Exhibitors Herald (Dec 1924-Mar 1925)

10 BETTER THEATRES SECTION OF February 28, 1925 Cueing By IRIS ETHEL VINING Organist, Granada Theatre, San Francisco, Calif. Comedies IN a previous article written for “Better Theatres” on the art of organ accompaniment of motion pictures, I made the observation that playing comedies is the most difficult of all picture accompaniments. To play a comedy successfully and be just as funny, musically speaking, as the picture, the organist must not only “have everything” as an organist, but be blessed with a keen sense of humor. A sense of humor is a gift of the gods and something to be cultivated carefully, like a worth while friendship. Don’t take my word for it. Just try to make a lot of people laugh. It isn’t that they don’t want to laugh — they do and are willing to pay good money for the provocation. But just try, anyway. It’s like finding a two-letter synonym for gladness — not so easy. * * * In addition to being equipped with a keen sense of the humorous, the ridiculous, the grotesque, the absurd, the idiotic, the droll, the comical and the ever-laughable, the organist who essays to contribute to and enhance the fun of a screen comedy must needs have an organ with all sorts of accessories and tricks. You need castanets, tambourine, drums, tympani, I cymbals, Chinese wood block sirens, storm effect, telephone bell, fire gong, auto horn, piano, harp, chimes. Given all these little appurtenances and refinements and the necessary know-how, and you can make the thing talk and tickle laughs out of the people in the dark of the house. After you have all these things you should have also an intimate acquaintance with popular music. You must know it by title and by heart, and, on top of all that, be able to play it with a nice precision. Plav two or three measures as written and fake the rest and you fool only yourself. Right away the manager and the public will put you down for a joke, but a rather dolorous one. * * ♦ Then you must know how to apply a title to a scene. That calls for judgment and a well balanced taste. You should be careful always to select numbers which are well known, and you must make sure what you play fits musically into your interpretation. Once upon a time I heard a well meaning organist play the Fifth Nocturne because the screen title read “Friday Night.” As 0. Henry would say, words are capable of interpretations. The same of music. Take “All Alone” for instance. Rather sad as written, but it can be twisted to be downright funny. I played that number three times in one program, and each time it fetched a laugh. When Reginald Denny, playing the hypochondriac in “Oh, Doctor!” found himself deserted by the girl, the maid, the butler and even the dog. I played it as Irving Berlin wrote it, as a ballad with a sob in every line. Later, with Felix the cat marooned on a back fence, I played it as a fox trot. The third time, when friend wife went to the country, as a waltz of gay abandon. That, I submit, was better than “My Wife’s Gone to the Country” would have been, for the reason that the latter has served its purpose and should be allowed to rest in peace. * * * As this is written with the idea that it may be helpful to motion picture theatre organists, the best way, I think, to make out a case is to outline a comedy’s cues. Let’s consider “All Night Long,” a Harry Langdon funny which is inherently funny but can be made more so if all the angles are worked properly. At screening, you’ll remember, Harry is revealed asleep in a deserted theatre. Open with a snore, a trick done by holding down five low notes of the vox humana without tremolo and pumping the swell chest. Then play a snatch of “All Alone.” Slip quietly into “My Sweetie Went Away.” When Harry reads the note from his wife saying she has gone home with a “wide-awake gentleman.” As he leaves the theatre he meets the janitor with whom he buddied in France. “My Buddy” is pat there. They discuss old times — “Remembering.” When Harry is revealed peeling potatoes, play first a snatch of “Over There,” then “Pack Up Your Troubles.” The ex-sergeant janitor invites Harry to dinner at the home of his demoiselle. “Come On Along.” Harry falls in a doorway— “Stumbling.” The French girl appears— “Cherie.” She vamps Harry — “I’m Just Wild About Harry.” She kisses him — “Kiss Me Again.” Burlesque this latter bit, making it dramatic. * * * Harry falls out of a window and does a funny slow motion dance. Play the “Spring Song,” with birds, harps and cou cou effect, and you’ll get your reward from a delighted audience. Comes the air raid. Precede the scene in anticipation, siren warning the people of danger. Use agitated music, working in “A Kiss in the Dark.” The audience won’t get the reason for the latter until the lights go on and Harry and Cherie are discovered in a long embrace. The enraged sergeant chases Harry out to the tune of “Jealous.” There is a fade-back to the theatre, discovering Harry and the Janitor again, and “Remembering.” “All Night Long” affords much opportunity for funny war stuff — pizzicato, sneaky — business of getting tremendously quiet, then springing. Jumpy stuff catching the shells as they fly past Harry’s head. A whizzer whistle turns the trick there. Harry saves the Colonel to the tune of “My Hero” and the sequence fades back to the theatre again — “Remembering” once more. Of course, all these tunes must be worked in smoothly, with musically correct modulation of key. * * * When the scene fades back to Cherie’s home, very majestically the organ strikes up “I’m a New Kind of Man.” This is not understood by the audience until Cherie opens the door and Hariy stands there in a funny, ill fitting uniform, wearing the insignia of a second lieutenant— a new kind of man. The sergeant registers anger to the tune of “Somebody Stole My Gal,” and the ensuing chase, which calls for “Runnin’ Wild,” suddenly is broken by a bugle call when Harry and the Sergeant stop to salute a superior officer. This breaks the monotony of a chase, brings out the humor of a sudden broken bout, adds humor to a funny situation and gives the desired military effect — a mere bugle call injected into a lot of hurry. The business of the sergeant sneaking up on the chap he thinks is Harry is cued with stealth and a crash of the wood block and drums when he crowns the wrong man — the colonel. Once more the scene fades back to the theatre to the tune of “Remembering.” The title reads “You got the girl and I got the hoosgow,” and the organ strikes up the waltz ballad “The Pal That I Love Stole the Gal That I Loved,” played as a fox trot. This adapts the tempo and the character to fit the scene. * * =K A short fight is played to action and the {Continued on page 30)