Okay, here's my thing about monologues. Monologues are the worst possible way to audition someone. They just are. Yet everyone continues to use them because they are the easiest for the auditors. Let me back up.
For those of you who don't know, a monologue is a piece of dialogue that just one character says. You've got one guy talking for an extended period of time with nobody else interrupting him, that's a monologue. You've got one dude by himself on stage "talking things out," that's a monologue (or sometimes a soliloquy). There are (in my mind) two basic types of monologues - storytelling monologues and active monologues.
A storytelling monologue usually starts with something like, "When I was four years old, I remember my daddy comin' in from the fields one day with a look on his face that I had never before seen in my life..." and continues on to tell the audience about this horrible day wherein the speaker learned that her mother died in a tragic tractor incident because daddy had been drinkin' too much again. It's a story. Which is what a lot of monologues are - stories. Think about a normal conversation. When you are speaking for a long time without anybody else interrupting, you're usually telling a story of some sort, yes? That's what these monologues are - they are an opportunity for the playwright to impart some important bits of information to us, the audience, about the character. And that's fine. Most acting teachers and coaches will tell you to stay away from these monologues for the purposes of an audition, though, because let's face it, they're boring. Unless you are going to re-inact finding your mother mutilated in the field and then flail your fists against the air as if it were your father's chest as you pounded on him in grief, they're boring. And nobody actually tells a story that way, so you really just end up looking silly acting out something that happened when you were three.
There are also active monologues wherein you are trying to get the other person in the scene with you to do something. Or, in the case of Hamlet's famous soliloquy, you are trying to figure out a puzzle that is driving you nuts. These are the monologues you should use for auditions (except maybe not Hamlet's soliloquy because it's been done a million times over and they do recommend you try to do something a smidge original, but let's face it, there are only so many Shakespeare monologues, right? He's not writing anything new at the moment). These monologues have actions and objectives and all of those lovely things that actors ask themselves (and their directors) about during the preparation. What do I want? What I am trying to achieve? How am I trying to get that with these words? And since you are often trying to get something from another party in these monologues, you have something to focus on, which is good.
Except when you use these monologues in an audition, there is nobody else on the stage with you. They usually tell you not to use the auditors as your point of focus either because auditors don't like being yelled at, sworn at, or (believe it or not) seduced in the middle of audition. So all of this time that you have been preparing yelling at your husband for not treating you the way you should be treated, you get there and there is no husband. You don't get to experience him walking away in the middle of your speech and having to use the next words to get his attention again. You don't get the feeling of him pushing you away from him to motivate screaming the next line at him. And if you do decide to scream the next line in the audition setting, you have a 50/50 chance of coming off as brilliant or as a complete psycho who has no business on stage.
So you walk into the audition room, with your pieces memorized and worked on with your coach or your teacher and you do them the way you prepared them for this particular audition. Which is not the way they would ever actually be performed if you were doing them in a show because when you take this paragraph out of context, it needs a little tweaking to hold up as a real piece. And of course, in the real show, you'd have the reactions of your fellow actors to work off of and the appropriate costume, but you have to go into the audition knowing that they're not holding that against you because they just want to see you and what you can do. Except it's not really you because if it was you, you'd be wearing your favorite jeans and flip flops (which are NOT real shoes, I don't care how many bows and flowers and sparkly things you put on them) and your hair would be in a messy ponytail because you didn't have time to shower after going to the gym and you would never be saying these words anyway. So what the auditor is NOT seeing is you. They're not seeing how you work. They're not seeing how you perform. They're not even necessarily seeing what you would do with this character because it's highly likely that any impulses you once had about this person have been coached right out of you in order to make the piece "audition ready." They are seeing you walk into a room, spout some words, and leave, all the while trying to be exactly what they are looking for.
You know what? You will never be exactly what they are looking for. Never. Or maybe once out of every ten thousand auditions you go to will you fit the bill exactly as you walk in with your obscure Russian monologue that nobody has ever heard of before. And you will not be what they are looking for because while you may nail that obscure Russian monologue, they are not doing that obscure Russian play. They are doing some contemporary clowning piece and really want to know if you can move and speak. You walked into the room without falling down - hooray! You have a voice that carries - hooray! If you pass those hurdles, you might make it to callbacks if they happen to be looking for a white female of average height and weight with shoulder-length hair. This is why they give you sides to read at a callback - so they can see if you really are what they are looking for. What do you do with this specific character? What are your impulses in this particular setting when you have not had the life coached out of you yet? How do you work extemporaneously with people you've never met before?
I don't mean to rip on coaches or theaters that use monologues for auditions. Coaches are very helpful and can point out things you may have missed to take your performance to the next level. But I think it is important to note that no coach will make you "audition proof." No matter what it is they tell you to do, another coach or another director or another auditor will always want you to do something else. There is no perfect way to perform a monologue - there is always room for interpretation. And somebody is always going to want to see a different interpretation.
And theaters have a lot to think about when they are putting a show together. I have been to callbacks where they are just then deciding what sides people should read - there is a lot to take care of to prep for auditions. So yes, it is easy to ask people to come in with a monologue, and you can at least weed out who fell down when they walked in and who didn't. But I think it is far more useful to the theater, and helpful to the actor, to do auditions with sides. The actor gets to show what kind of work they put in to preparing a character - specifically the character you would like to see them play. And the director gets to see if the actor really is right for the gruff cowboy, or if he'd be better suited for the kindly saloon owner one step earlier in the process. It just eliminates the time used in evaluating monologues that you'll never ask to see again and that have little to nothing to do with the play at hand. Gets the ball rolling sooner, so to speak.
There are, of course, auditions for which assigning someone a specific character doesn't really work. Season generals, for example, when they might be looking to cast four or five shows at a time. There, they want to see your versatility as an actor so they might ask you to do pieces. Which means shorter pieces. With the thought processes sped up so you get them both in under two minutes. Taking them even farther away from an actual performance setting performance. I can see why monologues are kind of useful here, but still, they suck and there is going to be one auditor who loves you and one who thinks you should just go home. That's just the way it is.
I could just be grumpy today, and if that is the case, I apologize. Or maybe I just suck at doing monologues. I tend to get called back and/or cast more often when my auditions include reading from sides than doing monologues, so maybe I'm just prejudiced and if that is the case, I apologize. But I would like to find someone who thinks they are the greatest thing since sliced bread and have a chat with that person to find out why. Because very seldom is the theater about just one person. So why do we all have to work so hard to be just one person in order to get onto the team that is making this film/play/acrobatic stunt show happen?
I'm done venting. For now. Sorry.
04 February 2011
26 January 2011
Stage Kisses
I kissed my teacher last night.
I proceeded to spend the rest of the evening freaking out about it.
My very first stage kiss was actually in an audition. I was called back for "Angels in America: Part 1" in college, and the scene I was reading was between Harper and her husband and has something in it about a "buddy kiss," and there is supposed to be a little..."buddy kiss." The kind of kiss a Mormon couple shares when the husband is gay and the wife is a drug addict. And I was reading with a man who is at least ten years older than me, who I had never worked with before (or hardly even met), but I had to go in for the "buddy kiss" and it was fine. Nerve wracking in a way, but fine, because at that point in my life, I really didn't have that much experience with kissing in general and here I was, new to my acting career, kissing a veteran actor who I'd just met, being called back for the female lead in a mainstage show at the end of my first year at college. There was a lot of pressure. But I think I did okay.
My second stage kiss was in a class in college - my second year of college. I was originally paired with a scene partner who decided he didn't need to come to class or rehearse with me outside of class, so I was re-partnered with a guy in the class who I actually had quite a crush on at the time. The scene was from "A Hatful of Rain," and I played a woman who is pregnant with her husband's child, but in love with my husband's brother. He played my husband's brother, who was also in love with me. At one point in the scene, he is supposed to go in for a kiss and I push him away with a sort of, "Kiss your brother's wife with that mouth?" kind of thing, and then he goes in for a real kiss a couple of lines later which actually lands. Well, in my first rehearsal with this new scene partner, we were sitting across the table from one another just reading the script. When it came time for his first move, he kind of leaned across the table like he was going to go for the kiss, which surprised me - I didn't know we were doing that in the read through. So a couple of lines later, when the kiss was supposed to happen, I decided I would be the polite actor and meet him halfway because it was kind of a big table and it just seemed like the nice thing to do. Silly me. We both went up for the kiss and ended up smashing faces. I think I split his lip in the collision. Not exactly the kind of stage kiss you want to have, especially not when it is a first impression of sorts on a new scene partner on whom you have a crush.
I have done many more stage kisses since then. And a fair amount of normal kissing, too. And for the most part, people tell me I'm good at it - men and women, because I have kissed both men and women. But I have to say, stage kisses are a strange sort.
With normal kisses, it's generally safe to say that both parties like each other, at least a little bit. First kisses can be a little scary, but you usually know that this is okay. Or the first one can be tentative to feel out where the other person is, with the more passionate kisses following later, once you both know you're on the same page. Yes, things like the taste of your breath and the softness of your lips factor in a bit, but there is some leeway there. If you really dig someone, you may kiss them even though they just had a cigarette and you don't smoke. Or, if this is someone you've been with for a long time, they know that your lips get chapped in the winter, so it's no big deal.
With stage kisses, this is something you have to do for the sake of the scene, regardless of how you feel about the other person or how the other person feels about you. You could loathe one another, but the script says you're madly in love, so you have to kiss. And you know that they don't want to any more than you do, but you suck it up and try to make it look good for the audience. Or maybe you really do like your scene partner, but your scene partner is married or involved with someone else. You want to put on a good show for the audience (and so it will affect your partner), but you don't want to be perceived as pushing it so far as to be inappropriate. Or perhaps your partner isn't attracted to people of your gender. There's that old adage from men doing sex scenes who say to their partners, "I'm sorry if I get turned on, and I'm sorry if I don't get turned on." In some ways, there's just no way to win in these situations. You just have to hope that your breath doesn't stink, that you don't split anyone's lip open, and that you can both just get through it with minimal damage.
And it's that much weirder when the stage kiss happens with your teacher.
So, to set the scene from last night's class, we were up on our feet doing our monologues. My piece is essentially about how much I want to screw over my sister. I'm tired of being overlooked (middle-child syndrome), my husband is dead, I killed the guy who killed my husband, I gouged a man's eyes out, and I now have my sites set on the dashing (and conniving) bastard son of the guy who's eyes I poked out. My sister wants him too, even though she already has a husband. So in my monologue, I'm talking to my sister's messenger/cabana boy, trying to get him to let me read this letter my sister wrote to the hot bastard son. And I'm supposed to give the messenger/cabana boy a token of some sort to give to the hot bastard son so when my sister sees it, she'll know I'm boinking him, too. "If you do find him, pray you give him this/And when your Mistress hears thus much from you/I pray desire her call her wisdom to her." Meaning, "When you see the bastard, give him this. And when my sister hears about it, hold on to your hats, boys, 'cuz she's gonna blow." So anyway.
In class last night, the teachers were coaching us through the monologues. In some cases, when a monologue is directed to someone specific, they will jump in and play the part of that someone specific so that we can have someone to focus on and get reactions out of and play with and whatnot. So the male teacher jumped in to play the messenger/cabana boy. He folded up a piece of paper (which was supposed to be the letter from my sister to the bastard that I want to read) and shoved it down the front of his pants. So I molested him. There is the line, "I'll love thee much," basically saying, "I'll screw your brains out if you let me read that letter," so it wasn't totally uncalled for. And when he shoved me off, I flew into a rage against him and my sister. By the line, "If you do find him, pray you give him this," I was angry and sexy and powerful and threatening, so the "this" was a kiss. I stormed over and kissed my teacher, so that he, as the messenger/cabana boy would have to either then go deliver my message by kissing the bastard, or he would have to tell my sister that I kissed the bastard (through him) or whatever. It put him in the lovely awkward position of having to deliver a message that he really doesn't have a good way to deliver. It was not a romantic kiss. It was a kiss of power and control and belittlement. And then I get to shove him off and tell him he should go kill the dude whose eyes I gouged out.
I have to admit, it was great. It felt great - the whole monologue felt great. It is a piece that kind of depends on the reactions of the man I'm talking to, and my teacher gave me a lot to work with which was fabulous. He's so fun! And in retrospect, I'm proud of myself for taking that chance. It has been a while since I got to do this. I'm understudying a show at the moment, so while I am going to rehearsals three times a week, I don't get to work while I'm there. I get to watch other people work. It is interesting to watch other people work and see their process, but it does tend to make me self-conscious about my process. Especially when I see how I would do things differently, but they were cast and I was not, that kind of thing. Anyway. It felt great to be back on my feet, moving about, taking chances, following impulses, going "balls out," so to speak. And the whole class really responded to it. The teachers said I did great work. It was a good class and I needed that.
But as soon as my monologue ended, I was mortified that I had kissed my teacher. Mortified. He is a professional actor. He has been on Broadway and various television shows and movies and he has the phone number of an author I really like in his cell phone. He has been to the Tonys. And here's me, still learning this craft, and I just go up and plant one on him in class? What the fuck gives me the right to invade his personal space like that?
The fact that I was in class gives me the right.
But still. I started freaking out about all of the stupid things, too - were my lips too tense? Should I have put on lip balm first? Did I have too much lip balm on? I wasn't as worried about my breath because it was a closed-mouth kiss, but still. All of those silly things you worry about when you kiss someone out of the blue were compounded by the fact that this is my teacher. I don't know that a director would ever block the scene so that Regan kisses Oswald there - I don't know if anyone would find that an appropriate action. But it was an impulse I had in the moment in the scene and he was there so I followed it and holy crap I kissed my teacher. In what context is that appropriate?
In the context that this was class and he was functioning as my scene partner in an attempt to get me to push my boundaries.
But he's my teacher. On whom I have an Artist Crush. I told my classmates during the break that I was mortified at what I had done and they were very supportive. And some teasing happened. They started trying to figure out ways they could work a kiss with the teacher into their pieces because let's face it, everyone who meets this man develops a crush on him of some sort. One guy was like, "Kissed the teacher: check!" Like a life goal had been accomplished. So I felt a little better about it. But still. I don't think I offended him or pissed him off or anything, but if I did, I apologize. I think we all know that it was the context of the scene and this power trip my character was on and really, I just want to someday be able to do a scene like this. But I grabbed his butt, too. Something about my performance last night had to be inappropriate on some level, and for that, I apologize.
Just between you and me, though, given the opportunity, I'd do the whole thing all over again.
I proceeded to spend the rest of the evening freaking out about it.
My very first stage kiss was actually in an audition. I was called back for "Angels in America: Part 1" in college, and the scene I was reading was between Harper and her husband and has something in it about a "buddy kiss," and there is supposed to be a little..."buddy kiss." The kind of kiss a Mormon couple shares when the husband is gay and the wife is a drug addict. And I was reading with a man who is at least ten years older than me, who I had never worked with before (or hardly even met), but I had to go in for the "buddy kiss" and it was fine. Nerve wracking in a way, but fine, because at that point in my life, I really didn't have that much experience with kissing in general and here I was, new to my acting career, kissing a veteran actor who I'd just met, being called back for the female lead in a mainstage show at the end of my first year at college. There was a lot of pressure. But I think I did okay.
My second stage kiss was in a class in college - my second year of college. I was originally paired with a scene partner who decided he didn't need to come to class or rehearse with me outside of class, so I was re-partnered with a guy in the class who I actually had quite a crush on at the time. The scene was from "A Hatful of Rain," and I played a woman who is pregnant with her husband's child, but in love with my husband's brother. He played my husband's brother, who was also in love with me. At one point in the scene, he is supposed to go in for a kiss and I push him away with a sort of, "Kiss your brother's wife with that mouth?" kind of thing, and then he goes in for a real kiss a couple of lines later which actually lands. Well, in my first rehearsal with this new scene partner, we were sitting across the table from one another just reading the script. When it came time for his first move, he kind of leaned across the table like he was going to go for the kiss, which surprised me - I didn't know we were doing that in the read through. So a couple of lines later, when the kiss was supposed to happen, I decided I would be the polite actor and meet him halfway because it was kind of a big table and it just seemed like the nice thing to do. Silly me. We both went up for the kiss and ended up smashing faces. I think I split his lip in the collision. Not exactly the kind of stage kiss you want to have, especially not when it is a first impression of sorts on a new scene partner on whom you have a crush.
I have done many more stage kisses since then. And a fair amount of normal kissing, too. And for the most part, people tell me I'm good at it - men and women, because I have kissed both men and women. But I have to say, stage kisses are a strange sort.
With normal kisses, it's generally safe to say that both parties like each other, at least a little bit. First kisses can be a little scary, but you usually know that this is okay. Or the first one can be tentative to feel out where the other person is, with the more passionate kisses following later, once you both know you're on the same page. Yes, things like the taste of your breath and the softness of your lips factor in a bit, but there is some leeway there. If you really dig someone, you may kiss them even though they just had a cigarette and you don't smoke. Or, if this is someone you've been with for a long time, they know that your lips get chapped in the winter, so it's no big deal.
With stage kisses, this is something you have to do for the sake of the scene, regardless of how you feel about the other person or how the other person feels about you. You could loathe one another, but the script says you're madly in love, so you have to kiss. And you know that they don't want to any more than you do, but you suck it up and try to make it look good for the audience. Or maybe you really do like your scene partner, but your scene partner is married or involved with someone else. You want to put on a good show for the audience (and so it will affect your partner), but you don't want to be perceived as pushing it so far as to be inappropriate. Or perhaps your partner isn't attracted to people of your gender. There's that old adage from men doing sex scenes who say to their partners, "I'm sorry if I get turned on, and I'm sorry if I don't get turned on." In some ways, there's just no way to win in these situations. You just have to hope that your breath doesn't stink, that you don't split anyone's lip open, and that you can both just get through it with minimal damage.
And it's that much weirder when the stage kiss happens with your teacher.
So, to set the scene from last night's class, we were up on our feet doing our monologues. My piece is essentially about how much I want to screw over my sister. I'm tired of being overlooked (middle-child syndrome), my husband is dead, I killed the guy who killed my husband, I gouged a man's eyes out, and I now have my sites set on the dashing (and conniving) bastard son of the guy who's eyes I poked out. My sister wants him too, even though she already has a husband. So in my monologue, I'm talking to my sister's messenger/cabana boy, trying to get him to let me read this letter my sister wrote to the hot bastard son. And I'm supposed to give the messenger/cabana boy a token of some sort to give to the hot bastard son so when my sister sees it, she'll know I'm boinking him, too. "If you do find him, pray you give him this/And when your Mistress hears thus much from you/I pray desire her call her wisdom to her." Meaning, "When you see the bastard, give him this. And when my sister hears about it, hold on to your hats, boys, 'cuz she's gonna blow." So anyway.
In class last night, the teachers were coaching us through the monologues. In some cases, when a monologue is directed to someone specific, they will jump in and play the part of that someone specific so that we can have someone to focus on and get reactions out of and play with and whatnot. So the male teacher jumped in to play the messenger/cabana boy. He folded up a piece of paper (which was supposed to be the letter from my sister to the bastard that I want to read) and shoved it down the front of his pants. So I molested him. There is the line, "I'll love thee much," basically saying, "I'll screw your brains out if you let me read that letter," so it wasn't totally uncalled for. And when he shoved me off, I flew into a rage against him and my sister. By the line, "If you do find him, pray you give him this," I was angry and sexy and powerful and threatening, so the "this" was a kiss. I stormed over and kissed my teacher, so that he, as the messenger/cabana boy would have to either then go deliver my message by kissing the bastard, or he would have to tell my sister that I kissed the bastard (through him) or whatever. It put him in the lovely awkward position of having to deliver a message that he really doesn't have a good way to deliver. It was not a romantic kiss. It was a kiss of power and control and belittlement. And then I get to shove him off and tell him he should go kill the dude whose eyes I gouged out.
I have to admit, it was great. It felt great - the whole monologue felt great. It is a piece that kind of depends on the reactions of the man I'm talking to, and my teacher gave me a lot to work with which was fabulous. He's so fun! And in retrospect, I'm proud of myself for taking that chance. It has been a while since I got to do this. I'm understudying a show at the moment, so while I am going to rehearsals three times a week, I don't get to work while I'm there. I get to watch other people work. It is interesting to watch other people work and see their process, but it does tend to make me self-conscious about my process. Especially when I see how I would do things differently, but they were cast and I was not, that kind of thing. Anyway. It felt great to be back on my feet, moving about, taking chances, following impulses, going "balls out," so to speak. And the whole class really responded to it. The teachers said I did great work. It was a good class and I needed that.
But as soon as my monologue ended, I was mortified that I had kissed my teacher. Mortified. He is a professional actor. He has been on Broadway and various television shows and movies and he has the phone number of an author I really like in his cell phone. He has been to the Tonys. And here's me, still learning this craft, and I just go up and plant one on him in class? What the fuck gives me the right to invade his personal space like that?
The fact that I was in class gives me the right.
But still. I started freaking out about all of the stupid things, too - were my lips too tense? Should I have put on lip balm first? Did I have too much lip balm on? I wasn't as worried about my breath because it was a closed-mouth kiss, but still. All of those silly things you worry about when you kiss someone out of the blue were compounded by the fact that this is my teacher. I don't know that a director would ever block the scene so that Regan kisses Oswald there - I don't know if anyone would find that an appropriate action. But it was an impulse I had in the moment in the scene and he was there so I followed it and holy crap I kissed my teacher. In what context is that appropriate?
In the context that this was class and he was functioning as my scene partner in an attempt to get me to push my boundaries.
But he's my teacher. On whom I have an Artist Crush. I told my classmates during the break that I was mortified at what I had done and they were very supportive. And some teasing happened. They started trying to figure out ways they could work a kiss with the teacher into their pieces because let's face it, everyone who meets this man develops a crush on him of some sort. One guy was like, "Kissed the teacher: check!" Like a life goal had been accomplished. So I felt a little better about it. But still. I don't think I offended him or pissed him off or anything, but if I did, I apologize. I think we all know that it was the context of the scene and this power trip my character was on and really, I just want to someday be able to do a scene like this. But I grabbed his butt, too. Something about my performance last night had to be inappropriate on some level, and for that, I apologize.
Just between you and me, though, given the opportunity, I'd do the whole thing all over again.
16 December 2010
Voice
I had an audition last night that I was excited to get because it wasn't for a storefront theater, but a theater that actually has a little bit of a reputation. You may not have heard of it, but some people in the theater world have. And I don't mean to slight storefront theaters because some of them are really wonderful - this audition just felt like a little bit of a step up for me from what I have been doing (or trying to do). And yes, it was an audition for understudy positions, but still. It was a foot in the door, so to speak, so that felt good.
It didn't go as well as I hoped, but I didn't tank it, either. I don't think. They may think so. But they laughed during my first piece (which is comedic, so that's good) and they worked with me a little on my second, which was good. I kind of like it when auditors ask me to work on something because it means they see potential, they just want to try something else, and I get the opportunity to show them that I am directable. I'm still willing to bet that I don't get the part, but I'm glad I went.
One other thing that was interesting was that one of the auditors noticed a sort of hoarse quality to my voice and asked if that was normal. Thing is, I don't think it is, but I don't know. I told her I was a little dried out because I was - my sinuses are being kind of bipolar as of late. But it got me thinking about my voice.
There have been a couple other instances in the last year when I am trying to talk loudly enough to be heard in a bar or something like that wherein someone has asked me if I'm catching a cold or losing my voice. Which makes me wonder if the way I'm trying to project my voice is ripping it up. Or maybe I've ripped it up singing "Me and Bobby McGee" too many times. Who knows? But it did occur to me that at least last night, when I was doing my second piece and I was trying for the big, booming, full voice that I was also speaking in a very low register. I like to try to speak and sing in a low register. It might have something to do with my own weird denial of the fact that I am female and women have higher voices than men. See, most of the actors and musicians I look up to are male, and even the women I like sing too low for themselves. I can hit the high notes - I was singing along with "O, Holy Night" in the car the other day (because yes, I am listening to Christmas music this year) and I can hit those lovely high notes on the "Noels." But somehow, I have gotten it in my head that if I'm speaking from my diaphragm, pushing the sound out from my diaphragm through a relaxed and open throat and jaw, that the sound should be lower. Alto or tenor as opposed to soprano.
So maybe I just need to accept that my voice is higher than that. Maybe I am a soprano. And maybe if I am a soprano trying to speak like a tenor, that is why I sound hoarse - my voice doesn't want to go that low so it gets gravelly.
On my way home in the car, I did my monologues again, trying to stay in a medium-to-higher register, to try to convince myself that I can still be powerful if I sound like a girl. I think as long as the intention is there, it should work. I just need to get used to how it sounds.
Is it weird that I notice these things about myself? Do other actors have these kinds of discoveries based on a sort of off-hand comment made at an audition?
It didn't go as well as I hoped, but I didn't tank it, either. I don't think. They may think so. But they laughed during my first piece (which is comedic, so that's good) and they worked with me a little on my second, which was good. I kind of like it when auditors ask me to work on something because it means they see potential, they just want to try something else, and I get the opportunity to show them that I am directable. I'm still willing to bet that I don't get the part, but I'm glad I went.
One other thing that was interesting was that one of the auditors noticed a sort of hoarse quality to my voice and asked if that was normal. Thing is, I don't think it is, but I don't know. I told her I was a little dried out because I was - my sinuses are being kind of bipolar as of late. But it got me thinking about my voice.
There have been a couple other instances in the last year when I am trying to talk loudly enough to be heard in a bar or something like that wherein someone has asked me if I'm catching a cold or losing my voice. Which makes me wonder if the way I'm trying to project my voice is ripping it up. Or maybe I've ripped it up singing "Me and Bobby McGee" too many times. Who knows? But it did occur to me that at least last night, when I was doing my second piece and I was trying for the big, booming, full voice that I was also speaking in a very low register. I like to try to speak and sing in a low register. It might have something to do with my own weird denial of the fact that I am female and women have higher voices than men. See, most of the actors and musicians I look up to are male, and even the women I like sing too low for themselves. I can hit the high notes - I was singing along with "O, Holy Night" in the car the other day (because yes, I am listening to Christmas music this year) and I can hit those lovely high notes on the "Noels." But somehow, I have gotten it in my head that if I'm speaking from my diaphragm, pushing the sound out from my diaphragm through a relaxed and open throat and jaw, that the sound should be lower. Alto or tenor as opposed to soprano.
So maybe I just need to accept that my voice is higher than that. Maybe I am a soprano. And maybe if I am a soprano trying to speak like a tenor, that is why I sound hoarse - my voice doesn't want to go that low so it gets gravelly.
On my way home in the car, I did my monologues again, trying to stay in a medium-to-higher register, to try to convince myself that I can still be powerful if I sound like a girl. I think as long as the intention is there, it should work. I just need to get used to how it sounds.
Is it weird that I notice these things about myself? Do other actors have these kinds of discoveries based on a sort of off-hand comment made at an audition?
10 December 2010
Stillness
So I'm taking this Shakespeare monologue class and I'm loving it. The teachers are brilliant and wonderful and make it such a comfortable learning environment at the same time they push us to get to the crazy places. I love it. LOVE IT. If you are ever in need of a Shakespeare education, let me know and I'll put you in touch with these two. They are lovely.
The monologue I'm working on is by Hermione from "The Winter's Tale." She has been accused of adultery (of which she is innocent) and was thrown in prison by her husband, the King, where she gave birth to his kid which he doesn't think is his kid, so he had the baby sent out into the woods to "fend for itself" so to speak. And the monologue I'm doing is while she is on trial, he threatens her life if she is found guilty. So she basically responds with, "I'm not afraid to die because you have already taken away everything that I loved. But just know that I am innocent, and if you kill me, my kids will still know I am innocent and won't you feel silly then?" And the emotional place the teachers have been taking me to get into all of the shit that this woman has been put through is gut-wrenching (and I have to say, it's marvelous to get to sob like that once a week, especially if you have someone standing there right next to you with their hand on your back, one hand supporting your head that you have let drop forward, which is what happens in this class. Because yes, she is torn up, but she has to defend herself), but the bit I had not been paying any attention to is that this woman is the Queen. And she's standing in front of probably the whole town who are all judging her while she pleads not for her life, but for her name. As in, this is not the time or place for her to lose her shit. This is an instance when she needs to STAND AND LOOK AT THE DALEKS, so to speak. She needs the beautiful, calm fury of the Doctor punishing the Family of Blood. She needs to stay composed.
As actors, we are told that audition pieces should show a little bit of everything we can do. They are supposed to show us off. Which most of us think means including some kind of physical movement because most of us would like to show that we don't move like stick people. But here I am, working on a monologue that might be best served by standing absolutely still. So the teacher said to me, "Stillness is a choice." And it's perfect. It's beautiful in its simplicity. If I am still and calm as the Queen in my rage as I fight for my honor, I am that much more of a sympathetic character and my King is shown to be that much more of a lunatic for doing this to his wife, who still truly, truly loves him.
"Stillness is a choice."
And when I got home, I felt this kind of catharsis because in my regular life, especially in social situations, I am often still. Not because I'm not engaged, but because I am observing, or because I feel the need to balance out the craziness around me. So I felt justified in my life, almost like when I found that article about "How to Care for Your Introvert," that "made it okay" for me to be an introvert. It is okay if I am still sometimes.
I can't wait to try it again next week.
The monologue I'm working on is by Hermione from "The Winter's Tale." She has been accused of adultery (of which she is innocent) and was thrown in prison by her husband, the King, where she gave birth to his kid which he doesn't think is his kid, so he had the baby sent out into the woods to "fend for itself" so to speak. And the monologue I'm doing is while she is on trial, he threatens her life if she is found guilty. So she basically responds with, "I'm not afraid to die because you have already taken away everything that I loved. But just know that I am innocent, and if you kill me, my kids will still know I am innocent and won't you feel silly then?" And the emotional place the teachers have been taking me to get into all of the shit that this woman has been put through is gut-wrenching (and I have to say, it's marvelous to get to sob like that once a week, especially if you have someone standing there right next to you with their hand on your back, one hand supporting your head that you have let drop forward, which is what happens in this class. Because yes, she is torn up, but she has to defend herself), but the bit I had not been paying any attention to is that this woman is the Queen. And she's standing in front of probably the whole town who are all judging her while she pleads not for her life, but for her name. As in, this is not the time or place for her to lose her shit. This is an instance when she needs to STAND AND LOOK AT THE DALEKS, so to speak. She needs the beautiful, calm fury of the Doctor punishing the Family of Blood. She needs to stay composed.
As actors, we are told that audition pieces should show a little bit of everything we can do. They are supposed to show us off. Which most of us think means including some kind of physical movement because most of us would like to show that we don't move like stick people. But here I am, working on a monologue that might be best served by standing absolutely still. So the teacher said to me, "Stillness is a choice." And it's perfect. It's beautiful in its simplicity. If I am still and calm as the Queen in my rage as I fight for my honor, I am that much more of a sympathetic character and my King is shown to be that much more of a lunatic for doing this to his wife, who still truly, truly loves him.
"Stillness is a choice."
And when I got home, I felt this kind of catharsis because in my regular life, especially in social situations, I am often still. Not because I'm not engaged, but because I am observing, or because I feel the need to balance out the craziness around me. So I felt justified in my life, almost like when I found that article about "How to Care for Your Introvert," that "made it okay" for me to be an introvert. It is okay if I am still sometimes.
I can't wait to try it again next week.
22 November 2010
Nope
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...
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...
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.
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