Zarmo, international juggler and equilibrist

Zarmo (Joseph Henry Zarmo, 1868/69-after 1926), international juggler and equilibrist. Zarmo so impressed the young Charlie Chaplin that the latter recalled his perfectionism and performing skills in his Autobiography, first published in 1964.
(cabinet photo: J.B. Wilson, 389 State Street, Chicago, Illinois, circa 1893)

‘ZARMO, a clever and noted juggler, closed with M.B. Leavitt’s ”Spider and Fly” Co. March 8th in the Northwest and has returned to town. Zarmo is an exceptionally skilful equilibrist performing very difficult feats in jugglery which balancing himself head downwards on the top of a champagne bottle. He is an industrious worker and is whiling away his odd moments in practising a new act on the sensational order.’
(The New York Clipper, New York, Saturday, 1 April 1893, p. 50d)

‘JOSEPH H. ZARMO has sailed for England, where he is under contract at the Empire Theatre [Leicester Square], London.’
(The New York Clipper, New York, Saturday, 25 November 1893, p. 608d)

‘NOTICE.
Just Arrived, per S.S. St. Paul. America’s Favorite, Europe’s Surprise, London’s Success. ZARMO. ZARMO JUGGLES ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING.
ZARMO, the Quaint.
ZARMO, the Balancer.
ZARMO, the Inventor.
ZARMO, the Dancer.
ZARMO, the Comique.
ZARMO, the Droll.
ZARMO, the Inverted.
ZARMO, the Eccentric.
ZARMO, the Wonderful.
ZARMO, the Hit.
ZARMO, the Only Real Funny JUGGLER
ZARMO, the only upside down JUGGLER
ZARMO, the only burlesque JUGGLER
ZARMO, the new grotesque JUGGLER
‘Is all his latest comic creations, including the Three Headed Boxing Novelty, the funniest thing extant; the laughing success of THE CENTURY. Week commencing Dec. 23 [1895], starring at Tony Pastor’s Theatre, New York City; Jan. 13 [1896], Keith’s, Philadelphia; Jan. 20, Keith’s, Boston; Feb. 10, Keith’s Union Square Theatre, New York. ZARMO HAS A FEW IMMEDIATE VACANT DATES. Proprietors in search of a novelty will do well to secure this set at once.
‘ZARMO, 107 Fourth Avenue, New York City. N.B. – COME AND LAUGH.’
(The New York Clipper, New York, Saturday, 21 December 1895, p. 672c, advertisement)

‘OUR LONDON LETTER… 16 June [1906]
‘Zarmo, who is as well known in America as he is in this country, is thinking of paying a visit to the States, after an absence of eight years. He played three seasons with the Tony Pastor road show, besides appearing in the best vaudeville houses. Zarmo tells me that he has never ceased practising since he returned from his last trip to America, and has now the juggling game down to a fine point.’
(The New York Clipper, New York, Saturday, 30 June 1906, p. e)

Zarmo (Joseph Henry Zarmo, 1868/69-after 1926), international juggler and equilibrist. Zarmo so impressed the young Charlie Chaplin that the latter recalled his perfectionism and performing skills in his Autobiography, first published in 1964.
(cabinet photo: J.B. Wilson, 389 State Street, Chicago, Illinois, circa 1893)

‘ZARMO, a clever and noted juggler, closed with M.B. Leavitt’s “Spider and Fly” Co. March 8th in the Northwest and has returned to town. Zarmo is an exceptionally skilful equilibrist performing very difficult feats in jugglery which balancing himself head downwards on the top of a champagne bottle. He is an industrious worker and is whiling away his odd moments in practising a new act on the sensational order.’
(The New York Clipper, New York, Saturday, 1 April 1893, p. 50d)

‘JOSEPH H. ZARMO has sailed for England, where he is under contract at the Empire Theatre [Leicester Square], London.’
(The New York Clipper, New York, Saturday, 25 November 1893, p. 608d)

‘NOTICE.
Just Arrived, per S.S. St. Paul. America’s Favorite, Europe’s Surprise, London’s Success. ZARMO. ZARMO JUGGLES ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING.
ZARMO, the Quaint.
ZARMO, the Balancer.
ZARMO, the Inventor.
ZARMO, the Dancer.
ZARMO, the Comique.
ZARMO, the Droll.
ZARMO, the Inverted.
ZARMO, the Eccentric.
ZARMO, the Wonderful.
ZARMO, the Hit.
ZARMO, the Only Real Funny JUGGLER
ZARMO, the only upside down JUGGLER
ZARMO, the only burlesque JUGGLER
ZARMO, the new grotesque JUGGLER
‘Is all his latest comic creations, including the Three Headed Boxing Novelty, the funniest thing extant; the laughing success of THE CENTURY. Week commencing Dec. 23 [1895], starring at Tony Pastor’s Theatre, New York City; Jan. 13 [1896], Keith’s, Philadelphia; Jan. 20, Keith’s, Boston; Feb. 10, Keith’s Union Square Theatre, New York. ZARMO HAS A FEW IMMEDIATE VACANT DATES. Proprietors in search of a novelty will do well to secure this set at once.
‘ZARMO, 107 Fourth Avenue, New York City. N.B. – COME AND LAUGH.’
(The New York Clipper, New York, Saturday, 21 December 1895, p. 672c, advertisement)

‘OUR LONDON LETTER… 16 June [1906]
‘Zarmo, who is as well known in America as he is in this country, is thinking of paying a visit to the States, after an absence of eight years. He played three seasons with the Tony Pastor road show, besides appearing in the best vaudeville houses. Zarmo tells me that he has never ceased practising since he returned from his last trip to America, and has now the juggling game down to a fine point.’
(The New York Clipper, New York, Saturday, 30 June 1906, p. e)

Marie Tyler, English music hall comedienne and pantomime principal boy

Marie Tyler (1872?-1905), English music hall comedienne and pantomime principal boy
(photo: H.R. Willett, 5 Bristol Bridge, Bristol, late 19th Century)

This real photograph Ogden’s Guinea Gold cigarette cards records Marie Tyler’s appearance in the pantomime Cinderella, which was produced on Boxing Day, 26 December 1896 at the Pavilion Theatre, Mile End Road, East London. The cast also included Arthur Alexander, Rezene and Robini, Alice Lloyd, Julian Cross, Daisy Wood, Maitland Marler, Amy Russell, Lennox Pawle, Blanche Leslie, Arthur Bell, Florence Hope, La Petite Mignon, the Celeste Troupe and the Staveley Quartette.

Pavilion Theatre ‘In place of the usual Demon’s cave in which the plot of the pantomime is often hatched, the pantomime Cinderella opens in ”The Abode of Father Time,” a setting of clocks of every description, each showing the time in a different country. Topical allusions are plentiful through the piece, one referring to the East-end water companies finding special favour. Another leading scene is ”The Golden Ball-room,” in which electric lights are employed. As Prince Perfect, Miss Marie Tyler was yesterday warmly welcomed, and as Dandini, the valet, and Cinderella, Miss Alice Lloyd and Daisy Wood appeared for the third year as Pavilion pantomime favourites. Arthur Alexander, Julian Cross, and Rezene and Robini also took part in the production.’
(Lloyd’s Weekly Newspaper, London, Sunday, 27 December 1896, p. 2b)

‘Miss Marie Tyler, a lady we do not remember to have seen before in a London pantomime, does excellent work as Prince Perfect, and justifies her selection for such an important part. She gives a slightly melodramatic tinge to the Prince’s scenes, and her earnestness and conscientiousness enhance the point of her lines. Her vocal opportunities are wisely utilised in singing ditties that have been made popular at the [music] halls, one of the most successful being ”The song that will live forever.”’
(The Era, London, Saturday, 16 January 1897, p. 11b)

‘PRESENTATION. – On Tuesday night Miss Marie Tyler, who is playing principal boy in the pantomime, Cinderella, at the Pavilion Theatre, Mile-end-road, was presented with a magnificent bouquet of flowers, with long silk ribbons of pink and yellow. The presentation was made by the conductor at the finish of her soldier’s son, ”The Song that will Liver for Ever.”’
(The Era, London, Saturday, 30 January 1897, p. 10b)

* * * * *

Marie Tyler’s real name was Marian Frances Elizabeth Crutchlow. She was born about 1872 at Bethnal Green, East London, one of the children of Thomas Crutchlow, a wholesale confectioner, and his wife, Frances Elizabeth. She was married at the Registry Office, Brixton, South London, on 3 November 1897 to the music hall singer, Leo Dryden (1863-1939) whose son by his previous liaison with Mrs Charles Chaplin was the actor and film director, Wheeler Dryden (1892-1957). The latter was therefore half-brother to Sydney and Charlie Chaplin.

Marie Tyler died after a short illness on 27 June 1905.

José Collins interviewed, 1916

José Collins (1887-1958), English actress and singer, as she appeared in the Fox film, A Woman’s Honor, United States, 1916
(photo: Fox, USA, 1916)

FAMOUS DAUGHTER of a FAMOUS MOTHER
Pictures Interviews José Collins in Her Dressing Room.
‘Who has forgotten that amazing woman Lottie Collins, who made a name in one night, and in a few weeks had all the world singing the haunting ditty, “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay”?
’ José is following in her mother’s footsteps on the high road to fame, and so quickly is she reaching her goal – by the stage-hall-cinema route – that we simply could not delay any longer in securing a chat with her for PICTURES.
‘Shown into her dressing-room at Daly’s Theatre, where she is nightly a star in The Happy Day, we beheld a medium-sized figure, full of vim and energy, with a pair of wonderful brown eyes, large and lustrous, a row of perfectly even white teeth, and a dainty little dimple, in a face wreathed in smiles, framed with a mass of blue-black hair.
Pictures Privileged.
‘“I simply hate being interviewed,” she warned us; “but as it is for PICTURES, and I never tire of talking about my film work, I guess I’ll have to fire away. My experience is limited; I only started playing in films a few months before I left America, so I only had time to do three pictures – The Light That Failed (Pathé [1916]), The Impostor (World Film [1915]), and A Woman’s Honour (Fox [1916]). For the latter film we went to Cuba and Palm Beeches [sic], where the sun was so strong that we could only work for an hour and a half each day. The part I took in A Woman of Honour was that of a little Italian peasant girl, afterwards becoming a society woman. An Italian market was erected in the studio, and the real peasants from the foreign quarter were brought in with their donkeys and barrows. It was a wonderful sight.”
‘“Didn’t you miss the footlights, the audience, the music – in fact all the splendour of the stage?” we asked.
‘“Not a bit. Everyone was so kind – the directors so charming – that, although I found it rather hard work at first, I was never so happy as when playing before the camera. I had a beautiful dressing-room, and when not working I could rest on a comfortable divan or sing and play to myself.”
‘“Yes,” we interrupted, “it is a pity your beautiful voice does not reflect on the screen.”
‘“It has been tried in America, but it was not a great success.
‘“My salary was $200 per week,” continued Miss Collins, “and I had almost signed a contract for a year at the same salary when I suddenly had a longing to see dear old England again, and all the money in America could not have kept me there.”
Another Star to Twinkle Here!
‘”The Impostors has been shown in this country, we believe?”
‘“Yes, it is the only one so far; I expect to do some film work over here, but have not settled yet.”
‘“Did you have any thrilling experiences in pictures?”
‘“Oh, yes. In one film I had to jump from a height of thirty feet into the sea. While I was waiting for my rescuer, who was a very poor swimmer, I was being battered against rocks by a wild and overpowering sea, and when I eventually reached the shore I was a positive wreck.”
‘“What was your impression when you first saw yourself on the screen?”
‘“Oh, dreadful! I hated myself. All I could say was, ‘Do I do that? Am I like that?’ Every little mannerism came out. In one film the director shouted to me – ‘Cry, Miss Collins, please cry!’ I took him at his word, and for Art’s sake burst into a flood of tears, nearly sobbing my heart our. I had not cried like that since I was a tiny child, and only the congratulations of my producer compensated for the wretched nervous headache I suffered after.
‘“Just before I sailed [for England] a dinner was given for me, and many well-known film-artistes were present including Charlie Chaplin. Oh! No; that was not the first time we had met – we appeared on the halls together in this country. Charlie and José are real pals.”
‘“Miss Collins, please!” It was the call-boy.
‘The actress rose to go. “I’m sorry, but I really must fly. Give my love to all your readers. Good-bye!”
‘the delightful little lady disappeared, and as we made our way out of the theatre we heard strains of song. It was Miss Collins enchanting the audience with her melodious voice.’
(Pictures and the Picturegoer, London, Saturday, 18 November 1916, p.150)

José Collins (1887-1958), English actress and singer, as she appeared in the Fox film, A Woman’s Honor, United States, 1916
(photo: Fox, USA, 1916)

FAMOUS DAUGHTER of a FAMOUS MOTHER
Pictures Interviews José Collins in Her Dressing Room.
‘Who has forgotten that amazing woman Lottie Collins, who made a name in one night, and in a few weeks had all the world singing the haunting ditty, “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay”?
’ José is following in her mother’s footsteps on the high road to fame, and so quickly is she reaching her goal – by the stage-hall-cinema route – that we simply could not delay any longer in securing a chat with her for PICTURES.
‘Shown into her dressing-room at Daly’s Theatre, where she is nightly a star in The Happy Day, we beheld a medium-sized figure, full of vim and energy, with a pair of wonderful brown eyes, large and lustrous, a row of perfectly even white teeth, and a dainty little dimple, in a face wreathed in smiles, framed with a mass of blue-black hair.
Pictures Privileged.
‘“I simply hate being interviewed,” she warned us; “but as it is for PICTURES, and I never tire of talking about my film work, I guess I’ll have to fire away. My experience is limited; I only started playing in films a few months before I left America, so I only had time to do three pictures – The Light That Failed (Pathé [1916]), The Impostor (World Film [1915]), and A Woman’s Honour (Fox [1916]). For the latter film we went to Cuba and Palm Beeches [sic], where the sun was so strong that we could only work for an hour and a half each day. The part I took in A Woman of Honour was that of a little Italian peasant girl, afterwards becoming a society woman. An Italian market was erected in the studio, and the real peasants from the foreign quarter were brought in with their donkeys and barrows. It was a wonderful sight.”
‘“Didn’t you miss the footlights, the audience, the music – in fact all the splendour of the stage?” we asked.
‘“Not a bit. Everyone was so kind – the directors so charming – that, although I found it rather hard work at first, I was never so happy as when playing before the camera. I had a beautiful dressing-room, and when not working I could rest on a comfortable divan or sing and play to myself.”
‘“Yes,” we interrupted, “it is a pity your beautiful voice does not reflect on the screen.”
‘“It has been tried in America, but it was not a great success.
‘“My salary was $200 per week,” continued Miss Collins, “and I had almost signed a contract for a year at the same salary when I suddenly had a longing to see dear old England again, and all the money in America could not have kept me there.”
Another Star to Twinkle Here!
‘”The Impostors has been shown in this country, we believe?”
‘“Yes, it is the only one so far; I expect to do some film work over here, but have not settled yet.”
‘“Did you have any thrilling experiences in pictures?”
‘“Oh, yes. In one film I had to jump from a height of thirty feet into the sea. While I was waiting for my rescuer, who was a very poor swimmer, I was being battered against rocks by a wild and overpowering sea, and when I eventually reached the shore I was a positive wreck.”
‘“What was your impression when you first saw yourself on the screen?”
‘“Oh, dreadful! I hated myself. All I could say was, ‘Do I do that? Am I like that?’ Every little mannerism came out. In one film the director shouted to me – ‘Cry, Miss Collins, please cry!’ I took him at his word, and for Art’s sake burst into a flood of tears, nearly sobbing my heart our. I had not cried like that since I was a tiny child, and only the congratulations of my producer compensated for the wretched nervous headache I suffered after.
‘“Just before I sailed [for England] a dinner was given for me, and many well-known film-artistes were present including Charlie Chaplin. Oh! No; that was not the first time we had met – we appeared on the halls together in this country. Charlie and José are real pals.”
‘“Miss Collins, please!” It was the call-boy.
‘The actress rose to go. “I’m sorry, but I really must fly. Give my love to all your readers. Good-bye!”
‘the delightful little lady disappeared, and as we made our way out of the theatre we heard strains of song. It was Miss Collins enchanting the audience with her melodious voice.’
(Pictures and the Picturegoer, London, Saturday, 18 November 1916, p.150)

José Collins (1887-1958), English actress and singer, as she appeared in the Fox film, A Woman’s Honor, United States, 1916
(photo: Fox, USA, 1916)

FAMOUS DAUGHTER of a FAMOUS MOTHER
Pictures Interviews José Collins in Her Dressing Room.
‘Who has forgotten that amazing woman Lottie Collins, who made a name in one night, and in a few weeks had all the world singing the haunting ditty, “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay”?
’ José is following in her mother’s footsteps on the high road to fame, and so quickly is she reaching her goal – by the stage-hall-cinema route – that we simply could not delay any longer in securing a chat with her for PICTURES.
‘Shown into her dressing-room at Daly’s Theatre, where she is nightly a star in The Happy Day, we beheld a medium-sized figure, full of vim and energy, with a pair of wonderful brown eyes, large and lustrous, a row of perfectly even white teeth, and a dainty little dimple, in a face wreathed in smiles, framed with a mass of blue-black hair.
Pictures Privileged.
’“I simply hate being interviewed,” she warned us; “but as it is for PICTURES, and I never tire of talking about my film work, I guess I’ll have to fire away. My experience is limited; I only started playing in films a few months before I left America, so I only had time to do three pictures – The Light That Failed (Pathé [1916]), The Impostor (World Film [1915]), and A Woman’s Honour (Fox [1916]). For the latter film we went to Cuba and Palm Beeches [sic], where the sun was so strong that we could only work for an hour and a half each day. The part I took in A Woman of Honour was that of a little Italian peasant girl, afterwards becoming a society woman. An Italian market was erected in the studio, and the real peasants from the foreign quarter were brought in with their donkeys and barrows. It was a wonderful sight.”
’“Didn’t you miss the footlights, the audience, the music – in fact all the splendour of the stage?” we asked.
’“Not a bit. Everyone was so kind – the directors so charming – that, although I found it rather hard work at first, I was never so happy as when playing before the camera. I had a beautiful dressing-room, and when not working I could rest on a comfortable divan or sing and play to myself.”
’“Yes,” we interrupted, “it is a pity your beautiful voice does not reflect on the screen.”
’“It has been tried in America, but it was not a great success.
’"My salary was $200 per week,” continued Miss Collins, “and I had almost signed a contract for a year at the same salary when I suddenly had a longing to see dear old England again, and all the money in America could not have kept me there.”
Another Star to Twinkle Here!
’“The Impostors has been shown in this country, we believe?”
’“Yes, it is the only one so far; I expect to do some film work over here, but have not settled yet.”
’“Did you have any thrilling experiences in pictures?”
’“Oh, yes. In one film I had to jump from a height of thirty feet into the sea. While I was waiting for my rescuer, who was a very poor swimmer, I was being battered against rocks by a wild and overpowering sea, and when I eventually reached the shore I was a positive wreck.”
’“What was your impression when you first saw yourself on the screen?”
’“Oh, dreadful! I hated myself. All I could say was, ‘Do I do that? Am I like that?’ Every little mannerism came out. In one film the director shouted to me – ‘Cry, Miss Collins, please cry!’ I took him at his word, and for Art’s sake burst into a flood of tears, nearly sobbing my heart our. I had not cried like that since I was a tiny child, and only the congratulations of my producer compensated for the wretched nervous headache I suffered after.
’"Just before I sailed [for England] a dinner was given for me, and many well-known film-artistes were present including Charlie Chaplin. Oh! No; that was not the first time we had met – we appeared on the halls together in this country. Charlie and José are real pals.”
’“Miss Collins, please!” It was the call-boy.
‘The actress rose to go. “I’m sorry, but I really must fly. Give my love to all your readers. Good-bye!”
‘the delightful little lady disappeared, and as we made our way out of the theatre we heard strains of song. It was Miss Collins enchanting the audience with her melodious voice.’
(Pictures and the Picturegoer, London, Saturday, 18 November 1916, p.150)