Tonight in my on-camera class at Actor's Certified Training I worked on a scene from "As Good as it Gets". The basic procedure most most scene work in class goes something like this:- Sides are assigned.
- Memorize and prepare sides at home w/o direction.
- Present your interpretation of the material.
- Get directed moment by moment through the scene.
- Directions sound like: Tilt your head to the right, look up, deliver "garden" more slowly and at the end tilt your head to the left.
- Do a final rehearsal of the scene, following the direction exactly.
- Leave the room and come back in and do the scene as if you were at an audition.
"Now this has happened a few times now. What the hell happened? It's not about capability - you've got the chops. I just question your judgement. It's like I'm seeing two different actors. I love your work when you're Donovan, but when you come in to audition you're work is completely different and its not as good."
I attempted to respond to this by saying when I'm working in class all of my focus is dedicated to the very technical aspects of moving my head, my eyes, and saying my lines with the correct pace and pitch to match my direction. However when I prepare for the audition, I take all of the very technical direction and try to infuse it with a thought process.
It was at this time that Tim posed the following question to the class. "Knowing what Donovan does in class, and then seeing the audition he just turned in. If you were to see that in a theater, would you ask for your money back?"
Each and every one of my classmates proceeded to say (some with more hesitation than others) "I'd want my money back."
It seems that when I attempt to "act" I ruin what is otherwise a good performance. The problem here is that I have fun when I "act" but I derive no pleasure from systematically hitting my marks and playing the director's notes.
I feel like this feedback dovetails into a note I got in Richard Seyd's ongoing class. After my final in-class performance of "American Buffalo" Richard told me:
"What's interesting about this run is that I saw so much more depth in your work than I usually do. Usually when you're playing an action I can only see the action you are playing and the fact that you are playing an action. However here, where there was no expectation of what you 'should' be doing each moment was much more emotionally full. There were much more colors in this work."
This feedback is all well and good - but it didn't stop me from screaming not nice words of frustration at the top of my lungs as soon as my silver car-door closed. Only to look out the window to see that my classmates could see.
I've yet to fully process what this means, but there is work to be done. If only to let go.
2 comments:
Well, you see, there are two Donovans at battle here. There's the Donovan who is evaluated and praised by directors and playwrights who cast him in plays and by filmmakers who bank entire feature films on him. Then there's the Donovan who is evaluated and scrutinized by classmates who have little experience in the real world and by teachers who have been unable to achieve the things that Donovan dreams of achieving.
This is not to say that the former Donovan's praise excuses him from developing his craft or that the latter Donovan's scrutiny is without its benefits. On the other hand, the former Donovan's praise must be remembered, honored, and studied, while the latter Donovan's scrutiny must be filtered through the eyes of mere students and teachers.
It is a matter of which Donovan wins out in the end, and it's a long process of self-evaluation that will reveal the ways in which the Donovan you want wins. The first step towards that, perhaps, is to temporarily stop focusing on what you're doing "wrong," but study--really study--what you're doing and what you've done "right" and figure out why that is so.
Prince,
Thanks for this comment. It is all too easy to lose perspective while in class.
Thanks,
Donovan
Post a Comment