The Vaudeville Clown: Brush Up Your Shakespeare!
by Constance Semponis
Clowns have a long history of humor and entertainment, especially in Vaudeville. But Vaudeville, like many forms of entertainment, has borrowed it’s style and routines from none other than William Shakespeare. One such aspect that both Shakespeare and Vaudeville shared was the clown. But the Vaudevillian clowns, like the Shakespearean clowns, are not your average circus performers. In fact, only a handful of them actually used makeup and costumes to enhance their acts. Some clowns, such as W. C. Fields, had the classic bowler hat with the long overcoat and unshaven face while others, such as the Marx Brothers, looked like well dressed school boys who let their words do most of the humor.
W. C. Fields started performing his twenty-one minute show to rough audiences large and small in the Vaudeville circuit. He made hardly any money and lived in one of those rough tenement houses that most early performers did. But what was unique about his act was that most of it was ad-libbed and hardly any of it planned at all. W. C. Fields describes his routine in the book American Vaudeville As Seen by it’s Contemporaries, which was edited by Charles W. Stein: “The act was a rough affair. I had no routine except as to the tricks. My comedy business was all dragged in as it occurred to me. I did whatever I thought would appear funny. If I remembered what had gone well at the last performance I worked it in, but generally I didn’t remember.” (Fields, 248)
But this form of improvisation only proved beneficial for Fields, especially since he never spoke once in his act. This was done not only for comedic affect, but also as a useful gimmick since Fields was a known stutterer. As he says in his interview, “You may notice that I stutter badly when I talk, and therefore concluded that I would go through my act without saying a word. I have always been glad that I reached this decision. It was a great help to me when I went to Europe a year ago last December. I played in Germany, France, Russia and England, and I never had to learn any foreign language, because I never said a word from the minute I went on stage till I left it.”
Then why mention Fields and his silent act when the Shakespearean Clowns were so witty and verbal? Simply because the most famous clown in Shakespeare actually never spoke one word. In Hamlet’s “Alas, poor Yorick” speech in Act V, Scene I of Hamlet, we get a full description of who Yorick was, how hilarious his jokes were and the vibrant personality he had. With Hamlet’s speech, Shakespeare allows the audience to picture this poor dead clown and understand how funny he was without hearing one joke from him. Just another brilliant aspect of Shakespeare that has helped future entertainments.
But while comedians such as Fields worked more for the visual laugh, others attracted audiences that wanted wit more than physicality. Shakespeare himself created his Fools and Clowns purely through their clever speeches and wit. They may have been comic relief, but they were also the characters in the play who were not afraid to speak candidly to the audience and the other characters about a situation. Feste in Twelfth Night has a perfect example when speaking with Cesario (Viola in disguise).
Viola. Save thee, friend, and thy music: dost thou live by
thy tabour?
Feste. No, sir, I live by the church.
Viola. Art thou a churchman?
Feste. No such matter, sir: I do live by the church; for
I do live at my house, and my house doth stand by
the church.
(3.1.1237-40)
Who could possibly argue with dialogue like that? Yet Feste also had a talent of song that helped his humor. Like Feste’s songs and dialogue, Vaudeville clowns used wording and music to make their acts popular. And even without the act, the performer themselves often depicted this silly personality offstage too. Such a musical clown was Fred Allen, who when not being a funny man onstage was, according to witnesses, a very hot-tempered man offstage. “If the orchestra could not play his wife’s ballad properly, if the tempo of his dance music was too fast or too slow, if the drummer didn’t catch his pratfalls with a well-timed roll and crash or tear the cloth on cue as he pretended to rip his trousers, the actor fought with his wife and sulked in his dressing room until the next show,” (Stein, 252).
Along with this temper came Allen’s belief that he was one of the most intelligent musicians in Vaudeville and he bragged about it at rehearsals to the orchestra, which proved to be a big mistake on his part. These orchestras came to dislike the uptight clown so much that they would take it upon themselves to write notes to future orchestra members on his sheet music. “At rehearsal in a new town, the small-timer, sensing that the orchestra wasn’t too friendly, examined his music. It explained everything. The drummer in the last town had written on the drum part, “This act is lousy.” The clarinet player had written, “He died here.” The cornet player had summed everything up by simply writing one word: “Stinks”,” (Stein, 254)
So there may have been the bitter performers every once in a while, but none beats the decision making of another. Groucho Marx in his interview with ... goes to describe one particular man’s performance when he was first starting out. Marx and his three brothers, Harpo, Chico, and Zeppo, had just started off in Vaudeville with hardly any laughs at all. But the clown he describes here certainly did.
“One of these actors wore a very small mustache and very large shoes, and while a big, buxom soprano was singing one of Schubert’s lieder, he was alternately spitting a fountain of dry cracker crumbs in the air and beaning her with overripe oranges. By the end of the act the stage was in shambles.” Later on in the interview, Marx explains a conversation he had with this unknown performer about taking up a job in Hollywood that went something like this:
“ ‘When do you start?’ I asked.
‘I’m not going to take it,’ he answered.
‘Why not?’ I asked, astonished. ‘You’re only getting fifty a week now. Don’t you like money?’
‘Of course I do,’ he replied (and, boy did he prove it later in life!). But look, boys. I can make good for fifty dollars a week, but no comedian is worth five hundred a week. If I sign up with them and don’t make good, they’ll fire me. Then where will I be? I’ll tell you where I’ll be. Flat on my back!’ “ (Marx, 284)
This interview just goes to show you that even Charlie Chaplin had a Feste attitude at that!
Bibliography
1. Shakespeare, William; Twelfth Night or What You Will
In text citation: (3.1.1237-40)
2. Stein, Charles W.; American Vaudeville As Seen by it’s Contemporaries; Knopf Inc. 1984.