“Never been to Subway, what do I do?” a foreign accent once called out years ago when I worked at a local Subway as a “Sandwich Artist”. It was a Nigerian who was in the country for school. He had never been to a Subway before. There is quite an interesting story to go along with it (I used it for an audition piece, actually!) but that’s neither here nor there.

Point is, the other day I felt like him. The sad part was that I was in exactly the same industry I claim to profess! But rather than simple ignorance, it was lack of opportunity that had brought me to this spot. I called one of my good friends, William.

“Hey William,” I asked. “Those uh… director concepts. How do those work?” He chuckled and offered to help me out.

You see, I have never sat through a production meeting before. I have no idea what directors are supposed to say during those meetings! And considering that I’m interviewing at U/RTA and SETC in two months, I better figure out pretty quickly how to develop a concept and explain it to the designers. That’s where William comes in. William was the lead lighting designer at the theatre until he left for graduate school.
“You have anything written already?” he asked. I showed him the link. He skimmed through it. “More original on costumes, more specific on lights, more props notes, less specific on set — it looks like you want Carl to do it, and that’s fine, cause he’s the only set designer you’ve really seen.” I nodded.

“The thing is,” he said. “You don’t want to limit the designers’ needs. You want to give them direction, but let them figure stuff out. Give them crazy things to do so they’ll have to do research — designers love that shit — and let them come up with designs. Don’t be too specific, or you’ll be limiting what they can do and they don’t like that.”

I nodded again (which was stupid since this was a phone conversation).

“So,” I said. “I want lights that look like dusk in a–”

“No, no,” he interrupted. “No times. Just describe the feeling you want.” I tried again.

“Okay, so I want a dark forest with scattered rays of sunlight, a place that makes me feel mischievous and sneaky.”

“Better.” Now I saw what he meant.

The problem with developing concepts for me was that I had never had to do it. Yes, I’ve directed three shows before, but one was in Directing class and Dr. C never explained the whole concept idea. For both of the other shows, I was given less than 5 weeks to put the show together from start to finish — concept to strike — and I barely had time to squeeze in rehearsals, much less spend time with designers planning things out. Besides, minimalist shows with basic light plots aren’t that difficult for designers.

Things are different this time. I’m going to U/RTA and SETC in the Spring, and I’m preparing some concepts for my interviews. This is the first time I’ve had months to plan out something like this — and I’m using my time wisely, I think.

If you look to the right, I’ve posted concepts for Bertolt Brecht’s Mother Courage, William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun.

If you have any comments or suggestions, I’d be glad to hear them. Don’t get your feelings hurt if I don’t follow your suggestions, though — after all, this is supposed to be my take on things.

I already addressed the merest of directing in my post on Three Words Directors Need To Know, but in this particular post, I’m going to address actual classroom ideas. You see, when I took my first Directing class, it was rather… simple. Here’s basically the way the class went down.

1. Intro to class
2. Discuss different directors (Homework: research different directors)
3. Each student presents a 5 minute oral report on their director (e.g. Elia Kazan) and that director’s style
4. Class is split in half — “Team A” directs first, “Team B” stage manages.
5. From among stage managers, “designers” selected.
6. “Team A” perform plays.
7. “Team B” people become directors, “Team A” people become SM’s.
8. Repeat.

As you can see, there is very little instruction on what directors actually do and how they go about their jobs. In fact, of the 36 possible class meetings, we only met, maybe, eight times. Lots of learning going on there, I promise you.

Now, I am far from an expert, but think I can come up with a better solution. This new plan requires a class limit of 8 people. Any more than that, and you’ve got too many people involved. Limit it to eight people (juniors and seniors). If you have more than that, create another section with another professor. Now, the plan:

Week one: Introduction to Directing, discuss chain of command in theatre, history of directing, roles, etc
Week two: Select plays*, write proposals that answer the following questions: Why did you choose this piece? What technical problems do you foresee? How will you solve them? How large is the cast? Male/Female roles? etc.
Week three: Present proposals to class, discuss proposals. Are there any obvious problems? Does the class, in general, think these particular proposals are good?**
Week four: Discuss concepts, show concepts from in-house designers as examples, assign concepts assignment
Week five: Present concepts to class, discuss concepts. Instructor should grade concepts on feasibility, following instructions, etc. Split class into pairs, each pair in charge of one aspect of designing
Week six: Hold auditions for plays, begin rehearsing
Week seven: Production meetings - class discusses problems, solutions, and needs for productions
Week eight: Discuss various directors and their styles, including Elia Kazan, Stanislavsky, etc, assign report on directors and styles
Week nine: Present reports to class, continue production meetings, rehearsals, etc.
Week ten: Tech week, make sure productions are ready to go
Week eleven: Productions — Post-mortem report assigned
Week twelve: Post-mortem report (final exam) due

*Limit cast to 4 or fewer — can be adjusted depending on actor pool. Smaller schools need smaller casts, since fewer actors are available. If possible, could work in concert with acting classes.
**Note: This is not for a grade, but for constructive criticism purposes).

Okay, so as you can see, there are some major differences. I’ve included a few aspects of the original class, since I agree those aspects are necessary, but I do think that if you’re going to have a class called “Directing” then there should be some lessons that deal with exactly what it is that directors do (e.g. production meetings, concepts, rehearsals, etc). Theatre history with regards to directing and studying other director styles is definitely needed, but that didn’t help me at all when I directed my first productions.

So there you have it. If I were to teach Directing 101, that would be my basic course outline.

Any suggestions? Comments? Jokes?

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Adam strolls onstage, dressed as an Irish priest. He has a cigarette hanging from his lips, his hands clasped together into something that looks sorta-kinda holy. The audience laughs hysterically at his entrance. Up until this point, he had been dressed as a school teacher who did drugs and talked about fucking his students, and now, a priest? Hilarious!

“Oh Adam,” Carver says. “I’m glad you’re here, too. I need your help.”

“We all need each other, my friend,” Adam replies, dressed as an Irish priest.

“I was looking through the storage closet, and–”

“Why?!?!” Adam jumps up, frantic. Carver looks back at him, slightly confused.

Silence.

Carver continues, the scene rolls on, and I sit back in my seat, a bit miffed. That is easily my favorite line in the show, and nobody else thought it was funny. Adam’s ongoing difficulty during this particular production is his speed. He rushes through each and every line. At every rehearsal, I would say “Slow down!” over and over. He slowed down enough that we could understand his lines, but we lose the inflection that comes with slower, more enunciating speech. As this was my favorite line, I worked especially hard on this section to make sure it went over well. Obviously, it didn’t.

I mull over the scene again and again in my mind, keeping a facet of my attention on the performance. By the time the scene ended, I figured there was nothing I could do at this point to improve the audience reception.

The lights come back up. The show continues.

Oh well. Win some, lose some.

I thought this was pretty neat. Thanks to our friends over at www.musicaltheatrespot.com, I found out that an actor in My Fair Lady proposed to his girlfriend during a song in My Fair Lady. Obviously, he had the support of his theatre company, since he managed to do it live in front of an audience. Pretty smooth guy.

Check the video out.

Smooth.

— MGM and New Line will co-finance and co-distribute two films, “The
Hobbit” and a sequel to “The Hobbit.” New Line will distribute in
North America and MGM will distribute internationally.
– Peter Jackson and Fran Walsh will serve as Executive Producers of two
films based on “The Hobbit.” New Line will manage the production of
the films, which will be shot simultaneously.
– Peter Jackson and New Line have settled all litigation relating to the
“Lord of the Rings” (LOTR) Trilogy. (CNN.com)

I’m currently of two minds here. I consider Peter Jackson to be one of the most brilliant directors in the past decade. He took one of the most widely read (if not THE most widely read) fantasy series and put it on the big screen for a relatively cheap cost, made massive profits, and spread the Lord of the Rings fandom even further into public consciousness. I think he will once again meet my expectations with “The Hobbit” film.

So what am I concerned about? This sequel nonsense. The sequel has already been done! “Fellowship of the Ring” is the sequel to “The Hobbit”. Technically, anyway. There is a space of about 60 years, I believe, between “The Hobbit” and “Fellowship” during which Bilbo Baggins grows old in the Shire. I hope they use actual source material and that Fran Walsh, Peter Jackson, and Phillipa Boyens actually write this sequel, because then it will likely live up to my expectations. And by Jove, they better include Tom Bombadil.

Thanks for making me drool in anticipation, New Line. Thanks a lot.

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I try to keep myself informed on what other people in the industry are doing, and I have recently subscribed to Joe Harmston’s blog (you can find it here). Mr. Harmston has some pretty good articles. Specifically, he wrote about the role of a director. One thing in his article struck me as absolutely brilliant.

According to Frank Hauser, a director, there are only three phrases that a director needs to know:

1) “That thing you were doing in scene two, do it more.”

2) “That thing you were doing in scene two, do it less.”

3) “That thing you were doing in scene two, don’t.”

Brilliant. Brilliant! It accomplishes one of my biggest difficulties as a director (although this is not on my Top 7 List of annoyances) . You see, I have acted for several years, and it takes very little effort for me to begin to crawl into the minds of the characters. I certainly don’t do it as in depth as the actors should (but probably more than some famous ones do), but I do attempt that process. Therefore, it is easy for me to come up with specific reactions that I would do if I were playing that particular role. The problem with this is that the director is not the actor! The director’s job is not to micromanage the actors, but to allow them to creatively explore their characters within the guidelines set by the director.

These phrases effectively eliminate such directorial intrusions. It basically says “I don’t care how you got that, but I want more/less/none of that in the future.”

Brilliant.

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“How is it that I am a good actor? What I do is I.. pretend to be the person I’m portraying.

You’re confused.

Case in point: in Lord of the Rings, Peter Jackson comes to me and says ‘I would like you to be Gandalf the Wizard,’ and I said ‘You are aware that I am not really a wizard?’ and Peter Jackson said ‘I would like you to use your acting skills to portray a wizard for the duration of the show.’

So i said ‘Okay’ and then I said to myself ‘Mmm.. How do I do that?’ And this is what I did: I imagined that I was a wizard, and then I pretended, and acted, in that way on the stage.

How did I know what to say? The words were written down for me in a script. How did I know where to stand? People told me where to stand.

If you were to graph my acting, it would look something like this: Sir Ian, Sir Ian, Sir Ian, action — wizard! “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” Cut! — Sir Ian, Sir Ian, Sir Ian…”

–Clip from the excellent BBC/HBO series Extras (Youtube).

As stupid as this scene is, it’s brilliant. It’s brilliant, because it’s true.

Acting is really simple. You pretend. That’s it.

There is a catch. It, too, is simple: there’s no science to acting; it is an art.

Granted, you can teach one how to use the tools that are available to you, but without the instinct there is no art. There’s a reason why the School of Theatre is a part of the College of Arts.

You can give me the absolute best box of crayons and the highest quality paper, and I still can’t draw worth a shit. You can give me oil and canvas, marble and chisel, or piano and music, and I still can’t paint, sculpt, or sing. Like the previously mentioned subjects, acting is an art — you can’t teach it, per se. You can teach the methods, but you can’t teach the instinct.

I’m not a huge fan of method acting. Yes, I use aspects of Stanislavsky’s method in my own acting, but my own acting is much like Sir Ian McKellen’s: me, me, me, me, action! (say lines) cut!, me, me, me, me.

One of my instructors keeps trying to cram into our heads that actors should “really do what you’re doing.” This is wrong. Absolutely wrong. The minute you start to really do what you’re doing, you’re no longer acting — you’re no longer pretending — you’re just YOU on stage dressed up like someone else.

In the end, however, I don’t particularly care how YOU act, so long as you act well. I have friends who can’t act worth a shit, and I’ll never cast them unless their actual, real personality fits with the character. I’ve had friends that I could’ve sworn the author was thinking of when he wrote that play — they’re that much alike.

But when I hold auditions, I look for good actors. Actors who do different things, who behave differently than they do in “real life”, who can show me a range of behavior. After all, the best characters in a play change over the course of the play: they grow. If an actress can’t act, if she can only portray herself, then how can she grow on stage?

The simple answer: she can’t.

As stupid as Sir Ian’s explanation is, it is brilliant. It’s true.

Acting is pretending.
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