Transitions

Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is how to synthesize what I've been learning about on-camera work with my theatre work. Specifically, experimenting with the use of physical stillness and exploring the idea of motivated movement. That is to say, getting rid of physical and vocal "filler." My friend Maria mentioned the idea of Doggie Zen to me long ago: dogs commit fully to whatever they are doing, and the thing they are interested in is the only thing they care about. They either get what they want or they change their focus to a new thing and start over again. I want to fully invest in what is actually the meat of the scene and have my body serve my objective (and clarify it, not muddle it). Should be eeeeasy.

Looking back, my theatre stuff was mostly from the more is more school. I felt if I wasn't engaged in some bit of business then I was invisible and not doing my job. Like a shark needing to move constantly. I was interested in listening, I guess, but a kind of furtive, aggressive listening. The more I watch great performances on film and mature physically, the more it seems to me that camera technique has a lot to offer stage technique and the two are not mutually exclusive as I've always thought.

Part of the successful execution of this synthesis as I understand it is the idea of unity. When you understand what it is you want to say, all of the disparate elements of performance should align to help you say it. "Movement" in my book never included stillness yet it can be just as powerful. I am now trying to use it as a tool for clarity. For example, finding in rehearsal decisive moments to move and introduce behavior that align with what other forces are in play. If you cross at this word or that word, does that illuminate your objective or does it draw the eye away from some one else's action? Does it advance you somehow in obtaining what you want? I guess I'm saying I am understanding the importance of taking ownership over your body, owning the choices you make. Or at least making them mean something, tying them in to the script. This is probably very elementary, but it just goes to show how when you coast on impulse you can get very lazy.

A lot of people do not like watching film actors onstage because they do disappear. They generally make choices that are too small or they don't have the physical life to magnetize audiences. I've seen a number of amazing film performances that are impossible to physically recreate onstage, but the idea of imbuing a shift of the eyes or a shallow breath with so much emotional energy has got my mind whirling, trying to find ways to give a giant minimalist performance in a 99-seat theater.

For me, the only way to give small moments their due and make them big is for their significance to be tied to a turning point or revelation in the text, or something repeated that echoes a previous moment with new resonance. In film, the score will swell and the camera can push in close and most of the work is external. In theater, I think an actor and director have to draw upon the audience's entire experience of the play to earn big moments. You have to lay in repetition as shorthand for history because you've really only got a short shared time together. And once you have established what world you're in and what behavior signifies what for a character, then you have established a pattern from which you can successfully break out of for massive effect. Physically and emotionally.

So: I am going to actually MAKE choices, be sure that they are unified with the world of the play, and then exploit the actor's shared history with the audience for effect. Pretty eeeeasy.

This blog was originally intended to be a forum for dialogue on craft and the arts, so that's where this post is coming from. But where else can I shamelessly post reviews? I'm trying to balance it all out.