True and False: Heresy and Common Sense for the Actor Read Free Page A

though
he felt uncertain, the audience would have been treated to the truth of the moment, to a lovely, unexpected, unforeseeable beautiful exchange between the two people onstage. They would in effect have witnessed the true lost art of the actor.
    Stanislavsky said that the person one is is a thousand times more interesting than the best actor one could become. And when the actor picks up her cue, then speaks out though uncertain, the audience
sees
that interesting person. They see true courage, not a portrayal of courage, but true courage. The individual onstage speaks because she is called upon to speak—when she has nothing to support her except her self-respect.
    When the actual courage of the actor is coupled with the lines of the playwright, the illusion of character is created. When the audience sees the steadfastnessof the actress playing Joan coupled with the words of Shaw, they see majesty. When they see the courage of the actor playing Willy Loman coupled with the words of Arthur Miller, they see anguish. And it is the coupling of the truth of the actor struggling bravely with uncertainty, with the portrayal made by the dramatist, which, again, creates the illusion of character—the illusion of the character of the king, the murderer, or the saint.
    The Method got it wrong. Yes, the actor is undergoing something onstage, but it is beside the point to have him or her “undergo” the supposed trials of the character upon the stage. The actor has his own trials to undergo, and they are right in front of him. They don’t have to be superadded; they exist. His challenge is not to recapitulate, to
pretend
to the difficulties of the written character; it is to open the mouth, stand straight, and say the words bravely—adding nothing, denying nothing, and without the intent to manipulate anyone: himself, his fellows, the audience.
    To learn to do that is to learn to act.
    The actor, in learning to be true and simple, in learning to speak to the point despite being frightened, and with no certainty of being understood, creates his
own
character; he forges character in himself. Onstage. And it is this character which he brings to the audience, and by which the audience is truly moved.

SCHOLARSHIP
    P olite western society has long confounded scholarship with art. Scholarship is a reasoned endeavor; and the goal of scholarship, at least as it applies to the art of the actor, is to transform the scholar from a member of the audience into a being superior to it. “It is all very well,” the theatrical scholars might say, “to laugh, to cry, to gasp—it’s fine for the mob. But I will do something higher, and will participate only as a sort of cultural referee.”
    That’s fine for a scholar, but for a working member of the theatre to reason thusly is to wish one’s life away. Here is the taint of scholarship in the theatre: a preoccupation with
effect
. That is the misjudgment of the Method: the notion that one can determine the effect one wants to have upon an audience, and then study and supply said effect.
    Preoccupation with effect is preoccupation with the self, and not only is it joyless, it’s a waste of time. Can we imagine the Cockney street buskers studying what effect they wish to have on the audience at which portion of their turn? Can we imagine the African drummer doing so, the Gypsy guitarist, the klezmer? Art is an expression of joy and awe. It is not an attempt to share one’s virtues and accomplishments with the audience, but an act of selfless spirit. Our effect is not for us to know. It is not in our control. Only our intention is under our control. As we strive to make our intentions pure, devoid of the desire to manipulate, and clear, directed to a concrete, easily stated end, our performances become pure and clear.
    Eleven o’clock always comes. In the meantime, may you know the happiness of working to serve your own good opinion. Invent nothing, deny nothing, speak up, stand up, stay out