The Great Actin Blog: "Fear Of Failure"

Commitment is a tricky thing. At the moment just before we need to commit, our minds suggest all kinds of alternatives as preferable to the thing we are about to commit to. One of the reasons commitment is so hard, is because we are putting our good opinion of ourselves on the line: if it all goes wrong then there are no excuses, and it hurts. Note how distraught elite sportspeople get when,  despite giving absolutely everything, they lose a big match. Rarely do we see them shrug during such a moment, they would only shrug if they  didn’t care, and hadn’t spent themselves. However, when we fear failure, we don’t give  a proper effort or we don’t try at all, so as to avoid the pain failure may bring. The trouble with this approach is, the failure becomes self-fulfilling, because our lack of effort ensured, from the outset, that we would fail.

Creative endeavours are rarely, if ever, as cut and dry as the sports field, and, in acting, the symptoms of fear of failure take very, very subtle forms, so subtle infact, that sometimes they may even be mistaken for great acting. What I’m talking about here is undercutting the scene with a cutesy bit of humour, or with some “characterization”, or a bit of emotion, or even something oh-so ironic. This usually happens when something unforeseen moves the actor internally, something rears itself which had not been part of the actor’s cosy, little plan for playing the scene. What was this terrible unforeseen horror? Why, it was the truth of the moment of course. The courageous actor, doesn’t flinch from that moment, instead, he grapples with it no matter how unnerved by it he may be, he sticks to his task ruthlessly, and does the best he can. The phoney actor denies the truth of the moment, he tries to defuse the potential of the unplanned, he tries to suffocate it,  for he must always be seen to be in control, superior to the scene, superior to the audience, and cannot bear anything which threatens that control, threatens that feeling of superiority. He tries to masque the truth with a lie, he tries to render the truth imperceptible. But this phoney bit of behaviour, often extorts a moment of admiration from the audience, and well it might, for that was it’s original intention, that is, the actor uses a bit of cleverness to distract the audience from the fact that he is not flawless.This actor is scared, scared of criticism,  scared of being hurt, and protects himself with empty trickery. The truthful actor is like the sportsman, he gives everything even though he knows that by the end, exhausted and drenched in sweat, he may still come up short.

 

The truthful actor commits fully despite his fear. This is called courage.

The Great Actin Blog: "Fear Of Failure"

Commitment is a tricky thing. At the moment just before we need to commit, our minds suggest all kinds of alternatives as preferable to the thing we are about to commit to. One of the reasons commitment is so hard, is because we are putting our good opinion of ourselves on the line: if it all goes wrong then there are no excuses, and it hurts. Note how distraught elite sportspeople get when,  despite giving absolutely everything, they lose a big match. Rarely do we see them shrug during such a moment, they would only shrug if they  didn’t care, and hadn’t spent themselves. However, when we fear failure, we don’t give  a proper effort or we don’t try at all, so as to avoid the pain failure may bring. The trouble with this approach is, the failure becomes self-fulfilling, because our lack of effort ensured, from the outset, that we would fail.

Creative endeavours are rarely, if ever, as cut and dry as the sports field, and, in acting, the symptoms of fear of failure take very, very subtle forms, so subtle infact, that sometimes they may even be mistaken for great acting. What I’m talking about here is undercutting the scene with a cutesy bit of humour, or with some “characterization”, or a bit of emotion, or even something oh-so ironic. This usually happens when something unforeseen moves the actor internally, something rears itself which had not been part of the actor’s cosy, little plan for playing the scene. What was this terrible unforeseen horror? Why, it was the truth of the moment of course. The courageous actor, doesn’t flinch from that moment, instead, he grapples with it no matter how unnerved by it he may be, he sticks to his task ruthlessly, and does the best he can. The phoney actor denies the truth of the moment, he tries to defuse the potential of the unplanned, he tries to suffocate it,  for he must always be seen to be in control, superior to the scene, superior to the audience, and cannot bear anything which threatens that control, threatens that feeling of superiority. He tries to masque the truth with a lie, he tries to render the truth imperceptible. But this phoney bit of behaviour, often extorts a moment of admiration from the audience, and well it might, for that was it’s original intention, that is, the actor uses a bit of cleverness to distract the audience from the fact that he is not flawless.This actor is scared, scared of criticism,  scared of being hurt, and protects himself with empty trickery. The truthful actor is like the sportsman, he gives everything even though he knows that by the end, exhausted and drenched in sweat, he may still come up short.

 

The truthful actor commits fully despite his fear. This is called courage.

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The Great Acting Blog: "Anyone Can Act In The Same Way Anyone Can Write A Poem"

“Study voice and movement – learn the difference between the beautiful and the attractive. Learn to analyze a script the way a director should and almost none can…Make yourself the expert…Your friends will tell you you are making yourself foolish and no-one will appreciate the finer points in any case. And that is exactly what bad actors say to devoted actors.” – David Mamet

As an actor, you’ve only got yourself to commit to – people enter the arena casually, and leave casually, because there is apparently no investment, no capital outlay, there are, apparently, no tools of the trade, there are no material necessities. Filmmakers have their cameras, musicians have their instruments, even writers, at the very least, have a pencil and paper, but actors require no such material objects, anyone might get up from their armchair, and declare that they can walk proficiently, that they can talk proficiently, ergo they can act proficiently, and so put themselves out there, vying for work. Further, it is easy to walk away from the business (and re-enter again), because it is just a question of ceasing to use yourself, which is very different to, say, somebody who sets out to become a pianist – if they walk away, they will forever have their piano in the corner of the room as an aching reminder of their failure.

All that an actor possesses is himself; his body, his personality, his imagination. But what would happen to one who set out to become a filmmaker but failed to learn about light? Or one who set out to become a playwright but failed to learn about dramatic construction? Certainly they would not reach a level of excellence that would suffice for  an audience to pay to experience their work. Why should somebody think that they could be an effective actor without a sustained  focus on practicing and improving their craft? “Ah”, I hear you say, “what about the Hollywood star, paid millions, but has problems with articulation such that, in some scenes, we cannot make out what he is saying? Is this not akin to watching a film where the camera is, at times, out of focus, or the instrument out of tune? And what about the genius “non-actor”, plucked from some street corner to star in the role of a life-time?” These are valid points, and they certainly do happen. But I say, so what? These things should not be used as an excuse to not strive for excellence, to not work hard, to not acknowledge that acting is an ancient and important craft and that one must learn to serve it. Acting then, becomes an investment not in material goods, but an investment in the self. The usual howl of derision will go up as it always does, that actors are narcissistic and selfish and self-obsessed* – but nobody complains about the filmmaker obsessed with his camera, they say he is dedicated, and it would be absurd to criticise the pianist for ensuring his piano is in tune.

That anyone can act, is true in the same way that anyone can write a poem.

*I would aver that the number of actors who possess these qualities, is proportionate to the population at large who possess these qualities.

The Great Acting Blog: "Anyone Can Act In The Same Way Anyone Can Write A Poem"

“Study voice and movement – learn the difference between the beautiful and the attractive. Learn to analyze a script the way a director should and almost none can…Make yourself the expert…Your friends will tell you you are making yourself foolish and no-one will appreciate the finer points in any case. And that is exactly what bad actors say to devoted actors.” – David Mamet

As an actor, you’ve only got yourself to commit to – people enter the arena casually, and leave casually, because there is apparently no investment, no capital outlay, there are, apparently, no tools of the trade, there are no material necessities. Filmmakers have their cameras, musicians have their instruments, even writers, at the very least, have a pencil and paper, but actors require no such material objects, anyone might get up from their armchair, and declare that they can walk proficiently, that they can talk proficiently, ergo they can act proficiently, and so put themselves out there, vying for work. Further, it is easy to walk away from the business (and re-enter again), because it is just a question of ceasing to use yourself, which is very different to, say, somebody who sets out to become a pianist – if they walk away, they will forever have their piano in the corner of the room as an aching reminder of their failure.

All that an actor possesses is himself; his body, his personality, his imagination. But what would happen to one who set out to become a filmmaker but failed to learn about light? Or one who set out to become a playwright but failed to learn about dramatic construction? Certainly they would not reach a level of excellence that would suffice for  an audience to pay to experience their work. Why should somebody think that they could be an effective actor without a sustained  focus on practicing and improving their craft? “Ah”, I hear you say, “what about the Hollywood star, paid millions, but has problems with articulation such that, in some scenes, we cannot make out what he is saying? Is this not akin to watching a film where the camera is, at times, out of focus, or the instrument out of tune? And what about the genius “non-actor”, plucked from some street corner to star in the role of a life-time?” These are valid points, and they certainly do happen. But I say, so what? These things should not be used as an excuse to not strive for excellence, to not work hard, to not acknowledge that acting is an ancient and important craft and that one must learn to serve it. Acting then, becomes an investment not in material goods, but an investment in the self. The usual howl of derision will go up as it always does, that actors are narcissistic and selfish and self-obsessed* – but nobody complains about the filmmaker obsessed with his camera, they say he is dedicated, and it would be absurd to criticise the pianist for ensuring his piano is in tune.

That anyone can act, is true in the same way that anyone can write a poem.

*I would aver that the number of actors who possess these qualities, is proportionate to the population at large who possess these qualities.

Check it out: Trailer For Mika Kaurismaki's Road North