Between the opening and the closing ensembles the writer has to figure on at least one, and maybe more, ensembles, and a solo and a duet, or a trio and a quartet, or other combinations of these musical elements.  These demands restrict his plot still further.  He must indeed make his plot so slight that it will lead out from and blend into the overshadowing stage effects.  Necessarily, his plot must first serve the demands of scenery and musical numbers—­ then and only then may his plot be whatever he can make it.

The one important rule for the making of a musical comedy plot is this:  The plot of a one-act musical comedy should be considered as made up of story and comedy elements so spaced that the time necessary for setting scenery and changing costumes is neither too long nor too short.

More than one dress rehearsal on the night before opening has been wisely devoted to the precise rehearsing of musical numbers and costume changes only.  The dialogue was never even hastily spoken.  The entire effort was directed to making the entrances and exits of the chorus and principals on time.  “For,” the producer cannily reasons, “if they slip up on the dialogue they can fake it—­but the slightest wait on a musical number will seem like a mortal wound.”

If you recall any of Jesse L. Lasky’s famous musical acts, “A Night at the Country Club,” “At the Waldorf,” “The Love Waltz,” “The Song Shop” (these come readily to mind, but for the life of me I cannot recall even one incident of any of their plots), you will realize how important is the correct timing of musical numbers.  You will also understand how unimportant to a successful vaudeville musical comedy is its plot.

4.  Story Told by Situations, Not by Dialogue

As there is no time for studied character analysis and plot exposition, and little time for dialogue, the story of a musical comedy must be told by broad strokes.  When you read “A Persian Garden,” selected for full reproduction in the Appendix because it is one of the best examples of a well-balanced musical comedy plot ever seen in vaudeville, you will understand why so careful a constructionist as Edgar Allan Woolf begins his act with the following broad stroke: 

The opening chorus has been sung, and instantly an old man’s voice is heard off stage.  Then all the chorus girls run up and say, “Oh, here comes the old Sheik now.”

Again, when Paul wishes to be alone with Rose, Mr. Woolf makes Paul turn to Phil and say, “What did I tell you to do?” Then Phil seizes Mrs. Schuyler and runs her off the stage into the house.

Mr. Woolf’s skill built this very broad stroke up into a comedy exit good for a laugh, but you and I have seen other exits where the comedy was lacking and the mechanics stood out even more boldly.

So we see that the same time-restriction which makes a musical comedy plot a skeleton, also makes the exits and entrances and the dialogue and every happening structurally a skeleton so loosely jointed that it would rattle horribly—­were it not for the beautiful covering of the larger effects of costumes, scenery and music.  Therefore the overshadowing necessity for speed makes admissible in the musical comedy broad strokes that would not be tolerated anywhere else.