Today, I was shooting another USC film school project (the director from a previous project, produced this one). In it, I played the more responsible of two good friends who are seeing each other for the first time in years. (For the sake of ease, I'll write in first person as the character) The scene takes place in my good friend's bedroom. I come in, kick his bed and wake him up. He then throws on his shirt, pants, tie, socks, and shoes. At one point, I hand him a sock and then he heads into the bathroom to take care of his morning routine.
I had my lines down pat, had done my homework regarding these characters and their relationships and felt connected with the given circumstances. However, I kept turning in what I felt were flat reads of the lines. It took me a little while, but I figured out why: I was so terrified of messing up the continuity of the scene, that I had made the conscious decision to move as little as possible. With my body locked down tighter than dick's hat band, it was no wonder that I didn't have great emotional access. It's an understandable fear, because if I made a spontaneous hand gesture in one shot, and forgot to include it in the next – I personally would be making the editor's job harder.
A film actor is responsible for knowing every single gesture, nod, and dart of the eye, before the camera rolls on the first shot. I'm still adapting to this style of working, but in short order I should be able to move from conscious incompetence to unconscious competence. Physical acting is one of my strengths, I can't wait to leverage that in my film acting.
1 comment:
"Why Some Actor's Are Stiff As A Board"
...Because they're on my casting couch with their pants down.
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