You Can Act on Camera Read online

  So, unless it’s an extreme exception where you’re really going to hate yourself, if you give up control and go for the quickest, easiest way to knock this thing out, it’ll probably be OK.

  Actors are continuously surprised by how, if they just go ahead and do a thing—make the move, say the line loud, or whatever the direction or necessity is—even if they don’t beforehand feel they have a clear reason in their head for why they’re doing it, it doesn’t end up feeling so bad when they do it and no one notices anything weird in the final product. There will be times when what’s asked of you seems absolutely and unquestionably repugnant and wrong, but usually the adjustment just feels vague and not fully motivated.

  When this is the situation and you just do it mindlessly, there are several perfectly acceptable outcomes:

  You didn’t understand how it was going to be used and it gets worked out in postproduction in some way, perhaps masked by something else or, when something is added, it makes sense.

  You do it and the audience, finding no sense to it, excludes it from their consciousness in favor of something in their experience that dominates.

  The audience actually invents and superimposes a value on this behavior consistent with their experience of the fictional context. While it’s possible this might lead them off base, it is just as likely that they will fill it in with something good, I daresay possibly great (as was with the phenomenon where we projected great meaning upon the more or less blank ocean in Jaws).

  Your deeper talent fills the gap. Even if you don’t feel a solid, imaginative connection to what’s being asked of you, that’s not to say your inventive genius isn’t pulling it off beautifully. Maybe far better than your conscious plan.

  STANDING YOUR GROUND

  Now, having said all this about flexibility and being an adaptable pussycat, there is the hard truth that there may be battles to be fought and time you’ll have to insist on taking or you don’t deserve to call yourself an actor. All you really have to bring to the table is a core that channels the truth, and if you insult, corrupt, or starve that, then you’re cutting yourself off from whatever it is you have to offer and you won’t be any good to anyone, anyway.

  I can’t really advise you with much detail when it comes to the personality conflicts you’re going to encounter while working, because each situation is so politically unique. I will recommend that before you make plain your willingness to go to war over a problem, you should be sure you’ve made yourself fully receptive to the input of others and—whether you like the personalities involved or not—fully examined each issue on its own merits.

  In addition to confirmation bias corrupting your choices, you also have to deal with what’s called “the backfire effect.” It’s been documented that when people are shown plain evidence that what they believe is untrue, they tend to afterwards be even more entrenched in their positions.

  Try to understand the spirit of the request without feeling you’re being made a slave or a puppet and know that, when conflicts arise, more often than not the problem is a factor of clashing styles of communication. If you really feel dedicated to a certain way of doing something, there’s still no value in aggravating a power struggle that might contaminate the project. I’ve explored this topic with many seasoned professionals and the prevailing recommendation for the course of action in these situations is feigned obliviousness.

  That is to say, listen earnestly to the direction you know stinks to high heaven, nod with appreciation for the input, and then continue doing what you know is the right thing to do. If they bring up that you’re not doing what was asked, act surprised that it didn’t work out the way they wanted. Repeat if necessary. Adopt the position that when you’re acting you’re on automatic and aren’t really responsible for what goes on when in this vacant state. You can get away with this because there actually are amateur practitioners of acting who are really like this. So, for now, you’re one of those. Yes, it’s dishonest and a bit degrading, but it’s generally considered preferable to the ugliness of open warfare. Again, this is only to be used if the injury to your artistic integrity is genuine and great.

  If outright head-to-head conflicts do arise, I offer that you needn’t be unnecessarily dispirited. Such unpleasantness does not invariably damage the quality of your work. A lot of subpar movies had wonderfully congenial film sets, while others, rife with ill will, nevertheless spawned masterpieces.

  I consider Chinatown to be one of our greatest films and it had a notoriously stormy production. Among other incidents, there was one wherein director Roman Polanski destroyed Jack Nicholson’s television by chucking it out the door of his trailer as he was watching a Lakers game. Polanski was apparently of the opinion that, regardless of it being a playoff, Nicholson should more properly be on the set.

  IGNORE THE SIGHS

  Even if it isn’t a matter of direct conflict with someone in authority, you won’t be immune to feeling pressure from the judgment of others who are watching you perform. Director David Lean spoke of a moment while directing Lawrence Of Arabia where there were five thousand extras in period costume staring at him as he was reflecting on his options. Maybe it won’t be that many people eyeballing you as you’re figuring out how to work out a new wrinkle, but there’s a good chance you’ll have somebody there with that look that says each minute you take is another clank of something coming out of the cash register.

  But an actor is not a light bulb, and, regardless of how nice that would be for everybody, the process of executing something within a fiction is not the same as a mathematical problem that can be accomplished with direct, nose-to-the-grindstone application. It calls for delicate collaboration with inspiration . . . and inspiration doesn’t care about your timetable. I tell directors they should treat actors the way they would an animal wrangler. The trainer will do his best to get the animal to give them what’s desired, but he’s dealing with a creature that operates with a different agenda. Your talent, like a bear or a crow or whatever, isn’t especially bothered by the idea that failing to perform a trick perfectly will risk its opportunities for booking future work.

  People don’t get this. Even people who’ve worked on movies and television for years and who you’d think would know better. You may not see anyone actually rolling their eyes or moaning (although that’s possible), but you will see them looking at each other and down at the ground and clearing their throats, and you’ll sense the frustration from them that you’re taking so long to work out your problem. They want you to get it done so that they can move on and feel themselves doing something useful. People don’t get frustrated with the guy hammering a platform together. As long as he isn’t holding a beer in one hand, they know he’s taking the time necessary to do what he has to do. They understand that work. They don’t understand yours.

  Which is fine. You don’t need sympathy for your creative struggles and you don’t require their permission to do what you do. I’m not suggesting you be indulgently introspective or a dithering fool, and there’s no excuse for not being fully prepared, but for those unforeseeable issues that you have to deal with on the day, no matter how agitated anyone gets about the time you take to do what you do, don’t give one single damn about them. Make a deal you won’t stand over their shoulders concerned with the pace of their work, and you can dismiss any opinions they have about the time it takes you to do yours. Be totally callous to any unrealistic annoyance anyone might have, secure in the knowledge that it is to their future benefit to have been involved with a project that contains quality work. Be clear I’m talking here about the demands of your creativity, not comfort. And don’t you dare confuse the two.

  Of course, the person you most have to worry about getting exasperated that the creative process isn’t more mechanistic is yourself. If you’re not careful, feelings of incompetence and shame about taking too much time will lead to your getting irritated and frustrated that something of genius isn’t offering itself up immediately. And the
truth is, all those looks and sounds you’re reacting to probably have nothing to do with you at all. Those crew guys giving each other looks are doing it because no one noticed something they broke and fixed with tape. That guy staring at the ground is thinking about a recent mean remark he made. The moan you interpreted as someone’s aggravation at you causing a delay is really that person realizing they forgot to return a phone call. Your ego is taking all these things as signs of persecution because it assumes everything that happens is some kind of reflection on itself.

  GIVE YOURSELF A BREAK

  If beating yourself up was effective in helping inspire you to devise and execute a new plan under pressure, I’d be all for it . . . but it isn’t. Studies with pigeons, rats, monkeys, and human beings prove that encouragement with positive reinforcement works much better than harsh treatment when addressing creative challenges. The creative part of our natures, what’s sometimes called “the right brain,” is fed by greater blood flow in an environment low in punishment. If you want that worker chemical dopamine running high in your system, you have to give your ambitions a nice chunk of daylight to shoot for. Putting your focus on obstacles and fearing that a reprimanding whip is going to come down on you saps energy that would be better used exploring options and perfecting choices.

  I feel compelled here to denounce a terrible, perverse methodology at play in the world. There are many who will tell you that if someone is especially bad and you punish them, they usually do better the next time, and if you praise someone who’s done something especially well, the next time they won’t do as well. The key word here is “especially.” If someone is especially good or especially bad, then the next time they’ll tend to be less like that, no matter how they’ve been treated. It is a phenomenon that applies to all statistics, including human behavior, called “regression toward the mean.” The injurious scolding and potentially helpful praise withheld is reinforced by experiences following a law of the universe, things returning to the mid range, not—as it is misinterpreted—owing to this abusive practice.

  If you allow the pressure to perform to over-stress you and become self-punishing, you’re just going to gum up the system causing more delays, which will cause more frustration and put you in a terrible cycle. You might then latch on to some shoddy solution just to make the torture stop. Much better results will be had if you bathe the problem in optimism, humor, and gentle reassurance. Coax your feelings about the hurdle you face away from dread and toward thrill. Indulge in a little pride for what you do, and own that what really makes it special, the reason for the whole operation in the first place, the lights, the trucks, and so forth, is to bring forth and record that wild element, that beautiful, untamable art that’s not supposed to be ordered around like a robot.

  GETTING BETTER AT IT

  There are different talents and different ways of nurturing them, but it’s no secret that getting better at coping with pressure largely comes from experience. Steve Martin said that after so much public practice selling magic and entertaining at Knott’s Berry Farm, he knew that when he went on a stage there was no way he wasn’t going to be funny. Somebody who has that opinion of themselves, that’s funny right there. How you personally go about getting performance exposure is up to you. You must produce like a producer produces. You can’t be shy and you can’t be humble. Not about this.

  You have to do whatever you have to do to log those hours operating effectively under pressure and rack up a history of being able to depend on your acting techniques. The sooner you can get an audience response that’s favorable, rather than demoralizing, the sooner you start building that self-perpetuating confidence. The validation that comes with repeatedly getting away with traipsing around pretending to be somebody else in public offers hope you can break through the pervasive stigma against acting and do it with less inhibition.

  And don’t kid yourself and think the cultural stigma against acting doesn’t affect you. Oh sure, we put movie stars up on pedestals, but you’ve, nevertheless, gotten innumerable negative messages about showing off and being a glory hog or thinking you’re so much better than everybody else that you deserve all the attention. Oliver Cromwell said, “Do not trust to the cheering, they would shout as much if you were going to be hanged.” And conscious of it or not, you know this. You’ve seen the delight everyone takes in attacking those elevated movie stars if they dare make a slip. You know you’re separating yourself from the crowd by being a performer, and so, at the merest hint, awareness of the risk you’re taking can activate a deep fear response. You know if the tribe turns on you things can go very badly, very quickly.

  The more experiences you acquire not being shamed for acting, the greater sense of ease and entitlement you’ll develop about doing it. Of course, it’s helpful if you had an upbringing where people praised the heck out of you every time you recited a poem or twirled around with your dress up over your head. Jodie Foster, in accepting her Oscar, probably rightly thanked her mother “for saying every picture I drew was a Picasso.” But there are many performers, including Steve Martin, who overcame unsupportive families to make their show business aspirations real.

  Increased experience will boost that valuable attribute of confidence, but after a certain point it won’t, by itself, greatly improve your skills. If you want to get better at doing something, you have to constantly concentrate on the details of getting better at it. After you achieve a basic level of competence your system goes on automatic and your technique will tend to remain the same. Without the fear of failure, you function using your basic skills, or what’s known as “bottom up” knowledge (unconscious), rather than “top down” knowledge (conscious). Apart from certain subtleties of trial-and-error growth, “good enough” rules the day and you plateau. This happens because we’re all lazy.

  Put another way, we are naturally wired to self-regulate and save exertions of will power (more on this in a moment) for times of real need. A hybrid car is designed to operate like this, using battery power whenever possible and only switching to gasoline when necessary. Unless you strive with a strong intention to override this automatic mechanism, you no longer affect how you’re doing things and those areas remain fixed in their style of execution.

  Developing skill into the elite level requires a continuous conscious effort to improve in the specific details of your work, and is significantly aided by having a qualified expert point out where greater application of this “top down” thought should be applied.

  WELCOME FLOW

  Everyone wants flow, or to be in what’s called the “Zone” . . . to be unconsciously performing in a state of confident, energetic calmness where their skills are pouring out with perfect timing and amplitude. People with the talent for consistently achieving this condition of flow (who are called autotelics) are known for their curiosity, persistence, and for finding pleasure in being challenged by what they’re doing at the moment, not for the sake of some later reward.

  The Zone is frequently talked about in athletics, and it needs to be pointed out here, up front, that the experiences of flow and peak performance for someone in the arts is different from those in sports. Athletes have the luxury of ongoing measurable results to confirm the quality of their efforts, while an artist’s work is largely subjective. Other than certain physical behaviors, like hitting your mark or putting a cup down at the right moment for continuity, an actor doesn’t have concrete goals. And, especially in the sterilized environment of a recorded performance, they have little meaningful, real-time feedback for how what they’re doing is being received. You can be operating at the height of your effectiveness and yet it may not seem all that wonderful at the time.

  There’s a story about a friend of Lawrence Olivier’s going backstage after seeing him in a play that received a long, boisterous standing ovation and, that night, a particularly ecstatic response to Olivier’s curtain call. He was prepared to heartily congratulate the actor, but when he entered the dressing room, all smile
s, he found Olivier visibly upset, banging drawers and aggressively removing his costume. The shocked friend said to him, “Larry, the show was a great success. They loved you.” To which Olivier replied, “Clearly. But I don’t know why!”

  It’s possible to say that the worst thing about being an actor (apart from trying to make money from it) is that you can’t tell how you’re doing while you’re doing it. You can feel great about your acting during a performance, all flushed with what you think is the appropriate emotion, and then, afterward, be disappointed by the assessment of trustworthy critics. Likewise, you can feel like you’re doing terribly and just barely hanging on by your fingernails and afterward get a delighted response.

  So, with this in mind, the bad news for you is you can never rest and you’ll always be chasing a vague excellence that is constantly scooting away from you. The good news is that even if you think you’re stinking up the place it might not be true and you can worry less about having that feeling.

  Of course, without making your perceived sense of flow your measure of success (it is supposed to be about the audience having a good time, not you), it is nevertheless wise to practice the values that make it more likely you’ll get closer to that special place of relaxed immersion and free expression. And for those times when you feel great about how it’s going and then find out later you were right about how well it was going, well . . . that’s why people are willing to ruin their lives to be actors.

  CHOKE NOT

  When flow is interrupted to the extreme it’s called “choking” and it can happen to even accomplished experts. There are two types of choking, and either one can show up on the day. If you appreciate the threat and can spot the symptoms, you can take note of these unfavorable states as they start to come over you and move yourself back toward flow.