In the days of old-time vaudeville, booking agents and theatre managers were constantly seeking 'dumb acts'. This term had nothing to do with a performer's intellectual appeal (or lack of it). 'Dumb act' was the vaudeville industry's recognised term for any turn which didn't sing or speak onstage. There was a steady market for dumb acts: these were usually booked as the opening turn on a vaudeville bill, going onstage while the audience were still straggling in, taking off their coats, unwrapping their toffees and so forth. If an act didn't speak or sing, the audience felt less need to pay attention. Animal acts -- unless the act included an onstage trainer who addressed the audience -- qualified as dumb acts, even if the performers barked.
'Laura Comstock's Bag-Punching Dog' is not particularly entertaining nor edifying, yet this film preserves for posterity precisely the sort of act that easily earned a steady living in vaudeville. The film opens with a brief two-shot of 'Mannie' (apparently a purebreed boxer) and Miss Comstock, an attractive and fashionably-dressed woman. She nods to the camera, and this is the last we see of Miss Comstock, who apparently was Mannie's owner ('trainer' seems inappropriate) but not part of the onstage performance.
From here on, it's the dog's show all the way. Mannie 'performs' (if that's the word) 'in one', meaning his entire turn is confined to the narrow apron at the very front of the stage, in front of a painted backdrop depicting a tranquil forest. (Is it really a good idea to have trees onstage in a dog act?) Mannie ferociously attacks a large rubber inflatable punchbag, the ancestor of what we would now call a 'speed bag'. Nothing in Mannie's technique suggests any regimen of training or discipline: he's simply a dog attacking an object. Although the dog is a 'boxer' (ha ha), there's nothing pugilistic in his approach: he simply flings himself at the bag, sinks his jaws into it and worries it. I was disappointed that he didn't puncture it. The bag is suspended from a line somewhere up in the flies. At one point, Mannie brings the bag down far enough for us to see the pulley holding the bag; I found this the most interesting moment in the brief film.
In old-time vaudeville, genuinely BAD acts could still earn a decent living, getting steady bookings on the vaudeville circuits. Even the classiest vaudeville houses offered two complete shows per day, and in dodgier houses the acts might find themselves performing three-a-day, four-a-day, or much worse. Theatre managers wanted acts known as 'chasers': meaning, closing acts which (deliberately or otherwise) were so awful that audiences would get up and leave (thus vacating seats for the next show) rather than lingering in their seats and seeing two performances of the same bill for one admission price. Laura Comstock's act is a dog (in two senses) and a dumb act (in two senses), but it's very possible that her pooch Mannie found himself in more demand as a 'chaser' at the close of the bill than as a 'dumb act' in the opening spot. This short film is more useful for what it reveals about the structure of vaudeville than as entertainment. I wonder if this dog performed in any fleapits (boom,boom!). I'll rate Miss Comstock's act 4 out of 10. Good dog!
'Laura Comstock's Bag-Punching Dog' is not particularly entertaining nor edifying, yet this film preserves for posterity precisely the sort of act that easily earned a steady living in vaudeville. The film opens with a brief two-shot of 'Mannie' (apparently a purebreed boxer) and Miss Comstock, an attractive and fashionably-dressed woman. She nods to the camera, and this is the last we see of Miss Comstock, who apparently was Mannie's owner ('trainer' seems inappropriate) but not part of the onstage performance.
From here on, it's the dog's show all the way. Mannie 'performs' (if that's the word) 'in one', meaning his entire turn is confined to the narrow apron at the very front of the stage, in front of a painted backdrop depicting a tranquil forest. (Is it really a good idea to have trees onstage in a dog act?) Mannie ferociously attacks a large rubber inflatable punchbag, the ancestor of what we would now call a 'speed bag'. Nothing in Mannie's technique suggests any regimen of training or discipline: he's simply a dog attacking an object. Although the dog is a 'boxer' (ha ha), there's nothing pugilistic in his approach: he simply flings himself at the bag, sinks his jaws into it and worries it. I was disappointed that he didn't puncture it. The bag is suspended from a line somewhere up in the flies. At one point, Mannie brings the bag down far enough for us to see the pulley holding the bag; I found this the most interesting moment in the brief film.
In old-time vaudeville, genuinely BAD acts could still earn a decent living, getting steady bookings on the vaudeville circuits. Even the classiest vaudeville houses offered two complete shows per day, and in dodgier houses the acts might find themselves performing three-a-day, four-a-day, or much worse. Theatre managers wanted acts known as 'chasers': meaning, closing acts which (deliberately or otherwise) were so awful that audiences would get up and leave (thus vacating seats for the next show) rather than lingering in their seats and seeing two performances of the same bill for one admission price. Laura Comstock's act is a dog (in two senses) and a dumb act (in two senses), but it's very possible that her pooch Mannie found himself in more demand as a 'chaser' at the close of the bill than as a 'dumb act' in the opening spot. This short film is more useful for what it reveals about the structure of vaudeville than as entertainment. I wonder if this dog performed in any fleapits (boom,boom!). I'll rate Miss Comstock's act 4 out of 10. Good dog!
