critiquing the critics

As a Theatre student, I was taught to be critical.
Constructively.

If we watched a scene, the director/professor would ask for opinions afterward. There was no such thing as simply saying "I liked it" because he would always push for why.

We began to dissect... everything. Lights, direction, acting, costumes, sets... to question every choice the production's director and actors made.

Sometimes I wish I never took that course.

There is no way I can separate myself from the critique.
Every time I watch a live performance my mind is constantly whirling, as ears, eyes and brain combine to make a fine tooth comb of analysis, running it through the hair of the performance as deliberate as looking for lice.
It happens with film, music and books as well, although I tend to be harder on the stage because this is where it began. It has just spilled over into other areas of art.

Of course there is nothing wrong with constructive criticism but I have to remind myself that not everyone has the same background, same experience.
But inevitably when I emerge from a performance, someone will ask the question
"what did you think?"

Ugh.

I'm sure friends who ask roll their eyes inward, waiting for me to hate it and tear it apart.
I should just say I liked it, and move on. But it doesn't sit well in my guts.
I'm sure it comes off as pompous, as if I think could do better.  I don't. Okay, in some cases I do, but in fairness, in some cases my cat could also do a better job.
 
One of my pet peeves with local theatre here in Nova Scotia is not as much with the productions, but with the audiences. It seems that people misunderstand the purpose of the standing ovation. It would appear that if anyone walks across a stage, it is applauded by jumping to your feet. But by far, the worst culprits are the local reviewers who always praise, never picking out anything that could and should be addressed, something  to be improved upon.

While it is very kind to want to be so supportive, it breeds mediocrity and unwarranted ego. How can an artist grow if s/he thinks they have no need to improve?
I'm not speaking of those critics who hate everything, who feel the need to tear it all down.
Criticism should be constructive, not destructive. It is meant to build toward something better, not to tear something down.

As a performer and director I have been reviewed many times and I can say that if the critique was favorable nine times out of ten, it was the tenth that stayed with me. As a person it is easy to take it personally. As a performer it should be taken as a gift. It puts a seed in the back of your mind that grows into other options, other choices.


However, with all of this being said, I have to remind myself that not everyone thinks this way. Some people enjoy a production simply because they found it entertaining.
I envy that.
It's not fun realizing that the Wizard is just a man behind the screen, or knowing the trick to every illusion.
Every time I answer the question "what did you think?" I obsess about my response for hours afterward. I worry that I offended someone or made them feel that their opinion was invalid.

While it may appear that I am too critical, it is nothing compared to my own review of my review.
Sadly, that voice is not a constructive one.

making it up

The first time I was to do improvisation on stage, I panicked.

It was in high school, and we went to a play festival in another city. Our play was one we had written ourselves; a series of funny sketches that allowed everyone to take turns performing in, and supporting the show. One sketch was an empty slate. We were told by our teacher/director,  that it would be purely improvised, that just before the the show, he would single one of us out to start and end the scene.
I wanted to throw up. The thought of it made me ill.
I wasn't good at improv.

Even when we improvised in the classroom, I tried as hard as I could to avoid participating. Everyone was funnier, more entertaining than I, and I would just feel stupid. I couldn't believe actually wanted he wanted me to be the one to lead the scene.  Surely it would suck and I would ruin the show.
I begged. Pleaded. Cried. Couldn't breathe.
If this were a movie of the week from the 80's, he would have made me do the scene, I would have been brilliant and learn a valuable life lesson about believing in yourself.
However, the real story is, someone else was appointed the task and I could breathe again.

During the show, when the improv sketch was happening, I did not participate at all. I sat,  watching the guy who was chosen to lead, as he had the entire place in stitches. It was absolutely the right choice and perhaps even the highlight of the show.
I didn't regret not doing it.
But I did feel I had disappointed my teacher, for whom I had the greatest respect, and that I did regret.

Ironically, a great portion of my career has been based in improv and sketch comedy, yet I still fight the fear that I am not a funny person. I still struggle with the pressure of thinking that everything has to be funny.

Even as a child, I didn't like to do something if I couldn't do it well the first time. And even now,  if I know I can't be great the first time, then I like to observe and learn until I feel comfortable enough to present it. That, of course, is the antithesis of improvisation.
Recently I watched a lecture by John Cleese, on creativity, where he said, "Nothing will stop you as effectively as your fear of making a mistake".
Ain't that the truth.

thanks for the swanky chart, google guys

The first (and best) teacher to really break it all down was the director of a show in which I was cast.   He was a comedy writer, comedian, and could reduce a person to tears on a daily basis. At least he did that to me. I lost count of  how often and how close I came to quitting. On a daily basis.
There was a lot of improvisation during the days  and I dreaded each morning's rehearsal. It was a boot camp of improv and he really was a drill sergeant. He could fire a size 9 Florsheim shoe at you faster than you could block an offer. But I did not quit. Without knowing it, I learned.

Of course,  I didn't just learn skills that would help me on stage. What I learned could (and has been) be carried into life. It has helped me think on my feet, whether it is speaking in front of a group of people, or to someone on the phone.
Oddly enough, the art of "making it up" follows some hard and fast rules. The most important rules of improv can be applied to the way in which we live our lives, which of course, is the greatest form of improvisation there is, really.

Don't block.
This means to never say "no" to any idea. Saying no will completely stop action. Be open to offers, say yes. Or even "yes, but..." But never say no.

Take risks.
Fear is going to make you take the safer option. Sometimes that's not a bad thing.  Learn when to tell the difference.

Depend on the people you trust and know that if you falter, they will step up. You'll ever have to worry about losing your lines, or your way.
Know those you don't trust, and stay alert.

Don't act, React.
And move the action along.

Know when to take focus, but also know when to give it.
It's not always about you, sometimes you are better served and can serve better,  among the supporting cast.  When it is about you, step forward and shine like a young bride's diamond.

Be committed.
Own the decisions you make. Follow through.

Years ago, when I was ducking to avoid a flying shoe in rehearsals, it seemed to me that I was given a more difficult time of it than my other cast mates. Years later, as friends, I asked my shoe-throwing director why he was so hard on me.
"You had it," he told me. "You had it all along, and you just didn't see it.  I pushed you until you did."

And for this I am eternally grateful.

(Now)

the process before the process

No matter how long I've been doing this, no matter how many times I do it now, I can never, never get over the absolute horror of auditioning.

It happens the same way every time-
I wake up feeling sick. I think "I'm not going. I'm not doing this. I'm not putting myself through this again."
I run through the possible scenario's, play pro's and con's- what is the worst that can happen? why should I do this? And this is all before I get out of bed.
Eventually I talk myself down. Sort of.
That is to say, I keep talking myself down as I shower, as I moisturize, as I dress. The whole time I'm applying make-up, I'm telling myself not to bother, because I'm not going. My body fights with itself- I become sleepy, my belly feels sick. And my mind keeps trying to be the boss of me, telling me to crawl back under the covers.
But my hands and feet ignore it all. My fingers dress me- pull on pants, do up buttons, lace up shoes. My legs carry me and my feet are on a mission.

Every step becomes a march. Every left. Right. Left. Right. GO. HOME. GO. HOME.
But my body keeps walking as my stomach keeps churning and my lower intestine is threatening to turn to liquid any minute.

It happens with any audition, whether voice-over, film, or stage. For me, the worst of those is stage. There is that awkwardness of "acting" in front of one or two people.

Auditions always run long, so you rarely get in at the time you were originally given. In some ways, that's good; you have time to get centered and prepared. But in other ways it's bad because you have time to think. And that's never good. I think I am blank. I think I don't remember the lines. I think my mouth is too dry.

Then I get in there and I am soaked. I imagine I must look a mess and try to put it out of my mind. Whenever I get to choose the piece, I find it best to aim for someone strung out, rather than put together, so that I look the part and make my shvitzing work in my favor.

I have learned that most auditions take time, with dialogue between the auditioner and the auditionee. When I finish my monologue, and I hear "that was great, thank you- we don't need you to read any more", I know it doesn't mean "that was great and we don't need to see any more because we know that there's nothing for you in this show". I don't take it personally.
A friend of mine once said "I go to more auditions than actual jobs". Strangely, that comforted me, because this person is well respected and always working. I guess my point is, we all have similar insecure reactions to this process in some way.

Usually someone who knows I was going to audition will ask at some point "how did it go?" and I have no idea.
The only thing I can go on is this: if I didn't shit myself, vomit or pass out, the audition was a success.

So, I guess, so far, so good.

all the world's a stage, so pay your money and mind your own fucking business

"What do you do?"

It's a question that is usually always asked when you first meet.
It is the default question, the one I'm never sure how to answer.
It is still considered rude in some places, but here it is as common as offering your name and your hand.

What do I say? I'm an actor? Singer? Voice-over actor? Performer? What I do encompasses so much, that it is hard to label it so simply. And I must admit, the connotation of quotations-actor-end-quotations was so distasteful to me for a long time because had become synonymous with flaky, flighty, drama queen. It still is, I suppose, but I try to embrace the other more creative and positive (and non-pretentious) aspects of this career.

And career is the word. I have the greatest respect for those who are always looking for ways to challenge and improve their craft. And who look at it as a business. There is a huge difference between those for whom the arts is a job, and those who use it as a lifestyle. And it is the latter that (in my humble opinion) ruin it for the rest of us.

It's rare that I have the time, or frankly, the ambition or interest, to sit through a play. Usually if I go it's because someone I know is in it and I want to show my support. Recently I did venture out- a friend was in town with a show, and I went for both reasons I've just sited. Incidentally, the show was quite good, but the pre-show was dead annoying. And by pre-show, I mean, ticket line up. Inevitably there are some "theatre-types" at a show, talking loudly in the lobby about whatever projects on which they are working. Or giving their critique of some performance. Or simply just "performing".
There are certain bars or cafe's frequented by this kind of person, and I will avoid them like a cat avoids a bath. Just sitting within sight and earshot of these posers can send me into a blind rage, and they are the reason I am so reluctant to say what I do. Sometimes I must fight the urge to offer them money, and suggest they use it to buy a big bucket of "Shake Your Fucking Head".

There are usually a few options to the reactions that I get when people find out what I do.
Sometimes there is a simple "ah", although such a small word can be so heavy with judgment, as in "ah, you don't have a real job". Sometimes people think it is quite glamorous. They are the ones who will ask a bag full of questions bordering on intrusive. I don't like to discuss the particulars of my work, and try to find ways to avoid the inquiry. There have been times in the past when someone has asked me what I do,and I instantly answered "massage therapist". Or, if I'm feeling sassy, "secret agent".

So if I feel this way, if I can't openly discuss my career, why do I do it?
Sometimes I blame my lack of math skills. My inability to work with numbers has foiled my chances of becoming a doctor. Well, that, and my lack of interest in that field. (Although, in high school, I did think I might want to be an oceanographer, but that may have only been an extension of my love of swimming and being near the water. )
I come from a family of linear thinkers- scientific, logical, able to figure out angles and gazinta's, take things apart and put them back together. Sure, no one else can sing or perform, but let's face it, what I do is not earth shattering. It does not save lives. And yet it is all I know. And ultimately, broken down in its basic form, it is what I love.

I've always said I am the most reluctant performer. I don't want attention. Applause sometimes embarrasses me. I am extremely private, and yet I have chosen the most public of careers.

Bob Dylan once said "At times in my life the only place I have been happy is when I am on stage." This I understand. An empty stage can be exhilarating, filled with so much possibility.

I love the language, thought, the process, the creating.
I love the challenge of becoming someone else, and making others believe it. I like finding subtleties that no one would have thought to find, and being better than I was the last time I did it, even if it is just to me.
Singing is completely the opposite, unless of course its a character song in a musical. But otherwise, expressing myself in this manner opens me up, brings out the true me. It is like finding my voice every time. I think that singing is something that everyone secretly wants to do, and yet finds it the most terrifying, because you are truly yourself at that moment.
I know this is why I do it.

And I do it because it is what I know.

I just don't need to discuss it with strangers.