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.