For the last month or so, I've been meeting with Allyn Burrows at the Somerville headquarters of Actor's Shakespeare Project to run lines. He is opening later this month in the lead role in their production of Timon of Athens.
Timon of Athens has never been my favorite play. My first encounter with it was at age 10 in the Lambs "Tales from Shakespeare" where, after I finished reading it, thought, "huh?" put it out of my mind and avoided it whenever I could.
I'm way north of 10 now but I literally cringed when I heard that Actor's Shakespeare Project, my favorite place to volunteer, was planning a production of Timon. I had just ushered for Othello, their latest show. I was on the bus from Tremont, headed to the Hynes subway with one of the other ushers. Together we griped about this decision. He acknowledged it was one of Shakespeare's "problem children." But he pointed out that he'd never seen A.S.P. do a mediocre production of anything, so if anyone could bring out the best in Timon, it would be them.
I agreed with this point, but silently resolved to sit this one out. Then I was asked to help the lead actor run lines. In spite of my antipathy toward the play, I agreed. By this point (way, way north of 10 years old!), I've learned that if I dislike a play that intensely, I probably have something to learn from it.
Also, as a theatre teacher, having the opportunity to witness an actor's process has been a rare treat. Since I'm primarily a director, working with an accomplished actor has provided me with fresh insights. Allyn did not require me to like the play -- in fact he completely validated my initial reaction to it. But having the text under such focused scrutiny and hearing his insights began to change my attitude. It became like having a mini-tutorial on this difficult play.
Timon is a challenging character -- a wealthy, generous man who gives beyond his means and is surrounded by false friends.
I started to see some patterns emerge that related to my prosperity training -- Timon gives and gives, but never accepts anything in return, not even repayment that is due him. There is a sense of discomfort with his wealth - he's not happy unless he's feeding or gifting everyone. There are some disturbing declarations about desiring to be poorer so that he would be closer to his friends. As Catherine Ponder often reminds us our reality is created by our words. And when he does become poor, he himself warns his servant to hold a positive attitude. This is all in keeping with a prosperity practice.
Then, for Timon, it all falls apart. It's like a prosperity lesson gone horribly wrong. And more and more, I asked myself, what did he do wrong?
It seems that Timon's fall is not so much from his financial reversals but from his loss of faith. When his friends disappoint him, his trust in humanity is shattered. By the time he finds a fortune in gold, in one of the biggest moments of serendipity ever (literally, since serendipity means finding gold when you're digging for worms - or in Timon's case, roots) he's so far gone in bitterness, he can't even let it in.
And what's funny is that this is exactly how a prosperity practice works -- what we give out returns to us in unexpected ways. The challenge has always been to remain trusting and receptive. Not to man - which is Timon's error - but to the Universe, to Source.
And this is where Timon goes wrong - not just in his bitterness and curses, but also in being closed off from his fortune, not being receptive. Allyn had pointed out that this is a tragic play and I agree that the fatal flaw of the character -- the inability to receive -- is what brings his downfall. He puts his faith in his friends instead of Source and when they disappoint him -- as people invariably will -- he is heartbroken. To me the tragedy is not his bankruptcy but the rejection of his windfall.
At the end, Timon seems to achieve a kind of satori. Even the rage is gone. He has wisdom and detachment.
The production is shaping up nicely -- I went to an open rehearsal today. We saw the banquet scene with Timon at the crest of his wealth and then two monologues from the second half of the play. It was the first time I'd seen it on its feet and I have to say the work was excellent. It's different hearing the lines practiced and experiencing them acted, a revelation of sorts. To actually hear concern for Timon in the voice of his steward, actually witness the unspoken affection between Timon and his former war-buddy, the cynic Apemantus -- the play is taking on a richness for me that it didn't have before. And the unexpected, wild laughter of Timon when he finds the gold was shocking. While the scenes we saw were more or less a "tease-taste" of the production in the works, I could see a strong foundation had been set.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Timon, the Teacher
Timon of Athens is easily the most difficult of Shakespeare's plays. One gentleman I know has even referred to it as "one of the problem children."
So many times in the past I've gotten halfway through the script and closed it with grimace. But I've been revisiting Timon lately and have developed a new, if somewhat grudging, respect for it. Both Timon and Alcibiades, another major character, were actually historical figures. Timon was a philosopher noted for his misanthropy (Apemantus, a philosopher who appears in the play, foreshadows Timon's fall) and Alcibiades, another major character, was an Athenian military leader of rather mutuable patriotism. But it goes deeper than mere biography.
The play on one level is a depiction of Timon's fall from wealth and generosity to bitter, impoverished exile in the woods outside Athens. I initially found this storyline alienating so I had never really explored it in depth. Now as I review it, I see not just the objective process by which Timon lost his wealth but the thought processes as well.
On the esoteric level, I think Shakespeare was using the text of the play as a prosperity lesson. Timon behaves like a prosperity student gone horribly wrong. He starts out fine -- wealthy and generous, he shares all he has. But there are flaws and problems inherent in his thoughts -- he refuses repayment when it is due and expresses poverty thought throughout the beginning of the play. Toni Stone, my prosperity teacher, would point out that Timon is literally turning money away.
In prosperity training, we learn to manage our thoughts and words. In this light Timon's very words are suspect - to his friends he says:
Later on he says to his friends,
This is one of his fatal flaws -- he cannot be in relationship except when he is needed or when he needs. But deeper than that, he seems to wear his wealth with discomfort and there is an underlying anxiety to his generosity. This reflects in his words -- try as he may to manage his thoughts, saying, --
It's not even that his friends are untrustworthy, the problem is with his focus, it's way too narrow. He expects his generosity to come back from these very people, a score-keeping mentality, whereas in reality you never know where the answer will come from. This is where the problem frequently gets worse before it gets better, a process called "chemicalization" by Emilie Cady, a writer affiliated with Unity Church. Emilie Cady was a Christian theologian, but I find her ideas correspond well with any philosophy.
Chemicalization, as the prosperity teachers explain it, is actually part of the process, the problem working itself out, rather like a pimple that becomes bigger before it pops. This is the challenge, to stick to the action, thoughts and words that create value.
Timon, on the other hand, falls into poverty thought and vengeance. This is the fall from grace that destroys him. It's a complete and total loss of faith. He stages a mock-feast, raging against his former friends, then embraces a self-imposed exile. Before he leaves, he delivers a series of scathingly bitter curses outside the walls of Athens, full of imagery that disrupts the natural order.
Even when he finds gold later on, he's so destroyed that he cannot turn from his course of action. The gold he gives away to the enemies of his former home. Even in his misanthropy, he cannot keep anything for himself.
Timon has proven himself to be one of my deeper teachers. Even the "problem child" plays have something valuable to say.
So many times in the past I've gotten halfway through the script and closed it with grimace. But I've been revisiting Timon lately and have developed a new, if somewhat grudging, respect for it. Both Timon and Alcibiades, another major character, were actually historical figures. Timon was a philosopher noted for his misanthropy (Apemantus, a philosopher who appears in the play, foreshadows Timon's fall) and Alcibiades, another major character, was an Athenian military leader of rather mutuable patriotism. But it goes deeper than mere biography.
The play on one level is a depiction of Timon's fall from wealth and generosity to bitter, impoverished exile in the woods outside Athens. I initially found this storyline alienating so I had never really explored it in depth. Now as I review it, I see not just the objective process by which Timon lost his wealth but the thought processes as well.
On the esoteric level, I think Shakespeare was using the text of the play as a prosperity lesson. Timon behaves like a prosperity student gone horribly wrong. He starts out fine -- wealthy and generous, he shares all he has. But there are flaws and problems inherent in his thoughts -- he refuses repayment when it is due and expresses poverty thought throughout the beginning of the play. Toni Stone, my prosperity teacher, would point out that Timon is literally turning money away.
In prosperity training, we learn to manage our thoughts and words. In this light Timon's very words are suspect - to his friends he says:
"...more welcome are ye to my Fortunes
Than my fortunes are to me."
Later on he says to his friends,
"Why I have often wished myself poorer, that I might come nearer to you."
This is one of his fatal flaws -- he cannot be in relationship except when he is needed or when he needs. But deeper than that, he seems to wear his wealth with discomfort and there is an underlying anxiety to his generosity. This reflects in his words -- try as he may to manage his thoughts, saying, --
"...Never speake, nor thinke,
That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sinke."
It's not even that his friends are untrustworthy, the problem is with his focus, it's way too narrow. He expects his generosity to come back from these very people, a score-keeping mentality, whereas in reality you never know where the answer will come from. This is where the problem frequently gets worse before it gets better, a process called "chemicalization" by Emilie Cady, a writer affiliated with Unity Church. Emilie Cady was a Christian theologian, but I find her ideas correspond well with any philosophy.
Chemicalization, as the prosperity teachers explain it, is actually part of the process, the problem working itself out, rather like a pimple that becomes bigger before it pops. This is the challenge, to stick to the action, thoughts and words that create value.
Timon, on the other hand, falls into poverty thought and vengeance. This is the fall from grace that destroys him. It's a complete and total loss of faith. He stages a mock-feast, raging against his former friends, then embraces a self-imposed exile. Before he leaves, he delivers a series of scathingly bitter curses outside the walls of Athens, full of imagery that disrupts the natural order.
Even when he finds gold later on, he's so destroyed that he cannot turn from his course of action. The gold he gives away to the enemies of his former home. Even in his misanthropy, he cannot keep anything for himself.
Timon has proven himself to be one of my deeper teachers. Even the "problem child" plays have something valuable to say.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Tooth Fairy, Othello and Dr. Shakespeare
I can say with conviction that the Actor's Shakespeare Project's current production of Othello is worth getting up early the day after a tooth extraction because I just did it. I was scheduled to usher for the 10 am performance and my dentist suddenly rescheduled my appointment. I couldn't say no to this dentist because God knows when I'd get a new appointment and I couldn't strand my house manager.
It was worth it, it was so worth it!
Part of it was my dentist and her team had done a great job so I had minimal pain and drama. The other part was that the production of Othello was so absorbing that it overrode every other consideration.
Othello is one of my favorite plays and I've seen it done several times. And we all know it, we know how it ends. It takes a great deal of craft to bring a classic play to life in a fresh way, in a way that restores its sense of surprise. Judy Braha, the director, made excellent choices so that many of the familiar moments took us unawares. Even the fight choreography, seamlessly folded in to the staging by Robert Najarian, was character-driven and appropriate to each personality.
Jason Bowen brought a stern sense of command to the title role within the first few minutes of his entrance. This was clearly a seasoned military man, not easily disturbed, a big-hearted, courageous man. Portrayed by Bowen, it is these vitues and his integrity that makes him a pawn for Ken Cheeseman's Iago who plays him like a fish on a hook. But it's like landing a marlin -- this Othello is not an easy mark. This Iago has to work for his prey -- the watchfulness in Cheeseman's eyes makes us wonder if maybe this time Othello will get away. And because Iago has to work for it, we lose our certainty of the outcome - it's like seeing the play with fresh eyes. The sense was not that we were here to see a great albeit well-worn classic, but rather to see something that has never happened before.
The craftsmanship in Bowen's Othello revealed the process of his destruction -- we could literally see the moment where he began to doubt Desdemona. His Othello spoke to the universal experience of jealousy and loss -- anyone who had every been betrayed in love could bleed with him.
For an Othello of this power to fall, the actor playing Iago must be equally strong and much, much subtler. It's no accident that the phrase "heart on my sleeve" comes from this play -- although the line belongs to Iago, this is exactly what Othello does. Othello is not a subtle man, he is a man of heart and action. Ken Cheeseman's Iago, on the other hand, seemed to be following the advice from another well-known play, appearing like the innocent flower while being the serpent underneath it.
There was a worn quality to this Iago, we could see a man who had worked long and hard then been denied in a way that fueled his rage. Standing in formation with the rest of Othello's officers he was perhaps a bit less crisp and polished than they were, revealing a weariness of long-standing discipline in his body language. His military mannerisms were deeply ingrained and the product of long habit. Another facet he revealed was an earthy glee reminiscent of a Dennis Leary, a bad-boy sense of delight. He could even be...likeable. He was dangerous, even to the audience, because he could enroll us in his cause.
The supporting characters are usually treated as an afterthought, pawns in Iago's game. Even Desdemona, who is so pivotal but has very little stage-time -- as most of Shakespeare's women. Here she was played with passion and a good deal of lively spine by Brooke Hardman. When Othello's affections suddenly turn, her shock and confusion is so truthful, she brings a truthfulness beyond the standard Shakespearean heroine and reveals a living, breathing woman who can understand why her relationship has suddenly turned abusive. But this is no delicate flower -- Ms. Hardman's Desdemona is playful, willful -- one kick-ass lady who fights first for her convictions, later for her life in the final confrontation. Between her spirit and Othello's moments of ambivalence, we think she might pull through. So again, an old story becomes suddenly new and when we see the choice, it comes as a shock.
Paula Langton was also a suprise -- it wasn't until I read the program that I realized she was cast in dual parts. As the Duke, she carried her authority with grace and held such polish, I didn't recognize her as the same actress when she reappeared as Emilia, Iago's wife. Where Desdemona is dealing with the shock of her man's behavior suddenly turning, Ms. Langton's Emilia shows us a survivor of long-standing abuse and neglect who somehow still hopes it will change. There is an undercurrent of sadness to her, a woundedness. Her theft of the hankerchief holds a sudden logic, it becomes something that could possibly earn her some emotional currency -- or at least attention -- from her husband. She is clearly caught between the remnants of her love for her husband and her protective affection for Desdemona. Ms. Langton walks the tightrope of loyalties with tremendous elegance.
Then there is Cassio, played by Michael Forden Walker. Usually Cassio is just a pretty boy. Walker's Cassio has a touch of darkness -- we sense he has a drinking problem, rather than a naive unused to liquor. In the scenes with Bianca (the sinuous Denise Marie) we see that he is feeling more than he would like to for a powerful, playful woman as well a touch of inappropriate attachment to Desdemona. Since he seems much more self-aware than the average Cassio, these blind spots give him more depth.
With these characers so well fleshed out, Iago's job becomes harder and he becomes more interesting. Ken Cheeseman definitely rose to the task. This is a play about shattered trust and its victims. The set echos Othello's splintered self and fluidly leads us from one scene to the next. It's playing till the end of this week and I recommend it highly.
It was worth it, it was so worth it!
Part of it was my dentist and her team had done a great job so I had minimal pain and drama. The other part was that the production of Othello was so absorbing that it overrode every other consideration.
Othello is one of my favorite plays and I've seen it done several times. And we all know it, we know how it ends. It takes a great deal of craft to bring a classic play to life in a fresh way, in a way that restores its sense of surprise. Judy Braha, the director, made excellent choices so that many of the familiar moments took us unawares. Even the fight choreography, seamlessly folded in to the staging by Robert Najarian, was character-driven and appropriate to each personality.
Jason Bowen brought a stern sense of command to the title role within the first few minutes of his entrance. This was clearly a seasoned military man, not easily disturbed, a big-hearted, courageous man. Portrayed by Bowen, it is these vitues and his integrity that makes him a pawn for Ken Cheeseman's Iago who plays him like a fish on a hook. But it's like landing a marlin -- this Othello is not an easy mark. This Iago has to work for his prey -- the watchfulness in Cheeseman's eyes makes us wonder if maybe this time Othello will get away. And because Iago has to work for it, we lose our certainty of the outcome - it's like seeing the play with fresh eyes. The sense was not that we were here to see a great albeit well-worn classic, but rather to see something that has never happened before.
The craftsmanship in Bowen's Othello revealed the process of his destruction -- we could literally see the moment where he began to doubt Desdemona. His Othello spoke to the universal experience of jealousy and loss -- anyone who had every been betrayed in love could bleed with him.
For an Othello of this power to fall, the actor playing Iago must be equally strong and much, much subtler. It's no accident that the phrase "heart on my sleeve" comes from this play -- although the line belongs to Iago, this is exactly what Othello does. Othello is not a subtle man, he is a man of heart and action. Ken Cheeseman's Iago, on the other hand, seemed to be following the advice from another well-known play, appearing like the innocent flower while being the serpent underneath it.
There was a worn quality to this Iago, we could see a man who had worked long and hard then been denied in a way that fueled his rage. Standing in formation with the rest of Othello's officers he was perhaps a bit less crisp and polished than they were, revealing a weariness of long-standing discipline in his body language. His military mannerisms were deeply ingrained and the product of long habit. Another facet he revealed was an earthy glee reminiscent of a Dennis Leary, a bad-boy sense of delight. He could even be...likeable. He was dangerous, even to the audience, because he could enroll us in his cause.
The supporting characters are usually treated as an afterthought, pawns in Iago's game. Even Desdemona, who is so pivotal but has very little stage-time -- as most of Shakespeare's women. Here she was played with passion and a good deal of lively spine by Brooke Hardman. When Othello's affections suddenly turn, her shock and confusion is so truthful, she brings a truthfulness beyond the standard Shakespearean heroine and reveals a living, breathing woman who can understand why her relationship has suddenly turned abusive. But this is no delicate flower -- Ms. Hardman's Desdemona is playful, willful -- one kick-ass lady who fights first for her convictions, later for her life in the final confrontation. Between her spirit and Othello's moments of ambivalence, we think she might pull through. So again, an old story becomes suddenly new and when we see the choice, it comes as a shock.
Paula Langton was also a suprise -- it wasn't until I read the program that I realized she was cast in dual parts. As the Duke, she carried her authority with grace and held such polish, I didn't recognize her as the same actress when she reappeared as Emilia, Iago's wife. Where Desdemona is dealing with the shock of her man's behavior suddenly turning, Ms. Langton's Emilia shows us a survivor of long-standing abuse and neglect who somehow still hopes it will change. There is an undercurrent of sadness to her, a woundedness. Her theft of the hankerchief holds a sudden logic, it becomes something that could possibly earn her some emotional currency -- or at least attention -- from her husband. She is clearly caught between the remnants of her love for her husband and her protective affection for Desdemona. Ms. Langton walks the tightrope of loyalties with tremendous elegance.
Then there is Cassio, played by Michael Forden Walker. Usually Cassio is just a pretty boy. Walker's Cassio has a touch of darkness -- we sense he has a drinking problem, rather than a naive unused to liquor. In the scenes with Bianca (the sinuous Denise Marie) we see that he is feeling more than he would like to for a powerful, playful woman as well a touch of inappropriate attachment to Desdemona. Since he seems much more self-aware than the average Cassio, these blind spots give him more depth.
With these characers so well fleshed out, Iago's job becomes harder and he becomes more interesting. Ken Cheeseman definitely rose to the task. This is a play about shattered trust and its victims. The set echos Othello's splintered self and fluidly leads us from one scene to the next. It's playing till the end of this week and I recommend it highly.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Starting Stanislavski
It's official - I got the call from BACE today. My Chekhov & Stanislavski class is going forward tomorrow night with 5 students.
My goal in doing this is not to turn out perfect Stanislavski actors -- that takes semesters of intensive work. My goal is to give them a taste of the technique, to encourage them to explore this work in detail. I've had at least three or four solid Stanislavski-based teachers - all totally different - and learned a great deal from all of them. You can take the same technique, any school of acting you choose, hand it over to four teachers and they will each find something different in it. The Stanislavski system itself is a prime example - it gave rise to Meisner, Adler, HB and, to some degree, Strasberg. All different, all have their point of view and their value. I don't absolutely love them all. For example, I'm not mad for Method myself -- I much prefer Meisner -- but I have colleagues I respect who swear by it. And my attitude is, whatever works.
Of the four, I freely admit I'm most partial to Meisner. The best teachers I've had were Meisner-influenced and Meisner principles. Over the years I've discovered that most of the actors I admire studied with him.
The thing is, it takes many teachers and many ideas to bring a student to mastery. As I'm putting the finishing touches on my lesson plans, my overall question is - what is useful here? What will inspire them to go deeper on their own? How can they take these ideas and own them?
And there will be some who are shocked that I'm irreverent to this great master. I will admit I'm a fairly irreverent person. My second Estragon from my NYC production of "Waiting for Godot" quit halfway through rehearsals with the complaint that I wasn't treating Beckett with the appropriate reverence. I was lucky enough to replace him - and quickly - with absolute clone of Bert Lahr (the resemblance between the two was eerie) who was as irreverent as I was.
I'm almost done with Stanislavski's book and do not intend to follow it slavishly. My first goal is to create a safe environment for my class, so I will start with the exercises for physical awareness and set up a protocol for feedback. This is not just to safeguard egos, but to train them in observation. It may seem structured at first but I've had good results with it in other classes. Also, this process keeps the students in the audience invovled in what they're seeing. They know they'll be questioned at the end of each scene. What qualities does X have? What did you see? What did they do? What works?
These are important questions. And these are the questions we will all be limited to. The magic is not in the question themselves, but in how each student answers them, in how they hone their own process of observation.
I have tomorrow's class mapped out already - intros, presentation of each student onstage, then some exercises. Also, the prepared monologues. There will probably be some discussion about Stanislavski and why he was so important, but this will mostly be a class about doing.
We also have to create physical safety, so we will start with the focus on the Actor's Instrument which as you all probably know, is the voice and body.
After all, I don't want any would-be Kolyas breaking glass props in their hands.
My goal in doing this is not to turn out perfect Stanislavski actors -- that takes semesters of intensive work. My goal is to give them a taste of the technique, to encourage them to explore this work in detail. I've had at least three or four solid Stanislavski-based teachers - all totally different - and learned a great deal from all of them. You can take the same technique, any school of acting you choose, hand it over to four teachers and they will each find something different in it. The Stanislavski system itself is a prime example - it gave rise to Meisner, Adler, HB and, to some degree, Strasberg. All different, all have their point of view and their value. I don't absolutely love them all. For example, I'm not mad for Method myself -- I much prefer Meisner -- but I have colleagues I respect who swear by it. And my attitude is, whatever works.
Of the four, I freely admit I'm most partial to Meisner. The best teachers I've had were Meisner-influenced and Meisner principles. Over the years I've discovered that most of the actors I admire studied with him.
The thing is, it takes many teachers and many ideas to bring a student to mastery. As I'm putting the finishing touches on my lesson plans, my overall question is - what is useful here? What will inspire them to go deeper on their own? How can they take these ideas and own them?
And there will be some who are shocked that I'm irreverent to this great master. I will admit I'm a fairly irreverent person. My second Estragon from my NYC production of "Waiting for Godot" quit halfway through rehearsals with the complaint that I wasn't treating Beckett with the appropriate reverence. I was lucky enough to replace him - and quickly - with absolute clone of Bert Lahr (the resemblance between the two was eerie) who was as irreverent as I was.
I'm almost done with Stanislavski's book and do not intend to follow it slavishly. My first goal is to create a safe environment for my class, so I will start with the exercises for physical awareness and set up a protocol for feedback. This is not just to safeguard egos, but to train them in observation. It may seem structured at first but I've had good results with it in other classes. Also, this process keeps the students in the audience invovled in what they're seeing. They know they'll be questioned at the end of each scene. What qualities does X have? What did you see? What did they do? What works?
These are important questions. And these are the questions we will all be limited to. The magic is not in the question themselves, but in how each student answers them, in how they hone their own process of observation.
I have tomorrow's class mapped out already - intros, presentation of each student onstage, then some exercises. Also, the prepared monologues. There will probably be some discussion about Stanislavski and why he was so important, but this will mostly be a class about doing.
We also have to create physical safety, so we will start with the focus on the Actor's Instrument which as you all probably know, is the voice and body.
After all, I don't want any would-be Kolyas breaking glass props in their hands.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
An Actor Prepares - Stanislavskis's Continuing Drama
Remember, this book is written like a memoir, not a textbook. Be prepared for drama. Be prepared to dig to find the technique.
I have just finished the chapter where Kostya, the first-person character, has injured himself during an improv exercise. He had gripped something breakable in his hand when the emotion of the scene overcame him, cut himself, injured an artery, lost massive amounts of blood and had to spend several days in bed, missing class.
This triggers Torstov's lesson on physical relaxation, which his classmates come to report to him on their visits. It's actually a good lesson, with concrete exercises. Kolya enrolls the help of his cat, always a wise idea.
This chapter left me with quite a few questions, the first one being - do we really have arteries in our hands? Since the sight of blood makes me queasy and I find anatomy charts indecipherable, I e-mailed the best authority I could find: my cousin, the doctor. He assured me that we do in fact have arteries there, so I guess Stanislavski did his research.
My bigger question is why the hell did the teacher let a bunch of untrained, inexperienced, exuberant students loose on a stage with breakables?
Since there's no mention of "hold harmless" agreements being signed at the start of term, Torstov is lucky he didn't get sued. Perhaps 1936 Russia was not as litigious a culture as our own, or perhaps it just wasn't allowed. Either way, a modern student would have had Torstov's butt in court sooner than he could blink.
But back to my question -- students with breakables? You know that's a recipe for disaster. The instrument of the actor is the voice and the body - the purpose of theatre training is to develop this instrument to the point that it seamlessly does one's bidding. I understand that this incident in the book was created to illustrate a point and lead into the lesson on physical awareness and relaxation (which is actually quite good) but the issue is important.
Why didn't Torstov have his assistant remove the breakables, or remove them himself? How can fledgling actors experiment and make the mistakes they need to make, if they're concerned about potentially fatal injuries?
OK, so I'm exaggerating here but my purpose is twofold - first, it's an important thing to be aware of in any school. The first job of the teacher is to create safety, physical and psycological safety.
My other purpose is to take Stanislavski off of his pedestal, or at least shake him up a little. We can't learn from him if we handle him with kid gloves. We have to be willing to take his ideas and work with them, get our hands dirty, make mistakes -- see what works! We can't learn if we just swallow the ideas whole.
Incidentally, the exercise in this chapter, relaxing every muscle that is not occupied in doing something, is very good to do if you're having difficulty sleeping.
I have just finished the chapter where Kostya, the first-person character, has injured himself during an improv exercise. He had gripped something breakable in his hand when the emotion of the scene overcame him, cut himself, injured an artery, lost massive amounts of blood and had to spend several days in bed, missing class.
This triggers Torstov's lesson on physical relaxation, which his classmates come to report to him on their visits. It's actually a good lesson, with concrete exercises. Kolya enrolls the help of his cat, always a wise idea.
This chapter left me with quite a few questions, the first one being - do we really have arteries in our hands? Since the sight of blood makes me queasy and I find anatomy charts indecipherable, I e-mailed the best authority I could find: my cousin, the doctor. He assured me that we do in fact have arteries there, so I guess Stanislavski did his research.
My bigger question is why the hell did the teacher let a bunch of untrained, inexperienced, exuberant students loose on a stage with breakables?
Since there's no mention of "hold harmless" agreements being signed at the start of term, Torstov is lucky he didn't get sued. Perhaps 1936 Russia was not as litigious a culture as our own, or perhaps it just wasn't allowed. Either way, a modern student would have had Torstov's butt in court sooner than he could blink.
But back to my question -- students with breakables? You know that's a recipe for disaster. The instrument of the actor is the voice and the body - the purpose of theatre training is to develop this instrument to the point that it seamlessly does one's bidding. I understand that this incident in the book was created to illustrate a point and lead into the lesson on physical awareness and relaxation (which is actually quite good) but the issue is important.
Why didn't Torstov have his assistant remove the breakables, or remove them himself? How can fledgling actors experiment and make the mistakes they need to make, if they're concerned about potentially fatal injuries?
OK, so I'm exaggerating here but my purpose is twofold - first, it's an important thing to be aware of in any school. The first job of the teacher is to create safety, physical and psycological safety.
My other purpose is to take Stanislavski off of his pedestal, or at least shake him up a little. We can't learn from him if we handle him with kid gloves. We have to be willing to take his ideas and work with them, get our hands dirty, make mistakes -- see what works! We can't learn if we just swallow the ideas whole.
Incidentally, the exercise in this chapter, relaxing every muscle that is not occupied in doing something, is very good to do if you're having difficulty sleeping.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Money and Art
I have been grappling with the artist and money issue most of my life. It can be any art, not just theatre.
To be transparent and revealed here, I don't still have it solved either. I've made some progress,but everytime I think I have a handle on it, I see that I have a long way to go. We have so much conflicting programming about it, some of it good...some not so good. I made a list once, of the conflicting statements I'd heard, on the subject of art and money.
1. You should do it for free.
2. You shouldn't think about money, just be happy to do your art
3. You should only care about your art
4. You should put a price on your art.
5. You should give it away.
6. You're not a real artist unless you're making money.
7. You're a sell-out if you do your art for pay.
8. It's noble to struggle.
9. Have something to fall back on.
and of course -
10. Who do you think you are?
And we wonder why artists go crazy.
I'm not blaming anyone - I don't think it's anyone's fault, the thoughts are just there, the habit of thinking this way. Catherine Ponder and Florence Scoval Shinn, both well-known prosperity writers refer to this as the Adamic Dream. As in Adam. As in human. And illusionary.
People repeat these ideas to us for all kinds of reasons, not necessarily malicious. Some think they are being practical, some are uninformed - some jealous, yes. Many have given up the idea of earning their living doing work they love. But most of them are well-meaning, just perhaps a bit...unconscious. For a lot of people, earning money at their dream was never a possibility because they never allowed themselves a dream to begin with.
These messages have always been here. They slip in before we know it. From parents, teachers, rivals. We can drift along on this programming or we can choose what to believe. That's where our responsibility comes in.
It's our choice to assimilate these thoughts.
We should include this in an artist's training -- how to protect against detrimental ideas. It's challenging enough to be an artist -- it may look easy to others but we know different. We love it so much we don't see our learning process, we ignore the false starts and mistakes along the way. And because we love our art, we sometimes don't realize how hard we are already working.
This leads people -- and us as well -- to think getting paid for our art is taking the easy way out. And it really isn't - we just forget how much work creation takes, we love the process so much. And because we love our work, we do feel a bit guilty about getting paid for it.
In Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand said all wealth is created by the human mind. So I'm willing to use mine to better advantage. I'm ready to let these thoughts go and choose some better ones.
One good exercise, for anyone who works with affirmations, is to take all the negative thoughts listed above and write a contradictory, positive thought, then take that as an affirmation. I'm partial to sets of 10, either written or repeated right after the alarm goes off, when the mind is nice and receptive. This is also a good way to fill "empty" time waiting for the T or an appointment.
We also need to affirm ourselves, to be in our own corner. Some of us are naturally self-effacing and the idea of self-promotion is a little...distasteful. This is a big one for me, I am by nature a behind-the-scenes creator. I don't like to be centerstage myself - I like to direct the "centerstagers". And I am finding the balance between self-effacing and self-awareness.
I think it's in how we talk to ourselves. For example...
There is a lovely scene in the beginning of "A Star is Born" - specifically, the original with Janet Gaynor as Vicki Lester. She wants to be an actress and is told, early in the film, "You have a one in a million chance."
And she says, "What if I'm that one?"
That's a start. We need to tell that to ourselves. The antidote to "Who do you think you are?" The answer to #10. "What if I'm that one?" A step toward healing this confusion.
Now this may sound contradictory but this is exactly why I'm such an advocate of volunteer work in the theatre -- although it is work we are not exactly paid for, compensation is happening on a very deep level. We are making a gift of our skills and that increases what my teacher would call our "deserving index." Any skills and time donated are treated with tremendous appreciation -- if you're volunteering with the right group, of course -- and you increase your community of like-minded people. I've talked about this before, I will probably continue to do so. It is a prosperity practice to give our work as a gift and this is a great environment to do it in. Giving prepares us for receiving -- we frequently screw it up by blocking the receiving. We think as artists we must give and give and give without receiving. Many of us distrust prosperity and refuse to allow success in. That's the false conditioning.
The fact is that we derserve to be paid for our work, to be valued for our work. But we must own this idea first, we must take the risk to value ourselves, as Stanislavski says, the art in ourselves. Even when we get paid for our art, what we give to that art is beyond the payment we receive.
To be transparent and revealed here, I don't still have it solved either. I've made some progress,but everytime I think I have a handle on it, I see that I have a long way to go. We have so much conflicting programming about it, some of it good...some not so good. I made a list once, of the conflicting statements I'd heard, on the subject of art and money.
1. You should do it for free.
2. You shouldn't think about money, just be happy to do your art
3. You should only care about your art
4. You should put a price on your art.
5. You should give it away.
6. You're not a real artist unless you're making money.
7. You're a sell-out if you do your art for pay.
8. It's noble to struggle.
9. Have something to fall back on.
and of course -
10. Who do you think you are?
And we wonder why artists go crazy.
I'm not blaming anyone - I don't think it's anyone's fault, the thoughts are just there, the habit of thinking this way. Catherine Ponder and Florence Scoval Shinn, both well-known prosperity writers refer to this as the Adamic Dream. As in Adam. As in human. And illusionary.
People repeat these ideas to us for all kinds of reasons, not necessarily malicious. Some think they are being practical, some are uninformed - some jealous, yes. Many have given up the idea of earning their living doing work they love. But most of them are well-meaning, just perhaps a bit...unconscious. For a lot of people, earning money at their dream was never a possibility because they never allowed themselves a dream to begin with.
These messages have always been here. They slip in before we know it. From parents, teachers, rivals. We can drift along on this programming or we can choose what to believe. That's where our responsibility comes in.
It's our choice to assimilate these thoughts.
We should include this in an artist's training -- how to protect against detrimental ideas. It's challenging enough to be an artist -- it may look easy to others but we know different. We love it so much we don't see our learning process, we ignore the false starts and mistakes along the way. And because we love our art, we sometimes don't realize how hard we are already working.
This leads people -- and us as well -- to think getting paid for our art is taking the easy way out. And it really isn't - we just forget how much work creation takes, we love the process so much. And because we love our work, we do feel a bit guilty about getting paid for it.
In Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand said all wealth is created by the human mind. So I'm willing to use mine to better advantage. I'm ready to let these thoughts go and choose some better ones.
One good exercise, for anyone who works with affirmations, is to take all the negative thoughts listed above and write a contradictory, positive thought, then take that as an affirmation. I'm partial to sets of 10, either written or repeated right after the alarm goes off, when the mind is nice and receptive. This is also a good way to fill "empty" time waiting for the T or an appointment.
We also need to affirm ourselves, to be in our own corner. Some of us are naturally self-effacing and the idea of self-promotion is a little...distasteful. This is a big one for me, I am by nature a behind-the-scenes creator. I don't like to be centerstage myself - I like to direct the "centerstagers". And I am finding the balance between self-effacing and self-awareness.
I think it's in how we talk to ourselves. For example...
There is a lovely scene in the beginning of "A Star is Born" - specifically, the original with Janet Gaynor as Vicki Lester. She wants to be an actress and is told, early in the film, "You have a one in a million chance."
And she says, "What if I'm that one?"
That's a start. We need to tell that to ourselves. The antidote to "Who do you think you are?" The answer to #10. "What if I'm that one?" A step toward healing this confusion.
Now this may sound contradictory but this is exactly why I'm such an advocate of volunteer work in the theatre -- although it is work we are not exactly paid for, compensation is happening on a very deep level. We are making a gift of our skills and that increases what my teacher would call our "deserving index." Any skills and time donated are treated with tremendous appreciation -- if you're volunteering with the right group, of course -- and you increase your community of like-minded people. I've talked about this before, I will probably continue to do so. It is a prosperity practice to give our work as a gift and this is a great environment to do it in. Giving prepares us for receiving -- we frequently screw it up by blocking the receiving. We think as artists we must give and give and give without receiving. Many of us distrust prosperity and refuse to allow success in. That's the false conditioning.
The fact is that we derserve to be paid for our work, to be valued for our work. But we must own this idea first, we must take the risk to value ourselves, as Stanislavski says, the art in ourselves. Even when we get paid for our art, what we give to that art is beyond the payment we receive.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Slogging Through Stanislavski
My Chekhov & Stanislavski class at Brookline Adult & Community Education (BACE) starts in a few weeks, assuming there are enough enrollments. I've been brushing up on Constantin Stanislavski's book, An Actor Prepares, in preparation. I have to say, it's pretty tough going.
Stanislavski was a gifted director, actor and teacher. Writer? Not so much.
It's partly the literary conceit of the book. It's written as a first person novel from the point of view of an eager young acting student, Kostya who idolizes his teacher, Torstov, the great master.
Kostya is short for Constantine - get it? That's how subtle he is.
Except that Torstov is the character that is based on Stanislavski. Kostya is there simply for us to identify with and follow through the storyline.
We follow the mishaps and progress of Kostya and his peers as Torstov holds forth with gems of theatrical wisdom. It's sort of like "David Copperfield goes to acting school." We're supposed to identify with Kostya & Co through their training but they're all so cardboard, they are there simply to demonstrate Torstov's theories. Ironic, since the lessons Torstov gives are geared toward creating well-rounded characters and believable reality onstage. Most of the students are just whiney. And Kostya just gets on my nerves, constantly piping up with the perfect question or the clever comment.
Yeah. It's that precious.
So why bother? Well, it's still Stanislavski and Stanislavski is the father of most modern acting techniques - Meisner, Adler, Strasberg. It's the source. The writing is pretty sad, but if you can get past the whining and the rhetoric, the acting technique is solid. And this is the Stanislavski technique in his own words. Maybe it's not as straightforward as a textbook or a memoir but perhaps this indirect approach could be talking as much to my subconscious as to my intellect.
I do know this -- much as the book annoys me I find myself returning to it periodically. And I each time I find something new, in spite of the writing. You just have to dig a bit. This time I'm planning to read it twice - scanning through the first time, then going through slowly, with a notebook at my elbow. The last time I read it was as a student, identifying with Kostya (and probably as annoying as he is) but now I'm following Torstov's character, looking for the purpose beneath the exercises. Later, I'll go back and note down the process in detail.
This will be the second time I've taught at BACE. That was the Shakespeare course (has anyone else noticed how many shows in Boston are Shakespeare or Shakespeare-inspired). The first time was a great experience and I'm still in touch with 7 out of the 8 people that were my students. After the class was finished, most of the students wanted to continue, which is how my freelance class got started.
I hope to give the students enough of a taste Stanislavski - and some good scenes from Chekhov - to encourage them to continue it on their own. I'll only have 8 weeks and, although I want them to discover something new, I want them to have fun. 'Cause if it's not fun, it's too much damn work.
Stanislavski was a gifted director, actor and teacher. Writer? Not so much.
It's partly the literary conceit of the book. It's written as a first person novel from the point of view of an eager young acting student, Kostya who idolizes his teacher, Torstov, the great master.
Kostya is short for Constantine - get it? That's how subtle he is.
Except that Torstov is the character that is based on Stanislavski. Kostya is there simply for us to identify with and follow through the storyline.
We follow the mishaps and progress of Kostya and his peers as Torstov holds forth with gems of theatrical wisdom. It's sort of like "David Copperfield goes to acting school." We're supposed to identify with Kostya & Co through their training but they're all so cardboard, they are there simply to demonstrate Torstov's theories. Ironic, since the lessons Torstov gives are geared toward creating well-rounded characters and believable reality onstage. Most of the students are just whiney. And Kostya just gets on my nerves, constantly piping up with the perfect question or the clever comment.
Yeah. It's that precious.
So why bother? Well, it's still Stanislavski and Stanislavski is the father of most modern acting techniques - Meisner, Adler, Strasberg. It's the source. The writing is pretty sad, but if you can get past the whining and the rhetoric, the acting technique is solid. And this is the Stanislavski technique in his own words. Maybe it's not as straightforward as a textbook or a memoir but perhaps this indirect approach could be talking as much to my subconscious as to my intellect.
I do know this -- much as the book annoys me I find myself returning to it periodically. And I each time I find something new, in spite of the writing. You just have to dig a bit. This time I'm planning to read it twice - scanning through the first time, then going through slowly, with a notebook at my elbow. The last time I read it was as a student, identifying with Kostya (and probably as annoying as he is) but now I'm following Torstov's character, looking for the purpose beneath the exercises. Later, I'll go back and note down the process in detail.
This will be the second time I've taught at BACE. That was the Shakespeare course (has anyone else noticed how many shows in Boston are Shakespeare or Shakespeare-inspired). The first time was a great experience and I'm still in touch with 7 out of the 8 people that were my students. After the class was finished, most of the students wanted to continue, which is how my freelance class got started.
I hope to give the students enough of a taste Stanislavski - and some good scenes from Chekhov - to encourage them to continue it on their own. I'll only have 8 weeks and, although I want them to discover something new, I want them to have fun. 'Cause if it's not fun, it's too much damn work.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
