Month: June 2019

Hello, happy actor people! Today, I address a topic that should be a no-brainer. Honestly, I thought I’d never have to write about this. Some of this is stuff that shouldn’t need to be taught. But I’ve come to discover that rehearsals often go on with flagrant disregard for all of it, especially in a student setting. People, “theater etiquette” ain’t some form of antiquated formality; it’s mostly common sense courtesy. I’d expect any director or member of the creative team who worked on one of my shows to adhere to these rules as well. Learn and obey.

I’ll start, first of all, with a specific list, and then I’ll expand on some of these topics individually. Ready? Here we go!

1. Don’t participate in potentially dangerous sports or events, as a participant (no team sports) or a spectator (no screaming, cheering loudly, or talking over very loud noise), during the production schedule.
2. Don’t cut your hair or make other physical changes to yourself during the production schedule unless you have consulted with the director first.
3. Consistent attendance is a must.
4. Put the day and your mood aside.
5. Be punctual.
6. Prepare and warm up.
7. No distracting chatter.
8. Never invite friends or relatives to a rehearsal.
9. Always report to the stage manager if temporarily leaving the rehearsal space.
10. Respect — and stay out of the way of — the activity of stagehands and crew members.
11. Unless otherwise requested, never leave the stage when a scene is being worked on. When the director stops to work with other individuals in a given scene, library calm must be maintained until the action begins again.
12. Never take unscheduled self-dictated breaks to go to the bathroom, drink water, text, etc.
13. Never have drinking containers – or other inappropriate objects – littering the acting area.
14. No missed cues or entrances.
15. When not needed on stage at a given moment, either sit quietly in the wings or the house and observe all activity, or, at a safe distance from the stage, rehearse scenes when off-stage with other actors not needed on stage at a given moment.
16. Ask for simple adjustments from fellow actors if needed, but never offer directorial advice unless requested by the director. More to the point, never direct each other, or come close to seeming to be directing a fellow actor.
17. Make detailed blocking notations in your script, and study them every day.
18. Do not “perform” at rehearsals.
19. Realize that the majority of your work on a show happens outside of rehearsal.
20. Try to have fun with it, no matter how exhausting or arduous the process is.

(I call this “The 20 Commandments of Rehearsal,” because it could have been 10, but actors need a little more supervision, am I right? …tough crowd, tough crowd.)

Some of these don’t need much elaboration; for example, Point 1 should go without saying, especially for those who sing and know what it takes to preserve one’s voice, or who recognize how hard it is to invent character interpretations that explain obvious injury on the fly. Point 5 is another such example; let’s face it, they will start without you if you’re not punctual. Likewise with Point 14, which is also pretty self-explanatory — there won’t be an excuse live, and learning to be prepared is the whole purpose of rehearsal. Point 15 is equally obvious. Points 11, 12, and 13 go to focus on creating the character (as we learned before from the Stanislavskian approach), besides which, in the case of the last, every item left lying around increases the chances of a liability suit when somebody (literally) hits the deck. While we’re talking liability, the same story with Point 9; you’re our responsibility when you’re in rehearsal, and if we don’t know where you are and you get hurt, we get hurt. All of that should be easy to understand.

But the rest, I can afford to be clearer about. So, let’s dive in!

Point 2

The question “Is acting based on looks?” has been legitimately raised since the dawn of the profession. There’s no denying the field is very competitive, and sexy people generally get more work than plain folks, but we’re talking about something different here. Most visual directors have an image in their mind of the character, which they take with them into the casting process. As talented as you are, they might well have cast you based in part on the way you looked at auditions. That’s why it’s inadvisable to make drastic changes to your look without checking with your team.

This especially applies to tattoos when one plays a role where bare skin will be visible – if you didn’t have them before, they shouldn’t be on you now. Save your bad decision and/or birthday present for after the play’s run. An actor needs to be a “blank canvas,” ready to adapt their physical appearance for a large variety of roles. How many characters pre-1990 will appropriately sport body art anyway? Outside of sailors, “gypsies,” and circus freaks, not too many. And this is saying nothing of how many tedious hours it takes in the makeup chair applying body paint to cover them up.

Point 3

Consistent attendance is not an unreasonable expectation. The proposed rehearsal schedule was posted at auditions, and all scheduled conflicts were to be listed on the audition sheet, implying you’d work the play into your schedule, clear your calendar of as many other activities as you could, and make the show your number one priority. A commitment was asked for that is to be taken as seriously as when being hired for a job, especially if acting is your job. The only valid excuse for missing is death, preferably your own or that of a friend or family member. If you’re sick, unless it’s deathly or contagious (in which case, call the team and provide a doctor’s note if/when you return), show up, and it’s up to the director to decide vis-à-vis your dismissal and/or being sent home.

Of course, if your illness is so bad that it prevents you from joining the production process in time, please understand when your part is recast. Don’t take it as a personal slight; it’s necessary for the good of the production. As always, “the show must go on,” even if that means it continues without you.

Point 4

Like Points 12 and 13, this is key to your focus on creating the character. We all have our bad days, and outside circumstances don’t stop existing just because you’re in rehearsal. But take this as an opportunity to channel your emotions toward portraying what the character’s feeling, rather than dwelling on what you’re going through and letting it mess up your work. If you haven’t been dwelling on the negative energy that ruined your day, you might even feel better afterward too.

Point 6

You can’t do your best and leave the rest without honing the muscles you’re using to do it. Generally, especially at an amateur level, there’s a defined period for warm-up at the start of rehearsal, but if it’s not a regular part of the schedule, plan on doing it before you get to work. Preparation ensures proper performance.

And speaking of preparation, it’s here that I’d like to address an actor’s most important instrument: their voice. Even if you’re aided by electronic amplification, if you abuse the key tool available to you (especially if your performance schedule is during cold/flu or allergy season), a time will come when it won’t do what you expect it to do anymore. The general tips that follow are widely known, and the more experienced singers among us can probably throw in some more, but I figure if it helps improve the sound, then it can’t hurt! I’ll start with obvious advice, move toward general techniques, and close with things to look out for.

• Before even entering production… if you’re serious about becoming a better singer, and this isn’t just your hobby, consider going to a singing teacher or vocal coach who works with professional vocalists. They’ll be able to give you tips about stamina and strength. Potentially expensive, but worth every cent if you go to the right people.
• First and foremost, once you’re on the clock, I refer you back to Point 1 of these commandments (far) above. It’s not just about overuse of your voice when yelling or speaking loudly; it also puts unnecessary strain on the vocal folds, and at times can damage the voice. And I would further add to avoid speaking at length as well, for much the same reasons.
• More “don’t”s: no smoking or chewing any products containing tobacco or nicotine; no alcohol or caffeine, which dehydrate and strain the voice (if you feel you can’t cut them out completely, then drink one glass of water for each cup of coffee/soda or liquor); and try to avoid being around any chemicals or inhaled heat (can create uncool inflammation and swelling).
• In the “do” column: Water is your friend. Drink as much as you can; it lubricates the vocal folds.
• Vocal warm-ups are important. Remember, the voice is a muscle, and you have to train it, gently, to do what it’s being asked to do. Consider a heavy amount of singing like lifting weights at the gym; if you try and lift the heaviest weight first thing in the morning without working up to it or warming up, you could hurt yourself. So pace yourself, and warm up, at length. Neck and shoulder stretches, hums, gliding from low to high tones using different vowel sounds… open up the pipes to allow for flow, if you know what I mean.
• Equally important are vocal cool-downs. This makes logical sense even if you’ve never heard of it; if you “warm up” to get ready, you’ve got to “cool down” when you’re done. Light humming in the car on the way home, singing through a straw (it sounds weird, but people say it works), or soft sirens on an “oo” vowel, will help relax the voice.
• The big keys of rehearsal: less breath when singing, and don’t force it. I’ll explain. In the case of the former, it’s admittedly easier said than done, but too much breath over the vocal folds, like shouting, forcing for the notes, or grunting, will dry them out quickly and damage them. Do the rehearsals in half voice or use more falsetto when marking out songs, and if you’re rehearsing tough material over an extended period, choose certain days/rehearsals to use the full range. For the same reason, when I say “don’t force it,” what I mean is if you aren’t “feeling it” vocally, resist the urge to over-compensate. It’s important to rest your voice as much as possible.
• Now, a quick word about physical issues. Do you have, or have you ever had, acid reflux? Acids backing up from the stomach into the throat can damage the vocal folds. Consult a specialist if you notice any of the following: frequent heartburn, a bad taste in your mouth in the morning, frequent bloating or burping, a lump in the back of your throat, and frequent hoarseness.
• Continuing on that track, if you have a cough or mild sore throat, avoid frequent throat clearing and harsh coughing; sipping water + nursing cough drops = some relief. (If you need to bring in the big guns, Fisherman’s Friend cough drops are equally a singer’s best friend. Pavarotti used them [as well as another, of an even stronger formula, not available in the U.S.]. They can raise your voice from the dead and get you through a taxing performance or recording session. No joke!)
• And last but not least, let’s talk about getting your head in the game. Famous baseball player Yogi Berra once said, “90% of the game is half-mental.” While this malapropism is certainly worth a laugh, it’s sort of true when it comes to singing. Don’t worry about your singing, or you’ll get stressed out, and stress hurts your voice. Example: a friend accepted a demanding role in a big musical last summer, his first after a year-long hiatus due to vocal damage. Imagine how stressful that must’ve been! Naturally, the only thing he could think about was his voice — in rehearsal, during the performance schedule, day of the show, during the show, voice voice voice. Predictably enough, he lost his voice several times; even after a week off, it’d disappear when he needed it, or sometimes he’d be doing great during a show and then lose it mid-way. It wasn’t pleasant, and he beat himself up a lot. Shortly thereafter, he was cast in another show, in a role that required much higher singing but happened to be smaller. The role was small enough — and he was disheartened enough after the last gig, expecting the worst — that he didn’t give thought to how his voice was doing at all. Sure enough, his voice didn’t fail him once that time around. My point? The less you think about what you’re doing, the better off you’ll be. If you are concerned about how you’re doing, talk to the musical director; unless they directly contradict something your singing teacher or vocal coach taught you that works, they’re the ideal source of advice. Also, remember that they’re working with you because they have faith in you, so you should have faith in yourself. The responsibility of maintaining the score’s sound rests on their shoulders, and they wouldn’t be working with you if they didn’t trust you to be the singer they wanted.

Point 7

That Stanislavskian focus again! Once the work is on and the warm-up period is through, refuse to get involved in an extraneous conversation, be it with fellow actors, with someone on your cell phone, etc. Talking off-stage, even in a whisper, can be very disruptive and does serious damage to the focus needed by those working on-stage. If you must have a conversation when you aren’t working on-stage, take it outside the rehearsal hall.

Point 8

Continuing with that point: a rehearsal should be the private work of actors and directors in an atmosphere free from all distractions. Explain the situation to the person concerned; if it’s really important to them that they see the work-in-progress, try calling ahead of time to explain the situation and see if an exception can be made. Do not just bring them unannounced.

Point 10

In the words of “Corner of the Sky” from Pippin, “Everything has its season, everything has its time…” We have our jobs, and the techies have theirs. It’s their job to make sure the show runs like clockwork. That means if they’re doing something important, don’t distract them and don’t get in the way. Moving set-pieces quickly prove to make bad companions.

Point 16

There’s a modern tendency in actors, amateurs especially, to not understand the director’s role as a leader. There must be a single mind guiding the artistic choices in every department of production – that of the director. That’s why Point 16 is particularly important; it’s very bad theater etiquette to assume your director wants you to offer unsolicited ideas. If someone tries to give you notes, even if they make sense, say, “Thank you, but I only take direction from the director.” If they persist in giving you notes, a private conference with the director about the problem is in order.

Point 17

I can’t tell you how often I’ve seen time wasted at rehearsals trying to reconstruct blocking from earlier in the process. Does no one take notes anymore? A stitch in time saves nine, after all. “But it’s only going to change later!” Duh. That’s why you use pencil; yes, it may be frustrating if the director changes blocking a lot, but that’s what the eraser’s for – helping you make accurate notes about the changes made. As in all things, the director must be allowed to change their mind as much as the creative process allows them to.

Point 18

I get it. Actors need to please; in some, it’s practically a neurosis. Here’s the thing, though: the desire to “succeed” steals the chance to do honest exploration. Let go of the need to please your director. Good performances are never arrived at by pleasing anyone but yourself and your understanding of how to communicate with an audience. (In a musical, part of achieving this aim means to stop trying to sound like cast recordings. This article makes the point perfectly, and it doesn’t bear re-stating in my own words, so I’ll simply say that if you’re a performer in musical theater reading this blog and there’s only one thing you’ll take away from reading it, try to make it this.)

Point 19

If you’re not working on the show outside the rehearsal hall, your performance will suffer. It’s like not doing homework, as much as it can be a pain in the ass; if you don’t practice what you’ve learned, it won’t stick. The time a cast and director work together is to hone the work brought to the rehearsal. Speaking of that work, it’s time for…

A brief digression re: technique

Script analysis is key for any performer attempting a part, as I’ve covered in a previous post. (Again, I was never knocking “the method,” merely improper use of it.) But actors sometimes miss a key element; once I learned about this, and processed what it meant, I realized it should be a no-brainer, but believe it or not, it’s rare to hear pros admit this is part of their toolkit, which is a pity because it should be standard for every actor, director, or even designer. It opens so many doors of perception when working on a musical, be it original or revival.

This advice boils down to three deceptively simple words: read the lyrics. “That’s it?” you say. “Read the lyrics? Shit, I’m already ten steps ahead of you just by following along in the booklet (or online, these days) when I’m listening to a cast recording.” Hang on, I’m goin’ someplace; as I said, this advice is deceptively simple.

You might know by now that I’m a huge fan of the Andrew Lloyd Webber/Tim Rice rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar, and if you’re familiar with the show itself at all, you might know that many of its huge fans don’t hold a special place in their hearts for the 2000 direct-to-video remake produced by Webber and directed by Gale Edwards. The talent is spotty, the production concept in terms of design fails to be a unified whole, and it’s generally an emasculated version of the show I know and love. But… I got something useful out of their description of the production process.

In the making-of featurette, Edwards described how she approached the show as she would a Shakespearean play, and in a separate article on the subject, she discussed a method she employed that helped the actors clarify their approach: she had them read the lyrics as though they were dialogue. Now, especially in the case of JCS, this sounds pretty stupid in theory, and I’m sure the performers felt silly at first in practice, but then I thought about what that accomplishes.

Reading the lyrics as dialogue, as though this were a straight play, strips away the distractions of melody and hitting the note, and allows one to focus on the meaning behind the lyric, why these words are being said (and later, when the music is re-added, sung; there has to be a reason for the path the vocal melody takes, it has to come from somewhere, from emotion, not just because that’s how it’s written), and how the character’s feelings are reflected in what’s being said (sung), which is useful if you’re ever in doubt about how to play a song as a scene. It’s inspiring, and it can lead to new realizations about the role or even just a specific moment. (I should add here that the quality of the lyrics in question doesn’t matter. They could be supremely literate, or drivel devised with the help of a cigar-box guitar and an arranger who wrote it all down. The technique works regardless.)

It also helps in other ways. For example, if it’s a particularly complicated lyric involving a lot of rhymes or tongue-twisters, it helps the cast with developing a rhythm and memorizing the lyric. (That’s often the difference between merely singing words and notes, and singing lyrics and phrases.) For directors, be it revival or original, the technique also brings weak performers to the fore, revealing who needs the most work. If they were picked for a different reason than their acting, such as singing or dancing, this will become the moment when everyone learns what they’re capable of, and figures out which wheat will grow beautifully and which chaff will need a little more attention.

Last but not least, in an original (new) musical that will benefit as much from an actor’s input as the author’s, it’s also an effective way to figure out if a song works or not for a given moment in the show. If the performer has enough understanding to figure out what the character’s feeling and doesn’t need to be spoon-fed by a territorial author, but they can’t figure out how to play the lyrics, that’s the cue for the writer to go back to the drawing board. If you’re the only one who understands it on the team, how can you expect an audience to get it? Without the distraction of the melody, you’re not hung up on “But it’s a great song!” or other similar objections. You know what doesn’t work, and you know what to fix.

If you don’t believe me, take it from no less a personage than Tony Award nominee Adam Pascal: “When I first learn a song, I don’t look at the music. I take all of the lyrics and I read them, so I know exactly who I am, where I am, and why I am. Then, when I approach the music, I’m more intelligent with my choices. I sing the notes, but I connect them with the story. I tell the story.”

Anyway, let’s get back to the task at hand and wrap this up with…

Point 20

As Prince wrote in his immortal classic “Nothing Compares 2 U,” you’ve got to “try to have fun no matter what you do.” It’s a grind, no one’s denying it. But the secret of creating good, effective theater is that the hard work involved is the fun of doing a play. If you manage to process, absorb, and incorporate that into your line of thinking, you’ve got it made.

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Coming up next: tips for the first-time touring performer, and at least one more episode of “For Your Consideration” before my dissection of the acting process is over. Stay tuned!

Hello, actors and actresses alike! I’m back with some more pertinent recommendations for all of y’all. Today, we enter the wide world of auditions. Recently, when assisting with an open call via the wonderful resource known as Backstage, I encountered a couple of things from virtual submissions that I thought needed addressing in the working acting world at large, purely from the casting / auditioning side of the street.

Auditioning isn’t a science or a game you can ace if you follow all the rules and get the steps just right (although what I say below can only help). It’s a trial by fire. Auditioning makes you feel like you’re going to trip and fall, and on the way down, people are going to trample on your feelings and reject you. Unless you have rhinoceros skin, auditioning can crush the life out of you. It’s soul-destroying; you have to be very, very tough. I don’t say this to discourage you. I’m telling you the truth about how damn hard it is to get ahead in the business. But if you’re reading this, it probably doesn’t matter to you. You’re probably so powerfully motivated that you’ll do it anyway. You’re burning with that hot flame to be an actor, and you’ve got the talent to make your mark, or at least you think you do. So here’s how you audition.

Making Your Submission

• Let’s say you’re a nondescript young male actor, and you submit an acting reel of some sort – video auditions, in the form of reels meant to showcase your skills via representative samples, are all the rage these days – in which you appear with three other young nondescript males who, generally speaking, all look alike. You must either identify which one is you or not submit this kind of reel, to begin with. If we can’t tell which one’s you without written instructions, you’re probably not distinctive enough as a talent to get the job.
• While I’m on the subject of reels… I recently saw one from an established performer (Hollywood credits, even) that was frankly awful. I was asked whether or not we should use him for a show, and I had to tell my colleagues that the way the reel was put together, I could barely determine if this guy could act. He claimed agility in many fields, but I didn’t see it on display. Here’s an example: he included stand-up comedy in his résumé, but in the reel, we saw a two-or-three-second clip of him greeting an applauding crowd in a club… and that was it. The entirety of the stand-up section of the reel was him saying hi, and the audience greeting him with the standard reception. Hell, to get a clip like that, in theory, all I’d need to be is the announcer for a more popular act. It didn’t give the impression that he knew shit about stand-up comedy. If you are claiming a skill, your reel had better actually display that skill. Capisce? (And if editing ain’t your strong suit, and you might be prone to the same mistake to get your reel to some popularly recommended length, for the love of God let someone else put together your damn reel.)
• Last but not least, it’s time someone told you the unvarnished truth about résumés and headshots. Namely, résumés and headshots are only for filing, and “the perfect headshot” is a gimmick designed to generate work for photographers hoping to maintain job opportunities. The most important thing about a “perfect headshot” is this: so that it can be properly filed, it must look like you. Not better, not worse – it’s got to look like you. If the picture’s inaccurate in any way, it pisses people off because they don’t know it’s you, and the picture’s only purpose is for filing, so don’t splurge on the “deluxe treatment” package or do any editing yourself to take out the flaws (or add them, depending on the role). As for who takes the picture, don’t waste your money on professional photographers. They charge an arm and a leg for an outdated service when you have the technology. Don’t believe me? Let me ask you this: have you got a smartphone or a good digital camera? Great. Do you have a friend you know who takes good pictures? Have them snap a bunch of you – maybe, oh, 200 or so. (Hey, I didn’t say it’d be easy; besides, you’ll want to have a wide variety that captures your capacity for expression anyway.) Out of those, I promise there will be at least 4 that will be good and accurate, guaranteed.

At the Audition

• Before you audition, do your homework if the style is wholly unfamiliar to you. Never been in a rock musical before? Check out some YouTube clips of the show you’re trying out for, or buy a book like Rock the Audition by Sheri Sanders. Never done a (for lack of a better term) “conventional” Broadway musical? Listen to the score thoroughly, and absorb other shows from that time or by that composer. They don’t have to know that you were once unfamiliar with the style. That’s part of convincing them you’re right for the job.
• When choosing material, don’t make the job harder for you or anyone involved when you reach the pivotal moment. Your audition pianist is trying to sight-read what you’re asking them to play. If you hand them something ridiculously complex, it’s putting both you and them at a disadvantage. Don’t do something by a composer like Jason Robert Brown or Stephen Sondheim that isn’t easy to immediately pick up. Even if it’s a Brown or Sondheim show, pick something in a similar style that’ll work for the audition. (A good match for Sondheim, for example, is usually Adam Guettel.)
• Don’t be afraid of obscurities. If no one’s heard of the number you chose, or at least hasn’t heard it in a long time, that’s more likely to stick with them. Don’t be afraid to search for something that isn’t well-known, because that’s a number you can truly turn into a personal showcase. If a show is brand new, like just-closed, material from it might still be obscure enough to fit this rule, but by and large, aim for obscurities that have been around a while.
• The material must be appropriate to the performer, so adapt it to suit your needs. By which I mean, among other things: sing something in your age range. For example, if you’re 16 and start singing about divorce from any point of view other than the child of divorced parents, it will not only look extremely odd but may come across as mawkish and insincere. Don’t aim for an unrealistic target. But other than making sure what you sing fits what they see, the sky can be the limit. If you want to do a song normally performed by a character of another gender, because it really suits the character you’re trying out for and will sell you well, go right ahead. You can always change the pronoun if necessary. (Some people frown on that; I say do whatever you think will get the role.) If you think you’ll do the song as well or better in another key, find someone to help you transpose it.
• The material must be appropriate for the show you’re auditioning for. You don’t audition for My Fair Lady with something from Grease. Choose your material wisely, with attention to the show’s musical style and content. I don’t care how good you are at the song, or how many roles it’s gotten you: if you don’t do something in the show’s style, you’re showing me you’re great at another kind of role, not showing me what you could do for this show. If you’re auditioning for a rock musical, do something rock, be it from a jukebox musical or otherwise. If the show is by R&H or Cole Porter, do one by them. Don’t shy away from that. As long as it’s good, shows you off well, and fits the show, great. (This doesn’t always mean picking a song by the same composer. For example, not everything Stephen Schwartz wrote sounds like Wicked. Go for a similar style more-so than the same composer.)
• The material must complement the character you’re auditioning for. To give a handy example, if you’re auditioning for, say, Rose in Dogfight, you want something with a more innocent touch than “Dead Girl Walking” from Heathers. That song wouldn’t make much sense. Pick a song from a character in a similar situation or with a similar frame of mind to the character you’re trying out for.
• Don’t overplay your hand. If you belt and the song you chose has a big belt moment, only belt at the big belt moment. If it’s a number designed to show off your comedic skills, strike an even balance between going for the laugh and going for the note (it will take practice).
• Have more than one choice in mind. This helps you avoid the “99 other people sang my song!!” issue. Prepare more than one number (or section of a number, if they only ask for a set amount like 16 to 32 bars), and ask other people what they’re singing. If the song you chose is on everyone’s lips, switch to Option B or C. The creative team who are tired of hearing that song will thank you. No one cares if you’ve “made the song your own” if they’ve already heard it a dozen times that day; sad but true. There are only so many twists you can add on your own.
• If actors only want to accept a particular role, they can make that note on their audition sheet. I don’t care for actors narrowing their interest to a single role, indeed I doubt anyone would, but it’s a legitimate thing for experienced actors to do in certain settings. If you don’t do it, however, and you got a role but it’s not the one you hoped for, you have two options: suck it up and accept it, or walk. Well, make that one option. You can choose the latter, but remember that there’s always competition for roles, and your reputation for either good or bad behavior will weigh in on future casting decisions. After all, people talk to people. Only make that decision if you feel you really, truly aren’t a fit.

After the Audition

• Casting doesn’t end at auditions. If there are good candidates for roles who couldn’t attend the day(s) of auditions, why should they be out of the running? There’s great talent out there. While the actors who show up for auditions may disagree, their mere presence shouldn’t give them precedence over others who couldn’t make it. Some performers may cry, “No fair!” But the only “fair” approach to any aspect of mounting a production is to assure the best show possible, and the main ingredient for a solid show is a solid cast. A director needs to use every resource available to recruit potential actors and to assure the best cast possible, especially if a performer who has been cast is not living up to their many responsibilities and needs to be replaced. (While I’m on that subject… unless you can prove beyond a doubt that your replacement is the result of discrimination against you or other shady circumstances, replacing actors is a legitimate choice, so don’t attempt to stir up drama about your dismissal. If the unfortunate situation occurs where it’s best for the show to replace an actor, for any legitimate reason, then it must be done. Unless you can prove illegitimacy, all you’re setting yourself up for, should you complain, is the end of your career.)
• Not getting the role doesn’t mean you’re a bad performer. Actors need to remember that their talents may not always have an impact on whether or not they get the part. Michael Shurtleff, renowned casting director for Broadway shows like Chicago and Becket and films like The Graduate, gave a legendary course on auditioning that launched hundreds of successful careers. When it came time for a book deal, there was only one thing Mr. Shurtleff could write about, and sure enough, Audition, his legendary book on the casting process for young and upcoming actors, has served as the all-important “how” for all aspiring actors, from the beginning student of acting to the proven talent trying out for that chance-in-a-million role. In his book, he puts it succinctly: “…actors must not worry about why they don’t get a role; they should only concern themselves with doing the best damn audition they know how to do. […] Many times I have heard directors say about an actor: ‘That is the best audition we’ll ever see of that role. Too bad we can’t cast him.’ Their regret is genuine. But there has to be a balance in casting – the parts must fit like a jigsaw puzzle – and there are times when the best auditioners don’t ‘fit.’ An actor cannot concern himself with that; there lies madness. Just go ahead and audition well, cry a little when you don’t get the role you want, but never ask why. The why is usually a series of imponderables over which the actor has no control.”

I feel like maybe that last bullet point didn’t illustrate things enough for some of you. Luckily, Mr. Shurtleff had a handy story from his days casting the original touring concert companies, Broadway stage version, and film of Jesus Christ Superstar to illustrate the answer to the question “Why didn’t you get the role?” I reproduce that excerpt below for the same purpose. Bracketed insertions for context are mine.

The girl who gave the most exciting auditions (she did three of them) for the role of Mary Magdalene in Superstar was Bette Midler, already a celebrity at this time. Bette had taken my class on how to audition when she was in Fiddler on the Roof, playing a small role. She was extraordinary even then, and memorable, but she was disheartened at that time by her long tenure hidden among the supporting players of Fiddler. She felt she deserved leads. She was right.

Bette Midler sang “I Don’t Know How to Love Him” like no one else: disillusioned, hurt, vulnerable, with the pain of a Mary Magdalene who had been made to believe again after she was determined not to because of the hurts she had experienced. Tom O’Horgan [the director] adored her and was strongly tempted (even though [Robert] Stigwood [the producer] and the writers [Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber] were always in favor of the woman who had done the record, Yvonne Elliman), but eventually, I think, he realized this mature, voluptuous, womanly interpretation of the role would not fit in with his cast of hippies and flower children. He couldn’t quite let her go, though. I was asked to bring her into the theater to wait for Mr. Stigwood to arrive. “Miss Midler,” I said, “if you would be so kind…” And without acknowledging our previous association with each other, I led her to her seat. En route she whispered to me, “Don’t give me away,” and I didn’t, for I realized a superlative performance of a celebrity star was being given to surround the audition itself. She was regal and mysterious, this Mary Magdalene, and she revealed not an ounce of the marvelous honky-tonk performer she was to be in her one-woman shows.

[…] Midler did brilliant auditions for Superstar, but she was not cast because it would have disrupted the casting of the rest of the show.

Michael Shurtleff, Audition

You read correctly, folks: on the cusp of her nightclub success that catapulted her to fame, Bette fucking Midler got turned down for the hottest ticket in town, Jesus Christ Superstar. And… it wasn’t her fault. And… it sure the hell wasn’t the last we heard of Bette Midler, was it?

Sometimes you’re not what they’re looking for. But sometimes, they don’t have a choice. So hold your head up.

Danger, Will Robinson!

At this point, I’d like to take a moment to address a fast-growing, pervasive issue in today’s entertainment industry: the “pay to play” scheme. I was recently made aware of this when a colleague and I tussled with a New York “creative” (if you could call him that) engaging in this sort of snake oil salesmanship. A surprising amount of performers were taken in by this guy. Thus, it seems appropriate to address it here, as it’s certainly better to recognize it when auditioning than after you’ve landed the role.

There’s no way to ease into this, so I’m just going to say it straight out: If you are ever asked to pay dues or a fee to act in a production, walk the other way. It’s always a scam, a ripoff, and a fraud. There are no exceptions to this rule.

Now, for all my harsh talk about acting classes, let me be clear: this doesn’t apply to them. Getting substantial professional theatrical training at a college or university, with pros who have expert/educational credentials and academic degrees to back up their words, and appearing in a show while at school, is not the same as paying to act. That’s training, not an employment opportunity. (Unless they tell you they’re a school and a professional production company all at once; in that case, beware, as this duality of roles is uncommon and likely illegal.) I’m talking strictly about responding to a casting call and being told there’s a chance for remunerated work, pending a successful production, but you’ll need to pay dues or a fee to act in anything emanating from this company.

Ask yourself: would you have to pay to work in any other profession? Make no mistake, that’s what acting is, in a business sense. Acting is work, and by law, you’re supposed to be compensated for your labor. On occasion, because of professional show business contingencies, actors will act for free, which is a very substantial contribution to any production, but to pay to act, especially in such circumstances, is obscene. It’s nothing more than an attempt to scam money from actors by nefarious means. There are no exceptions ever. These people will do or say anything to get your money.

If you don’t believe me, ask other professionals! Go to AEA or SAG-AFTRA, your professors, your mentors, even lawyers; show them the ad that lured you in, and tell them you’ve been asked for money. No legitimate professional, union, or expert will ever tell you an operation like this is on the up and up. Never, ever.

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That wraps up this installment. Tune in a couple of days from now as we move out of auditions and into rehearsals!

Hello, everybody! First of all, my profound apologies for not getting back to this topic sooner; my side gig (more about that at the end of my “About the Author” page) and having some Pride fun in my home state sidetracked me. But I’m back, and I’m ready to talk about something that’s been nagging at me for some time: practical advice for actors, starting with a no-nonsense approach to the profession itself. So, you wanna save money on acting classes? You’ve come to the right place. Pull up a chair.

Don’t Be Fooled

Ever looked into an acting class, and seen just how many there were for different types of acting? Look up ads for acting classes; you’ll come across workshops and learning opportunities that run the gamut from stage acting to film acting, from sitcom acting to commercial acting. It creates the illusion of many different kinds of acting; it’s enough to, in the words of Oliver Stone’s JFK, “confuse the eye and confound the understanding.”

Let me dispel the myth: there’s only one kind of acting in existence, and it’s called… drum-roll please… acting. These teachers, especially in America, primarily make bank by convincing people that they have something to teach. They need you to believe there’s some secret that you aren’t in on unless you pay hundreds for a workshop to learn about it. The only thing you’ll ultimately learn, same as from this free post, is that acting is behaving as if what’s in the script is happening to you. That’s it, boiled down to the barest essentials. It doesn’t ultimately matter to an audience how you got there, as long as you’re convincing and/or entertaining, preferably both.

“What? It’s got to be more complicated than that.” Only if you make it that way. But fine. I sense some hostility from those who paid good money for these workshops and courses and don’t take kindly to being told that they wasted their hard-earned pay, and it’s important to address that. So let me break down what’s wrong with most of these classes.

“Be Real”? Get Real!

One thing today’s acting classes seem to have in common, aside from over-emphasizing the use of “the method” (I’m getting to that, don’t worry), is teaching it to actors in a manner that’s false in many ways. For example, one of the most commonly used buzzwords or phrases in classes like these is when the teacher asks the actor to just “be real,” or to “be yourself.” Not all characters are you (more about this in a moment), so how could simply asking someone to be real and bring the reality of their own life to the part possibly be the main objective of acting? The answer is, it’s not. It’s a snake oil scheme to make money selling acting lessons.

Think about it. If a teacher bases their class enrollment on talent and/or reasoned likelihood of success, if it’s rooted in the reality of the acting profession (of any field, really), their class will be very small. How does that pay their rent or put food on the table? But broaden the criteria, and say the goal is to “be real”? They’ve just set a requirement anyone can fulfill; I mean, we’re all real. We’re not cobbled together from aluminum foil and glue (in a literal sense, at least). Everyone, even somebody with the most superficial “front” in humankind, is real. If a trait every human being possesses is the only qualification, they can sell acting lessons to anyone they want, even if they haven’t any talent. (Not what I call talent! Talent for the deaf, dumb, and blind, maybe! …sorry, where was I…) And then they tell you, “Oh yes, you’ve done well, you’re so much more real. But you can get even more real if you take another thousand-dollar class.” Sound fishy to you yet?

Reality is boring. It’s repetitive and mundane. The reality of the stage and screen, on the other hand, is curated; it’s carefully selected, edited, and shaped, by writers, directors, designers, etc., to be exciting (yes, even in “reality” television; you haven’t seen the hundreds of hours of raw footage on the cutting room floor, and believe me, you’ll never want to). Reality is twenty-four hours a day; the scale of time on stage or screen is different, usually about two hours. If all you do is “be real,” you’re not doing your job.

Other Venial Sins of the Acting Class

Speaking of getting real as opposed to “being real,” let’s talk about another harsh truth: acting classes in themselves are a useless, false environment that doesn’t prepare you for the reality of acting. If you’re very, very young (I mean that, by the way; if you’re 21+, your brain’s developed enough that you can learn what you need to learn like everyone else, and I’ll get to that shortly) and need to learn the absolute basics, sure, sign up. But once you’ve learned that, any other acting class is inadequate preparation at best and setting you up for failure at worst.

Don’t believe me? Let me ask you this: if acting class prepares you for the reality of acting, how come your audience is always and only, with very rare exceptions, the same classmates that show up week after week? That’s hardly preparation for the reality of a random and fresh audience every time.

I’ll give you another example: many American students – and teachers – treat the class as though it was a form of psychotherapy. Explain to me how that’s meant to be useful. To quote a colleague who was younger than me in the final days of the great American acting teachers and caught the last of them, “I had several acting teachers who practiced pseudo-psychology on us as young people, many of whom are dead, and who I would gladly dig up and kill again because of it.”

And that’s assuming the teacher knows what they’re doing aside from that. In my college days at CCRI, I met and bonded with a talented woman who’s explored many avenues throughout her ongoing academic career, acting being one (she has a natural artistic flair), and she kvetched to me one day when discussing the business about how a teacher had turned her off of acting forever. We grew up in the same city, and I’ve known her most of my life; if ever there was a natural, in every sense of the word, for performing, this girl was it. There was no question of stage fright, even though she attended a high school in our area that was probably the roughest audience anyone could face; hell, she seemed (and still seems) practically fearless in the face of many life struggles she’s endured. But one teacher changed everything, and unfortunately, this wasn’t one of those positive “Hallmark movie” changes.

When she went to school, in hopes of honing her craft, she took a course in stage acting with a professor who was the worst thing she could encounter: a frustrated Hollywood hopeful. The one minor difference between stage and film acting is that stage acting involves “projecting” (physically and metaphorically) your performance outward to an audience, you’re playing for anywhere from 1 to 10 rows beyond the “fourth wall,” whereas film calls for subtler, more introspective, “small” acting due to its “up close,” personal nature. This instructor ignored that difference, teaching them essentially how to act for the camera instead of cheating out. More than that, he dealt very abrasively with his students, which left a massive negative impact. (Some folks can be ball-busters — that’s part and parcel of the business — but there’s a very thin line in entertainment between constructive criticism and bullying, and my experience with acting teachers has largely leaned toward the latter.)

My friend, who’s bravely handled situations that would stagger the mind of the strongest individual, left that course afraid to get up in front of other classes to give oral reports or speak for even a few minutes about a topic (i.e., ask questions, etc.) from her seat. Is that the kind of help an acting class is meant to offer? Oh no, wait, they also engage in peddling that most obscuring of exercises: “the method.” For those who haven’t caught up with the rest of us, I shall endeavor to explain.

“The Method,” Improperly Applied

Various acting styles have been developed throughout theater history, from the classical era in Greece to the modern day of multimedia acting, incorporating the stage, screen, and television. But as I said above, all acting boils down to the same thing; the only difference is how real it looks. And before it becomes clouded by method or colored by technique, acting is just a simulation, playing pretend for money. The performer conceptualizes the character they portray as a conveyance, not necessarily a naturalistic or realistic depiction of a person one might encounter in life. Let’s say you’re supposed to be playing sadness, but you’re not sad; pose, put on a facial expression, and convey the emotion without necessarily feeling it in reality. That’s just basic acting, right?

Before the dawn of films and TV, there was only the stage, so simply pretending was coupled with adapting to the characteristics of that environment. For example, audience members were often distant from the action, so to hammer home the point, one had to emphasize physical expression and projection of a character, orating with declamatory force, designed to be “read” even from the back row. This required thorough speech/movement training. Over time, through the long history of stage acting (and live performances of music and dance), this was honed into a highly formal style, specific brands of which became very popular.

For example, a French actor/opera singer/teacher named François Delsarte believed a character’s emotional state could be projected to the audience through a formal set of gestures, postures, and physical attitudes. His ideas formed the basis for the 1885 book The Delsarte System of Expression, by a student (of a student) named Genevieve Stebbins, and went on to be used at the end of the 19th century in actor training programs at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts and Emerson’s School of Oratory. Though his method was reportedly meant to help its user connect their inner emotional experience with the use of gesture and was only formalized into a system by later disciples, the study allegedly regressed as it grew in popularity and ubiquity into empty posing with little emotional truth behind it. (You can see this formal, conventional, often melodramatic style in silent films like the Lon Chaney Phantom of the Opera, and its influence can still be felt in American modern dance today.)

Enter an actor/director named Konstantin Stanislavski, who noticed in his work at the Moscow Art Theatre that some actors connected better with the audience than others. He decided to figure out why, and for better or worse, we’ve been dealing with the results ever since. What Stanislavski learned from his performers was that they weren’t just recreating the external signs of the character’s emotions without becoming emotionally involved (later known as the “mechanical” approach). Some were doing internal work (later known as the “psychological” approach), becoming personally involved with the character and letting it “grow from within them.” Rather than merely impersonating the character developed by the playwright in a dramatic presentation, they seemed — by comparison — to be turning the character into a living, breathing human being.

He felt that when an actor truly experienced what the character was living (under imaginary circumstances), the play’s many layers of meaning would be revealed in a way that rid it of cliches. He contended this method of acting was more effective than illustration or indication of emotion by calculated poses and tricks of voice and gesture. If the actor believed in imaginary circumstances, revealing the subtleties of the text by truthful action rather than rhetoric, the audience would see things in the play that were hidden previously by poor or lazy acting.

Stanislavski’s method has been expanded into several variant present forms, such as the Lee Strasberg, Stella Adler, and Sanford Meisner techniques (some or all of which are heavily pushed by the Actors Studio in NYC), Michael Chekhov’s “psycho-physical approach,” and the David Mamet / William H. Macy-conceived “Practical Aesthetics,” and the antithetical Brechtian Method has been developed in response (an “epic drama” style relying on the audience’s reflective detachment rather than emotional involvement), but the original seven steps of the Stanislavskian approach were as follows:

1. The actor needs a trained body (a physical instrument sensitized to respond appropriately to the emotional or attitudinal changes within one’s character) and voice (the ability to control one’s instrument and produce volume and/or change timbre, resonance, or pitch without injury).
2. They must know “stage technique,” the skill necessary to adapt everyday life to stage conventions. (There are techniques for walking, opening a door, sitting in a chair, firing a gun, eating food, etc.)
3. They must be a skilled observer of life, one’s primary research tool, and be able to recall what they observe, the better to build a character from their observations. This may involve emotional recall — the ability to recall an experience and relive it onstage — and asking oneself the question “If I was this character, what would I do?”
4. They must analyze the script to determine their character’s motivation (the major goal or objective, the internal force which drives the character’s choices). Most importantly, they must find the subtext behind the text (i.e., the meaning behind the lines written by the playwright, the “action” which is implied rather than stated).
5. They should become emotionally involved with the character they’re creating onstage, immersed at a level that allows them to make choices, rather than respond in a way predetermined either by themselves or by their director and makes them respectful of the choices made by the other actors in the ensemble.
6. They must concentrate on the character they’re creating, pushing everything else out of their mind. It is the actor’s concentration that makes it possible to ignore everything else that is happening on stage and focus their attention on creating the character.
7. They must continually work on perfecting their art and craft.

The overall goal, as you might’ve guessed, is for the individual performer to identify and internalize the character they portray to better discover the reasoning behind that character’s actions and mindset, and to draw on recognizable human traits, personal experiences, and emotions that’d cause an audience member to (hopefully) identify with the character, to create a convincing performance. Returning to the example I used earlier for basic unemotionally involved acting, the actor using “the method” might rely on “stimulation” through techniques like “sense memory” to truly generate the emotion that the character is feeling; if they’re genuinely sad, then the desired pose or facial expression will appear more or less naturally from that.

So, how well is “the method” passed down by its present adherents? In my opinion and experience, in American acting classes today, step 3 is loosely encouraged, albeit in a rather adulterated form, and steps 4-7 are gospel (though the last is more or less a necessity of the profession, and steps 4 and 5 are taken to extremes by some who, when playing real historical figures, do in-depth research to “become” the character, to develop the mindset and emotional reactions they think the person would’ve had), but 1 and 2 are frequently ignored, to a stage actor’s detriment.

This deficiency isn’t helped by endless acting coaches who make loot touting specific techniques, saying such-and-such delivers the best results and should be used to the exclusion of all others. Conflict, of course, breeds conflict, with each respective technique having its set of proponents who thinks other styles are bogus. Like any good rivalry, people rooting for either side even go so far as to draw lines in the sand.

Well, I’ve already had a fair amount to say about most acting coaches, and the hidden motives behind classes that stress “the method,” but let me get one thing straight: flawed as it can be, I’m not against method acting. I’m against relying solely on method acting, because a) most of the “immersive” stuff required of you doesn’t factor into your performance in a noticeable way, and b) using the internal technique — and anything related — to the exclusion of the mechanical never happens in real-time. (Search your feelings; you know this to be true.)

The Usefulness of “Sense Memory” and Field Work

Some who preach “the method” (Lee Strasberg, during his lifetime, was a good example) insist “sense memory” involves finitely recalling — and using — past emotion to inform your performance. They might even argue your character research can back up these emotional impulses. But there’s a limit.

Tell me: have you experienced everything in the world that there is to experience? Impossible, right? Being worldly — or even world-weary — is one thing, but you’d have to live a million lifetimes to experience every possible milestone, emotional or otherwise, that there is to experience in life. You have never experienced — and will never experience — everything. Maybe sometimes you’ll internalize something you’ve seen (like when you see a movie that’s so effective and absorbing you walk out thinking and feeling in its rhythm like you were a part of it), but, not to unduly introduce reality to things, that’s about as far as most performers can stretch.

On a related note, research ain’t the equivalent of a time machine. No amount of homework will take you back to Roman-occupied Jerusalem or the streets of New York in the 1950s and put you in that situation, and even if it did, drawing on a time when you were experiencing a vaguely similar emotion doesn’t guarantee you’re accurately portraying the character’s emotional reaction to circumstance. Let’s give that latter example some thought: you can learn enough to be a qualified expert on juvenile delinquency in Fifties New York, but it won’t prepare you for Arthur Laurents’ patronizing, woefully dated, often naive view of these youngsters in West Side Story. (He occasionally grasped at truth, but as is frequently pointed out about the sharp contrast of the 1961 film’s “theatrical” style with reality, he wasn’t much closer than Rodgers and Hammerstein were to depicting Anna and the King of Siam truthfully.) Or take Tanz der Vampire – maybe I’m squeamish… okay, I am for sure squeamish… but I’m pretty sure the only thing one gleans from researching what happens when someone sucks the blood out of a person’s throat is an upset stomach.

Lesson number one: not all characters are you. You haven’t experienced – and won’t experience – everything. If you think contextual research will help “take you to ‘that place,’” do it but don’t feel that it’s something you have to do; often, it ultimately won’t matter to the task at hand. You’re not making a documentary, and no amount of research will magically turn you into whoever or whatever you’re trying to be.

So, what can you do? Start by relating to what is part of your emotional truth. If one is playing, say, Elphaba in Wicked, they may not have hidden superpowers, but they can probably relate to being unpopular or picked on in school (indeed, a lot of actors probably can), and a person of color will surely relate to being discriminated against for an immutable trait, such as their appearance, that they can’t change.

But that’s only good for what’s within your range of experience. What about what isn’t? Simple. Remember when you used to “play pretend”? That’s it. That’s all you have to do, and Stella Adler’s “imaginary memory” work (for my money, one of the best techniques besides Meisner’s) backs me up on it 100%. “Sense memory” is about a suggestion to the imagination: putting yourself in the context of the new, imagined situation and letting yourself react fully – as yourself – in the fantasy situation, like today’s gamers playing a committed fantasy game, or kids who play make-believe to the utmost and then some. It’s not real, but it calls for that level of commitment to make it appear real.

After the fact, when I looked back with finite introspection on the moment I finally got the emotional “method” technique to work for me, “playing pretend” is exactly what happened. I wasn’t back in a prior reality from my life; I was reacting at the moment to the new situation, as though it were part of my life. Your job in rehearsal is to put yourself in the character’s shoes, while also conveying the particular circumstances of what’s in the script as filtered through the director’s concept (which may be mostly communicated to you non-verbally). “Sense memory” and field work will only go so far in helping with that; it’s more in what you bring to the table as a performer.

It’s Okay to Get Technical

I’ve attended loads of acting classes in my time, mainly to observe, and I’m not altogether thrilled with what I see. Generally, these days, I see a lot of performers, usually American (not to stereotype, it’s more a reflection of the true motive behind the acting class itself as discussed above), who are sloppy, have no vocal/external technique (I call them “mumblers” or “peepers” because they can’t project to save their lives, resulting in an inability to hear them while sitting 10-15 feet away at an audition), and are ignorant of literature and history. They’re like an oafish audience member that somehow wandered into the world of the play, and is bumping into things/people as they make their way around it.

This is a reflection of what I stated above: priority is not being placed — at all — on steps 1 and 2 of the Stanislavskian approach anymore. What folks forget is that the Russian actors with whom Stanislavski first developed “the method” already had superb training in the external/mechanical approach. They already knew how to work a stage; they were just incorporating the internal “method” as well. I don’t care how much you “feel” it — if you mumble into your shoulder and have no knowledge of the historical period, or rhythm, or what poetry or genre is, you’ve lost me.

Cinema allows a lot of this to slide because it’s a different medium with different demands, but if you’re going to use a method acting technique for detail and individual differentiation onstage, your external technique — and your command of the language, character, mannerism, poetry, intonation — has to be outstanding first, so that when you give yourself the emotional triggers, the instrument the response goes through is phenomenal technically, and can project and articulate excellently. Unless you’re first superbly trained externally, which is perhaps most important in live theater, any internal technique you use might as well be worthless.

That’s the big secret, kids: you have to use both internal and external approaches to be a truly effective stage actor. It shouldn’t be a big secret; there’s no sharp division between them like these self-styled “coaches” insist, and it becomes more obvious the more one speaks to performers. Indeed, it’s entirely possible to arrive at one via the other. The very best external performers often wind up feeling something emotive while using the external technique (sometimes they’ll call it “having a breakthrough,” especially if they’re used to relying solely on external technique for results). “Internal only” proponents frequently find that assuming an external posture and expression can help them trigger an internal emotion. (Psychologists have known for a long time that our external appearance can affect our internal mood – for example, if one is forced to sit in a slouched position, head down, chest caved in, for a length of time, it’ll affect their emotional state negatively. Studies have proved this.)

The best examples I can find, frankly, are the British. This is partly because American acting teachers aren’t nearly in the same league as the Brits. Not to generalize too strongly, but the British are generally much, much better because they come from an oral culture where everyone is literate. By contrast, American culture can be woefully ignorant, and performers bred in it don’t necessarily have a natural drive to educate themselves. The proof is in the pudding: otherwise “method” practitioners like Vanessa Redgrave have superb external technique/actor’s instrumentation.

Since this blog entry is already making many unpopular assertions, I’m gonna go out on a limb and make another one: in America, I’ve seen the best contemporary stage acting, by and large, from rappers who have diversified into acting. They’ve already mastered rhythm, emotion, and most important of all, in their way they’ve already mastered speaking clearly, distinctly, and with volume, which is the most important – should be the first – stage acting lesson. They may be inexact at times, but they’re never bad at it.

To reiterate: learn external/mechanical acting inside and out, master it, and then add “the method.” If you use this approach to get there, your stage work will either be brilliant or improve ten-fold if you’ve already been using one and not the other.

The Ultimate Truth

The ultimate truth acting teachers are afraid performers will wise up and learn one day is this: beyond the absolute basics for beginners, acting isn’t learned in a class. Acting is learned – and perfected – by apprenticing/interning with a more experienced company, by doing and observing, like a trade such as being a jeweler or a blacksmith. Can’t find a group? Get a group together with your little friends, chip in $100 apiece, strike a deal with a local venue, and start.

And then what, you say? How do I learn? How do I get better? You work, and more specifically, you note the audience’s or onlooker’s reaction. The audience will teach you what to do. Do they fall asleep, or worse, are they moved to an emphatically negative response like throwing fruit? Better not do what you just did the next night. Do they respond in a manner where they’re rapt — they applaud, they laugh, they’re touched — or do you have a real breakthrough? Good work! Keep it up, expand on that. Trial and error, “guys, gals, and non-binary pals” (sorry, Thomas Sanders, it’s too inclusive – and cute – not to use), it’s all trial and error.

An acting class will cost you thousands of dollars. Interning with working professionals costs you nothing. I did the latter, and I had a better résumé, was working more, and was more in demand than the vast majority of the acting teachers I knew by the time I was 19. Take the hint.

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Well, that about wraps it up, for now, folks. I hope to resume a more regular posting schedule; tune in over the next month or so for audition advice, ground rules — and helpful techniques — for effective rehearsal, tips for the first-time touring performer, and at least one more episode apiece of “For Your Consideration” and “Hello, Dumb Ass!”

Until then, as we say in the theater, ciao!