Let's Talk About "Act Singing" For A Second....

“What will this person bring us this night that I have not seen? Give me back a piece of my life is what they are asking for” –director Frank Corsaro

If you are a performer, know that whether they know it or not, this is what every audience member is thinking about you before they see your interpretation of your role. Answer this question in your performance honestly. As, I said in my previous blog, tell the truth. Show them what you have to offer in the role.

What do you have to say that no one else can say?

 Why was it so exciting to find out Meryl Streep would be playing the witch in "Into the Woods"? If you've seen the show before, even excellent interpretations, why would it be exciting to see her in the role? Because you know from past experiences, she will bring something to it that you haven't seen. She will give you a piece of your life back. If you tell the truth in your performance and show yourself in that role, you can do the same to an audience. Becoming good at telling the truth, or "living truthfully in imaginary circumstances" is what it takes to become a better actor.

A process exists beyond a vocal technique that must be incorporated, because in its own way, when the actor speaks fully, he is singing. When the singer is is allowed to express what it’s all about, she is speaking.

Take a song that you personally love very much for whatever reason. It can be any style or genre.  Answer the question “What is it about this particular song that I love?”

Then ask yourself, “What is the rock bottom reality about this music that I must understand before I can open my mouth and sing the first words of the song?” Write down your most heartfelt answer to that question…

Then write down the answer to this question ...“What do I know about that?” Yes. What do you personally know about that? By doing this you will come to a stronger understanding of a piece of music that means a lot to you. If you verbalize it or at least recognize your connection to it, that understanding comes out every time you sing it. 

It can be challenging blending acting and singing, making them work in tandem without working against each other. For example, there might be a time where I very much want to express dramatically what is happening in the song, but vocally, it's challenging. I feel I have to juggle both acting and singing, and I'm not giving either the full attention. I can't just speak the words, I have to also put a lot of concentration on what is happening technically in order for me to get the best of both worlds, and I thought of a trick that might help with this if other people are having this issue.

-Make the vocal technique a part of the communication process that is necessary for you to have your message delivered.

For example, if I were singing a phrase, and I know the arc of this particular phrase goes up into the top part of my voice, and the "singer part" of my brain tells me I need to do a specific series of "vocal technique" steps in order to get those notes to come out effortlessly, but having my brain completely disengage with my acting to achieve that can be counterintuitive, and can make me  go into "singer mode", and completely disengage with the words I'm saying. A way to combat this is to make the vocal technique that needs to be attended to a part of the acting...what needs to happen vocally is required to get your point across.

Use your need to be singing technically correct as a vehicle of communication. Figure out before you sing what you need to do vocally and dramatically in a song and work on blending them at the same time. If you are mindful of the importance of both, you can allow them to work together instead of against each other. Be deliberate in pairing intention with physiological awareness of your body and what it's doing when it's singing.

You must always sing with a "cool head and a hot heart". If you get hot headed in singing, it can come off as out of control, and frankly, amateur.  All the great emotional things you think you are doing won't read because there is a loss in the vocal quality. Even in speaking dialogue, screaming or being very emotional doesn't equal moving the audience.

 On the other hand, I think we've all watched singers when they have "checked out" a bit and are so focused on hitting that high note that consequently, we, the audience have sort of checked out too, because we are reminded of the work they are doing. It looks like work.

It takes a lot of hard work and planning for something to look effortless. I'm going to try to be mindful and make this a part of my process going forward. If you have any thoughts, or questions, let me know!

*More info on the acting exercise that inspired this can be found at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjMScN-sT_M

A conversation with Rupert

One of the highlights of my experiences in theatre will always be actually talking to Rupert Holmes, the writer of “The Mystery of Edwin Drood.” It’s a story I’ll always be able to tell, and here’s the long version…

The show, “Drood” is very unique and different in many ways. One way, is that it is a show within a show, so I was playing Clive Pagett, an actor playing the role of John Jasper.

 The way I was finding it different was how to build the character I was playing. I’m big on character development. It’s something I focus heavily on, because I notice when I do, I feel the most confident in myself and my performance. By finding out who your character is, what they want, and what they would do in any situation gives me a strong compass for my performance. . Normally, it’s pretty straight forward, because you’re playing a real person with real problems, but in this, I was having a harder time because I had to know who the actor was and how good he is at playing Jasper, and what to focus on... This is what I had come up with when I wrote to Rupert, and what I had asked…

“What I'm trying to figure out right now is who this person (Clive) is, and how do I balance the "melodrama acting" with the moments when the audience should really be pulled into the story and forget I'm acting. What I've come up with so far is as Clive, I'm trying to impress the audience with how talented I am. I'm showing them how incredible I am onstage (because that's how I view myself, and nothing less than that). Every time I sing, I sing with my absolute best technique, I am as expressive and bold and everything that sort of goes along with that style of acting. Basically, a peacock strutting and showing his feathers. "You want to see acting? I'll show you acting!" When playing Jasper, I thought I'd figure out what he wants in each scene, and truly go for that, but with more gusto/less realism of modern day style.”

I was just looking for a jumping off point, and to get reassurance that I was at least on the right track..I wasn't expecting much from him; maybe a quick email in a few weeks...instead he, and he offered to call me right then…of course I took the call!

I was at work, and ran from my desk to the staff lounge with a pad of paper and pen, and took notes as fast as I could. Rupert was on a train, so had some time to talk. He said he was fascinated by the question, was happy to help, and really took an interest in our production. I was so inspired and impressed by how open and thoughtful he was about his explanation of his vision of a show he wrote 30 years ago. He made it very clear that these thoughts were just his thoughts, and if the director wanted to go a different direction, nothing was set in stone. 

He explained to me that Clive was the type of person that loves “Big acting”. He loves the pointless pauses. The type of actor that says the lines up, and out, because they know that those in the balcony were so lucky to hear them…

This description resonated with me in the first scene of the show. It had to be established in the first line, “Why there’s the lad now!” and when Edwin walked in and we started our conversation. I imagined we were in a huge theatre and I had to make every gesture, every word large and clear enough that those in the “cheap seats" could see what I was doing. In Clive's mind, bigger is better.

We also discussed some of Clive's offstage personality. I got from my observations at that point in rehearsal that he is a vain person, and wanted to talk about that, so it wasn’t something that was surface level.

My assumption was that he was someone who was always looking in the mirror, hated to be upstaged, maybe a diva, maybe overall difficult to work with.  When I asked about it, Rupert talked about a “Benevolent vanity. It’s not nastiness. Clive loves being an actor, women pay money to see him play these haunted, troubled, brooding men that MUST have a good heart underneath it all. He loves the drama of these characters. He loves being the star. He has a swagger of knowing the audience came to see him. That is a completely different way of looking at it. I had a much easier time humanizing a person that is like-able, nice to most people, just knows how well liked he is and enjoys that.  

That assumption of love, acceptance and adoration from everyone whether it's true or not was a challenge for me. It's not at all how my mind works, so I remember having to kind of trick my brain to think like that. I remember rehearsing the song “A Man Could Go Quite Mad”, and imagining each seat filled with an audience member who just loves me and loves what I do. When it came to performances, and the audience actually being there, that way of thinking had to be there in order for me, a kind of shy person to “turn it on” and be able to walk into the audience with that gusto, let alone be able to talk and flirt with them before the show started.

We also talked about the “over the top” acting. I knew the style of the time was melodrama, but my question was, even if Clive isn't a great actor, do I just play Jasper over the top the whole time? That didn't feel right,as I'm playing Jasper for most of the performance. His way of explaining how to do that is for it not to be “bad acting” because you can’t do that for 2 hours and have it still be entertaining. I was relieved to hear that. He talked about it still being “real”, but with more gusto, so I sort of gave myself permission to still go figure out what “John Jasper” wants, and go after those objectives in a more heightened way. The way I made sense of this while performing was making sure I had subtext the whole show (the character’s inner thoughts), except they were screaming most of the time, and much more urgent. So the audience could see the wheels turning in my head, but bigger. #LouderFasterFunnier.

This conversation did so much for my confidence, and I had much of a better idea in what I was doing now that I had the information from the source. He was so kind and gracious giving me the time out of his day to talk to me. He even responded back several times when I updated him during the run. I’ve heard from others he’s very accessible. I’m so glad I took the chance to reach out, knowing I might not get a response. It will always make for a great story. 

An Artist's Job Is to Tell the Truth

The point of seeing theatre or a movie is to feel things. That's the most basic way to explain why we go see something....to feel things. So feel them.  Our society tends to shy away from expressing emotions outwardly, but participating in theatre, whether it's as a performer or as an audience member takes a certain level of vulnerability that is crucial to the experience.

I find the magic of art is to be moved in a way that you aren't ready for.  I'm someone who isn't made of stone, so yeah, if I'm watching Toy Story 3 I'll get a little weepy, but always feel the need to hide it, or force myself to keep the emotions inside...but isn't feeling things the point of art? So I've come up with challenge for myself and you, the reader when you participate in an artistic experience...don't censor. Whether you are a performer or audience member, just be real. Tell the truth.

 I recently performed "The Mystery Edwin Drood". Our first performance was  for an audience mostly filled with senior citizens, and my instinct at that performance was "censor a little bit." Don't be SO creepy. Don't be SO sexually infatuated with Rosa. Basically, don't push it so far.  It will make this audience uncomfortable. You will be giving them something they weren't ready for, and maybe can't handle." I'm lucky my other actor on my shoulder said "Tell the truth. They've lived a lot of life. They can handle it. Whether they know it or not, feeling uncomfortable is part of the experience, and it's what they are here for"

 They can handle it. An interesting concept. As an actor, it's not your job to read the audience, their reactions and base your performance on what you think they will appreciate/understand/enjoy/be able to handle. Your job is to tell the truth. If they can't handle it, that's their problem. When you are truly moved as an audience member, it's because those in the production...the actor, directors, designers etc. are telling the truth.. Maybe in a way it hasn't been told before.

Telling the truth as an actor can mean being truthful to the character even when it's ugly. I remember this in "Parade", when I had to play someone with very different ideals than my own, living in a reality where racism, whether it's hate filled or just a part of your belief system was just a part of your reality. Sometimes going that far into playing a character you know is wrong, can require almost creating an imaginary universe for yourself onstage where whatever they are saying is the truth...to them it is. It is their viewpoint, and that's what you're representing.

I found in "Drood", it was hard to "really go there" in certain moments when I knew certain people were in the audience. It's something that is so hard to combat, even when you want to be able to say "I'm fully in character. I'm not thinking about the audience." We all know that's pretty impossible. Especially when the show has audience interaction.

I discovered in this process what that sense of discomfort really is...it's a fear of vulnerability. Censoring the performance, even just a little bit is a way to put your wall up. It's almost like a fight or flight response. If I censor and don't tell the whole truth, they won't see ME. After all, you can't borrow someone else's emotions when you act. You are either telling the truth, or you are indicating the truth. You're either making angry faces and saying your lines loud, or you're having real thoughts and motivations and tactics going on in your head, and your true emotions are flying out of you in a way that only you can do. That requires letting the audience see YOU. Not the way Will Chase, Howard McGillan, or some other actor on youtube said these lines or sang these phrases. It's letting YOUR emotion, how YOU react to things be the guide, even if it's decisions you wouldn't make, or disagree with. The only way to tell the truth is to let your emotions be the guide. What would YOU do in this imaginary circumstance? the imaginary circumstance is not just this moment, but the entire life you've been given? In case of Drood, I had to put myself in the shoes of Jasper, and say "If I were making these decisions, what life experiences would drive me to get to this point? and why do I need to say these words, do these actions NOW?

Talking about the fear of vulnerability again, it is a scary vulnerable thing to have to play out actions that are "rapey" and "creepy" when your parents are in the audience. However, I have found, and now will use as my guide in the arts, that unless you feel kind of naked onstage, kind of uncomfortable, exposed, without any shields, shells, or walls to protect you, you aren't telling the truth. On the contrary, if you feel that discomfort no matter how big it is and just go with it, challenge yourself, lean into it, you are probably doing work that is worth watching...worth reading if you're a writer, worth looking at if you're an artist, worth hearing if you are a musician. If you tell the truth in an email and you have a hesitancy to press "send", what you said probably needs to be heard, even if the aftermath is going to be something to deal with. Tell the truth.

An examploe for me of having the truth told to me in art was seeing Carousel recently. Now, I've seen Carousel many times... I've been in it, I've seen the movie,  I know it by heart, nothing about it surprises me. However, seeing it at Lyric Opera with a fresh set of eyes touched me in a way like I've never experienced. I caught myself while watching Soliloquy near the end of the first act, feeling things I've never felt. Maybe it was because I was viewing it for the first time in the age group where I might be having the same thoughts as Billy, and my instinctual thought was "don't cry. keep it together."

During intermission, I actually had the thought,"You are here to feel things. You paid money to feel things. If it happens, let it happen, encourage it, lean into it. Let yourself be swept away...The second act started, and I let it happen.

During "You'll Never Walk Alone", I sobbed. Seeing Julie so alone, having Carrie say basically that it's better for him that he died, and hearing Julie hear that, Partly, because hearing it sung by Denyce Graves was almost too much to handle. The richness, warmth of her voice was like hearing these beautiful words from the voice of an angel.

 The lyrics also hit me in a way they hadn't before. "Don't be afraid of the dark"...something you tell little kids in the literal sense, but adults need to hear sometimes as well in the figurative. What a beautiful way to support someone.... "You'll never walk alone"...You're never alone...ever. That sentiment, the same as "No one Is Alone" is so important for anyone to hear, and reminds you how lucky you are to be on the planet with the people you're with. When you lose someone, it's important to remember they are still with you, and you don't have to go through this alone.

 Normally, in the ballet, you see Louise dancing, and kind of imagine Billy watching from Heaven. tin this production, they had him watching it, so you could see his reactions. There was a bit of choreography where his daughter, Louise was possibly balancing on some rocks or a ledge, and it looked almost like a toddler taking her first steps. There are so many minor details that can be added in a production that can pull on your heartstrings...a bit of passion or warmth, or empathy in a moment where it normally lacks can make so much of a difference in the emotional impact it can have on an audience. My favorite thing is to see that; even if it's in a play that's hundreds of years old...when an actor, a director or both find something there that wasn't there before.

The final scene is always moving, but to replace the normal stage picture of Billy kneeling next to Julie, saying "I loved you Julie. Know that I loved you.", and instead actually have her touch her...HUG her, and her FEEL it....and THEN if it wasn't bad enough flower pedals that were featured at the end of the bench scene come flowing down as a sign to her....that's when a little weepy turns into UGLY CRYING. Ugly crying at the theatre is ok. It's a safe place to feel things that remind you of why life is beautiful, or sad, or unfair, or hilarious, or amazing, or whatever it it is that day. But above all, as an audience member or someone in charge of what's happening on stage, tell the truth.  That's art. Everything else is boring generalities. Make art move that people and let yourself be moved.