April 8, 2008
In which Scott lays the Smackdown on McPsycho
In response to my previous post, Good Things Come To Those Who Wait, Scott Walters provides commentary on the state of theatre education at the college level. I especially like the following quote:
“In fact, it is abuse, and deserves to be called what it is: bullshit. There is absolutely no value in making your “homework assignment” so obscure that the students don’t even know it is an assignment. In addition, this teacher better have had a damn good reason to have asked students to learn how to “wait,” because if that was the sole purpose of the “exercise” it is empty nonsense, which is what all too much acting “training” amounts to.” — Scott Walters
Exactly. Thank you! It’s complete, utter bullshit. For everyone who agrees with Scott and myself, I encourage you to check out Scott’s blog, Theatre Ideas, and join the discussion on how the theatre blogosphere believes change is coming. Subscribe to it, bookmark it - I don’t care. Just read it!
February 20, 2008
How to Respond to a Cell Phone in a Theatre
As sort of a sequel to the How To Annoy Your Director post, I’ve got another little list for you to peruse. Tell me if this hasn’t happened to you!
Every show I’ve ever been to and probably every one I’ll go to in the near future, I can guarantee you someone’s cell phone is going to go off. Instead of being embarrassed and whispering “Sorry!”, they pick up the phone, and loudly exclaim “Yeah?! I’m at a play. I SAID, I’M AT A PLAY. Yeah! It’s okay, I guess. That fat girl up there sucks, and the scrawny guy — well, I can’t hear a damn word he says…” Meanwhile, the rest of the audience is glaring at her. She prattles on, oblivious.
This has happened so many times on stage that I’ve come up with quite a few scenarios as to what I would like to do.
- I’ve actually done this: I waited until they were done, and then once they realized the action stopped, they got up and left. The audience applauded when they left, too.
- Throw a prop at them, preferably a sword or knife of some kind. I haven’t done this for liability reasons, of course, but… it’d be so nice.
- Yell, “Out, damn phone! Out!” in character. Haven’t done this yet, either. Mainly because it’s not likely I’ll perform in the Scottish play anytime soon, and I haven’t figured out a way to do it in character and not screw up the moment in other plays.
- Break character and say “Excuse me, ma’am, we’re in the middle of a play.” Not gonna happen.
- Walk off-stage into the house, grab the cell phone, drop it on the floor, and squash it with my boot, then walk back on-stage and pick up where I left off. I wish.
People just don’t respect the theatre these days.
February 11, 2008
18 Simple Reasons Why You Should Date An Actor/Actress
Stole this from a Facebook Group. Funny stuff!
You should date actors/actresses because:
- we practice until its perfect
- we’re used to role playing
- we work well in big groups of people
- we’re trained how to scream loudly
- we’re used to performing in front of large audiences
- we’re used to adding to the scene
- we love to use our props
- we work for the pleasure of others
- we do it on cue
- after a brief intermission we’re ready to go at it again
- we always wear our costumes
- we’re used to quick changes
- we work onstage and Backstage
- we know how to put on a GREAT show!!!
- we do it on the spot
- we may take hours to get ready but in the end its all worth it
- we can stay in one position for hours and still make it enjoyable
- our mouths know just how to move
- we can make you stand up and scream for more at the end
January 25, 2008
The Theatrical Structure
Friend of mine emailed me this. Thought I’d share it with you guys. The theatrical structure. I dedicate this to Sandy.
Theatrical Structure:
Producer-
Leaps tall buildings in a single bound.
Is more powerful than a locomotive.
Is faster than a speeding bullet.
Walks on water.
Gives policy to God.
Director-
Leaps short buildings in a single bound.
Is more powerful than a switch engine.
Is just as fast as a speeding bullet.
Walks on water if the sea is calm.
Talks with God.
Playwright-
Leaps short buildings with a running start.
Is almost as powerful as a switch engine.
Is faster than a speeding BB.
Swims well.
Is occasionally addressed by God.
Actor-
Makes high marks on the wall when trying to leap
buildings.
Is run over by locomotives.
Can sometimes handle a gun without inflicting
self-injury.
Dog paddles.
Talks to animals.
Chorus Member-
Falls over doorsteps when trying to enter
buildings.
Says “Look at the choo-choo.”
Wets himself with a water pistol.
Plays in mud puddles.
Mumbles to himself.
Stage Manager-
Lifts buildings and walks under them.
Kicks locomotives off the track.
Catches speeding bullets in his teeth and eats
them.
Freezes water with a single glance.
*IS* God.
January 14, 2008
January 6, 2008
Only one thing I can say: Smooth
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.
January 2, 2008
How To Become A Great Actor, according to Sir Ian McKellen
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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.
Stumble It!
December 26, 2007
How To Annoy Your Director (or, “Annoying Your Director” for Dummies)
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Ask any director you know. There’s always one of those people. You know, one of those people who can’t seem to do anything right. One of those people who can’t seem to focus for one iota of a millisecond. One of those people who have never heard the phrase: “the show must go on.”
But I’ll not harp on the stupidity of these imbeciles, nor shall I belabor the point that they haven’t an ounce of talent to their name, nor shall I beat you over the head with their empty skulls. No, I shan’t.
…
But, if you were to, perhaps, portray one of these unfortunate souls in a play about, oh, I don’t know, bad actors, then I have a guide for you to follow. It is aptly titled “How To Annoy Your Director.”
Here we go!
1. Be late. Be late to every rehearsal. Directors, and everyone else for that matter, are here simply for your convenience. We’re not under a deadline, we’re not under any pressure, and we certainly don’t have anything better to do with our time than wait for you to finish getting that phone number from the girl behind the counter at the local gas station. If you truly want to annoy your director, have an excellent excuse each time.
2. Be lazy. I once performed in a Christmas play at church. I played one of the Apostles. The guy playing our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, showed up to our final dress rehearsal and still didn’t know any of his lines. Our Almighty Director was furious. I’ve never seen anyone so angry or so devoid of hope (except for maybe the time when my costume designer discovered his Armani suit on the floor with footprints all over it — you’d think his parents had just died). So if you truly want to annoy your director, don’t even look at your script.
3. Ignore blocking direction. When the director says “Go over here, face downstage and deliver this line to the audience,” ignore him. Yes, you read that — ignore him. Ignore your director, face across the stage, stare directly into the face of your co-star, and deliver your line to them. Directors almost never have good reasons to block you in certain ways. They probably haven’t even read the play as many times as you have. Yes, let’s annoy the director and ignore the blocking.
4. Be dull. Don’t show any enthusiasm or have any energy whatsoever. Why use up all that valuable energy? You’re going to need it to go out partying all night! Why waste all that energy when there’s no one to appreciate it? That director fellow is just going to tell you how badly you screwed up that scene. The best idea here is to just do the bare minimum needed to get through the scene. After all, that director can see what you’re really capable of on opening night. That is, if you can be bothered to care.
5. Be loud backstage. Never, ever whisper backstage. After all, you’re an actor! The audience came here to see and hear you! Nobody cares about those other actors on stage (besides, to be quite honest, they suck anyway!). Just keep on talking even though you have been reprimanded quite often by the director (who doesn’t appreciate your talent, anyway). Eventually, everyone will realize that you’re the only person that matters.
–
If you follow my four-step guide, you will wind up being the most annoying actor in the history of actors! Break a leg!
December 24, 2007
How NOT to Fail
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“You know what kills me?” Casey asks, while we’re eating at our favorite fried chicken joint. “When you care so much about something, and nobody else gives a shit.” I nod. He’s talking about an improvisational theatre group he tried to start last year that pretty much bombed. Not for lack of trying, though. Casey hit the problem right on the head: nobody cared, nobody participated, and nobody put forth any effort.
That has been an ongoing problem in the theatre here. Too many new people come in, expect to get lead roles, and when they don’t, they stop paying attention, they stop participating. Even if they get roles they want, they participate only as much as necessary.
One of the biggest ways to piss me off is when you find out I’m an actor/director, you say “Oh, I was in Grease when I was in high school…”.
No.
No, no, no, no, no. Don’t even try to compare your little fun high school popularity stunt to what I want to do for a living. Theatre is my passion, it’s my life, and it’s my career. The same goes for Casey and numerous others in the profession.
These new people, they come in and think because they were Annie in the high school production that they only have to participate if they want to. If they feel like it.
I hate to break it to you folks, but you’re never going to get anywhere with that kind of attitude. People like Casey and myself do our best to further our own careers, to offer opportunities for people to perform, to work within the profession we love, to have a chance to participate. And what do most people do? They give us assurances that they’ll participate, then haul ass the other way.
That’s the problem. A big problem. The next question, obviously, is what to do about it. How can we fix this? How can we improve our situation? How can we get these apathetic individuals to care? I don’t have all the answers, but I do have some suggestions.
1) Have a plan. When I decide on a project, the first thing I do is figure out exactly what I want to do with the project.
- How many people do I want to be involved?
- How much resources do I want?
- How long do I want to get the project completed?
2) Have a backup plan. Once I’ve asked myself those questions, I come up with my backup plans. This is just in case I can’t get what I want. I ask myself some more questions:
- How many people do I need to complete the project?
- How much resources do I require?
- What is the minimum amount of time I need to devote to this project?
3) Offer incentives. For example, if I can’t get the minimum number of people that I absolutely need to complete the project, I need to figure out a way to encourage and entice people to participate. Perhaps I could offer some sort of financial compensation, a letter of recommendation, or some other sort of reward.
4) Offer to combine your project with someone else’s. One of the blogs that I’ve begun frequenting lately is Sobrietyland by madmargaret. In a recent entry, Margaret complained that the other local theatres are terrible. This is also the case around here. A possible solution would be to create a local one-act contest or scene contest or playwriting contest — whatever fits your project. Perhaps rather than starting your own project, you could offer your expertise to local theatres to help them become better. After all, we shouldn’t just be out to make ourselves better, but the entire profession.
Those are my suggestions for fighting apathy and non-participation in the theatre. Casey’s big mistake was that he hadn’t planned for a lack of participation. His project essentially failed, and he had to explain himself to the producer. Had he planned for this contingency, he might have been able to salvage the project.
I don’t claim to have all the answers, but I do claim to have some knowledge of failure and success. Planning, ingenuity, and open-mindedness will help you succeed more than putting all your eggs in one basket will.
So what do I do to help my buddy Casey out, when the weight of the world has crashed down on his shoulders, when he’s looking for assurance and support, when he needs a steadfast friend?
“That blows, man,” I mumble, as I take a bite out of some delicious fried chicken. Mmm.
December 14, 2007
7 Ways To Tell You’re A Theatre Geek
7. At job interviews, they ask you a hard question. You stare at them for a second and then say, “Line?!”
6. You’re doing your laundry and one particularly stubborn stain refuses to go away, and you cry “Out, damn spot! Out!”
5. Your friends tell you they’ll be over in 10 minutes to pick you up for the movie. You say “Thank you, ten!”
4. At every costume party, you dress up as Shakespeare
3. You spell it “theatre.”
2. When speaking in public, you insist on having sixteen glaring, bright lights shining in your face.
1. You never go anywhere without your Shakespeare bobble-head.