The Great Man Theory and the Dangers of Deification: Part 2.

I have gotten a little feedback from my earlier post about the great man theory and the dangers of deification.  Here are a few comments from some clients and friends. The first comment is maybe the most important, a friend mis-read the title and thought it said "The Great Man Theory and Avoiding the Dangers of DEFECATION." I shudder to think of the myriad of dangers defecation poses for the actor. My main piece of advice in this area is something I tell all my clients, from beginners to big stars....Don't shit your pants! It is a simple piece of advice but it can take you a long way in this business, or any other.  While there is a chance your career can bounce back from a pants-shitting, you are better off not risking it and avoiding shitting your pants at all costs.

The other question I got was, "what are some examples of some actors who fell into the trap of deification?" (not defecation).  I am usually pretty hesitant to criticize actors even if they are big time well known stars.  The reason being is that actors, even big stars, may not have all that much power when it comes to the performance we see on the screen.  If it is terrible, it may be the fault of the director, of the script, of meddling producers, you name it.  Also, I just like actors so I don't like to attack one of my own tribe.  With that said, I do think there is value in critiquing a performance in order to learn something from it as opposed to indulging in shadenfreude.

A generalized good example of deification can be seen in virtually every portrayal of President Kennedy.  Lots of actors have played the role, and everyone of them gets stuck trying to impersonate the former President.  His speech is so distinct that actors get lost trying to imitate it and they end up playing the public JFK as opposed to the private Jack Kennedy.  The other issue with films about Kennedy is that filmmakers and audiences have deified him as well so they don't push for or want a nuanced performance, they want JFK to be a simplified hero because of his tragic death.  This is understandable and as I said in the previous post on the topic, the same is true of Martin Luther King Jr.  People are old enough to remember King and Kennedy or have seen video of them, so portraying them in a unique, honest and artistically complex way is nearly impossible because of the audiences expectations, and therefore the producers and directors expectations as well.  While a film about the less respected parts of their lives, like their womanizing, would be very interesting, it wouldn't get made because it would feel disrespectful to two tragic heroes of the American myth.  So we end up with one dimensional performances in generally simplistic films. 

Speaking of historical figures, let us take a look at the Academy Award winning performance of Daniel Day-Lewis in Steven Speilberg's "Lincoln".  You may be wondering how Daniel Day-Lewis is mentioned in a posting about failures in acting?  Let me say up front, Daniel Day-Lewis is arguably the greatest actor walking the planet today, and he did deservedly win an Oscar for his portrayal of Lincoln.  The issue though is deification, and while Mr. Day-Lewis wasn't guilty of it, Mr. Speilberg most certainly was. Day-Lewis' performance was pitch perfect.  He created a truly unique Lincoln, with a higher pitched voice than others who have played him for example, and an emotional and human frailty missing from other actors attempts at the part.

 Where the film fails, and I think it fails spectacularly (or miserably depending on your perspective), is in Speilberg's handling of the material.  For instance, Daniel Day-Lewis has zero control over the soft lighting that framed Lincoln like a halo whenever he was on screen.  He also had no control over John Williams' score that would soar like a valiant American eagle whenever Lincoln so much as entered a room or opened his mouth.  Day-Lewis had no control over Tony Kushner's trite screenplay, nor over Doris Kearns Goodwin's book upon which it was based.  Daniel Day-Lewis could only control his own performance, and he did it wonderfully, but he couldn't control Speilberg's worship of Lincoln and hence his turning the film into the canonization of St. Lincoln.  The film fails because while Day-Lewis created a living and breathing very human Lincoln, the rest of the cast and Speilberg and his creative team, undermined his performance by treating his Lincoln as if he were the dead Abe Lincoln resurrected and giving him the reverence and doe-eyed fawning that scenario would deserve.  None of us have seen Lincoln alive nor heard his voice and Daniel Day- Lewis was able to build Lincoln from his own creative genius.  Sadly, Steven Speilberg's creative genius seems to be only of use when sharks, dinosaurs or aliens are involved, and thus we are left with the wasted performance of a master actor in a self-righteous mess of a movie.

One performance that was scuttled due to deification cannot be blamed on the director.  The film was "Ali" (2001) directed by Michael Mann and starring Will Smith as the heavyweight boxer and self proclaimed greatest of all time.  

Will Smith is a major movie star and one of the biggest box office draws of all time so his playing the greatest of all time felt like a perfect fit.  "Ali" seemed to be an attempt on his part to try and garner more respect as an actor as opposed to a movie star.  He did receive an Oscar nomination for his performance but that may have had more to do with Hollywood politics than it did with his performance.   Will Smith is not only a movie star but also a rapper and had a hit tv show, "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" so he is someone who is known for oozing charisma.  He's made a phenomenal career out of his charisma.  Yet, when playing Muhammed Ali, one of the most charismatic men of the last century, Smith became wooden and dull.  He fell into the trap of deifying Ali, which is an easy trap to fall into since Ali is such an amazing man.  Smith wanted Ali to be the coolest man on the planet, but Ali wasn't cool, he had an inferno of rage blazing within him.  Rage against the injustice of racism he grew up under in Louisville, Kentucky.  Rage against the establishment that wouldn't recognize his greatness due to his religion (The Nation of Islam) and rage against the government that sent thousands of young men to die in a far off land for a fight that made no sense.  Ali was a cauldron of rage.  He may have channeled it into charisma, humor and his athletic prowess...but it was the rage that fueled him.

Smith's performance fails because he refused to see the complexity that made Ali so charismatic and electric.  Ali wasn't the charm, the smile, the rhyming poems or the  tomfoolery.  Ali wasn't a 'nice guy'.  He was a rough, tough badass of a  man.  Ali had a side to him that was nasty, mean, brutal and menacing.  Ali physically tortured opponents like Floyd Patterson whom he intentionally didn't knock out so he could inflict more harm to him round after round because Patterson refused to call Ali by his Muslim name.  He racially attacked and humiliated a friend, Joe Frazier, who gave him money when he wasn't allowed to fight due to his refusal to serve in the military.  He called Frazier an 'uncle Tom' and said he looked like a gorilla. This is vicious, brutal stuff but it's what also made Ali the greatest of all time.  He was a merciless assassin who would carve up his prey and brutalize them into submission.  Ali certainly is a great man, but what made him great wasn't the surface stuff but rather the internal life that propelled him to that greatness.  

Will Smith was creatively overwhelmed trying to play Ali.  When an actor of inferior ability and imagination comes up against a part demanding complexity and skill they either do the hard creative work and rise to the occasion, or they don't.  Will Smith didn't and we were left with a wooden, lifeless performance that fell flat and was an injustice to the complex greatness of a man like Ali.

Another reason Smith may have felt restricted in how he could play Ali was that Ali is still alive, and maybe in the back of Will Smith's head he was thinking to himself, "What will Ali think of this?".  Like millions of other people, Smith reveres Ali, and rightfully so, but that type of deification may have been what held him back from giving a more dynamic and complex performance.

Part of the struggle for an actor like Will Smith is that he is a movie star first and foremost and that is different from being an actor.  Being a movie star can be a wonderful thing for your wallet but a terrible hindrance to the actor's creative spirit.  But that is a topic for another day.  

I hope these few examples helped show what the dangers of deification can look like and help you to avoid falling into them.  The main lesson is this, when playing a great man (or woman), do not deny their shadow, their inner darkness.  Embracing the shadow of a great man (or woman) will help you create a more complex character and give a more nuanced performance.

My apologies to Will Smith and Steven Speilberg if my critiques offended.  I genuinely meant no personal harm as I understand you both to be two of the nicest and most generous people in the business.  You have my number if you'd like to discuss this posting.

The Great Man Theory and Avoiding the Dangers of Deification

The "Great Man Theory" is, in very basic language, a 19th century idea that history is driven by the actions of great men.​  Deification is simply the act of making a god out of someone or something.  You may be asking yourself, what does the great man theory and deification have to do with acting?  Well, let's take a closer look and find out.

As human beings and actors, one of our great weaknesses is our psychological need to make gods of our great men and women.  We project all sorts of positive attributes and noble motivations onto our 'great men' in order to give us something to aspire to and believe in.  History has proven that this is never a good idea as 'great men' always prove themselves to more 'man' than 'great'.  ​Yet the great man theory is the dominant theory of history taught to us from a young age in school and popular culture.  We learn that Columbus discovered America, George Washington founded the United States, Abe Lincoln freed the slaves and Elvis invented rock and roll.  We want a simple narrative and the great man theory gives it to us without getting us mired in any complicating details.

Similarly, in drama, whether it be film, tv or theater, we are told to find a simple narrative in order to tell a story. ​ We are constantly told by the gatekeepers of our culture that the audience want to be told simple stories with an easy to follow and understandable narrative.  As actors though, we want to flesh out our characters and give them depth, dimension and human complexity well beyond what any surface story would allow.  Our yearning for this creative human complexity is directly at odds with our culture's alleged demand for narrative simplicity.  So if we are fortunate enough to get to play a historically famous character, a 'great' man or woman, how do we swim against this tide of simplicity and create a character of depth and dimensions well beyond the typical one note portrayals given to us in history?

To start, we must set aside our personal feelings or beliefs toward the character.  This is where we risk deification.  Actors must avoid making gods out of the people they play. Why?  Because gods are one dimensional and boring.  Gods have no dramatic tension.  They are perfect.  On the other hand, people are interesting because of all of their flaws and foibles.  Actors are supposed to show the human condition, not the ​divine condition.  If we admire the 'great man' to the point of deification, we are falling into the trap of simplicity that strangles our imagination and creativity in the crib.  Deifying 'great men' is just as damaging to our creative approach as demonizing them. 

In order to better understand how to create a complex character out of a great man of history, let's take a look at some great actors taking on the challenge of playing 'great men'.​

Let's start with Ben Kingsley's Oscar winning portrayal of Gandhi.  Gandhi was famous the world over for being a revolutionary figure who kicked the British out of India through non-violence.  Playing Gandhi as a saint would certainly play to the audiences expectations and maybe even be accurate according to the script, but as a genuine portrait of the man Gandhi, it would be inaccurate and, frankly, one note and boring.  

In order to give the character dimension and depth, the actor needs to create a lush and vivid inner life that can drive the characters actions in their outer life.  Ben Kingsley is as good an actor as there is, so ​when he portrayed Gandhi he didn't focus on his gentleness, kindliness or saintliness, the script already highlighted those things.  Ben Kingsley dug deep into Gandhi and didn't find a soft, sweet and gentle love at his center, but rather he found a burning anger.  Gandhi was angry at the world, at racism, at the injustice of Imperial Britain, at man's inhumanity to man and finally at violence itself.  Kingsley has said that Gandhi is the angriest person he's ever played.  Now, he couldn't bring this deeply felt core of anger out in ways that weren't on the page of the script (having Gandhi punch someone in the face wouldn't fly), he had to be in the world like Gandhi was in the world, a man of peace.  The lesson from Ben Kingsley and Gandhi is this: external peace does not mean internal peace.  In fact, the opposite is almost always true.

Kingsley's Gandhi was invigorated and driven by this internal anger.  It drove him through the film and made him incredibly dynamic and charismatic.  Playing a historical man of peace is difficult, there has never been a very good portrayal of Martin Luther King for example, although that may have more to do with audience expectation and deification by both writers and directors than the lack of an actor to accurately play him,  Kingsley however, gives us the blue print for bringing a vibrant inner life to a man of peace.  It is to play to his internal opposites.

Denzel Washington's portrayal of Malcolm X is another example of a great actor bringing life and dimensionality to what could have been a performance undercut by deification.  Denzel Washington, along with Spike Lee's script, made Malcolm into more than just a noble and defiant civil rights leader.  Denzel played Malcolm X as a real man, one who was constantly growing and evolving, be it physically, emotionally, intellectually, politically or spiritually.  It is a truly beautiful performance which shows Malcolm in all his humanity and frailty, from his unconscious rage and desperation, to his righteous anger and defiance, to his disillusionment and finally enlightenment.  What makes Denzel's Malcolm so interesting is that he struggles, not just against outside forces, but against his own inner weakness and insecurity.  A lesser actor would have made Malcolm into a strong, charismatic leader who never doubted himself or his mission, the pop culture Malcolm we see on t-shirts.  Denzel avoids that trap by not making him fearless but rather filled with a complicated fear and self doubt.  Malcolm's courage in the film (and life) is accentuated by the fact that Denzel lets us see that Malcolm is afraid, but acts in spite of his fear.  Malcolm is at times on unsteady ground and unsure of himself, but he moves forward despite those fears and that gives the film and the portrayal the powerful dramatic tension that would have been lacking with a lesser actor (and director).

Val Kilmer's portrayal of Jim Morrison in "The Doors" is another great performance by an actor who easily could have fallen into the trap of deification.  Morrison is a legend, therefore Kilmer could have been expected to play him as the icon of cool that most perceive him to be.  Instead, Kilmer, informed by Oliver Stone's script, makes Morrison into a tragically flawed anti-hero that we watch self destruct.  Kilmer creates such a full portrait of Morrison by letting us see him not as just the cool, sexy rock god, but also as the cruel asshole, the creep, the drunk and finally the fool.  Both Kilmer and Stone should be applauded for the honesty of the Jim Morrison they put on film, for both were self described fans of The Doors and idolized Jim, but they didn't let their idolization (which is merely a different form of deification) get in the way of creating a full, dramatic and human character.  Kilmer's Morrison is fascinating not because he is a rock god, but rather because, as Morrison says of himself in the film, "I see myself as an intelligent, sensitive human being, with the soul of a clown, which forces me to blow it at the most important moments."  The fact that Kilmer's Jim is aware enough to know this about himself yet is incapable of doing anything about it, makes him an absolutely captivating and heart breaking character.  It would have been a terrible mistake and a creative crime to make Jim Morrison nothing more than the guy on the album cover.  Thankfully for us, Kilmer (and Stone) gave us the real Jim or at least a real man playing the part of Jim Morrison, which, in a weird way, is exactly what Jim Morrison was doing all along.  Kilmer masterfully removed the public mask of Jim Morrison and showed the human being behind it, and the film and the audience were better for it.

​These three examples show us that the key to playing a historically 'great man' is to embrace and cultivate opposites.  Gandhi's anger, Malcolm's fear and Morrison's clown are examples of creating a dynamic internal life of opposites in order to give a character's outer actions complexity and depth.  The secret inner life of a character allows the actor to be engaged on a level beyond a simplistic approach based on surface actions and gives us the chance to bring our own unique creative imagination to any character, no matter how famous and well known they may be.

On Grief and Acting: Revelations From Hamlet in the April of My Discontent

Actors are often called upon to portray grief, but what should the actor do when they are actually grieving and being called upon to act?  Anyone who has suffered through the death of a loved one knows that it is a devastating and disorienting experience.  It can be even more difficult for the actor who must be able to access their emotions in order to do their job.  So let's take a look at how the actor can try and work through, or at least survive, their grief.

Grieving is an entirely individual experience, no two people go through it in exactly the same way.  That being said, there is one statement that rings true for all people who grieve...'you will never be the same' or, said another way, 'you will never come out of it the way you went in'.  As much as we'd like to return to normal, we won't.  We may return to "a" normal, but it will be a new normal.  The world will never be quite the same as it was before death came knocking because you won't be the same.

Life has an energy to it, it vibrates at a certain frequency.  We are totally unaware of this in our everyday lives.  We wake up, have breakfast, go to work, talk to people, go through our day and don't think twice about any of it because we are in the flow of life.  When someone we love dies, that all changes.  We are knocked out of kilter with the universe.  The world seems a foreign and sometimes foreboding place.​  We see people going through their day to day existence and want to shake them, to wake them up from their obliviousness.  Don't they know the world has ended?  Life goes on around us, yet it has stopped for us.  This life swirling around us only accentuates the lifelessness of our deceased loved one.  

A good example of this is Hamlet.  Everyone thinks Hamlet is insane, he acts so bizarrely and is so out of the flow of the everyday existence of those around him.  Hamlet is not crazy.  He is grieving.  Grieving can look crazy to those not doing it, but it seems perfectly rational and normal to those in it's grips.  For instance, if you are grieving, you may be riding the subway and thinking about your dead loved one and crying for your loss, and then a moment later laughing when you recall a joyous or funny moment together with them when they were alive.  Your erratic emotions and actions will most assuredly make your fellow train riders think your insane, but your not, you are grieving.  

Grief dramatically alters your perspective on your surroundings and life and sets you adrift away from the current of normalcy.  Hamlet cannot shake his grief for his dead father, the king, and is angry at the ease with which others have shaken theirs, namely his mother.  He ponders suicide to end his life, "to be or not to be", but ends up contemplating the deeper meaning of death and the afterlife, "Ay, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come", a common topic that continually haunts the grieving.  When he sits poised ready to murder his praying uncle who has murdered Hamlet's father the king, Hamlet hesitates because he thinks of his uncle's eternal soul and that it would go to heaven due to his being killed during prayer.  Hamlet's insight into the afterlife overrides his thirst for noble vengeance.  This seems crazy to 'normal' people, but quite rational to those in the throes of grief.  Hamlet is in tune with death, the afterlife and grieving, but out of tune with the rationality and normalcy of the rest of the world.  So it is for those in grief.

The stages of grief that I have observed are this:  first, we think about and mourn the physical pain and suffering that our loved one has gone through in their death.​  Our grief is a form of empathy, we imagine what our loved one was thinking and feeling when death came, and we hope they weren't afraid or that they didn't suffer. 

After that, the second stage of grief I've observed comes upon us.  This is where we mourn for ourselves, for what we have lost.  In short, during the first stage we are thinking about them and during the second stage we are thinking about us without them.  In this second stage we focus on the empty hole in our lives where the loved one used to reside.  We mourn the time we won't have with them, the conversations lost, the dreams never realized.  I have found that this stage can take many forms, such as regret over things not said or of things said, or it can take a form of denial, where the survivor fully expects the deceased to knock upon their door in the form of a visitation.  In this stage, the deceased still seems somehow alive, even if only in the thoughts, dreams, memories and feelings of the person who mourns.  In this stage some people can have an overwhelming need to talk about their feelings and experiences with others, while other people may go inward and be incapable of talking about their pain.  There is no right or wrong way to go through this stage, only the way that is comfortable for the aggrieved.  This stage has no set time table, it can go on for weeks, months, years or in some circumstances, even a lifetime.

The third stage is the most frustrating, for it is where we mourn the loss of our mourning.  This sneaks up on us.  We realize we are no longer grieving and we yearn for the grief to return.  The grief had in some ways taken the place of the lost loved one.  We felt closer to them in our grief, but when the grief fades, we feel the loved one fading as well.  In many ways, this is the most painful of the stages of grief because it is where we must decide to actually let the loved one go and move back into the world.  It is the last goodbye.  It isn't a 'pull yourself up by your bootstraps' and move on type of thing, but rather, it is an admission that life does indeed go on, as well as our submission to it.  It is also the most important stage of grief because it acknowledges life.  Death is a part of life.  We cannot deny it and we cannot ignore it.  Even though our culture certainly bends over backwards to do so.  We must acknowledge it and respect it.  

This brings me back to the actor.  Actors are often taught, or asked to use their personal history in order to tap into emotion.  People have all sorts of opinions on this approach to acting.  I say the same thing I always say, use what works for you.  But I have one caveat to that.  While the death of a loved one will bring forth tidal waves of emotions, from anger to sadness and everything in between, my advice to any actor getting back into the swing of things after grieving is this:  never, ever use the death of a loved one to fuel your performance.  Don't substitute your dead loved one for your scene partner in a death scene.  Don't substitute your dead loved one to invigorate a scene where you get to say all the things you wish you said to them.  Don't do it.  It is disrespectful to the dead, their memory and to your experience and you'll end up regretting it.  It cheapens them and the experience you went through.  The emotions are within you, you have them, you've experienced them, you are alive with them, you are a cauldron of emotion and you don't have to envision the dead or replay a bedside farewell to call up those emotions.  That memory should be sacred to you and you should treat it with the reverence it deserves.  Instead, use your imagination to call up those emotions.  If you must use this substitution technique then use your imagination and substitute someone who is still living.  I only say this because, as much as you may love acting and have dedicated your life to it, you will regret exploiting precious memories of a dead loved one for a scene in a movie, play or tv show.  It is cheap, and it will deaden those emotions and those memories that are so precious to you and you will never be able to get them back.

​​There are countless schools of thought and theories of acting.  As an acting coach, I don't try and impose my approach onto a client.  Instead, I adapt to the client's method in order to facilitate their best performance.  With that said, I would always try and avoid using such a deeply personal experience as grief to elicit an emotional reaction in a scene.  I know that there are many who would disagree with me, but I think the emotions can be called upon without the exploitation of the sacred experience of the actor, simply by using other techniques, such as the use of breath or the actor's imagination rather than their direct experience.

I have seen grief affect different actors in different ways.  I have seen actors walk away from acting because it just seems foolish to play pretend after going through a terrible loss.  I've seen actors ​find direction and focus and rededicate themselves to the craft after losing a loved one.  I've seen actors take years off from acting to try and regain their balance, and I've seen actors dive into working non-stop for years on end without a moment's break.  We all do what we can to get through it, or in some cases, to avoid it.  The truth is you can only delay grief for so long.  It always comes, and often times, the longer we delay it, the harder it hits us.

​In our everyday lives we yearn for deeper meaning, to connect to something beyond ourselves and our mundane lives.  But when grief hits us, we ache for the mundane.  We wish for nothing more than to talk about nonsense, to watch junk tv, to zone out and disconnect from the powerful river of emotion and meaning surging through us.  We desperately want to think of something else, to run from the beast devouring us, but we can't.  The beast is hungry and relentless.  Those of us who have grieved know this.  Those of you who haven't will find out soon enough, for the beast never sleeps.  My only advice to those new to grief is this:  know that life goes on, even when we don't want it to.  Also know that you aren't crazy, but the world is.  And, finally, go and read Hamlet.  You will feel less alone.

©2013

Empathy and Down's Syndrome Part Two: Recommended Viewing

A brief follow up to my last post. I want to strongly encourage you to check out a documentary titled "Curveball" by Philadelphia based director, actor and acting teacher Bryan Fox. The film follows a little league baseball team comprised of physically, mentally and emotionally challenged children.  It is a well-crafted film that I found deeply inspiring, insightful and moving.  On a personal note, I found the film to be life changing in how dramatically it altered my perspective. 

​http://www.curveballthemovie.com

And if you happen to be an actor in the Philadelphia area, you would be wise to seek out Bryan Fox as an acting teacher or coach.  He is as good as it gets.  His ability as a teacher knows no bounds, and he is just as good at acting and directing as he is at teaching and coaching.  Obviously, I hold him in high regard and urge any and all Philadelphians to take advantage of the chance to study with him.

​The final viewing recommendation is to watch this segment from the ESPN program "Outside the Lines".  It is about Garrett Holeve, a young man with Down's Syndrome and his literal and metaphorical fight.  It is a wonderful opportunity for the actor as viewer to be aware of when you are feeling sympathy as opposed to empathy with this young man and his family's choices.  As I stated in the earlier post, empathy is the much better path for the actor to take.  Here is the link to the 13 minute long video.  I highly recommend it.

​http://espn.go.com/video/clip?id=9091876

Irishness, cultural memory & the curse of St. Patrick's Day

What does Irishness, cultural memory and the curse of St. Patrick's day have to do with acting? Well, let us begin with this statement: the key to great acting is specificity.  Be specific in action, intention and character and you can bring life to any part no matter how big or small. The converse is also true, generalities will suffocate any part in the crib, from Hamlet to the third extra on the right, leaving it lifeless and limp.  St. Patrick's Day is a celebration of the  generalities and dumbing down of what it means to be Irish,  and that is the 'Curse of St. Patrick's Day'.

Irish characters in film and television for decades consisted of little more than the kind hearted policeman, priest or nanny who oved to drink, sing or put up his/her dukes, all with a charmingly lovely Irish lilt to their sing song speech.  These characters had as much depth and complexity as an Irish Spring soap commercial.  This image of this rosy cheeked lad or lass has been the defining one of the Irish for the majority of time that film has existed.

St. Patrick's day celebrates this version of Irishness.  As the saying goes, 'everyone is Irish on St. Paddy's day'...yeah...well, not so much.  Wearing a green Notre Dame shirt and drinking yourself silly doesn't make you Irish, no matter what the culture at large may think.  Irishness is not an idiot puking on their "Kiss me I'm Irish" pin in the gutter, trust me.

We, the Irish, are just as much to blame as anyone for our own misrepresentation.  We Irish, and by 'Irish' I also mean Irish-Americans, embrace and celebrate our own self-destruction.  Drunkenness is not something to hang your hat on, especially when the Irish culture is rich in so many other ways. Yet we do celebrate drunkenness anyway with an uncanny pride.  Have the drunken fools chugging their green beers ever read James Joyce?  George Bernard Shaw? Samuel Beckett? William Butler Yeats?  Odds are they haven't, and would never associate Irishness with those writers, or with any intellectual endeavor.

hich brings us to the point, what is Irishness?  Irishness is deep, dark and complex. Hell, Freud once said of the Irish,  "This is one race of people for whom psychoanalysis is of no use whatsoever."  If you've stumped Freud you've got to be pretty complicated. So what makes the Irish so complex?  Well, Irishness is defined in part by over four hundred years of occupation by a foreign power and the helplessness, shame and anger that come with occupation.  Irishness is massacres, famines, insurgencies, civil wars, sectarian violence, hunger strikes, brutal discrimination and segregation and near cultural extermination.  In contrast, Irishness is also defined by staggeringly great works of art, intellect and spirituality.

Want to know true Irishness? Read the plays of J.M. Synge or Sean O'Casey, or read the novels of James Joyce or the poems of Yeats.  Read about the rich history of the place and it's people, from the Celts to St. Patrick and St. Brendan all the way to Michael Collins and Bobby Sands. Want to know the experience of Irishness in America?  Read or see any of Eugene O'Neill's plays, but check out "Long Days Journey Into Night" and "Moon for the Misbegotten" in particular.  Or if you just don't want to read, watch a Jim Sheridan film, try "In America" or "In the Name of the Father".  Or watch "Hunger" by director Steve McQueen or "Bloody Sunday" by Paul Greengrass.  These will teach you more of what Irishness is than any St. Patrick's Day parade or crowded Irish pub.

This brings us back to acting and specificity.  What do we as actors do f we are in a position where we are playing an Irish character?  Well, if the writer and the director both understand what true Irishness is in all its complexity, then you'll be allowed to build a rich, complex character devoid of any stereotypes or generalities. But  what should an actor do if the writer and director just wants them to be a stereotypical Irish lad or lass straight from central casting?

his is what you do, you fill the general with the specific.  You build an internal life which is as rich as the Irish and their culture and history. If you are told to play a smiling, rosy cheeked, kind hearted cop/priest/maid, use true Irishness and Irish cultural memory to make the motivation and inner life more vibrant.  For instance, use the cultural memory of four hundred years of foreign occupation that has taught the Irish to keep their true thoughts and feelings to themselves while projecting a joyous exterior to the world in order to keep their occupiers at arms length.  So the cheery cop/priest/maid with a heart of gold actually has a hidden and much more vibrant inner life with which to keep the actor and their actions alive and engaged.  If you are playing a stereotypical drunken, brawling Irishmen, tap into the fire within that character that makes the Irishmen fight to prove himself and his manhood in an attempt to break free of the cultural shame and humiliation of being a second class citizen in his own country.  If you are asked to play the stereotypical kind hearted, fun loving, witty Irishmen(or women), then feed that choice by tapping into the insecurity and low self worth of a poor, hard working people with the burning and desperate need to be loved by everyone they meet. This will help you 'raise the stakes' of your actions and be a driving force through your creation of the character.

These are just a few suggestions to get an actor to realize that there is much more than meets the eye when you have to play a stereotype.  Sadly, ore often than not, that's exactly what we are asked to play, but it is up to us to give depth, meaning and complexity to these parts.  The actors greatest challenge is to give specificity to generalized writing and direction.  Using the cultural memory and rich history of a characters nationality, religion or race is a great way to engage our imaginations and tap into different textures and colors when bringing a character to life.

So, have a happy St. Patrick's Day, but instead of wearing green and getting drunk, shake off that curse of St. Patrick's Day and go read a book by a great Irish writer, or read about Ireland's history, or go watch a film by a great Irish director or with great Irish actors.

 Now go forth and celebrate the tradition of the Irish in all its wondrous complexities.

Slan.