Last night, a very talented female actor presented a monologue in class. The acting was simple, clear, direct, and active—the hallmarks of proficiency. “How did it go?” I asked.
“Fine,” she squeezed.
“Did you do what you wanted to do?” I probed.
“No, it wasn’t true,” she responded.
After an improvisational acting exercise, she did a second take. My USC colleague Jack Rowe is often quick to note when an actor’s performance changes the air in the room. This was one of those moments. My gut seized and breath shortened as she spoke each syllable. A new kind of quiet filled the studio. With each move she made and each word she uttered, she seemed to be embarking upon a hero’s struggle, defying the gods for her sense of justice and peace. I felt a connection to the actors seated behind me and sensed I wasn’t the only one with tears in my eyes. The actor performing was not crying.
There was a long silence when she finished the monologue. The moment transformed and she looked at me. “How did it go?” I queried.
“Fine,” she said. I was surprised by her response, so I used her barometer from earlier and asked,
Leave a Reply