Part 37 (1/2)

Fundamentally, type characterization rests on a false premise, namely, that every human being may be adequately represented by some dominant characteristic or small group of closely related characteristics. All the better recent drama emphasizes the comic or tragic conflict in human beings caused by many contradictory impulses and ideas, some mutually exclusive, some negativing others to a considerable extent, some apparently dormant for a time, yet ready to spring into great activity at unforeseen moments. Ben Jonson carried the false idea to an extreme when he wrote of his ”humour” comedies:

In every human body, The choler, melancholy, phlegm, and blood, By reason that they flow continually In some one part and are not continent, Receive the name of humours. Now thus far It may, by metaphor, apply itself Unto the general disposition: As when some one peculiar quality Doth so possess a man that it doth draw All his affects, his spirits and his powers, In his confluctions, all to run one way, This may be truly said to be a humour.[2]

Were Ben Jonson's physiology sound, we should have, not occasional cranks and neurotics as now, but a race of nothing else. Today modern medical science has proved the bad physiology of his words, and dramatists have followed its lead.

What gave the type drama its great hold, in the Latin comedy of Plautus and Terence, in Ben Jonson and other Elizabethans, what keeps it alive today in the less artistic forms--broad farce, pure melodrama--is fourfold. Type characterization, exhibiting a figure wholly in one aspect, or through a small group of closely related characteristics, is easy to understand. Secondly, it is both easy to create, and, as Ben Jonson's great following between 1605 and 1750 proves, even easier to imitate. Thirdly, farce and melodrama, indeed all drama depending predominantly on mere situation, may succeed, though lacking individualization of character, with any audience which, like the Roman or the Elizabethan, gladly hears the same stories or sees the same figures handled differently by different writers. Much in the plays of Reade, Tom Taylor, and Bulwer-Lytton[3] which pa.s.sed, in the mid-nineteenth century, for real life, depending as it did on a characterization which barely rose above type, was only thinly disguised melodrama. The recent increasing response of the public to better characterization in both farce and melodrama has tended to lift the former into comedy, the latter into story-play and tragedy. Just here appears a fourth reason for the popularity of characterization by types.

Though entertaining plays may be presented successfully with type characterization only, no dramatist with inborn or acquired ability to characterize, can hold consistently to types. Observation, interpretative insight, or a flash of sympathy will advance him now and again, as Jonson was advanced more than once, to real individualization of character. Contrast the thoroughly real Subtle, Face, and Doll of _The Alchemist_[4] with the types, Ananias and Sir Epicure Mammon; contrast the masterly, if very brief, characterization of Ursula in _Bartholomew Fair_[5] with the mere type of Zeal-of-the-Land Busy. An uncritical audience responding to the best characterization in a play, overlooks the merely typical quality of the other figures. That is, the long vogue of types upon the stage rests upon ease of comprehension, entire adequacy for some crude dramatic forms, ease of imitation, and a constant tendency in a dramatist of ability to rise to higher levels of characterization. Now that we are more and more dissatisfied with types in plays making any claim to realism, the keen distinction first laid down by Mr. William Archer in his _Play-Making_ becomes essential. If type presents a single characteristic or group of intimately related characteristics, ”character drawing is the presentment of human nature in its commonly recognized, understood, and accepted aspects; psychology is, as it were, the exploration of character, the bringing of hitherto unsurveyed tracts within the circle of our knowledge and comprehension.”[6] Mr. Galsworthy in _The Silver Box_ and _Justice_ Mr.

Archer regards as a drawer of character; in _Strife_[7] as a psychologist. He holds Sir Arthur Pinero a characterizer of great versatility who becomes a psychologist in some of his studies of feminine types--in Iris, in Letty, in the heroine of _Mid-Channel_.[8 ]

By this distinction, most good drama shows character drawing; only the great work, psychology.

Drama which does not rise above interest in its action rests, as has been said, on the idea that most people are simple, uncomplicated, and easy to understand. Great drama depends on a firm grasp and sure presentation of complicated character, but of course a dramatist has a perfect right to say that, though he knows his hero--Cyrano de Bergerac, for instance--may have had many characteristics, it is enough for the purpose of his play to represent the vanity, the audacity, and the underlying tenderness of the man. It is undeniable, too, that particular characteristics of ours may be so strong that other characteristics will not prevent them from taking us into sufficient dramatic complications to make a good play. In such a case, the dramatist who is not primarily writing for characterization will present the characteristics creating his desired situations, and let all others go. Conversely, he who cares most for characterization will try so to present even minor qualities that the perfect portrait of an individual will be recognized. Often, however, the happenings of a play may seem to an audience incompatible, that is, the character in one place may seem to contradict himself as presented elsewhere. Just here is where the psychologist in the dramatist, stepping to the front, must convince his audience that there is only a seeming contradiction. Otherwise, the play falls promptly to the level of simple melodrama or farce. That is, the character-drawer paints his portrait, knowing that, if it is well done, its life-likeness will at once be recognized. The psychologist, knowing that the life-likeness will not be readily admitted, by ill.u.s.trative action throws light on his character till his point is won. Our final judgment of characterization must depend on whether the author is obviously trying to present a completely rounded figure or only chosen aspects.

Thus the old statement, ”Know thyself,” becomes for the dramatist ”Know your characters as intimately as possible.” Too many beginners in play-writing who care more for situation than for character, sketch in a figure with the idea that they may safely leave it to the actor to ”fill out the part.” When brought to book they say: ”I felt sure the actor in his larger experience, catching my idea--you do think it was clearly stated, don't you?--would fill it out perfectly, and be glad of the freedom.” Were modesty the real basis for this kind of work, there might be good in it; but what really lies behind it are two great foes of good dramatic writing: haste or incompetence. The interest and the delight of a dramatist in studying people should lie in accurate conveying to others of their contradictions, their deterioration or growth as time pa.s.ses, the outcropping of characteristics in them for which our observation has not prepared us. n.o.body who really cares for characterization wants somebody else to do it for him. n.o.body who has really entered into his characters thoroughly will for a moment be satisfied to sketch broad outlines and let the actor fill in details.

Rarely, however, does the self-deceived author of such slovenly work deceive his audience. It meets at their hands the condemnation it deserves. Such an author a.s.sumes that in all the parts of his play, actors of marked ability and keen intelligence will be cast. Only in the rarest cases does that happen. Many actors may not see the full significance of the outlines. Others, whether they see them or not, will develop a character so as to get as swiftly as possible effects not intended by the author but for which they, as actors, are specially famous. Such a playwright must, then, contend, except in specially fortunate circ.u.mstances, against possible dullness, indifference, and distortion. It is the merest common sense so to present characters that a cast of average ability, or a stage manager of no extraordinary imagination may understand and represent them with at least approximate correctness, rather than so to write that only a group of creative artists can do any justice to the play. Clear and definitive characterization never hampers the best actors: for actors not the best it is absolutely necessary unless intended values are to be blurred.

It frequently happens that a writer whose dialogue is good and who has enough dramatic situations finds himself unable to push ahead. He knows broadly what he wants a scene to be, but somehow cannot make his characters move freely and naturally in it. Above all, the minor transitional scenes prove strangely difficult to write. Of course a scene or act may be thus clogged because the writer is mentally f.a.gged.

If, when a writer certainly is not tired, or when, after rest, he cannot with two or three sustained attempts develop a scene, the difficulty is not far to seek. In real life do we surely find out about people at our first, second, or even third meeting? Only if the people are of the simplest and most self-revelatory kind. The difficulty in these clogged scenes usually is that the author is treating the situation as if it were not the creation of the people in it, and as if a skilful writer could force any group of people into any situation. As Mr. Galsworthy has pointed out, ”character is situation.”[9] The latter exists because someone is what he is and so has inner conflict, or clashes with another person, or with his environment. Change his character a little and the situation must change. Involve more people in it, and immediately their very presence, affecting the people originally in the scene, will change the situation. In the left-hand column of what follows, the Queen, though she has one speech, in no way affects the scene: the situation is treated for itself, and barely. In the right-hand column, the Queen becomes an individual whose presence affects the speeches of the King and Hamlet. Because she is what she is, Hamlet addresses to her some of the lines which in the first version he spoke to the King: result, a scene far more effective emotionally.

_King._ And now princely _King._ But now my Cosin Hamlet, Sonne Hamlet, and my sonne.

What meanes these sad and melancholy moodes? _Ham._ A little more than kin, For your intent going to and lesse then kind.

Wittenberg, Wee hold it most unmeet and _King._ How is it that the unconvenient, clowdes still hang on you.

Being the Joy and halfe heart _Ham._ Not so much my Lord, I am of your mother. too much in the sonne.

Therefore let mee intreat you stay in Court, _Queene._ Good Hamlet cast thy All Denmarkes hope our coosin nighted colour off and dearest Soone And let thine eye looke like a friend on Denmarke, Doe not forever with thy vailed lids Seeke for thy n.o.ble Father in the dust, Thou know'st 'tis common all that lives must die, Pa.s.sing through nature to eternitie.

_Ham._ I Maddam, it is common.

_Quee._ If it be

Why seemes it so perticuler with thee.

_Ham._ Seemes Maddam, nay it is, I know not seemes, _Ham._ My lord, 'tis not Tis not alone my incky cloake the sable sute I weare: coold mother No nor the teares that still Nor customary suites of solembe stand in my eyes, blacke Nor the distracted haviour in Nor windie suspiration of forst the visage, breath Nor all together mixt with No, nor the fruitfull river in outward semblance, the eye, Is equall to the sorrow of my Nor the dejected havior of the heart, visage Him have I lost I must of force Together with all formes moodes, forgoe, chapes of griefe These but the ornaments and That can denote me truely, these sutes of woe. indeede seeme, For they are actions that a man might play But I have that within which pa.s.ses showe These but the trappings and the suites of woe.

_King._ This shewes a loving _King._ Tis sweete and care in you, Sonne Hamlet, commendable in your nature But you must thinke your father Hamlet, lost a father, To give these mourning duties That father dead, lost his, and to your father, so shalbe untill the But you must knowe your Generall ending. Therefore father lost a father, cease laments, That father lost, lost his, and It is a fault gainst heaven, the surviver bound fault gainst the dead, In fillial obligation for some A fault gainst nature, and tearme in reasons To do obsequious sorrowe, but Common course most certaine, to persever None lives on earth, but hee In obstinate condolement, is a is borne to die. course Of impious stubbornes ... etc.

_Que._ Let not thy mother _Quee._ Let not thy mother loose her praiers Hamlet, loose her prayers Hamlet, Stay here with us, go not to I pray thee stay with us, goe Wittenberg. not to Wittenberg

_Ham._ I shall in all my best _Ham._ I shall in all my best obay you madam. obay you madam.[10]

Inexperienced dramatists too often forget that a character who is simply one of several in a scene may not act as he would alone.

Mr. Macready's Bentevole is very fine in its kind. It is natural, easy, and forcible. Indeed, we suspect some parts of it were too natural, that is, that Mr. Macready thought too much of what his feelings might dictate in such circ.u.mstances, rather than of what the circ.u.mstances must have dictated to him to do. We allude particularly to the half significant, half hysterical laugh and distorted jocular leer, with his eyes towards the persons accusing him of the murder, when the evidence of his guilt comes out. Either the author did not intend him to behave in this manner, or he must have made the other parties on the stage interrupt him as a self-convicted criminal.[11]

Stevenson clearly recognized this truth:

I have had a heavy case of conscience of the same kind about my Braxfield story. Braxfield--only his name is Hermiston--has a son who is condemned to death; plainly there is a fine tempting fitness about this; and I meant he was to hang. But now, on considering my minor characters, I saw there were five people who would--in a sense who must--break prison and attempt his rescue. They are capable, hardy folks, too, who might very well succeed. Why should they not, then?

Why should not young Hermiston escape clear out of the country? and be happy if he could with his--But soft! I will betray my secret or my heroine.[12]

When a scene clogs, don't hold the pen waiting for the impulse to write: don't try to write at all. Study the situation, not for itself, but for the people in it. ”The Dramatist who depends his characters to his plot,” says Mr. Galsworthy, worthy, ”instead of his plot to his characters, ought himself to be depended.”[13] If a thorough knowledge of the characters in the particular situation does not bring a solution, study them as the scene relates itself to what must precede in characterization. More than once a dramatist has found that he could not compose some scene satisfactorily till he had written carefully the previous history of the important character or characters. The detailed knowledge thus gained revealed whether or not the characters could enter the desired situation, and if so, how. Pailleron, author of _Le Monde ou l'on s'ennuie_ declared that, in his early drafts, he always had three or four times the material in regard to his _dramatis personae_ ultimately used by him.

Intimate knowledge of his characters is the only safe foundation for the ambitious playwright. It is well-nigh useless to ask managers and actors to pa.s.s finally on a mere statement of a situation or group of situations, without characterization. All they can say is: ”Bring me this again as an amplified scenario, or a play, which shows me to what extent the people you have in mind give freshness of interest to this story, which has been used again and again in the drama of different nations, and I will tell you what I will do for you.” Reduce any dramatic masterpiece to simple statement of its plot and the story will seem so trite as hardly to be worth dramatization. For instance: a man of jealous nature, pa.s.sionately in love with his young wife, is made by the lies and trickery of a friend to believe that his wife has been intriguing with another of his friends. The fact is that the calumniator slanders because he thinks his abilities have not been properly recognized by the husband and he has been repulsed by the wife. In a fury of jealousy the husband kills his innocent wife and then himself.