Subject: [removed] Digest V2003 #135
From: "OldRadio Mailing Lists" <[removed]@[removed];
Date: 3/31/2003 6:41 PM
To: <[removed]@[removed];

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                            The Old-Time Radio Digest!
                              Volume 2003 : Issue 135
                         A Part of the [removed]!
                                 ISSN: 1533-9289


                                 Today's Topics:

  Struts and Frets; On Interpretation   [ Charlie Summers <charlie@[removed] ]

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Date: Mon, 31 Mar 2003 19:36:23 -0500
From: Charlie Summers <charlie@[removed];
To: [removed]@[removed]
Subject:  Struts and Frets; On Interpretation

STRUTS AND FRETS

by Harry Bartell

 ++++

On Interpretation

My grandfather was a gentleman of the old school - the very old school. He
was born in New York in 1856, a shocking 147 years ago, and always said that
as a boy he had seen the Lincoln funeral train. He and I had no major
disagreements until I was about five years old. So far as I have been able to
determine, his family came to this country from Cracow which is again in
Poland but which seems to have been in almost every country in Europe at one
time or another. I can't establish whether he may have accidentally inherited
some Prussian genes or whether he was heavily influenced by Erich von
Stroheim silent films but there were elements of both in his behavior.

I couldn't provide a comeuppance but my grandmother did. She preceded
Superman with the X-ray eyes bit. They played two-handed pinochle or dominoes
almost every evening of the more than fifty years that they were married and
I think her win-loss percentage was something like 80-20. She had the uncanny
ability to know where every card or every tile was located and I often
dreamed of sponsoring her in Las Vegas.

But to get to the reason I started this in the first place, Grandpa was
always singing bits and pieces of Gilbert and Sullivan shows, not too well as
I recall, especially [removed] Pinafore. One of his favorites was the line
"Things are seldom what they seem, skim milk masquerades as [removed]" and
then there was something about jackdaws strutting in peacocks' feathers. This
came to mind in connection with what was intended and what was perceived in
the arts.

Presented with a role which he has never read, or seen performed, the actor,
in conjunction with the director builds a character piece by piece to present
a person who has no particular strengths or weaknesses. That is his version
of what the script indicates. Two friends, sitting next to each other in the
audience at a performance on Tuesday disagree strongly about what they saw.
To one, the character seemed devious, sly, untrustworthy. To the other, he
was somewhat dim-witted, pleasant, helpful. Neither of the friends' judgments
corresponds to what the actor had in mind. Wednesday night, a man and his
wife watch a performance of the same show and decide that the character had
no particular strengths or weaknesses. How does this happen?

Anyone who has ever appeared on stage in a production that ran for more than
one performance knows that audiences, for some mysterious reason which I have
never heard nor seen explained, vary like individuals. Why hundreds of people
reacting in concert seem to develop a persona is beyond me but I know it
happens. And it is equally true that the actor is going to vary from night to
night no matter how disciplined he is or how hard he tries not to. That still
does not account for the phenomenon of totally different perceptions of a
performance on a given night.

The visual arts are subject to the same variations in perception. Suppose,
for example, that as a photographer you are walking along a stream and come
across a spot where the light and shadow on a rock makes a pleasing
arrangement. You stop and shoot the scene. Some critic will see your print
and go into ecstasy over your portrayal of the rushing life force battling
against all barriers. Or a splash of color against a white wall looks nice.
You shoot it, and the critic decries your promotion of violence in a world
already too frequently exposed to violence.

The only conclusion I can draw from these examples is that when it comes to
art forms there are no absolutes. It's a case of one man's meat, etc. Each of
us sees, hears, and reacts tightly enclosed in a cocoon of self. You play all
the parts in the show. You don't like the kind of person the actor is
portraying, ergo his performance changes color. You like sexy jokes so Lum
and Abner is a dumb show. You like big band music so Bruce Springsteen is
just a lot of noise. So, you and I don't really see or hear the same thing
because we're not the same person. And, by the same token we are each not the
same person over time. As we age, society changes and we change with it, at
least to some extent. Vincent van Gogh never sold a picture in his lifetime.
His work was considered undisciplined junk. Now some of his so-called minor
works sell in the millions. The pictures haven't changed a bit. Perhaps, over
time, intention and perception have grown closer together. It may be that the
artists and their audiences need that kind of separation in order to
understand one another.

If that is true, the newcomer to hearing and collecting Old Time Radio has a
distinct advantage. He or she hears a show from a different perspective,
unhampered by the personal tastes, experiences, and manners of fifty years
ago. Some radio shows stand the test of time. Others don't. It is interesting
to speculate on how much a production starting with the same premise would
resemble the original if it were done today. Re-creations might approach the
original but then we run into the same problem as in the theater: normal
variations in the performer and the audience. At any rate, today's listener
probably comes closer to being in synch with the intention of the performers
than did those listening to the live broadcasts. And, I have one advantage
over most of the listeners. I know what the intent was. Now I can tell
whether it was achieved.

- ------------------
Harry Bartell maintains that his major accomplishment as a professional actor
for forty years was to survive with his mind, morale and marriage intact.

Born in 1913 in New Orleans, he grew up in Houston and graduated Phi Beta
Kappa from Rice University in 1933. After a stint at Harvard Business School
and a couple of years forced labor in a department store he moved to
Hollywood and stayed there for the next fifty-one years. Three seasons at the
Pasadena Playhouse led to work in 185 radio series and 77 TV series plus a
dozen or so properly forgettable motion pictures.

This article will be archived at:

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End of [removed] Digest V2003 Issue #135
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