The Workshop That Broke Me

I had my ideas of what “acting” was supposed to be, and whenever I went on stage, I was confident enough about what I knew. In my mind, acting was supposed to be the expression of emotion in a clear manner, so that the audience understands what’s going on. It’s a game, an escape from reality through the mind and body of a fictional character. I won’t have to put any part of myself in this character, because it lives only in the confines of the four walls. This schema of acting worked well when I used it in the comedies and short student films I was part of, but it did not convince any of the serious drama people. They thought I was unnatural and inauthentic. When I applied my idea of acting in the field of drama, they called me “conceptual”. For a while, I tried to understand what that meant.

“Conceptual acting is when you’re planning what to do next,” they explained.

“Isn’t that what acting is, anyway?” I retorted. “You’re supposed to know what to do! You have a script, and you have your blockings, and you’re going to move from one place to another in a clear and distinct way.”

They gave up trying to explain. It wasn’t easy to explain an idea to a person who already has his own idea.

So I joined an acting workshop. I did the usual, my idea of what acting was. When I was asked to be angry, I exaggerated my movements. They thought it was funny, but not convincingly angry. When I was asked to be vulnerable, I contorted my face into different twisted angles to squeeze tears out of my eyes. They were unaffected by it. I was pretending.

“But isn’t that what acting is supposed to be?” I asked. “It’s all pretending, isn’t it?”

They shook their heads in disapproval. I did not understand, but I forced myself to. I tried. I tried harder and harder, to push through the wall of stoic faces that were in front of me. They remained unconvinced. I did not know what I was to do. I thought I knew it. I thought I knew what acting was: it was pretending, it was playing a game, it was being another person.

I did do well at ego and irreverence exercises, when they asked us to be silly. I knew how to be silly. I knew how to play games.

“I see you doing improv theater,” the acting teacher said. “You’re seriously funny.”

Seriously funny? I thought. Screw that, I want to be seriously good! I want to be convincing! I want to express truth! Honesty! I want to be authentic!

I broke down. I cried on the side. I started pushing my co-workshoppers away. They tried to console me. I did not care. I felt inadequate, inauthentic, false. I was not an actor. I was a caricature. I crashed down with the weight of my false ideas.

It was after the final day that I realized that acting did not have to be such a hard thing. There are methods and techniques, but those take time and practice. There is a simpler way to act convincingly: just be. The solution is simple, but not easy. Only be yourself; be confident enough about yourself that you are willing to be publicly vulnerable. The openness to feel emotion makes emotion authentic.

“The actor is acting 24/7,” the acting teacher told me. “There is no moment when the actor isn’t acting.”

As I struggle to become a better actor, I struggle to become a better person.