real. Ten min- =
utes may conceivably represent an hour, but not the
passage of a whole night. To represent long periods 2
of “real” dramatic time, a convention is necessary. :
The curtain is lowered, the lights are changed, and the &
audience reads in the program, “Nine o’clock the next §
morning.” This convention, however frequent in 1
other species of the drama, is almost never allowed in |
the one-act-play, for fear of the inevitable effect upon |
the audience.

With regard to unity of place, more and more lati-
Unity tude may be allowed as time goes on, because |
of Place of the progress in stage mechanics and de-
signing. The former, with its instantaneous shifting:
of scenes, has eliminated the old-time delay that
tended to blur the single impression, while the latter,
ever drawing less attention to details on the stage, and
laying ever greater emphasis on the mood of the play
itself, is considerably reducing the distraction atten-
dant upon the rising of the curtain. This distraction,
it need hardly be noted, is quite as perilous to the
effect of the one-act-play as the time element, men-
tioned above.

Exercise oN CONTINUITY:

“The Last Leaf” by O. Henry, “The Sire de Male-
troit’s Door” by Stevenson and “The Monkey’s Paw”
by Jacobs, are admirable short-stories. Are they good
material for one-act-plays?

*When action, which really required a very much longer space of
time, is represented as happening in a few hours, it is said to take place
in “ideal time.” For instance, the “Antigone” of Sophocles supposes.
two days at least for the action, while in Euripides’ “Supplices,” Theseus.
goes from Athens to Thebes, forty good English miles one way, gives
battle, and sends a messenger back with the news, while Aethra and the
chorus have but thirty-six verses, “Which is not,” as Dryden says, “for
every verse a mile.”
ae
"BT

THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 37

If “The Prodigal Son” were to be made into a one-
act-play, what rearrangement would be necessary?
Do the following plays violate the principle of con-
tinuity? “The Tents of the Arabs;” “The Emperor
Jones;” “The Old Lady Shows Her Medals;” “The
Will” and “The Gods of the Mountain.”

 
CHAPTER 1V
PRESENTATION ON THE STAGE

A play might measure up to all the ideals touched
upon in the foregoing chapters, and still fail utterly
when shown in the theatre. In examining now the
strictly theatrical aspect of the one-act-play, its pre-
sentability, the two following questions must be con-
sidered:

1. Is it mechanically or physically possible to
achieve the effects demanded?

2. Will the play hold the interest of an average
audience?

To answer the first, common sense must be joined
with a technical knowledge that lies beyond our pres-
ent scope. To answer the second, we must examine
that element which, more than any other, is responsi-
ble for interest in an average audience, Viz.:

ACTION

“By action is meant an event or occurrence ar-
Definition ranged according to a controlling idea and
of Action having its meaning made apparent by the
characters.”

Action, then, is to be distinguished from motion.
Motion is mere change of position and can be seen
in running water or in the waving branches of a tree.
If a butler, for example, opens the door as part of his
routine, we call this occurrence motion. A mechanical
device could do as much. If a father now opens the

 
Th

THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 39

same door and waits grimly for his ne’er-do-well to
leave, we call it action. “There is no true action ex-
| cept that of a will conscious of itself, conscious of the
means which it employs for its fulfilment, one which
| adapts them to its goal. All other forms of action are
only imitations, counterfeits or parodies.”

“Most important of all is the structure of the inci-
Importance dents. For tragedy is an imitation not of
of Action men but of an action and of life, and life
consists in action and its end is a mode of action, not
a quality.”*®* Moreover, although “without action
there cannot be a tragedy, there may be without char-
acter.”?®

For stressing the importance of action, there are
three reasons:

1. It is more dramatic than any other element.
“Character determines men’s qualities, but it is
by their actions that they are happy or the re-
verse.”’® “The most beautiful colors (charac-
terization) laid on confusedly will not give as
much pleasure as the chalk outline (action) of
a portrait.”® :

2. Action is nearer to the truth than speech.
“Speech is not merely a mode of expression,
but also a much used device for concealing
thought.” Men are what men do. Things are
what things do.

8. Action most easily arouses an emotion and a
play is the shortest distance between two emo-
tions. “We laugh, we weep with those that
laugh or weep; we gape, stretch, and are very
dotterels, by example. Action is speaking to
the eyes.”
40 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Not only is action an essential part of a play, but
Popularity the most popular as well. Even in the
of Action earliest Medi®val drama, the ‘“Resurrec-
tion” of A.D. 967, we find more “rubrics” or direc-
tions for action, than spoken lines. The Elizabethan |
audience had such a passion for seeing people do
things that “The Knight of the Burning Pestle” was
written to satirize their taste. When in some excep-
tions, as in Corneille and Racine, in Restoration com-
edy, and occasionally even now in such things as
“Back to Methuselah,” characterization and dialogue
submerge the action, we see dramas written for a
special class and flourishing only for a short time as
real plays. On the contrary, most enduring types of
drama are built upon plots which can be conveyed by
mere pantomime. New York crowded The Century
Theatre for a year to see “The Miracle,” whose only
words were those of the Pater Noster. “In fact all
Europe over,” says Thomas Rymer, “plays have been
represented with great applause in a tongue unknown
and sometimes without any language at all.”’

This is even more true to-day than in Rymer’s cen-
tury. For the Motion Pictures, acting on this princi-
ple, have taken the plays of every language and fash-
joned them into a kind of international drama. Dur-
ing the process the literary element has vanished, but
there still remains the most important part of the
play, the action.

Action may be predominantly physical or predom-
Varietiesof inantly mental. We use the word “pre-
Action dominantly” to call attention to the fact
that both kinds of action are always present in some
proportion. It would be anomalous to speak of action
that was merely physical —the proper word would
be motion — while merely mental action could never
be produced on the stage. For brevity’s sake, how-
ever, we shall use the terms physical and mental.

 
THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 41

1. PuysicaL: From “A Night at An Inn.”

(The other two follow Bill. All three are now crouching in-
side the door Right. The Toff puts the ruby beside him on the
table. He lights a cigarette.)

(The door in back opens so slowly that you can scarcely say
at what moment it began. The Toff picks up his paper.)

(A native of India wriggles along the floor ever so slowly,
seeking cover from chairs. . . . Bill watches to see if any more
are coming. Then he leaps forward alone . . . and knifes the
priest, etc.)

2. MENTAL: From “Overtones.”

Two women, Harriet and Margret, are seated at a
tea table alone, except for their real selves, Hetty and
Maggie, who stand heavily veiled behind their chairs.
Margret is the wife of John, a poor artist, whom
Harriet, now married to wealth, has always loved.
Margret, in despair, has come to persuade Harriet to
have her portrait done by John. Throughout the
scene, the two ladies chat quietly, while their real
selves, Hetty and Maggie, show us the struggle that
is going on in the depths of their souls.

Hetty: Must I really pay the full price?

Harrier: Le Grange thought I would make a good subject.

Mageie: (to Margret) Let her fish for it.

MarereT: Of course you would. Why don’t you let Le Grange
paint you if you trust him?

Hetty: She doesn’t seem anxious to have John do it.

Harrier: But if Le Grange isn’t accepted by artists, it would
be a waste of time to pose for him, wouldn't it?

Margret: Yes, I think it would.

Maceie: (passionately, to Hetty across the table) Give us the
order! John is so despondent, he can’t endure much longer!
Help us! Help me, save us! Ete. . ..

In each of the examples quoted above, it is clear
that the action is that of a will conscious of itself;
42 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

recognized by the audience as conscious of itself;
recognized as belonging to an individual, differen-
tiated from other individuals. In other words, the
action is “characteristic.”

CHARACTERIZATION

“By character, I mean that in virtue of which we
ascribe certain qualities to the agent.””” In other
words, it is a disposition resulting from natural or
acquired habits, which gives us reason for calling this
man generous or vain or courageous or anything else.
Characterization is the assigning of a particular dis-
position to one of the dramatis persone.

“The character of the hero exerts great influence

/ Character on the structure of the action, but only
and Action that one may thereby account for the in-
ner, consistent, unified action through the character-
istic peculiarities of the hero.” But while it is true
that “muthos,” the action, and not “ethos,” the char-
acterization, is the essence of drama, “muthos” is like
a skeleton, “ethos” the outward charm. For story,
independent of character, is trivial and uninteresting.

It is clear, then, that if the Ten Commandments
of the theatre can be rolled into this one: “First, last
and always, be interesting,” and if mere attention can
be transformed into interest only by characterization,
characterization is of prime importance. That this
dictum is true appears from the following discussion:

Theatrical interest is sympathetic concern. It dif-
Theatrical fers from (1) attention, which we give,
Interest voluntarily or involuntarily, to a loud
noise and (2) curiosity, or the concern of ignorance.

Now, before we can feel real sympathy, before we
can “suffer with” another, we must know something
of his personality. Seeing a strange old gray-beard
out in the rain excites mere curiosity. We do not

EARN ——
i THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 43

| know why he is there; we do not know whether or not

. he likes it. He may be returning from the delicatessen

with exultation in his heart; or he may be taking a

. cure under the doctor’s orders. But Lear out on a
blasted heath — ah, that is a different matter! We
know Lear. We know what he has suffered. He has
been characterized for us. We are interested in him.
That is our reason for returning to “King Lear”
again and again. Mere curiosity would never suffice.
In fact, a play which creates mere curiosity is spoiled
after the first-night reviewers have revealed the solu-
tion. “Subjects full of plot and intrigue,” says the
Abbé d’Aubignac, “are extremely agreeable at first,
but being once known, they do not, the second time,
please us so well because they want the grace of nov-
elty.”?

Interest or sympathetic concern, on the contrary,
may be secured even though the outcome is well
known, sometimes because the outcome is well known.
This occurs in the “response of recognition” as distin-
guished from the “response of suspense.” In proving
that the first is the more important, Clayton Hamil-
ton says: “The best part of our enjoyment in the
theatre does not spring from vainly wondering what
is going to happen, but from eagerly wanting some
specific thing to happen” (chiefly because we are in-
terested in the characters), “and in having our want
fulfilled.”® Modern play-goers have, in fact, some-
thing of the ancient Greek attitude. They like “to sit
like Gods on Olympus watching mortals” (in whom
they are interested) “struggle on the plain beneath.”®

ProrERTIES OF CHARACTERIZATION :

Because of its importance as an element of dra-
matic literature, characterization must.conform to the
general rules of truth and proportion. ‘A character is
Fe Rg Bt 0) SIL SPA Ch ree

44 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

true, if his essential, accidental and individual traits
are convincing. His essential traits are those which
he possesses as a rational animal. When these are
convincing, we say that the character is Living. His
accidental traits are those which he possesses as a
Harlem negro or a Colonial Englishman. When
these are convincing, we say that the character is
Probable. His individual traits are those which he
possesses as “himself” with his own particular blend
of good and evil. When these are convincing, we say
that the character is Consistent.

Let us, then, put our ideas in order and say that
characterization must be (1) Probable, (11) Consis-
tent, (111) Living and (1v) Proportionate.

I. Characterization must be Probable. The char-
acters must speak and act in a manner that befits their
presumed condition in life. In the words of Horace:
“Tt will make a wide difference whether it will be
Davos that speaks, or a hero; a man well stricken in
years, or a hot, young fellow in his bloom; a matron
of distinction or an officious nurse.”??

Read this in the light of what has been said on the-
atrical truth. The aim is the appearance of truth, not
necessarily the truth itself. For instance, if a bore is
to be represented, let him be so idealized that, though
like Polonius he bores the other characters on the
stage, he may not bore the audience as well. This
precaution is particularly to the point when deline-
ating vicious and degenerate characters. Let them
seem to talk like degenerates. Spare us the stench of
facts. The characterization is amply true if the audi-
ence does not advert to its truth or falsity. “True
stage illusion consists not in the mind’s judging it to
be a forest, but in its remission of the judgment that
it is not a forest.”

 
nme

a t

k
i

THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 45

This probability of characterization extends even
to the relatives with whom a playwright may sur-
round his characters. “What children could be more

typical of Polonius than Lertes and Ophelia? And
| is not Hamlet himself the inevitable son of his warlike

father and charming, inconstant mother ?”’2*

II. Characterization must be Consistent. The char-
aracter should maintain the same essential traits from
beginning to end. This excludes neither accidental
changes, nor revelations of unknown traits.

1. Accidental changes:

An utter craven may lose his power of repartee,
but not his cowardice — at least not in the course of
a half hour. Essential changes, it is true, take place
in life. A real angel at thirteen may be a real fiend at
thirty. Even here, however, we can trace consisten-
cies. If, for instance, a man who is brave, full-blooded
and passionate, falls from virtue, we find him robbing
trains, not alms-boxes. But when these essential
changes are found in literature, long and careful
development is necessary to give them the appearance
of truth — much longer than is possible in a one-act-
play. Thus, it takes George Eliot the best part of a
lengthy novel to make gay, brilliant, popular, lovable
Tito the real villain of “Romola.”

2. The revelation of unknown traits.

Usually in drama, rather than a real change from
good to evil, we find the gradual unfolding of a char-
acter who has been all along just what the audience
finally discovers him to be. Macbeth, the slave of an
unscrupulous ambition, has discussed with his wife
the possibility of murdering the King before the cur-
tain rises on the first act. Then, little by little, as the
action proceeds, we come to know him as he really is.
46 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Of course, there must be a limit to this further reve-
lation, and it seems reasonable to place it at that point
where the audience feels that it has at last so complete

an idea of the character that it would resent a new and
conflicting trait.

In the one-act-play, as a general rule, the play-
wright gives us as soon as possible a sufficiently com-
plete sketch of the character and hastens on to the
crisis, since his chief interest is the character’s reaction
at that moment. At times, this reaction involves a
decided change. It is quite possible that a black sheep,
distrusted by all the persons in the play, should, as
the result of one crisis, show himself to be the hero.
But the playwright must in such a case “plant” so
carefully that the audience can glimpse, at least upon
reflection, the good that is in the seeming villain.
Otherwise, when the transformation comes, dramatic
truth will be violated. There will be an effect without
a preconceivable cause. Even in depicting an incon-
sistent character let him be, as Aristotle says, “con-
sistently inconsistent.”

III. Characterization must be Living. The char-

acter should be an individualized human being and
not a stock character or an abstraction, for interest of
an emotional kind is aroused only by the concrete.

IV. Characterization must be Proportionate. Each
character must enjoy only as much prominence as his
importance in the action deserves and the same may
be said of each trait in each character. So that here,
as in plot work, proportion is a matter of correct
emphasis. : :

When a number of characters are introduced into a one-act-
play, one or two are usually selected for detailed individualiza-

tion. The others are, to use Quiller-Couch’s expression, “flat-
tened” into a kind of background. See, for instance, Mrs. Dow-
3

THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 47

ey’s friends in “The Old Lady Shows Her Medals;” the three

i lesser thieves and the three priests in “A Night at An Inn;” the
i guests of the Queen in “The Queen’s Enemies.”

. MEANS OF CHARACTERIZATION :

In life, a man’s real nature is but partly known
even to his intimates. In the theatre, the audience

must know the character at least as well as the char-

acter knows himself. This knowledge is gained not
only by seeing all his external actions, shooting or

stealing, giving alms or making love, but also all the

| little side touches that help to show us his motives in

positing such actions. This characterization begins in
a vague way when we first hear his name; our impres-
sion of him takes form when we see him appear on
the stage; the impression is deepened or corrected
when we hear his words, and fixed when he interprets
them for us by his whole deportment.

We may, then, divide the means of characterization
into the Minor Means, viz., Names, Costume and
Make-up, and the Principal Means, viz., Pantomime

and Dialogue.

Pantomime and Dialogue are employed here in their broadest
possible, signification. By pantomime we mean everything that
is done on the stage; by dialogue, everything that is said.

TaE MiNor MEANS:
1. Names. One feels instinctively that Chauncy

Tinker is not an All-American-End; that Lizzie never

was a day under forty, and Peggy is still in her teens.

Thus far may we be prejudiced in reading over the

dramatis personz. Percival Wilde, however, makes a

very shrewd remark when he says that a wise play-

wright “puts himself in loco parentis; he names his
characters as their forbears would have named them;
he uses diminutives as circumstances may warrant
and then when this is done, he realizes that it is not the
 

48 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

name, but the action and the dialogue which he allots |

to each that will mar or make them.”
2. Costume and Make-up. “The apparel oft pro-

claims the man” and “the eyes are the windows of the |
soul” for looking in as well as out. But such quota- |

tions should not obscure the fact that judgments
based on this kind of observation frequently go
astray. Taste has, after all, so little to do with char-

|
;

|

 

acter that what a man wears will give us hardly more
than accidental characterization. In essential and in-
dividual characterization, clothes are not always to be
trusted.

Make-up is a somewhat more reliable index, espe-
cially after we have had time to study it carefully.
Thus, though we might, at first glance, take Cyrano
for a clown, before he has spoken fifty lines we can-
not see his preposterous nose, because of the light in
his eyes. No one, on the other hand, who can recall
the sweet, ingenuous charm of Marlow when, as Lady

~ Macbeth, she welcomed Duncan under her battle-

ments, will ever again rely with perfect confidence on
make-up as a means of characterization. It is too easy
to “look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent
under it.”

Tae PrINcIPAL MEANS:

I. Pantomime includes:
1. Facial expression and gesture.
2. Stage business.
3. Exits and entrances.
Examples of characterization by
1. Facial expression and gesture. “The Twelve-
pound Look.”
. . . She is rather clinging to the glory of her gown wistful-

ly, as if not absolutely certain, you know, that it is a glory. . . .
She continues to type and Lady Simms, half mesmerized, gases
i

THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 49

E
E
¥
§

i at her nimble fingers. The useless woman watches the useful
i one and she sighs she could not tell why. .

Then they see each other and their mouths open, but not for
i words. After the first surprise, Kate seems to find some humor
tin the situation, but Harry lowers like a thunder cloud. . . .

| 2. Stage business. Though facial expression and
| gesture are frequently called “stage business,” it is

more usual to reserve that term for actions which
terminate in some exterior body. Thus, pointing at a
boy is a gesture, beating him is stage business; raising
and lowering the arms are gestures, raising a teapot
and pounding a typewriter are ¢ examples of stage
business.

The importance of this means of characterization
can hardly be exaggerated. Pouncing upon a cake,
opening a letter, blowing smoke in another’s face, will
often give the audience a more complete and vivid
portrait than will pages of description. The following
example is from “Trifles”:

. Then Mrs. Hale rises, hands tight together, looking in-
tensely at Mrs. Peters, whose eyes make a slow turn, finally meet-
ing Mrs. Hale’s. A moment, Mrs. Hale holds her, then her own
eyes point the way to where the box is concealed. Suddenly Mrs.
Peters throws back quilt pieces and tries to put the box in the
bag she is wearing. It is too big. She opens the boz, starts to
take the bird out, cannot touch it, goes to pieces, stands there

helpless. Sound of a knob turning in the other room. Mrs. Hale
snatches the box and puts it in the pocket of her big coat. . . .)

8. Exits and Entrances. Note the sharp contrasts
of these two first entrances, both from “lle,” which
give us at once the most important plot characteristics
of Keeney and his wife.

There is a noise of someone coming slowly down the compan-
tonway stairs. The Steward hurries to his stacked-up dishes.
He is so nervous from. fright that he knocks off the top one,
which falls and breaks on the floor. He stands aghast, trembling
with dread. Ben is violently rubbing off the organ with a piece
 

50 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

of cloth, which he has snatched from his pocket. Captain Kee- +
ney appears in the doorway on the right, and slowly comes into §

the cabin.

The door in the rear is opened and Mrs. Keeney stands in the
doorway. She is a slight, sweet-faced little woman, primly
dressed in black. Her eyes are red from weeping and her face |
is drawn and pale. She takes in the cabin with a frightened
glance and stands as if fized to the spot by some nameless dread,
clasping and unclasping her hands nervously. The two men turn |

and look at her.

This last exit is from “Allison’s Lad.” Here Tom

 

Winwood’s struggle to keep up a show of spirit when

the time has come for him to die in the courtyard be-
low, sums up the whole impression of his character.

We see in his exit the final victory of his mother’s
courage over his father’s cowardice.

« + « Winwoobp: (Takes his hat and turns to Goring and Hopton,

with a pitiful effort at jauntiness) God be wi’ you, boys!
(Crosses and holds out his hand to Strickland.)
Sir William, I'll try. But can’t you help me? Can’t you
help me when (Clings to Strickland’s hand.)

StrickLAND: I can help you. You shall bear you as becomes
her son.

Winwoop: Aye, sir!

StrickranDp: And I shall know it. God keep you.

Winwoop: (Faces about, to Boyer) I am ready, sir. (‘Goes to
the door and, on the threshold, stands at salute.) You shall

have news of me, Sir William! (‘Winwood goes out and Boyer,
with the cloak, follows him.)

 

 

II. DIALOGUE:

Dialogue should at once be natural and literary. It

The Form 1s possible to achieve style without desert-
of Dialogue ing nature if we “keep the concentration
of art plausibly near the language of life.” In fact,
drifting away from this “language of life” usually
results in obscurity and affectation. At the same time
THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 51

 

{ there is peril in too great a desire for this “language
cof life.” Especially is this to be stressed with regard
» to coarseness, as noted above, highly technical lan-
¢ guage, and dialect. Of the last named, Baker re-
t marks: “Very few audiences know any dialect thor-
¢ oughly enough to permit a writer to use it with abso-
| lute accuracy. The moment dialect begins to show
1 the need of a glossary it is defeating its own ends.”?

Every sentence should be alive with interest in its
| The Aim of connection with the plot and flavored with
{ Dialogue the personality of the character speaking.

. Briefly, then, the aj e is to
| the plot and to characterize. In most plays both aims

. are prominent. In fact, the first aim, that of advanc-
ing the plot, is always in evidence. “The plot ought
to be so constructed that even without the aid of the
eye, he who hears the tale told will thrill with horror
and melt to pity at what takes place.””” But in plays
of the melodramatic and farcical type the second aim,
characterization, is of distinctly minor importance.
As for instance in “A Night at An Inn” and “The
Wonder Hat.” In some of our ultra-modern plays
characterization is quite ignored by deliberately leav-
ing the dialogue unassigned.
We may derive our knowledge of the neighbors
[Varieties of from several different varieties of dialogue.
Dialogue The man who lives in “No. 32” may lean
over the hedge and give us his confidential impres-
sions of the man in “No.33.” Or “83” himself may
come and manifest his conscience to us. On the stage
we call both these varieties “Characterization by
Description.” They are valuable only when we can
properly estimate the knowledge and veracity of the
speakers. According to a most reasonable convention,
however, a wholly disinterested character can always
be relied on to give us a true estimate of his associates
 

52 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

and is for this reason usually selected as the mouth-
piece of the author. But the most reliable way to take
the stature of “33,” is to observe him closely when he
is talking about something else and has no thought or
desire of self-revelation. This, in a play, is called
“Characterization by Conversation” and is to be pre-
RT er er AT igh this is as far as we
can go with the analysis of ordinary neighbors, on the
stage a very frank theatrical convention, at times, |
allows the character to speak out his thoughts in a
most unnatural manner. This is called “Characteriza-
tion by Soliloquy and Asides.”

Examples of Characterization by Dialogue:

1. Description is a term applied to the picture of a
character drawn by other characters in the play.
For example: “A Night at An Inn.”

Sniceers: What's his idea, I wonder?

Bri: I don’t know. . . .

S~iceers: ‘Ow long did he rent the pub for?

Birr: You never know with him.

Swiceers: It’s lonely enough.

Birr: ’Ow long did you rent the pub for, Toffy?
(The Toff continues to read the sporting paper; he takes mo
notice of what is said.)

Sniceers: 'E’s such a Toff!

Biri: Yet ’e’s clever, no mistake.

Sniaeers: Those clever ones are the beggars to make a muddle,
ete.

It should be noted that complete reliance on such
description, when it is possible for a character to
reveal himself by his own conversation, is indicative
of loose craftsmanship. But in characterizing the
speaker himself or in planting for another’s entrance,
the utility of these pictures is obvious.
THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 53

2." Conversation in which a man unwittingly reveals
| his own nature is the most artistic form of character-

| ization by dialogue.

For example: “Spreading the News.”

| Bartrey: Indeed, it’s a poor country and a scarce country to be

living in. But I'm thinking if I went to America, it’s long
ago the day I'd be dead.

Mes. FaLron: So you might be indeed.

BarTLEY: And it’s a great expense for a poor man to be buried
in America.

Mgrs. Farron: Never fear, Bartley Fallon, but I'll give you a
good burying the day you'll die.

BarTLEY: Maybe it’s yourself will be buried in the graveyard of
Cloonmara before me, Mary Fallon, and I myself that will
be dying unbeknownst some night and no one a-near me.

Mgrs. Farron: Leave off talking of dying. It might be twenty
years you'll be living yet.

BarTLEY: I'm thinking if I'll be living at the end of twenty
years, it’s a very old man I'll be then. . . . ;

Of all conversation, the most skilful is that which
not only answers the need of the moment, but gives,
as well, glimpses of the past and future.

For example: “The Twelve-pound Look.”

Sir Harry: (Jovially, but with an enquiring eye) What a dif-
ferent existence yours is from that poor, lonely wretch’s.

Lapy Stmms: Yes — But she had a very contented face.

Sir Harry: (With a stamp of his foot) All put on. What?

Lapy Simms: I didn’t say anything.

Sir Harry: (Snapping) One would think you envied her!

Lapy Sms: Envied? Oh, no but I thought she looked so
alive. It was while she was working the machine.

Sik Harry: Alive? That's no life. It is you that are alive.
(Curtly) I'm busy, Emmy. (‘He sits at his writing table.)
Lapy Simms: I'm sorry. I'll go, Harry. (Inconsequentially)

Are they very expensive? -
Sir Harry: What?
Lapy Simms: Those machines?

 
t

54 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

 

i

In this one glance we can see all the unnumbered }
little humiliations that have made Lady Simms the
timid, colorless creature that Sir Harry wants her to 1
be. And in the very same glance, lifting the curtain
of the future, we can also see in her nascent deter-
mination to take up stenography, a situation wherein
Sir Harry will meet with full retribution. ;

3 and 4. Soliloquy and Aside. In early drama, no-
body thought of questioning these unblushing pieces
of theatricalism. In fact, it would be hard to conceive
Shakespeare without them. But even in 1845 Edgar
Allan Poe, who reviewed for the public press an |
“extraordinary attraction” of Anna Cora Mowatt’s,
was terribly upset “by the reading of private letters
in a loud rhetorical tone; and preposterous soliloquiz-
ing; and the even more preposterous ‘asides’. This
does not mean, however, that they immediately lost
favor and expired. Even as late as 1894 Henry
Arthur Jones wrote: “The drama could not make a
greater mistake than to abdicate the soliloquy . . .
the dramatist’s only means for showing to his audi-
ence those shadowy scenes . . . those starry altitudes
and hellish abysses where every man walks alone with
his God.”* Adopting the opposite viewpoint, Wm.
Archer says: “A drama with soliloquy and asides is
like a picture with inscribed labels issuing from the
mouths of the figures.”® He calls it “obsolete,” “slov-
enly,” “intolerable” — “a disturbing anachronism.”
He is clearly speaking, however, of the Realistic
Drama that was supreme in 1912 with David Belasco
as its high priest. At that time the revolt against
such realism was hardly as yet a murmur. In ten
years wonderful things have happened. New ideals
in theatre building and production are bringing back
old ideals in play writing. Kenneth MacGowan pre-
dicts that “the soliloquy will return again as a natural
THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 55

and proper relation of the mind of the character.
. Even the aside may redevelop as a deliberate piece of
theatricalism. . . . It will be the frank and open in-
. tercourse between the actor and his audience, a reaffir-

mation that this is a play which is being acted, a re-
 markable game between these two.” Game or no

game, however, the aside, of its nature, strikes at the
very heart of suggestion. See, for instance, how “A
Sunny Morning,” by S. and J. A. Quintero, was
utterly ruined by substituting grotesque and blatant
asides for delicate and artistic inference. The solilo-
quy is more reasonable and as one playwright says:
“If I can lay a proper basis for it, I can also make it
seem probable and then I can use it to good advan-
tage.” It would seem, then, that if the play is written
to be produced with real food and china dogs and
stuffed canaries, the soliloquy would be offensive.
But in a play of the imagination, whether written for
the stage of Sophocles, Shakespeare or Gordon
Craig, where nothing is too literal and everything
symbolic and conventional, it is not merely to be tol-
erated but encouraged.

ExERCISE IN CHARACTERIZATION : 7
/

Make a selection of characters from plays familiar
to the class and answer the following questions in
regard to them:

1. What is the elemental quality of the characters?
Affectionate? Kgotistic? Ktc.

2. How are they characterized? By action? By
dialogue? By their likes and dislikes? By
racial trait? By peculiarity of manner, speech,
appearance?

3. are they dramatic, ¢.e., do they react emotion-
ally?
56

10.

11.

12,

- 13.

14.

15.

THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

. Do they make us feel their point of view? Their

motives?

. Is the main character strongly responsive to

stimuli? (i. e., highly emotional rather than
intellectual ?)

Do we feel that his or her potential reserve is
large?

Does this playwright personalize supernumer-
aries too highly?

. Has the playwright introduced unnecessarily

any supernumeraries merely as contrivances to
forward the plot? To fill the stage picture?

. Has he introduced any characters as foils? To

whom?

Has the playwright used any of the minor-
major characters as foils to more important
major characters? :

Is the major character the most highly individ-
ualized personality on the stage? (He should
be since he is the one going through the crisis,
and the crisis searches and reveals individual
reaction most truly.) : :

Is the chief character, supposing a perfect delin-
eation, worthy of the attention of the audi-
ence? (Be careful of judgment on this. — Cf.
“The Clod.”)

What is the dominant trait of the chief charac-
ter?

Is the note of the chief character’s dominant
trait struck in other minor characters by like-
ness or contrast for artistic effect? (Cf. The
Toff’s cleverness and the cleverness of the sail-
ors in “A Night at An Inn.”)

Is the personality too complex? (i.e., as set
forth in the play. The playwright can give us
a complex character, we can feel that he is

 
THE NATURE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 57

such, but the other elements in his character
must not be thrust forward, and if not elim-
inated they must be softened and harmonized
with the dominant trait. If possible, the play-
wright should make us feel that his dominant
trait is the key to the suggested complexity.)

16. Distinguish in the chief character:

a) The essential: is he convincingly human?
(Living. )

- b) The accidental: is he an authentic human,
Negro, Slav, Englishman, etc.; is he an
authentic human of his place, time and cir-
cumstances? (Probable.)

¢) The individual: are we convinced that he
is himself? (i.e., do we fail to find in him
unexplained and unjustified contradictions
in thought, emotion, manner, etc.?) (Con-
sistent.)

17. Has the playwright introduced too many im-
portant characters?

18. Is each situation full of character brought out
by the conditions of the situation? Do we grow
in knowledge of character as situation follows
situation?

19. Does he work this up by getting opposite char-
acters boldly relieved, one against the other, in
scenes where we have them react in a totally
different way to the same stimulus?

20. Has the playwright been careful in the matter
of small details? These frequently reveal char-
acter and precipitate character crises quite as
deep as would seemingly more important
affairs.

21. Has the playwright been especially happy in
choice of names for his characters?
 

58

22.

23.

24.

25.

26.
2%.

28.

THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Do we get at the characters chiefly through
their actions and words, or does the playwright
depend too much for delineation of major
characters on descriptions? i

Has the playwright depended too much on pro-
gram descriptions, ete.? |

Has the playwright depended too much on mere
costume and purely mechanical means for
delineation of character?

Is the dialogue, in general, dramatic? Does it
advance the plot? Reveal character?

Is the dialogue natural and literary?

Is the dialogue brief, clear, direct, spontaneous?
Loose or insipid? Witty, didactic, cynical?

Was the soliloquy or the aside introduced? Was
it justified?

 
PART TWO

THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE
ONE-ACT-PLAY
 
 

PART TWO
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Every one-act-play is built about some kind of crisis
or solution which must always have, as in life, an
origin and a culmination. In a dramatic narrative the
origin is a situation which causes a conflict of desires.
In the culmination there is a struggle for a solution
of the conflict and, finally, a solution is found which
reveals character. Call these three stages the begin-
ning, the middle and the end.

“A beginning is that which does not itself follow
anything by causal necessity, but after which some-
thing naturally is or comes to be.

“A middle is that which follows something, as some
other thing follows it.

“An end is that which of itself naturally follows
some other thing, either by necessity or as a rule, but
has nothing following it.””*®

The beginning and end are to be understood here
as the relative, not the absolute beginning and end.
The events of life are so intimately related with the
past and the future that the absolute beginning and
end of any human crisis would lead the inquirer to
Eden on the one hand and Jehosephat on the other.
When we see a comedy end with a wedding, we know
that it is only the immediate solution of one little crisis
and in that sense the end, but it is, of course, the begin-
ning as well of a hundred other crises in a hundred
other lives. Any actual event is, in the words of
Whitman: “An acme of things accomplished and an
#

i
62 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY j

encloser of things to be.” When we say, then, that an
action has a relative beginning and end we mean that,
though human experience is an almost endless parade,
“a play is like the photograph of one passing sec-
tion.”* We must seek to have the limits of our photo-
graph enclose some part, as far as may be, complete
in itself.

 
EE a ves

CHAPTER V
Tae BEGINNING OF A ONE-AcT-PLAY

{WHERE SHOULD THE PLAY BEGIN?

Horace was careful to tell us not to go back too far
| in presenting causes; not to “date Diomede’s return
. from Meleager’s death nor trace the rise of the Tro-
' jan war from Leda’s eggs.”” In most struggles there
are separate lines of causation which ultimately con-
verge. That is why, in fact, we call the outline of a
struggle, conventionalized by art, “a plot.” For this

means “a weaving,” and presupposes strands that are
brought together. In some one-act-plays the lines are
outside the frame of the play and the curtain rises at
their convergence, e.g., “The Welsh Honeymoon,”
“A Night at An Inn,” “The Twelve-pound Look.”
In some, the whole action begins and ends within the
frame, as in most of Lady Gregory’s plays. In any
case, this convergence of separate threads should be
as near the crisis and climax as atmosphere, charac-
ters and plot will allow.

How SHouLD THE PrAYy BEGIN?

As a general principle in modern drama the open-
ing should be “brisk and valuable, but not indispen-
sable.”® In the one-act-play, however, as a result of
the strict economy of this art form and of the circum-
stances of production (a playwright never knows
whether his one-act-play will be first or fourth on the
programme), all of the dialogue should be indispen-
Em ro I a

‘not seem like a mere time filler. On the contrary, it

   
  
     
 
   
 
    
  
  

For example in “Tle,”

At the rise of the curtain, there is a moment of intense silences;
Then the Steward enters and commences to clear the table of the:
few dishes which still remain on it, after the Captain’s dinners
He is an old, grizsled man, dressed in dungaree pants, a sweater,
and a woolen cap with ear flaps. His manner is sullen and an
gry. He stops stacking up the plates and casts a quick glance’
upward at the skylight; then tiptoes over to the closed door in.
the rear and listens with his ear pressed to the crack. What he’
hears makes his face darken and he mutters a furious curse.
There is a noise from the doorway on the right, and he darts}
back to the table.

We call this significant pantomime because it does

prepares for the exposition by giving rise to four
‘questions in the mind of the audience: 1. Why is the
steward angry? 2. Who is up on deck? 8. What is’
happening in the next room? 4. What is the steward]
afraid of ? 4

Once the dialogue begins, there are three types of
opening. What follows is a paraphrase from “The
Craftsmanship of the One-Act-Play.”*? i

A) Abrupt. In which the complication begins at
the rise of the curtain and the exposition is reduced
to a minimum, e. g., “The Lost Silk Hat.”

The Caller stands on the doorstep, faultlessly dressed, but

without a hat. At first he shows despair, then a new thought en-

grosses him. Enter the Laborer. ]

Tae Carrer: Excuse me a moment. Excuse Te
be greatly obliged to you if — if you could see your way
in fact you can be of great service to me if

Taz Lasorer: Glad to do what I can, sir.

Tue Carrer: Well all I really want you to do is Just to ring
that bell and go up and say — er — say that you've come to.
see the drains or anything like that, you know, and get hold
of my hat for me. . . .

 

 

api a SE

dias an
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 65

 B) Extended. Which may be merely deliberate or
tinflected.

1) Deliberate. In which the exposition precedes
the complication, e. g., “The Old Lady Shows
Her Medals.” :

2) Inflected. In which the dramatist “setting the
play in motion by a single vigorous thrust fol-
lows with an introduction, fully aware that
sheer momentum will keep his action going
until he is ready to return to it,”*? e.g., “The
Twelve-pound Look.”

The type of opening to be selected for an individ-
‘nal play is determined:

1. By the simplicity or complexity of the setting,
the number of characters on the stage, and the rich-
ness of the costumes. For “the audience will lock its
ears until its eyes are satisfied.”

2. By the relative importance of story, character,
or atmosphere,

a) As a general thing the abrupt opening is most
effective, if the story interest is to be upper-
most, “if the characters are apparently usual
exponents of an unusual action,””? e.g.,“The
Lost Silk Hat.”

b) The extended opening is more effective, if char-
acter interest is to be uppermost, if the action
rises visibly from the characters, or if atmos-
phere is to be evoked, e.g.,

1. Deliberate opening: “The Old Lady
Shows Her Medals,” and “Allison’s
Lad.”

2. Inflected opening: “The Emperor Jones,”
and “The Twelve-pound Look.”
66 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

   
 

WHAT SHOULD THE BEGINNING ACCOMPLISH?

The beginning should enlist the interest of the
spectators and head their anticipation in a definite
direction; “help them to see whither they are going
while leaving them to wonder how they will get
there.”

 

This is accomplished by:

1. Creation of a definite impression.
2. Exposition.
3. Fingerposts. 3
4. The answering of the questions: Who? Where?
When? 1
These aims are, in many cases, only mentally dis-
tinct.
The exposition may contain fingerposts which create a definite |
impression or, again, a definite impression is, in itself, sometimes
a fingerpost. 1

 

1. CREATION OF A DEFINITE IMPRESSION:

The definite impression, which Freytag calls “die
einleitende Akkord,” appeals to the nerves rather than
to the intelligence. When, for instance, the curtain
rises on “Beauty and the Jacobin” an impression of
nervous fear is created by Louis and Ann before a
word is spoken. The gloom of the garret increases
the impression. In fact, our definite impression
might be called the first stress laid upon the atmos- -
phere of the play. When we use the term atmios-
phere, we understand “the expression of a back-
ground, making more vivid and real a central action}
because of the relationship with which it invests it.”*®

This background of atmosphere may be physical, dependent,
that is, on local-eolor-and environment or-psychological, a matter
of impression and mood. a :
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 67

Local color and environment are developed by the time and

place of action, costuming, stage business, pantomime and dia-

logue. Impression and mood are found rather in emotional ef-

fects, qualities of character, impulses, relationships, influences

and reactions of the inner life.

These atmospheric conditions may be developed from:

Time.— Night, Autumn, war, Christmas.

Place.— The home, the streets, the church, the mill, the sea-
coast, the jungle, the slums, the mountains.

Occupation.— The fisherman, the sailor, the gambler, the thief,
the wife.

Surrounding conditions.— Prosperity, poverty, temptation, ill-
ness, education, personal tastes, spiritual quality of character.27

2. EXPOSITION:

Asin life, the causes of a crisis must be traced back
sometimes for years, so in a play frequently an essen-
tial part of the story falls outside the plot action. Ex-
planation of the events which occurred before the
opening of the play is called exposition. This gives
us “the seed of circumstance from which the action
rises.”

WaEre SHOULD THE Exposition Occur?

It may be distributed through the action or it may
be found in the very climax of the play, e.g., “In the
Zone” and “The Twelve-pound Look.” In the
majority of cases, however, we shall find most of it
in the beginning, because as the action grows more
intricate towards the end and the audience becomes
‘more engrossed in the outcome, there will be resent-
ment felt if the action is interrupted for explanatory
purposes. So it is that usually twenty lines of history,
which might be appropriate at the opening of the

_ play, would be exasperating at the crisis.
a

68 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

   
   

Rures ror Exposition :? :

1. Since exposition is necessary for a right under- |
standing of the play, the action should not be
allowed to accumulate too great force until the
exposition is complete.

2. If an action is to rise early to a high plane of
interest, the exposition should be compact and |
rapid or should be accomplished through the
beginning episode of the action itself.

3. If an action is to rise deliberately, if the exposi-
tory material itself possesses or can be made
to possess great interest, action and exposition
may be closely interwoven, the latter terminat-
ing at a point comparatively late in the play.

4. Interrupt the action with exposition only when
the exposition is of equal or greater interest
than the action.

Kinps oF EXPOSITION :

Exposition is classified according to its relation
with the plot, as Intrinsic and Extrinsic; according
to its relation with the audience as Interesting and
Uninteresting ; according to its relation with the char-
acters, as Natural and Unnatural.

1. Intrinsic. Exposition is intrinsic when it forms
part of the plot action, e. g., “In-the Zone.”
Here Smitty’s love affair, which had come to
a close months before, is made to furnish a
heart-breaking climax.

II. Extrinsic. Exposition is extrinsic when it is
merely preliminary information given to clar-
ify the action. This information may be given
in various ways: ;
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 69

 

: a) By a chorus, or a chorus and protagon-
; ist, e. g., “The Dyspeptic Ogre.”

The Jester begins the play with a kind of
prologue, but not content with that, he squats
on the stage at the side and explains, from
time to time, things which he feels may be
obscure.

b) By a dumb-show or prologue, e.g., “Six
Who Pass While the Lentils Boil.”

The scene is a kitchen.
The opening is when you will.
Before the opening of the curtains, the Prologue enters upon
| the forestage and summons the Device Bearer, who carries a
large copper pot.
 ProrLogue: This is a copper pot. (The Device Bearer shows it to
the audience, carefully.) It is filled with boiling water. (The
Device Bearer makes the sound of bubbling water.) It is on
the fire. See the flames. (The Device Bearer sets the pot in
the centre of the forestage and blows under it with a pair of
bellows.) And see the water boiling over. (The Device Bear-
er again makes sound of bubbling water and then withdraws
to where he can see the play from the side of the forestage.)
We are looking into the kitchen of the Boy whose mother left
him alone. I do not know where she has gone, but I do know
‘that he is gathering lentils now.

You: What are lentils?

ProLogue: A lentil? Why a lentil, don’t you see, is not a bean
nor yet a pea; but it is akin to both . . . You must imagine
that the Boy has built the fire and set the water boiling. He
is very industrious, but you need not feel sorry for him. His
mother is very good to him and he is safe. Are you ready
now? . . . Very well. Be quiet. 1
(The Prologue claps his hands twice, the curtains open . . .
ete.)

c¢) By a native and an exceedingly inquisitive
stranger who has just arrived; by the confidante
who knows nothing of her friend’s affairs; by a
deaf old person who has heard nothing of the
stirring events going on about him; by the in-
70 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

evitable maid who is forever dusting off the first
part of the act and inevitably divulging the his-

tory of the family; etc.; e.g., “The Golden i

Doom.”

SeEconD SENTRY: . . . Where is the king?
First SENTRY: He rows in his golden barge with ambassadors or

i Ce

    

whispers with captains, concerning future wars. The stars

spare him! i
Seconp SEnTrY: Why do you say “The stars spare him?”
First SENTRY: Because if a doom from the stars fall suddenly

on a king, it swallows up his people and all things round about

him and his palace falls and the walls of his city and citadel,
and the apes come in from the woods and the large beasts
from the desert, so that you would not say that a king had
been there at all.

4 Sktconp Sentry: But why should a doom from the stars fall on
the king?

First SENTRY: Because he seldom placates them . . . ete.

d) By telephones, stenographers, dictographs,
radios and what not.

III. Interesting. Exposition is interesting when a
question is first made to arise in the mind of the
audience, to which the exposition will be the
required answer; e. g., in “Allison’s Lad,” the
audience asks why these men are here and why

Colonel Strickland is so concerned about the

boy, before the exposition gives the answers. Of
course, obscurity in exposition will also arouse
the audience to questions, but irritation at the
author cannot be mistaken for interest in the
play. For another example of interesting ex-
position take “Beauty and the Jacobin.”

ANNE: (at the window) People are crowding in front of the wine
shop across the street.

(Aupiexce: Why? What's all the excitement about?)
TE rT Te LT Tr TE

A Tv Ber SAE RRR

THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 71

‘Louis: Naturally, reading the list of the proscribed that came at
noon. . . . For a good bet, our own names — yes, her’s, too,
are all three in the former.

iy (Aupience: Ah! Aristocrats in hiding. But “her’s, too,” whom

does he mean?) . ..

: Evroise: Is he still there?

ANNE: I lost sight of him in the crowd . . . ete.
(AupienceE: Who is it?)

Louis: Watch for Master Spy.

ANNE: I cannot see him . . . etc.

(Aupience: So, that’s who he is!) . . . ete.

IV. Uninteresting. Exposition is uninteresting
when the antecedent facts are shown before the
audience makes any mental inquiry.

Even exposition which is essentially extrinsic and uninter-
esting may be accidentally interesting, i.e., it may charm an
audience because of some auxiliary factor such as beauty of
language, wit or the inherent appeal of the scenes themselves.
It is still uninteresting exposition because the technical man-
ner of presenting the fact, which constitutes the exposition, is
an uninteresting manner.

V. Natural. Exposition is natural where there is
an adequate reason for one character impart-
ing a piece of information to another. “Infor-
mation, like water, flows naturally down hill.
Information flows from the well informed to
the less informed, to the least informed, the
first two being persons or things in the play
and the last being the audience.””? For exam-
ple: “Riders to the Sea”:

CarHLEEN: What is it you have?

Nora: The young priest is after bringing them. It’s a shirt and
a plain stocking we've got off a drowned man in Donegal.
We're to find out if it’s Michael's they are, sometime herself
will be down looking by the sea.

CarurLeeN: How would they be Michael's, Nora? How would
he go the length of that way to the far North?
72 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Nora: The young priest says he’s known the like of it. “If it’s
Michael's they are,” says he, “you can tell herself he’s got a
clean burial, by the grace of God, and if they're not his, let
no one say a word about them, for she’ll be getting her death,”
says he, “with crying and lamenting.”

CaraLEEN: Did you ask him, would he stop Bartley going this
day with the horses to the Galway fair?

>

Nora: “I won’t stop him,” says he, “but let you be not afraid.
Herself does be saying prayers half through the night and the
Almighty God won’t leave her destitute,” says he, “with no
son living.”

In the course of these few lines we have learned
that the old woman’s son has been drowned; that the
body has not been found; that the old woman is con-
stantly mourning for him; and that her only remain-
ing son, Bartley, is about to make a perilous journey.
The difficulty of exposition in the present instance
was increased by the fact that both sisters were
equally well acquainted with all that had transpired.
In order to create an inequality, and allow the infor-
mation “to flow down hill” the wet clothing and the
conversation with the young priest are introduced.

V1. Unnatural. Exposition is unnatural when
there is no adequate reason for the information im-
parted. For example: “A Night at An Inn.”

Sniceers: I don’t like this place!
Birr: Why not?
Sniceers: I don’t like the looks of it.

Bri: He's keeping us here, because here those niggers can’t find
us. The three heathen priests what was looking for us so.
But we want to go and sell our ruby soon. . . .

This is unnatural exposition because the other mer-
chant sailors know perfectly well why they are being
kept there; they know perfectly well who “those nig-
gers” are, and they are equally aware of their desire
to sell the ruby.
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 73

8. FINGERPOSTS:

A Fingerpost is an indication of the path that the
plot is following. At the risk of mixing metaphors,
we may call it also a bait for interest or a hint of the
~ action to come.

PurrosE oF FINGERPOSTS:

These hints are introduced to keep the audience
“thinking of the end and wondering how it is going
to get there,” in other words, to foreshadow, but not
to forestall, the outcome.

Though fingerposts may occur any time before the
crisis, they are of particular value here in the begin-
ning of the play.

Kinps oF FINGERPOSTS:

A. A warning note is sometimes struck in the form
of prophecy or foreboding, as, e. g., in “Riders
to the Sea.”

Mavurva: He is gone now, God spare us, and we'll not see him
again. He is gone now and when the black night is falling,
I'll have no son left me in the world. . . .

B. Traits of character frequently prepare us for

the crisis, as, e. g., in “The Clod.”

Brutish stupidity, fear and anger lead to the double
murder. There are a dozen places where these quali-
ties flash out and we say to ourselves: “That woman
is going to turn on them yet.”

C. The idea is sometimes emphasized by repetition
in the dialogue, as, e.g., in “A Night at An
Inn.”

. . . the three heathen priests that was looking for us so. . .
Who told them you had the ruby? You didn’t show it. No
74 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

 

. . . but they kind of know . . . Ugh! When I think of what
they did in Malta to poor old Jim. Yes and to George in Bom-
bay before we started. . . . Those black priests would follow
you round the world in circles — year after year till they got
the idol’s eye . . . ete.

D. Not infrequently, a bit of significant panto-
mime is enough to direct our expectancy, as,
e.g., in “Allison’s Lad.”

(. . . Winwood takes the dice box, but pauses, anxiously await-
ing an answer to Hopton’s next question.)

Hopton: What think you, Captain Boyer? Are they like to
admit us speedily to ransom? . . .

(. . . His hand clenches convulsively upon his pipe, which
snaps sharply under the pressure. Colonel Drummond enters
the room.) . . .

UNDESIRABLE FINGERPOSTS:

A. Misleading fingerposts, i.e., false clues which
lead the audience to expect confidently some-
thing which will not occur. If such a clue be
thrown out to misguide one of the characters,
it must be “covered,” i.e., its falsity made
apparent so that the audience may not be
deceived.

“To keep a secret is often no sin; but to tell a lie is

a very grave sin indeed. . . . Dishonesty is false
preparation and upon that can follow nothing but
dissatisfaction for an audience.”

B. Forestalling fingerposts, i. e., fingerposts which
make the final outcome a foregone conclusion.
If, for example, in “Ile,” where character
traits are used as fingerposts, Captain Keeney,
fais showing no love for his wife, were to appear a
pn thorough-going brute, his character might be
| considered a forestalling fingerpost.
 

THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 75

C. Unmotivated scenic fingerposts, i.e., tricky ar-
rangement of furniture, unusual ornament,
etc. They usually prove distracting and make
the action seem less probable.

| It is, however, necessary at times to introduce some unusual
element into the setting, a bell, or a gun, or something of the
kind. In such cases two cautions are to be observed: 1st. Let the
audience see it long before it is needed. 2d. Quiet their curi-
. osity with a good reason for its being on the stage. An example

may be taken from “The Clod.”

(- . . and above the towel, a double-barrelled shot gun, sus-
pended on two pegs.) . . .

TuADDEUS: (crosses right, fondly handles his gun) Golly! I wish
I'd see a flock o’ birds.

Mary: (‘nervously ) I'd rather go without, than hear yuh fire. I
wish yuh didn’t keep it loaded.

Traappeus: Yuh know I ain’t got time to stop and load when I
see the birds. They don’ wait for yuh. (‘Hangs gun on the
wall, drops into a chair . . . etc.) . . .

Now the satisfied audience turns its attention to the action,
and will not be incredulous when the gun is used at the climax.

Tae KEYNOTE

The keynote of a play is a fingerpost which is sig-
nificant of the main theme.

In “Spreading the News,” for example, Mrs. Tar-
pey says: “Business is it? What business would the
- people be having here, but to be minding one an-
other’s business.”

And in “Allison’s Lad,” Colonel Strickland says:
“There is no taint of the father in the boy.”

4. ANSWERING THE QUESTIONS: WHO? WHERE?
AND WHEN?

A. Who. The playwright must have his characters
called by name for the benefit of the audience. The
program does not always suffice. The difficulties at-
76 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

tendant on this personal identification are increased

by intricate genealogies, elaborate and difficult names
and the introduction of unnecessary characters.

See how Tarkington has handled the problem in

“Beauty and the Jacobin.”

ANNE: (‘nervously ) Haven't you finished, Louis?
Louis: A dozen! . . . Listen. (‘He reads what he has written.)

“Committee of Public Safety. In the name of the Republic.

To all officers, Civil and Military. Permit the Citizen Bal-
sage”’— that’s myself, remember —*“and the Citizeness Vir-
ginie Balsage, his sister”— that’s you, Anne —“and the Citi-
zeness, Marie Balsage, his second sister”— that is Eloise un-
derstand . . . etc.”

B. Where. If the scene is important to the action
and not immediately recognizable, the characters
must identify it for their audience by their dialogue;
e.g., somebody else’s kitchen in “Trifles,” a deserted
inn on a lonely moor, in “A Night at An Inn,” an
underground temple in “The Queen’s Enemies.”

In the following example, the whole action takes
its rise from the fact that the ship is in the war zone.
Notice how this is emphasized in “In the Zone”:

Davis: . . . What's the use o’ blindin’ the ports, when that thick-
head goes and leaves em open?

Orson: Dey don’t see what little light go out yust one port.

Scorry: Dinna be a loon, Ollie! D’ye no ken the dangerr o’
showin’ a licht wi’ a pack o’ submarrines lyin’ aboot?

Ivan: Dot’s right, Scotty! I don’t like blow up. No, by devil.

Smitty: I don’t think there is much danger of meeting any of
their submarines, not until we get into the war zone at any
rate.

Davis: You don’t, eh? (‘He lowers his voice and speaks slowly.)
Well we're in the war zone right this minuit if you wants to
know. . . .

Such information is unnecessary where the scene is
of no particular interest or perfectly obvious. In
 

THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 77

“The Clod” a glance tells us that we are in the
woman’s kitchen. In “The Twelve-pound Look,” we
may assume that Sir Harry and his wife are home
and it doesn’t matter in what part of the house we
are. In “Nevertheless,” “the scene is a room just
upstairs,” and in “The Romancers,” “the scene is laid
where you will, provided the costumes are pretty.”

C. When. The costumes are the principal aids in
fixing approximate dates. As the average audience,
however, contains a large number of patrons who
have only the vaguest idea that lace and velvet were
worn “in olden times,” if insistence on the period is
necessary for the plot, or if within the period some
‘exact date be necessary, the burden once more must
fall on the dialogue, e.g., “Allison’s Lad.”

. . . Go ask them of the scurvy Roundhead who had the strip-
ping of my pockets. . . . The colonel in command of these
rebels. . . . Before I gave that promise to your damned usurp-
ing Parliament, I swore to serve the King. . . . Will you prat-
tle of law to Cromwell's men? . . . You've not been yet ten
hours a prisoner. . . . God, I would it were day! At two in
the morning, I’ve no more courage than . . . etc.

EXERCISE ON THE BEGINNING OF A ONE-ACT-PLAY:

With regard to a play read in class:

1. Did the action start quickly, naturally, with
economy of dialogue?

2. Did the playwright spend too much time in set-
ing forth the initial situation and the preceding
situations out of which the coming crucial situ-
ation has grown?

3. Did he give us the situation adequately? (i.e., did
he give us all that ought to be known for an
intelligible approach to the crucial moment?)

”
78 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

 

4. Did he prepare us for what is to come? Did he
foreshadow, by veiled hints and suggestions,
what is to be the development of the action?

5. Did the playwright introduce for purposes of
exposition any characters not essentially con-
nected with the action of the play? 1

6. Did he use any extraordinary mechanical means }
for purposes of exposition? i

7. Does the action initiate from and end in an
enveloping action, like “Beauty and the Jaco-
bin,” which is enveloped in the French Revolu-
tion?

8. Is the beginning too static— merely exposi-
tional? (Remember that the essentials only
may be put forward, and that they must be
given incidentally, but as significant at this
stage of an action now moving close to its
crucial point.)

9. Could any improvements be suggested in the
matter of emphasis and economy — panto-
mime for dialogue, a significant word for a
sentence, a sentence for a long speech, etc.?

10. Does the beginning present or hint at the theme
of the play?

11. Does the beginning create the atmosphere of the
play?

12. Do we feel that the beginning presents to us a
situation inherently dramatic (not made so by
mere clever technique) ?

18. Did the playwright take up his story at the
right place? (i.e., asnear to the point of highest
interest as possible, remembering, of course,
that we must allow him some preliminary situ-
ations to prepare adequately for his crucial
moment. )

 
 

CHAPTER VI
TaE MIippLE OF A ONE-AcT-PrAY

By the middle we understand the body of the play,
‘4. e., all that lies between the incentive moment and
{ the crisis. It is constituted by a series of minor crises
i through which the major crisis or The Crisis is
: reached. :
A Crisis is the solution of a situation.
A Situation is the result of interaction between
character and incident.
| Gozzi and Schiller compiled all possible situations and re-
duced them to thirty-six. By process of varied combination, how-
ever, freshness and originality are produced, “as permutations of
red and blue and yellow give rise to all the tints of the spec-
trum.” Beside this blending of situations, different atmospheric
‘moods can result in endless novelty. Such moods are likened to
the tonal effects of a violin. The violin has only three octaves,
but each octave has more than fifty tones.

- In the classic full-length drama, especially of yes-
terday, it was dogmatically set down that “The Com-
plication (I) began at the Incentive Moment (a)
and progressed to the Peripeteia (b) where it was
succeeded by the Resolution (II) which after devel-
oping a Climax (c) was terminated by The Crisis
(d).” This was all mapped out nicely with Freytag’s
open triangle:

 
80 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 1

In the one-act-play, although many liberties are:
taken with the old tradition, although we cannot}
always find a peripeteia or resolution, all these ideas §
are sometimes found and some of them, the incentive ¢
moment, the complication, the crisis and the climax, |
are always found. Let us, then, consider the middle
of a one-act-play as made up of: |

Two parts — A: Complication.
B: Resolution.
Four points — 1. Incentive moment.
2. Peripeteia.
8. Crisis.
4. Climax.

THE Two PARTS.

A. Tar CoMPLICATION consists of one or more fac-
tors which are added to a dramatic situation and make
its solution more difficult.’®> Or to express it another
way: the accumulation of a number of interrelated and
subordinate questions which tend to make the answer
to the main question less obvious. The questions are
in the mind of the audience — Why did he do that?
What is going to be the result? Etc. For example:
“A Night at An Inn.”

“Retribution at the hands of Klesch” will be the
final answer or the solution of the major situation.
The main question or major situation is presented by
the thieves with their ruby. : ;

The complication is made up of the following situ-
ations, each of which may be conceived as giving rise
to a question in the mind of the audience:

1. The thieves are on a lonely moor.

2. Discontented, they demand the ruby.

8. Exeunt.
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 81

Ere TE

They return, frightened.

They prepare to receive the priests.

They slay them one by one.

. They plan a celebration.

1 Each step makes the retribution seem more remote,

1 makes the final answer less obvious. Each step con-

stitutes a minor crisis leading to The Crisis.

For the effective marshaling of these minor crises,
| the following laws must be kept in mind:

Denn

 

i 1. THE LAW OF LOGIC; * One crisis must follow an-
other as effect follows cause.”
When some circumstance of time or persons tends
| to separate two crises they must be bridged by:
a) A link scene, i.e., a natural transition from one
subject to another, e.g., “Allison’s Lad”:
| Strickland has just finished a confidential talk with
Boyer. The next step in the action will be his confi-
~ dential talk with Winwood. The dicing occupies the
attention of the other characters.
STRICKLAND: . . . I’m in no mood for speech.
(Boyer goes book to the table where Winwood in the last min-
utes has played with notable listlessness and indifference.)
Horton: Tis your cast, Tom.
Winwoop: Nay, but I'm done!
Goring: Will you give over?
Winwoon: But for a moment. My pipe is out. (‘Rises and goes |
over to Strickland.)
Horton: Come, Captain. In good time! Bear a hand with us.
(Boyer sits in Winwood’s place at table and dices.)
Wixwoop: You called me, sir?
Strickranp: I did not call you, but I was thinking of you . . .
ete.

b) A cover scene, i.e., a scene during which the
audience must be held while sufficient time elapses to
make the next crisis probable, e. g., “A Night at An
Inn.”—When the seamen go out to sell their ruby, the
 

82 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Toff takes out his revolver, examines it and lays it ong
the table. He has scarcely resumed his sporting sheet I
when they rush in, frightened.

Somewhat more time is required for this excerpt | |
from “lle.” |

KeENEY: (grimly) Tell em to come. I'll see ’em.

Joe: Aye, aye, sir. (He goes out.)

Keeney: (With a grim smile) Here it comes, the trouble you
spoke of, Mr. Slocum, and we’ll make short shift of it. It’s
better to crush such things at the start than let thdm make
headway.

MATE: (‘worriedly) Shall I wake up the First and Fourth, sir? |
We might need their help.

Keeney: No, let them sleep. I'm well able to handle this alone, |
Mr. Slocum. (There is the shuffle of footsteps from the out-
side and five of the crew crowd into the cabin, etc.) .

 

!

The playwright must exercise foresight in saving,
for these difficult scenes, choice bits of characteriza-
tion or atmosphere that will sustain the emotion
required.

2. THE LAW OF PROGRESSION. “The playwright
must advance steadily towards his goal and not run
forwards and backwards with uncertainty.”

This advance may be direct or indirect.

a) Direct. When the minor crisis im question is
part of the main action. For example, “The Clod.”

 

Mary: I'd call ’em if I wasn’t

NORTHERNER: ( leaping to the wall and bracing himself against
it) Go call them in. Save your poor skin and your husband’s
if you can. Call them in. You can’t save yourself. (Laughs
hysterically) You can’t save your miserable skin. ’Cause if
they get me and don’t shoot you, I WILL!

Mary: (leaning against the left side of the table fr support; in
agony) Oh! . . . etc.

b) Indirect. When the minor crisis, though not
part of the main action, is used to clarify character
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 83

« oratmosphere. For example, “The Old Lady Shows
4 Her Medals.”

| Mgrs. Dowey: Kenneth, we could come back by Paris!

| KennerH: All the ladies (‘slapping his knees) like to go to Paris,

Mgrs. Dowey: Oh, Kenneth, if just once before I die, I could be
fitted for a Paris gown with a dreamy corsage!

KennerH: You're all alike, old covey. We have a song about
it. (he sings)

Mrs. Gill is very ill,

i Nothing can improve her,

: But to see the Tuileries

And waddle through the Louvre.

(No song ever had greater success. Mrs. Dowey is doubled up
with mirth. When she comes to:)
Mgrs. Dowey: You must learn me that. (‘and off she goes in song,
also)
Mrs. Dowey’s very ill,
| Nothing can improve her . . .
KennNeTH: Stop! (he finishes the verse)
| But dressed up in a Paris gown
i To waddle through the Louvre.
(They fling back their heads, she points at him, he points at
ker . . . ete.)

 

© 8. THE LAW oF CONTINUITY. “The end of one
~ crisis must be the beginning of another.” No minor
crisis should ever come to a dead stop before a blank
wall. There should always be a gateway in the wall
with a glimpse beyond. The crises should be arranged
“like the links in a chain and not like bricks in a row.”
See, for example, the seven situations outlined on
page 80.

B. THE RESOLUTION is the gradual unraveling of
the complicating factors which lead up to the solution
of the main situation. It is also the answering of the

- subordinate questions in the minds of the audience
leading up to the answer of the main question.
84 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

In classic drama the resolution was a long and
orderly process, advancing from a clearly discerned

peripeteia to the crisis. This is often true of the one-

act-play as well.
Examples:

|
]

“A Night at An Inn”: the resolution runs from

“Re-enter Sniggers, terrified” to the end.

“Ile”: the resolution runs from “The ice is breakin’
up to the no’the’ard,” to Annie “commences to laugh
hysterically and goes to the organ.”

In many one-act-plays, however, built as they are
on one situation, each crisis is likely to be solved as it
arises.

THE Four PoINTS.

1. THE INCENTIVE MOMENT is the point at which
the complication begins. At the rise of the curtain
there is comparative calm. At some point (cf. Be-
ginning: three types) the existing state of affairs is
threatened with significant change. “A cloud appears
“no bigger than a man’s hand.”® The storm is gather-
ing.

For example, “A Night at An Inn”: “We're going,

you hear? Give us the ruby.” “The Twelve-pound
Look”: “Enter Kate.”

2. PeripeTEIA: The turning point, the point that
separates the complication from the resolution. What
was going well, begins to go ill or vice versa.

For example, “Ile”: “The ice is breakin’ up to the
no’the’ard.”

“A Night at An Inn”: “Re-enter Sniggers, terri-
fied.”

In some one-act-plays there is no peripeteia and no
formal resolution, e. g., “Spreading the News.”
 

 

THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 85

3. Crisis.

Crisis has already been defined as the solution of a
situation, or the answer to a question which has arisen
in the mind of the audience.

~The crisis is the answer to the Main question.

It may be seen from this definition that not every
crisis is dramatic. Thus, a man may arise, go to the
mirror, and inspect his morning chin. We have here a
situation ; in other words, a character placed in a defi-

nite set of circumstances. What is the solution of this
| situation? What is he going to do about it? Without
a moment’s hesitation, he is going to take a shave.

That is the answer. That is the solution. That shave
is a crisis in the technical sense, but it is not dramatic.
There has been no struggle.

- Suppose, however, that our hero is an Ober- Ammer-
gauer who has been selected by his fellow villagers for
the greatest honor in their gift. He is to play the

\ Christus this year and the first performance is only

two weeks off. Unhappily, however, he has suc-
cumbed to the beauty of a silly American who is sum-
mering in the Fernpass. She has nothing but scorn
for his flowing beard and has made its immediate
removal the one condition attached to her favor.

. Without it, he can never play the Christus; with it
! he can never win his love. Under the circumstances,
a shave would be more than a crisis; it would be a

dramatic crisis.

The Crisis, then, to be dramatic, must develop
through minor crises, with a struggle to reveal char-
acter. As the central moment of a one-act-play giving:
rise to the single effect, this crisis illumines all that
has gone before. It shows us why the play was writ-

_ ten. This, then, is the most important point in the
~ one-act-play, though not necessarily the most emo-
86 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

tional. In “Ile,” for example, the crisis occurs in the 4

last word spoken.

Keeney: (His face suddenly grows hard with determination)
Aye.

This is the solution of the main situation, the an-

 

swer to the main question, “Will his dominant passion
prevail?” or as it exists concretely in the mind of the
audience, “Will he turn back?” It is the final triumph |
of pride, the motivating passion of the action. In this
crucial moment “plot, character, theme and atmos-
phere come to focus and create the single impression.”

The event that constitutes the crisis is, in the great majority

of cases, enacted upon the stage. Sometimes, however, the “re-
percussion” may be “far more dramatic than the crisis itself.

» Gg

E.g., “Allison’s Lad,” and “A Night at An Inn,” where the execu- |

tions take place off stage and still, in a manner, before the audi-
‘ence.

4. CLIMAX.

Since the Incentive Moment, the Peripeteia, and

the Crisis concern themselves solely with the logical
structure of the plot, there still remains for discussion

a fourth point whose aim is to satisfy not the reason,

but the feeling of the audience.

In treating of climax, we may consider it first as a
single point in the play, which is called The Climax,
or, secondly, as a single point in a single situation,
which is called A Climax, or, thirdly, as a quality, an
emotional effectiveness of arrangement which per-
vades the entire action and is called simply, Climax.

It should be noted, however, that climax in its most
generic aspect is not necessarily dramatic. A succes-
sion of graded and terrifying thunder claps would be
climactic, but not dramatic. The same could be said
of a number of accidental but unrelated misfortunes
that might befall a man in the course of his life. Cli-
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 87

max, then, does not constitute drama, but unquestion-

| ably makes the struggle more effective.
* The Clima.

The climax is whatever situation, be it created by
word, by action or by atmosphere, will produce in
the audience the strongest impression of the play’s
dominant emotion. In “Ile,” for example, this point
is found where Keeney becomes convinced of his
wife’s insanity.

He puts both hands on her shoulders and turns her around so
that he can look into her eyes. She stares up at him with a

stupid expression, a vague smile on her lips. He stumbles away
from her and she commences softly to play the organ again.

A Climax.

The fifth situation of “Ile,” wherein Annie suc-
ceeds for the moment in conquering Keeney’s pride,
has a beautifully developed climax of its own.

Keeney: (Disturbed) Go in and rest, Annie. You're all worn
out cryin’ over what can’t be helped.

Mgrs. Keeney: (Suddenly throwing her arms around his neck
and clinging to him) You love me, don’t you, David?

Keeney: (In amazed embarrassment at this outburst) Love you?
Why d’you ask me such a question, Annie?

Mgrs. Keeney: (Shaking him — fiercely ) But you do, don’t you,
David? Tell me!

Keeney: I'm your husband, Annie, and you're my wife. Could
there be aught but love between us, after all these years?

Mes. Keeney: (Shaking him again — still more fiercely ) Then
you do love me. Say it!

Keeney: (Simply) I do, Annie.

Mgrs. Keeney: (Gives a sigh of relief — her hands drop to her
sides. Keeney regards her anxiously. She passes her hand
across her eyes and murmurs half to herself) I sometimes think
if we could only have had a child. (Keeney turns away from
her, deeply moved. She grabs his arm and turns him around
to face her — intensely.) And I've always been a good wife to
you, haven’t I, David?
88 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Keeney: (His voice betraying his emotion) No man has ever
had a better, Annie.

Mrs. Keeney: And I've never asked for much from you, have I,

David? Have I?

Keeney: You know you could have all I got the power to give
ye, Annie. ’

Mrs. Keeney: (Wildly) Then do this once for my sake, for
God’s sake — take me home! It’s killing me, this life — the
brutality and cold and horror of it. I'm going mad. I can
feel the threat in the air. I can hear the silence threatening
me — day after gray day and every day the same. I can’t
bear it. (Sobbing) I'll go mad, I know I will. Take me home,
David, if you love me as you say. I'm afraid. For the love
of God, take me home! (‘She throws her arms around him,
weeping against his shoulder. His face betrays the iremen-
dous struggle going on within him. He holds her out at arm’s
length, his expression softening. For a moment his shoulders
sag, he becomes old, his iron spirit weakens as he looks at her
tear-stained face.) :

Keeney: (Dragging out the words with an effort) I'll do it, An-
nie — for your sake — if you say it’s needful for ye, etc.

TENSION AND SUSPENSE.

When we speak of an effective arrangement of
events that form a climax, we understand that this
effectiveness is to be measured by the tension and, at
times, suspense on the part of the audience.

Tension is that continued stretching forward of the
mind which should be the characteristic attitude of the
audience throughout the play; that wish to “antici-
pate, but not too slccessfully ;” to know whither, but
not exactly how they are to go. It is rather the effect
of drama than its essence, and may be defined briefly
as: Expectancy plus uncertainty. To insure this
tension: .

1. All that has gohe before must be clear or the
audience will be looking backwards instead of
forwards.

2. Fingerposts must be skilfully employed.

 
  

7

THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 89

Once started, this tension should never be wholly
relaxed. In ordinary drama, it is true, a dramatic

- pause is sometimes allowed, e. g., Hamlet to the play-

ers; sometimes desired, e.d., the porter scene in

| “Macbeth.” But in a one-act-play the single impres-

sion would suffer if the action were really interrupted.

-

This tension, however, should vary in degree, relief
following strain, e.g., “A Night at An Inn”: the
hilarity before the entrance of Klesch.

Suspense is defined as “an acute stage of tension.”
It is achieved not by interrupting the action, but by
delaying the crisis and thus intensifying interest in
the central theme.

Brutus must explain that he thinks it cowardly to kill one-
self; the dying Edmund must revoke the command to kill Lear;
Friar Laurence may still enter before the moment when Romeo
kills himself; Coriolanus may yet be acquitted by the judges;
Macbeth is still invulnerable from any man born of woman.
Even Richard III receives the news that Richmond’s fleet is
shattered and dispersed by the storm.?

Creating suspense is like keeping the audience or
the characters, or both, on the cold side of a stone
wall and “nothing is more interesting than a wall
behind which something is taking place.”

If both audience and characters are ignorant of the
outcome, the suspense is said to be “Primary,” e. g.,
“A Night at An Inn.”

If the audience foresees the outcome, but feels sym-
pathetically with the characters, who do not, the sus-
pense is said to be “Secondary,” e.g., “The Rising of
the Moon.”

To prolong suspense is to make the solution less
obvious and therefore apparently more difficult. This
may be effected by:

1. Interposing new obstacles.

2. Explaining old obstacles.
90 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

3. Causing new obstacles to arise because of the

removal of others.

In “Ile,” for example, Keeney is opposed by three
obstacles: (1) the opposition of the Mate, (2) the
opposition of the crew, (8) the opposition of Annie.
The first is in point of time, the new obstacle; the
second and third, further explanations of the first.
The Mate wants to turn back because, if they do not,
he fears that the crew will mutiny and Annie will go
mad. The mutiny takes place and is brutally put
down, thus removing the second obstacle. But the
very conflict which removes the second obstacle,
proves the last straw for Annie and brings the third
obstacle into prominence.

Caution: A) Suspense should not be too pro-
tracted. As in the lyric, sustained
rapture will turn to .pain, so the
acute anxiety of suspense turns to
fatigue, with a resultant loss of in-
terest.

B) If suspense is to be interrupted, it
must be by something of higher
interest than itself.

A HELD SITUATION.

Closely related to climax and suspense is a Held
Situation. It is not in any sense a stoppage of the
momentum; it is rather taking advantage of all the
dramatic value in a situation. It is like squeezing an
orange dry.

Its importance is obvious, since the dramatic value
of a plot lies partially in the nature of the Climax,
partially in the approach to the Climax, and partially
in the effective lingering on the Climax. In “Miss
Tassy,” for instance, the whole force of the play is

 
j THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 01

found, not in many climactic moments, but in one
well held situation.
The secret of a held situation lies in the study of a
~ character reacting to his environment. As a biogra-
pher sifts his material and chooses the typical events
in the life of his subject, so the dramatist puts before
him all that his characters, who are intimately known
~ to him, might do. Then he makes a selection. Upon
examination, a new situation is usually found within
the chosen situation, and each situation, as it arises,
affects each character and each character affects an-
other. It is only after a careful study of this inter-
action that the dramatist finally asks himself, “What
should I do in such circumstances? What would
others do? What ought to be done ?’*

In the following scene, the main situation is re-
vealed after a few lines, when Keeney realizes that
Annie is insane. The curtain does not fall, however,
until we have tasted every drop of the tragedy. It is
an admirably held situation.

Mes. Keeney: (Supplicatingly ) David! Aren’t you going home?

Keeney: (Ignoring the question — commandingly) You ain’t
well. Go and lay down a mite. (He starts for the door.) 1
got to git on deck. (He goes out. She cries after him in an-
guish.) David! (A pause. She passes her hand across her
eyes — then commences to laugh hysterically and goes to the
organ. She sits down and starts to play wildly an old hymn.
Keeney re-enters from the doorway to the deck and stands,
looking at her angrily. He comes over and grabs her roughly
by the shoulder.)

Keeney: Woman, what foolish mockin’ is this? (‘She laughs
wildly and he starts back from her in alarm) Annie, what is
it? (She doesn’t answer him. Keeney’s woice trembles) Don’t
you know me, Annie? (‘He puts both hands on her shoulders
and turns her around so that he can look into her eyes. She
stares up at him with a stupid expression, a vague smile on
her lips. He stumbles away from her, and she commences
softly to play the organ again.)
92 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Keeney: (Swallowing hard — in a hoarse whisper, as if he had }
difficulty in speaking) You said — you was a-goin’ mad — |
God! (4 long wail is heard from the deck above) Ah, Bl-o-o-
o-ow! (4 moment later the Mate’s face appears through the
skylight. He can not see Mrs. Keeney.)

Mate: (In great excitement) Whales, sir — a whole school of
’em — off the starb’d quarter bout five miles away — big ones!

Keeney: (Galvanized into action) Are you lowerin’ the boats?

Mate: Yes, sir.

Keeney: (With grim decision) I'm a-comin’ with ye.

 

Mate: Aye, aye, sir. (Jubilantly) You'll get the ile now right

enough, sir. (His head is withdrawn and he can be heard
shouting orders.)

Keeney: (Turning to his wife) Annie! Did you hear him? I'll
git the ile. (‘She doesn’t answer or seem to know he is there.
He gives a hard laugh, which is almost a groan.) 1 know
you're foolin’ me, Annie. You ain’t out of your mind (4nz-
iously ), be you? TI’ll git the ile now right enough — jest a
little while longer, Annie — then we’ll turn hom’ard. I can’t
turn back now, you see that, don’t ye? I’ve got to git the ile.
(In sudden terror) Answer me! You ain’t mad, be you?
(She keeps on playing the organ, but makes no reply. The
Mate’s face appears through the skylight.)

Mate: All ready, sir. (Keeney turns his back on his wife and
strides to the doorway, where he stands for a moment and
looks back at her in anguish, fighting to control his feelings.)

Mate: Comin’, sir?

Keeney: (His face suddenly grows hard with determination)
Aye. (He turns abruptly and goes out. Mrs. Keeney does not
appear to notice his absence. Her whole attention seems cen-
tered in the organ. She sits with half-closed eyes, her body
swaying a little from side to side with the rhythm of the hymn.
Her fingers move faster and faster and she is playing wildly
and discordantly as

The Curtain Falls.)

»
Diacrams.

The following diagrams will show how far the one-
act-play may depart from the regularity of Freytag’s
open triangle, which we exemplify in the classic strue-
ture of “Macbeth.” Note particularly:
 

I. That the relative length and importance of
the four parts is not the same in “Macbeth”
and in the one-act-plays.

II. That there is a complete absence of some
parts and points in many one-act-plays.
III. That the climax and crisis, though mentally
distinct, may be really identified. In other
words, that the self-same speech or action
may be at once the climax, because it affects
the emotions most deeply, and the crisis, be-
cause it solves the situation.

1. “Macbeth” (Fifty-nine Pages).
B

A or
=p Iv
I. Introduction (4 pages).
A. Incentive moment. Act I — Scene 8. “Good Sir, why do
you start?” Je
II. Complication (24 pages).
B. Peripeteia: The escape of Fleance. Act ITI — Scene 3.
III. Resolution (30 pages).
C. Climax. Act V— Scene 1.
D. Crisis. Act V— Scene 8.
IV. Conclusion (1 page).

THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 93°
94

2. “Allison’s Lad” (Thirty Pages).

boy

THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY a

 

A
I

. Introduction, Deliberate (10 pages).

A. Incentive moment, Winwood: “Drummond!”
>

by
fd

D.
IV.

3

Heo woh

. Complication (15 pages).
. Peripeteia, Winwood: “You — loved her!”
IIT.

. Climax, Winwood: “You will have news of me, Sir Wil-

Resolution (3 pages).

liam.”
Crisis, The report of the muffled volley.
Conclusion (1 page).

. “A Night at An Inn” (Eleven Pages).
B
III
cD
II
A
I

. Introduction (214 pages).

. Incentive moment: “Give us the ruby.”
. Complication (614 pages).

. Peripeteia: Re-enter Sniggers, terrified.
. Resolution (2 pages).

. Climax, “I did not foresee it.”

. Crisis, “I did not foresee it.”
 

THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 95

4. “Spreading the News” (Fifteen Pages).
D

 

A
x

. Introduction (3 pages).

. Incentive moment, Jack Smith goes out, leaving his hayfork.
. Complication (12 pages).

. No peripeteia.

. Climax, All together: “It was him that said it.”

. Crisis, Magistrate: “Come on!”

Hows

EXERCISE ON THE MIDDLE OF A ONE-AcT-PLAY.

/ With regard to a play read in class:

1. Just where does the movement of the plot be-
gin?
2. State clearly the forces which are in conflict.

(Person vs. person? Person vs. outer force,

e. g., nature, nemesis?)

Note carefully in the course of the play the
complication and resolution, woven and unrav-
eled by the forces operating in the play,—in each
situation, ete.

8. Are these forces working in one of Stevenson’s
ultimate “passionate cruces of life where duty
and inclination come nobly to grapple,” or do

|
96

g=

10.

11.

12,

13.
14.

15.

16.

 

THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY
we find them working in some relatively minor |
crisis of life?

. Has the playwright chosen from the raw mate-

rial of his story the most significant incidents |
and situations for his purpose?

Segregate each single situation in the play.

Are any of these situations weak or useless?

Is each situation climactic in itself and worthy
of presentation for its element of human in-
terest?

Could the sequence of situations be changed to
advantage?

Do the short, sharp minor crises rise in intensity
of emotional pitch?

As they proceed, does dialogue become less sig-
nificant and pantomime become more impor-
tant in the presentation of situations?

Do we feel that the minor crises move too rap-
idly, pile up too intensely without momentary
relief of strain, and does the play, therefore,
lack the artistic rhythm gained by movement
from strain to relief and again to strain?

As the situations succeed one another, do they
grow more emotional, shorter, and are they
carried more by significant action than by dia-
logue?

Is each minor crisis adequately motivated?

Is it generated by an interplay of forces operat-
ing in the play, or is it brought about merely
by chance, or by mechanical means?

Is each minor crisis motivating? (Does situ-
ation “a” somehow determine situation “b”,
ete.?)

In the preparation of each situation and espe-
cially for the major crisis, did the playwright
t 17.

18.

19.

20.

21.
22.
23.
24.

25.

26.

THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 97

Prepare us too fully and so allow interest to

ag?

Did he prepare us too little for his crisis — give
it to us too precipitately and so stun and over-
surprise us?

Does he achieve suspense in each minor crisis
and in the major crisis?

Point out in each situation the elements that
made for suspense — hints in dialogue, panto-
mime, etc.

Is this a good definition: “Crisis is the point of
time at which any affair comes to the highest”?

Note the “fingerposts.”

Is there any notable irony in the situations?

Is there any notable contrast in the situations?

Is there any notable artistry in working up the
emotional intensity and significance of situ-
ations? (The porter scene and the knocking
at the gate in “Macbeth.”)

Was the stage business, called forth by incidents
and situations, effective? (Novelty, signifi
cance, relief, ete.)

Why would Stevenson’s “Markheim” be unsuit-
able for dramatization?
CHAPTER VII

TaE END oF A ONE-ACT-PLAY
There are many reasons for saying that the end is |
The End is the most difficult part of a one-act-play. |
Difficult In the first place, any crisis, even in life, is |
more apt to have a definite beginning than a definite |
end. That is to say, the causes of a crisis are more
easily reckoned than its effects. Consider, for in-
stance, the crisis that was reached when Martin
Luther nailed his theses to the door of the cathedral.
It is an easy matter to begin the story, to tell what
led to his step and to describe the step itself, but it is
impossible to calculate the consequences. Again,
many crises, which may come to a definite end, do not
conclude satisfactorily or dramatically. To end the
play so that the truth is satisfied, art is satisfied and
the audience is satisfied requires an uncommon
amount of skill.
+ Another difficulty lies in determining where the
Where the play should end. “Drama ends exactly
Play Ends where resistance ends.”® The logical place
for the curtain would be, then, at the crisis or the
answer to the main question. But the play cannot
always end with the drama. During the complication,
it often happens that secondary questions have arisen
which must be solved and yet cannot be solved until
the main question itself has been answered. We
might state, as a general principle, that “the curtain
should not be lowered with the characters in an atti-
tude which cannot last, but which must be followed
i

i

{3

| THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 99
!

!

by an important development.”® For instance, it is
| quite probable that the answer to the main question,
in a given romantic situation, would be the parting
~ words of the heroine, “I shall be yours and yours
| alone! If not in life . . . then eternally in death!”
Tremendous! But if, just as the curtain falls, the
' hero rushes off, sword in hand, to meet a well-built vil-
lain, we cannot help wondering all the way home just
how near the heroine came to widow’s weeds. In
some plays all our questions are answered at the crisis
and in some plays they are not. There are, then, two
types of endings:

© 1. Direct Crisis, wherein the play ends with the
crisis; e. 9., “A Night at An Inn.”

In this play the crisis must answer the main ques-
tion, “Will the Toff’s cleverness be triumphant?’ We
do not know with certainty, until the last line of the
play, when, in obedience to the voice of the terrible
idol, he goes to his death.

Voice: Meestaire Albert Thomas, Able Seaman.

AiBerT: Must I go, Toffy? Toffy, must I go? . . . (Eait.)
Voice: Meestaire Jacob Smith, Able Seaman.

Snieeers: I can’t go, Toffy. I can’t go. I can’t do it. (He

goes.)
Voice: Meestaire Arnold Everett Scott-Fortescue, late Esquire,
Able Seaman.

Tae Torr: I did not foresee it. (Ezit.) (The Crisis.)
(Curtain)

5 2. InpirEcT Crisis, wherein the crisis is followed
y:
a) An interpretative comment, which explains the
meaning of the play; e.g., “The Gaol Gate.” The
crisis has already occurred.

Mary CaneL: (Holding out her hands) Are there any people in
the streets at all till I call on them to come hither? Did they
100 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

ever hear in Galway such a thing to be done, a man to die for
his neighbor. Tell it out in the streets for the people to hear,
Dennis Cahel from Slieve-Echtge is dead. It was Dennis

Cahel from Slieve-Caol that died in the place of his neighbor. §

. « One word to the judge and Dennis was free. They of-

fered him all sorts of riches. They brought him drink in the
gaol, and gold, to swear away the life of his neighbor! . . .
I will go through Gort and Kilbecanty and Druimdarod and
Daroda; I will call to the people and the singers at the fairs

to make a great praise for Dennis! . . .

I to stoop on a stick through half a hundred years, I will never
be tired with praising! Come hither, Mary Cushin, till we'll |

shout it through the roads, Dennis Cahel died for his neigh-
bor!

(She goes off to the left, Mary Cushin following her.)
(Curtain. )

 

ii
8
i
FR
:
d

;

 

b) A significant aftermath, which shows the neces- |

sary events that happen after the crisis; e. g., “Alli-
son’s Lad.”

(4 moment’s pause, and then from below in the rainy court-
yard is heard the report of a muffled volley.) (The Crisis.)

Horton: Hark!
STrICKLAND: (in an altered voice) Well done!
Goring: Grant that he made a clean ending!

STRICKLAND: (turns slowly with eyes fized before him, and the
sudden smile of one who greets a friend) Tom! Well done,
Allison’s lad! (Pitches forward.)

Goring: (catching Strickland in his arms) Sir William! Help
here, Frank! (They place Strickland in his chair. Goring
starts to loosen his neckgear. Hopton kneels and lays his hand
on Strickland’s heart. On the moment, Boyer comes swiftly
into the room.)

Bover: Will! Will! The lad died gallantly. He went as if a
strong arm were around him.

Horton: (Lets fall the hand he has laid on Strickland’s heart.
Speaks in an awe-struck voice.) Perhaps there was!

Goring: (Rises erect from bending over Strickland) Captain!
Sir William —

i
i
|

THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 101

(Boyer catches the mote in Goring’s voice, and removes his
hat, as he stands looking upon what he now knows to be the
dead body of his friend and leader.)

(Curtain. )

For many plays, an indirect crisis is the only end-
Anti- ing. Without it they would have “the air of a
Climax hexameter line with the spondee cut off.” It is
this kind of conclusion, this rapid gathering together
of hanging threads that offers the problem. Unless

| skilfully handled, it is likely to result in anti-climax.

. That is to say, the most effective moment in the play,

where the Climax should be found, is likely to be

occupied by action of minor emotional importance.
See, for example, “The Boy Comes Home,” by A. A. *
Milne.

Anti-climax, though a defect, is to be preferred to
an end that is distorted in order to achieve emphasis.
In an older day there was such a dread of anti-climax
and such a passion for “a curtain” that, whether

~ probable or not, their comedies ended with marriages
all around and their tragedies with as much death as
~ possible. These solutions were often added after the

solution of the real central difficulty and might be
called “Super crises.”

The indirect crisis may, however, possess emphasis
Avoiding without the introduction of impossible
Anti-climax  gyper crises. This may be accomplished
by:
1. A striking bit of characterization, e.g., “The
Clod.”

NoRTHERNER: (with great fervor) I'm ashamed of what I said.
The whole country will hear of this, and you. (He takes her
hand and presses it to his lips; then he turns and hurries out
of the house.)

Mary: (in dead, flat tone) I'll have to drink out of the tin cup
now. (The hoofbeats of the Northerner’s horse are heard.)

(Curtain. )
162 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

SE Te ie

"2. ‘By stressing emotional atmosphere as they do

in music, when a few chords are to be played after the

song is ended; e. g., “Riders to the Sea” closes with

the calm of eternity.

Nora: (in a whisper to Cathleen) She’s quiet now and easy; but

the day Michael was drowned, you could hear her crying out

from here to the spring well. It’s fonder she was of Michael |

and would anyone have thought that?

CATHLEEN : (slowly and clearly) An old woman will be soon tired
with anything she will do, and isn’t it nine days herself is after
crying and keening, and making great sorrow in the house?

Maurya: (puts the empty cup mouth downwards on the table,
and lays her hands together on Bartley’s feet) They're all to-
gether this time and the end is come. May the Almighty God
have mercy on Bartley’s soul and on Michael's soul, and on
the souls of Sheamus and Patch, and on Stephen and Shawn
(bending her head ); and may He have mercy on my soul, Nora,
and on the soul of everyone is left living in the world. (‘She
pauses, and the keen rises a little more loudly from the women,
then sinks away. Continuing): Michael has a clean burial in
the far north, by the grace of the Almighty God. Bartley will
have a fine coffin out of the white boards, and a deep grave
surely. What more can we want than that? No man at all
can be living forever, and we must be satisfied. (‘She kneels
down again and the curtain falls slowly.)

8. By a return to a former situation, now seen in a
new light; e. g., “The Workhouse Ward.” The play
opened with a quarrel, the crisis we have touched
upon and now, “Mrs. Donahoe” goes out. The old
men lie down and are silent for a moment.

MicHAEL MiskELL: Maybe the house is not so wide as what she
says.
Mike McInerney: Why wouldn't it be wide?

MicuaeL Miskern: Ah, there does be a good deal of middling
poor houses down by the sea.

Mike McInerney: What would you know about wide houses?
Whatever sort of a house you had yourself, it was too wide
for the provisions you had into it. :
THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 103

MicuaeL MiskeLL: Whatever provision I had in my house, it
was wholesome provision and natural provision. Herself and
her periwinkles! Periwinkles is a hungry sort of food.

Mike McInerney: Stop your impudence and your chat or it
will be the worse for you. . . .

MicuaeL Misgers: I would never ask at all to go eating peri-
winkles. . . . I'm afraid I might swallow the pin.

Mike McInerney: Who in the world wide is asking you to eat
them? You're as tricky as a fish in full tide.

Micuaer MisgerL: Tricky is it? Oh, my curse and the curse of
the four and twenty men upon you! . . . ete.
(The scene ends in a violent quarrel.)

Exercise oN THE END oF A ONE-AcT-P1rAY.

~g

With regard to a play read in class:

1. Is the ending in Dialogue? In Pantomime? In
both? Is it too long? Too short? Dramatic?
Satisfying? What happened after the cur-
tain? :

2. Is the play satisfying? Why? Is it because of
the author? The theme? The technique? Our
likes and dislikes? The setting? Does it rouse
our emotions? Does it uplift? Is it stupidly
and falsely cheering because it rests on untrue
happiness? Does it depress? Is it good to
realize or merely uselessly unpleasant?

3. Is the end of this play (the brief scene after
decisive action) psychologically sound, i. e., in
character; artistically sound, 7. e., fitting with
the texture of the beginning and middle?

4. Would it have been better to telescope the end
with the crucial moment?

5. Is the pantomime here really and intensely effec-
tive? .

6. Is the dialogue worthy of its emphatic place in
the play?
104 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

7. Is there about this situation a feeling of sig-

nificant finality?
Clue: Whatis at stake?

a) A change or impending change of char-
acter?

b) A re-emphasizing of a tendency in a char-
acter or of a state of affairs in the rela-
tion between characters, which was, in the
course of the play, being undermined and
threatened with extinction?

¢) Does it reveal the unsuspected?

d) Does it merely present a thrilling situ-
ation, thrillingly experienced (mere plot
play) ?

e) Does it merely present a problem vividly
and in a thought-provoking way?

f) Does it solve a problem?

8. Do we see this crucial moment? (The mistake
has been made of narrating it as having taken
place off stage).

9. Has the crucial moment been presented with a
maximum of action and a minimum of dia-
logue?

re
PART THREE
THE ANALYSIS OF A ONE-ACT-PLAY
 
 

PART THREE
THE ANALYSIS OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

“THE RIisING OF THE MOON” ANALYZED

PreELIMINARY NOTES

TaE DRAMATIC ELEMENT.

The struggle of the sergeant when he tries to keep
the ragged man off the quay and later when he tries
~ to keep him on it, are only externalizations of the
greater struggle that is taking place in his own soul.
There his real Irish self, loyal to old Granuaile, is
struggling with his official self; his heart, with his
“belt and tunic.” On the one side, promotion, a hun-
dred pounds, and the associations of years; on the
other, his country, suddenly made concrete in the
ragged man. Behind the sergeant looms the centuries’
old struggle of a conquering and an unconquered
race, and behind that again, the world-old struggle
of right against might.

Tar CHARACTERIZATION.

It should be clear, from what has just been said,
that although the ragged man has the more attractive
part, the sergeant is the real protagonist of the play.
His is the heart that furnishes the battleground. The
ragged man is only the occasion that brings the drama
to light. We have, then, a right to expect that one
will be more minutely characterized than the other,
”

+108 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

though in neither case do we look for superfluous
development.

How many qualities, now, does the action demand |
in the ragged man? Only one. He must have a pro- |
found knowledge of human nature. With that the |
plot can be solved. And so it is. His humor and °
resourcefulness are only aspects of his knowledge.
What do we know of his moral qualities? Can we say
he is noble, cruel, ambitious, affectionate or anything
else? From his entrance to his exit, he is playing on
the sergeant. He is acting a part throughout, and
even the final speech, which comes from his heart,
reveals nothing but the fact that Lady Gregory has a
sense of theatrical values.

The sergeant, on the other hand, is very completely
etched for us, though, of course, the process is a grad-
ual one. When we see him first, he is, like most of us
here below, wrapped in a double disguise. Besides
being himself, he is an officer and a husband. As his
fellow policemen see him, he is human, and just a bit
timid, ambitious, acquisitive, pompous and pleased
with his own sagacity. His wife knows all this a little
better than the policemen and she could probably tell
them, in addition, that he is a simple, credulous, good
husband with an ear for a tune — sentimental, in fact.
But even his wife would be surprised to learn that
buried deep in the man she has lived with for years
is the lover of Granuaile, ready to give up reward and
promotion for an almost hopeless ideal. How, indeed,
could she guess it when the sergeant did not know it
himself? That was left for the ragged man to dis-
cover. And the skill with which this perfect stranger
explores the depths of a heart that its owner had
never plumbed is perhaps the finest thing in the play.

Note that, in spite of its apparent complexity, nota
single element of the character is unnecessary to the

 
THE ANALYSIS OF A ONE-ACT-PLAY 109

action. Note furthermore that, in accordance with the
~ principle of proportion, the sergeant’s warm, human
~ sentimentality and latent patriotism are more fre-
~ quently and tellingly stressed than any of his sub-
~ ordinate or contrary qualities.

. Tae TENSION AND SUSPENSE.

The tension and suspense of the play arise in con-
nection with these four questions which the audience,
at various times, is trying to solve, “but not too suc-
cessfully.”

1. Who is the ragged man?

2. Will the fugitive win the sergeant?

8. Will the fugitive escape?

4. What will be the sergeant’s reaction to his own
sacrifice? :

We shall refer, in the course of our analysis, to the
tension resulting in each ease, as T.1., T.2, T.3,
~ T. 4., and to the suspense which occurs in connection
- with each, as S.1., S.2., S.8., S. 4.

Tae SuBJECT AND THEME.

The subject of the play is “Duty.” The theme con-
cerns itself with the conflict of duties and might be
~ expressed in the words of the old adage, “Blood is.
_thicker than water.”

«PHE RISING OF THE MOON”
By
Lapy GREGORY

Persons:

Sergeant.
Policeman X.
Policeman B.

A Ragged Man.
110

Scene: Side of a quay in a sea-
port town. Some posts and chains.
A large barrel. Enter three po-
licemen. Moonlight.

(Sergeant, who is older than
the others, crosses the stage to
right and looks down steps. The
others put down a paste pot and
unroll a bundle of placards.)
Poriceman B: I think this would

be a good place to put up a no-

tice. (‘He points to barrel.)

Poriceman X: Better ask him.
(Calls to Sergeant.) Will this
be a good place for a placard?
(No answer.)

Poriceman B: Will we put up a
notice here on the barrel? (No
answer.)

SereeanNT: There's a flight of
steps here that leads to the wa-
ter. This is a place that should
be minded well.

If he got
down here, his friends might
have a boat to meet him; they
might send it in here from out-
side.

(They paste the notice up.)

-are

THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

The setting is simple with
nothing to distract the audi-
ence, so the dialogue may
begin immediately. “Moon-
light” answers the question
“When?”

Fingerposts. The audience
is curious at once, about the
steps and the notice.

First Situation: Three po-
licemen reach a spot where
it is highly probable a fugi-
tive will come who has a
great price on his head,
Note the proportion in Char-
acterization. From the start
the two ordinary policemen
“flattened.” They are
only uniforms. B might be
X and X might be B.

The question “Where?” is.
answered.

The question “Who?” is an-
swered by the sergeant’s uni-
form and tone of authority.
Tur Exposition Becins., It
is intrinsic, interesting and
natural.

Planting for the crisis.

T.3. begins. It is primary.
1st Fact in the Exposition:

Some one is trying to escape.

We receive a definite impres-
sion of subdued excitement
which runs through the en-
tire play and is brought to:
focus at the Crucial Mo-
ment.

 
 

|
R.

© out of gaol.

SerceANT: (Reading it.) Dark
hair, dark eyes, smooth face,
~ height five feet five — there's
"not much to take hold of in
that. It’s a pity I had no chance
of seeing him before he broke
They say he’s a
wonder, that he makes all the
plans for the whole organiza-
tion. There isn’t another man
in Ireland would have broken
gaol the way he did. He must
have some friends among the
gaolers.

Poriceman B: A hundred pounds

is little enough for the Govern-
ment to offer for him. You may
be sure any man in the force
that takes him will get promo-
tion.

Sergeant: I'll mind this place
myself. I wouldn’t wonder at
all if he came this way. He
might come slipping along there
(points to side of quay), and
his friends might be waiting

for him there (‘points down
steps), and once he got away
it’s little chance we’d have of
finding him; it’s maybe under a
load of kelp he’d be in a fishing
boat, and not one to help a mar-
ried man that wants it to the
reward.

Poriceman X: And if we get
him itself, nothing but abuse on
our heads for it from the peo-
ple, and maybe from our own
relations.

Sergeant: Well, we have to do
our duty in the force. Haven't
we the whole country depend-
ing on us to keep law and or-
der? It’s those that are down

FE THE ANALYSIS OF A ONE-ACT-PLAY

111

Characterization by descrip-
tion.

2d Fact in the Exposition:
The sergeant has never seen
the fugitive. This is also
Planting for future develop-
ments.

3d Fact in the Exposition:
The fugitive is a remarkable
little man who has broken
gaol.

4th Fact in the Exposition:
One hundred pounds and
promotion for the man who
captures the fugitive.

Character trait: Acquisitive-
ness.

Planting for the entrance of
the fugitive. When the
“Ragged Man” appears the
audience will be pleasantly
suspicious and anxious to
have its suspicions verified.

Character trait: Though ac-
quisitive, the sergeant is no
Shylock.

First hint of the Theme.

The sergeant sets forth a
part of the first motive in the
coming struggle. The rea-
son behind it is none too ap-
pealing.
112

would be up and those that are
up would be down, if it wasn’t
for us. Well, hurry on, you
have plenty of other places to
placard yet, and come back here
then to me. You can take the
lantern. Don’t be too long now.
It’s very lonesome here with
nothing but the moon.

PoriceEman B: It’s a pity we can’t
stop with you. The Govern-
ment should have brought more
police into the town with him
in gaol, and at assize time, too.
Well, good luck to your watch.
(They go out.)

SerGEANT: (Walks up and down
once or twice and looks at pla-
card.) A hundred pounds and
promotion sure. There must be
a great deal of spending in a
hundred pounds. It’s a pity
some honest man not to be the
better of that.

(4 ragged man appears at
left and tries to slip past.
Sergeant suddenly turns.)

SerceaNT: Where are you going?

Man: I'm a poor ballad-singer,
your honour. I thought to sell
some of these (‘holds out bundle
of ballads) to the sailors. (He
goes. on.)

SercEaNT: Stop! didn’t I tell you
to stop? You can’t go on there.

Man: Oh, very well. It’s a hard
thing to be poor. All the
world’s against the poor!

SereeaNT: Who are you?

Man: You'd be as wise as myself
if I told you, but I don’t mind.
I'm one Jimmy Walsh, a bal-
lad-singer.

THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Exit of policemen is moti- |
vated.

 

Character trait: Timidity.

Crisis of the first situation: |
The sergeant keeps watch
alone. It is not a dramatic
crisis.

Cover scene. A
The sergeant emphasizes the
first motive.

IncENTIVE MOMENT.
Characterization, by En-
trance.

T.1. begins. It is primary.
2d. Situation: The ragged
man tries to reach the wa-
ter’s edge. He is opposed
by the sergeant.

His first plan is to brazen it
through, with just a touch
of pathos.

The first distant indication
of internal struggle: the ser-
geant’s interest in the ragged
man.
 

| SergEaNT: Jimmy Walsh? I
don’t know that name.
~ Man: Ab, sure, they know it well

"enough in Ennis. Were you ev-

er in Ennis, sergeant?

Sergeant: What brought you
here?

Max: Sure, it’s to the assizes I
came, thinking I might make a
few shillings here or there. It’s
in the one train with the judges

~ I came.
SergeanT: Well, if you came so
~ far, you may as well go farther,
for you'll walk out of this.
Man: I will, I will; I'll just go

on where I was going. (‘Goes

towards steps.)

- SERGEANT: Come back from those
steps; no one has leave to pass
down them to-night.

Man: I'll just sit on the top of

* the steps till I see will some
sailor buy a ballad off me that
would give me my supper. They
do be late going back to the
ship. It’s often I saw them in
Cork carried down the quay in
a hand-cart.

SerGEANT: Move on, I tell you.
I won’t have anyone lingering
about the quay to-night.

Man: Well, I'll go. It’s the poor

have the hard life! Maybe
yourself might like one, ser-
geant. Here’s a good sheet now.
(Turns one over.) “Content and
a Pipe” — that’s not much.
“The Peeler and the Goat’—
you wouldn’t like that. ‘“John-
ny Hart”— that’s a lovely song.

SerGEANT: Move on.

Man: Ah, wait till you hear it.

(Sings:)

THE ANALYSIS OF A ONE-ACT-PLAY 113

The sergeant remembers his
“belt and tunic.”

The man’s second plan is to
put the sergeant in good hu-
mor.

Indirect Progress.
114

There was a rich farmer's
daughter lived near the town
of Ross;

She courted a Highland soldier,
his name was Johnny Hart;

Says the mother to her daugh-
ter, “I'll go distracted mad

If you marry that Highland sol-
dier dressed up in Highland
plaid.”

SERGEANT: Stop that noise.
(Man wraps up his ballads
and shuffles towards the
steps.)

SerceaNT: Where are you going?

Max: Sure you told me to be go-

ing, and I am going.

SergeaNT: Don’t be a fool. I

didn’t tell you to go that way;

I told you to go back to the

town.

Man: Back to the town, is it?

SERGEANT: (Taking him by the

shoulder and shoving him be-

fore him.) Here, I'll show you
the way. Be off with you.

What are you stopping for?

Man: (Who has been keeping his

eye on the notice, points to it.)

I think I know what you're

waiting for, sergeant.

Sergeant: What's that to you?

Man: And I know well the man

you're waiting for—I know him

well — I'll be going.

(He shuffles on.)

SERGEANT: You know him? Come

back here. What sort is he?

Man: Come back is it, sergeant?

Do you want to have me killed? -

SercEaNT: Why do you say that?
Man: Never mind. I'm going. I
wouldn’t be in your shoes if the

THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Character trait: !
The sergeant allows him a
finish. A fact not unnoticed

by the ragged man.

Crisis of 2d Situation: The
ragged man does not reach
the water’s edge.

3d Situation: The ragged’
man tries to remain on the
quay until his friends can
arrive.

His new plan is to play on
the sergeant’s curiosity and
timidity and thus make his
company more welcome.
BR PE TC Er

l
|
{
:

i

THE ANALYSIS OF A ONE-ACT-PLAY 115

reward was ten times as much.
(Goes on off stage to left). Not
if it was ten times as much.
SERGEANT: (Rushing after him.)
Come back here, come back.
(Drags him back.) What sort
is he? Where did you see him?
Man: I saw him in my own place,
in the County Clare. I tell you
you wouldn’t like to be looking
at him. You'd be afraid to be
in the one place with him. There
isn’t a weapon he doesn’t know
the use of, and as to strength,
his muscles are as hard as that
board (‘slaps barrel).
SerceanT: Is he as bad as that?
Man: He is then.

- SergeaNT: Do you tell me so?

Man: There was a poor man in
our place, a sergeant from Bal-
lyvaughan. It was with a lump
of stone he did it.

SerGEANT: I never heard of that.

Man: And you wouldn’t, sergeant.

It’s not everything that hap-
pens that gets into the papers.
And there was a policeman in
plain clothes, too. . . . It isin
Limerick he was. . . . It was
after the time of the attack on
the police barrack at Kilmal-
lock. . . . Moonlight = . . just
like this . . .. waterside. . . .
Nothing was known for certain.
SereeanT: Do you say so? It’s
a terrible county to belong to.
Man: That's so, indeed! You
might be standing there, look-
ing out that way, thinking you
saw him coming up this side of
the quay (‘points ), and he might
be coming up this other side

Characterization by stage
business.

Note the Climactic order:

“A brute of a man .

...did away with a ser-
geant.

. . . Moonlight and water-
side’. : .

‘

. and’ you may be the
next.”
(points ), and he’d be on you be-
fore you knew where you were.

SerceaNT: It’s a whole troop of
police they ought to put here to
stop a man like that.

Man: But if you'd like me to
stop with you, I could be look-
ing down this side. I could be
sitting up here on this barrel.

SERGEANT: And you know him
well, too?

Man: I'd know him a mile off,
sergeant.

SERGEANT: But you wouldn't
want to share the reward?

Man: Is it a poor man like me,
that has to be going the roads
and singing in fairs, to have the
name on him that he took a re-
ward? But you don’t want me.
I'll be safer in the town.

SeErGcEaNT: Well, you can stop.

Max: (Getting up on barrel.) All
right, sergeant. I wonder, now,
you're not tired out, sergeant,
walking up and down the way
you are.

SercEANT: If I'm tired I'm used
to it.

Max: You might have hard work

before you to-night yet. Take”

it easy while you can. There’s
plenty of room up here on the
barrel, and you see farther
when you’re higher up.

SerGEANT: Maybe so. (Gets up
beside him on barrel, facing
right. They sit back to back,
looking different ways.) You
made me feel a bit queer with
the way you talked.

“116 TOE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

A feeble effort to hide his

fear.

Fine contrast and emphasis.

Crisis of 3d Situation: The
ragged man remains on the
quay.

4th Situation: The ragged
man sets out to win the ser-
geant. He has learned that

the sergeant is a human sort

— Irish, with an ear for a
tune and no hatred for the
cause. But that he is full of
the pride of place. Promo-
tion and £100 loom large.
The ragged man must reach
down deep to touch the patri-
ot who, he suspects, lies hid-
den under the wrappings of
years.

 
| THE ANALYSIS OF A ONE-ACT-PLAY 117

Man: Give me a match, sergeant
(He gives it and man lights
pipe); take a draw yourself?
It'll quiet you. Wait now till
I give you a light, but you need-
n't turn round. Don’t take
your eye off the quay for the
life of you.

SerceaNT: Never fear, I won't.
(Lights pipe. They both smoke.)
Indeed it’s a hard thing to be
in the force, out at night and
no thanks for it, for all the
danger we're in. And it’s lit-
tle we get but abuse from the
people, and no choice but to
obey our orders, and never
asked when a man is sent into
danger, if you are a married

man with a family.

Man: (Sings )—

As through the hills I walked
to view the hills and sham-
rock plain,

I stood awhile where nature
smiles to view the rocks and
streams,

On a matron fair I fixed my
eyes beneath a fertile vale,

As she sang her song it was on
the wrong of poor old Gran-
uaile.

SERGEANT: Stop that; that’s no
song to be singing in these
times.

Man: Ah, sergeant, I was only
singing to keep my heart up. It
sinks when I think of him. To
think of us two sitting here,
and he creeping up the quay,
maybe, to get to us.

SERGEANT: Are you keeping a
good lookout?

The audience is sure from
the expression revealed by
the light of the match, that
the ragged man is the fugi-
tive named in the notice.
From here on, T.1. is no
longer primary, but secon-
dary tension.

T.3.

Character revelation which
leads the ragged man to
sound the sergeant still fur-
ther with the following song.

Direct. Progress. Contrast
with “Johnny Hart.”
T.2.

The ragged man helps the
sergeant to forget his uni-
form and strengthens the
bond between them.
118

Man: I am; and for no reward,
too. Amn’t I the foolish man?
But when I saw a man in trou-
ble, I never could help trying
to get him out of it. What's
that? Did something hit me?
(Rubs his heart.)

SerceEANT: (‘Patting him on the
shoulder.) You will get your
reward in heaven.

Man: I know that, I know that
sergeant, but life is precious.
SerceanT: Well, you can sing if

it gives you more courage.

Man: (Sings )—

Her head was bare, her hands
and feet with iron bands
were bound,

Her pensive strain and plain-
tive wail mingles with the
evening gale,

And the song she sang with
mournful air, I am old Gran-
uaile.

Her lips so sweet that mon-
archs kissed. . . .

SercEaNT: That's not it . . . “Her
gown she wore was stained with
gore”. . . . That's it ~ you
missed that.

Man: You're right, sergednt, so
it is; I missed it. (‘Repeats
line.) But to think of a man

like you knowing a song like

that.

SereeaNT: There’s many a thing
a man might know and might
not have any wish for.

Man: Now, I dare say, sergeant,

THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

 

A little shot on the side.

No, but something has hit |
the sergeant’s heart.

 

Character
Planting for the

Even “Granuaile.”
revelation.
crisis.
PERIPETEIA.

Note the climactic order of
the songs in the play. Each
one is more dramatic than
the last.

Character revelation.
Planting for the crisis.

{

Contrast of the two leading
motives sharply focused.

Intrinsic and very effective

in your youth, you used to be; exposition.

sitting up on a wall, the way
THE ANALYSIS OF A ONE-ACT-PLAY

you are sitting up on this bar-
"rel now, and the other lads be-
_ side you, and you singing
“Granuaile”? . .
SergeEanT: I did then.
Man: And the “Shan Bhean
Bhocht’’?.. ...
SereeanT: I did then.

Manx: And the “Green on the :

Cape”?

SereeanT: That was one of them.

Man: And maybe the man you
are watching for to-night used
to be sitting on the wall, when

he was young, and singing those
same songs. . . . it's a queer
world. . . .

SereeanT: Whisht! . . . I think
I see something coming. . . .
It’s only a dog.

Man: And isn’t it a queer world?
. +. . Maybe it’s one of the boys
you used to be singing with
that time you will be arresting
to-day or to-morrow, and send-
ing into the dock. . . .

SerceanT: That's true indeed.

Max: And maybe one night, after
you had been singing, if the
other boys had told you some
plan they had, some plan to
free the country, you might
have joined with them . . . and
maybe it is you might be in
trouble now.

| SereeanT: Well, who knows ‘but

Man:

I might? ‘I had a great spirit
in those days.

It’s a queer world, ser-
geant, and it’s little any mother
knows when she sees her child

119

Skilfully bringing the 2d
Principal motive to bear on
the present situation.

But the sergeant is not yet
won. He is still easily dis-
tracted.

Note how the man’s boldness
rises to a climax:

1. You might have joined.

2. It’s with the people you

were.

8. Even now you are not

against them.

4. You will be with them

yet.

5. You are with them.
The sergeant lends a hand at
strengthening his own sec-
ond motive.
#

120

creeping on the floor what might
happen to it before it has gone
through its life, or who will be
who in the end.

SerceanT: That’s a queer thought

now, and a true thought. Wait
now till I think it out. . . . If
it wasn’t for the sense I have,
and for my wife and family,
and for me joining the force the
time I did, it might be myself
now would be after breaking
gaol and hiding in the dark, and
it might be him that’s hiding in
the dark and that got out of
gaol would be sitting up where
I am on this barrel. . . And it
might be myself would be creep-
ing up trying to make my es-
cape from himself, and it might
be himself would be keeping the
law, and myself would be break-
ing it, and myself would be try-
ing maybe to put a bullet in his
head, or to take up a lump of
stone the way you said he did

. no, that myself did . . .
Oh! (Gasps. After a pause.)

What's that? (‘Grasps man’s

arm.)

Man: (Jumps off barrel and lis-

tens out over water.) It’s noth-
ing, sergeant.

SereeanT: I thought it might be

a boat. I had a notion there
might be friends of his coming
about the quays with a boat.

Man: Sergeant, I am thinking it

was with the people you were,
and not with the law you were,
when you were a young man.

Sergeant: Well, if I was foolish

then, that time’s gone.

THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Although common sense, fam-
ily interest and his uniform
are all on one side —he is
beginning to realize vaguely
that Granuaile is on ‘the
other. :

S.3.

Planting for the Crisis.

 
 

THE ANALYSIS OF A ONE-ACT-PLAY 121

‘Man: Maybe, sergeant, it comes

/
UN

into your head sometimes, in
spite of your belt and your tu-
nic, that it might have been as
‘well for you to have followed
Granuaile.
SereeanT: It’s no business of
~ yours what I think.
Man: Maybe, sergeant, youll be
on the side of the country yet.

SerceANT: (Gets off barrel.)

Don’t talk to me like that. I
have my duties and I know
them. . . . (Looks round.) That
"was a boat; I hear the oars.
(Goes to the steps and looks
down.)
Man: (Sings )—
O, then, tell me, Shawn oO Far-
rell,
Where the gathering is to be.
In the old spot by the river
Right well known to you and
me!
SerGgEANT: Stop that! Sop that,
I tell you!
Man: (Sings louder )—
One word more for signal token,
Whistle up the marching tune,
With your pike upon your
shoulder,
At the Rising of the Moon.

Sergeant: If you don’t stop that,

I'll arrest you.

(A whistle from below an-
swers, repeating the air.)

SerceanT: That's a signal.
(Stands between him and steps.)
You must not pass this way.
. + Step farther back, . ...
Who are you? You are no bal-
lad-singer.

The - Theme of the whole
play.

The sergeant does not ar-
rest the man or even deny
what he says.

S.2., S.3.

The Climax of the Songs.

S.1. Secondary.
122 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Man: You needn’t ask who I am;
that placard will tell you.
(Points to placard.)

SerGEANT: You are the man I am
looking for.

Man: (Takes off hat and wig.
Sergeant seizes them.) I am.
There’s a hundred pounds on
my head. There is a friend of
mine below in a boat. He knows
a safe place to bring me to.

SERGEANT: (‘Looking still at hat
and wig.) It's a pity! It's a
pity. You deceived me. You
deceived me well.

Man: I am a friend of Granuaile.
There is a hundred pounds on
my head.

SerceEANT: It’s a pity, it’s a pity!

Man: Will you let me pass, or
must I make you let me?

SereeEANT: I am in the force. I
will not let you pass.

Man: I thought to do it with my
tongue. (‘Puts hand in breast.)
What is that? (‘Voice of Police-
man X outside:) Here, this is
where we left him.

SerGEANT: It’s my comrades com-
ing. .

Man: You won't betray me . . .
the friend of Granuaile. (‘Slips
behind barrel.) (Voice of Po-
liceman B:) That was the last
of the placards.

Poriceman X: (‘As they come in.)
If he makes his escape it won't
be unknown he’ll make it.

(Sergeant puts hat and wig
behind his back.)

Poriceman B: Did anyone come
this way?

SerceEaNT: (‘After a pause.) No
one.

T.1. ceases to be even secon- -
dary.

The Motives are reduced to
their simplest terms and
sharply contrasted.

S.2.

5th Situation: The police-
men return.

S.3.

S.2.

Crisis of the 4th Situation.
Tue Crisis of the play.

 
THE ANALYSIS OF A ONE-ACT-PLAY 123

PoriceMaN B: No one at all?
SerceaNT: No one at all.
Poriceman B: We had no orders

to go back to the station; we

can stop along with you.

SerceanT: I don’t want you.
There is nothing for you to do
here.

PoricemaNn B: You bade us to
come back here and keep watch
with you.

SercEanT: I'd sooner be alone.
Would any man come this way
and you making all that talk?
It is better the place to be quiet.

Poriceman B: Well, we'll leave
you the lantern anyhow.
(Hands it to him.)

Sergeant: I don’t want it. Bring
it with you.

Poriceman B: You might want
it. There are clouds coming up
and you have the darkness of
the night before you yet. I'll
leave it over here on the barrel.
(Goes to barrel.)

SereeaNT: Bring it with you, I
tell you. No more talk.

PoricEman B: Well I thought it
might be a comfort to you. I
often think when I have it in
my hand and can be flashing it
about into every dark corner
(doing so) that it’s the same as
being beside the fire at home,
and the bits of bogwood blaz-
ing up now and again.

(Flashes it about, now on the
barrel, now on the Sergeant.)

Tue Crimax of the play.
Character, theme, plot and
atmosphere are brought to a
point in these two words.
T.2. ceases.

Held Situation.

New obstacle. S.3.

Fine Character Touch: Had
the sergeant been left alone
with the ragged man he
would have died rather than
let him escape. But now it

is three to one. His second

motive ma de concrete is a
brave, but helpless fugitive.
His first motive made con-
crete is the pair of nosey and
irritating policemen. It is
they who force him to shield
the ragged man.

S.3.

S.3.

a
124 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

SERGEANT: (Furious.) Be off the
two of you, yourselves and your
lantern! :

(They go out. Man comes
from behind barrel. He and
Sergeant stand looking at one
another.)

SeraEaNT: What are you waiting
for?

Man: For my hat, of course, and
my wig. You wouldn't wish me
to get my death of cold?

(Sergeant gives them.)

Man: (Going towards steps.)
Well, goodnight, comrade, and
thank you. You did me a good
turn to-night and I'm much
obliged to you. Maybe I'll be
able to do as much for you
when the small rise up and the
big fall down . . . when we all
change places at the Rising
(waves his hand and disap-
pears) of the Moon.

SerGeANT: (Turning his back to
audience and reading placard.)
A hundred pounds reward! A
hundred pounds! (Turns to-
wards audience.) 1 wonder,
now, am I as great a fool as I
think I am? 3

(Curtain. )

T.8. ceases.

Crisis of 5th Situation.

6th Situation: The sergeant
faces the accomplished fact.
T.4.

Expineg: An Indirect Crisis.
Significant aftermath.

This little flourish helps to

sustain the emotional tone,

but it is the sergeant’s last
remark that saves the play
from anti-climax.

T.4. ceases.

Crisis of the 6th Situation:
The sergeant approves of his
sacrifice.

The curtain falls on a fine
touch of character.

 

i
PART FOUR
WRITING THE ONE-ACT-PLAY
 
 

PART FOUR

WRITING THE ONE-ACT-PLAY
(GATHERING MATERIAL

The man who hopes to be effective in any sort of
literary production cannot neglect constant and re-
mote preparation. If his field be the one-act-play, he
‘will be ever on the alert to classify things that happen
about him, in their possible relation to a major crisis,
as bits of atmosphere, characterization or plot ele-
‘ments.

Following the old Greek Philosopher, his first and
most remote preparation will be to “know himself”
so that he may never attempt a theme, a setting or a
character that is beyond him. If he is young, he will
not write on the emptiness of life and love; if he has
‘been respectably reared in a Bronx flat, he will not
place his scene in the conservatory of the British
Embassy at Rome; if he has lived his life with ordi-
nary people, never really sounding their depths or
making researches of an extraordinary nature into
the complexities of the human soul, he will not have
his heroine a study in psychology To the man who
has trained himself to see where he looks, the elevator
man in his apartment house or his own Aunt Kate
may be a perfect treasure for a one-act-play; the
boarding-house porch in Liberty, New York, where
he spends the last three weeks of July, may be a most
interesting setting, and the fact that “no man can
have his pie and eat it” is theme enough for any num-
ber of plots.
128 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

With this self-knowledge presupposed, our future
playwright is ready to begin his second stage of re-
mote preparation. In reading the daily paper, many
little things will strike his fancy as being of some pos-
sible future use. Thus, the column, “What do you i
think?” or “What did you see to-day?” or the section |
of ads called “Personals” or the “human interest sto- |
ries” that are sometimes found on the back page, will |
yield, not plots as a rule, but situations, minor crises, ]
that would serve good purpose in a file. Better still |
is the habit of trying to account for the striking char- |
acters and contrasts seen on trains, ferryboats and |
street corners; in stores, movie theatres and churches. |
But happy is the man who, in addition to all this,
absorbs a wealth of literature—whether history, biog-
raphy, legends, novels, poems, books of travel — and
reads always with the viewpoint of the dramatist. 4
For, besides enriching all his thoughts on modern life,
such a habit opens up to every man the huge fertile
field of the past. |

To preserve this mass of jottings in a convenient
form, Professor Pitkin suggests an interesting box of
envelopes labeled as follows :*

A) Complication: 1. Comic, 2. Tragic; B) Charac-
ters: 8. Men, 4. Women, 5. Children; C) Settings:
6. City, 7. Country, 8.Foreign; D) Dramatic Acts:
9. of violence, 10. of ingenuity; FE) Themes: 11. Ideas
about human nature, 12. Ideas about the world. .

Henry Albert Phillips has this interesting classi-
fication of ideas:*

“The plot germ of every story is man.”

A) The Heart of Man. Man's relations with
woman.

1) Women. 2) Romance. 3) Children.

4) Family. 5) Separation. 6) Reunion.
: WRITING THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 129

B) The Ambition of Man. Man’s relations with
his people.
1) Ambition. 2) Success. 8) Failure.
4) Politics. 5) Patriotism. 6) War.
7) Subjugation. 8) Station.
C) The Body of Man. Man’s relations with the
evil.
1) Money. 2) Disease. 3) Derangement.
4) Crime. 5) Death. 6) Post-Mortem.
D) The Soul of Man. Man’s relations with God.
1) Religion. 2) Activity.
E) The Mind of Man. His interpretation of the
unknown.
1) Psychic. 2) Superstition. 3) Sugges-
tion. 4) Charlatanism.

CHARACTERIZATION *

1. Draw up a list of ten men you know.

2. Put down emotional facts about each. This will
bring character traits to light.

- 8. Take a simple situation and imagine in it one man,
with one character trait; e.g., Alec Simms,
infernally lazy, sits down to breakfast; Ernie
Brown, timid, harnesses up a horse.

‘4. What particular acts will clearly emphasize that
trait and be a sure test of a coward, a hypo-

: crite, a dreamer, a hero, or a saint?

5. In one action there are three stages: (a) Immedi-
ate response, (b) Reflective delay, (c¢) Final
solution. A character with one trait will act in
a special way in each of these stages.

*These exercises are imitations of similar exercises proposed by
Professor Pitkin for writers of the short-story.29
 

130 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

6. Select two traits that can be in the same person
and still may conflict, e. 9g. ambition — sloth; & :
parsimoniousness — passion for gambling.

7. Select a situation which causes conflict between i
the two. See the Sergeant in “The Rising of |
the Moon.”

Di1aLoGUE

In the following exercises there is to be no plot and ;
no attempt at dialect. Center the attention on being
“natural without being mean” and on characterizing. |

Exercise 1: Monologue.

When handled with skill, this dramatic form can
yield very subtle and artistic shades of characteriza-
tion, ranging from lyrics like Browning’s “My Last
Duchess,” to Ruth Draper’s effective and practical
work. For beginners, however, the situations chosen
should be extremely simple, and the person character-
ized someone actually known by them, e. g.:

I. Reproduce one end of a telephone conversation.

Situation A.

Someone is being asked to a theatre party.
That someone may be yourself, your grand-
mother, your Uncle Charlie who will have
his joke, etc. Lead up to a refusal or an
acceptance, filling in the character as Hchly

~ as possible.

Situation B.
Someone is hearing bad news, broken gently.

Situation C.

A mother is trying to persuade a poodPor:
nothing son to come home for Christmas
dinner. Write it up first from one end and
then from the other, but not as a dialogue.
WRITING THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 131

II. You are in the front room of a New York tene-
1 ment. The lady of the house is leaning far out
H the window, having a sparkling chat with an
- invisible and inaudible friend two floors below.

IIL. You are in a ferryboat. Across the aisle sit a

man and his wife. In an obvious effort to mol-
lify his wife, the brute is using tones that reach
no one’s ears but hers. His wife is broadcast-
ing.

Exercise IT: Dialogue?

Select two characters that offer sufficient contrast.
Fix beforehand in your mind, the place where they
meet, the time of day, the season of year, the age of
the men, their breeding, mentality and dominant

. characteristics. In other words, try to know them be-

fore they open their mouths. Make everything each

~ one says so peculiarly his own, that it will be unneces-
sary to write the name of the character speaking.
Place your characters, now, in some very simple sit-
uation. No plot. No dialect; e. g.:
A) One man asks another to settle a debt.
B) Two women discuss new wall paper for the
front room.
~ C) A man tries to explain the stock market to his
wife.
D) A boy and girl are trying to talk at a foot-ball
game. It is the first time he has ever been,
or she has had, an escort. :

Exercise I11: Reconstruction.

Select a standard play. Into the chief character,
introduce a new character trait, or change one already
there. From that point reconstruct the dialogue;

 €.49.:
a

A) Suppose that Tom Winwood in “Allison’s
Lad” has not a spark of courage, but is, en-
tirely, his father’s son. :

B) Suppose that Lady Simms in “The Twelve-
pound Look” is sarcastic. 1

C) Suppose that Annie in “Ile” is rough and com- |
mon.

Exercise IV: Dialect.

Nothing shows a writer's knowledge of his limita-
tions more clearly than his attempts to use this very |
difficult instrument. If any one is still obsessed with |
the idea that to write an Irish comedy he has only to
scatter “begorra,” “loiks,” “furst” and “whisht” all
over the page, let him read the natural and peculiar
melody of Synge, Pearse or Gregory, and it may
teach him caution in the use of all dialects. “Bah
Jove!” does not make an Englishman, or “Golly,
Boss, Yas Sah!”, a negro. If the writer has never
lived in the South or known Southerners intimately,
it will be very hard for him to depict a convincing
Southern Colonel. So with other American types,
from Boston, Chicago, New York and in New York,
from Broadway, Park Avenue or East River. Never
attempt any dialect, without first-hand knowledge, or
at least painstaking study of the best models.

Subjoined is a list of colloquialisms collected in one
small town by Henry Albert Phillips for use in a
novel he was working on. It shows the care a good
craftsman will give to this important phase of dia-

logue.

1. Cuttin’ up somethin’ scandalous. 2. He turned tail and run.
8. Takin’ the victuals right out of a body’s mouth. 4. Make
yourself to home. 5. You're a fixin’ fur a lickin’. 6. She's been
ailin’ right along. 7. What you want is a good hidin’. 8. He
give him a good wallop alongside the head. 9. Oh, they ain’t

132 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

 

 
WRITING THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 133

makin’ out any thing to brag of. 10. He’s got a spell comin’ on
now. 11. Let your victuals stop your mouth. 12. Where’ve you
been and gone to? 138. He come by it honestly. 14. He was stiff,
~ stavin’ drunk. 15. Ain’t seen hide nor hair of him. 16. I'll take
none of your slack. 17. There's them that could, if they'd a
mind to do it. 18. She’s just actin’ up, that’s all. 19. They
treat her worse’n dirt. 20. She’s riz up against him. 21. Wait'll
she gits her dander up. 22. I won't be beholden to nobody. 23.
Will you keep a civil tongue in your head? Etc., etc., ete.

There were a hundred expressions in all, besides a
number of individual words like “sparkin’, jawin’,
cowcumbers, hawgs, catawallin’, howsomever, ete.,”
of which only a fraction were actually used in the
story. The result was, however, that the fraction rang
true and added immeasurably to the impression of
literary finish.

SHORT-STORIES DRAMATIZED

SeLEcTION: With regard to short-stories that are
not available for one-act-plays, read again the chap-
ters on “Singleness of Effect” and “Continuity.”

ExamiNaTioN: When a careful selection has been
made, the following questions should be answered
with regard to the story:

A) What is the author’s purpose?

B) What is attractive, what is dramatic in the

material ?

C) What is the central interest?

D) How is suspense created in the beginning and

worked out through the minor to the major
crisis?

SceENARIO: After this examination of the story, a
scenario should be sketched. This scenario is not to
be a mere summary. On the contrary, it must convey
- to the reader that for which he would go to the the-
_ atre, the emotional treatment of scene after scene.”
134 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

A) The dramatis persone must be prefixed, with

J

i

i
i

the age, relationship and condition of each

character made clear. Character traits, how-
ever, should appear in their actions.

B) The stage setting should be sketched in its
essentials.

C) The time and place of the action should be
stated. :

D) Then the story should be unfolded, scene by
scene, with a distinct idea of the emotional
value of each. Every exit and entrance
should be motivated. Actual dialogue need
not but may be introduced from time to
time.

From this sort of detailed scenario to a one-act-
play is merely an exercise in dialogue.
Prot Work

Before suggesting the ‘‘plot-stimulators” outlined
below, we need hardly observe that their use does not

guarantee a successful issue. We cannot be as encour-

aging as the following advertisement, which appeared
lately in a trade magazine and read: “Let the Uni-
versal-Idea Generator keep you at the hot point of
creative thinking. It’s so easy to make your ideas
sprout and grow — build a plot, portray a character,
depict a scene.” Nothing of the kind. Great plays
do not arise automatically from formule. In fact,
few great playwrights would think of adopting a
systematic method. The process, with genius, be-
comes an unconscious one. Occasionally, a profes-

sional has a theme that appeals to him and he seeks a

story that will drive it home. But more frequently
the creative train is started by some single situation
or a character or a bit of atmosphere. By way of
WRITING THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 135

illustrating this point, Lady Gregory tells us in her
own simple way how “The Gaol Gate” was conceived.

“I was told a story someone had heard,” she writes in “Seven
* Short Plays,” “of a man who had gone to welcome his brother
coming out of gaol and heard he had died there before the gates
had been opened for him.

“I was going to Galway and at the Gort station I met two
cloaked and shawled country women from the slopes of Slieve
Echtge, who were obliged to go and see some law official in Gal-
way because of some money left them by a kinsman in Aus-
tralia. They had never been in a train or to any place farther
than a few miles from their own village, but they felt astray and
terrified ‘like blind beasts in a bog,” they said, and I took care of
them through the day.

“An agent was fired at on the road from Athenry and some
men were taken up on suspicion. One of them was a young car-
penter from my old home and in a little time a rumor was put
about that he had informed against the others in the Galway
gaol. When the prisoners were taken across the bridge to the
court house he was hooted by the crowd, but at the trial it was
found he had not informed, that no evidence had been given at
all and bonfires were lighted for him as he went home. These
three incidents, coming within a few months, wove themselves
into this little play.”

FinpinGe A THEME. -

Lord Dunsany is quoted as saying that he has a
play as soon as he has a theme. In that he is excep-
tional. For most people such a beginning is fraught
with peril, betraying them, as it does, into writing an
argument or a sermon instead of a play. However,
if you must begin with a theme, be sure that it pos-
sesses dramatic interest, “with opportunities for log-
ical development along lines of cause and effect and
has, at the same time, an impression which spans the
whole of the action.”

Themes are crowding all around you, in your own
~ heart, in the world that you know and in the books
that you read. But nowhere will you find such a
136 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

wealth of them more strikingly expressed than in the
Bible, especially in books like Wisdom, Proverbs,
and Ecclesiastes.

In choosing a theme, remember:

1. That some are so out at the elbow from long

service that it will take a master hand to make

them look respectable.

2. That some are not moral or true themes. You

may write of vice, but it must not be paraded
as virtue. This involves the whole principle
of morality in art, as well as dramatic truth.

8. That some themes are cul-de-sacs leading to
hopeless dilemmas, instead of the solution
which the normal audience wants to take home.

4. That some themes are unseasonable for years at
a time. :

Historical. BACKGROUNDS.

The historical one-act-play is most suitable for be-
ginners, because the rich background furnished by
costume, setting and the shadows of great figures
who, though not present, influence the action, dis-
‘guises, in a large measure, the amateurish touch in
characterization and plot work.

Deep research is not necessary and, in the begin-
ning, hardly desirable. Knoblock set out to write his
play on Alexander Hamilton fortified by nothing but
an article in the Encyclopedia. After the scenario
was written, he read extensively in detailed biogra-
phies.

Pror STIMULATORS.

In every case, whether the first step be theme, char-
acter, situation or atmosphere, it must be remem-
‘bered that drama is “human reaction to a difficulty.”

 
WRITING THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 137

We may now take two principal viewpoints, with
regard to that reaction:

A. It will certainly involve passion of some kind,
. passionsand SO that our first suggestive list will be of
~ Emotions human passions and emotions, together
with their subjects and objects.

“By emotion is understood a sudden boiling up of feeling
which for a time overwhelms the mind and prevents the free and
natural combination of the cognitive elements. Passion, on the
other hand, is the movement of feeling, become second nature,
deeply rooted by custom. . . . Passion is sharpened and intensi-
fied whilst emotion is dulled and enfeebled by reiterated or pro-
longed stimulation.” 31

Human passions and emotions.

I. Concupiscible: II. Irascible:
1) Joy. 1) Hope.
2) Sadness. 2) Despair.
3) Desire. 3) Courage.
4) Abhorrence. 4) Fear.
5) Love. 5) Anger.
6) Hatred.

Subjects of passions and emotions.

I. Man. (For subdivisions II. Mythical beings with
vid. infT.) man’s weakness.

Objects of passions and emotions.

I. God. IV. The World.
II. Self. a) Natural.
III. Fellow man. b) Supernatural.

¢) Preternatural.

By changing the object, we arrive at the various
species of these fundamental emotions and passions.
Thus, Self and the Concupiscibles give us: 1) Joy
of possession. 2) Self-pity. 3) Pride, vanity, rivalry.

/

5
138 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

4) Shame. 5) Self-esteem, self-complacency. 6)
Remorse. Fellow man and the same Concupiscibles
would give us a hundred others.

The Objects themselves admit of many subdivi-
sions. Thus, e.g.:

Religious, ete.
Parents 2
ives { Wife Militar,
Beloiives Superiors. .. {Social y
ete. Equals Love, etc.
Fellow Friends (Men.. | Inferiors { Young { Comrade
man Enemies faromen. .Good. . | Old
ete. Children
Non-relatives Commercial, ete.
Acquaintances...... { Social f Foreigners, etc.
Strangers........ 0. 0.000. Compatriots
ete.

What combinations of subject, passion and object,
would result in: feud, divorce, political aspirations,
munificence, patriotism, fanaticism, disease, death,
reformation, ghosts and the ludicrous?

Exercise in working with the formula:

“Background | Persons | Passions = Plot.”

I. Simple complication plot which offers no con-
flict of desires.” Select an interesting back-
ground, for example:

The London fire.

St. Bartholomew’s Day.

Salem Witch-burning, etc.
Create one character with one predominant
passion. Place him in a simple situation, which
is at the same time a difficulty. Turn the imag-
ination loose. Destroy or extricate him by the
motive force of the play, that is, his predom-
inant passion. After the plot is worked out,
go back and flavor it with the fruits of your
reading in History and Biography.

|
WRITING THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 139

II. Double complication plot — conflict of desires.*
Select a background as before.
Create three characters, each with one predom-
inant passion.
E. g.: A hero with courage or credulity.
A heroine with loyalty or suspicion.
A villain with cowardice or greed,
ete.
Invent a complication appropriate to the back-
ground that will involve all three so that each
must use the designated passion. Remember
that what is hardest to accomplish in life is the
most absorbing in fiction.

III. Given the following central situations, make
three plots out of each by changing the char-
acter of the subject, and the passion of the
subject towards the object.

“1. An old man is turned out after long
service.

2. A criminal is married to one who be-

lieves him innocent.

8. A poor person imitates one of wealth.

4. One is murdered where he meant to

murder another.

5. A person masks his features with a veil.

6. A civilized Indian reverts to type.

7. A servant kills his master.

8. One makes three wishes on a charm.

9. Two failures meet.

0. A person, driven by fear, assumes brav-

ery.

1

The study of character reactions is especially diffi-
cult in transition scenes between crises. Always an-
swer to yourself these questions: Who are they? How
140 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

did the situation affect them? What have they been?
What will they do?

Make sure of the singleness of impression, care-g
fully excising any situation or remark likely to dis-#
tract from this impression and heightening any effect
likely to intensify it. As a last precaution, satisfy §
yourself that your climax has been rightly placed. §

How can you be sure what the climax is? Know §
your audience. Know the effect you want to produce. &
Then your climax will also be the climax of the audi- Fi
ence.
B. “Human reaction” will also involve morality of ©
virtues some kind. Every dramatic act either helps §
and Vices yg to attain the prime purpose of our exis- §
tence, or makes its attainment more difficult. Hence, §
every dramatic act is either good or bad. It is sug-
gestive, then, to have before us a list of virtues and
vices, though the use of such a chart is obviously less §
simple than combining objects and passions. ]

The virtues are seven: Faith, Hope, Charity, Pru- |
dence, Fortitude, Temperance and Justice. Every |
vice is a cognate virtue gone wrong by defect or ex-
cess. In other words, every vice is an exaggeration |
or an absence of a quality which, taken in a golden |
mean, would constitute a virtue. Thus, an absence
of Hope is Despair; too much Hope is Presumption. |
An absence of Liberality is Avarice; too much is |
Extravagance.

Arranged in chart form, the relation between vari- |
ous virtues and vices would suggest many plot-ele- &
ments to a thoughtful mind. Noting, for example, 8
how closely hardness, stubbornness and even cruelty §
may shadow an admirable firmness; how near good ®
nature sometimes comes to sloth and vacillation; how |
often Christ-like meekness is interpreted as weak- #
ness; and frugality as the grasping of a miser, we

  
  
 
WRITING THE ONE-ACT-PLAY 141

find less difficulty in making the souls of our charac-
ters the true battle-ground of the action. Going a
» step further, it is stimulating to study the shades of

ii difference which these virtues and vices take on, as
© they are found now in one temperament, now in an-
~ other. For convenience, we may use the traditional
_ division of Temperament: Choleric, Phlegmatic,
~ Melancholic, Sanguine and the more recent Nervous

if Temperament.

 
 

1 SPECIAL SCENES FOR INTEREST
| Itis a notorious fact that the American flag, waved
vigorously on the stage in a moment of distress, has
k saved many a bad play from the just vengeance of
the audience. In suggesting here the following “sure-
- fire” scenes, there is no desire to have them used as
] American flags. The play is not to be first written,
} then sprinkled with a few of these popular bits and
“set aside to cool. But where they can be used without
the least violation of economy, where they can be
"made a real part of the crisis, there is some certainty
of theatrical effectiveness. -

1. Conflict — whether of words or swords.

2. Scolding scenes — especially conjugal.

3. “Nature will out” effects — when a mask falls
inadvertently.

. Eating scenes.

. Love scenes.

. Condemnation of one’s own fault in another.

. Malapropism — misuse of words easily recog-
nized.

. Innocent violation of propriety.

. Misunderstanding — cross purposes.

. Verbal portraits— whereby one character im-
personates another.

gO Ou i

Jud
OS © ®

an
 
APPENDICES
 
APPENDICES
APPENDIX I.
ACCIDENTAL TECHNIQUE.

Accidental technique has been defined in the introduction as
that technique which changes with the changing ideals and tastes
of different peoples and different generations. This definition
will be clarified by a few illustrations which show how intimate
is the relation between the technique of the drama and contem-
porary customs, especially with regard to theatre building.

Greek Drama: Its religious character was responsible for
large open-air theatres. The large theatre brought in the mask,
the pads, and Cothurnus, thereby making popular tumult, clashes
of arms or death on the stage impossible. The large theatre led
also to the convention of “Three actors”’— strictly observed by
Sophocles. There were few who combined a rare poetic feeling,
a fine singing voice and a faultless metallic enunciation that
could keep thirty thousand persons enthralled for ten hours.
Hence, parts were so distributed that three men could play them
all.

EvrizaeruaN Drama: The Elizabethan Stage with its great
bare apron upon which most of the action transpired, shaped the
beginnings and ends of scenes, made countless small scenes pos-
sible, and necessitated long scenic descriptions. Concentration
was fixed on the lines and the result was at once elaborate and
ingenuous.

17ta CENTURY DrAMA: Inigo Jones, the Belasco of the Stu-

"art Court, with his theatre of pretense and extravagance, lowered

the quality of drama in England and for a hundred years pag-
eantry was more important there than human nature.

Victorian Drama: Towards the middle of the last century
the apron was absorbed and the action retired back of the pros-
cenium arch. Technique, in the fifty years that followed, under-
went a change. Asides and soliloquies lost favor. More and
more realism was sought. A solid set replaced the old wings
and drop. Declamation lost favor and with it long speeches with
pauses set for applause.

MoperN Drama: Realism had no sooner reached its perfec-
tion in Belasco than Gordon Craig and Max Reinhardt began a
great reaction. The apron spread once more far into the or-

ts

I»
146 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

chestra, the proscenium was discarded and schemes for rapid
scene shifting, combined with experiments in interpretative light-
ing, brought in a decorative drama where art is far removed from
nature. Even where the playhouse has remained unchanged, the
influences of the movement, joined with the restless gropings of
all the modern fine arts, has been responsible for a breakdown
in the old technique of plot construction with its ordered acts,
developments and climaxes. Ten years ago we had as examples
of this new ideal in plot construction, “Milestones,” “Romance,”
“The Good Little Devil,” and “The Poor Little Rich Girl”—
lately, “Liliom,” “The Drifting Shore,” “The Emperor Jones,”
“From Morn to Midnight,” “Six Characters in Search of an
Author,” “The World We Live In,” “Beggar on Horseback,”
“The Potters” and “Outward Bound.”

What is ahead of us is suggested by Mr. Macgowan in “The
Theatre of To-morrow.”

ArreENDIx II.
AN OUTLINE HISTORY OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

LiguT SEeri0oUS

The Satyric Play of Greece. Short Mystery Plays.

The Mummers’ Play of England.

The Commedia dell’Arte of Italy.

France imitated this Italian form, Short Miracle Plays.
but through Moliére, the farce be-
came Comedy in one act. (17th
Cent.)

English reaction to the Commedia One-act School Plays, es-
dell’Arte is represented by Hey- pecially in Jesuit Col-
wood’s “Interludes” and Robert leges. *

Coxe’s “Drolleries.”

*In the Jesuit “Ratio Studiorum” of 1586, we read: “It is not a little useful
that three or four times a year the students of Humanities and Rhetoric should
privately stage Eclogues, Scenes and Dialogues written by themselves and staged
without scenery.” In Vienna, about the time Jamestown was being founded (1609),
the Jesuits had a College Theatre with a capacity of three thousand in the main
auditorium, and a smaller hall below, for the exercise of class dramatics. This
little theatre was needed, for “in the Austrian province, every class yearly was
permitted a drama lasting about three quarters of an hour, and with corresponding
stage settings. The best students of the other classes were invited to this, but not
their teacher.” (Duhr, “Geschichte der Jesuiten in den Landern deutcher Zunge”
II, i, 665.)

 
 

APPENDICES 147

In the 19th Century, exigencies of the English theatre intro-
duced the curtain-raiser, both light and serious, while on the Con-
tinent, French vaudeville made the playlet popular.

Toward the close of the 19th Century, simultaneously in Eng-
land, France and Germany, the one-act-play appeared as a dis-
tinct literary species. Most of the better dramatists of the later
nineties tried their hand at it, but it was not until 1911 that the
United States could give a serious verdict in the matter. That
year we had two importations: one from the Abbey Theatre in
Dublin that was disastrous, the other from the Grand Guignol
in Paris that was a complete success. Since then the one-act-play
has been growing in popularity. If we seek out reasons for its
sudden appearance we shall notice three principal factors in its
development: 1st. The drama of Ibsen. 2d. The rise of the

Free Theatre. 3d. The short-story.

IBsEx

The drama of Ibsen
abandoned, some forty
years ago, the compli-
cated interweaving of
plots popular until
that time. In its stead,
we find a play where-
in the attention is fo-
cused on a single situ-
ation, the causes or
effects of which fur-
nish the entire action.
This idea lent itself to
a brief and intensely
emotional development,
preparing the public,
meanwhile, for future
appreciation of a min-
ute artistic whole.

The Episodic Drama

Tue Free THEATRE

A political censor-
ship in Europe, which
could dictate to a man-
agement only when
money was paid for
admission, prepared
the way for a Free
Theatre where patrons
met expenses by sub-
scription. As such pa-
trons were few and se-
lect, their theatre was
artistic and small.
Here, unlike the com-
mercial theatre, a good
short play is better
than a poor long one.
There is in a small the-
atre an emotional inti-
macy which is most fa-
vorable for a one-act-

play.

The Repertory Theatre

THE SHORT-STORY

By the middle of the
19th Century many of
the leading writers in
Europe and America,
following the lead of
Poe and de Maupas-
sant, had sponsored the
short-story as a recog-
nized art form. The
public was educated in
this manner to an ap-
preciation of a “single
effect” and a rigid ob-
servance of “the uni-
ties.” There was then
no difficulty in trans-
fering this apprecia-
tion to the realm of
drama.

The SBhort-Story

Se Ler

The One-Act-Play
148 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Arprenpix ITI.
CLASSIFICATION OF ONE-ACT-PLAYS.

DirricuLTy oF CLASSIFICATION.

1. We find many types in a single play.
Like Polonius, we may have ‘“‘tragedy, comedy, history, pas-

toral, comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, trag-
ical-comical-historical-pastoral.”

2. We lack Dramatic Epithets.

“A play like ‘The Second Mrs. Tanqueray,”” writes Dr.
James J. Walsh, “is not made a tragedy by ending with a
suicide; it is not a comedy because it is too bitter; it is not
melodrama because on the whole too realistic in the treat-
ment of the fact; it is not a perfect drama because its per-
sonages are mere social types instead of characters; it is not
a dramatized novel while its material is essentially suited
to a novel, yet it is a successful play without a class tag.”

The one-act-play may, notwithstanding, be classified roughly
according to the four literary elements: '
Emotion, Imagination, Thought and Expression.

1. EmoTION.

Comedy: High Comedy (“Beauty and the Jacobin”).

1.

2. Comedy of Manners (“The Far-Away Princess”).
8. Satire (‘“Wurzel-Flummery”).

4. Farce (“The Wonder Hat”).

1. High Tragedy (“Riders to the Sea”).

2. Melodrama (“A Night at An Inn”).

It is traditional to classify comedy and tragedy not according to
their emotional tone, but merely according to the solution. The one-
act-play, however, regards the tone of the piece as of first importance
(single effect), the outcome being consistent with the tone. A “Mer-
chant of Venice” whose gloom is dispelled by a belated smile in the
fifth act, would be an anomaly in the one-act-play. Again, this is the
easier kind of classification. In “Allison’s Lad,” for instance, the pro-
tagonist actually wins in the struggle against his father’s blood, but
no one would call the play a comedy.

Tragedy:

2. IMAGINATION.

Fantasy: “Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil.”
Poetic Drama: “The Land of Heart’s Desire.”

 
 

APPENDICES 149

" 8. THoUGHT.

Thematic: 1. The Play of Ideas —“The Twelve-pound Look.”
2. Didactic —“The Beggar and the King.”
Emphatic: 1. Character —“Gettysburg.”
2. Complication —“A Night at An Inn.”
8. Atmosphere —“Riders to the Sea.”

A didactic one-act-play offers grounds for dispute. Gregory Zil-
boorg holds that “when a play starts to teach anything it ceases to be
a play.” Galsworthy, on the contrary, thinks that “a drama must be
shaped so as to have a spire of meaning.” 13 It would seem that even
a conscious moral would be allowed “if the point of the moral lies in

episodes which belong to the main dramatic action and can be grasped
in their moral significance by an average audience.”

4. EXPRESSION.

Realistic: Moderate — “Ile.”
Naturalistic —“Goat Alley.”
Idealistic: Moderate —‘‘Allison’s Lad.”
Exaggerated — Not found in good collections.

GENERAL CLASSIFICATION:

One and the same play can be classified according to each of
the four literary elements in turn. Thus, “Allison’s Lad” is 1)
Tragedy, 2) Poetic Drama, 8) Emphatic (Character), 4) Mod-
erately Idealistic. Even under one element the play is only pre-
dominately under one subdivision. Thus, “Allison’s Lad” con-
tains character, complications and atmosphere and has a well-
defined theme.
LIST OF ONE-ACT-PLAYS
RECOMMENDED FOR STUDY

Baker, Elizabeth: “Miss Tassy.” (Sidgewick & Jackson.)
Barrie, Sir James M.: “The Twelve-pound Look.”
“Rosalind.”
(In “Half-Hours.” Charles Scribner’s Sons.)
“The Old Lady Shows Her Medals.”
(In “The Echoes of the War.” Charles Scribner’s
Sons.)
Beach, Lewis: “The Clod.”
(In “Four One-Act-Plays.” Brentano.)
V Brighouse, Harold: “Lonesome-Like.”
(In “The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays.” Atlantic
Monthly Press.)
Brown, Alice: “Joint Owners in Spain.” (W. H. Baker Co.)
Calderon, George: “The Little Stone House.”
(In “Eight One-Act-Plays.” Sidgewick & Jackson.)
Chapin, Harold: “The Autocrat of the Coffee Stalls.” (Gowans &
Gray.)
Coppée, Francois: “The Violin Maker of Cremona.”
“Le Pater.”
; (Dramatic Publishing Co., Chicago.)
[” Dix, B. M.: “Allison’s Lad.”
“The Captain of the Gate.”
(In “Allison’s Lad and Other Plays.” Henry Holt & Co.)
Down, Oliphant: “The Maker of Dreams.”
(In “One-Act-Plays by Modern Authors.” Harcourt,
Brace.)
Dowson, Ernest: “The Pierrot of the Minute.”
(In “One-Act-Plays by Modern Authors.” Harcourt,
Vv Brace.)
Drinkwater, John: “The Storm.”
“XxX — 8
V (In “Pawns.” Houghton, Mifflin Co.)
Dunsany, Lord: “Five Plays.” (Little, Brown & Co.)
“Plays of Gods and Men.” (Luce & Co.)
Field, R. L.: “Three Pills In a Bottle.”"
(In “Plays of the Forty-seven Workshop.” Brentano.)
v Gerstenberg, Alice: “Overtones.”
“The Pot Boiler.”
(In “Ten One-Act-Plays.” Brentano.)
Glaspell, Susan: “Trifles!”
(In “Plays.” Small, Maynard & Co.)

 
APPENDICES 151

 

f
|

§

Vv Gregory, Lady: “Spreading the News.”
1 “The Workhouse Ward.”
“The Rising of the Moon.”
“Hyacinth Halvey.”
(In “Seven Short Plays.” G. P. Putnan's Sons.)
Hervieu, Paul: “Modesty.”
(In “Contemporary One-Act-Plays,” Lewis. Charles
Scribner’s Sons.) . ?
Housman, Laurence: “Little Plays of St. Francis.” (Small, Maynard
& Co.)
Hudson, Holland: “The Shepherd in the Distance.” (Stewart & Kidd.)
Lord, Daniel A.: “The Road to Connaught.” (Loyola University Press.)
MacKaye, Percy: “Gettysburg.”
“Sam Average.”
(In “Yankee Fantasies.” Duffield & Co.)
Marks, Jeannette: “Three Welsh Plays.” (Little, Brown & Co.)
Masefield, John: “The Sweeps of Ninety-Eight.”
(In “Two Plays.” Macmillan & Co.)
Middleton, George: “Tides.” (Henry Holt & Co.)
Millay, Edna St. V.: “Aria di Capo.”
(In “Fifty Contemporary One-Act-Plays.” Stew-
art & Kidd.)
Milne, Allan: “Wurzel-Flummery.”
(In “One-Act-Plays by Modern Authors.” Harcourt,
Brace.)
“The Boy Comes Home.”
(In “One-Act-Plays of To-day.” Small, Maynard & Co.)
O'Neill, Eugene G.: “In the Zone.”
“Tle.”
“Bound East for Cardiff.”
“The Rope.”
(Boni & Liveright.)
“The Emperor Jones.” (Stewart & Kidd.)
Pearse, Padraic: “The Singer.”
“Tosagan.”
(In “The Collected Works of Pearse.” Frederick A.
Stokes Co.)
Rostand, Edmond: “The Romancers,” Act I.
(In “One-Act-Plays.” Houghton, Mifflin Co.)
Strong, Austin: “The Drums of Oode.” (Belasco.)
Suderman, Herman: “The Far-Away Princess.”
(In “Contemporary One-Act-Plays.” Charles Scrib-
ner’s Sons.)
Synge, John M.: “Riders to the Sea.”
(In “One-Act-Plays by Modern Authors.” Harcourt,
Brace.)
“The Shadow of the Glen.” (Luce & Co.)
Tarkington, Booth: “Beauty and the Jacobin.”
(In “One-Act-Plays by Modern Authors.” Harcourt,
Brace.
Tchkoff, Anton: “The Swan Song.” (Charles Scribner’s Sons.)
152 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

Torrence, Ridgely: “Granny Maumee.”
“The Rider of Dreams.”
(In “Three Plays for the Negro Theatre.” The Mac-
+ millan Co.)
Walker, Stuart: “Nevertheless.”
“Six Who Pass While the Lentils Boil.”
(In “Portmanteau Plays.” Stewart & Kidd.)
“The Birthday of the Infanta.”
“Sir David Wears a Crown.”
(In “Portmanteau Adaptations.” Stewart & Kidd.)
Wilde, Percival: “The Noble Lord.”
“Confessional”
“The Unseen Host.”
“Pawns.”
“The Dyspeptic Ogre.”
(Little, Brown & Co.)
Yeats, William B.: “The Countess Cathleen.”
“The Land of Heart’s Desire.”
“Cathleen ni Houlihan.”
(The Macmillan Co.)

 

COLLECTIONS OF ONE-ACT-PLAYS

Clark, B. H.: “Representative One-Act-Plays by British and Irish
Authors.” (Little, Brown & Co.)

Cohen, H. L.: “One-Act-Plays by Modern Authors.” (Harcourt, Brace. )

Knickerbocker, Edwin. Van B.: “Plays for Classroore Interpretation.”
(Henry Holt & Co.)

Leonard, S. A.: “The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays.” (Atlantic
Monthly Press.)

Lewis, B. R.: “Contemporary One-Act-Plays.” (Charles Scribner’s
Sons.)

Marriott, J. W.: “One-Act-Plays of To-day.” (Small, Maynard & Co.)

Mayorga, M. G.: “Representative One-Act-Plays by American Au-
thors.” (Little, Brown & Co.)

Smith, A. M.: “Short Plays by Representative Authors.” (The Mac-
millan Co.)

Weber and Webster: “One-Act-Plays.” (Houghton, Mifflin Co.)
BOOKS AND AUTHORS REFERRED TO

¥*1. R.G.MOULTON . . . . . The Modern Study of Literature
(The University of Chicago Press.)

2.G.FREYTAG . . . The Technique of the Drama
(Scott, Foresman & Co.)

3. F. BRUNETIERE . The Law of the Drama

(Dramatic Museum, Columbia University) »

4. H. A. JONES . . . . The Renascence of the English Drama

(The Macmillan Co.)
5. GB. SHAW . . . . Dramatic Opinions and Essays
"(Brentano )

6. W. ARCHER . . . . Playmaking
(Smal, Maynard & Co. )

+ 7. BEAUMARCHAIS . . Essay on the Serious Drama
8D. DIDERO . . . . ". .il.¢.0 4500 Dramatic Poetry
9.P.8SARCEY . . . . . . ¢ . The Theory of the Theatre
10. J.B.MOLIERE . . . . . . . School for Wives Criticized

1. J. DRYDEN .  . . . . . An Essay on Dramatic Poesie
2.PrP.WIHDE . . . . The Craftsmanship of the One-Act-Play
(Little, Brown & Co.)

13. J. GALSWORTHY . . . Some Platitudes Concerning Drama
14. P. WILDE . . . Preface to “The Confessional”

(Little, Brown & Co
15. ARISTOTLE . J + ie 4u The Poetics
16. E. WOODBRIDGE . . The Dros Its Laws and Technique
iy & Bacon. )
MM. T.RYMER . . . A Short View of Tragedy, ete.
18. P. SYDNBY . .. 0. oo na coi AiDefense of Poesie
19. G. E. LESSING hes anae L Hamburg Dramaturgy
20. ABBE AUBIGNAC . . . . . The Whole Art of the Stage
21.C HAMILTON . . . . . . . . ,’ Studies in Stagecrafi
(Henry Holt & Co.)
22. HORACE  .. . . . .' '. .. . . 4 .. The Art of Poetry
23.8. T.COLERIDGE . =. . .. . ». 1 Lectures
25. A. B.PLATP? . . . . . . Prontionl Hints in Playwriting
25. GCG. P.BAKER .. . . .. . . Dramatic Technique

IN THE COURSE OF THE TEXT

(Houghton, Mifflin Co.)

Te numbers correspond to the small numbers that occur with each quotation
in the text.

fNumbers 7, 8, 9, 10, 19, and 20 are translated in ‘European Theories of the
Drama” by Barret 'H Clark. (Stewart & Kidd.)
Te ET a BI Py I ry rr Te # Tr, CF gr ap

154 THE TECHNIQUE OF THE ONE-ACT-PLAY

26.
27.

28.
29.

80.
31.
82.
83.

K. MACGOWAN . . . The Theatre of To-morrow
(Boni & Liveright.)
R. W. NEAL . . . Short Stories in the Making
( Oaford University Press. J
A.DUMAS fils . . + «i Prefaces

W. PITKIN . . ie How to Write Stories
(The Macmillan Co.)

H. A. PHILLIPS . . The Plot of the Short Story
(Stanhope-Dodge Pub. Co.)

M. MAHER, S.J. . . +. . Psychology
(Longmans, Green & Co.)

B. C. WILLIAMS . . A Handbook on Story Writing

(Small Maynard & Co.)
Jd. CONRAD . . . . The Art of Writing

 
 
 
 
   

 

 

 

 
 
     
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
  
       

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