IP Rehearsals, Stanislavski, Improv, etc.

This past week seemed to go by very slowly. Though it culminated with the European Regional Day, the rest was markedly uneventful.

Theatre, however, continued to excite and fascinate.

We established the mark and influence of theatre god, Constantin Stanislavski, inventor of what is today known as “The Method,” and the modern conception of “acting” itself.

In short, Russian-born Stanislavski, at the turn of the 20th century, reformed the then-popular trend of Classical acting technique into one more heavily focused on emotional evocation from within the actor.

ACTING 101: Act from the outside in, and the inside out

Stanislavski, himself a mediocre actor at best, was inspired by the emotional ranges and abilities of several of his contemporaries, and thus, following decades of careful note-taking, he conceived a process focused on intense and meticulous character development—from defining the “Magical If’s” of character (those traits and qualities not defined in the text, but necessary for a full-rounded understanding of character), to drawing on personal experience to attempt to better relate to emotional travails. Many of today’s most noteworthy actors and actresses utilize Stanislavski’s method, and his is the name most associated with the birth of modern theatrical technique.


Later in the week, I began rehearsing (with more seriousness) Emma’s IP. At this point, I find it difficult to objectively comment, and I’m conflicted; I have strong opinions about the project, and yet it’s not my own—she’s translating her vision to the stage.

I’m just worried that the implications, as well as the potential of the text, are being slightly marred, or even underappreciated. The text itself is esoteric in its language and vocabulary, and that coupled with its monological, slow-paced nature require the director and actors to fully understand every subtext—the true natures of each character. I just worry, at this point, that a partial understanding of the literature is muddling the full potential of the piece.

Just two days ago, an entire monologue originally belonging to the “wife,” was reassigned to the “husband.” This seemed, to me, to be indicative of a weak understanding of both the language and the characters.

It’s also difficult for me to keep from defending many of my personal techniques.

ACTING 101: Do not argue with a director during a rehearsal

However, part of my personal process of character development involves meticulous definition of my character’s physicality— my “husband,” being slightly cowardly and emotionally immature, is hunched; his feet shuffle slightly when he walks, and he touches his neck frequently. At other times, his hands are kept concealed: behind his back, folded within one another, or kept in his pockets. At the times when he’s not speaking, his transition from the monologic focus of the foreground to a near set-piece of the background is marked by a slow metamorphosis into stagnancy, in which he gazes, vacantly, just past the characters about which the other monologues speak. As his next block of text approaches, he is drawn, slowly, from his reverie, and his eyes are filled with a realization appropriate to the tone of his next monologue—in specific cases, either fear, reminiscence, bitterness, or loneliness.

When I put this carefully developed trait-based physicality into practice, however, the notes following the run-through instructed me to “not to put my hands in my pockets, because it makes me look like I’ve forgotten my lines.” Perhaps I did look as if I’d forgotten my lines, but I would have hoped for more constructive criticism, or an inquiry as to why I’d done it. It was frustrating, as it almost seemed that the care and precision with which I’m treating the project has gone vastly unnoticed. It stung on another level, too, because I, as a general rule, NEVER walk around with my hands in my pockets. It’s…unbecoming.


This past Thursday, however, I did have a chance to exercise an ability that has always been creatively stimulating for me: I helped to instruct the class in the rudimentary concepts of theatrical improvisation. After several exercises and what I felt to be a concise, introductory explanation, I feel as if the class had a better understanding of the tenets of improv, and I hope that, as a class, we’ll continue to develop these skills.

Improv is not for everyone—I don’t feel as if I’m particularly good at it. Some people enjoy theatre sports, a highly competitive take on improv. However, at its roots (and at the level at which I most often choose to participate), improv is acting without a script. It is raw—sometimes good, sometimes bad—but nonetheless, most professional actors would acknowledge that improv is a useful tool when attempting to define character, or the tone of a scene. Stanislavski even condoned and utilized it.

But essentially, improv reinforces what I believe to be the most important component to any actor’s repertoire: an ability to empathize, and understand. An actor—and a director—must understand the implications, emotions, and stakes of a text before the text itself can even be a concern. Some turn to improv to establish this—others use their own methods.

I just hope some method will cement the integrity and expressiveness of an enigmatic IP.

Second-Year IP’s: Auditions and More

Last week, I signed up for consideration by the second-year theatre students as they cast their directorial projects.

And, I’m abundantly glad that I did so.

The IP’s were auditioned in two groups, in two sessions spanning two days. My audition took place on the second of the two. Here, I should probably digress and acknowledge that it wasn’t an “audition” in the traditional sense of the word. In my experience, an audition has always been conducted in a one-on-one, partnered, or small-group setting with a markedly “intimate” tenor. But, my theatrical experience is limited to one specific region and influence, and therefore I was excited to observe and partake in a contrasting interpretation of the process: one with a highly social atmosphere focused on flamboyance and a strong group dynamic. But—more on that to come.

It’s obvious to me that every second-year director is entirely committed to the realization of an artistic vision—they’re serious yet enthusiastic about their casting processes, and I can only imagine that they, feeling the pressures of a deadline, a grade, and most of all, the artistic potential of their projects, will treat their rehearsals and ultimate productions with directorial mastery.

The group audition that I attended on Tuesday evening, September 14th, was, too, conducted and executed by the second-year directors. It began onstage with a few group-oriented games aimed at lowering the inhibitions of the potential casts. Circular and interactive, the games appeared to help many feel more comfortable onstage, nearly blinded to their second-year counterparts avidly purveying from the seats.

Next, we broke into smaller groups of five or six—for the Family Portrait Game. The exercise consists of the assembly of a named group onstage, where they are presented with an interesting scenario to be portrayed. At a moment’s notice, the leader and external conductor of the exercise calls “Freeze!” and the scene and stakes are altered. The exercise itself tests the creative spontaneity of its participants, and is generally lighthearted and comical. I was slightly disappointed by my specific scene however; my group was assigned to a “waterpark,” and the scene was altered to involve a shark attack. I didn’t feel like this presented very many opportunities for originality or variance of character, and instead fostered a group “scream-and-stomp-about-the-stage” dynamic. This was perhaps due, in part, to the fact that, by the time my group assumed the stage, the exercise was no longer being led by a single person, and was instead dictated by the first person to shout any scene from the audience.

After this, we partook in the "Hello, hello" exercise. This time my partner and I were in a restaurant; I was late, she was disgruntled by it. Disdain and confusion ensued.

Next we again broke into groups of five or six, and formed, group by group, lines in the upstage-left corner of the performance space. Each group was then given an emotion to portray, and, one by one, each group-member walked across the stage physically embodying the emotion.

At this point, the least inhibited, loudest, most talented character-actors had been recognized. This was also the point at which the entire group of auditionees was instructed to take a seat, and subsequently watch and listen as each director took turns calling people or groups to the stage to “improvise” various scenes.

The night ended in a slightly chaotic call-back, in which people unconfident in their earlier performances left, slightly dejected, perhaps, and convinced they’d not be cast in a leading or speaking role. The remaining participants went into separate areas to continue to read and improvise for specific directors, this time in a much more private setting.

I was approached by Nima to read for his project, did this, and left.

The next day, I was approached by Emma, and was cast in her project, the prospect of which was very exciting. That evening I read through the script with Emma, and the other two cast-members: Alice and Elisabeth. Her project, titled, “Small Crimes,” is based on the poetry of Tania Cassin. It is avant-garde, and should prove to be challenging, but highly effective in its depiction of the trivialities of love and the human condition. The piece will culminate in a song by Damien Rice, entitled “9 Crimes”.

It’s also likely that I will be performing in Kelly’s project, but I’ve not yet seen her schedule or read her script.

In our most recent class-session, we discussed and analyzed the audition process that many of us had experienced. Several people expressed sentiments similar to my own, feeling as if it was less an opportunity to display talent and abilities, and more one to seek attention for loud, comical improvisation.

I was particularly bothered by the “embody an emotion” exercise; I felt as if it severely neglected one of the primary rules of acting, one which we readdressed in class:

            ACTING 101: Play the action, not the emotion

When playing a character, an actor should never think, “Well—it appears that my characters is sad. At this point, how can I embody sadness?” In embodying a character, a primary element is the elimination of the divide between actor and character—and bringing a reality to the stage. True human emotion is NEVER as simple as sadness or happiness. I doubt amoebic emotion is that simple. An actor must consider the innumerable factors catalyzing an emotional palette or a behavior in a specific case—fear, trepidation, disconsolation, arrogance, infatuation, and perhaps vulnerability—not just… sadness. This exercise is useful in contexts of hyperbolic emotion: clowning, mime, and modern melodrama... but by no means is it useful in assessing the dramatic range and ability of an actor of realistic drama.

Ultimately, we established Six Pillars to be remembered next year, when we’re executing our own IP’s:

1.              Eliminate competition in ensemble – establish a clear objective

2.              Allow for time to process emotional depth

On this specific note, many people recalled the perhaps unrealistic challenge of being asked to take the stage, and, in an instant, channel the emotions of a murderer or sufferer of some grave illness. The consensus was: it’s not possible to embody characters experiencing these highly unique and emotionally complex circumstances, given only a moment of preparation.

3.              Have and distribute texts beforehand

4.              Have a clear understanding of theatrical technique, and an understanding of     the uses and implications of improv as an art

5.              Privacy

6.              Be specific and avoid generalizations in direction.

I hope that I’ll be mindful of these and more potential fallacies in execution to which any director could fall victim. It’s important to remember that everyone involved in IP production is a student—we’re all learning. On the whole, the process itself was still a fairly positive one—perhaps not for the mechanics of its execution, but for the passion and energy with which it was executed.


I look forward to the coming weeks—they should prove to be rigorous, but will, hopefully, produce incredible results.

Reflections on our first classes...

Theatre has quickly climbed to the top of the list of my favorite classes—I'm already looking forward to the next two years. Having been a patron of the stage for a relatively significant portion of my life, I am incredibly excited for the opportunity to finally integrate my love for theatrical production and performance into my education!

...and, I feel like I'm already learning more. Our dialogue exercise was a great opportunity to acquaint myself with not only the expectations of the class—and the seriousness with which all exercises are treated—but also with my classmates, and their abilities as actors and directors.

It was very interesting to observe the different tones and styles with which four simple lines could be translated into small scenes:

         Person A: Hi.

         Person B: Hi.

         Person A: Have you been waiting long?

         Person B: ... forever.

Though today I've only viewed one other performance of this dialogue besides my own, I already acknowledge the significantly varied means of dramatic interpretation with which it can, has been, and will be treated.

The first duo to perform interpreted the four lines of dialogue very dramatically—and worked, following their first performed run-through, to perfect personal character development. It’s imperative to know one’s own character physically and emotionally, and to have a perfect understanding of the “stakes” and physicality of a situation.

The physicality of any situation for a stage actor is particularly important for, unlike an actor of film, a stage set is rarely if ever a real-life physical representation—stage sets almost always creatively work around space and financial limitations to better represent the concept of location.

After multiple run-throughs, the first duo nearly perfected their interpretation of the scene—that of two people, who care deeply for one another, meeting for the first time, in a long time, at an airport. They convincingly suggested through body language and inflection that they’d not seen each other for a long time, they were both slightly anxious about the meeting, and that, perhaps, they had deep emotional ties to one another.

My partner and I, instead, settled on a much more comedic interpretation of the scene. We established a medical waiting room of sorts with a reception desk (complete with receptionist, me), a seating area, and a patient suffering from the H1N1 virus.

After an initial run-through, it became clear that perhaps our characterizations relied too heavily on caricature to comically depict the situation. While this is accepted and applauded in situations of sketch-comedy and improvisation, we readily decided to assign our characters greater complexity, and, while still preserving the scene as a predominantly comedic one, we allowed for greater empathy from the audience. What started as clownish play soon developed into a scene of greater finesse and emotional range.

In characterizing my part as a waiting room receptionist, I settled on an interesting (and perhaps common) character trait amongst many members of the profession—an impatience and delight in others’ suffering. And yet, conscious of the respect every actor must give his or her character, I was careful to empathize with my receptionist’s plight, and, during our second run-through, attempted to depict a phone conversation during which the receptionist experienced chatisement or rebuke. I then transferred the negative emotions delivered to my character to the patient in my waiting room, in an act of reciprocation and retaliation against my sense of helplessness. While my character’s delight and admitted sadism in his decorum with the H1N1 victim are rude and alarming, I hope that my characterization partially explained his plight and condition to the impartial audience.

I’m fascinated by characterization and the translation of dialogue to stage—and so, I found this to be a very worthwhile exercise. I’m definitely looking forward to the performances of the other duos, and wonder how, stylistically, they will translate four very simple lines into compelling, true-life situations.