It's possible I've grown wiser over the years. . . Perhaps. I may have gained new insights into this thing - this process that haunts me. One thing I've certainly realized is that it's impossible to explain that which is inexplicable. I may have said that recently somewhere, as a matter of fact. It's like trying to put words to intuition or deja vu. These are things you feel, but might have to write a dissertation about - then still come up on the short side when it comes to explaining a specific experience. Actors tell me all the time, "I can't find a word to describe this emotion." We've all been there.
As I think about my own students and compare their work to what I see from established actors, it's hard to avoid a conclusion that's been staring me in the face for a long time. I can and have helped hundreds of young actors improve their work. And now with the internet, I can do Skype video sessions with clients across the country - anywhere in the English speaking world, actually. And as I think aboout all of this, I remember two conversations with two different teachers that suddenly have more relevance than they've had in the past.
The first talk took place many years ago. The teacher, an old mentor of mine, looked at me and smiled sadly. "You know, kiddo, this is all crap." "What?" "Teaching actors. It's crap. All we can do is hold up a light and guide talented kids in a useful direction. If they haven't got the goods, there's no way you can stuff it in." "Like stuffed peppers?" I changed the subject.
The second talk came just a couple of years ago. A coach I used to hang out with was upset about the fact he was running into trouble on a movie shoot. He'd been hired on as a dialogue coach. "Every time I work with that damned kid, I pump him up and he gets the right thing goin' on. Soon as I leave him and he's ready to do the scene, he falls back 60%. He can't retain the work." I thought for a minute. "Maybe it's because you're playing the beats for him. If it's not coming through him - who knows, right?" "When did you get so fuckin' smart?!" That was obviously that. And I hadn't thought much about it since then. But I am now.
If the actor's own instincts can't plug into the emotive point the teacher's illustrating, then trying to parrot the teacher is a waste of everybody's time. So what do we do? Not everybody comes to the table with the same tools. I remember kids who came to me so tied up in knots, they were barely audible when they started to work. I remember others who struggled along for a couple of years before the penny dropped. And I remember the ones who seemed to get it right off the bat - only to fail somewhere along the way.
The ones who consistently amaze me, inspire me and give me hope - are the ones who have the imagination to move into the world of any given text and allow themselves to inhabit it. To become. Plato hated actors. Although I'm paraphrasing, he was appalled by those crazy people who could conjure up fear and actually feel the hair on the backs of their neck rise - or who, if on an imagined beach, could feel the sand between their toes. Lunatics. So this has been going on for a couple of millenia at least.
What I MUST remember. When I discover a student can be on that beach, feel the sand between his toes, it's my duty to hold up the light and guide him/her. When, or if, I finally discover a student who steadfastly stays outside the world of the text, my duty is to counsel him or her to find satisfaction elsewhere. I'm not done with this.