The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 21, 1903, Page 50

FRAN CISCO CALL, SUNDAY, JUNE 21, 1903. B - Py > o 1 7 ¥E ¥ 4 4 % MR A At 4 E who wrote “no man is & hero to his valet” aid mnot know Nat C. Goodwin and Rodney,” the incomparable for Mr. Goodwin royally that hero, ar e rest. I had mot di- hen my appointment for t was made with Mr. Good- because it was made by imagine the master com- the prince of valets is of ssible. early the other after- my card to Mr. the Palace were e hour found antly excited meeting the distin- But here “Rofney” inter- message and telephone le appeal that we— not disturb his laimed him for ving a belated An amiable t awhile on Mr as we made an Goodwin the come. sleep! his appearance, suggestion iterviewers. y man about you peo- rologized, and smiled £ X at the re- and Mr. nial, seated and his delftlike dressing gown M I smoke a cigarette? It you choose,” I return. ey,” his master called to the anx- ure hovering sbout in the next om, “a cigaret A moment later it was brought to & votive offering o 3 deity a t comforta equipped Mr. Goodwin settled luxuriously into his cushic are going to put on “When We Were Twenty-One' next week, I see” I began . " hen people don’t like what you Five giv something they do ke,” Goofwin said with cheerful philos. ‘em 1 see why don’t ke e Altar of Friendship, don’t that s it. Peculiar people. Pe- sliar people. Everywhere else it has made m ch more of & suceess than “When e Were Twenty-C to judge by the office. But ¥ 't figure on San was the same way with to my mind the best play niy one that owed less » the author. He did cverything for the plece—I had only to carry out his ideas. Bu not lked here.” el ‘It was not among my experiences,” I explain Last Monday night, though” and the comedian looked cheerfully puzsled, “we e plece never went better. I the company that it was all right to the mctor than Francisco 15 a cool first-nighter and realiy fel t the play had pleased.” was Mr iwin that please e Wi : pleased, as 1 _please in anything T submit, “even Shy- dertook here Ik later about Shylock,” the and contipued: “Of course, but we have done so the 7t all through that I t aquite understand ‘its pointed fafl- Mrs. Goodwin is at .Yar-kwnnd""~|he nglish home of the Goodwins—I inter. Ay “No. 1 am not there, you know,” with delightful naivete. “She's up in London just now; having a great time, and I'm bufy contradicting rumors of our as much distress as the t hold was forgetful of 1 over to open writing desk and picked thick bundle of letters. ike divorce? This came this mornine’ and the b and of the hal!d\um'?-}:n\;vr:vgnv], on the American stage quletly stroked uppermost sheets, The “internal evidence” as to the sep- aration theory was not strong and as the actor, forgetful of the theory in the in. terest of Mrs. Goodwin’s plquant London ssip. read a little here and there from letter, it vanished into thinnest air. “I've 10ld ber to print her names he up a “Does this loo] > h laughingly grumbled, holding out one that ‘.m}\vl‘ ke word Kilkenny” for €olution, The letter was thickly 3 sprinkled with s, not to mention barons and princes, “You are not so much impressed as you should be by the raid names,” I remark at Mr. Goodwin's democratic tone, ¢ He laughed and returned: “Mrs. Good- win really does know a heap of interest. ing people. And, by the way, the actor has a far better social position in England than here.” “Impossible!” ot only the actor, but any one en evi- ce,” persisted Mr. Goodwin, “The New York Four Hundred is still Elizabethan n its attitude toward the actor—almost, gy Cawreee oo, Udcqc«fl Oc@ =57 5 S K i o& | i g 1N 9 D Vo< [\ qa q — that is. In London the player—or writer or artist—of distinction can go where they can’t. There are things money will not buy over there. * * * I remember an amusing experfence of Mrs. Goodwin's at the Waldorf-Astoria, to illustrate. She was at Juncheon there and a very swell London woman came hurrying from a table near by to greet her—kissed her and so0 on. The English woman was lunching with some prominent New Yorkers and was highly amused when they asked her If she really knew Mrs. Goodwin very well, and where she had met her. Their naive astonishment when my wife's friena told them that she had met Mrs. Goodwin at a luncheon of the Prince of Wales' amused her still more. They were utterly taken aback. Well?” and Mr. Goodwin shrugged a cynical shoulder. “It wasn't pretty,” I grant, Then I Te- vert. “To return to Mrs. Goodwin and yourself. You and she really are about to star separately?” “8o much, of course, is true,” the come- dian replied, “and has been any time within the eighteen months. You vy Bottom in Klaw ction of ‘A Midsum- ight's Dream’ during next season. no part for Mrs. Goodwin in that, e decided to separate for two or That's the whole story.” “And what will Mrs. Goodwin's play be for next season?’ “One by Clyde Fitch,” he replied. calis it “Her Own Way," and he has two acts ready now. Mrs. Goodwin is going r to Paris to get the gowns for it— at’s one of the reasons I came out her: nd that small and becoming double chin that is the latest Goodwin possession, peeped out palpably at the comedian’s chuckle. So looking, one likes him best. Power there is always about the face, with its firm, aquiline nose, strong chin and high, full brow. There is cynicism—good-humored—about the mouth in repose, and the humor lingers chief- ly about the full, bright eyes, of what one would call forget-me-not blue, if they belonged to a woman. It is when these flash into an irresistible sparkle, and the always slightly cynical, lazy, full-blooded laugh ripples over the chins, that one “nds Nat Goodwin most attractive. While ~ae is about it one finds the comedian 1it- tle given to gesture, and eminently luxu- rious in his suggestion. The “good fellow™ that he so frequently portrays is written ail over him—it seems necessary for him only to be himself in most of his reper- last mer There i “‘He toire. His hair is scarcer on top than an “American Citizen's,” but it is of the same sleck, coppery gold. His figure, fuller than yesteryear's, is still agile and alert—as one expects from a man who tumbles into a sweater at the Palace Ho- tel, takes the car to the park, walks and runs to the Cliff House in fifty minutes and then swims for thirty more in the Sutro Baths, riding afterward for some hours, as Mr. Goodwin had done the fore- going day! “You did not Sant to go shopping?”’ I inquired as Goodwin paused after this in- teresting confidence. “No, I thought I'd rather come out to Frisco than wait outside shop doors while Mrs. Goodwin was matching ribbons,”” he confessed, unashamed. “So she went to London and I came out here. My wife is also looking out for new plays—got one by Haddon Chambers. Then I'm hoping to get one by Davies, a very clever Lon- don fellow. We shall probably make a farewell tour together after the three seasons are up, and, of course, will need material.” ‘A ‘farewell tour’"” I said. “Do you think you could leave the stage then, really?” “More than think so,” Goodwin re- plied. “I even now look forward with pleasure to the end of the season. And I'm. never glad to begin it. I like all kinds of outdoor sports, golf, riding, swimming, walking,”” and then he told me of the small feat of the foregoing day. “That's the kind of thing I like. Then I'm very fond of seeing other actors act, and traveling, you know, all sorts of things there are to do.” “You haven't told me yet abou Shylock,” I then remind the actor, adventure into the legitimate.” To judge by the actor's expression it was not a wholly pleasant memory, but his habitual drollery soon came on top as he sald: *So you, too, are interested in ‘Goodwin’s annual joke'—that's what they called it East? It was an adventure, a glorious adventure, and it's one of the things. I'm going to do again. I believe 1 play a good Shylock—pardon the vanity —but if I didn’t, I wouldn't play it. But the press condemned me ahead, and then to fulfill their own prophecies had to roast me unmercifully. Each town took its tone from the foregoing ones. The preliminary notices of my Shylock con- sisted of such things as ‘Goodwin disap- points Chicago In Shylock,” and so on. There was one exception, however, Boston.” “A proud exception,” I bow to the act- or. “What did they say there?” “Modesty—you know- “Mal apropos here—" I interrupt. “Clapp,” said the comedian, nothing loth, “you know Clapp?” “Herry Austin Clapp? Indeed, yes.” “He gave me two volumes and said among other things that nobody of recent vears had played the part better, and few as well. Then they gave me editorials, you know—in short, took me seriously.” Mr, Goodwin was here looking an interest in the topic that none other had evoked. He continued earnestly, “You know there is no such handicap as comedy. You can't the your live down a reputation for being funny that is in America. Coquelin, Possart, Sonnenthal and people like those will do tragedy one night, comedy the next. Who dreams of condemning in KEurope? Here they will not disspciate you from your reputation.” “'Apart from the fact of the critics hav- ing to ‘fullfil their own prophecies by roasting,’ what, from theix alleged poin of view, was the matter with your Shy- lock?” I asked. * “Too modern,’ they all said, meaning, as far as I can make out'’—and Mr. Goodwin effectively leaned forward—"that the lines were spoken in a fashion that every one could understand, and that the action was human. With the people they hit true as an arrow every time, never missed fire. But the press would have none of it. Then one critic complained of the unusual dignity of the conception, sald I looked more like a Roman senator than a wretched usurer. That is my idea of the character. I concefved Shylock as thy only gentleman in the cast, not as th mangy Jew he is so often made. Apropos, 1 see that Joseph Adler, the famous Yld- dish actor now playing the part in New York, also dignifies it.” & ““How long did you play your Shylock?" ‘“For thirty-one performances.” Then Goodwin's smile broke out unshadowed. ““We did the largest month’s business we have ever done. After all the expenses were paid we had $18,000 clear profit.” ““What kind of preparation did you find ‘An American Citizen' for ‘The Merchant of Venice? ™ “There’s nothing so difficult as comedy, 1 belleve,” replied the actor. “The fact is varlously proved. Let a tragedian, the usual serious actor, try to be funny and see what an asinine failure he makes of it! On the contrary, a comedian's pathos is almost always the prettiest of his ef- fects. Jefferson’s, for example, and John B. Owens’; nothing could be more ex- quisite. Garrick, you remember, gives the palm of difficulty to comedy. Oh, it is the rarer art. Think, too, how many really funny people you know. Not many. You don't know, probably, that I played ‘Richard the Third’ and ‘Marc Antony’ once upon a time—at benefits,” he added with an explanatory gesture; then as- tonishingly continued: ‘Richard I con- sider a light comedy* part until the close of the play. Richard was a humorist—remember his speech to the departing Anne, for instance,” and with a rarely appreciative inflection the actor quoted Gloucester’s cynic soliloquy. “‘Mrs. Goodwin’s Portia shared honors with your Shylock, did it not?” “‘Honors and dispraise,” sald the actor; then, simply, “I think she was superb. But the press! I'd like to get some of those fellows on the stage—they'd stop writing.” ;NAT C. GOODWIN TELLS OF HIS PLANS AND EVENS UP WITH CRITICS WHO CONDEMNED HIS SHYLOCK “Didn’t one of them offer to alternate Shylock with you?" That was Alfred Ayres,” Mr. Goodwin —well—grinned. [ told him I didn’t think the managers would think there was enough money’ fn his name to undertake the responsibility. Ayres was a ic, not a critie, anyway. Then with more talk, under the felt, if not geen, reproachful eyve of Rodney—of Mrs. Goodwin's half shares in her hus- band ventures, and his third shares in hers, each partner with their separate statement at the end of the week; of Eng- lish and American audiences; of English ignorance of America—‘they think there are buffaloes on Broadway the actor puts it; of the Australian attitude toward the American drama; and so on, we dare another fifteen minutes, then leave Mr. Goodwin to his rarest of valets. GRS s Plays and the Players. George Ade In the Theater Magazine, for June, gives what is probably the true reason for the poor quality of light opera seen nowadays on the stage. Mr. Ade ays: “Gilbert ana Sullivan did not Iabor to invoke boisterous encores or dazzle the public with catchy ‘song-hits.” They were not compelled to provide special scenes for the pulchritudinous how girls.” Nelther did they feel impelied to alter the construction so as to give mere ‘fat’ to the insatiable ‘Broadway comedians.’ There are several reasons why the Gilbert and Sullivan kind of light opera does not appeal to a majority of our managers and comedians to-day. The first rule in the making of an up-to-date musical comedy seems to be that it shall be capable of a gorgeous ‘production.” The immense sue- cess of pieces such as those offered by the Rogers Brothers, Anna Held and oth- er money-making stars has served to convince managers that no matter what happens to the ‘book’ or the story, the stage must bloom at frequent intervals, with lovely girls in expensive raiment, and the songs, no matter by what pre. text brought into the piece, must receive that loud and emphatic applause which is the sure indication of a ‘hit.” And though critics may rave, the astute manager de- fends his policy by producing the box of- fice statement. When I started to write ‘The Sultan of Sulu’ about two years ago I had an ambition to follow the methods employed by Mr. Gilbert, without imitat- ing any one of his works. It seemed to me at least a portion of the theater-going public might be willing to pay for a per- formance in which there was a story of cumulative interest, the dialogue free from slang, ‘gags’ and local allusions, and in which the musical numbers should fit the situations and be made an Integral part of the dramatic construction. There was no provision for ‘ad lib' scenes. in which the comedians were to draw laugh- ter. It must be confessed that since the first performance of the piece the Gilber- tian model has been more or less patciied up. The song and dance, with light ef- fects, is very dear to the public of to-day, nd an occasional spice of slang is de- manded by the manager, the stage man- ager and the ambitious comedian, who base the demand on the just plea that ‘the people in front want it." "™ o ¢ e Writing of the late Stuart Robson in the June issue of the Theater Magazine, Bronson Howard, the well-known play- wright, s “My personal acquaintance with Robson began in 188, when I met him and Mr. Crane to arrange for writing them a new comedy. I recognized at once in that first interview that I was dealing with two men of the highest artistic instinet. Months afterward, at another meeting, to read the scheme of the comedy, both of these men were deeply shocked; both reminded me most earnestly that they were strictly comedians. Mr. Crane said that his proposed character reached, at one point, the purlieus of tragedy. I thought ‘purlieus’ was a very good word, and bowed my acknowledgment. Mr. Rob- son said that 1 was ending the second act with a pathetic scene for him, almost call- ing for slow music, while neither of them, in their whole careers as partners, had ever done anything but the broadest comic work, even in Shakespeare. ‘Well,” I said, ‘if Shakespeare were here, he would agree with me; and he’'d give you much harder work to do than I can. They both gasped, but yielded to my de- termined persistence. The position as- sumed by these men in this interview il- lustrated a peculiarity of nearly all great artists that I have ever known. Unlike a commonplace actor. they usually doubt their own powers, because their ideals of art are always above what they or any one else can possibly reach. No one in the audience witnessing ‘The Henrietta’ ever doubted the power of Crane, when he sprang at his son’s throat, nor the pa- thetic subtlety and deep feelingof Robson, when Bertie, the Lamb, sacrificed his own happiness, and threw the bundles of letters, incriminating his brother, into the fire at the énd of act II. Here was another point like that in ‘Led Astray,’ where Robson, by entirely different meth- ods, showed how every great comic actor can reach the deeply pathetic onthestage. His comie voice, not lending itself to this situation, as in the former play, was eliminated, for not a word was spoken; the author of the play ceased to be In evidence, so to speak; and Robson, in per- fect silence, held the audience breathless, master of the situation and of those who were ‘watching him. I write this with that particular gratitude which an auth feels when he himself retires f situation, leaving an actor alor audience to sec umph. Are actors creat ways answered Two incldents cc production histor: a lesson from gr ‘ves' to at artists cessors on the stage. After fir third act, T received a lett Robson, written « Mr. Crane, as w 2 I me not to make their parts s in the last act as to take the other characters or to i eral artistic balance of are seldom burder even from great ceive them from I * d e In an interesting interview wh Theater Magazine has sec maso Salvini, the great Italian mits that he has grown weary He saj “I no Every humar loves to be appl: Naples recently the entire audie comprising all the fashionable wom theater is an every humblest fisherman—w salvos of applause sfasts leap upon the one, who would not be acting itself no longer I am weary and would my son’s career now occasional performances I interests I am reads spoke of his son, of whom he is very proud. “My son Gustavo should 4 great career, he said. become known to be reco: superior actor.” We me Alexander Salvini, so well like ica. ““Ah yes, poor Alessandro! F tavo is a very different nat e is studlous, thoughtful I hope that ica, but be A London success m America. You are a Your managers wish chances of success ag My son is unknown outsid agent is now trying meeting between him a man. But London must eo don papers are read in le ones. ce of a ecrowded thea they soon make merit wn not long be a stranger to America he has appeared in L Was years ago, called to Ame: he continued, formance. In appearance, well suited to the part roles with him are Don Caesa Edipis in which Mounet-Sul appeared in Rome and suff parison, and Petruchio in ‘T the Shrew.” His Othello, toc not y it 1s mine, is a fir tion, but, as you see, he d himself to tragedy.” PR A One of the big winne Irish Lad in the Brc Lawrance d'Orsay. r tipped him Gunfire and D’'Orsa play that esteemed animal he explained to Mr. La Shel ing, betwegn the ac Pawtucket,” in the: governor, I got to the tr ““Thank heaven for tf Shelle, sotto voce. Hamlet,” s all safely ej thing. Go on with your anecdote.” “Well, as I was saying, 1 got to the raca track and fell into the bet mg. Thers was such a mob of v ar people ther bah Jawve, that I was shoved all over ths blooming place. I gave one dirty rascal a jolly good punch in the chops, and hit another in his bread-basket. Then some one behind jammed my hat down, and a fellow on a stool wanted to know whether I intended to bet, because if I didu't T must—aw—fade away. I couldn’t think of the name of that blooming horse you mentioned, but I knew it was something— aw—explosive, and when some bounder mentioned Irish Lad T put fifty dollars down. I was onmnly just in time, for the race started a minute afterward, and [ was still fighting with those blackguards in the ring when I heard that I had—aw won. And when I heard the shouting of “Gunfire” 1 was so angry with myself that— But, bah Jawve, I won, don’t you know."” Kirke La Shelle growled something as he turned away that a stagehand who was standing near said was: ‘“Bull-head- ed luck.” C BN There is a quiet struggle among young sses to get into the cast of “The Earl of Pawtucket,” which is running, apparently forever, in New York. Not only because every part in the comedy is iy what as known as “fat’"—this wo be a good reason in itself and any ambitious voung player might be pardoned for try- ing to get Into a cast with such appeal ing merit—but the truth is that it seems impossible for any girl to appear for mors than a few webks In the character of Ella Seaford without some one carrying her off to the altar. It has happened with two young women already, the last being Miss Jane Fleld, who still play- ing the part, but who will become the bride of a millionaire clubman next month. She met him at a ball at the Waldorf-Astoria not long ago, with Mr and Mrs. Kirke La Shelle, and that tled her engagement with “Pawtucke She-became engaged a few days since and at the expiration of another week she will give up the part of Ella Seaford to some other young woman and devote her self to the preparation of her troussean As the comedy will run all summer, all probability, it is to be suppesed t Ella Seaford will be represented by a succession of maldens, each of whom will be carried off in turn to make some big fellow supremely happy. o0 m . A friend of D’Orsay asked him the ot! day how he liked being a matinee idol. That he is one no one can doubt, for on last Wednesday afternoon there were, by actual count, four hundred young women under twenty-five years of age In the theater proper and a hundred in the lobby The old style of leading man. with soulful dark eyes and thick black ha somewhat out of favor now. D'Ors: with his blue eyes and blonde mustac his musical drawl and savoir faire, has displaced them all. The fact that he does not care for feminine adulation only adds to his fascination for the fair ones. “It's a blooming nuisance, don't know,” he said, in answer to the que as to his opinion of matinee girls. “It thing that would give me the needle, as they say in Whitechapel, if I was not too jolly well sensible to take it seriously. Why, I've written my confounded name a thousand times, bah Jawve, in the past fortnight, just to oblige young persons not yet out of pinafores. 1 ought to give them some coffee or hardbake instead of my name. Why can't they—aw—let me alone? That is what I want to know.” e The Neill-Morosco Enterprises, the new Western theatrical corporation, which in- troduced its first company at the Burbank Theater, Los Angeles, May 17, has se- cured the exclusive rights to a long line of the best recent stage successes, such as “In the Palace of the King,” “Hearts Aflame,” *“Mrs. Dane's Defense,” “A Royal Family,” “Janice Meredith” and “The Way of the World.” The success of the first organization launched by this corporation has been tremendous.