THE ART OF THEATRICAL MAKE-UP

AGENTS

[Frontispiece]

THE ART OF THEATRICAL MAKE-UP

BY

CAVENDISH MORTON

ILLUSTRATED WITH THIRTY-TWO REPRODUCTIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS OF THE AUTHOR BY HIMSELF

LONDON ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK 1909

REPRODUCED AND PRINTED BY

BALLANTYNE AND CO. LTD., TAVISTOCK STREET, LONDON, W.C.

[v]

PREFACE

Looking back on the method of production of this book, it seems to me not to have been so much a matter of toil as a natural growth. It seems to have produced itself, for my earliest photographs were taken as records of the different characters that I played. These studies, as they were published from time to time in the Sketch, Tatler, Playgoer and other papers, aroused a certain amount of interest.

Frequent requests from brother actors for me to help them with their make-ups convinced me that my instruction was desired.

As the material accumulated, I constantly heard the suggestion reiterated, "Make a book of it."

A profound interest in psychology, physiognomy, or characterisation, the art of the stage, and photography, has enabled me to study the subject from different standpoints, and to gain an entirely individual impression of it.

Many years spent on the stage in, among others,[vi] Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree's, Mr. Forbes Robertson's, and Sir Charles Wyndham's companies, the privilege of watching Sir Henry Irving, Sir Herbert, Charles Warner, Franklin McLeay, and M. de Max making up, and, in some instances, hearing their methods of work explained, has supplemented the knowledge gained by my own experience.

[vii]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

[1]

CHAPTER I

THE ART OF THE STAGE

How ephemeral is this art of the stage, how evanescent. Words quickened by the voices of the actors tremble for a moment in the sympathetic atmosphere of the theatre and are then engulfed in silence. This in its turn gives way to newly spoken words. Out of the illustrative gestures and actions of the players are pictures formed which each new phase of the unfolding of the play destroys. Joy gives place to grief, and grief to joy, gentleness to rage, and love to hate.

The passions wax and wane. The scenes fade even as the lantern pictures vanish from the white screen. The curtain rustles down, severing those bonds of sympathy that the play has forged. Actors and audience turn away to pick up the links in their own particular chains of destiny.

How ephemeral, how evanescent.

Yet that universal law of compensation yields its recompense: for no art is more enduring in its influence.

Most men are so profoundly impressed by the drama that the recollection of a performance will abide for years;[2] indeed some are so sensitive to its effect that their whole lives are coloured or are even changed by the sensation created by one fine bit of acting.

That the art of the theatre should be so persuasive is in no way strange, for it makes a joint appeal through the portals of two senses simultaneously. The eye and ear alike are charmed.

In this joint appeal lies the very essence of the theatrical. The actor by the heat of his passions fuses picture and poem.

Dumb poetry and petrified graphic art come to life.

Like an electrode the actor stands collecting the currents of dramatic beauty that pervade the world, and discharges them into the tense atmosphere of the theatre.

It is the player's duty not only to lend life to the part that he plays, he should present the character in such a way that the spirit of each member of his audience moves in accord with it. If his appeal is strong it will weld the minds of his individual spectators into a kind of composite intelligence.

I once saw a concave reflector made of small pieces of flat looking glass. These tiny mirrors multiplied the light placed in front a thousandfold.

To the actor a well-crowded theatre should seem just such a reflection. In the mind of each member of his audience, should he, as in a glass, be mirrored.

This unanimity of emotion is brought about by presenting certain physical and mental facts relative to character[3] in such a way that they may be grasped by a number of variously constituted people.

A play is woven of a warp-like plot running from beginning to end of the composition, constituting its chief strength; and woof-like characterisations which wend their way in and out through the plot binding it together and filling in gaps with the subsidiary interest of nicely contrasted types.

The character as it leaves the playwright's hand is a broadly outlined drawing. The subtleties of manner and expression and those slight but significant inflections of voice are the creation of the actor. He vitalises the lines with his spirit.

I have often thought that the appeal to the brain through the sense of seeing is stronger than that through the sense of hearing. I have been brought to this conclusion by the fact that people are deeply moved by the contemplation of a play in a language that they are totally ignorant of, or by the dumb show of a pantomime.

Is not half the battle won when one perfectly physically realises the character to be impersonated?

To assist in this half of the conflict this book was written.

[4]

CHAPTER II

ON DESIGNING THE CHARACTER

Let us suppose that you have read the play, you know what the plot is about, and the part has been given to you to study. Perhaps the author describes the peculiarities of the character, or it is traditional to make up for the part in a given way. Failing help in either of these directions you must rely upon your own imagination.

Read the part through, trying to think of the character as distinct from yourself. Pretend that you are listening to the words spoken by another. Decide what kind of a man would say such words and behave in such a manner. What are his moral and mental characteristics?

Visualise him, think of him not as an element of the play but as one who on his journey through life has been accidentally involved in the dramatic conflict. Get acquainted with him, try to know something of his past life, for time and experience will have left their marks upon him.

This fiction once designed, the next task is to see how it will fit.

Study yourself with a view to finding out what traits you[5] have in common with the character. Note the qualities that must be accentuated and those that must be subdued.

Alter the character of your face by changing the expression of your mouth and eyes.

Always remember that as little paint should be used as possible, for though it is easy to disguise by a thick mask of pigment, the heavier the make-up the more difficult it is to convey sensitive emotional variations by the changing expression of the face.

If it is possible to arrange your own hair in a way suitable to the character so much the better, for though it may in no way seem more real than a wig it will prove infinitely more comfortable.

I remember before M. de Max played l'Aiglon, he stayed in the house for weeks while his dark locks were slowly dyed a brilliant red. On the night following the production he told me disgustedly that people had criticised his wig.

When you look as much like the part as you possibly can without the aid of artificial disguise, begin to apply nose paste, paint and powder. Obliterate one characteristic and accentuate another. Alter the shape of your nose, paint your eyebrows out and redraw them, altering their form. Change the colour of the skin. Cover eyelashes and lips with paint and note the difference. Put shadows round the eyes, sinister lines running from the nostrils. Wrinkle your face, and where the lines would naturally come apply the paint. Add a roughly shaped beard or moustache of crepe hair if the character demands it.

[6]

Stand at a distance from the mirror, study the result. This work is similar to that of the painter when he makes preliminary sketches, it helps to get one's ideas into a concrete form.

It should be done over and over again until the character is perfectly developed.

If a wig is required, discuss it with the best wig-maker that you can find. Should you be able to draw supply him with a rough sketch. Failing this you will probably be able to find an illustration or an engraving which, though it may not be exactly what you want, will help you to explain your idea.

I have made a large collection of different engravings of interesting types, and the work of the old caricaturists I have found very suggestive.

Visit the wig-maker two or three times before the wig is completed, it will then be made under your direct supervision and will probably be more successful in every way.

Remember that the character of a face depends on three elemental qualities, form, colour and expression. The first two are almost constant, the third is susceptible to perpetual change.

The grave, the gay, the ascetic, the debauched, the æsthetic, the philistine, the spiritual and the material, each will have his distinguishing colour and form. The expression will depend much on the various moods portrayed during the action of the play.

Make the characterisation as definite as possible, for the[7] size of the stage demands a certain breadth of treatment. Do not forget the distant patron of the pit and gallery, for though his monetary contribution is humble he atones for this by the warmth of his enthusiasm.

If the result of these preliminary efforts seem discouraging, remember a good wig and suitable costume will help materially.

[8]

CHAPTER III

THE ILLUSTRATIONS

In making all the pictures in the book studies of my own head I was actuated by a number of reasons. The first and most important of which was the possibility of showing what a wide variety of distinctive types could be realised with the help of make-up by one man.

If the book had been illustrated by a number of pictures of various actors, the student would have had to make in each instance certain allowances for the individuality of each performer.

My desire was to present only one face under different disguises.

I was also influenced by the fact that my own face was the one that was ever nearest to my hand—the one I was most familiar with, and also the one that I could take the greatest number of liberties with.

Another reason was, that as the photographer who was to produce the prints, I could always depend upon the attendance of the model. I was sure that I could always induce myself to patiently pose before my own camera.

The taking of the photographs has been fraught with[9] considerable difficulty. The playing of the dual rôle of actor and photographer seems to have cultivated two distinct personalities—personalities who I am sure felt the liveliest interest one for the other; in fact nothing ever came between us but the camera.

I am moved less by pride than by a desire for sympathy when I say that single-handed I did every detail of the work. Sometimes it was necessary to photograph one character nine times over before a suitable negative was obtained.

Can you imagine the feelings of Othello or King Lear who, after having worked up to the most intense moment of the play, paused rigidly before the camera, that it might do the worst, then on retiring to the dim ruby light of the dark room, still made up remember, to wrestle with the difficulties of development, found that when the negative was finished it was a failure and would have to be done again.

I feel a great debt of gratitude to Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree, Mr. Charles Warner, Mr. R. G. Knowles, Mr. Carton, More-Park, and many other actors and painters who have unfailingly encouraged me with the bounty of their interest and their expressions of willingness to assist me with the work.

I can best express the admiration I feel for the work of my friend M. Gustav by calling attention to the perfection of the wigs that appear in the following prints. I believe that he has brought wig-making to a pitch never realised before. Much of the effectiveness of my impersonations is in no small measure due to his sympathy and skill.

[10]

I selected for my illustrations, in most cases extreme types; sometimes presented in a more or less exaggerated manner. I felt that thus I might cover a wide area and make the book the more suggestive.

The student will find but little difficulty in modifying a character, or if he requires only certain features, in selecting them. Or he may combine certain peculiarities of one make-up with the peculiarities of another, and thus produce an additional type.

Many of the characters slightly modified will prove valuable as studies for modern personalities.

With the exception of those prints where the make-up is shown in progressive stages I have striven to exhibit the character under the stress of one of the most emotional moments of the play, illuminated in a manner that would be desirable to its stage presentation.

I have done this because I felt that a character was essentially a medium of emotional expression, and that by presenting them in this way the sensitiveness and flexibility of the characterisation might be better realised.

Or in other words, that the disguise in no way impaired the ability to show a great variety of facial expressions.

When I originally contemplated the work I feared that it would be difficult to get a sufficient number of contrasted types to make the book interesting, but I found, once under way, there was literally no end to the quaint creatures that clamoured to be noticed. It became a hard matter to select, and I have only introduced to the public[11] a few of the odd personalities I have grown so intimately acquainted with. Each has been to me a living creature, who was able to let me see the world from his peculiar standpoint.

I had such an impulse in the work, that at one time I felt that I should not be able to rest until I had exhausted all human creation. Aye, perhaps not even then, but would have to wend my way through all the animal kingdom, till I ended up by trying to make myself look like inanimate things such as icebergs or lumps of coal.

The undertaking has not been altogether free from pathetic associations. It was done during the period of my father's last illness, and the pleasure that he derived from the visit of each new character cheered, I am sure, his last hours on earth.

[12]

CHAPTER IV

THE MATERIAL

When we consider the materials, we realise that the art of make-up is more or less allied to the art of the painter; although the kinship may not be of a very intimate character. It resembles in many particulars coloured statuary, with this great difference, that in the case of the actor the statue is alive.

If the student were to have a bust of himself accurately modelled by a sculptor and were to apply the various articles of make-up to it, he would get almost precisely the same effects that he would get from his own face, minus, of course, the ability to change its expression.

I have such a bust, and I find that I can do much of my experimenting upon my dumb counterpart without either its skin or temper ever resenting the torture. Though I do not think that many will care to follow my example in this particular I offer the suggestion as being of some value.

Among the men who paint pictures you rarely find two who use exactly similar materials, or work in precisely similar ways, in fact methods of work and the tools used[13] depend largely upon individual differences of temperament. So in the following pages I trust that it may be felt that I am suggesting in a more or less stimulating way, and that I am not dogmatising.

If we again compare it with painting we shall find that we get the most valuable hints from that branch which is known as the impressionist school.

The enormous size of the proscenium, which is really only the frame of our canvas, and the distance which is ever between the spectator and the stage, demand great breadth of treatment.

I have known an actor to strive for almost the same delicacy of detail as would be found in a highly finished portrait, and although the illusion from the front of the house was not positively wrong, much of his work was never realised; in fact with one quarter the effort he could have produced a result which would have been infinitely more telling.

Doubtless many who read this book will have had a wide experience in making up, and will have cultivated preferences for one selection of materials or another. To them I submit my method and its results. To the man who comes to the subject with an absolutely unbiassed mind, I would suggest that he begin his work with a very limited range of colours, for in this way he will materially simplify the problem.

The following is a list of the grease-paints that may be purchased from any dealer in make-up:

No. 1, lightest flesh colour; 1-1/2, slightly darker; 2, pale;[14] 2-1/2, medium; 3, slightly darker; 3-1/2, sunburnt; 4, a ruddy deep flesh colour; 5, bright yellow; 5-1/2, dark; 6, darker yellow; 7, brown; 8, Armenian bole; 9, dark sunburn; 10, brown; 11, burnt umber; 12, black; 13, reddish brown; 14, chocolate; 15, brick red; 16, dark brown; 20, white; carmine 1, 2 and 3.

Of these the colours that prove most valuable in my hands are 2-1/2, 3, 10-13, yellow, white and black, and the following lining sticks; light blue, dark blue, yellow, lake brown, and carmine 2.

I never use any one of these colours in its crude state, but by blending produce the exact shade that I deem desirable.

The palm of the left hand proves an admirable palette; its heat readily melting the paint.

A draughtsman's stub may be used for putting in the wrinkles and softening the shadows, but I have found the most suitable instrument for this work is a small modelling tool such as is used for modelling in wax. It has one end slightly curved and then brought to a knife-like edge. It is not only valuable for applying colours, but enables one to deftly finish the shaping of nose-paste.

A small quantity of nose-paste, or, what I have found work better, toupee paste, will be required. A bottle of spirit gum for applying false beards and moustaches. Crepe hair of various colours. Powders I mix for myself that I may get a tint to match any given make-up. The foundation of this is of a light pink to which I add a little Armenian bole and yellow. Powders, however, of[15] various hues may be bought which will save the trouble of mixing. A good powder puff, a box of dry rouge, a hare's-foot, a pair of scissors and a comb. Vaseline, cold-cream, cocoa butter, or my preference, olive oil, for removing the make-up will complete the outfit.

Various elaborate make-up boxes of tin are on the market, but any small box will answer. The one that always accompanies me on my travels is an antique case of oak, and was no doubt used for generations as a receptacle for jewels. It has but one tray, which has sufficient space for the reception of the various paints. The lower part is reserved for crepe hair, powder and the other requisites.

[16]

CHAPTER V

ON APPLYING THE MATERIAL

The actual work of making up must fall under the two headings of Form and Colour. We will consider first

COLOUR

The colour of a man's skin, or his complexion, may be indicative of his nationality or race. For example, consider the distinctive colourings of the English, Italians, Japanese, Indians, or Africans. It may suggest his age. For youth has its own peculiar freshness; the healthy meridian of life is florid, while pallor comes with old age. We may also vividly realise temperament from the tint of the skin. The sad, the morbid, and the mean are usually sallow; the happy and generous, brilliantly hued. Trades and professions also dye their followers to their liking. The monk is bleached in the cloister, the soldier or sailor is browned by the sun and wind.