And my streak of not getting cast continues.
The thing is, I know it is not for lack of ability and that is a huge thing for me to be able to admit that. It's something else. How I look with the lead guy or scheduling things or whatever. It is the intangibles that are out of my control at this point that seem to be getting in my way.
So of course, I look at myself and wonder what I can change about me that will make me more marketable. Should I cut and dye my hair? Should I work out more? Should I start wearing more makeup to auditions? Honestly, I don't know. The one thing that Hollywood would seem to tell me is that I should lose some weight, but even doing that in the past didn't help. So what can I do?
I can keep trying. That's really all I can do at this point, is to just keep trying and hope that someday, something will stick.
Someday...
22 November 2010
16 November 2010
Ego
The actor ego is a very fragile thing. As I'm sure you know, I spent a week or two there thinking I was pretty damn good. As of last night, I'd say about 90% of that feeling has left me.
I'm not saying I doubt my abilities. Not at all. I'm still good at this and I still work really hard and I'm clever so I can figure things out. But one has to wonder sometimes...
We're working on a new scene in class and I met with my scene partners (there are three of us in the scene this time) and we talked about things and one of the main things I need in the scene is a defined relationship with the man, who plays my sister's husband. It's pretty obvious in the text that my character is in love with him and has been for some time and while we were talking, the other woman in the scene suggested that perhaps he and I had slept together at some point and that her character either knew it or was suspicious. And I said no. Because I had thought about it and I know that for me, I feel more sexual tension when I haven't slept with someone. In my own mind, I equate physical intimacy with a separation, largely because the majority of the men I have been intimate with disappear shortly thereafter. And I'm not even talking about sex - a couple have ditched me after an intense make-out session. So because of my own fucked-up-ed-ness about relationships, I thought it would fuel me more as an actor if my brother-in-law and I as characters had not slept together.
And I got my ass handed to me.
I feel like I need to apologize to the other woman I'm working with because I should have listened to her suggestion from the beginning. And I should have listened to the man in the scene because I think he was initially leaning towards us having slept together, too. So I apologize to the both of you that I let my ego get in the way of making the riskier choice.
Because as it turns out, the teacher had us get up into environment. Well, she had me and the guy get up into environment, anyway. The scene is weird - he talks with her for a while (six or seven pages), then I enter and she leaves and I talk to him for a while (six or seven pages), and then she comes back and the three of us are on stage for three pages before our scene ends. So the first half of the scene was the two of them reading at the table. And then I fucked up my entrance and the teacher coached me through it. And then my sister left the scene and they chatted about the work that was just done at the table and the teacher said to get rid of the table because she wanted the two of us up in environment, which was then thrown out the window when we said we hadn't slept together.
And I'm still kicking myself because it is the riskier, scarier choice to say yes, we had slept together. That should be one of those automatic things, like when you're developing a character and you ask yourself if you love the other person in the scene with you, you answer "Yes" because that connects you to them. "Yes and" instead of "No but." You don't have to be intimately in love with them, seeking marriage and a life together, but if you choose to love that person, you are invested in them on some level and therefore, you are invested in the scene. So the answer to the question, "Have you two slept together?" when it is not answered in the script should always be "Yes." Because that is the scarier choice. It should be an automatic that I should have learned back in Tech 1.
And now I'm "shoulding" myself. Man, I'm having a bad morning.
So the teacher had us do the first dozen lines of our part of the scene a couple of times - once as if we hadn't slept together, once as if we slept together last night, and once as if we slept together five years ago - and the differences were remarkable. The difference in how I felt about him, and about my sister, and about myself, and about my relationship with him, and my relationship with my sister and it became glaringly obvious to me (which it probably already was to everyone else in the room) that yes, these characters have slept together at some point. It makes the dialogue make more sense and brings so much more life into the scene.
And my point with this whole entry is, that while I've been on my little ego trip, I seem to have forgotten some very important fundamentals.
Yes, I found them again. And yes, I am the sort of actor who will try different things and who is open to being proven wrong. And I don't know - maybe it was like a therapy session where I had to get there myself instead of having someone tell it to me. But it's frustrating. And it's frustrating, in part, because this is the teacher who I auditioned for and I haven't found out yet if I was cast or not, but I know some people know if they've been cast, so I also felt last night like this was another callback for me. Like she maybe had some doubts about what I would be like to work with so she really wanted to work with me to see if I could handle her show and I don't feel like I did very well. I missed the most obvious, most basic of choices. I felt like I was called out for not having done my homework. I did homework. Just the wrong assignment. But also, this is class. I should not be putting the pressure of trying to win a role in a completely unrelated play on my classroom discovery. This was essentially a first read - a first real read where all of us had read the script, knew (at least sort of) who our characters were. This was exactly the time to fuck up and try different things. This was "play space" and I turned it into "pressure of performance" space and I fell flat on my face doing so.
Fuck.
So I'm frustrated today. I know I can do this. I just need the opportunity to do it and if I continue to perform at this level (even though I know I am capable of performing at that level), I will not get the opportunity. I need to step up my game. Or something.
"Yes, and..."
I'm not saying I doubt my abilities. Not at all. I'm still good at this and I still work really hard and I'm clever so I can figure things out. But one has to wonder sometimes...
We're working on a new scene in class and I met with my scene partners (there are three of us in the scene this time) and we talked about things and one of the main things I need in the scene is a defined relationship with the man, who plays my sister's husband. It's pretty obvious in the text that my character is in love with him and has been for some time and while we were talking, the other woman in the scene suggested that perhaps he and I had slept together at some point and that her character either knew it or was suspicious. And I said no. Because I had thought about it and I know that for me, I feel more sexual tension when I haven't slept with someone. In my own mind, I equate physical intimacy with a separation, largely because the majority of the men I have been intimate with disappear shortly thereafter. And I'm not even talking about sex - a couple have ditched me after an intense make-out session. So because of my own fucked-up-ed-ness about relationships, I thought it would fuel me more as an actor if my brother-in-law and I as characters had not slept together.
And I got my ass handed to me.
I feel like I need to apologize to the other woman I'm working with because I should have listened to her suggestion from the beginning. And I should have listened to the man in the scene because I think he was initially leaning towards us having slept together, too. So I apologize to the both of you that I let my ego get in the way of making the riskier choice.
Because as it turns out, the teacher had us get up into environment. Well, she had me and the guy get up into environment, anyway. The scene is weird - he talks with her for a while (six or seven pages), then I enter and she leaves and I talk to him for a while (six or seven pages), and then she comes back and the three of us are on stage for three pages before our scene ends. So the first half of the scene was the two of them reading at the table. And then I fucked up my entrance and the teacher coached me through it. And then my sister left the scene and they chatted about the work that was just done at the table and the teacher said to get rid of the table because she wanted the two of us up in environment, which was then thrown out the window when we said we hadn't slept together.
And I'm still kicking myself because it is the riskier, scarier choice to say yes, we had slept together. That should be one of those automatic things, like when you're developing a character and you ask yourself if you love the other person in the scene with you, you answer "Yes" because that connects you to them. "Yes and" instead of "No but." You don't have to be intimately in love with them, seeking marriage and a life together, but if you choose to love that person, you are invested in them on some level and therefore, you are invested in the scene. So the answer to the question, "Have you two slept together?" when it is not answered in the script should always be "Yes." Because that is the scarier choice. It should be an automatic that I should have learned back in Tech 1.
And now I'm "shoulding" myself. Man, I'm having a bad morning.
So the teacher had us do the first dozen lines of our part of the scene a couple of times - once as if we hadn't slept together, once as if we slept together last night, and once as if we slept together five years ago - and the differences were remarkable. The difference in how I felt about him, and about my sister, and about myself, and about my relationship with him, and my relationship with my sister and it became glaringly obvious to me (which it probably already was to everyone else in the room) that yes, these characters have slept together at some point. It makes the dialogue make more sense and brings so much more life into the scene.
And my point with this whole entry is, that while I've been on my little ego trip, I seem to have forgotten some very important fundamentals.
Yes, I found them again. And yes, I am the sort of actor who will try different things and who is open to being proven wrong. And I don't know - maybe it was like a therapy session where I had to get there myself instead of having someone tell it to me. But it's frustrating. And it's frustrating, in part, because this is the teacher who I auditioned for and I haven't found out yet if I was cast or not, but I know some people know if they've been cast, so I also felt last night like this was another callback for me. Like she maybe had some doubts about what I would be like to work with so she really wanted to work with me to see if I could handle her show and I don't feel like I did very well. I missed the most obvious, most basic of choices. I felt like I was called out for not having done my homework. I did homework. Just the wrong assignment. But also, this is class. I should not be putting the pressure of trying to win a role in a completely unrelated play on my classroom discovery. This was essentially a first read - a first real read where all of us had read the script, knew (at least sort of) who our characters were. This was exactly the time to fuck up and try different things. This was "play space" and I turned it into "pressure of performance" space and I fell flat on my face doing so.
Fuck.
So I'm frustrated today. I know I can do this. I just need the opportunity to do it and if I continue to perform at this level (even though I know I am capable of performing at that level), I will not get the opportunity. I need to step up my game. Or something.
"Yes, and..."
09 November 2010
Energy
I was thinking about something else yesterday before class that I want to write down so I don't forget it. I feel, though, that it is important to note that I was thinking about this before class because if any of my classmates are reading this, I don't want you to think that something you did inspired this post. This post is not at all a commentary on last night's class, just sort of a general reminder to myself.
And I am, admittedly, a little nervous to post this here because I know I sound really pretentious, but I'm trying to keep track of my learning process as a performer and this, for me, is a big one. Please know I'm not trying to sound like a know-it-all. These are just my thoughts at the moment.
There seems to be this trend in Hollywood right now where blase is cool. The slacker is cool. The disconnected, apathetic character is cool. I don't mean to name names, but Ellen Page strikes me as one of these sorts of actors. Maybe this is why I don't really want to see "Juno" - in the previews I saw for it, it looked like she just really didn't care. I think this is also my issue with Matt Smith as the Doctor - he spends lots of time running around being weird, but I don't really see things affecting him as strongly as they have affected other Doctors. You can stand there and look at Daleks, or you can STAND AND LOOK AT DALEKS. He chooses the former. I would prefer to watch the latter.
For those of you who watch "America's Next Top Model," I'm talking about what Ms. Tyra Banks refers to as "being fierce."
Now, I'm not saying that every character out there has to be some cracked out whackadoo hopped up on speed in order to be interesting. But I think there is a difference between the actor being apathetic and blase and the character being apathetic and blase. If the actor is blase, I don't want to watch that. If the character is blase, but the actor is fully invested in being blase, that can be interesting.
I know I'm not making a lot of sense, so I'll try a couple of stories.
These two swing dance teachers came to Chicago many years ago and held workshops and many many dancers all around the world consider these two to be just about the best there are. After all, he's one of the people who sort of resurrected lindy in the 1980's or 1990's. And she is...well, she's adorable. There are no two ways about it. Anyway, in their workshops, they were stressing the fact that a dance is a conversation and that the follow has just as much right to speak as the lead and that the lead needs to know how to listen, too. Which is a lovely concept for people who have been dancing for a while and are comfortable with the basics and are looking to push their dancing to the next level. It becomes confusing, though, when you're still counting out the beats in your head and trying to remember if you start with your left foot or your right and suddenly, you are being told that when he's leading you through a six-count turn, it's okay to tell him to stop and wait while you make it an eight-count turn so you can be wiggly for two counts and show off. Suddenly, you're just focused on showing off. You forget that you're supposed to be connected to your partner and inspired by the music; you just want to get in that little two-count wiggle so you can say you know how to dance like the super adorable internationally beloved teacher with the cute accent. And your partner, your poor lead, who is still struggling with the concept of leading from his center instead of jerking your arm out of the socket is focusing so hard on trying to keep the beat that he jerks you through your little two-count wiggle and then remembers he was supposed to just let you do that, so he stops dancing completely because he's lost and frustrated and needs to find the one again, so you wiggle some more to fill the empty beats and he thinks he's just supposed to let you, so he does and you find yourself wiggling for thirty-two counts before you've run out of appropriate wiggle and you both look at each other with an awkward grin that says, "There's a downbeat coming up soon. How about we hit that?" and then you get back into the dance, completely self-conscious and afraid to try that again. At which point, inevitably, the teacher walks by in the workshop and encourages you to wiggle and you're back where you started.
All of this could have been fixed if the dancers knew what they were doing in the first place, and then tried to expand on that knowledge.
I think the same applies to theater.
In one of the first classes I took at the theater where I am now taking classes, we would have to come up with some activity that was difficult to do (but not impossible) and of the utmost importance. One woman decided her activity would be writing a suicide note. Which could be a great exercise, or it could blow up in your face, as the teacher pointed out. If you choose to be a character who really wants to die, then there is nothing to prevent you from just offing yourself at the top of the scene and bam! You're done. Scene over. If, however, you happen to want something from the other person in the scene, no matter how minor that thing may seem, but you really really want it, then you have a scene. If you want to die, but you need to have one last cheese sammich first and your scene partner makes the best cheese sammiches in the world. Or you don't really want to die and the whole thing is really just a cry for attention - the attention of the person in the scene with you. You can still be the super depressed character who sees no other way out of this situation, but there is something more to that character. There is something that makes us, as the audience, want to watch. We want to know if he'll make you the cheese sammich, knowing that as soon as you eat it, you'll die. Or we want to know if she'll confess her undying love for you, thus preventing you from kicking the chair away. That one little glimmer keeps you alive on stage as an actor. As opposed to the actor who just doesn't care about anything. What is the point in that scene?
But I think the problem starts in our very first acting classes. We are told to relax and get comfortable on the stage. This often leads to slouched posture and aimless meandering around the environment. When you think of relaxing, that's what you think of, yes? Sitting comfortably on the couch, maybe kicking off your shoes, getting to a place where you could easily fall asleep. What I think the teachers mean (I could be wrong, this is just a theory) is that we should not be nervous or self-conscious about being on stage, not that we should lull ourselves to sleep. It is possible to be comfortable and still alert. It is possible to be comfortable and still engaged. I think the direction to "relax" is a suggestion that we not judge ourselves, that we just let the moment-to-moment of the scene happen. I don't think it is a direction to check out. But I see that happening all of the time. People on stage just being, for lack of a better word, floopy. In an empassioned scene, they stand with one hip cocked lazily out, doing the head bobble, and when they can't take the emotion of the scene anymore, they turn slowly and take a couple of steps, dragging their feet a few inches to the left of where they had been previously. The passion is indicated by the loudness of their voice, not by their actions or behaviors. Is that how you fight with a loved one? Is that how you seduce a potential lover?
(The teacher called me out for hiding my face when the emotions got too intense in a scene I was working on. I know I do it, too. I know I go for the comfortable instead of the risky, so I'm not trying to point fingers here while I paint myself as perfect. I have found myself bending at the waist to scream at someone instead of walking toward that person, which is one of my biggest actor pet peeves and I yell at myself in my head for it afterward. This is a reminder to me as much as to anyone else that energy is a good thing and it can take many forms. But you gotta have it.)
I think I'm mostly saying that I see a lot of actors who need to get their bodies involved in what they are doing. If you keep your center and keep your core, you can still be relaxed and comfortable on stage, but you will be engaged in what is going on. You will have life and energy and be compelling to watch. Even if your character is apathetic and blase about the world around him, most apathetic people secretly really want something. To be loved, or to be noticed, or to get out of this stupid po-dunk town. And it is the want for those things and the frustration of not getting to have them that leads to apathetic behavior. But as an actor, you need to have that desire and that frustration living in you before you can be properly apathetic on stage. If you just aim for the blase, your audience is going to tune out before you say your first line.
It's like trying to put the wiggle in the dance before you know the steps.
I don't know. I could be talking out of my ass. Or this could be lesson #7 in my self-taught class on how to be more like David Tennant (who is not a perfect performer, but almost every time I watch him, I'm inspired to go out and live and perform and feel and love and let myself be ripped open with heartache, so at the moment, he's who I'm looking to for inspiration as a performer). Hamlet's soliloquy, for example. He's contemplating suicide. But he's hurt and confused and feels betrayed and honestly doesn't know if he is more afraid of continuing in his current state or of the unknown thing that happens (or doesn't happen) when you die. It's a speech about suicide, but it's a speech about so much more than that, and that is why it has stood the test of time. Can you imagine Hamlet going out and delivering this speech as blase dude? There'd be no point for the rest of the play. He is despondent, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care. It is because he cares so much that he has become despondent.
Wow, I'm sounding like a pretentious windbag now. Sorry about that. I did have a moment in class last night where I was feeling pretty good about myself (as I have been for a couple of days) and then it all kind of caved in and my humility kicked in and said, "You don't have all of the answers. You've only been studying this for fifteen years - what could you possibly know about acting?" and the little self-doubt demons came creeping back up my spine. I would like to say that I think I know something. And I think that thing that I know is that acting is living truthfully under imaginary circumstances. And in order to do that, one has to live truthfully on stage. It's not about being cool and blase - it is about being truthful. And there is so much more to being cool and blase and apathetic that you as an actor need to know before you can get up there and be those things as a character, none of which are really cool or apathetic or blase.
I guess I wish I saw more people being passionate about what they do instead of flippant about it.
I'll stop being whiny.
And I am, admittedly, a little nervous to post this here because I know I sound really pretentious, but I'm trying to keep track of my learning process as a performer and this, for me, is a big one. Please know I'm not trying to sound like a know-it-all. These are just my thoughts at the moment.
There seems to be this trend in Hollywood right now where blase is cool. The slacker is cool. The disconnected, apathetic character is cool. I don't mean to name names, but Ellen Page strikes me as one of these sorts of actors. Maybe this is why I don't really want to see "Juno" - in the previews I saw for it, it looked like she just really didn't care. I think this is also my issue with Matt Smith as the Doctor - he spends lots of time running around being weird, but I don't really see things affecting him as strongly as they have affected other Doctors. You can stand there and look at Daleks, or you can STAND AND LOOK AT DALEKS. He chooses the former. I would prefer to watch the latter.
For those of you who watch "America's Next Top Model," I'm talking about what Ms. Tyra Banks refers to as "being fierce."
Now, I'm not saying that every character out there has to be some cracked out whackadoo hopped up on speed in order to be interesting. But I think there is a difference between the actor being apathetic and blase and the character being apathetic and blase. If the actor is blase, I don't want to watch that. If the character is blase, but the actor is fully invested in being blase, that can be interesting.
I know I'm not making a lot of sense, so I'll try a couple of stories.
These two swing dance teachers came to Chicago many years ago and held workshops and many many dancers all around the world consider these two to be just about the best there are. After all, he's one of the people who sort of resurrected lindy in the 1980's or 1990's. And she is...well, she's adorable. There are no two ways about it. Anyway, in their workshops, they were stressing the fact that a dance is a conversation and that the follow has just as much right to speak as the lead and that the lead needs to know how to listen, too. Which is a lovely concept for people who have been dancing for a while and are comfortable with the basics and are looking to push their dancing to the next level. It becomes confusing, though, when you're still counting out the beats in your head and trying to remember if you start with your left foot or your right and suddenly, you are being told that when he's leading you through a six-count turn, it's okay to tell him to stop and wait while you make it an eight-count turn so you can be wiggly for two counts and show off. Suddenly, you're just focused on showing off. You forget that you're supposed to be connected to your partner and inspired by the music; you just want to get in that little two-count wiggle so you can say you know how to dance like the super adorable internationally beloved teacher with the cute accent. And your partner, your poor lead, who is still struggling with the concept of leading from his center instead of jerking your arm out of the socket is focusing so hard on trying to keep the beat that he jerks you through your little two-count wiggle and then remembers he was supposed to just let you do that, so he stops dancing completely because he's lost and frustrated and needs to find the one again, so you wiggle some more to fill the empty beats and he thinks he's just supposed to let you, so he does and you find yourself wiggling for thirty-two counts before you've run out of appropriate wiggle and you both look at each other with an awkward grin that says, "There's a downbeat coming up soon. How about we hit that?" and then you get back into the dance, completely self-conscious and afraid to try that again. At which point, inevitably, the teacher walks by in the workshop and encourages you to wiggle and you're back where you started.
All of this could have been fixed if the dancers knew what they were doing in the first place, and then tried to expand on that knowledge.
I think the same applies to theater.
In one of the first classes I took at the theater where I am now taking classes, we would have to come up with some activity that was difficult to do (but not impossible) and of the utmost importance. One woman decided her activity would be writing a suicide note. Which could be a great exercise, or it could blow up in your face, as the teacher pointed out. If you choose to be a character who really wants to die, then there is nothing to prevent you from just offing yourself at the top of the scene and bam! You're done. Scene over. If, however, you happen to want something from the other person in the scene, no matter how minor that thing may seem, but you really really want it, then you have a scene. If you want to die, but you need to have one last cheese sammich first and your scene partner makes the best cheese sammiches in the world. Or you don't really want to die and the whole thing is really just a cry for attention - the attention of the person in the scene with you. You can still be the super depressed character who sees no other way out of this situation, but there is something more to that character. There is something that makes us, as the audience, want to watch. We want to know if he'll make you the cheese sammich, knowing that as soon as you eat it, you'll die. Or we want to know if she'll confess her undying love for you, thus preventing you from kicking the chair away. That one little glimmer keeps you alive on stage as an actor. As opposed to the actor who just doesn't care about anything. What is the point in that scene?
But I think the problem starts in our very first acting classes. We are told to relax and get comfortable on the stage. This often leads to slouched posture and aimless meandering around the environment. When you think of relaxing, that's what you think of, yes? Sitting comfortably on the couch, maybe kicking off your shoes, getting to a place where you could easily fall asleep. What I think the teachers mean (I could be wrong, this is just a theory) is that we should not be nervous or self-conscious about being on stage, not that we should lull ourselves to sleep. It is possible to be comfortable and still alert. It is possible to be comfortable and still engaged. I think the direction to "relax" is a suggestion that we not judge ourselves, that we just let the moment-to-moment of the scene happen. I don't think it is a direction to check out. But I see that happening all of the time. People on stage just being, for lack of a better word, floopy. In an empassioned scene, they stand with one hip cocked lazily out, doing the head bobble, and when they can't take the emotion of the scene anymore, they turn slowly and take a couple of steps, dragging their feet a few inches to the left of where they had been previously. The passion is indicated by the loudness of their voice, not by their actions or behaviors. Is that how you fight with a loved one? Is that how you seduce a potential lover?
(The teacher called me out for hiding my face when the emotions got too intense in a scene I was working on. I know I do it, too. I know I go for the comfortable instead of the risky, so I'm not trying to point fingers here while I paint myself as perfect. I have found myself bending at the waist to scream at someone instead of walking toward that person, which is one of my biggest actor pet peeves and I yell at myself in my head for it afterward. This is a reminder to me as much as to anyone else that energy is a good thing and it can take many forms. But you gotta have it.)
I think I'm mostly saying that I see a lot of actors who need to get their bodies involved in what they are doing. If you keep your center and keep your core, you can still be relaxed and comfortable on stage, but you will be engaged in what is going on. You will have life and energy and be compelling to watch. Even if your character is apathetic and blase about the world around him, most apathetic people secretly really want something. To be loved, or to be noticed, or to get out of this stupid po-dunk town. And it is the want for those things and the frustration of not getting to have them that leads to apathetic behavior. But as an actor, you need to have that desire and that frustration living in you before you can be properly apathetic on stage. If you just aim for the blase, your audience is going to tune out before you say your first line.
It's like trying to put the wiggle in the dance before you know the steps.
I don't know. I could be talking out of my ass. Or this could be lesson #7 in my self-taught class on how to be more like David Tennant (who is not a perfect performer, but almost every time I watch him, I'm inspired to go out and live and perform and feel and love and let myself be ripped open with heartache, so at the moment, he's who I'm looking to for inspiration as a performer). Hamlet's soliloquy, for example. He's contemplating suicide. But he's hurt and confused and feels betrayed and honestly doesn't know if he is more afraid of continuing in his current state or of the unknown thing that happens (or doesn't happen) when you die. It's a speech about suicide, but it's a speech about so much more than that, and that is why it has stood the test of time. Can you imagine Hamlet going out and delivering this speech as blase dude? There'd be no point for the rest of the play. He is despondent, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care. It is because he cares so much that he has become despondent.
Wow, I'm sounding like a pretentious windbag now. Sorry about that. I did have a moment in class last night where I was feeling pretty good about myself (as I have been for a couple of days) and then it all kind of caved in and my humility kicked in and said, "You don't have all of the answers. You've only been studying this for fifteen years - what could you possibly know about acting?" and the little self-doubt demons came creeping back up my spine. I would like to say that I think I know something. And I think that thing that I know is that acting is living truthfully under imaginary circumstances. And in order to do that, one has to live truthfully on stage. It's not about being cool and blase - it is about being truthful. And there is so much more to being cool and blase and apathetic that you as an actor need to know before you can get up there and be those things as a character, none of which are really cool or apathetic or blase.
I guess I wish I saw more people being passionate about what they do instead of flippant about it.
I'll stop being whiny.
08 November 2010
Twofer
I had two auditions this weekend and got two callbacks out of the deal.
Hooray!
I don't mean to boast - I know that boasting is distasteful - but I have to admit that in my book, it is a little personal victory to be called back from both auditions. One was monologues, and while I don't think I nailed my pieces, I think there were good elements in them and at the very least, I wasn't scared. The other was readings from the script and I think I did pretty well. Largely because they had me reading for a supporting character, but then the director asked me to stick around and read for the lead, and when I was done, the director said, "Good read." And now I've been called back for the lead.
I'm trying not to get my hopes up too high for either show because as we all know, I've been called back for other shows wherein I am ultimately not cast. But I have to admit, it is a confidence boost to know that I went in to two different auditions this weekend and didn't fuck either one up. It goes back to that whole trusting myself thing I was talking about a couple of weeks ago. I feel like I am in a place where I can say, "I'm good at this. I'm damn good at this," and believe it. Being damn good doesn't always mean you'll get cast, but I can hold my head up high and know that when I am cast in something, I will bring so much frickin' life to that stage they won't know what to do with me. Again, I don't mean to boast; I just have confidence that I don't think I had before.
The weird thing for me about the one callback (the one where I am being called back for the lead) is that I had sort of relegated myself to playing supporting characters. I don't know if it is because I don't think I'm thin enough or because my window of opportunity to play the ingenue has passed, or if it is because in all of my years with the theater where I was a company member, I was always cast in supporting roles, but I had sort of decided that I am a supporting character. Which is totally unfair. I could carry a play. Where I am, right now, in my journey as a performer, I could carry a play. I think I have the strength. I think I have the stamina. I think I have the courage to go all of the various places that a lead character would need to go. I know I have the drive and the determination to put in the work to make it happen. Maybe that is the next step in my development - to embrace myself as a lead actress.
Or not. I could be talking out of my ass.
But have you ever wanted something so badly that it hurt? I loved going into these auditions over the weekend and getting up on the stage for three minutes at a time and acting. Putting everything I could into these characters I'm just starting to get to know. And I have to admit, it's hard to come home after that and be...not acting. That's the frustrating thing about where I am right now with trusting myself and whatnot - it's great and I want to do it all the time, but until I'm in something, I'll just get to do it in fits and spurts once or twice a week. What can I say? I'm an addict. I love the connection. I love the emotion. I love the freedom and the conflict and the study and the work and the release in the end. I want to do that all day every day.
And maybe one of these days, I'll rock a callback as much as I rocked the initial audition, I'll be cast in something, and I'll get to do that in more than fits and spurts.
Hooray!
I don't mean to boast - I know that boasting is distasteful - but I have to admit that in my book, it is a little personal victory to be called back from both auditions. One was monologues, and while I don't think I nailed my pieces, I think there were good elements in them and at the very least, I wasn't scared. The other was readings from the script and I think I did pretty well. Largely because they had me reading for a supporting character, but then the director asked me to stick around and read for the lead, and when I was done, the director said, "Good read." And now I've been called back for the lead.
I'm trying not to get my hopes up too high for either show because as we all know, I've been called back for other shows wherein I am ultimately not cast. But I have to admit, it is a confidence boost to know that I went in to two different auditions this weekend and didn't fuck either one up. It goes back to that whole trusting myself thing I was talking about a couple of weeks ago. I feel like I am in a place where I can say, "I'm good at this. I'm damn good at this," and believe it. Being damn good doesn't always mean you'll get cast, but I can hold my head up high and know that when I am cast in something, I will bring so much frickin' life to that stage they won't know what to do with me. Again, I don't mean to boast; I just have confidence that I don't think I had before.
The weird thing for me about the one callback (the one where I am being called back for the lead) is that I had sort of relegated myself to playing supporting characters. I don't know if it is because I don't think I'm thin enough or because my window of opportunity to play the ingenue has passed, or if it is because in all of my years with the theater where I was a company member, I was always cast in supporting roles, but I had sort of decided that I am a supporting character. Which is totally unfair. I could carry a play. Where I am, right now, in my journey as a performer, I could carry a play. I think I have the strength. I think I have the stamina. I think I have the courage to go all of the various places that a lead character would need to go. I know I have the drive and the determination to put in the work to make it happen. Maybe that is the next step in my development - to embrace myself as a lead actress.
Or not. I could be talking out of my ass.
But have you ever wanted something so badly that it hurt? I loved going into these auditions over the weekend and getting up on the stage for three minutes at a time and acting. Putting everything I could into these characters I'm just starting to get to know. And I have to admit, it's hard to come home after that and be...not acting. That's the frustrating thing about where I am right now with trusting myself and whatnot - it's great and I want to do it all the time, but until I'm in something, I'll just get to do it in fits and spurts once or twice a week. What can I say? I'm an addict. I love the connection. I love the emotion. I love the freedom and the conflict and the study and the work and the release in the end. I want to do that all day every day.
And maybe one of these days, I'll rock a callback as much as I rocked the initial audition, I'll be cast in something, and I'll get to do that in more than fits and spurts.
23 October 2010
Selfish
I came to the realization this week that I really am a selfish person.
I go to lunch from time to time with a friend of mine from acting class and we talk about what we're doing in class and where we're having problems and what we think about the whole business and stuff like that. And I was telling her this week about how I feel like I'm finally getting to a place where I trust myself as a performer and the words that all of my teachers have been telling me for fifteen years are starting to sink in as truths, not just random sounds strung together and she asked me how I got there. In my mind, up to this point, I feel like I'm here because I have nothing else to lose. She asked me what I meant by that.
I don't know if I can tell you what it feels like to have nothing left to lose. I had problems telling her. It came out as a sort of "I've been trying for fifteen years to do this and I've not gotten very far in my career. I keep auditioning and not getting cast even though I do a good job. And recently, my great big plans blew up in my face and I had to face the humiliation of telling everyone that no, really, it wasn't happening." And since most of my friends were not there for the heart-wrenching decision weekend, and since most of my friends are lovely, friendly, helpful-type people, they asked me all kinds of obvious questions about what I could have done and I had to tell them that I tried that and it didn't work. I tried just about everything and it wasn't going to work so I had to swallow my pride and not do it. That was hard. That was really fucking hard and I know that I made the right decision, but it still made me feel like just about the biggest loser in the world. As if I had been stood up at the altar or something. And even in my plans to keep moving forward and to give it another shot, I don't feel like I'm really getting anywhere. I'm still auditioning and not getting cast. One of the classes I wanted to take was canceled, another postponed and then two sessions rescheduled. I feel like I have tried so hard for so long and all I really have to show for it is that my classmates think I'm talented and that's lovely, but I would like to at the very least be in a show right now. Which I'm not. And you put this all together and it feels like when it comes to acting, I have nothing left to lose. I have suffered just about every humiliation a person can at the hands of this silly career.
So why do I keep doing it? Why do I keep trying?
Because I love it. I honestly and truly love it. My teacher was apologizing for making me go through the most emotionally difficult moment for me over and over and over again in class, but I loved it. I love having to go there. I love being able to go there. I love the dirt and the pain and the screaming and the connection and the love that I get to experience up on stage. I know I have written before that I want to live fully - I get to live fully on stage, even if it is in class - and I love it. I will take every moment of it that I can get.
So here I am, at a point in my development where I have nothing left to lose, where I feel as if I have hit the bottom and continued to sink, so I get up there on stage and give it everything that I have because I don't have any other choice. I am selfish and I love doing this. So I am going to do it. Even if nobody will put me in a show, I will keep taking classes so I can keep doing this. I enjoy it. I want to do something I enjoy. That is selfish behavior. But you know what? I'm okay with that.
I go to lunch from time to time with a friend of mine from acting class and we talk about what we're doing in class and where we're having problems and what we think about the whole business and stuff like that. And I was telling her this week about how I feel like I'm finally getting to a place where I trust myself as a performer and the words that all of my teachers have been telling me for fifteen years are starting to sink in as truths, not just random sounds strung together and she asked me how I got there. In my mind, up to this point, I feel like I'm here because I have nothing else to lose. She asked me what I meant by that.
I don't know if I can tell you what it feels like to have nothing left to lose. I had problems telling her. It came out as a sort of "I've been trying for fifteen years to do this and I've not gotten very far in my career. I keep auditioning and not getting cast even though I do a good job. And recently, my great big plans blew up in my face and I had to face the humiliation of telling everyone that no, really, it wasn't happening." And since most of my friends were not there for the heart-wrenching decision weekend, and since most of my friends are lovely, friendly, helpful-type people, they asked me all kinds of obvious questions about what I could have done and I had to tell them that I tried that and it didn't work. I tried just about everything and it wasn't going to work so I had to swallow my pride and not do it. That was hard. That was really fucking hard and I know that I made the right decision, but it still made me feel like just about the biggest loser in the world. As if I had been stood up at the altar or something. And even in my plans to keep moving forward and to give it another shot, I don't feel like I'm really getting anywhere. I'm still auditioning and not getting cast. One of the classes I wanted to take was canceled, another postponed and then two sessions rescheduled. I feel like I have tried so hard for so long and all I really have to show for it is that my classmates think I'm talented and that's lovely, but I would like to at the very least be in a show right now. Which I'm not. And you put this all together and it feels like when it comes to acting, I have nothing left to lose. I have suffered just about every humiliation a person can at the hands of this silly career.
So why do I keep doing it? Why do I keep trying?
Because I love it. I honestly and truly love it. My teacher was apologizing for making me go through the most emotionally difficult moment for me over and over and over again in class, but I loved it. I love having to go there. I love being able to go there. I love the dirt and the pain and the screaming and the connection and the love that I get to experience up on stage. I know I have written before that I want to live fully - I get to live fully on stage, even if it is in class - and I love it. I will take every moment of it that I can get.
So here I am, at a point in my development where I have nothing left to lose, where I feel as if I have hit the bottom and continued to sink, so I get up there on stage and give it everything that I have because I don't have any other choice. I am selfish and I love doing this. So I am going to do it. Even if nobody will put me in a show, I will keep taking classes so I can keep doing this. I enjoy it. I want to do something I enjoy. That is selfish behavior. But you know what? I'm okay with that.
19 October 2010
Good Night
I had a really good night in class last night. Really good.
My partner and I were up on our feet, working in our environment for the first time and we struggled for lines from time to time, but that happens. But there was honest connection and honest emotion and so much pain and rage and vulnerability. It was great. And, it wasn't perfect. The teacher called me out on my "thing" - I have a "thing!" I have wanted to know for some time if I had a "thing" and she saw it last night and called me out on it and it's so true. I was hiding my face in my hands a lot. And it will make me that much more open and raw if I can still have those feelings without hiding my face. I'm looking forward to trying that next week.
There were a couple of odd bits for me, though. One was that so much of the scene is SO emotional for me, but when the teacher would stop us to make a comment, I came right smack out of it. Maybe that is because she tended to stop us when the scene was going south anyway, but it felt weird. But I guess it is good. I know I have ragged on actors before for not being able to leave it on stage once they come off, but it felt odd to go from 100 to 3 in a half a second, you know? And I think I did a decent job of getting back up to about 85 or 90 to start the scene again when it was time to go. It would be nice to learn to jump back in at 100 - that will come with practice. I think I wonder if it made it appear false to my classmates, though, that I came out of it so quickly. I'm up there screaming and crying in pain, and then I'm looking the teacher in the eye taking notes and agreeing that I need to not hide my face and being very calm and technical. Does the fact that I did that make the intensity of the scene just five seconds beforehand seem false?
It didn't feel false.
Which brings me to my second oddity.
When I was learning lindy from my favorite lindy instructor who lives in Europe (I believe he's still there), I remember that he broke it down to such a fundamental level that to the observer, it might look like not a lot is going on. But for the dancers, it is this intense, connected, completely in-tune conversation of movement. He told me once that he couldn't feel my fingertips. So I fixed that and he could control either my head, my hips, or my feet just through my fingertips. For me, acting is very much the same. When you get to that level of connection, where you are taking in what your partner gives you and reacting honestly and truthfully to it, you can make your partner weep with the slightest tilt of your head.
But I think I got into a sort of dangerous place in both dance and acting because of this. The place where I was looking for connection so tiny that the end result looked tiny to anyone watching. Yes, I was feeling everything and yes, I was reacting to everything, but it was all small and perhaps internal. I would get mad, but not furious. I would be happy, but not sickeningly in love. That kind of thing. And that's not always called for in the theater. First of all, nobody writes a scene about someone who gets mad. They write about hideous burning rage. Nobody writes about couple who are content. They write about couples who are hopelessly in love, fueled by passion, desire, and lust. And as theatergoers, that's what we want to see on stage. Not to mention the fact that if you're playing a big house, nobody can see it in the back row if you wink. So I think I was in a place with my acting where I knew large reactions were called for, but they felt false. They felt exaggerated and sometimes forced. But last night, I think I realized that it is not about making the movements bigger. It is about raising the stakes. If you find out your husband is cheating on you, you will be hurt and angry. If you find out your husband, who you gave up the life you always wanted for yourself so you could be with him, who you have become completely emotionally dependent on, who is the father of your only child who is your great joy in life even though he's a little off, who you care for and depend on, who you honestly think you would shrivel up and die without, is cheating on you with a goat, your guts will spill out of your mouth, you'll double over and writhe on the floor in pain, screaming until you can't scream anymore. And it will be honest. And it will be truthful. Because it is that important to you.
It's funny. I have technically been studying theater for about fifteen years and all of the things the acting books have told me are just starting to sink in. Trust yourself. Raise the stakes. The only way to fail is to not try. They used to be just words to me, but in the past couple of weeks, they have started to creep in under my skin and become part of me as a performer. I love it. That moment when everything starts to click. And I can't wait to see where I go from here.
My partner and I were up on our feet, working in our environment for the first time and we struggled for lines from time to time, but that happens. But there was honest connection and honest emotion and so much pain and rage and vulnerability. It was great. And, it wasn't perfect. The teacher called me out on my "thing" - I have a "thing!" I have wanted to know for some time if I had a "thing" and she saw it last night and called me out on it and it's so true. I was hiding my face in my hands a lot. And it will make me that much more open and raw if I can still have those feelings without hiding my face. I'm looking forward to trying that next week.
There were a couple of odd bits for me, though. One was that so much of the scene is SO emotional for me, but when the teacher would stop us to make a comment, I came right smack out of it. Maybe that is because she tended to stop us when the scene was going south anyway, but it felt weird. But I guess it is good. I know I have ragged on actors before for not being able to leave it on stage once they come off, but it felt odd to go from 100 to 3 in a half a second, you know? And I think I did a decent job of getting back up to about 85 or 90 to start the scene again when it was time to go. It would be nice to learn to jump back in at 100 - that will come with practice. I think I wonder if it made it appear false to my classmates, though, that I came out of it so quickly. I'm up there screaming and crying in pain, and then I'm looking the teacher in the eye taking notes and agreeing that I need to not hide my face and being very calm and technical. Does the fact that I did that make the intensity of the scene just five seconds beforehand seem false?
It didn't feel false.
Which brings me to my second oddity.
When I was learning lindy from my favorite lindy instructor who lives in Europe (I believe he's still there), I remember that he broke it down to such a fundamental level that to the observer, it might look like not a lot is going on. But for the dancers, it is this intense, connected, completely in-tune conversation of movement. He told me once that he couldn't feel my fingertips. So I fixed that and he could control either my head, my hips, or my feet just through my fingertips. For me, acting is very much the same. When you get to that level of connection, where you are taking in what your partner gives you and reacting honestly and truthfully to it, you can make your partner weep with the slightest tilt of your head.
But I think I got into a sort of dangerous place in both dance and acting because of this. The place where I was looking for connection so tiny that the end result looked tiny to anyone watching. Yes, I was feeling everything and yes, I was reacting to everything, but it was all small and perhaps internal. I would get mad, but not furious. I would be happy, but not sickeningly in love. That kind of thing. And that's not always called for in the theater. First of all, nobody writes a scene about someone who gets mad. They write about hideous burning rage. Nobody writes about couple who are content. They write about couples who are hopelessly in love, fueled by passion, desire, and lust. And as theatergoers, that's what we want to see on stage. Not to mention the fact that if you're playing a big house, nobody can see it in the back row if you wink. So I think I was in a place with my acting where I knew large reactions were called for, but they felt false. They felt exaggerated and sometimes forced. But last night, I think I realized that it is not about making the movements bigger. It is about raising the stakes. If you find out your husband is cheating on you, you will be hurt and angry. If you find out your husband, who you gave up the life you always wanted for yourself so you could be with him, who you have become completely emotionally dependent on, who is the father of your only child who is your great joy in life even though he's a little off, who you care for and depend on, who you honestly think you would shrivel up and die without, is cheating on you with a goat, your guts will spill out of your mouth, you'll double over and writhe on the floor in pain, screaming until you can't scream anymore. And it will be honest. And it will be truthful. Because it is that important to you.
It's funny. I have technically been studying theater for about fifteen years and all of the things the acting books have told me are just starting to sink in. Trust yourself. Raise the stakes. The only way to fail is to not try. They used to be just words to me, but in the past couple of weeks, they have started to creep in under my skin and become part of me as a performer. I love it. That moment when everything starts to click. And I can't wait to see where I go from here.
12 October 2010
Trust
I had a good class last night. In all honesty, though, I wish I had the opportunity to work more. This is the one problem with scene study classes - if you have six groups who all need to do their scenes in a three hour class, each group should get a half an hour, but if one group goes over, everyone else gets less time. Such is life. And I know it all evens out because different groups go first every week, but still. I wish I had gotten to work more last night.
But the teacher said I did some very good work. I still have some homework to do in terms of building my character's world, and my partner has some work of his own to do which I think will give me more to work off of which will allow me to give him more to work off of and so on and so on and so on. But for a table read, it wasn't bad. The scream that happened at the end of my scene wasn't the noise I had wanted to make just then, but I guess you can't go into this sort of thing hoping to make a certain noise at a certain time. It has to just happen organically. Truthfully. And truthfully, that was the sound that came out of me in response to what was going on.
But what struck me between my audition over the weekend for the show in which I did not get cast and my class last night was, I feel like I'm moving towards the place where I trust myself as a performer. I know I can get up there and give it my all. I'm losing the fear of failure because I think I'm learning that the only way to really fail at this is to not try. I may try the wrong thing and the director might ask me to do something else, but as long as I make strong choices and commit to them fully, I will look like an actor who is fearless and full of life and engaging to watch.
Another thing that came up again last night was intimidation. I was "intimidating as hell," I think someone said. I think this scene calls for it, but I think I also got some of the vulnerability of the character in there, too. Which may also be intimidating because supposedly my husband is still in love with me and for me to be able to be vulnerable with him when he just shattered my entire world has to kill him, too. Or something. But I don't want to be generally intimidating. That's not what I'm after. I want to be the sort of performer who inspires other people, not scares them. I hope, I really truly hope, that my friends and peers feel comfortable talking to me about things. Even performance things. I have one friend who I get together with and we talk theater and I love it. I love talking to her about the problems we are each having with our creative journeys because we usually get to some place where we get an idea for something to try next time. It's great. And if she was intimidated by me, I don't think that would work. I hope she's not. Just like if I ever start teaching this stuff, I want to be an approachable, encouraging teacher. I would want people to see my work and think, "Wow, I want to be able to do that. Maybe she'll let me pick her brain," instead of, "She's so much better than me." I don't know how much control I have over that. I just hope I come off as open and approachable, not as untouchable.
It's funny that it has taken me fifteen years of studying this stuff to get to this point. To start to get to this point. But I'm glad I'm moving in this direction. If I'm going to be a David Tennant kind of actor, I have to be fearless and give it my all. And it's nice to know I can.
But the teacher said I did some very good work. I still have some homework to do in terms of building my character's world, and my partner has some work of his own to do which I think will give me more to work off of which will allow me to give him more to work off of and so on and so on and so on. But for a table read, it wasn't bad. The scream that happened at the end of my scene wasn't the noise I had wanted to make just then, but I guess you can't go into this sort of thing hoping to make a certain noise at a certain time. It has to just happen organically. Truthfully. And truthfully, that was the sound that came out of me in response to what was going on.
But what struck me between my audition over the weekend for the show in which I did not get cast and my class last night was, I feel like I'm moving towards the place where I trust myself as a performer. I know I can get up there and give it my all. I'm losing the fear of failure because I think I'm learning that the only way to really fail at this is to not try. I may try the wrong thing and the director might ask me to do something else, but as long as I make strong choices and commit to them fully, I will look like an actor who is fearless and full of life and engaging to watch.
Another thing that came up again last night was intimidation. I was "intimidating as hell," I think someone said. I think this scene calls for it, but I think I also got some of the vulnerability of the character in there, too. Which may also be intimidating because supposedly my husband is still in love with me and for me to be able to be vulnerable with him when he just shattered my entire world has to kill him, too. Or something. But I don't want to be generally intimidating. That's not what I'm after. I want to be the sort of performer who inspires other people, not scares them. I hope, I really truly hope, that my friends and peers feel comfortable talking to me about things. Even performance things. I have one friend who I get together with and we talk theater and I love it. I love talking to her about the problems we are each having with our creative journeys because we usually get to some place where we get an idea for something to try next time. It's great. And if she was intimidated by me, I don't think that would work. I hope she's not. Just like if I ever start teaching this stuff, I want to be an approachable, encouraging teacher. I would want people to see my work and think, "Wow, I want to be able to do that. Maybe she'll let me pick her brain," instead of, "She's so much better than me." I don't know how much control I have over that. I just hope I come off as open and approachable, not as untouchable.
It's funny that it has taken me fifteen years of studying this stuff to get to this point. To start to get to this point. But I'm glad I'm moving in this direction. If I'm going to be a David Tennant kind of actor, I have to be fearless and give it my all. And it's nice to know I can.
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