Practical hints on training for the stage

Front matter

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BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE

Foreword

This little ibook is merely an attempt to set down certain points of view which I have found helpful myself when coaching my stage pupils, whether novices or actors of some experience, who come for help in the interpretation of special roles.

I have always found that the greater the actor, the more eager he is to have his work pulled to pieces. A critic may be at fault, but he does not take the trouble to criticize in detail unless he feels that the actor is going to be worth while, and that he has sufficient power within him to attain success in the end. It is for the actor himself to weigh the criticisms he receives, and to try to compare the effect his work has made on others with the aim he had in mind.

If this book serves the purpose of awakening in the minds of my readers a desire for vi Foreword

criticism and an instinct of self-judgment, I shall feel I have accomplished all that I set out to achieve,

Agnes Platt

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I The Work of an Actor. What he will

HAVE TO FACE, AND WHAT HE MAY ACHIEVE I

Chapter I

THE WORK OF AN ACTOR. WHAT HE WILL

HAVE TO FACE AND WHAT HE MAY

ACHIEVE

There will always be a great deal of discussion as to whether acting is really an art. To my mind no one who has seen the work of a great actor can hesitate for a moment to answer this question in the affirmative, feting is undoubtedly an art, and one which needs so many qualities to achieve a full result that the wonder is, not that there are so few great actors, but rather that there should be so many. Like every other art, it is possiible to attain a certain degree of excellence without having genius, if one has observation, application and taste.7 I think it is because of this that people are apt to say 1 that acting is not an art, and also because ^^cting is, in most cases, more interpretative than creative^ But then, in the true sense of the worla, all art is interpretative. The painter paints from life, the author writes the lessons he has learnt from life. Even the greatest work of the musician is his attempt to speak in music the message life has sent him.

What is creation, and how does it differ from interpretation? Both author and actor interpret from the book of Nature according to their lights. We may fancy that we have original ideas, and that our work expresses them, and it is certainly true that some of us have infinitely more independence of outlook than others; but it does not follow that because we are interpreting we are necessarily laying aside our originality. On the contrary one needs great originality to interpret with illumination ; for if one lacks originality oneself, one will never be able to appreciate the originality of others. An actor of commonplace mind can only give a commonplace interpretation ; but an actor of original mind will cast the light of his own genius over the work of his author, and by understanding to the full the meaning of that author, and the possibilities of his part, will make of the character he plays an outstanding bit of life, true in itself, and true also in its relation to the whole play.rWhen reading an author's work with a view TO acting, one has got to see, not only what the author has actually written, but all that he wanted to convey and all that he might have conveyed, had his genius been of the first water. It is here that an actor whose genius is of the first water supplies a fuller and more satisfying interpretation, and thereby raises his calling to the level of a high art.^

There is a constant feud between actors and authors, due sometimes to a kind of jealousy. An actor who approaches his work with a grudge in his heart that the author may get the credit of his brains is a man who is not fitted for his profession. Perhaps in no art is there so much risk of being blamed for other people's faults as in the art of acting. The critics themselves do not always know how to apportion praise and blame, and will slate an author for a fault which is due to the producer or to the inequality of the cast. For this reason many dramatic criticisms, even though true of the ensemble, are unjust in detail. Unless you have read the original text of a play it is almost impossible, on viewing the production of that play, to say where the work of the author ends and the work of the producer and the individual actors begins. The fact is that author and actor are cooperating — or should be cooperating loyally — to produce a common effect. United they stand, divided they fall.

Even in so small a matter as that of forgetting one's lines upon the stage the injustice of stage conditions makes itself felt. It is not the actor who "dries up" who seems in fault, but his companion on the stage who, because he has not received his cue, is unable to continue the dialogue. C7The whole art of acting is the art of give and take.^ You have to view your part in relation to the whole, and it is a duty to refrain from making any special effect which is going to distract the attention of the audience from other actors and concentrate it upon yourself. No actor may look at his part from a selfish point of view. He must always be willing to give up his own tit-bit if the Well-being of the whole performance demand it.

Moreover, from first to last, his own personal feelings must be rigorously set aside. Whatever his private troubles or joys, he must oust them from his mind completely while doing his work. For the time being he has to become an entirely different man. He must learn to wait, he must learn to adapt himself, he must learn to take sharp criticism straight from the shoulder in front of his fellow actors, ^^e must learn to look on his face and other attributes merely as assets to his work, and must get rid, once and for all, of all personal vanity. He must learn that his own triumph will never be really great unless it is shared by the other members of the cast and above all by the author//'

For many centuries the stage has been looked upon as a sink of iniquity. Viewed rightly, acting is essentially a profession which brings out the best that is in us. An actor depends for his success on a keenly de-

6 Trmning for the Stage

veloped observation and sympathetic understanding of human character. He will never succeed with audiences unless he has the faculty of making himself liked, which means that he must rid himself of all such annoying traits as conceit, self-consciousness, obstinacy, aggressiveness, irritability and "swank"; for all these qualities leave their mark on a man and show in his face and manner. One will never please an audience unless one has a great desire to please, and this desire is not found in company with smug self-satisfaction. (7 Suggestion plays a great part on the stage, and unless an actor is himself sincere he will never suggest sincerity in his work.") Only earnestness is convincing. Unless he is unselfish he will spoil the effect of many a scene because he will grudge to his fellow actors in that scene their predominance at certain vital moments. Unless he is devoted to his work he will never stand the nervous strain it entails. Unless he carries the thought of his work very close to his heart he will go through life with his eyes shut and lose the advantage of all the lessons which life alone can teach.

Since, more than any other art, acting is the representation of life by the living human being, it is obvious that(a study of life and character is essential^ To the actor, above all men, every human trait should speak, every vibration from his fellow beings tell its own story. One must keep oneself always sensitive to the moods, needs and failings of others, and develop that sympathy which is the surest understanding.

Above all, the actor must learn to sustain the magnetic point of view. The rapport between actor and audience is very subtle and far too little understood. There are two ways of looking at everything, and to put a wrong view before the audience is to take upon oneself a great responsibility. An actor's mental philosophy is an important ingredient of his work. His whole art will be tinged by his personal outlook.

So much by way of motto to this little book. Now let us come down to practical matters. What exactly is the life of an actor? What does it demand from him, and how is he going to make good?

Say that an actor is engaged for a part. What happens? He is called to rehearsal, where the producer gives him his instructions as to the positions he is to occupy on the stage when speaking his lines. As the rehearsals progress, he is coached, more or less, in the business of his part and the necessary inflections. The first night comes. He does his best. The piece may, or may not, be a success. If it is, after a little more rehearsing for the various "cuts" which the first night's performance has probably shown to be necessary, his work, for some months to come, wiU consist in playing his part with proibably little or no further rehearsing. Many people think that this makes the actor's life an easy one. But you have got to remember that the actor's hours take him on duty when the rest of the world is enjoying itself; that he is always subject to uncertainty, since every audience differs, and "points" that go well with one will fall flat with another; and that, therefore, an actor never really enjoys the nerve rest afforded by the routine which forms an essential part of so many occupations.

CXhe whole work of an actor entails a peculiar strain upon the nervous system.^ At rehearsals he is continually being called up and put through the discipline of a schoolboy. On the first night he is subject to an ordeal which some people could not bring themselves to face at all. And on each subsequent performance, though the ordeal is considerably less, still it is there, and makes itself felt whenever any little trifle goes wrong upon the stage. Remember, also, that his hours are not those which make for health. He cannot get his meals at normal times, and he has to work at night in a way that is exciting to the brain and detrimental to healthy sleep.

I have merely spoken so far of the stress of the work itself, but the greatest strain of all consists in procuring that work. Actor's engagements are all of a more or less precarious nature. The run of a piece may last for months, or it may come to an end after a few nights, and the whole anxiety of finding fresh work may begin all over again. It is this uncertainty which tells so heavily on the nerves, far more than the actual nature of the work. LThe ups and downs of an actor's career demand a steady courage, a hopeful spirit and a level brainy The one bright spot is that, however dark things may seem, there is always the hope that fortune will suddenly appear, laden with smiles and favors. The temperament that can look facts in the face and say, "Well, any change, even for the worse, is still a change, and as such, preferable to monotony," is the temperament which is suited to the stage. The spirit at the back of such a temperament is the spirit strong enough to hypnotize an audience. Such a man has, in himself, the essence of magnetism, the quality which is always going to win.

Some actors will tell you that the stage is overcrowded. I think this means that, in common with most other occupations, it is besieged by a crowd of the wrong people. I am personally beset by girls who say to me :

"I am no good in an office, I am no good at housework, I am no good at anything; therefore, the only thing to do is to go on the stage. Please find me a part in London. I would not mind if it were a small part, just to begin, you know."

These people rouse my ire. I consider it an insult to approach the stage from that point of view. But if you have a real sense of the stage, nothing on earth will keep you from it. Men and women alike will throw up comfortable berths and face any hardships just for the sake of the joy acting brings to them. Who shall say that they have not their reward? Is success or failure just a matter of pounds, shillings and pence? If the struggle is hard, it is none the less interesting, and a life of effort is infinitely better than stagnation.

On the other hand, the life of an actor has many compensations, such as cheery comradeship, the feeling that it does not matter even if you are poor because we have all been through it, and, whatever we may be, we are not snobs. It is our tradition that genius, to be worth while, must always go through the mill. Then even the fact that our engagements are sometimes short may have its compensating advantage. The one great drawback of the profession nowadays is that you often have to face the deadly repetition of a long run ; yet, again, if an actor suffers from this in one way, he gains in another. It gives him the chance to put by money, so that he no longer dreads a period of "resting"; and if he is really fond of his work he can get plenty of opportunities to relieve the tedium of playing one character night after night by offering to take part in charity matinees or any of those trial performances which, rightly handled, should add to his stage-craft. Moreover, the cinema supplies an actor with continual chances of fresh work.

Except in those rare cases where everything goes persistently against an actor (cases which one meets in every profession) an actor's life has many advantages, and its fascination is undeniable. The great thing is to go into it prepared to take what comes and not to be daunted by obstacles. If a thing is worth doing it is worth fighting for. If you can take that point of view you are fitted for the stage, because you have, at the back of you, the strength of character which will give you power over an audience. In short, you have the greatest of all gifts — Personality.

Chapter II How To Apply The Incidents Of One's Daily Life To One's Work

A STORY is told of Rachel, the great French actress, which is very striking. One day her younger sister rushed into her room, white with horror, and cried out :

"Father's deadl"

Rachel screamed and fainted. When at last consciousness returned to her, her first words were :

"I must remember that scream."

And in the next big tragic part she played she brought down the house when she screamed and fainted.

I have told that tale to many who have been shocked at what seemed to them the callousness of the great actress. They were wrong. Our art is a thing beyond us and above us, which calls and we obey. Everything that happens to us we put, consciously or unconsciously, into our work; and that 13 work stands or falls according to our power of assimilating the real meaning even of the most humdrum incidents of daily life. "He that hath eyes to see, let him see," is a golden maxim for the actor. Too often we go about with our eyes shut, observing nothing. A tree waves its branches in the wind, and we take it as an every-day occurrence, while the whole poetry of motion eludes us in those softly moving leaves. \ A dog darts towards us with loving cheeriness, and we brush him aside and think: "What a nuisance! He has muddied my clothes." If we watched, instead, the exquisite movements of that dog, the curving of his body, the delicate placing of his paws, if we noted the glow of his eyes, the stretching and relaxing of his lips, the tones of his various barks and, above all, the way he takes his breath when barking, we should learn a great deal about the art of acting. Dogs are born actors, and the technique of their art comes to them instinctively. Many of us recognize this, but very few realize that a dog is always thinking about something in his own doggy way,' and that to watch him when he is unconsciously expressing his

The Incidents of Daily Life 15

thoughts is likely to be instructive. One can see those thoughts pass through his brain.

I remember at the Zoo watching a couple of young chimpanzees who were fondling one another. I noticed that while they chattered playfully and happily together, the corners of the lips were kept well forward, and the sounds they produced were softest music. They were using what singers know as the "forward tone." Then a quarrel arose between them. Taut went their snarling muscles, their lips were drawn back sharply, and their voices became shrill, harsh and unpleasant to a degree. There was a wealth of instruction to a singer or actor in this little scene, for the whole secret of musical and dramatic voice-use was there apparent. The lower animals are great instructors, both morally and artistically, if we would only watch them w'tb himbV, fi^irts and try to understand. No actor need go farti^.x '--^r a <iOg's eyes for the kernel of facial expression

1 he Significance of sound is neglected here in England. As a rule we may study music, but it never enters our heads to reflect upon the diiferent sounds which belong to the every-day incidents of our customary life. Yet such apparent trifles as the singing of the kettle, the whisk of a broom over the floor, the rattle of dust-pan and brush, the clatter of the tongs, the soft, fine sounds as the table-cloth is swished from the table, all these apparent trifles act upon the nerves, and if we meditate upon them, we gradually find that we have got the key to a new kingdom and that a thousand things are becoming charged with meaning which before we simply failed to notice. Sound speaks to the imagination with a power the force of which is perhaps not fully realized until our other senses are dormant. During the daytime our eyes seem the immediate windows of our mind and keep us busy ; but at night, when we are lying awake in the dark, sound holds her empire, and the slightest rustle for which we cannot immediately account will send a thrill of terror through our souls. When you are sitting alone, tired and a little unhappy, wondering how to face the trifling troubles with which this world is beset, have not you sometimes heard a little sound which touches a

The Incidents of Daily Life 17

chord, opens a little door in your brain, and out pops a treasured memory, — the thought of some friend with whom that little sound is associated ; a bicycle bell, recalling a boy's joy at the gift of his first bicycle; or the click of your watch as you wind it up, reminding you of an old man who once stood, with his back to the fire, twisting the winder of his watch as he talked to you, and called you his "dear child." It is just one little thing which brings before our eyes the whole picture.

Though we think we can all see, yet even our faculty of seeing is capable, so to speak, of infinite cultivation. It is one thing to see ; another thing to notice ; and yet a third thing to understand. Ask any of your friends to describe some one you both know. How much will that description really convey? Shut your eyes and see with the "eye of the brain" — ^the eye of memory; and the first thing of which you will be aware will be some characteristic attitude of the man you want to describe, some little habit or mannerism which has remained in your memory as a sign-manual of that man. That is where the gift of observation comes in; it is not so much a question of observing everything as of selecting from what you observe the things that matter. In other words, observation in itself is nothing. One must discriminate and judge. (Accurately noted and tested observation is the whole secret of correct interpretation^

It has often been said that art is a matter of selection; this is perfectly true, and it is with a view to making our selection vividly individual that we must cultivate the habit of seeing everything. So many people say to me:

"I don't want to hear what other people think, in case I only echo what they say."

This seems to me a short-sighted policy. No wise person will express an opinion on a subject that he does not understand, and you cannot gain a true understanding of any subject unless you have looked at it from many points of view. To hear the opinions of others cannot hamper, but may probably do good, and no one of real individuality need fear undue influence. The danger for him is that he may narrow down into self-opinionated obstinacy. No one can afford to ignore other people, least of all the actor, whose

The Incidents of Daily Life 19

work it is to bring the character of others into sympathetic being.

My advice to every actor would be that he should try to get at the inner reasons of the opinions and characteristics of all about him; never content himself with an obvious interpretation and, above all, never condemn. You can only learn if you put yourself in the place of the person you are studying, and feel, for the moment, all that secret longing to be understood and not to be blamed, not to have to blame yourself, which is buried in the heart of every human being, but which is only voiced at those sacred moments when fate has broken down all barriers, and brought us face to face with our bare soul. We all make excuses for ourselves, for if we did not we could not bear the scathing light of self-condemnation. Let the actor studying humanity start by seeing these excuses and accepting them. Let him feel when dissecting others as if he were himself being dissected, ahd he will find at the bottom of every heart the spark that is trying to fly upwards; the touch of human nature which is the soul of art, because it is the call of our common brotherhood. When he has taught himself to look at others from this point of view, he will quickly learn to summarize the salient traits of any character he wishes to present in such a way that his performance will have so much Impressionistic truth that it will carry with it conviction. Even when the balance of the play demands that he shall bring out the ugliest qualities of the character he is playing, yet he can present them in such a way that their very force will make us feel the truth of the old saying that "evil is merely the converse of good" and we shall know that it is environment which is to blame, and that humanity itself is not discredited by this representation of a human being.

The small, the trifling, the weak; there are two ways of looking at all these things, the way that debases and the way that makes clear the inner meaning. To be shown an ignoble view of life — this life which we human beings share — is depressing to us all, and to some natures it is even dangerous There is nothing so immoral as to take a low view of humanity, and when the stage lends itself to such an outlook the result is morbid.

The Incidents of Daily Life 21

Even when it is an actor's task to play a character of a poor type, he can represent the foibles of that character in such a way that they will at least deserve the epithet — human. This he can best learn to do if he studies the real human beings round about him; casts aside the temptation to judge by appearances and gets right down to the core of things. If his judgment of real life is good, his judgment as an actor will be good, and his work will be of the type which helps to ennoble the stage and to make of it that which it preeminently should be — an education.

Chapter III The Voice And Its Potentialities

Singers speak of the "forward tone." It is the goal of their desire to possess the "forward tone," and they bend all their energies to acquire it. Many and various are the methods recommended to this end, and multitudinous are the ways in which they attempt to describe what the "forward tone" really means. I think the simplest way is to remind the student that when you want to throw your voice to an exceptional distance, you use a speaking trumpet. When you want to make your own voice carry to a distance without effort, the obvious method is to use your mouth as a speaking trumpet by a little manipulation of the lips. In the last chapter I referred to the way in which certain lower animals move the corners of the lips when talking in their various animal tongues. When they want to produce an offensive noise or a noise signifying annoyance, they stretch 22 the lips back; but when friendly or affectionate, when pleading with or cajoling their friends, they keep the corners of the lips well forward, and so produce what is known as the "forward tone." In other words, they are using the mouth in the form of a trumpet ; and if the human being wishes to have a round, beautiful tone, he must also use his mouth in the form of a trumpet, so far as he can without making grimaces. It is the corners of the lips that matter. Do not stretch them back; get movement of the mouth by acquiring power over the muscles that control the center of each lip, so that they lift easily from over the front teeth without stretching away from the eye-teeth. Besides, this position makes the mouth look so much prettier, and when the smile comes it is the more striking because it is not continually suggested by the habit of keeping the lips with the corners drawn widely apart in a grinning position. If the lips are lifted in the center at the right times, and so kept well away from the teeth, the tone will be pure and the articulation clear. Nothing smothers articulation like a lip pressed down upon the teeth.

24 Traininff for the Stage

This muscular control can easily be acquired by any one who will watch himself in the glass for a few moments night and morning.

Another necessary rule in acquiring a pure, round tone is to keep the tongue well hollowed in the mouth; the tip and sides are raised to the teeth very, very hghtly, but the center of the tongue should be hollowed downwards, so that the back of the throat can be clearly seen when the mouth is a little open. If the student stands before a glass and simply wills his tongue to lie down in this position for a few moments night and morning, he will soon find that he acquires control over the muscles of the tongue, and that it takes this position of its own accord. By this means a clear passage is allowed for the sound; but when, as is too often the case, the tongue is arched up like the back of an angry cat, it is acting as a sponge and the tone has to pass through it, which gives it that thick sound we know as "woolly." It also helps to bar the passage through the mouth and drives the tone up through the nose, especially if the soft palate is at all relaxed.

Whether you are training as a singer or an actor, your voice will never last unless you use it as carefully and rightly in everyday life as you do when singing or acting. Many people who have ugly-speaking voices find that they have a good singing tone, and these people who have ugly speaking voices find throats. They don't realize that as they can get a beautiful tone when singing, it is obvious they can equally easily get a beautiful tone when speaking; that their ugly speaking voice is simply owing to false usage, and that this continual false usage must strain the throat and bring in its train those evils which always follow careless voice production. Therefore, to these people I say emphatically: Start your work of improvement on the voice that you use every day. Don't run away with the idea that for professional use you can acquire a different organ. It is the same organ differently used, and will never last unless it is rightly used both professionally and daily.