There are types of dreams that we all have in common. Anxiety can sneak into our dreams in a number of ways- all of them fairly obvious. Who hasn't had the dream about finding yourself naked in a public place? Dreams of being in a driverless automobile are also fairly common. Slightly less common (or perhaps people just don't like to admit to it) are dreams of having to relieve certain pressing intestinal situations without having a private space to do so. Among actors the so called "Actor's Nightmare" where you find yourself onstage unrehearsed and unprepared is so common that Christopher Durang wrote a play about it. It is also normal for a pregnant woman to dream about giving birth to strange creatures (cats, monsters, giant talking pies...) thereby playing out the anxiety of waiting in her sleep. We all experience anxiety. What I find fascinating, however, is that the ways in which certain anxieties present themselves in sleep can be so similar in structure from person to person and yet still maintain the idiosyncrasies of the dreamer.
For example, a rather conservative friend of mine once confessed to me that in her public nudity dream she always finds herself in a formal setting amongst people she wishes to impress in her waking life. Others find themselves ready to give a speech back in their high school class. One woman I know who prides herself on her appearance and public presentation is mortified to find herself naked in a room with all the men she has ever met. As for me personally, the anxiety producing situation is less about where I find myself or in who's company but more about the fact that I am naked in public and no one seems to be paying any attention! Hello! I'm naked over here! Why aren't you looking at me?
Last night I had a curious combination of anxieties mingle into one dream. I was producing and directing a tribute to Carol Burnett in a packed Broadway house. At the last moment the two stars of my show ran out to get hamburgers at a restaurant with a notoriously slow wait staff. (As a side note, the two actors in the dream are friends of mine with whom I had brief producing partnerships before they succumbed to the lure of film and television in LA.) The curtain was about ready to go up and I did not have the two people that I was counting on to deliver the show. I found myself stepping onto the stage and winging it. I covered fairly well, trying to play two roles at once when I was faced with a major dilemma. I had sensed that the audience would love a good pratfall. If I timed it right the laugh would be enormous. However, I worried that I might harm my baby (Yes, I am even pregnant in my dreams). The action slowed down while I weighed my options and decided to go for it by signaling my brilliant stage manager in the wings who anticipated my needs and was ready with a crash box. I dove into the wings, the crash box went off and the crowd went crazy. I staggered back onstage to greedily accept my applause and went blank. I had nothing else. I should have graciously exited but I couldn't think of anything. So I sat down and meaningfully stared into the lights. The crowd turned on me. All the good will I had worked for was slowly ebbing away and all I could do was sit and hope that I would get a black out and fast. Well, it didn't happen. I was left hanging in the light and I could hear the crowd mumbling, "That's not funny", "What is she doing?", "That's stupid!", "Boo!". Finally the lights came down and Carol Burnett herself was kind enough to come onstage and start singing "I'm Shy" from Once Upon a Mattress. I took the opportunity to go to the burger joint to drag back my two actors for the second half. As I was leaving the theater I saw the audience breaking out tissues because they were laughing so hard they were sobbing. I immediately thought of a brilliant way to close the show and started composing in my mind a speech about the meaning of laughter. On the way I saw my sister and her husband peering into the window of a suburban kitchen to admire the bizarre turkey carving technique of a Jamaican woman. Rather than having the bird on a platter she had placed the turkey in a Baby Bjorn and was carving it toward herself. My sister and her husband were fascinated. With classic boldness my sister tapped on the window to request a demonstration. I wanted to warn them about the dangers of carving with a blade facing in the direction of your own neck but I was suddenly confused by the fact that I was standing on a warm beach and strange creatures were emerging from the sand after just being hatched. They mistook me for their mother and I had to lead them down to the ocean or they would die on the hot sands. When I finally reached the burger place, one of my actors had choked on his hamburger and the other refused to leave until her fries arrived.
That is when my alarm went off and I found myself wondering how it was all going to turn out. I hit the snooze, hoping to return to the dream and force it to some kind of resolution, but to no avail. I was unable to see if I could pull off the big closing tribute speech or if I could save my actor's life with the Hiemlich. Even so, I am pleased to say that even though the dream contained a startling number of pressing anxieties- it also gave me the opportunity to produce and direct (and act, I suppose) for a packed Broadway house! Normally my anxiety dreams place me in tiny black boxes where no one is paying much attention. At least this gave me a change of pace and a bigger sense of scale.
However, I don't recommend carving a turkey in a Baby Bjorn. That just seems dangerous.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Saturday, April 12, 2008
The Seven Year Rule Revisted
The Seven Year Rule is complicated.
As I've stated in my previous post, there is some definite method to the madness. By violating the rule an actor risks losing control of her choices becoming a slave to her own emotions and disregarding the given circumstances of the text. We've all seen it happen in black boxes across the country. I once saw a perplexing production of Country Girl in which an actor completely disappeared into himself while staring at his own outstretched hand and slowly sinking to the floor while the action continued around him. It was terribly distracting for me as an audience member because I just could not comprehend the relevance of his choice to the play. His "moment" was so all consuming for him that he created a black hole on the stage and I missed a good 10 minutes of the play because of it. His company members were obliged to bring him back from the brink so that he could say his next line. They did it with great difficulty.
I have no idea what that actor was "using" in that moment and I can only speculate that he was violating the Rule. However, the nature of his distraction was not unfamiliar to me. Self-indulgence and self-fascination are telltale signs of an actor using something "hot" as an emotional propellant. Although one can never quite tell if it is the violation of the Rule or just a selfish actor.
The Rule, however, does not preclude us from using immediate emotional stimulus. On the contrary. One should never suppress what is bubbling up from your daily interactions. For example, during a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream in which I was playing Helena, I found myself laboring under intense, self-inflicted pressure. I believed that the director thought I was a moron. My mother was coming out to see the production and she had not seen me perform in almost 10 years. I felt woefully inadequate and unlovable. I spent most of my time backstage crying my eyes out but once I hit the stage I did my best to cover up my shame and perceived sense of immediate rejection. My cast mates were always waiting in the wings with quizzical looks on their faces. Why aren't you just letting it go? You are so Helena right now. Get on that stage and use Shakespeare to express your self-pity! It wasn't until the dreaded performance in front of my mother was over that I let myself experience onstage what I was experiencing behind the scenes. My work took off and Helena and I were finally one. I did not spend the performance weeping- the tears I had shed were merely a manifestation of blocked energy from a denial of key circumstances in the text. When I let myself feel what I was experiencing in the moment and gave myself over to it I found Helena's humanity- and my own.
The Immediate must never be ignored but your system's ability to handle past traumas should always be respected. This profession can be emotionally treacherous and one must be careful not to prostitute themselves through their art. Some things are private and should remain so in order for the actor to do his work safely.
As I've stated in my previous post, there is some definite method to the madness. By violating the rule an actor risks losing control of her choices becoming a slave to her own emotions and disregarding the given circumstances of the text. We've all seen it happen in black boxes across the country. I once saw a perplexing production of Country Girl in which an actor completely disappeared into himself while staring at his own outstretched hand and slowly sinking to the floor while the action continued around him. It was terribly distracting for me as an audience member because I just could not comprehend the relevance of his choice to the play. His "moment" was so all consuming for him that he created a black hole on the stage and I missed a good 10 minutes of the play because of it. His company members were obliged to bring him back from the brink so that he could say his next line. They did it with great difficulty.
I have no idea what that actor was "using" in that moment and I can only speculate that he was violating the Rule. However, the nature of his distraction was not unfamiliar to me. Self-indulgence and self-fascination are telltale signs of an actor using something "hot" as an emotional propellant. Although one can never quite tell if it is the violation of the Rule or just a selfish actor.
The Rule, however, does not preclude us from using immediate emotional stimulus. On the contrary. One should never suppress what is bubbling up from your daily interactions. For example, during a production of A Midsummer Night's Dream in which I was playing Helena, I found myself laboring under intense, self-inflicted pressure. I believed that the director thought I was a moron. My mother was coming out to see the production and she had not seen me perform in almost 10 years. I felt woefully inadequate and unlovable. I spent most of my time backstage crying my eyes out but once I hit the stage I did my best to cover up my shame and perceived sense of immediate rejection. My cast mates were always waiting in the wings with quizzical looks on their faces. Why aren't you just letting it go? You are so Helena right now. Get on that stage and use Shakespeare to express your self-pity! It wasn't until the dreaded performance in front of my mother was over that I let myself experience onstage what I was experiencing behind the scenes. My work took off and Helena and I were finally one. I did not spend the performance weeping- the tears I had shed were merely a manifestation of blocked energy from a denial of key circumstances in the text. When I let myself feel what I was experiencing in the moment and gave myself over to it I found Helena's humanity- and my own.
The Immediate must never be ignored but your system's ability to handle past traumas should always be respected. This profession can be emotionally treacherous and one must be careful not to prostitute themselves through their art. Some things are private and should remain so in order for the actor to do his work safely.
Friday, April 04, 2008
The Seven Year Rule
In school there were certain teachers who would drill it into our heads never to "use" anything emotionally touchy from our lives that occurred LESS than seven years ago. The theory was that anything that happened during that time frame would be too emotionally "hot", and rather than using "it", "IT" would control you.
It takes seven years for every cell in your body to be replaced by new cells. The argument is that once seven years has passed and all the cells that had experience the event first hand have been replaced you will have enough physical and psychological distance to be able to use the event without falling apart.
I wonder if the Strasbergs ever told Marilyn Monroe about the seven year rule?
In school, I had just decided it was safer to follow the rule. I didn't buy into the rule 100%, but I wasn't about to dismiss the wisdom of an octagenarian who could see through my soul even when I thought she had been napping during my performance. (Seriously, that woman had some scary insights!) As I passed through my classes, however, I began to collect all kinds of fascinating information about how, why and where my body stores information. The seven year rule didn't seem to look so silly after a while.
Through repetition our bodies develop a memory of their own- something not involving the conscious mind. This is how we can train ourselves to perform marvelous physical feats without having to consciously plan every physical step. Let's say you are learning a dance routine. Each portion of the routine requires intense mental concentration. My foot goes back, my hand counters the weight over hear, my center of gravity shifts... but with repetition you can eventually perform a complex system of movements simply by allowing yourself to feel the rhythm of the chosen music. Your body has recorded this kinesthetic memory at the cellular level. The theory says that when an original cell dies the one that replaces it carries a copy of that memory so the body can call upon that particular routine later. The more repetition, the better the copy in subsequent cells. I don't know how correct that is from the standpoint of biology, but I DO know that I can still perform my pompom squad audition routine from 1988.
I began to experiment with my body's memory in my second year of school. It was after a particularly disturbing session of body work just before we had left for holiday break that I realized the power of my own body to protect my brain and my emotional state. I was in no way consciously aware of the amount of stress I had been under. I had felt pretty confident that I was holding things together even though there were all kinds of money issues, relationship issues, and particularly stressful family developments all happening at the same time. When our instructor suggested that we do body work as a pre-holiday treat I was ready to roll up my sleeves and physically manipulate a fellow classmate into the land of bliss and relaxation. We were an odd number that day and so the teacher opted to use me as his example body for the day. I could not have expected what happened next.
Once I was on the mat he began to demonstrate how to work the shoulders. Things were fine at first but once he found a tight knot and started to work it I was assaulted by all of these feelings that I had been sweeping under the rug for what must have been weeks. I tried not to cry, but the more he worked it, the more I felt the injustice of the situation I had been in and the more I couldn't stop replaying an incident in my head. It was as if the knot was a playback button on a recording device. My instructor could see that I was in a bit of trouble. He sent the rest of the class off to work and then whispered to me that he was going to work on me for the entire hour. He instructed me to let it get ugly. I'm nothing if not a good student so it got ugly. It got very ugly.
He found spots all over my body that triggered very emotional and immediate responses. There was a warehouse of emotional baggage stuck in my body. My boyfriend in my fingertips, my father in my shoulders, my dog in my lower back... on and on and on it went. I couldn't stop the rush of anxiety and sadness and I began to wail like an emergency siren. The sound flew out of my body without my will. I simply HAD to. The pressure building up inside was too great, I was unable to maintain any kind of composure. My teacher reassured me with great kindness that I needed to let it go and he prompted me to be sloppy every time I attempted to stop crying or drooling or stop my nose from running all over the place. He just brought me some kleenex and continued to work me until I couldn't make any more sound.
When class was over I was exhausted but feeling much better. My face was a snotty, puffy mess and I was a little ashamed to meet my classmates' eyes. However, as is the case with good ensembles, I was met without judgement or revulsion but with quiet hugs and non-verbal gestures of support. I went about the rest of my day trying to figure out what had happened to me.
After this incident I began to notice how my body stores stress, grief, happiness, and desire. I can recognize it before it builds to such a pitch and I have found ways to release it. I even attempted to access these parts of my body- the parts with this immediate store of emotion- in my work but I found it to be overwhelming. It overwhelmed my technique and destroyed my sense of textual circumstances. I was no longer crafting performance, but letting self-indulgent emotional display take over. This was not good for my work. It was not good for any kind of storytelling. It was therapy.
Art may have therapeutic properties, but GOOD art is NOT THERAPY. We should always avoid this kind of selfishness and emotional public masturbation. Above all, everything an actor does needs to be a choice.
That is where the seven year rule fits for an actor. It is about experiencing the freedom to make choices and not being walled in by one experience or another. If you need to fall apart, falling apart should be your choice. If you need to slip but still try to hold it together, your emotional life should be constructed to allow you to do so. You should not be ruled by the emotion or obligatory emotional reactions. Circumstances need to be crafted, rehearsed, repeated, memorized and then forgotten so that you may live in the circumstances and be in control of your choices.
It takes seven years for every cell in your body to be replaced by new cells. The argument is that once seven years has passed and all the cells that had experience the event first hand have been replaced you will have enough physical and psychological distance to be able to use the event without falling apart.
I wonder if the Strasbergs ever told Marilyn Monroe about the seven year rule?
In school, I had just decided it was safer to follow the rule. I didn't buy into the rule 100%, but I wasn't about to dismiss the wisdom of an octagenarian who could see through my soul even when I thought she had been napping during my performance. (Seriously, that woman had some scary insights!) As I passed through my classes, however, I began to collect all kinds of fascinating information about how, why and where my body stores information. The seven year rule didn't seem to look so silly after a while.
Through repetition our bodies develop a memory of their own- something not involving the conscious mind. This is how we can train ourselves to perform marvelous physical feats without having to consciously plan every physical step. Let's say you are learning a dance routine. Each portion of the routine requires intense mental concentration. My foot goes back, my hand counters the weight over hear, my center of gravity shifts... but with repetition you can eventually perform a complex system of movements simply by allowing yourself to feel the rhythm of the chosen music. Your body has recorded this kinesthetic memory at the cellular level. The theory says that when an original cell dies the one that replaces it carries a copy of that memory so the body can call upon that particular routine later. The more repetition, the better the copy in subsequent cells. I don't know how correct that is from the standpoint of biology, but I DO know that I can still perform my pompom squad audition routine from 1988.
I began to experiment with my body's memory in my second year of school. It was after a particularly disturbing session of body work just before we had left for holiday break that I realized the power of my own body to protect my brain and my emotional state. I was in no way consciously aware of the amount of stress I had been under. I had felt pretty confident that I was holding things together even though there were all kinds of money issues, relationship issues, and particularly stressful family developments all happening at the same time. When our instructor suggested that we do body work as a pre-holiday treat I was ready to roll up my sleeves and physically manipulate a fellow classmate into the land of bliss and relaxation. We were an odd number that day and so the teacher opted to use me as his example body for the day. I could not have expected what happened next.
Once I was on the mat he began to demonstrate how to work the shoulders. Things were fine at first but once he found a tight knot and started to work it I was assaulted by all of these feelings that I had been sweeping under the rug for what must have been weeks. I tried not to cry, but the more he worked it, the more I felt the injustice of the situation I had been in and the more I couldn't stop replaying an incident in my head. It was as if the knot was a playback button on a recording device. My instructor could see that I was in a bit of trouble. He sent the rest of the class off to work and then whispered to me that he was going to work on me for the entire hour. He instructed me to let it get ugly. I'm nothing if not a good student so it got ugly. It got very ugly.
He found spots all over my body that triggered very emotional and immediate responses. There was a warehouse of emotional baggage stuck in my body. My boyfriend in my fingertips, my father in my shoulders, my dog in my lower back... on and on and on it went. I couldn't stop the rush of anxiety and sadness and I began to wail like an emergency siren. The sound flew out of my body without my will. I simply HAD to. The pressure building up inside was too great, I was unable to maintain any kind of composure. My teacher reassured me with great kindness that I needed to let it go and he prompted me to be sloppy every time I attempted to stop crying or drooling or stop my nose from running all over the place. He just brought me some kleenex and continued to work me until I couldn't make any more sound.
When class was over I was exhausted but feeling much better. My face was a snotty, puffy mess and I was a little ashamed to meet my classmates' eyes. However, as is the case with good ensembles, I was met without judgement or revulsion but with quiet hugs and non-verbal gestures of support. I went about the rest of my day trying to figure out what had happened to me.
After this incident I began to notice how my body stores stress, grief, happiness, and desire. I can recognize it before it builds to such a pitch and I have found ways to release it. I even attempted to access these parts of my body- the parts with this immediate store of emotion- in my work but I found it to be overwhelming. It overwhelmed my technique and destroyed my sense of textual circumstances. I was no longer crafting performance, but letting self-indulgent emotional display take over. This was not good for my work. It was not good for any kind of storytelling. It was therapy.
Art may have therapeutic properties, but GOOD art is NOT THERAPY. We should always avoid this kind of selfishness and emotional public masturbation. Above all, everything an actor does needs to be a choice.
That is where the seven year rule fits for an actor. It is about experiencing the freedom to make choices and not being walled in by one experience or another. If you need to fall apart, falling apart should be your choice. If you need to slip but still try to hold it together, your emotional life should be constructed to allow you to do so. You should not be ruled by the emotion or obligatory emotional reactions. Circumstances need to be crafted, rehearsed, repeated, memorized and then forgotten so that you may live in the circumstances and be in control of your choices.
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