Happy New Year

Here is my wish list for 2008:

• An end to the war in Iraq.
• An end to the violence in Afghanistan.
• An end to the atrocities in Africa.
• An end to hatred and division in America.
• An end to world hunger.
• An end to the writer's strike.
  
• Fair and open elections.
• A rise to the next level of human consciousness where aggression and war are unthinkable.
• A nationwide investment in alternative energy.
• A rollback of greenhouse emissions.
• A reversal of global warming.
• A cure for Alzheimer's disease.
• A steep drop in the price of Kona coffee.
• An Oscar nomination for Hal Holbrook for his work in "Into The Wild".
• Love and good fortune for all of my friends.
• A blessing on each of your homes.
• A future filled with promise.
• Chocolate.

Happy New Year.
W.

Beckett Shorts at NYTW

You could call me Lucky. I had the best seats in the house last night for the Beckett Shorts which are now running at New York Theatre Workshop. It's the most coveted ticket in town because Mikhail Baryshnikov makes a return to the stage in this much-publicized production. But Baryshnikov isn't the only, or even the primary reason to see this work. He is in the company of some serious heavy-hitters in the world theater.

The plays are directed by Joanne Akalaitis (founder of Mabou Mines). Volumes could be written on Akalaitis alone, especially in relationship to Beckett. She was one of the performers - along with Ruth Maleczech and Ellen McElduff - in a production of the Beckett short play Come and Go which opened at the Théâtre du Rond-Point on October 6, 1981, directed by Lee Breuer.

Akalaitis became a theatrical legend when her production of Endgame back in the 80's was closed down by the Beckett estate for taking too many liberties. The show did eventually open - with a letter written by Beckett disavowing the production included in the program. Writing for the New York Times (Dec. 20, 1984) Mel Gussow proclaimed "Miss Akalaitis's approach to this contemporary masterwork is volatile. In her hands, ''Endgame'' has an intense dramatic drive as well as profundity." It was a risk that worked in her favor, sealing Akalaitis' reputation as "great interpreter" of Beckett.

(BTW - Joanne Akalaitis isn't the only notable director to get in hot water with the cantankerous Irishman. Ten years earlier (February, 1973) André Gregory directed Endgame for New York University School of the Arts. His production featured "a wild array" of sound effects (bugles, machine guns, crowing roosters, automobiles) and quickly won disapproval from critics and Beckett.)

For this current foray into Beckett, Ms. Akalaitis' husband, Philip Glass, composed some new music. Not too much, however. The same loop plays incessantly before the show begins. The lighting has been done by the mother of all lighting designers: Jennifer Tipton. And another famous artist -Alexander Brodsky - was enlisted as the set designer. Brodsky is widely known as an artist of the Paper Architects school - one of the first artists to gain freedom of expression after the fall of the Soviet regime. His solo exhibitions have been seen all over the world (Russia, Venice, Guggenheim, Bilbao, MOMA, Whitney - you name it!) I kept wondering if there was some connection between Brodsky, and the artist character "Aleksandr Petrovsky" played by Baryshnikov on TV's Sex and the City.

Now, about the work itself. Let me preface this by saying that any performance of Beckett anywhere should be cause for celebration. I personally can't get enough of it, so an evening spent listening to the words of the master is an evening well spent no matter what. I had some great conversations with my friend Vyen both before and after the show. Vyen is a visual artist and often gives me a much deeper perspective on the theater - owing to the fact that she isn't invested in it in the same way I am. She sees it more objectively, and her experience last night was one of satisfaction. Sensing my irritation she said "Everyone takes Beckett so personally." Yep.

But I was underwhelmed. There's a kind of crispness to Beckett's writing. It has to do with the rhythm and the timing. So much of it should be funny. Really funny. Intentionally funny. Vaudeville funny. And comedy is all about precision. Not just in movement. But in intention. We need to see the characters' decision-making process. That was the secret to Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin. I don't mean that you have to "telegraph" what you're doing. But there does need to be some thought process that goes from A to B (as Beckett himself writes in Rough for Theatre I - the third piece on the bill.) In Act Without Words I, Baryshnikov is scurrying about the stage hearing whistles, grasping for a jug of water, trying to cut down a rope....we need to know why he's doing it. Is he thirsty? Or is it just because this is what the stage directions tell him to do. It's a very tricky line, and much to Akalaitis' credit, they don't go in the opposite direction and over-reach. But when the production values are so high (a sand full of stage, neon lights, scrims, projections, a fully-mechanical palm tree), and the material is so superb, you can't help but wonder why there wasn't a little more time spent trying understand the moment-to-moment beats. It was unclear. And the audience felt it. There were a few forced laughs and some polite applause. It should've been so much better.

The second piece on the bill was Act Without Words II. Here again there was technical wizardry. The center of the stage elevated three feet and the action played out on a horizontal ledge. The mechanical "goad" that awakens both players from their "sleep" was similar in style to the palm tree, giving a retro-mechanical spin to the goings-on. I'm sure there is some very deep, well-thought out, aesthetic/philosophical statement being made by all of the scenic choices. That's all well and good if you have the money, which clearly NYTW does. But it all comes down to the performances, and this piece fell flat as well. There was no rhythmic clarity, no moment-to-moment decision making. The actions were muddied. David Neumann would take his watch out of his pocket and look at it without really registering the time, begin brushing his teeth before he'd even completed the next little "exercise", would move on to combing his hair. Each of these actions were done correctly, as indicated in Beckett's stage directions. But there were no moments of discovery, no moments of realization, no moments of wonderment, or frustration or humor. In fact, there were no moments at all. Just repetitive actions being done for no reason against a backdrop of repetitive music which also is void of any sentiment. Mechanical. I guess maybe that was the "concept".

The evening got a little more interesting with Rough For Theatre II. Characters began to speak. And this play, more than any of the others on the bill, is the quintessential Beckett. Here we have characters that are almost sketches for Endgame. Hamm can't stand and Clov can't sit. In this case A (Baryshnikov) can't see and B (Bill Camp) can't walk. The two characters are locked in a match of futility, each vying to be more pitiful than the other. Each trying to get one up on the other in whatever way they can. But about two minutes into the play I realized that Akalaitis had really handicapped herself with all that sand she put onstage. The wheelchair couldn't move!! That meant that all of the physical actions Beckett describes -- (He pushes himself forward a little, halts. He pushes himself back a little, halts. A. lays hold of the chair and starts pushing it blindly.) -- couldn't be carried out! I kept thinking - here you've got an actor in a wheelchair who can't move about the stage. Clearly much of the comedy of the piece lies in B's ability to evade the blind A, the interplay between sound and movement. But comedy was nowhere to be found in this production. Bill Camp growled through the play until you weren't sure what he was so angry about, and wondered why Baryshnikov's character didn't just leave the stage. Certainly there is cruelty in Beckett's writing. But the trick is to find all the light and humor you possibly can. Camp is a fine actor, and found a few great comedic moments. But he seemed like he was on his own with no directorial assistance whatsoever. (It was also disconcerting that the blanket he had on his lap kept slipping off as he tried to wheel around in the sand. Under the blank he was wearing blue jeans. Blue jeans?? C'mon. If you're going to spend this much money, at least finish the costumes off completely.)

The last piece of the evening was by far the best, and demonstrates the Akalaitis' true genius. Eh Joe was originally written by Beckett as a television play for the BBC. I kept wondering how she would reconcile all the specific camera moves that were written in the script. Essentially the play is a long monologue by on off-stage (or I should say "off-camera") voice. We watch the face of Joe (Mikhail Baryshnikov) while the woman recounts stories of betrayal, and questions Joe about love, God, existence. Joe is sitting on his bed listening. Is he about to die? Is this all the regret left at the end of a life? It's not a funny play, but again, there is humor there if you look for it. Akalaitis didn't. But the technological skill with which the play is accomplished overcomes any criticism you could have about the delivery of the words by the one-note Karen Kandel. I spent more time wondering how it was all being done than actually listening to the words. Baryshnikov's face is projected in multiple layers: on the front scrim and two places on the back wall. He holds a tiny little camera in his hand as he sits on the bed, and his camera movements are exactly as Beckett had written. This is a great innovation that makes use of all the technological advancement we now have. It also shows Baryshnikov's great strength as an actor - on camera, not on stage. His close-ups are moving and poignant, and it is here that the merging of theater and film - mediums that Beckett was interested in integrating throughout his career - are truly successful. In the final play of the evening Akalaitis shows us her real power as director. But it isn't in working with the actors.

To MFA or Not To MFA

Happy Holidays Everyone!

I hope you are having a peaceful and joyous time, wherever you are. Holidays are sometimes fraught with anxiety for me. But I am totally psyched for the New Year!

I've been a bit remiss in my blogging of late. (Apologies to anyone who has visited and seen the same old post.) But there is an excuse. And that's what I'm going to talk about now.

Some time in late October I got this idea that I should look into graduate schools. It was a combination of events that led me to it, but primary among them was the desire to resume my teaching. I had been teaching with Joseph Chaikin for eight years, and I desperately want to get back to it. I miss the exchange of ideas, the exploration, the challenge. We teach what we most need learn, n'est-ce pas? But teaching positions at the university level require an MFA. At least. I've only a measly BFA which puts me, well...nowhere. This was a shocking revelation, and I was in denial about it for a long time. But I've come to embrace reality. If I want to teach I need the degree.

When I consider the possible MFA programs, I can't imagine myself studying acting. I think I've come too far for that. I'm already competing with MFA grads at every imaginable level, so I don't see that as a wise investment. (If a degree in theater at all is a wise investment!) So I of course am led to directing. And the thought of that excites me.

Now it's a mad dash. I'm behind schedule, but not so far so that I can't catch up. I've scheduled interviews through U/RTA in January. I'm most hoping to meet Travis Preston who heads up the directing program at CalArts. Mr. Preston is a director I've been following for years, and the CalArts program, to me, looks like the best in the country. (I know - Yale Schmale). The CalArts theater program is headed by playwright Eric Ehn. For those of you not familiar with his work RUN, do not walk, to read any of his plays you can lay your hands on. He's a bona fide genius, and one of the best playwrights working in America today.

But the thought of uprooting to the west coast is disconcerting. Here in New York, the only game in town seems to be Columbia University, where Andre Serban is the main directing professor. It looks like a terrific program, but at $50 grand a year, I'll just keep looking. Rutgers seemed like an option, but they never answered my emails so that tells me something about their department.

UMass Amherst is very intriguing. They offer full tuition waiver and stipend with teaching assistantships. And it's in a great town. And it's within driving distance to New York. What could be better than that?

Maybe Brooklyn College. My colleague Miriam Eusebio has her MFA from Brooklyn, and spoke very highly of the department. She introduced me (cyberly) to Professor Thomas Bullard, who heads up the program there. Now here's a guy with credentials! He has directed at nearly every major theater in the country, every major theater here in the city, began the Lincoln Center Director's Lab, and managed to earn a PhD (from Yale) somewhere along the way. I cannot imagine a more accomplished mentor, and I'm greatly looking forward to meeting him. Besides, Brooklyn is here in good old New York where I've already laid down my roots.

I may not get into any of these programs. They are extremely competitive, accepting only a few students each year. But just going through the process of applying - writing essay, reworking my resume, writing a personal statement, attaining transcripts, submitting essays, boning up on many classic plays - has been a journey that I'm grateful to be on. Taking the GRE sucks. But other than that it's a great challenge. And who knows what may happen. Perhaps the writer's strike will end! Nah. I'm banking on education.

Winter Workshop 2008

After a pause of several years, I've decided to begin teaching again. Many of you know that I taught a series of workshops for actors and directors with Joseph Chaikin from 1997 until his death in 2003. Since then, I haven't had the motivation to be back in a classroom setting. I wasn't sure how, or with whom, I could possibly teach with after Joe. But it feels like the right time now, and I've found a new teaching partner. I am delighted to announce that I will join together with my colleague Eva Burgess in offering a new class for experienced actors: The Winter Workshop 2008.

I actually met Eva at the final Joseph Chaikin Workshop. Eva is an extraordinarily talented director and teacher. When I began working on a solo performance piece earlier this year, Eva was the only person I would consider asking to be my director. She is bright, funny, and sensitive. Moreover, she has also developed her own techniques for finding your impulses as an actor, and expands these methods into a fascinating approach to creating ensemble work. She directed Largo Desolato for the Vaclav Havel Festival last season. It was one of the best pieces of theater I've ever seen. Teaching with Eva seems to be the next logical progression in the work I began with Joe Chaikin. He would be proud to know we continue on in his honor.

Here are the details on the class. I do hope you'll join us, and pass the information along to your colleagues.

The Winter Workshop 2008

Get out of your Head

Get into the Text

Get into your Body

Break Habits

Be Present

Each session includes:

- Warm up for mind, body and voice

- Collaborative & Ensemble work (including creating original pieces)

- Scene study of existing text from selected playwrights

When: Wednesdays 7-10 PM. January 9^th through March 12^th

How Much: $325* for 10 classes

Class size is limited. Please call 347-886-2157 for more information or email to evaburgess@earthlink.net

* Discount available for Joseph Chaikin Alumni and Tyna Collective Member

Eva Burgess is a theatre director, teacher and acting coach. Her directorial work has been seen in New York, Moscow, Bosnia-Herzegovina and Los Angeles.

In New York, Eva has been an Artist in Residence at HERE Arts Center, a member of the Lincoln Center Directors Lab and a participant in the late Joseph Chaikin's Workshop. She directed Vaclav Havel’s Largo Desolato at the Ohio Theatre, and Timothy Braun’s Angelina at Culturemart – HERE Arts Center. Eva has also collaborated extensively with Russian playwright Ksenia Dragunskaya. Eva directed Dragunskaya’s The Flood, a Russian-language piece, at DOC Theatre, Moscow; and developed an English-language production of A Feeling of a Beard at The American Living Room, HERE Arts Center, New York. Before moving to New York she spent 2 ½ years in Bosnia-Hercegovina, where she taught and founded a theatre company that created two original, Bosnian-language productions that were seen in Bosnia, toured Ireland, and were also performed at the United Nations in Geneva, Switzerland.

In her work as a teacher and director, Eva has synthesized her own method of working with actors by integrating her prior study, and the influences of a range of theatre artists, with her diverse experiences.

"I am interested in creating work for the stage that is visually, linguistically, and physically awake." Eva Burgess

Wayne Maugans taught with Joseph Chaikin from 1997 – 2002. As an actor he has worked at theaters such as Manhattan Theatre Club, Signature Theatre Company, Primary Stages, Joseph Papp Public Theater, Yale Rep. Atlantic Theater Company, Actor's Theater of Louisville, Cleveland Playhouse, Two River Theater, and LaMaMa ETC. Directing credits include two New York premieres:Trailerville and Uncle (both at Blue Heron Theatre). Wayne has also worked extensively in film and television. He is a featured performer in the BBC/PBS documentary Sam Shepard: Stalking Himself and is featured in the soon to be released short film Wake by Andrew Lawton.

"No matter which personal and hidden motives have led you to the theater, once you are within, you must find a meaning which, stretching beyond your own person, confronts you socially with others." Eugenio Barba

The Puppetmaster of Lodz

THE PUPPETMASTER OF LODZ by Gilles Segal officially opens tomorrow, Monday December 3, at the ArcLight Theater. The show is a co-production between Mirth Theatre Company and the Blue Heron Theatre Company.

Directed by Bruce Levitt (Cornell University) it features puppets created by Ralph Lee (Artistic Director of Mettawee River Theatre, artist in residence at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine).

Ardelle Striker, Blue Heron's Artistic Director is more excited about this show than I've seen her in years. I'm also looking forward to seeing the work of my friend, lighting designer Paul Bartlett. You can be sure it will all be running smoothly in the capable hands of Stage Manager Sarah Ford. I can't wait to see it! It looks like it's shaping up to be a first-rate production.

Set in Berlin in 1950, the play is both a mystery story and the portrait of a noble man, Samuel Finkelbaum, a master puppeteer who since his escape from a concentration camp has locked himself in an attic apartment, patiently awaiting the end of World War II. Within his retreat, he creates a fantasy world with his puppets, which unfolds an unforgettable tale of profound love and the creativity of the human spirit in the face of devastation.

Featuring Suzanne Toren, Daniel Damiano, Herbert Rubens and Robert Zukerman.

Excerpts of Reviews of Puppetmaster from Around the Country

"A theatre experience that at various moments is startling, moving, mesmerizing, humorous and tragic." - Milwaukee Journal.

"Gilles Segal's play...is the wrenching, sometimes funny, and haunting story of a Holocaust survivor. It's about burying the dead, dealing with the wreckage, and moving on. Don't let those issues intimidate you, though...Puppetmaster both entertains and delights; it just doesn't do it in ways you might expect." - Baltimore City Paper Online

"This is a haunting play, a piece of theatre that remains in the mind long after the final curtain. It is a must-see production for anyone to whom the theatre is more than just fleeting entertainment." - The Schenectady Daily Gazette

"...Robert Zukerman, who plays Puppetmaster Finkelbaum with aching intensity, is nothing short of astonishing." - KPBS-FM San Diego, CA

Putting It Together

Greetings, I invite you to join us this Wednesday evening (November 14th) for a very fun fundraiser. My colleague Miriam Eusebio is launching a new theater company (The Intentional Theater) and is hoping to raise enough money to pay for the rights to Samuel Beckett's Happy Days, which she has already secured permission to direct. The suggested donation is $25 bucks, but if that's a little steep for you, come anyway! It's sure to be a good party, lots of familiar faces, and an outstanding jazz performance by Sarah Lynch and Pete McCann. For more details visit www.intentionaltheater.org.

The Tricky Part

This weekend I attended the Male Survivor conference held at John Jay College for Criminal Justice here in New York City. I had been at the conference when it was last held in New York, back in 2001. This conference has become extremely important to me, as I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. This year there were attendees from all over the world, and the movement to raise awareness and advocate support for this most difficult of topics is finally beginning to gain some momentum.

Part of the conference this year was a performance by Martin Moran of his OBIE Award-winning one-person show The Tricky Part. I had read about this show when it was first presented at Second Stage and I'd always regretted not seeing it. So I jumped at the opportunity to finally catch it, especially in the context of the conference, and in the company of other men who share the experience of sexual abuse.

I had no idea what I was in for.

I really wasn't expecting a whole lot. I thought oh this will just be a straightforward narrative play about one person's experience of sexual abuse. Nothing too theatrical, but it might inform my own work.

This play completely rocked my world. I've never, and I mean never, had the experience of sitting in a theater and being completely overwhelmed with emotion. Tears were streaming down my face and my entire body was convulsing in uncontrollable sobs. Needless to say...the play struck a chord.

It was almost an out-of-body experience for me. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It was if someone had entered my own life, crawled around in my brain, figured out exactly what I have been feeling for twenty years, and expressed it beautifully, poetically, eloquently. This was by far the finest performance of a first-person narrative that I have ever seen, and that includes every show I had ever seen by Spalding Gray.

Now, of course I am not an entirely impartial critic. Martin's story so closely parallels my own experience of sexual abuse that I could be nothing but a fan of his bravery. But I definitely went into the theater that night expecting far less than what I got. I was rather hoping, in fact, to be disappointed because I too have been working on a show about my own journey through the quagmire of betrayal. I didn't want to see someone else beat me to punch. But Martin did. And I'm so grateful that he blazed this trail.

There is this part of me that thinks now my own story is completely irrelevant. What could I possibly add to the narrative that hasn't been expressed more poetically by Martin. But then I think that's just another excuse for not getting on with the work. It's terrifying terrain, and that means it's ripe for exploration. How do you tell a story like this? Well, that's the tricky part.

I only can say thank you to Martin. Thank you for sharing your journey. Thank you for sharing your strength and courage. And thank you for simply surviving. It was truly a cathartic experience to watch your work, and I bless you for making that happen.

Peace.
W.

Catching Up

On Wednesday evening I did a reading of All Hallowed, a new play by Bill C. Davis at the Player's Club on Gramercy Square. The reading was directed by Jerry Less. Also in the cast were Francis Sternhagen, Malachy McCourt, and Jeremy Jordan.

Last night I went to see Perfect Crime, playing at the Snapple Theater on 50th Street. My friend Rob Sedgewick has been appearing there recently in the role of Lionel McAuley. This show has been running for 20 years, and the lead actress (Catherine Russel) has only missed four shows in all that time. I'll let you do the math.

My colleague Miriam Eusebio is planning to direct a production of Samuel Beckett's Happy Days at WOW Cafe Theatre in 2009. I've been speaking with Miriam about fund raising for the project. The first big bill is due next month - $800 to the Beckett estate to secure the rights. Stay tuned for information to an upcoming fundraiser event.

These last few weeks I've also been running around on audition after audition. I'm not complaining. I'm happy that I have such distinguished representation as Doug Kesten at Paradigm and Pete Kaiser and David Cash at Henderson-Hogan Agency. In the last ten days I've gone out on auditions for a film, a play, a TV show, and several commercials, including spots for Lexus, Stay Free (yes, the tampon people) and Radio Shack. But so far...no news on anything.

Such is the life.

Meanwhile I've been desperately trying to figure out what I'm going to do for money. It's all swell and good to be an actor when you're working. You feel like you're at the top of the world. But in between gigs when the rent comes due, well, let's just say it can get a little scary. I'm not too proud to do what I have to, and I've already got some "bread and butter" work lined up. I think it's the waiting and wondering that really is hard. That, and the fact that you pretty much have to be available at a moment's notice to get in on some of these auditions. It makes earning a living really tricky. Unless, of course, you land a national spot. Then you can afford to spend your days running around auditioning.

I'm thinking about joining the Peace Corps.

w.

A Little Thing Like Breakfast With David Cale Makes Living In New York City Worthwhile

Last week I had breakfast with David Cale. We run into each other from time to time here in the East Village. We always say "Let's get together" and then we always get busy and let it slide. But finally we did it. We met at Cafe Mogador on St. Mark's Place. I ordered eggs over easy. David had the Foul Madamas.

I've known David for (gasp) twenty years. I was but a youth when I met him. He was already a star in the performance art world. I saw him in his one-person show The Redthroats at Second Stage and I've been smitten ever since. David is a true artist. The kind of performer who blends humor and poetry with the ease and grace of a figure skater. He's performed at major theaters across the country and been featured on Bette Midler's Mondo Beyondo on HBO. He's also won one OBIE and two Bessie Awards.

Currently David is making a recording of his hit musical show Floyd and Clea Under The Western Sky. He was so excited to have the opportunity to make this recording with some of the best musicians in the country. I can't wait to hear it. The show opened at the Long Wharf Theatre and played to acclaim in New York at Playwrights Horizons. But the story of how the show came into being is what really fascinated me. It all came about because David fell in love with a character he was playing in a film.

The film is The Slaughter Rule starring David Morse and Ryan Gosling.

New York Times flim critic Stephen Holden said: "To the smaller role of Gideon's old friend Studebaker, a local country singer who lurches around in an alcoholic daze wearing a stocking cap and a miner's lamp, the New York performance artist David Cale brings a heart-tugging vulnerability. Tough, plaintive country music, beautifully chosen and performed and mostly of the vintage honky-tonk and swing variety, plays a large role in the movie. Of all the human activities, it is the only reliable balm, alcohol being a portal to violence."

David couldn't let him go. Thus was born Floyd and Clea.

I sat enthralled listening to David tell me the story of creating this character. It's so brave to take a character that is so far from oneself - Cale is British and couldn't be further from a drunken mid-westerner - and continue to explore it as a musical no less. He truly goes out on a limb. This is what makes him a great artist.

We sat for nearly two hours over breakfast. We ordered another cappuccino. Our conversation wandered over personal terrain, a mutual friend we shared concern for. He told me about working with Alan Cumming and Cyndi Lauper in the recent Broadway revival of The Threepenny Opera. David was not at all certain he would get along with Mr. Cumming, also British and enormously talented. But the two became fast friends. David spoke with great admiration of Cumming, saying he "loves his way of being in the world". Well, that's the way I feel about David Cale. I love his way of being in the world. His sparkling intelligence, his gentle demeanor, the way he can tell a story and make you feel you're the only one in the world worth talking to...this is why I live in New York. Because some days I get to spend with heroes. Some days there breakfast with David Cale.

Osho on Acting

Osho on Acting

The great spiritual guru Osho has touched many lives. I keep a copy of his book The Inner Journey next to my bed. Last night I read this, and I thought of the acting process:

"When someone digs a well, he first takes out the soil and stones and then water seeps in from the sides of the well and fills it. The water was already there, it did not need to be brought from anywhere else. Only some stones and layers of soil needed to be removed. There were some hindrances, some obstacles: once they were removed the water appeared. It was not necessary to bring water to the well, it was already there - just some hindrances had to be removed."

Thus it is in acting. We don't "put on a character" we "let one emerge". The work is always clearer when we leave the realm of the thinking. As a famous acting teacher once said, "Get out of the way, it's none of your business."

Peace.
Wayne

Keep Going

"...that which the ego is most afraid to resemble, is often composed of the images of the violated (castrated) body, the ethnic out-group, and the exploited minority." Erik H. Erikson

The theater is a place for outcasts. Its a breeding ground for non-conformity. To search for evidence of consciousness in the human species is to be a tremendous optimist. To dedicate oneself to a permanent state of transience is an attempt to live only in the present. Rehearsal is seemingly anathema to the art of being in the moment. But rehearsal teaches us only the ritual motions of the proceedings, the structure of the game. The playing is the practice. Breathing through the fear we open ourselves to criticism and to the scarier possibility of self-revelation. We fear our own incompetence. We sense our own spiritual impotence. We circle our flaws in black magic marker and hang them on the sidewalk for all to see. In doing so we add one more voice to the soundtrack of evolution. We raise the bar one notch. We carry tradition into the present and create the trajectory for future expression. We tell our stories so we can know ourselves. As we normalize our outlandishness we create a safer world for the ones who otherwise wouldn't fit in. Keep going.

W.

G'bye Alfred

Last night was the final performance of Alfred Kinsey: A Love Story at the Michael Weller Theater. It's always sad to close a show, but I remind myself of something I heard a veteran actor at the Actor's Gang in LA say once: "I've been in hits. I've been in flops. They all close." Indeed.

Right after the show playwright Mike Folie introduced me to the lovely Miriam Hecht. Miriam had known the real Dr. Kinsey when he came to New York in 1942. She was among the first to give Kinsey her sex history, and helped introduce him to other candidates, as well as providing introductions to New York's gay community. After providing the Kinsey team with over 100 people to interview, Miriam ran afoul of the administrators at Hunter College where she was in attendance. Herman Wells, then president of Indiana University, came to her defense with "a soothing letter about science." I was especially honored when Ms. Hecht told me how well I had captured the famous Doctor's "little laugh".

From my perspective the show was a smashing success. And I don't say that just because I was in it. I've done some very earnest work that was, at the last, mediocre. But this show was different. It accomplished what any play could hope to accomplish given the restrictions of time and money that are always looming over the process: it fulfilled the playwright's vision. That is the only true test in creating new work. Friends will always be supportive, and critics are just another person's opinion. But if the production comes close to capturing the vision of the creator, then I say job well done. (For a great review of the show, check out the Gay City News.)

A huge debt of thanks to director George Craig for guiding me on this journey. Also, to my fellow cast members Melinda Wade, Jessica Dickey, and Carter Roy - I fell in love with each of you. Thanks for sharing your talent. See you on campus.

Wayne

Judging Your Character

I've heard acting teachers say this: Don't judge your character. I get their point. They want us to embody our roles as living, breathing human beings, not devils with painted mustaches. But this advice flies in the face of what we learned from legendary theater director Bertolt Brecht. Brecht created a whole acting technique based upon seeing a character objectively. "Alienation Technique" (which is really a mis-translation - "distancing" is more accurate) is all about the actor embodying the character without losing himself. It's the difference between writing fiction in the first person versus the third. What's to be gained by this? Truth. We can never really be somebody else, and to fool ourselves into thinking we can or should be is self-defeating.

What Brecht was getting at was the ability of the artist to allow their work to be consciously political. He came of age in a time when fascism was on the rise in Germany. People were inclined to "escape" to the theater, and the whole world, it seemed, had developed a kind of myopia. No one was seeing what was really there in front of them. Acting styles were no different. Actors "pretended" to be someone else, and in their pretending there was no claim on them personally to take responsibility for the content of their material or the ideas being conveyed.

I think sometimes as contemporary American actors we forget the usefulness of Brecht's lessons. The Stanislavsky Method, and especially the Strasberg spin on it, have convinced us that we must "be" the character somehow. And in order to be the character we must see things from the character's point of view rather than looking at character objectively and saying "he's a liar" or "she's a madwoman". This I believe is a mistake, especially in the theater and especially with large and epic roles.

I say this only because I have recently made this error. In my playing of Alfred Kinsey in Alfred Kinsey: A Love Story (now playing at the Michael Weller Theater) I was attempting to force the character into my own world view and personality, rather than expanding to play in his. Simply reminding myself of Brecht's techniques opened up a wide range of possibilities. I can judge Alfred Kinsey and still play him with truthfulness. To deny the complexity of the character shrinks the scale and limits me to the "immediate truth".

There's no doubt Kinsey is controversial, which makes him a great character to play. I received this email from my brother Randy yesterday, after I sent him some of our notices. His response was strong, negative, and articulate:

Wayne-
My visceral response to such a work as "Kinsey: A Love Story" was, as you may imagine, one of revulsion. Your role made it even more so. I am pleased that you sent me the NY Times article, more so that I could read your post on "Theatre Arts":

Kinsey does some terrible things in this play, and goes on quite an emotional journey. I was growing more and more depressed as we got closer to "opening" night. I thought it was my work. I kept thinking..."I don't understand the role." In fact, I was beginning to experience the role physically, experientially. And my conscious mind didn't like it. I was trying to protect myself. Hence the conflict. Hence the confusion. Hence the weak performance and dropped lines.

While you may presume my initial negativity was moral aversion (which it was, based on the very title title alone, which may be the grandest oxymoron ever rendered), it also stems from deeply held philosophical beliefs about cultural inversions and historical revisionism. Then I thought about "the Producers" (the 1968 movie) ---and "Springtime For Hitler"---and how an inversion can portray monstrosities via theatrical devices (humor in the case of Brooks' work) to portray a humane gestalt.

That is all I can take away from what you wrote, aside the understanding that art does have a sanction to deal in the unsavory to a higher effect. I personally lived in the milieu generated by Kinsey and have an undeniable bias based solely on the corrosive effect it had on so many lives particularly in that era. As cannot see the play, I reserve my judgments in favor of your artistic license and congratulate you on the review.

"Moral aversion!" Yes. Well, that is certainly a useful perspective to own as an actor creating a role. If I allow myself awareness of Kinsey's darkness, it fuels the playing, sparks the imagination, and turns the light of truth up a notch. At least I hope so. Otherwise, what's the point?

Until next time....
Wayne

Up and Running with Alfred Kinsey

Last night I opened in the title role of Mike Foley's play Alfred Kinsey: A Love Story (playing now through September 23rd). There's always something jittery about an "opening night". It's a strange psychological phenomenon. It's really no different from any other night. We'd already done the show in several previews. But calling one performance the official "opening" ramps up the energy for some reason. Not necessarily a bad thing. Energy can be good. It's knowing how to channel it that's the trick.

I'm always curious about this process of creating a character. We began previews last Thursday, and by Saturday night I felt completely lost. I began to mistrust all the good work we'd done in rehearsals. I felt tentative about the story. I didn't feel like I was breathing the role. My focus was off. I began to drop lines. It seemed like a total disaster.

It wasn't, of course. People who saw that particular preview liked the play a lot and didn't notice anything wrong on stage. I call that "the level below which you cannot fall" (meaning - no matter how bad you think you are, your technique should kick in and carry you). But still I was sure I was missing something vital. I had to go back to the proverbial drawing board and rethink my playing of Kinsey.

What I realized was that I was blocking my merging with the character. Kinsey does some terrible things in this play, and goes on quite an emotional journey. I was growing more and more depressed as we got closer to "opening" night. I thought it was my work. I kept thinking..."I don't understand the role." In fact, I was beginning to experience the role physically, experientially. And my conscious mind didn't like it. I was trying to protect myself. Hence the conflict. Hence the confusion. Hence the weak performance and dropped lines.

You can feel it when your acting really lands. Something shifts inside you. It's literally a physical sensation. The work moves from intellectual to cellular, and there's a period of adjustment as your body re-negotiates the change. It may take a few shows. It may take many. Sometimes it never happens at all. There's no integration of character and the performance remains trapped in "thinking". That is a worst-case scenario. And that is what was happening to me as of this past Saturday night.

I went home and did some thinking. It finally dawned on me...Kinsey is a villain!! How delicious!!
I don't often get to play bad guys. Here's my crack at a contemporary Iago. This is going to be fun.

Fun. Oh, that's right. This is supposed to be fun.

By Sunday the character landed. I began to let go and just trust myself. I stopped worrying about the lines and started just really watching my fellow actors - all of whom are amazingly present. I remembered those words of Sanford Meisner: "Get the attention off yourself and onto the other person." My body relaxed. My voice dropped down nice and deep. My hands were no longer flying about. The play flowed along, and I started to lean into the nastiness of Kinsey rather than trying to bend him to some version more acceptable to my own personality. I didn't miss a beat. And it was fun.

Now, with opening night jitters in the past, the exploration of character can really start.

The Kinsey Report

Rehearsals for Alfred Kinsey: A Love Story are in the final phase. Tomorrow we move into the Michael Weller Theatre in mid-town and begin our tech rehearsals. It's an exciting time. I have a really good feeling about this one folks!

This is a new play by Mike Folie. Mike has been named one of the most promising emerging writers by Dramatist Magazine. I wasn't familiar with his work before this, but I'll sure be keeping an eye out for him now. He paints language in dense, bold strokes and pulls no punches with his characters. In this portrayal of Kinsey, he takes the famous sex researcher to task for hiding his own sexuality while denouncing the hypocrisy of others. Mr. Folie came to this project as a commission from George W. George, who is an endlessly fascinating character in his own right. He is a writer and producer (most famously of the film My Dinner With Andre) and is also the son of the famous cartoonist Rube Goldberg.

Directer Craig George has struck exactly the right tone for the rehearsal process. It's been calm, productive, and confident - like the man himself. Other cast members include Melinda Wade, Jessica Dickey (call her Jessie), and the devastatingly handsome Carter Roy.

I'm so grateful for the chance to play such a multi-dimensional character as Kinsey. Act one ends with Kinsey about to leave his hotel room for a "homosexual bar in Greenwich Village" - ostensibly to do more research. Before he goes, however, Kinsey is confronted by John Sanders, his student/protegee and late-night sex object. Sanders challenges Kinsey's idea of sexual love, which is never spoken of outside the bedroom. "No more hiding from each other. No more doing this under the cover of darkness." In Mike Foley's play intimacy becomes the word that dare not speak its name.

If nothing else you will be amazed at the scenic design by Sarah Lambert. In a tiny little space she has brought to life the inner world of Dr. Kinsey, the time in which he lived, and the spaces he inhabits. Her work is meticulous and alone worth the price of admission ($18). Add Richard Tatum's lights, Irma Escobar's costumes, Shaun Fillion's projections, Mark Goodloe's sound, and the navigational skill of Stage Manager Eileen Arnold and Alfred Kinsey: A Love Story should spring to life this week. The play officially opens September 5. Tickets are available at 212.352.3101 or visit Theatermania. I hope to see you there!

Wrapped

Filming for Wake has finally ended. I wrapped on Monday morning after a frantic few hours at a diner in Long Beach. I was under the gun because I had to be back in Manhattan to begin rehearsals for a new play, Alfred Kinsey: A Love Story. That meant the film crew had to finish my scene by 10am. Everyone felt the pressure of time, but we made it. I had a fantastic experience working with director Andrew Lawton. He and Anre Garrett, his partner at Pier's End Productions, made every effort to be professional and courteous through what was no doubt a challenging process. Shooting was delayed the first day (August 8) by a freak storm that swept through New York City and dumped about 3 inches of rain down in two hours, shutting down all mass transit. Tricky way to start off a shoot. But somehow they made up the time, and the level of concentration they brought to the work was exemplary. It's all been a bit of a whirlwind, and I will talk in greater length about the entire process in another blog. Mostly I just want to say thank you to Andrew and Anre, as well as Shane Tilston, Sheila Kwan, Mike Sapienza, Skip, Laura, Chris, Jimmy, Ann, Malissa...everyone involved in the making of the film for a great experience. I'll miss you guys!
w.

L'Order

This may be a bit of a blurry-eyed blog. I just got home from my day, which culminated in seeing the rock band MUSE at Madison Square Garden. Can anything in the world compare with the energy of a rock concert? I don't think so. It was an outrageous show, and those of you not familiar with this band may want to just go directly to iTunes and download all three albums. But I digress.

Earlier today I had an audition for Law & Order. I realized today as I crossed the West Side Highway to their casting office at Chelsea Piers that I've been showing up at these auditions for over fifteen years! I've done three episodes of the show so far, including Episode #3, in the very first season. Suzanne Ryan, the Casting Director, has almost single-handedly kept the pool of New York actors working in television. No other show has added so much to the economy of New York City. Law & Order is on every single New York actor's resume unless they've been living in a cave for the last ten years. I'm always sort of happy to get the audition, but the whole thing also makes me queasy. Their casting sessions almost always run behind, but as soon as you're in the room they're over in a split second. Quick, hard, brutal. Just like the show itself. This season, actor Jeremy Sisto joins the cast, playing a new detective on the force. The role I went up for is that of his brother, Joe Lupo, who decides to take his own life after being diagnosed with cancer for the second time. It's a short scene in the teaser, and then another scene on camera where the character says his "last words". Director Allan Coulter was good enough to give me a second shot, after telling me that the stakes were much higher than what I was playing. How do you wrap your head around the final moments of life without sinking into maudlin self-pity? I don't really know how it went, but I left feeling kind of awful, so maybe that's a good thing.

Tomorrow I begin rehearsals for Alfred Kinsey: A Love Story. I won't divulge anything until after the first rehearsal. The only thing I will say is that the script sure makes me horny.

Wednesday begins shooting on the short film Wake by Andrew Lawton. Here's another cheery little role, a father who loses his son in Iraq. Boy, I sure know how tip pick them. Next time, I want to do something more on along the lines of Nacho Libre, which is currently my favorite movie.

Congratulations to my friend Rob Sedgewick. He just landed a role in the Off-Broadway show The Perfect Crime. He's bracing himself for the "bridge and tunnel crowd", but I think any work at all is a good thing. See you on the boards Rob!

So long for now.
Wayne

Creating an Ensemble

This morning I met my friend Dean Gray at the dog run in Union Square. I was hosing down my golden retriever Truman (it was a sweltering day here in the Big Apple) when Dean arrived with his two border terriers, Willow and Jimmy. Dean is a playwright and director. We worked together earlier this year when I directed a play he wrote called Uncle. It's such a beautiful story, so well crafted, and the production was critically a success. We were both wishing it could have played longer, found a wider audience. But the experience of producing it was invaluable. I think it's so important to switch hats in the theater. Actors who direct become better actors. Directors who write are able to envision the theatricality of their work in a way non-directors often don't. It's just a good thing to do. Now Dean the playwright is headed off to Wisconsin to direct a show that he's been passionate about for years.

The play is called The Drawer Boy. It's a charming story about two men who survived a war together. They now live on a small farm and have a simplified life that allows them to bury the painful memories of the horrors they witnessed together. That is, until they are confronted by a young theater director who begins investigating their lives for a "play". Truth will out in the end, but is it the best thing for these survivors? The story takes on other levels in its examination of the theater, the place of theater in the lives of non-urban people, the sacredness of storytelling, and the power of personal narrative.

Dean was talking a little about the process he'd like to engage in with the actors. He wants to create an ensemble, actors who move in synch, breath together, trust each other, have an awareness of their bodies in space. This is very different from the traditional method of staging a play. Of course there is always a process. But sometimes the little bit of effort it takes to get people out of themselves has a big dividend in the end.

One of the very earliest, and perhaps still most authoritative books on this kind of work is Improvisation for the Theater by Viola Spolin. Dean checked at the Strand, New York City's largest used-book store, but came up empty. I know I have a copy somewhere, but it's buried in my storage under a decade of other accumulated life-baggage. As we talked, I began to recall some of the exercises that I used in my own rehearsals: some were taught to me by Joseph Chaikin, some come from Cecily Berry's outstanding book Text In Action, and a few come from my colleague Eva Burgess who uses this work so successfully in her productions. I told Dean I'd write some down and share them with him. So, Dean, here they are. Hope they help.

1. Sound/Movement Exercise - This was invented by Joe Chaikin, and has become a staple of actor training. In its simplest form, the company forms a circle. (Most of these exercises are worked in a circle.) One actor comes to the center and begins a simple, repetitive movement accompanied by a repetitive sound. The actors stays with the sound/movement either allowing it to become more defined and more committed, or allowing it to change. What's important is that the actor move below the level of conscious thinking and begin to allow his body and voice to connect in a visceral way. There are many variations on this exercise. One of the best is after the actor has established her sound/movement they then face another actor in the circle and "teach" that actor their sound/movement. That actor enters the circle with the other actor's sound/movement and then transforms it into an entirely new one that he then passes to another in the circle. Play around with this one. It's a great warm-up and will really give people permission to break their inhibitions.
2. Walking the Space - This is as simple as it sounds, but it's really very important. You can start in a circle and then break it, or just ask the actors to begin walking about randomly. Then you can play: Fast, slow, running, slow-motion, freeze. It's great to do different walks to: on the heels, on the toes, outside edge of the foot, inside edge of the foot; and mix and match: heel of the right foot, toes on the left. Outside of the right foot, inside of the left. You get the idea. Have fun!
3. Create images (from Eva Burgess) - Give the actors 15 minutes and ask them to come up with 5 images of the play. These images should not be literal, but should be freeze-frames of their bodies in space, in relation to each other. This is performed non-verbally. They should learn each image, and then perform them for the director. They will inevitably tell the story of the play in a completely unexpected way.
   
4. Passing the Ball - This one also comes from Eva Burgess. Bring in 3 or 4 juggling balls, hacky-sacks or any soft bean ball. Then start, one ball at a time, to pass the ball across the circle to each other. Establish a pattern. Throw underhand, aim for the chest, and make eye contact with your partner. Then, after the pattern is established, add another ball, then another. This is great for concentration. Do this at every rehearsal!
5. Lone Wolf - I used to love this one. When I was in college we would do it before every show. The challenge is to form a close circle, a huddle. Then, simply count from 1 to 10. Or if you get really good, try doing the whole alphabet. But here's the trick: There's no planned order for the speaking, and if two people overlap, speak at the same time, you must start the whole thing again from the top. It's frustrating, but wait until you succeed!
6. Status - This is good in a large group. Bring in a deck of cards and randomly ask each actor to choose one without looking. Now they must "embody" their cards, an ace having the highest "status", a two having the lowest. They should try to be as clear as possible about where they fall in the pecking order, and see if the rest of the group can figure out what card they are.
7. Japanese - This is my favorite. It's quiet, meditative, simple. But not easy. The actors form a circle. One person starts. They make eye contact with another person across the circle. Hands folded in front of them, they then bow to the person whose eyes they've met. The person receiving the bow, bows back in acknowledgment and then immediately looks for another person to "send" a bow to. As soon as your bow has been received you start walking to assume the position of the person who has received your bow. You must pay attention. It's about flow and timing. Try it out. Maybe you'll develop your own version.

OK, so that's enough for today. I'll try to post some more as I think of them. There are lots of others that can be done in the context of scene work too, to look for clarity, rhythm, obstacles. We'll get to those another time. Thank you Dean for giving me the idea for this blog. Break a leg!
W.

nothing nothing then something

Phew. What a week. Sometimes it's only a waiting game. A few auditions here and there. Nothing. I keep busy doing my own work - at Dixon Place with Eva Burgess, working on a website, writing. Then suddenly something in the air changes and things get busy instantly. But let me back up a bit.

Last Friday night I went with my friends James Shanley and Sarah Ford to see the Obie Award winning production of The Brig at the newly-opened Living Theatre on Clinton Street. This show is unbelievable! And I mean that in a good way. Judith Malina has reclaimed her title as the Mother of American Theater with this production. You will not encounter another show like this anywhere else. And understandably so. This is a production that has been 40 years in the making. If you have a chance run - don't walk and see this show immediately. It's only play for a few more weeks. Wednesday nights are pay what you can, so don't let money stop you. It is well worth your time, believe me.

On Sunday I had my first rehearsal for Wake. The film is scheduled to begin shooting the second week of August. We had a table read with the full cast. I'm truly honored to be among such fine actors. Congratulations to director Andrew Lawton and producers Shane Tilton and Anre B. Garrett for assembling a first-rate company.

Monday afternoon I received a phone call from my agent David Cash at Henderson-Hogan with an audition for Tuesday. It was for a play called Alfred Kinsey: A Love Story by Mike Folie being produced in September by The New York Theatre Collective. They sent me the script by email and I got to work on it right away. I fell in love with the role of Alfred Kinsey. As you would expect from a play based upon the legendary scientist, it plunges the treacherous waters of sexuality and taboo. I prepped as well as I could in a short amount of time then decided to just go have fun, not getting my hopes up too high. I got an offer the same day.

Wednesday morning, however, David Cash calls to tell me it isn't going to work out after all, because my shooting schedule on Wake conflicts with the first week of rehearsal. Argh! I was crushed. So I did what any desperate actor would do in my situation. I begged. I pleaded with David to work it out, and I promised to make up some rehearsal time along the way. To my absolute and complete surprise - it worked! Suddenly I'm in the enviable position of working on a film and a play, both great roles, both terrific projects, all at the same time! This life is sure confusing.

Thank you to casting director Cindi Rush for bringing me in, and mucho thanks to director Craig George for casting me. I can't wait to start!

OK, enough about me. (Is it even possible to say that on a blog?) Back to Letter To Actor D. In the first two sentences Eugenio Barba writes:

I have often been struck by a lack of seriousness in your work. This is not the same as a lack of concentration or good will. It is the expression of two attitudes.

For many years I've read this is saying "You don't your work seriously enough. You must work harder!" But working hard isn't the same thing as working well. I'm beginning to learn the difference. I think what Barba is getting at here really is a belief in oneself as an artist. To take yourself seriously is to have the conviction that what you are doing is what you should be doing, that working in the theater is important, and isn't just a frivolous self-indulgence. The next few sentences could also be read as "you don't know what you're doing", but again, I don't think that's what Barba's saying:

First of all, it seems as if your actions are not driven by any inner conviction or irresistible need which leaves its mark on your exercise, improvisations and performance. You may be concentrated in your work, without sparing your energies, your gestures may be technically correct and precise, but your actions remain empty. I don’t believe in what you are doing. Your body clearly says “I have been told to do this.” But your nerves, your brain, your spine, are not committed, and with this skin-deep-commitment you want to make me believe that what you are doing is vital to you.

Driven by...inner conviction. I don't think he means the character. He isn't talking here about believing in a Stanislavskian objective, or getting behind the situation in the play. He's talking about political conviction. It can only be political. It was Judith Malina (again) who told me as a student at NYU that unless you have a political message to convey, all theater is nothing but vanity. "What you're saying is look at me! Look at my costume! Don't I look wonderful! And listen to my voice! Don't I sound powerful!" Theater without political conviction is folly.

Barba continues:

You do not sense the importance of that which you want to share with the spectators. How then can you expect the spectator to be gripped by your actions? How can you, with this attitude, uphold the understanding of the theater as a place where social inhibitions and conventions are annihilated to make way for an open-hearted and absolute communication?

The annihilation of convention makes way for open-hearted communication. Bingo. Now we're on to something. We begin to see why theater is in fact imperative, even in this age of film, video, and mass communication.

And so, dear reader, I leave you with that. Until next time...break a leg.

w.

Letter to Actor D.

Between 1997 and 2003 I had the great good fortune of being co-teacher of a series of master classes for actors and directors with Joseph Chaikin. You'll hear me speak of Joe often in this blog. He was my hero, my mentor, my friend. He was also my favorite director.

One person that Joe admired greatly is theater director Eugenio Barba. Barba was born in Italy, but made his way to Norway, and then finally to Denmark, where he has been the director of Odin Teatret since 1964. In our classes, Joe and I always distributed a packet of materials to the students on the first day. The packet was meant to help us find common ground, to inspire the students in the work we would be doing together for the next six weeks. One of the items included in the packet was Eugenio Barba's Letter To Actor D.

This letter is the most inspiring epistle on the theater that I've ever read. I find myself returning to it time and again. In fact, for the next few blogs I'm going to address this letter in detail, churning it over paragraph by paragraph, so that the ideas contained in it will permeate our sub-conscious. But for tonight I'm going to post the letter in its entirety. It was given to me by Joe and I don't know what book he got it from. But the original publication is credited in the preface. I hope you will find this as enlightening as I do.

LETTER TO ACTOR D.

This letter was written by Eugenio Barba to one of the actors of the Odin in 1967. It has often appeared in books and magazines in different parts of the world, either to illustrate the Odin’s vision of theatre or to present, in more general terms, its attitude toward a new actor. It was first published in the book Synapunkter om kunst (Copenhagen, 1968).

I have often been struck by a lack of seriousness in your work. This is not the same as a lack of concentration or good will. It is the expression of two attitudes.

First of all, it seems as if your actions are not driven by any inner conviction or irresistible need which leaves its mark on your exercise, improvisations and performance. You may be concentrated in your work, without sparing your energies, your gestures may be technically correct and precise, but your actions remain empty. I don’t believe in what you are doing. Your body clearly says “I have been told to do this.” But your nerves, your brain, your spine, are not committed, and with this skin-deep-commitment you want to make me believe that what you are doing is vital to you. You do not sense the importance of that which you want to share with the spectators. How then can you expect the spectator to be gripped by your actions? How can you, with this attitude, uphold the understanding of the theater as a place where social inhibitions and conventions are annihilated to make way for an open-hearted and absolute communication? You represent the community within this space, with the humiliations you have undergone, the degradation which has closed you up, your cynicism as self-defense, and your optimism as the essence of irresponsibility. All this, together with your guilt, your need to love, the longing for a lost paradise hidden in the past, close to the person who could make you forget fear. Everybody present with you in this space will be shaken if you succeed in rediscovering these sources, this common ground of human experience, the hidden fatherland. This is the bond that unites you to the others, a treasure that lies buried deep within all of us, never unearthed, because it is our only comfort, and because it hurts when we touch it.

The second attitude I see in you is your embarrassment in considering the seriousness of your work. You feel the need to laugh, to sneer, and come with humorous comments about what you and your colleagues are doing. It is as if you want to flee from the responsibility that you feel is inherent in your craft, which consists in establishing communication with human beings and in assuming the responsibility for what you are revealing. You are frightened by seriousness, the knowledge that you are on the fringes of the permissible. You are frightened that everything you do is synonymous with tediousness, fanaticism, or over-specialization. But in a world where people around us either no longer believe in anything, or only pretend to believe in order to be left in peace, he who digs deep within himself to reach a clarity about his own situation, his absence of ideals, his need for spiritual life, will always be called fanatic or naïve. In a world with cheating as a norm, he who seeks his own truth is taken for a fraud, a hypocrite.

I wonder if you realize that all you create, everything liberated and given form by your work is also a part of life and deserves care and respect. Your actions before the community of the spectators should be powered by the flame hidden in the red-hot iron, the voice in the burning bush. Only then will your actions live on in the senses and the memory of the spectator, fermenting into unforeseeable consequences.

We know that when Dullin lay on his deathbed, his face deformed itself into all the important roles he had played: Smerdiakov, Volpone, Richard III. It was not just the man Dullin who was dying but also the actor, as well as the many stages of his working life.

If I ask you why you became an actor, you will reply: “To fulfill myself, to express myself.” But what does this mean? Who has fulfilled himself? Was it Manager Hansen who lived a quiet life, respectable and without problems, never tormented by answerless questions, or the romantic Gauguin, who broke with all of the social norms and finished his life in miserable poverty and degradation in a Polynesian village, convinced that he had found the lost freedom, Noa-Noa? In an epoch where belief in God is diagnosed as a neurosis, we lack the scales to weigh our life and tell us whether we have been fulfilled or not. No matter which personal and hidden motives have led you to the theater, once you are within, you must find a meaning which, stretching beyond your own person, confronts you socially with others.

It is only within the catacombs that we can prepare a new life. It is here that one can seek spiritual commitment without fear of confrontation with questions that will bring about a new morality. This presupposes courage: the majority of people has no need of us. Your work is a sort of social mediation upon yourself, your human condition and the vents that touch you to the quick through the experiences of our age. In such a precarious theater which shocks the normal psychic well-being, every performance can be your last. You should consider it as such, the final possibility of reaching out to others, crying out your last word, your testament, the reckoning of your actions.

If being an actor can mean all this to you, then a new theater will be born. A new approach to the literary tradition will spring forth, a new technique and a new relationship between you and the people who come to see you each evening because they need you.