The notion of the actor as an individual creative artist, is a notion I often advocate on this blog. That is; the actor taking responsibility for his work, defining an aesthetic, not “standing around in the dark, hoping to be picked”. The benefits of such an approach are myriad, not least among them is that the actor can build the body of work he wants, work with people he likes and who share his concerns, and also, the actor can maintain self-respect by being self-reliant and rewarding himself for his efforts. In short: the actor-auteur.
It's difficult to find a better exemplar for this approach than the great Steven Berkoff, who went and wrote and staged his own plays, and the plays of others, back when nobody was striking out on their own. Berkoff's aesthetics are his own, strikingly individualistic. And so it is then, I have decided to publish some take-aways, from Berkoff's recent five minute interview with the BBC, in order to further the conversation on this matter.
Berkoff says that theatre matters, that it's the last form of communication between people, where you can express the most fundamental thoughts, ideas, and emotions, and do so instantaneously.
Althought Berkoff writes and directs, he's says he is first and foremost an actor, because acting is something he can do immediately, and because he can also dip into other writers. If he was only a playwright, then he couldn't express himself in Shakespeare, Wilde, Sheridan etc.
He says that acting, writing and directing are all part of the same tree.
Says all actors should, at one time, be writers and directors – Shakespeare was an actor and a writer. He says it makes a richer compost if people are expressing the three elements together.
Says that when you're directing yourself you're not actually directing yourself, but that the audience response, ie – their attitudes, their silence, their laughter, will tell you and teach you.
Says he did one man plays because he didn't want to wait until he gathered a whole group of actors together, with attendent costs and logistics, casting, agents, and dealing with the temperaments of 8 or 10 actors. He says a one-man show is a unique communication – it gives the actor greater scope because he doesn't have to deal with other actors.
Says his own plays are poetic and expressionistic, not naturalistic.
Says “Total Theatre” is use of the imagination. Modern theatre has returned to Victorian theatre with huge sets and flying people. Says that Total Theatre is the ability of the actor to express the genius of the body, express the story without set.
Says you need to be a good actor to play a villain. Says the best actors play villains.
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"To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Ot take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them..."
Actors are idealist types functioning in a pragmatic world, they are dreamers in a real world. So, for the actor, life is about balancing off the dreams which fuel him, against dealing frankly with the reality placed before him. Not easy to do in the lifestyle of an actor, where fortunes may fluctuate dramatically – one minute sat home alone, ignored and underemployed, the next, a phone call or meeting which could literally change the actor's game, and when that meeting or phone call doesn't change the game, then it's back to being at home, until the next thing comes along which may not change the game but may offer an exciting opportunity, and so on and so forth …. you catch my drift.
So how to survive this emotional roller coaster? Of course, learning to adapt one's mindset would be a useful but not infallible system to use, and not infallible because we cannot always control what we think. No, the way to handle the situation is to acknowledge that the effect certain events may have upon us is superficial, the effect quickly vanishes, the effect is not real, we need not give it too much meaning. Instead of letting the rollercoaster throw us into a state of flux, or cause us to behave rashly, we should recourse to those things which are permament in our lives, which are profound, which never desert us no matter the situation, but which improve us and make us stronger – we should recourse to aesthetics, ie – to the system of art we have chosen to operate by, to the technique of acting which has become a way of life. Commitment to this technique, means that every single moment of the actor's life is contributing to his growth as an artist, because eveything he does becomes a practice of the technique, thus refining, thus strengthening and improving the technique, which naturally impacts performance – and the improvement itself, aswell as the act of improving will provide the actor with an endless source of joy, and a healthy self-respect to boot. This commitment will help the actor to endure, over the long term, the slings and arrows which may come his way.
So the next time an almost certain victory is usurped by defeat, or you get demoralised by an unforced error, or you receive an outrageously good piece of news, rather than allowing yourself to be ravished by the feeling created in the moment, gently place your mind onto those things which are important to you, and will still remain with you regardless of the situation you find yourself in, and all will be placed in healthy perspective, and you will keep your independence.
I was stunned recently when a colleague of mine, whom I had had a very good relationship with until this point, casually slighted me in public. At first, I was in disbelief because the slight apparently came out of nowhere, and then my survival instinct kicked in as I undertsood the slight to be an attack, and so defended myself. Why did my colleague jeopardise the well being of a hitherto frutiful professional relationship in this way? Because he is insecure about the value of himself and his own work, and his spontaneous insult was merely a symptom of this deeper, underlying fear. The insult itself, the slight, was merely an attempt to bring this value deficit to balance (if only for a fleeting moment). Moreover, it implies a lack of seriousness on their part: a lack of seriouness about themselves, their career, and about our relationship, for what else can this casual sabotage of a professional connection mean? Personally, I would never jeopardise a personal or professional relationship for such a meagre, transient reward.
There can be healthy competition between actors, the sort which innvigorates and inspires, which drives you on to ever greater heights of excellence, and then there is the other sort as described above, which masquerades as the competitive spirit, but is infact the opposite – it is anti-competitive, an attempt to scag everybody, dragging everyone down into misery, sapping the true creative spirit, and in the process excusing oneself from the need to be better.
Stick to the healthy competition and get rid of the unhealthy.
If the actor does infact want to get rid of the unhealthy, then he needs to take responsibility for his work and life – get to grips with the technical aspects of acting, and develop sound philosophy, this in turn creates independence, which means understanding the value of you and your work. It all stems from having a proper grip on the fundamentals of acting. Once this is in place, the actor may become more generous toward his colleagues, seeing that everyone tries to do the best they can, enjoying and being inspired by the success of others' rather than being threatened by it. Understand that your own personal well being is linked to the well being of the production as a whole, understand that the art and craft of acting is far, far greater than any single individual and that you are there to serve it and not for it to serve you. Treat people in the way you yourself wish to be treated. You do not have to be best friends with the rest of the cast, but an environment of trust, mutual respect, and co-operation, is a happily creative environment, which, co-incidentally, leads to stronger work.
“we have to be optimistic. The moment actors start thinking otherwise, they're dead. You simply have to believe you have a future.” - Peter O'Toole.
Peter O'Toole is a god of acting, he is a great actor, his performance in Becket is one of my favourite of all time, so when he speaks, I listen. However, I was quite shocked by the statement above, it never occurred to me that somebody as fabulously successful and bravura as O'Toole ever had to worry about having a future as an actor, certainly I would never have guessed that he would ever have had to place his chips on being optimistic.
I've never really liked “optimism”, it's similar to “being positive”, it just seems desperate, as though we are powerless and can only accomplish anything because of luck, or because of some outside force doing us a favour. I much prefer to try to see things as they really are, then plot a course of action in response to the conclusions of my analysis, and proceed from there. Optimism is linked to the frustrations of the casting process, where the actor is having to appeal to someone, whilst knowing there are dozens of other actors lined up behind him, waiting to do exactly the same thing – then after the casting, the actor is left hoping he is the one who will be picked, and if he is passed over on this occasion, then he must hope something else turns-up, and the process starts all over again. The actor copes with being demeaned in this way only because it is the accepted norm. The point is however, we can easily see how the actor is reduced to sitting around trying to be “optimistic” about the future. The trouble is, optimism is only a hop, skip and a jump away from wishful thinking, and wishful thinking is, we know, the opposite of hard thinking – but wishful thinking is what keeps people volutarily participating in a system which does not necessarily serve their own best interests, ie: “I have absolutely no control over what is happening to me, but I'm sure something'll turn up”. Wishful thinking is thinking that one day you'll have a career like, well, like Peter O'Toole, even though you may not possess the capability to actually make it happen. As I mentioned in my blog on Why Actors Quit, without a concrete and energising goal (and for the goal to be concrete and energizing, accomplishing it needs to be within the actor's power), the actor will not be able to overcome the obstacles he will inevitably encounter – he needs powerful reasons to keep fighting – optimism, positive thinking, wishful thinking, self-help mantras, vague hope, are not concrete, and they are not energizing, they may, like cigarettes, seem to offer momentary relief, but ultimately they are empty and lead to self-deception
For my own view, the acting world has changed radically from the days when O'Toole was coming up. The last 10 years has seen an explosion in the number of people going into acting, and arguably there has been a dimunition in the volume of work available. Like the rest of our culture, getting a decent education and working hard is no longer enough. We are moving into an era when eveyone needs to be an entrepeneur, and that includes actors. Infact, in the case of acting, I think we will see the emergence of more and more “actor-auteurs”, wherby the actor is the unmistakable author of the work, such as Charlie Chaplin or Woody Allen. This will happen largely because of the reason I mentioned above, that there is just so much more traffic on the old career paths than there used to be and actors will be forced to be more innovative, but also it will happen because it's now doable: the cost of production has been coming down and down and down to the point where a professional quality feature film can be produced with a literally zero budget, and then we have the emergence of micro-distribution, where an audience can be found and nurtured. The actor doesn't need to believe he has a future, the actor needs to create one for himself.
“I like the futility of effort – the uphill road to failure is a very human thing” - Jean-Pierre Melville
My penchant for Samurai films has lead me to Masaki Kobayashi's 1962 masterpiece, Harakiri. The film is set in the world of the 17th century samurai, and centres on the notion: “the honour in death – and the death of honour”. Tatsuya Nakadai plays an impoverished samurai, who visits the House of the Iyi Clan, and requests he be given somewhere to perform harakiri (the samurai ritual suicide by disembowelment). Just before Nakadai is to kill himself however, he begins to recount his fate to the surrounding clan, and here the film cuts to the past. It transpires that Nakadai has fallen into abject poverty, ironically because Japan is at peace, a peace Nakadai helped to forge by fighting in the civil war, but because of that peace, demand for the samurais' services has slumped, and many are forced to wander as ronin (masterless samurai), looking for work (unfortunately, the samurai cannot take normal jobs, because it may cause trouble). Despite his poverty however, Nikadai refuses to give up his beautiful daughter to a clan because she will be turned into a concubine, instead, he encourages her to marry the honorable but equally impoverished and unemployed samurai, Motome Chijiiwa, played by Akira Ishihama. They have a child, but the mother falls ill, and soon the child does to, catching a fever. In general, the film is about the individual who stands alone, who refuses institutional comfort, preferring a true and singular life, even if it means additional toil. Crucially, Harakiri is a film which acknowledges that life is tragic, that we humans are flawed, and no matter how hard we try, more often than not we are doomed to fail. There is one heartbreaking scene in Harakiri which reveals this, where Nakadai, at his wits end, is explaining to his grandson who lays in coma, that they have run out of options, that they have sold everything they own in order to keep the boy alive, but now they have nothing left (the boy's father, Motome, has even sold his two samurai swords, replacing them with bamboo facsimiles – the swords are deemed to be the samurai's very soul). The tragedy is the fact that this situation could have been avoided, the choices Nakadai made to safeguard his family, have infact lead to it's destruction: he decided his daughter should marry the samurai Motome, a pauper, who now cannot afford a physician to keep his child alive. Watching this scene, I dropped my head as I felt shame, then looking up again, I felt sorrow – seeing this good and noble warrior beg his unconscious grandson for a forgiveness which can never be forthcoming, was hard to bear. Luckily though, it is only a film, and so Nikidai experiences these trials and tribulations in the land of make believe. The point is, tragedy enables us (the audience) to see that we are not perfect, that we can come up short, and damningly so at times. Tragedy strips us of our intellectual arrogance (if only for a moment), and offers us a chance to acknowledge our helplessness. We are not perfect. That's why I have never been interested in disaster movies or superhero movies – they're a comforting lie – we don't have the power to re-direct meteors heading toward Earth, and we can't put on a pair of underpants and fly to Mars. It's also why I've always loved film noir, the protagonist is an ordinary person with an accomplishable goal, but he often fails, or at least, if he succeeds, it is at a far greater cost than he could ever have imagined.
Since writing “Create Precisely The Body Of Work You Want”, I have started to think a tragic view of the world can help us do just that. A tragic view enables us to be braver, to stand alone, to identify those things we want to fight for, and go out and fight for them. It is a concern with perfectionism which holds us back . Someone responded last week that “success” differed from person to person – well yes, but I would go even further and say that success and failure are highly ambiguous, whatever your definition of them. The perfectionist view implies that there is a perfect result, and any outcome other than that perfect result is a disaster. So, with the perfectionist burden too heavy to bear, we trundle along on the prescribed path, regardless of how meaninglessness and fruitless it may be – it's numbing, but at least we'll feel no pain. Perhaps you have an idea about precisely the kind of work you want to do, but you're not being offered anything like it, so you may need to step out and create it yourself – and creating it yourself is difficult because you will be criticised for not being attached to an established institution, and in any case, your precious creation could fall apart, and you could be left with nothing other than the ridicule of your peers. Absolutely. And so what? Nakadai could have made his life considerably easier by sending his daughter away to become a concubine, but he refused on a point of principle. That your decision to employ your principles (and an aesthetic is a principle) may lead to disaster, is not an excuse to not employ them. How serious are you about doing precisely the kind of work you want? The tragic view encourages us to go for it because it accepts that we may fail miserably, and so the perfectionist burden is removed. If we do infact fail in our task, fine, but that failure will not destroy us - we'll live to fight another day.
Creating precisely the work you want to do, is, on the one hand, liberating, because you seize control of each action step, you're not relying on somebody else to come through for you (which happens almost all the time if you are an actor), but on the other hand, it is more frightening, precisely because you are controlling the steps – if it should all fall apart, you've got nobody to blame but yourself, and that can be a very lonely place. However, if we accept the tragic view of the world, that, despite our very best efforts, we may still fall short, then we may make braver choices, and seize that thing we want from the fire.
I've always been fascinated by Hollywood mythology, so it's surprising that it took me until this week to watch Sophia Coppola's 2010 film, Somewhere. The film charts the empty, lonely life of Steven Dorff's movie star, Johnny Marco, who lives at the Chateau Marmont, moving from encounters of meaningless casual sex, to meaningless promotional work for his latest blockbusting action flick. The paradigm of Dorff's life shifts when his daughter from a previous relationship comes to stay with him (not as icky as it might sound, as it turns out). Somewhere is a film made up of delightful moments, as when Dorff, who almost exclusively eats take-away, picks up an apple from a fruit bowl, and looks at it as though it had just landed from Mars. One of the things that struck me about Dorff's character though, was how useless he is, how impractical, and how he lacks drive, lacks passion, he just goes with the flow, he doesn't seem to care about anything, although this manifests itself as amiability rather than anything demonstratively destructive. In some respects, Coppola romanticizes Dorff's empty existence, fuelling my suspicion that she has disdain for us little people. There is however, a neat little scene, where Dorff, at a party, is engaged by a nervous young actor who asks him what “school” of acting he subscribes to, to wit Dorff shrugs, and responds that he doesn't subscribe to any school, adding that when he started out, he got an agent and “just went on auditions”.
I was also taken by surprise this week, by people who came out and not only defended ass kissing, but passionately advocated it after I had criticized it in last week's blog. If you haven't read it, I said that you shouldn't use your work to kiss ass, but simply let it speak for itself. One person came out and said that actors should kiss as much ass as possible, another said that ass kissing was an actor's only means of “getting work”, and another, a theatre producer, said that the actor who has the attitude that they will not kiss ass, goes straight in the “trash”. Why this advocacy for the loathsome toadyism? Well, ass kissing is a form of schmoozing, which is to say that you want someone to give you something but you have nothing to give in return. The ass kisser believes that one can become an enormous success without engaging in the nasty unpleasantness of actually learning a demonstrable skill, ie - without hard graft. This is not merely a point of view for the ass kissers, it's actually crucial to their psychic well being. Why? Because progress without effort enables the ass kisser to maintain their delusion that they are simply “special”, that they're not like us little people. For what else can success without effort mean? When, as happens with the vast majority of those who go into acting, they learn that the life of the actor is mostly about toil, we see them freak out, unable to cope with the shattering realization that they may need to put in a shift at some point, they flee the business altogether – hence the preposterous drop-out rate (in many respects, it's these wannabees who give acting a bad name – for sure, actors spend a lot of time working on themselves, but that's not because we think we're special little creatures, but because we use ourselves in our work - do we criticize professional sports people for being “obsessed” with their bodies?). In the end, that's what the ass kisser desires: the Stephen Dorff/Johnny Marco lifestyle, an unconstrained life, effortless and useless, where every whim and urge is catered for, the entire world their playground – not only is it success without effort then, but it's success without responsibility – and the ass kisser is rewarded with all this for the mere fact of their existence.
I'm advocating that the actor take responsibility for his work, and put in some graft so that his work is actually worth the attention of an audience. I'm advocating that rather than try to preserve our well being by ingratiating ourselves, the actor should cultivate a rational self-esteem through hard won accomplishments which require no outside validation. Don't “just go on auditions”, but define your ideal work, and apply yourself to the things within your control in order to construct precisely the body of work you want*. All this is an immense task of course, which will be spread out over many decades, and requires constant self-improvement such that we can work ever more productively, and for longer, necessary in order to get everything done. Understanding how and why you are making progress, boosts confidence and self-respect, which in turn becomes a self-perpetuating process of ever greater accomplishment. That doesn't seem to me, to be a bad place to be.
*I'm reiterating this point, because although people responded to my ass kissing comment, nobody responded to this comment – actors are constantly being told they should be grateful for whatever scraps come their way, but why not aim for something more?