{"id":44976,"date":"2011-12-07T07:35:23","date_gmt":"2011-12-07T12:35:23","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=44976"},"modified":"2024-08-11T12:09:34","modified_gmt":"2024-08-11T16:09:34","slug":"the-books-actors-on-acting-the-theories-techniques-and-practices-of-the-worlds-great-actors-told-in-thir-own-words-edited-by-toby-cole-and-helen-krich-chinoy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=44976","title":{"rendered":"The Books: Actors on Acting: The Theories, Techniques, and Practices of the World’s Great Actors, Told in Thir Own Words<\/i>, edited by Toby Cole and Helen Krich Chinoy"},"content":{"rendered":"

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Daily Book Excerpt: Theatre<\/a><\/p>\n

Next book on the acting\/theatre shelf<\/strong> is Actors on Acting: The Theories, Techniques, and Practices of the World’s Great Actors, Told in Thir Own Words<\/a>\"\"<\/i>, edited by Toby Cole and Helen Krich Chinoy<\/p>\n

\nA massive invaluable reference book. Every actor should have a copy. It’s not the kind of book you read cover to cover, it’s more of an encyclopedia, to be dipped into when you need it. The editors have done a superb job. This book has been around for years. I’ve had it for years. It’s totally marked up with my own marginalia. Actors speaking about their own craft. To those who mistakenly believe that the 1940s and 1950s was the birth of REAL acting, and before that everyone was just a ham (and many actors seem to feel this way: it is one of the only professions on earth where many of its practictioners are not only ignorant about the history but also contemptuous of anyone not contemporary – you know, the “I don’t like black and white movies” crew) this book would be an eye opener. It goes back to the earliest recorded days of theatre, in ancient Greece and Rome. Plato and Aristotle’s words on the uses of theatre, on the structure of plays. And also, amazingly, a couple of eyewitness accounts of great performances from back in those days. <\/p>\n

It covers the history of acting in all countries, with the big names in France, Italy, Germany, Ireland, Russia … the different forms of theatre, the different styles of acting – commedia dell arte, Shakespeare, Moliere … the passion plays. But it’s like CRACK if you are interested in process. This book is about process. There is very little editorial bossiness. The actors through the ages are allowed to speak for themselves. The editors don’t interject their thoughts into the words. You get brief introductions, some historical context, some biographical information – and then the great actors – like Mrs. Sarah Siddons, whose Lady Macbeth was so influential that actresses a century later were still studying her words on how she did the part<\/a> – and David Garrick, and Richard Burbage – all of these illustrious names. Performances no one can ever see again leap off the page. <\/p>\n

This book makes you ache for a time machine. <\/p>\n

It is difficult to talk about acting. It is difficult to talk about what it is<\/i>. Especially if you are the one doing it. HOW did Mrs. Sarah Siddons create Lady Macbeth? And, more importantly, what was it like for her to play it? Some actors are better than others in terms of talking about the craft. But being articulate about what you do as an actor is not a prerequisite for fame or success. Two of the most inarticulate people, in terms of their own acting, who came and talked at my school were Meryl Streep and Robert Deniro. Meryl Streep actually seemed superstitious about it. If she talked about it, it might vanish. She said that it reminded her of being in church and praying. She wouldn’t want to tell us how she prayed, and what she prayed for … it’s a sacred space for her, somehow beyond words. Johnny Depp came and talked to us, too, and he was so inarticulate that he almost put me to sleep. He was adorable and sweet, but the realm of acting was beyond his language. This is very common. Of course there were gems dropped by all three of these people along the way, but they are primarily DOers, not talkers. This is not to say that those who were able to talk about how they created a certain character are somehow lesser. This is just to say that it takes all kinds, and talent is a delicate and strange thing. <\/p>\n

One of my favorite pieces in this giant book is an op-ed column written by Walter Huston, in the wake of his Othello, which was not (to put it mildly) a success. <\/p>\n

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\nWalter Huston as Othello, 1937<\/i><\/p>\n

This is one of the most extraordinary process-oriented pieces I have ever read. Its honesty is its greatest quality. Any actor on the planet will relate to his words, to how committed he was, how much he believed in what he was doing, and then, the horror and shame at the critical response. I am just glad Mr. Walter Huston wrote this all down so that now we can have it always. It is not self-pitying, he does not lash out at the critics who did not like him, although that was his first understandable response. He takes us through his reaction, step by step. It certainly took him aback and devastated him, but he took the opportunity to take a look at what he had done, to try to understand his own failure.<\/p>\n

He did Othello in New York in 1937. The following op-ed column appeared in Stage Magazine<\/i> in March of that year.<\/p>\n

Excerpt from Actors on Acting: The Theories, Techniques, and Practices of the World’s Great Actors, Told in Thir Own Words<\/a>\"\"<\/i>, edited by Toby Cole and Helen Krich Chinoy<\/big><\/p>\n

\nWalter Huston: “In and Out of the Bag: Othello Sits Up in Bed the Morning After and Takes Notice”. New York: Stage Magazine<\/i>, March, 1937<\/big><\/p>\n

We were about to open Othello<\/i> in New York … We knew we were fairly intelligent actors. But just so there would be no doubt about it we sailed in and played Othello<\/i> with a relish and a zest, played it as we would have on a dare – with all the knowledge we had, with all the verve and understanding we could bring to it. Our performances were made better by the stimulation of a large New York first-night audience, which always brings a great excitement to bestow upon the play if the actors will absorb it.<\/p>\n

For my own part, I never felt better on any stage than I did that night. My performance, it seemed to me, had never been so keen. Between acts I spoke of it, “I’m really enjoying this,” I said. “I’ve never known it to go like this.” And everyone else seemed to feel the same. There was no doubt in our minds that the audience felt it too, for we on stage could sense it. We felt we had it in the palms of our hands. That we could move it at will … we were certain we were a success … we earnestly believed, as deep down as a man can, that we had given a hell of a performance, as fine a piece of work as our lives ever fashioned …<\/p>\n

Certainly I had never had that warm feeling of successful achievement as I had it that night. It occurred to me during the broil and confusion of the aftermath that I had spent too many years of my life outside the magic circle of Shakespeare … <\/p>\n

I awoke at seven o\u2019clock and, having awakened, I could not resist the disturbing desire to see the morning papers. I decided to read the News<\/em> first, for I knew that Burns Mantle\u2019s star system of rating could be seen at a glance. The two-and-a-half stars I found above Mr. Mantle\u2019s column gave me a shock. That meant he had found little in Othello to praise.<\/p>\n

Hastily I picked up the Times<\/em>. Tabloids might be all right for the movies and the modern drama, but for appreciation of the classics, I assured myself, one had to look at the Times<\/em>. Imagine the shock to find that Mr. Atkinson\u2019s opinion was no more favorable than Mr. Mantle\u2019s! Quickly I snatched up the other papers, as a stunned prize fighter clutches his opponent, but as I read them one by one it slowly dawned on me that the show was a failure. I could hardly believe it. After all those months of work, after all that fond care, after all that had been said, after hundreds of changes and experiments \u2013 after we had patted down every minute detail, could it be that we had produced a poor thing?<\/p>\n

The brunt of all the criticism fell on me. No matter how I deluded myself, I could not escape the clear cry against my performance. I tried to tell myself that the trouble with the critics was that they did not want me, whom they considered a homespun fellow, to try to put on airs. I refused to see any truth in the adverse criticism I read, but instead turned it around and used it to criticize the critics. Did they not know that I had studied the role longer, had given it more thought, than any role I had ever played? Couldn\u2019t they accept my conception rather than dictate to me from their own ignorance?<\/p>\n

But then I knew this argument would not hold water, either. All they knew about my performance, I was slow to admit, was that it did not move them; that it did not grasp and hold their interest; that it did not entertain them, did not ring their approbative bells. On the contrary, their stomachs ached for me. But then I knew that even if I had encompassed the character of the Einstein Theory so that it made plain and good sense to me, it need not necessarily therefore appeal to the public. That was a hard and large lump to swallow.<\/p>\n

What made it so hard, I guess, is the fact that Othello was my first failure in thirteen years \u2013 that and the fact that I had bent every effort toward making it as fine a production as the American theatre had ever known.<\/p>\n

Here it appears, is my principal fault in playing the Moor: I was not ferocious enough; I did not rave and rant. I have no intention of defending myself here, of justifying my performance, my conception of the character of Othello. Either I was convincing in my performance or I was not; and evidently I was not. But after the abundant criticism, when it was obvious we were going to sink, I decided to play the role as my critics thought I should. I went forth with a mighty breath in my lungs and tore through the performance like a madman. I hammed the part within an inch of burlesque; I ate all the scenery I had time and digestion for; I frightened the other actors, none of whom knew I had changed my characterization. And upon my soul, the audience seemed to enjoy it. But please accept it from me \u2013 that performance was no good; on the contrary, it was terrible. Any 20 year old schoolboy could have played it that way. I was ten-twenty-thirty melodrama of the very lowest sort, so far as my actions were concerned, in beautiful costumes and against magnificent settings.<\/p>\n

If that is acting then I have spent the last 35 years of my life in vain.<\/p>\n

My subdued conception may not be the right one for Othello, I will grant, but it is so far superior to giving the role the works that there is no comparison, honestly. If I had the whole thing to do over again \u2026 I think I would arrive at the same characterization I gave opening night.<\/p>\n

It is good to have a failure every now and then, especially for someone like myself who has had so much good fortune. It balances the books, you might say: it draws you up sharp and makes you take stock. That is not always pleasant. You know, you forget about failures if you have a series of successes. It seems to you odd that men cannot get along in this world. In all probability you begin thinking you are composed of extraordinary ingredients, that you are not like other men. So you feel sorry for the beggars on the streets and give them dimes. Now I\u2019m not trying to be sentimental, and I hope I\u2019m not being too platitudinous when I say what any fool knows \u2013 that is, that success breeds success, just as money breeds money, and rabbits breed rabbits. It is true also that the rich man loses heavily. That is good. He should.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m glad I was a failure or I should have forgotten these simple things, things I learned many years ago when, wandering about the streets of New York looking for a job, I was penniless and hungry. It does you good to quit kidding yourself.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t think I\u2019m through playing Shakespeare. There is no desire in me to show anybody, and least of all the dramatic critics of New York newspapers, that I can play it. The hell with such vanity. But the truth is that I have become ensnared by the magic of the guy\u2019s web. It is quite clear to me now why so many of the world\u2019s great actors (practically all of them) have grown up to play Shakespeare. His work is a challenge to any actor. His work holds a fascination for the actor such as nothing else in the literature of our theatre does. Having played Shakespeare, even in a production which flopped, was an experience by which my life is immensely enriched. I\u2019m tickled pink to have done it. And I\u2019m not picking up any crumbs when I say I am not in the least disheartened that it was not a success.<\/p>\n

And yet, just the same, it would have been nice if it had been.<\/p>\n