Theatre in Rough Economic Times: What Do You Need?

Jerzy Grotowski (1933-1999), a Polish theatre director and innovator, had an interesting take on what theatre really needs, a view that in these times, might be worth revisiting. In the most basic of terms, Grotowski believed that the only things necessary for true theatre to exist were an actor and an audience; someone to tell a story and someone to tell a story to. His book Towards a Poor Theatre details the three main goals of poor theatre:

1. To rediscover the connection between actor and audience

2. To return to ritual and the role of myth

3. To focus on the actor as a sign

Trained in the system of Konstantin Stanislavski, Grotowski’s methods have a similar basis, yet a distinct simplicity toward characterization. Grotowski taught a principle known as Via Negativa: the way to nothingness. In order to become another character, you must first drain completely who you are as an actor. An actor must sacrifice his body to the character.

One of his most popular exercises is called Plastique Rivers. Simply begin from alignment and start with an isolated impulse of a body part and let it flow. One impulse will lead to another impulse, and eventually different movements and images will develop and emerge. Grotowski also believed that actors are hindered by their psychological blocks and must do whatever they can to overcome them. An extremely effective way to overcome your personal mannerisms as an actor and create a physical body for your character is by creating what Grotowski called a grotesque. Imagine each part of your character’s body as an inanimate object and draw it for reference. Then, physically portray your grotesque and move as that body would move. The grotesque will almost certainly be too intense for the purpose of the character. At this point, the veiling process begins. One or two of the inanimate objects will emerge as the most important aspects of the character’s body. As you bring down the intensity of the grotesque, keep those few aspects in the physical body of the character. After veiling it several times, you will then have a body specific to your character and completely unlike yourself. For example, below is a grotesque created for a very twisted and broken character, Roberta, from John Patrick Shanley’s Danny and the Deep Blue Sea.

Jerzy Grotowski’s method is all about soul searching. He frequently had actos ask themselves questions similar to:

Why am I here?

What is my acting process?

What have I done so far?

What do I want?

What questions or dificulties do I have?

What blocks do I possess?

What is my will?

What drives me through life?

Many theatrical productions of the day focus on the spectacle provided by expensive technological innovations. Though to some it will feel like regressing, perhaps the economic strain put on the arts in this economy is a good excuse to reevaluate what really matters in theatre. Grotowski had it right: all you need is an actor, an audience, and a story. The rest is extra.

Based loosely on a lecture given by director, dramaturg, filmmaker, and SAG and Equity actor George Contini. For more information see http://www.amazon.com/Towards-Poor-Theatre-Routledge-Paperback/dp/0878301550

Negative Rejection

I'm really close to being ready to give up.

Yesterday, I received my adjudication sheets from GTC. I clearly didn't pass.

Today, I found that I wasn't cast in any of next semester's shows. Again.

Maybe I should change my major. Maybe this is just a hint for me to pick something different. "You love it, but you suck." Maybe that's the message.

Unlike other majors, getting A's in all your classes, being well-liked by your professors, involving yourself in extracurriculars ISN'T ENOUGH.

What is enough? When is it time to just throw in the towel?

Is it now?

3, 2, 1

One. More. Audition.

Then I'll be done! Miracle of miracles!

Last weekend I went to Columbus for that GTC audition. It was absolutely terrifying. 250 auditionees, 30 in a group, 90 seconds per person. I felt confident about it afterwards, but I don't think I passed. It was a good experience anyway.

I had forgotten though how ridiculous theatre people are. I hadn't gone to a theatre conference like that since high school, and it hit me just how laid back the majors of the UGA theatre department are. They are just as equally talented and passionate, but they aren't as....Uptight? Intensly competitive? High and mighty? Full of themselves? That is the reputation of a theatre student at most artistic colleges. Their departments are beautiful, their facilities are state of the art, they have all the money in the world. And they think they are hot stuff.

I've come to realize that as much as we gripe and complain about out lack of funds and lack of performance spaces at UGA, these hardships actually make our shows better. Really. When you have anything and everything, there is no need for creativity. You have it all, so your shows look like little cookie cutters. Here, we have to stretch. Our faculty came from professional theatre in New York, most of them have their PhD or at least their masters in theatre. They are extraordinarily knowledgeable and creative. Every show done at UGA is different. Different from the mainstream, more avant-garde. Because most props are found, costumes are sewn or thrifted, light instruments are limited, the emphasis of the show is on the acting and the directing. The Grapes of Wrath, one of this season's unproduced shows, is a wonderful example of this. (An unproduced show is one which receives even LESS money than the rest of the shows. And by less I mean $0. Literally.) All sound effects were created offstage, actors bought their own costumes at thrift shops, props were picked out of the garbage. A car was built onstage using scraps. It was absolutely incredible. Despite the lack of funds, the show was one of the best I have seen in years. The acting was fantastic and the creativity unparalleled. UGA rocks theatre. No matter what anyone says.

So tonight I audition, once again, to be a part of one of next semester's shows. Three minutes. Two contrasting monologues. One more time.

GTC Bound

Georgia Theatre Conference. Here I come.

I recently passed the screening to be able to audition at GTC to possibly audition at SETC to possibly get paid summer acting work. Yeah, that's right. It's that complicated.

SETC, or South Eastern Theatre Conference, is one of the largest professional theatre conferences in the nation. In addition to fantastic plays from all over the region and workshops taught by theatre professionals, there are auditions. Oh yes, more auditions. Over 90 professional theatre company representatives sit in an enormous room, and 25 auditionees are ushered in at a time. One by one, you get to stand up there, say your number (not your name), and give your monologue and snippet of a song in 90 seconds.

I feel as if auditions are an inextricable part of my life. They follow me, beckon me, taunt me, put me down. Yet I keep coming back because they hold the key to my success. Why? I LOATHE auditions. Strongly, passionately, and with a deep burning hatred. They control what I do. If I pass, I get work. If I don't, I'll wait tables.

So, I am always always always reading plays, searching for that perfect monologue for my acting style. I am always always always listening to Broadway music, searching for that perfect song for my range. It is constant. Never ending.

It is sort of a catch-22 it seems. I have always told myself that I would never do something I hated for the rest of my life. Yet it seems as though in order to do what I love for the rest of my life, I must do something I hate. Is it worth it? Does the love outweigh the hate?

Yes. Always and forever, yes.

"Somebodies"

The pilot for the show Somebodies leaves much to be desired. Though it succeeds in defining who the main characters are, their characterization falls flat. The little bit of characterization present in the first couple of episodes is very superficial and ridiculously stereotypical. Perhaps the point of the show is for black people to rise out of stereotypes by knowingly portraying those very stereotypes. But instead of clearly understanding that purpose, I was left with the feeling that all of the jokes and characters to come in the script would be predictable. I am still unclear as to the purpose of some of the characters. All of Scottie's friends sort of run together and lack distinctive traits other than their physical appearance. I don't know why his ex-girlfriend is still in the picture, though she certainly adds some spice with her risky acting choices.

As far as the acting goes, it is less than believable, especially the younger, primary characters, which is unfortunate. The strongest actors by far are the older actors who play Scottie's relatives and the churchgoers. Other than those few, who got some laughs out of me with their detailed character acting, the acting is bland.

The story lines were fairly well intertwined though at times there wasn't a clear definition between the A and B story lines. There were certain well-planned moments, such as the meeting of Scottie, the club leader, Scottie's friend, and the tennis instructor.

The second episode does have a more intriguing story and gives a little more insight into Scottie's character. There is an arc, and there are definite improvements from the pilot, but I'm not sure they are enough to compell audiences to watch a third episode.

Positive Rejection

From the moment we learn to express our feelings vocally, we are taught by mothers, teachers, mentors to think positive. Keep our chins up. Yet for some strange reason, it seems that we are conversely taught to think negatively so that life doesn't disappoint us. Let us down.

What is the right mindset for life? For theatre? For today?

I got called back to all three shows. For 5 characters. My confidence was high, I felt good about my second auditions, and I wasn't really nervous about getting cast. "Think positive," they said.

This morning, my name wasn't on a single list.

If there is something I know a lot about, it's rejection. I came from a high school where the lead roles went to the booster club president's daughter and all the other skinny chorus girls. I was never one of them. But I never gave up. I kept coming back, year after year, hoping that one day my terribly flighty, hardly talented director who never directed would see that I had talent.

One day she did. And it felt fantastic.

Something people keep telling us is that rejection is the common denominator in this industry. That we should let it roll off our backs, without giving it a single thought and moving on to the next audition. Without pain. Without feeling. Like rocks. Yet the moment we get onstage they want raw emotion, passion, love, anger, terror, sadness, soul ripping anguish. But not offstage. Turn it on. Turn it off. Control your emotions.

I can't do it. I took a few deep breaths and started bawling. The type of crying where you can't breathe right, and your eyes puff up, and you can't stop it no matter how hard you try.

People also keep telling me that it'll get easier. It doesn't.

It Feels Nice to Breathe

After a stressful, heartpounding, and absolutely terrifying three minutes of my life, auditions are finally over. Of course, things never work out exactly as we would like them to, so my audition wasn't perfect. I muffed up the introduction of my second piece out of sheer nerves, but the monologues themselves went off without a hitch. In fact, they went a little bit better than I had originally hoped. I was concerned that my comedic monologue wasn't actually funny. I was terrified that it would fall flat on the judges' ears without even a chuckle or a smile. But to my complete surprise, they laughed! I got to a line that no one had ever laughed at before (it being a fairly elevated literary joke) and one of the judges just lost it. It is such a fantastic feeling to evoke laughter from an audience. At the end of my 3 minutes, I said, "Thank you very much, have a nice day," walked out the door, and breathed for the first time in a week.

Don't let my happy tale fool you. The terror isn't over. In fact, it has only begun. The next step is considered by many the most frightening of all: walking up to the callback list and trying desperately to find your name. If your name is listed under any of the shows, that means they liked you and they want to see you back to read from the script. Congratulations! If not...it's a blow to the self esteem, that's for sure. Because even though walking up to the actual cast list seems just as daunting, it's really not. If you don't get a part, it is disappointing. But at least you can say that you made it to the second round of casting. But if you don't make the callback list...they really didn't like you. So clearly, I'm desperately hoping to see my name on that list tomorrow night. And if so, then the real fun begins.

Call backs.

Easier Said Than Done

I finally picked my two monologues. One is from Sugarbaby by Frank Cwiklik, and the other is from Erratica by Reina Hardy. I have been stressing all day over these auditions. You get one chance. ONE. For the entire semester. If you screw it up...too bad. And since (as always) I have chosen to procrastinate, my level of preparedness is extraordinarily low.

As I learn more about theatre and the audition process, instead of things getting easier, they get harder. Before, you just had to pick a monologue you liked, memorize it, look over it a couple of times, and read it in a semiconvincing way with very minimal thought. If you were decent at acting, you'd get a part. Now things get complicated. Your monologue must be within your age range. Your monologue cannot tell a story. Your monologue must have an arc. Your monologue must show change. Your monologue must show variety. Your monologue must have levels. Your monologues must contrast. Your monolgue must be UTTERLY IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND.

Then you have to actually think. You have to research the play the monologue comes from, think about who your character is, how you would move, how you would talk. You must consider the subtext of each line and effectively convey the hidden meaning. But you can only do this after you have completely memorized the entire piece. Fantastic.

My audition is Thursday at 7:16. I have 1 day, 20 hours, and 26 minutes.

Monologue-ing

I currently find myself freaking out about the fact that auditions for the University Theatre season are in 3 days. And I have one monologue that is way too long and only partially memorized. And I need one more. There's something utterly terrifying about auditions. Much more so than actual performances. You put yourself out there for exactly 3 minutes and just beg for them to judge you. I don't like to be judged. But for some strange reason the theatrical community insists that they are necessary. So my fellow actors and I continue to submit ourselves to their scrutiny. Let's hope Thursday's audition is actually worth the effort. Rehearsal here I come....