Which Shows Why Librettists Pick at the Coverlet


The trouble about musical comedy, and the reason why a great many
otherwise kindly and broadminded persons lie in wait round the corner
with sudden scowls, their whole being intent on beating it with a
brick the moment it shows its head, is that, from outside, it looks
too easy.

You come into the crowded theatre and consider that each occupant of
an orchestra chair is contributing three or four cents to the upkeep
of a fellow who did nothing but dash off the stuff that keeps the
numbers apart, and your blood boils. A glow of honest resentment fills
you at the thought of anyone having such an absolute snap. You little
know what the poor bird has suffered, and how inadequate a reward are
his few yens per week for what he has been through. Musical comedy is
not dashed off. It grows--slowly and painfully, and each step in its
growth either bleaches another tuft of the author's hair or removes it
from the parent skull altogether.

The average musical comedy comes into being because somebody--not the
public, but a manager--wants one. We will say that Mr. and Mrs.
Whoosis, the eminent ballroom dancers, have decided that they require
a different sphere for the exhibition of their talents. They do not
demand a drama. They commission somebody to write them a musical
comedy. Some poor, misguided creature is wheedled into signing a
contract: and, from that moment, his troubles begin.

An inspiration gives him a pleasing and ingenious plot. Full of
optimism, he starts to write it. By the time he has finished an