Hey kids. Ever thought about going into theatre? Well here are some tips. You may have to pick them out from in between my rants. Please excuse me.
*deep breath*
A director, giving notes--no matter how wacky you think they are, or how much you don't understand them, or how hard you have to work to get the director's approval--are NEVER a personal slight against you. You think he's being harsh? USE IT. You're an actor. It's your job. No one is here to feed you your lines in the exact intonation, order, voice, whatever they are to appear. You have to work. You've chosen this as a career. That's it.
One thing I hate more than immaturity is the inability to realize you're being completely immature and a complete jerk. If you're not here to work--leave. If you'd rather check the hockey score, call your stupid girlfriend, SMS the designer crass messages, play the ukelele, or check your voicemail, rather than work, or respect someone else while they're working--you're completely wasting our fucking time.
And when someone calls you on it? DO NOT throw it in their face and say you're twenty five fucking years old and you don't need to be reprimanded. Because you do. Alternatively you have to sit down, alone, in a room and really decide what you want to do with your life. Because Peter Brook* (*insert any great famous director you respect here) is not going to put up with this shit. In the end: it's his vision. There's nothing else you can do about it. Once this director has clout, he'll stop caring so much about your feelings, and you will feel even worse. So if you can't deal with him when he's speaking in full sentences, wait until he becomes Martha Henry** or Daniel Brooks***.
**Martha: That was great. Now give me more of *insert frantic arm waving*.
***Daniel: Designers are unnecessary vehicles in theatre, and they cut down too many trees to build sets. Now where's my coffee?
The designer is not your personal wardrobe assistant. She has a vision too. Wear whatever she tells you to. Give your opinion only when asked, or when it's accompanied by a respectful suggestion.
Hissy fits are not acceptable.
It doesn't make you sound intelligent when you spew Stanislavsky at me. Stanislavsky expected results (he worked in the private sector!
). You can't just stand back and say this doesn't work for you. MAKE IT WORK. If you can't find an action to change from one character into another, even after the designer and the director lay it out for and give you a prop to work with, then you're in the wrong business. Do NOT condescendingly tell me that "as an actor" that makes no sense. Please, spare me. I took all the same classes as you in undergrad and on top of that I have a fucking MA in this. You want to talk theory? I can run circles around you, so, again, plese, spare me. I'm not throwing my education in your face so don't throw your three classes in mine. Really. You're embarrassing yourself and the rest of the company.
** end of rant**
Look! Pretty flower!
Cute doggie!
*deep breath*
A director, giving notes--no matter how wacky you think they are, or how much you don't understand them, or how hard you have to work to get the director's approval--are NEVER a personal slight against you. You think he's being harsh? USE IT. You're an actor. It's your job. No one is here to feed you your lines in the exact intonation, order, voice, whatever they are to appear. You have to work. You've chosen this as a career. That's it.
One thing I hate more than immaturity is the inability to realize you're being completely immature and a complete jerk. If you're not here to work--leave. If you'd rather check the hockey score, call your stupid girlfriend, SMS the designer crass messages, play the ukelele, or check your voicemail, rather than work, or respect someone else while they're working--you're completely wasting our fucking time.
And when someone calls you on it? DO NOT throw it in their face and say you're twenty five fucking years old and you don't need to be reprimanded. Because you do. Alternatively you have to sit down, alone, in a room and really decide what you want to do with your life. Because Peter Brook* (*insert any great famous director you respect here) is not going to put up with this shit. In the end: it's his vision. There's nothing else you can do about it. Once this director has clout, he'll stop caring so much about your feelings, and you will feel even worse. So if you can't deal with him when he's speaking in full sentences, wait until he becomes Martha Henry** or Daniel Brooks***.
**Martha: That was great. Now give me more of *insert frantic arm waving*.
***Daniel: Designers are unnecessary vehicles in theatre, and they cut down too many trees to build sets. Now where's my coffee?
The designer is not your personal wardrobe assistant. She has a vision too. Wear whatever she tells you to. Give your opinion only when asked, or when it's accompanied by a respectful suggestion.
Hissy fits are not acceptable.
It doesn't make you sound intelligent when you spew Stanislavsky at me. Stanislavsky expected results (he worked in the private sector!
). You can't just stand back and say this doesn't work for you. MAKE IT WORK. If you can't find an action to change from one character into another, even after the designer and the director lay it out for and give you a prop to work with, then you're in the wrong business. Do NOT condescendingly tell me that "as an actor" that makes no sense. Please, spare me. I took all the same classes as you in undergrad and on top of that I have a fucking MA in this. You want to talk theory? I can run circles around you, so, again, plese, spare me. I'm not throwing my education in your face so don't throw your three classes in mine. Really. You're embarrassing yourself and the rest of the company.
** end of rant**
Look! Pretty flower!
Cute doggie!
VIEW 16 of 16 COMMENTS
It's crazy on the finances.
We'll see, mmkay? I've got Photogrrl online explaining right now that I simply have to come, and she's playing really dirty by pointing out that Cathedra is going to be there, because I love her and want to marry her.
But... but it's floor seats for Bowie. I cannot resist their siren song!
Seriously.
Before I came along, those motherfuckers were just a bunch of istas.