Dear PICTURE SHOW Readers,
It is very gratifying, I find, to be given an opportunity now and again personally to write to you. In my own lengthy experience on both stage and screen, like my fellow artistes. I, too, have received letters criticising certain situations, certain parts I have played, and the manner in which I have played them. I have also been "hauled over the coals" by certain of you for having particular artistes to support me in various pictures. In fairness to myself I would say here and now that these letters have arrived among a great quota of others thanking me for the entertainment I have provided, and also for various characters I have brought to the screen. I must in turn, thank not one but both sides. But in doing so, on behalf of my fellow artistes and myself, I must take to task those of you who write us the first type of letter. In putting up the old age-old excuse that the power of the final word is not left to most stars to choose story, supporting cast, director, ad lib, we do so in the full knowledge that such applies to most of us. But we do not always refer the blame to the people who produce our films. They come in for similar criticism, when their desire, among others, is to perform the many extremely difficult tasks demanded of them with foresight and courage.

Let me explain. When I make a picture, I dare not hope that, when released, it will please everybody. It can't. Here is the way most actors, writers and producers look at the matter. When they make a film that entirely satisfies their own views and feelings as to ideal cinematic fare, they know full well that it will not be everybody's liking, in spite of their own outlook. It is a matter of individual taste whether a picture is good, bad or indifferent, after all. And if we are going to do our jobs well we have got to cater for the majority, while hoping eventually to rope in a good quota of those fans whom our efforts in the past might not have roused to any notable heights of approbation.

Thank you for bearing with me. And remember, your interest in me is always greatly appreciated.
Yours Sincerely.

"Crazy Schoolmaster" Comedian Who is a Famous Astronomer.

Here's good news. Will Hay will soon be seen in his first picture. It will be a full length production adapted from Pinero's 'The Magistrate' For over twenty years this really funny comedian has been seen all over the country in endless variations of his original music-hall sketch. He writes all his own material and it has been said that he has as many varieties of this crazy theme as Heinz has soups. Every music-hall patron knows him as the crazy schoolmaster but very few people indeed, especially those connected with theatre-land , know much about this actor in private life.

In fact, Mr William Hay is hardly on speaking terms with Will Hay, the dilapidated master of St.Michael's. He obviously regards him as a valuable business associate, but definitely a foolish fellow. I discovered this when visiting the Gaumont-British studios during his screen debut. When I arrived Will Hay was looking as crazy as ever. Dressed in a very moth eaten frock tail coat and with an ancient top hat perched unsteadily on his head, he attempted to ride a bicycle which was probably quite roadworthy in those far-off days before the advent of the motor car. Everyone in the studio, except Mr Hay, was in fits of laughter. In fact, it was only this comedian who appeared to be taking the thing at all seriously. "I look upon acting as a job, and when I'm working I put all I know into it," he explained to me when the bicycle shot had been successfully taken. "But I don't bother about the theatre when I get off the stage."

I was talking to Mr William Hay and it was difficult to get him to discuss Will. In fact, he seemed rather reluctant to talk about himself at all. Suddenly, however, I discovered that he been an air pilot for years. "Oh, yes, I do a lot of flying." he said rather wearily, as if these facts about himself could not possibly be of any interest to anyone else. "I once owned  a couple of machines, but I don't get as much time for flying as I used to. Astronomy, my stage work, and now films - they are taking up most of my time." He must have been an extraordinary little boy, this Mr William Hay and Will Hay. William was studious, fond of anything mechanical, and always making some sort of gadget connected with astronomical science.

"My first job was as an engineer," he told me, "but I had been doing concert work ever since I was a child, and eventually I decided to take it up professionally. Entertaining appealed to me in a way, and it seemed to offer an excellent opportunity to make a good living. I used to sing a schoolmaster's song when I started," he went on, "and it was partly this, and partly my sister who is a schoolmistress and supplied a lot of useful material and suggestions, that gave me the idea of my first music-hall sketch."

The director wanted Mr Hay to be crazy again, so putting my notebook away, I said good-bye. "By the way, don't mix-up astronomy with astrology," he shouted after me. "People are always connecting these two subjects for some extraordinary reason. I don't believe in superstition, and I am quite sure no astronomer possibly could. Our minds are too scientific. " I felt like one of the pupils of St.Michael's as I left Mr William Hay, but I had seen enough of Will Hay's screen activities to feel confident that before long this comedian will be one of our greatest comedy assets in British pictures.

 September 18th 1930.

Tops of the Bill.Will Hay.
Will Hay brings us laughs with machine gun rapidity; and, personally, I know nothing more utterly ludicrous on the stage today than Hay, complete with a wig and gown, and armed with a cane, trying to keep in order his cheeky boy and his silly, deaf old man, dressed up as a boy. The irascible argument about "Ware" and "where" always starts me non-stop laughing in the new boy sketch; and I do not know anything more comic than the scene in which these three champions of foolery set out to catch a beetle in the cause of entomology.The old man part arose in this particular sketch, which is a second edition of an earlier one.Writing to me,Will Hay said:-

'Entomology'  is a new version of 'Find the Beetle.' When I produced 'Find the Beetle' it was necessary to enlarge the company and I vainly searched for another boy. Being unable to find one I decided to engage a man who could be made up as a boy.The effect of the boy's make-up on the man was so ludicrous that it gave me the idea of having a very old man in a Eton suit, and so was born the elderly scholar. Many boys have played the boy's part, and many men have played the elderly scholar's part.The present boy is Will Hay, Junior, who stepped in to deputise for one of the regular boys at a moment's notice at the Coliseum, and put up such a good performance that I decided that acting was in the blood, and young Will Hay has played the boy's part ever since.

The old man is at present played by Gordon Saunders, who took the part when it was vacated by Bert Platt, a nephew of mine. Mention should be made of the fact that my wife played the part of the old scholar at a moment's notice one evening at the Chiswick Empire, owing to one of the company being indisposed.

I am a man of many hobbies. I have been a boxer, long distance swimmer, a rifle shot, and an air pilot, and have won many prizes and cups in these branches of sport. I am a keen amateur cinematographer and have been a lifelong student of astronomy. Of all these hobbies, perhaps flying is my main love. I have been a member of the London Aeroplane Club since its formation in 1925, but my association with flying goes back to 1910, when I built and experimented with a glider. Naturally, in common with many other comedians, I have always had a desire to play serious parts on the stage, but so far no one has put the opportunity my way.

There does not seem to be any immediate reason why anyone should or why Will Hay should want to start making people glum and sigh instead of making them laugh. I suppose we shall get tired of him as a schoolmaster some day, but I expect  he will then be able to take up some other humorous profession.

Bad Turn?
One gets so used to seeing Will Hay as the stupid schoolmaster that it is still surprising to notice that he is really a very thoughtful and well informed fellow, with a catholic interest in modern affairs and activities. He revealed to me this week that I did him a bad turn when I began writing this column."Just when you started." he said,"I was getting ready a book about my studies of the stars. I had decided to call it 'My Friends the Stars.'But as you got in first with the title, I altered mine to 'Through My Telescope.' Perhaps you really did me a good turn; I am sure my book would have been confused with a volume about the stars of screen and stage, instead of the constellations above!"

Change Wanted.
Will has a great success in his latest film,"Boys Will Be Boys" at the Tivoli on Monday. He wrote the story himself as he does most of his material. Films are taking up most of his time and interest nowadays. He told me that he is not likely to do any stage work for some time. "I have found that it is almost impossible to keep a stage company together at the same time as I am doing the films," he said, "so I am leaving the stage alone for a bit." In "Boys Will Be Boys" Will repeats his familiar schoolmaster study, but he thinks for his next film he should make a change. So do I. What do you think?
 
 
 

"What I Like About Film Work"
"What I like about film work is that it is constructive," says Will Hay, now making "Good Morning Boys." at Gainsborough Studios. "On the music-hall stage you have to broaden everything, exaggerate it. For the films it's just the reverse." continues the famous humorist. "You see, your theatre or music-hall audience expects something theatrical, whereas your film audience must be given the illusion of reality. Even if your situations and characters are far-fetched, the whole idea of the film is to give that semblance of reality which the music-hall needn't - mustn't have."

My Schoolmaster Sketch
"Take my schoolmaster sketch-I tried to give the idea of the old man who is really past his job, but essentially it was a caricature, a burlesque, and you couldn't translate it literally to the screen. My schoolmaster has undergone a change for "Good Morning Boys." Besides, the humour of the screen's a different art. You've got to remember that your're acting for a universal audience, not just a particular town or district. On the stage you can suit your gags to your audience-I give 'em stuff at the Palladium - scientific gags that I couldn't use in Halifax, let's say, to get a laugh, and vice versa. But you couldn't do that on the films."

"Microscope"
"I put everything under my in-built microscope. Every line has to be scrutinised because in a sketch everything is concentrated and you can't afford to have a word or a laugh out of place. The Palladium is the best sort of theatre to begin a sketch. You can be sure of a receptive audience and if you can perfect what you are trying to do there, you've nothing to worry about on tour. Provincial audiences are impressed by getting something that's been at the Palladium.

Will Hay,Film Star
Besides being  a music-hall star and wireless star and an astronomer of quite serious status and a private air pilot, Will Hay is now going to be a film star as well. I saw his first picture "Those Were The Days" one night this week, and I don't blame him. Any man who can be so amusing on the screen in his first effort would be committing an offence against the public by not going on with the good work.

He Thinks It's Grand.
Will assures me that he will take up films seriously now. "I'll make time somehow." he said. "The work is grand. I think it appeals to me particularly because I like making things. You know, I am always constructing something at home-my place is a bit like a scientist's workshop- and I find that doing films is largely a matter of working things out. You go on the studio floor each morning with some new problem to solve - the best way to shoot the scene or a new twist to be given to the dialogue. It's making things all the time .And what a delightful change  from the monotonous round of the stage!"

The comedian who is famous for his schoolmaster sketch talks about what he calls his philosophy of laughter.

Perhaps it would be safer to say "How I hope to make you laugh,"for The Magistrate (Those Were The Days), the picture in which I am present acting at Elstree, is my first screen effort and may be my first introduction to many of you filmgoers. It is to a certain extent because of this venture in a new medium that I am sitting down and trying to work out exactly how it is that I manage to make people laugh - why some things are considered uproariously funny, while others will fail to raise even the faintest smile. I have pondered over the question for years, in a lazy kind of way, and I've evolved a sort of theory about it - what I call my Philosophy of Laughter.

Why Do You Laugh?
In the first place: Why does every one of us laugh at seeing somebody else slapped in the face with a large piece of cold custard pie? Is it because we're all naturally cruel and like seeing people hurt? Or is it because there's something inherently funny in custard pies? Or in faces? Or in throwing things? No. No. and no! The real reason why we laugh is because we are relieved. Because we are released from a sense of fear. Wherever we may happen to be - in the cinema, theatre, or music-hall - we tend to identify ourselves with the actors we are watching. So that when a custard pie is thrown we fear for a moment that it as been thrown at us. And then, immediately we realise that it hasn't hit us, we experience a feeling of relief, and we laugh. The same thing happens when you see somebody sit down hurriedly and unintentionally in the street on a frosty morning. You laugh with relief because it isn't you. But when you see a horse fall in exactly similar circumstances you don't laugh, because it is impossible to identify yourself with a horse. There is no sense of relief, and so there is no cause for mirth; you feel only sympathy.

An Easy Test.
Let me give you an easy little test which you can try for yourselves. Visit somebody with a small child of about two, who doesn't know you. Directly the child comes into the room he'll look frightened at seeing you - perhaps even cry. Then, when he discovers there is nothing very terrible about you, he'll laugh. Why? Not because you've got a funny face. You may have, or you may not, but the child isn't old enough to appreciate that sort of fact. He laughs merely because he was frightened, and is now relieved to find that there was nothing to be frightened about. The great comic artist is the man who can play always on the dividing line, between tears and laughter, and keep us alternately with a lump in our throats and a guffaw on our lips .Do you remember the end of City Lights? In that, Chaplin kept us laughing and crying in turns by sheer artistry. We laughed because he was losing his girl and making a fool of himself - and therefore we were relieved to realise that it was not us. And we cried because we appreciated the depth of Chaplin's sadness and sympathised with him. The laughs that follow tears are always the loudest. A sure-fire way of getting a big laugh is to play a sad scene, and unexpectedly introduce a joke at the end of it. The audience, which has been getting more and more serious, and identifying itself more and more with the actors and their sorrows, suddenly realises that the trouble doesn't concern it, and gives vent to its relief in a huge guffaw.

What about Wisecracks ?
But you will say, what about wisecracks? Well, I think if you analyse them you will find that here, too, the same sense of relief lies at the root of your laughter. A wisecrack is always made at the expense of somebody. Sometimes it is another character who is made a fool of, sometimes the speaker makes fun of himself. But whoever it may be, there is always the same sense of relief at discovering that we are not being made to look silly. At the same time the wisecrack usually introduces a secondary comic factor - that of contrast and incongruity. The part that I am playing in The Magistrate, for instance, is that of a very respectable though rather pompous old man, and all the comedy comes from the absurdly contrasting difficulties in which he finds himself. In I'm No Angel there's a scene where Mae West has a terrific row with her lover's former fiancee. And at the end of it she turns to her servant and says: "Peel me a grape." Just that - yet she gets a roar of laughter from it. This laugh is due to our sense of relief because she has made a fool, not of you or me, but, first, of her rival, by dismissing the scene in such a cavalier fashion, and, secondly, of herself, by making such an apparently inadequate remark. But the laughter is also due to the contrast in the quiet tone of her voice when we expected it to be still passionate, and in the incongruous idea of peeling an object so small as a grape. In this example there is present, too, you will notice, the last important factor in laughter-making: surprise, which is very closely akin to contrast.

It is on the use of surprise and contrast that the Marx Brothers mainly depend. When you see Harpo suddenly try to chew a large lump out of an imposing old lady's leg you laugh partly because the action is so unexpected, partly because of the contrast between the dignity of the old lady and the foolishness of her plight, and partly for the good old basic reason that Harpo is not biting your own leg.

Well, I think that'll be enough for to-day, boys. The class may dismiss. But remember: Next time you see Oliver Hardy receive a grand piano full-tilt on the top of his head, you'll be laughing mainly because you're glad it isn't you. Callous beasts!