A tumultuous couple of days (really more like couple of weeks) has resulted in a revelation. For over a week now, we've been working with our partners on Meisner repetition, but with a twist; one person is in the room (it is 'their space') working on a difficult activity, and the other person is waiting outside the door. The outside person knocks to come in and has a reason for coming in (an objective). But the dialogue between the two must be based solely on what is observed of the partner. That probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but think of it this way: If I entered the room of my partner and she said "You're wearing a black shirt.", I would repeat, "I'm wearing a black shirt." and we would continue that way until something else happened that forced us to acknowledge it. Like she began trying to do pirouettes. Or jumped in the air and screamed. Or started crying.
The problem with me was that I didn't understand the point of the objectives because our teacher almost never let us say them. If we did happen to say them ("I need to borrow a cucumber."), he would ask, "What in her manner said to you that she wanted to know what you wanted?" Well, she opened the door. She stared at me expectantly. Sometimes she asked what I was doing there. Are those not indications of her desire to know what I want? It frustrated me endlessly, to the point where I began to spend Acting class disconnected and annoyed every day.
Well, two days ago, it was my turn to go with an activity. I chose shuffling cards, trying to do the bridge. It was something I'd never been able to do and always wanted to, and I created a backstory of having to master it to get a well-paying one night casino fundraiser job so that I could afford to fly home for Thanksgiving. We went. My partner came in. Pretty quickly she achieved her objective and borrowed my phone. The session was over. Chris, my instructor, was not pleased.
In a long speech he successfully pointed out how I was not involved in what I was doing, I didn't believe my backstory, and Faye and I weren't really responding to each other honestly. He asked how much we had practiced over the weekend. I wasn't going to lie. We hadn't practiced at all. Without really saying so he clearly suggested that lack of involvement was the kind of thing that resulted in not being reaccepted second year. I believe him when he said that he wasn't trying to be a threatening old acting teacher, but the point was true: If I wasn't willing to put in the practice each day, what was I paying thirty thousand dollars for?
So we did it again. We raised the stakes. The job was the next day, and I had to spread and flip the cards across the table. If I didn't get this job, I wasn't going home for Thanksgiving and the family wasn't going to bother having it. Dad had called the day before and said how much it would mean for me to find a way home. We restarted. Faye came in and we did the repetition, and it got intense. It was real, but it also had to do with the situation I was actually in in the class. I finished and sat down.
My head was buzzing all night and all day the next day. The time came for Vocal Production, in which we were having our midterm, part of which included performing a monologue, and then singing it. This was the first time I'd really acted for my Section, and the first time I'd sung for over half of them. I got up. I did Biff from Death of a Salesman, and I don't mind saying it was good. Several of them were in tears. And then I sang. And they applauded. Afterward one of them came up and took my face in their hands and told me that I was the most talented person they'd ever met.
And it was exciting! It was scary to perform for them, but then it was so thrilling to see myself appreciated. Is that vain? I don't think so. You see, with the stress of school and adjusting to a new life and trying to make friends, I think I'd forgotten how much I really love what I'm doing. I love acting, performing. It's what I was made to do. I fully believe that. But that doesn't mean that I don't ever get frustrated or distracted and forget what I'd doing here. But having my lack of motivation laid out for me and then getting the opportunity to once again see that my talent, this dream of mine is legitimate was a reawakening for me. What am I doing at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts if I'm not going challenge myself, take risks, learn as much as I can, work as hard as I can? I can do this. I think that's what Chris was trying to get me to realize. If I devote myself completely to the craft, I can do fantastic things. So that's what I've got to do. It's what I was made to do.
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