Stillness: Lessons from Redford, DeNiro and Penn

This past week Robert DeNiro turned 70, Sean Penn turned 53 and Robert Redford turned 77.  In honor of their births, let's take a closer look at their work and see if there's anything for us mortals to steal, for as the old saying goes, 'good writers borrow, great writers steal'.  The same certainly applies for actors. 

Robert Redford is easily the biggest movie star of the these three actors.  Redford is one of those rare actors who is actually under appreciated for his acting skills because he is such a big star and so handsome.  While his style is very different from DeNiro or Penn, it is in it's own way, just as highly crafted. 

The main thing that stands out in Redford's work is his mastery of stillness.  Stillness is a tremendous asset to the actor but an often overlooked one.  The key to mastering stillness is to not confuse it with stiffness.  Stillness is not a lack of fluidity, but rather a containment and control of a vibrant energy.  Redford's stillness is full, as opposed to stiffness which is vacant.  Think of Redford as an eagle perched on a branch.  It sits still but remains vibrant, powerful and majestic.  Redford's stillness is full of thought and intention, which gives the viewer the impression that he is a deep thinker and very smart, which is a great technique to fight against the usual stereotyping of good looking people, whether man or woman, as being less than bright.  

Stillness also draws the viewer in to the actor, it forces them to watch closely, for any movement is magnified and takes on greater meaning when it's surrounded by stillness.  It also helped in creating contrast with Redford's scene partners.  Think of the success Redford had opposite Paul Newman in "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" and "The Sting". Newman's energy, both physical and emotional, was more chaotic and hot as opposed to Redford's which is controlled and cool.  Another example of this is in "All the President's Men" when Redford was opposite Dustin Hoffman, another more energetic and emotionally volatile actor, which further heightened and was heightened by Redford's controlled, yet full, stillness.  The lesson here is that contrast creates chemistry.

Stillness is also a big part of Robert DeNiro's repertoire as an actor but in a very different way.  If Redford is a majestic eagle on a branch, DeNiro is a hungry bengal tiger in a less than sturdy bamboo cage. DeNiro uses stillness and silence to create a very unsettling effect on his scene partners and the viewer. DeNiro's character in "Taxi Driver", Travis Bickle, often holds a steady look at another character for an awkwardly long period of time.  He doesn't say anything, but projects an immense sense of unpredictability and violence boiling just under the surface.  To strengthen this sense, DeNiro breaks off the stare and glances away for a brief moment, as if to think for a second, and then returns to it, fortifying the sense of the chaotic just under the surface.  It's a fantastic technique, one that is in many ways DeNiro's trademark, that he's used in most of his performances to great effect.  The key to the technique is that the silence and the stillness are filled with an energy and an intention.  When DeNiro stares at someone he isn't just looking, he's projecting his psychological intention upon them.  He wants something from them, or wants to do something to them.  As a viewer, you feel that intention just with his look and the holding of it.

DeNiro's Vito Corleone (Godfather Part II), Jake LaMotta (Raging Bull) and Jimmy Conway (Goodfellas) all have that same sense of controlled menace to them, that at various times roars to the surface and gives external life to the beast cultivated within.  Similar to Redford's stillness being well balanced by Newman's more chaotic energy, DeNiro's stillness, silence and ferocious inner life are often balanced by actors that are more outwardly chaotic and frenetic.  The obvious example being Joe Pesci playing opposite DeNiro in "Raging Bull", "Goodfellas" and "Casino".  Pesci's inner life is constantly being given voice and to great comedic effect, while DeNiro's remains silent, only showing itself through physical violence not words, with great dramatic effect.  The balance between the two strengthens their performances, and as stated earlier, contrast creates chemistry.

Sean Penn is an interesting contrast between DeNiro and Redford in that he is often filled with an unsettling energy that is in constant motion.  If Redford is an Eagle, DeNiro a Tiger, then Penn is a Shark, constantly in motion and with a voracious appetite.  Penn's kinetic energy feeds his characters and attracts the viewer in similar ways that Redford's stillness draws them in.  The big difference being that when Redford moves it takes on great meaning, but when Penn stops moving is when he has tremendous dramatic power.  A great example of this is his character Matthew Poncelet in "Dead Man Walking", Poncelet is always fidgeting, always looking around, always smoking, raving or bullshitting, but when he finally stops, and Penn looks up and you see his eyes, he is still for a moment, and we connect with him, we see his humanity and his soul, for a brief second.  Then he goes back to the movement, but it's that movement that makes the brief moments of stillness so powerful and revealing.  The moments of stillness with Poncelet are when we see him stop acting and start being real, and those moments are what makes Penn such an astounding actor.

You can see this throughout Penn's remarkable career, even in a comedy like "Fast Times at Ridgemont High", Penn's stoner/surfer dude Spiccoli is not the typical stoner, slow and sloth like, he's always fidgeting and moving.  It isn't until the end of his character arc when Mr. Hand actually teaches him something by getting him to sit still that we see Spiccoli isn't just a brain dead dope but a complicated and caring person.

The same technique can also be seen in "Mystic River" where Penn's character gets more and more still as the drama heightens and he is begins taking action.  The more still Penn becomes, the more menacing he is, and that is heightened by his frenetic energy that fills his character leading up to the stillness.

One final example is Penn's work as Harvey Milk in "Milk".  Milk is driven by a righteous cause and fueled by the injustice he sees in the world.  Milk's internal engine is running at full speed and he is constantly in motion campaigning or politicking, but the only time he slows down and gets still is when he is genuinely connecting with another character as opposed to trying to convince them to join his cause or to get out of his way.  The stillness makes Milk human, and the audience connects to him because we see him truly, genuinely connect with another person, whether it be his lover, a friend, a staff worker or a troubled young man on the phone.  Penn's use of constant movement make his moments of stillness pack the dramatic power that he is famous for.

Redford, DeNiro and Penn are all very different actors.  For instance, DeNiro and Penn are both notorious for completely inhabiting their characters physically, changing their appearance, their speech and their gait, whereas Redford is more of a leading man who must use his craft much more subtle ways in order to give a standout performance. Regardless of their differences, they all share one thing in common, mastery of the power of stillness.  We should learn from their fantastic work and try to integrate stillness into our acting tool box.

Robert De Niro and Sean Penn: Happy Birthday to the Kings of Commitment!!

Happy birthday to two of the greatest actors alive. Robert DeNiro, born on August 17, 1943, turns 70, and Sean Penn, born August 17, 1960 turns 53 today. De Niro and Penn are icons of American acting and can trace their lineage as great American actors all the way back to the grandfather, or godfather of them all, Marlon Brando. Just as De Niro and Penn were judged in comparison to the master Brando's work, so will young actors today be judged by the work of De Niro and Penn.

A brief look at their resumes is all it takes to see why they reside on the Mount Rushmore of American actors. Shockingly, De Niro has only won two Academy Awards, one for Best Supporting Actor (Godfather part II) and one for best Actor (Raging Bull), but his work is so phenomenally great it is beyond being measured by awards. His work with director Martin Scorsese alone is better than some of the greatest actors entire careers.

De Niro gave astoundingly memorable performances in the Scorsese films "Mean Streets", "Taxi Driver", "Raging Bull", "The King of Comedy", "Goodfellas",  "Cape Fear" and "Casino". His non-Scorses directed films are nearly as impressive, "Godfather Part II", "The Deer Hunter",  "Brazil", "The Mission", "The Untouchables", "Midnight Run", "Awakenings", "Heat" and "Silver Linings Playbook".

Sean Penn also has only won two Academy Awards, Best Actor in "Mystic River" and "Milk", but his work is also well beyond being judged by mere awards. Penn burst onto the scene as a twenty-one year old with a fantastic performance in the film "Taps". He then gave great performances in "Fast Times at Ridgemont High", "Bad Boys", "The Falcon and the Snowman" and "At Close Range".  His work in "Colors", "Casualties of War" and "State of Grace" showcased his immense talent and skill.

He then seemingly disappeared for three years, only to reemerge with a supporting role in "Carlito's Way", soon after he starred as Matthew Poncelet in Tim Robbin's "Dead Man Walking". His mesmerizing performance in that film re-esteablished Penn as the greatest actor of his generation. He reinforced this position with stand out performances in "She's So Lovely", "The Thin Red Line", "Sweet and Lowdown" and "I Am Sam". Then came his two Oscar winning performances in in two very different roles in "Mystic River" and "Milk".

The amount of powerful performances De Niro and Penn have given is staggering. The one trademark of both of their work is simply: Commitment.  Physical, emotional and mental commitment to the character and the work.  What we can learn from both Robert De Niro and Sean Penn it is that we should take what we do as actors seriously, and take our craft seriously. When we do act, to commit to it, like a man who's hair is on fire commits to finding a lake. These men both teach us that if we want to act, and act well, we must commit to not only the part we are playing, but to the art and craft of acting.

My respect and admiration for both of these men, their work, their skill, their talent, their commitment, knows no bounds. I wish both of these iconic actors a very happy birthday, and I hope we see more of them on screen in the years to come. 

Constantin Stanislavski : The Patriarch

"Create your own method. Don't depend slavishly on mine. Make up something that will work for you! But keep breaking traditions, I beg you."

- Constantin Stanislavski

Constantin Stanislavski, the patriarch of modern acting, died 75 years ago today. It is no exaggeration to say that every performance we see in film, television and theatre today has its seed in the 'method' of Stanislavski. His rejection of a formulaic theatricality and his embrace of realism in all its varied forms, revolutionized the art of acting.

Although you can't get two different actors, teachers or schools to agree on what exactly Stanislavski's 'method' was, his approach is the foundation for every single acting 'school' around today. Like Abraham, who was the father of three great religions, Judaism, Christianity and Islam, Stanislavski is the father of the three great 'schools' of acting, Strasberg, Adler and Meisner (and all the other ones too!!). You may think that's blasphemy. I think it's an apt metaphor, because those acting schools get along about as well as those three religions do, although to be fair, the acting schools do take themselves much more seriously, so conflict is inevitable. 

A toast to the Patriarch of Modern Acting, the great Constantin Stanislavski. We are all deeply in his debt. Oh...and go read his books, it's always best to go straight to the source material!!

"Unless the theatre can ennoble you, make you a better person, you should flee from it."

"Love the art in yourself and not yourself in the art."

Magna Mater: Edie Falco

Magna Mater is latin for "Great Mother", and is an apt title for a series of posts about actresses who have mastered, revitalized or reinvented the role of "Mother" on TV or in film.  Women, particularly women of a certain age, are really up against it in Hollywood's youth obsessed culture.  So, it is important to take the time and recognize the great actresses who have overcome the myriad of obstacles placed before women and succeeded despite the industry's sexism and ageism.

The headliner for the first Magna Mater post is Edie Falco and her portrayal of Carmela Soprano on HBO's "The Sopranos".  Falco won three much deserved Emmy awards for her work as Carmela, wife of mobster Tony Soprano (played by the late James Gandolfini) and mother to Meadow and AJ Soprano, her teen daughter and son. 

As good as James Gandolfini was as Tony, (see my tribute to the actor and praise for his work in my "Requiem for a Heavyweight" post below), Falco is the one who really had to do the more subtle and complex work.  Unlike Tony, Carmela CHOSE this life whereas Tony was born into it.  Tony was unconscious in most of his actions, a slave to his voracious sexual, violent and power hungry appetites.  Carmela on the other hand, was conscious of the nefarious ways that afforded her luxurious lifestyle but she chose to ignore it in order to maintain her comfortable life.

Carmela may have appeared a tacky New Jersey housewife, with her gaudy outfits and house, but a battle raged deep within her every moment of the day.  She was smarter, tougher and more genuine than the other mob wives but, unlike the other wives, she earnestly struggled spiritually with the choice of living the good life through 'bad' means. 

Carmela also wanted to be the voice of all that was good and right as opposed to Tony who was so tainted with the darkness of his work that he could never even understand his moral compass as much as he struggled with it, never mind be one to other people.  Carmela would chastise Tony, AJ and Meadow for their moral failings, all the while knowing she was a moral failure as well.  She would fight with Tony about his sexual escapades with other women, but failed to hold herself accountable for her emotional affair with the family priest.  She would be furious with Tony for withholding things from her, but she wouldn't tell him of her fling with AJ's high school principal.  She would agonize over AJ's lazy, entitled attitude toward life, but failed to see the moral compromises she made with her life in order to enjoy the good life that AJ enjoyed so much.

The key to Falco's performance is that she was able to be this walking contradiction while being very likable.  Fair or not, this is the key for women, they must be likable even when they are being a 'nagging' mother or a 'bitching' wife.  It is a high wire act for any actress, that's for sure.  Falco was able to do it by filling the spaces in conversations, or altercations with a vivid inner life.  In every scene she is in, it is what she doesn't say that is much more interesting than what she does say.  She would have been a superstar of the silent movie era because she is able to express an entire complicated story with just a look or a touch.

Carmela is a woman with a vivid inner life and a lot of secrets.  She keeps secrets from everyone with whom she has a relationship.  She doesn't say everything she's thinking to her friends, to her priest, to her lover, to her kids or to Tony.  She always holds something back even when she's been invited to speak freely.  She is too smart to let anyone know absolutely everything. 

A great way for the actor to build a vivid inner life that creates a dramatic tension in the open spaces of a scene, is for the actor to actually write out the things the character would want to say if given the chance, or if they had the courage or if they could be consequence free.  Fill yourself with the speech you want to give, the speech where you can say everything you've ever wanted to say, and be ready to say it at any moment.  Don't just write it out and think the work is done, be ready to say it, but choose not to in the scene.  This technique fills the actor with a sense of mystery and having a secret, and quietly empowers both the character and the actor in the scene. 

Another way to fill a character and a scene is with psychological intentions.  Falco is phenomenal at psychological intentions.  Just watch her scenes with the family priest to see this skill in action.  She yearns for the priest to make a move on her, to kiss her, but he never does.  Falco's yearning can be a result of creating a film that you play in your mind, for instance of your scene partner reaching over and grabbing you by the hair and kissing you passionately.  The more vivid and specific the movie in your head, the more powerful the intention and the effective the performance, and the movie in your head should include not just visual sensations but touch, smell and taste.  The film should be a multi-sensation, specific event for which you desperately yearn.  Psychological intentions are a great way to fill yourself, the character and the scene and yet still be in the present moment.  Intentions can also be tweaked to create a power dynamic between characters, for example, doing a scene where you have an intention for your scene partner to grab you and kiss you is very different than a scene where you want to grab and kiss your partner, it is a subtle difference in theory but a powerful one in practice.

So, Edie Falco shows us how to create an inner life in order to bring life to every moment we are on screen.  Watch her work as Carmela and you'll see her struggling constantly to keep her inner life to herself.  When her secrets finally do come out, in the finale of season 4, her explosion with Tony may be the single greatest piece of acting ever seen on television.  It is so visceral, gut wrenching and electric you feel as if you shouldn't even be watching such a personal, intimate moment between two people. If you do watch this scene, also take note of Falco's use of breath to tap into emotion and express the armageddon of her character's emotional world.  The scene is four years in the making, and all the work Falco did for every scene of every episode leading up to it, pays off in this ultimate climax of explosive truth and emotion. It is an absolute tour de force of a performance and one we should watch in the context of her work over the entire run of the show in order to fully appreciate it's otherworldly brilliance.

For her work as Carmela Soprano, Edie Falco is most deserving of the title Magna Mater, and Magna Actrix (great actress). 

Man of Steel: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Monotonous

Superman is a great American myth and archetype.  It is ripe for a quality re-telling of the story, just as Christopher Nolan re-told the Batman myth with his iconic Dark Knight films.  I was hoping Man of Steel, directed by Zack Snyder and written by David Goyer, was going to be to Superman as Dark Knight was to Batman.  Alas, 'twas not to be. 

Let me say, the collection of actors in this film is a pretty impressive list. Russell Crowe, Amy Adams, Kevin Costner, Michael Shannon, Diane Lane and Laurence Fishburne have 11 acting Oscar nominations between them.  The failure of the film is not the fault of these actors.

Henry Cavill plays Superman and is perfectly cast.  He is impossibly handsome and is as ripped as you'd expect a Superman to be.  I first saw Cavill on the Showtime TV show The Tudors.  He is a fine actor with a subtle charm and dynamic presence, so I hope he doesn't get tainted by the stink of Man of Steel.  He has the makings of a movie star, but this is a bad film to kick off his climb to the top.  Henry Cavill is not the problem with Man of Steel.

As for the film itself, I won't go into the painful details, so no need for a spoiler alert, the only spoiler alert would be that the film is a steaming pile of excrement atop a flaming pile of even more excrement.  The main quality of the film is that it is relentlessly LOUD, for no other reason that I can gather except to make sure you don't fall asleep from it's suffocating monotony.  The story is at best incoherent and at its worst schizophrenic.

My best guess as to why the film is so awful, is that the director Zack Snyder wanted to make one film, the studio wanted to make another film and the producer wanted to make a yet another film.  I can only hope that none of them wanted to make THIS film.

In conclusion, this film is a wasted opportunity.  A great collection of acting talent along with an iconic character and storyline were not enough to make Man of Steel even remotely entertaining or interesting.  Superman Returns was an even more horrible Superman film from 2006, followed seven years later by the atrocious Man of Steel, so if history is any guide we won't have to wait very long for another horrendous Superman film.

The bottom line is that Man of Steel is more like Man of Steal…Audiences Money.

If you at the studios have any interest in making another Superman film, I ask that you please contact me.  I have a lot of ideas which may or may not be any good, but lucky for me lack of good ideas has never stopped you from making a Superman film before.  You have my number and my rates are reasonable....for now. 

©2013

Requiem for a Heavyweight : James Gandolfini

James Gandolfini died on Wednesday, June 19, 2013 in Rome at the age of 51. He is best known for his three-time Emmy winning performance as mafia boss, Tony Soprano, on HBO's "The Sopranos". 

I had the good fortune to watch the entire run of "The Sopranos" recently so the brilliance of Gandolfini's performance is very fresh in my mind.  James Gandolfini as Tony Soprano was one of those rare cases where the perfect actor is cast to play a character that is perfect for him.

The character of Tony Soprano could have been a cookie cutter caricature in the hands of a lesser actor.  Gandolfini, on the other hand, took a tired, old cliche and breathed fresh, new life into it.  Gandolfini was a mountain of a man,  at 260 pounds he was a physically imposing presence, and he was comfortable projecting his powerful presence on screen, but what set Gandolfini apart was that he had expressive, sensitive, child-like eyes.  You could sense his insecurity, sensitivity, his hurt and inner wound with just a look from those eyes.  When he turned in a flash into a hulking, raging menace, it was all the more effective because he was a hurt, confused little boy just a moment before.  His Tony was, in fact, a giant child, both physically and emotionally.  He was at once combustible and yet lovable, and always dangerously at the mercy of his appetites. 

The complexity of the inner life of Tony Soprano is what made the character so fascinating, so beloved and the show so successful. The contrasts between Tony's child-like soul, sometimes wounded and other times sweet and playful, and his violent and cruel actions made for as dynamic a character as there has ever been on television. 

Tony Soprano was, like many of us, a man at war with himself, with his conscience and with his sense of duty to his family and his "family".  That battle played itself out in every relationship he had, from his wife and kids, to his therapist and gumares, to his mother, uncle and sister and finally to his mafioso friends and enemies alike.  Gandolfini's innate talent, skill and commitment to craft are what made it possible for us to relate to a mafia boss on a human level.  Tony was one of us, with all the strengths we wish we had, and the weaknesses we wish we didn't.    

As an actor, James Gandolfini was what we all should aspire to be, he was successful because he was a master craftsman who loved his craft and honed it.  He didn't play the game, he wasn't a publicity hound, he didn't marry a movie star, he didn't inject himself into the maelstrom of our celebrity culture.  He simply worked hard to develop his skill and talent, and then he put his head down and went to work.  When he went to work he brought to life a character that is as good as anything we have ever seen on television and has changed the medium forever by opening the door for more morally and emotionally complicated characters.  

The world of acting is a lesser place with the loss of the heavyweight talent and artistry of James Gandolfini.

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.