Life, 1922-10-05 · page 5 of 36
Life — October 5, 1922 — page 5: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page satirizes the theatrical season's opening, when new plays debut. The illustration shows a chaotic stage scene with various character types performing—dancers, comedians, and dramatic players—watched by an audience below. The poem by G.S.C. mocks predictable theatrical formulas: producers recycling "knock-outs" that never succeed, audiences knowing exactly what they'll see ("well-known puppets and familiar strings"), yet returning anyway because they love the familiar entertainment despite its staleness. The grotesque masks framing the top represent theatrical drama and comedy. The satire targets both producers for repetitive programming and audiences for accepting mediocrity—the entire theatrical industry perpetuating itself through habit rather than innovation.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
N™ comes the season of our great delight When managers their newest wares display. “A novelty!” they cry: “the opening night Will mark an epoch of the stage turday!” We hark; we heed; we seek our tckets twain, And breathless watch each entrant from the wings, And with a thrill of pleasure see again Our puppets dangling from the same old strings. The New Season Each morning as we turn the printed page To read of some successful premiere, A thought ironic fills our heart with rage: They're always knockouts when we are not there. We hasten, on the next succeeding night, When this one acts or that one sweetly sings, And gaze enraptured on the leasant sight well-known puppets and familiar strings. Here Folly capers with her cap and IIs And flouts the Villain with his artful wiles; Sad, slummy persons dance’ with social swells And Sob-stuff treads a measure with Miss Smiles. How good it is to see them all once more, For after all we love the dear old things, And life would really be an awful bore Without our pleasant puppets and their strings. G. S.C comicbooks.com