The Aspiring, Aspirational Actor
Writing Project 2
I am an actor. Or, an aspiring actor. I’m still not sure what to label myself.
I grew up in a family that encouraged artistic expression and with parents who fed into my hyper fixations, whatever they were. Typically, they centered around movies, fictional characters, and actors. I had dabbled in other artistic fields and enjoyed them very much, but they paled in comparison when I reflected on my love for cinema. I got grouped with the gifted students in elementary and middle school, and my teachers drilled into my head that I was to become a doctor and attend Harvard University. As I got through high school and college applications came knocking at my door, the sudden realization that my chances of fulfilling these standards were low hit me. Not because I couldn’t do it but because I didn’t want to. I had been a student with a goal others set for me, and I decided I wouldn’t continue through college this way. I chose to detach myself from academic validation, and now, I attend the University of Southern California and am striving to become an actor.
Throughout this reflection on my relatively fresh and ongoing journey as an actor, you’ll notice I switch between calling myself an actor and then retracting by saying I am working towards being an actor. I imagine several other aspiring actors also struggle with this labeling. That most, if not all, actors can't shake off the imposter syndrome. Because what classifies an actor? How many roles they're getting? How often they audition? How consistently they go to class and try to learn? It is a debatable topic. Nonetheless, even with my short experience in the field, I believe an actor actively tries to be in touch with themselves and practice their craft in every way they can. (How ironic that this is what I do, yet I can't bring myself to say it with pride.)
I am twenty years old, and although I know my life is barely starting, I can’t help but feel that I am too late to enter this field. Yes, I've always had a deep passion for acting, even when I couldn't confidently pin my finger on it, but I never joined the drama club or performed in a play. I expressed my love for it by watching actor interviews and movies behind the scenes and reading about acting. Still, I had never stepped onto the stage and let myself disappear into the role. I was preoccupied with doing things I thought would contribute to my doctor career.
Now, at 20, I stand in classrooms filled with actors and students with real experience, which is frightening. I walk into the rooms constantly, wanting tangible validation and the ounce of confidence that'll allow me to believe I am an actor and tell others I am an actor. Not that, "I am taking acting classes and hoping I get good enough to stick with it and feel content, even when I face constant rejection." It is as if I spill all this out so I won't have to justify that I lack experience and feel behind, even though I know my undying passion for it gives me the confidence to say that I am an actor.
About two years ago, I read Letters to a Young Artist by Anna Deavere Smith, and I remember thinking that every piece of knowledge she shared was straightforward and maybe even easy to practice. Anna Smith is an actor and playwright who discusses the importance of confidence in the book. Well, more so, the importance of moderate confidence and, instead, grand determination. She clarifies that confidence is only sometimes the key to a secure sense of self and worth in your work. Instead, having a great conclusion encompasses all that and more. If one has determination, they can hang in there regardless of the circumstances.
In my current acting class, this book has made its way back to me, and reading it at this point in my life, now in my first year of seriously acting, I realize how hard it is to stay on the track of determination. More specifically, the difficulty of staying narrow-visioned and not allowing self-deprecation or overthinking to take over. I think about my struggle with imposter syndrome and my analysis of myself as a performer as I bring this up. I know that because I am new to fully embracing being uncomfortable and vulnerable, it won't be easy to feel this sense of determination and security every day. Still, Anna Smith brings up clowns and how it is hard to be a clown because their role is to "outsmart the nonchalant ones around them." A clown, covered in its makeup and red nose, consistently tries to create a connection, and they don't seem to tire in their efforts. Clowns are tough and determined, and I aim to be as strong as one of them. It's not to say I won't tire, but I also know I won't want anything else than to perform.
There is a difference between overthinking your capability as an actor and overthinking the moments you are on stage. Although I do both, it is more detrimental for an actor to analyze their every move and how they say their stage lines. It entails not giving themselves to the scene as honestly as one should. That has been challenging for me.
There is a method that Stephen Wang, actor and writer, goes over in his book, An Acrobat of the Heart, called Plastiques. It is moving parts of your body in isolation, in a repeated movement, to create a story. For example, you can start by moving your left shoulder repeatedly, as if someone had pushed it forward. Doing it several times might ignite some emotion or memories, and you can allow that to change your isolated movement. Ideally, this exercise is not one of thinking first and then doing, but rather doing and opening up pathways in which your body can transform one movement into another seamlessly. When fully involved, the performance can transition from dribbling a basketball to juggling a hot tortilla. As an actor who struggles and forgets to incorporate moving my body in a scene, this exercise has allowed me to embarrass myself as a learning experience. It is uncomfortable, especially when you are placed in the middle of the circle to be looked at for 10 minutes. It constantly evolves your body, facial expressions, emotions, and storyline. Still, despite being a scary process, doing plastiques allows me to get out of my head and move. They are the moments where I feel the most challenged; I leave those moments feeling like an actor. An individual willing to be vulnerable and to be seen. The feeling of not being entirely in control is a feeling I chase now, and I know incorporating this practice consistently will only help strip away my fear of shamelessly expressing myself.
Yet another resource that has helped me connect with the actor I know lives inside me is The Object Exercise. Covered by Uta Hagen in her book Respect for Acting, she boils down a scene and script to nine questions.
Who am I?
What time is it?
Where am I?
What surrounds me?
What are the given circumstances?
What is my relationship?
What do I want?
What’s in my way?
What do I do to get what I want?
These questions work as a way to get the most specific details of the given circumstance. In answering these, you get a clearer idea of one’s motives, why they feel the way they do, and how you can approach the script and the scene. In my acting class, we had to choose an excerpt from a piece of media we felt connected to. I chose the church confession scene from the show Fleabag, which is quite honest. We then had to apply these questions to our scene and connect it to a different story than it originally came from.
When filling out these questions, I avoided watching the original clip because I wanted to avoid imitating the performance or its circumstances. The deeper into detail I went with my answers, the more personal this scene became. When I had to perform it in class, I felt more emotionally and physically involved than I imagined. These simple questions transformed the way I would have approached the scene, had I gone into it mindlessly. At that moment, I understood what renowned actors meant by embodying the character so much they lost themselves momentarily. It was another exciting moment in which my perceived insufficiency of me as an actor diminished.
As you might be from this reflection, I am aware that I still have so much to learn about what it means to be an actor or what it means to act. There are countless methods I have yet to read about and put to the test and numerous embarrassing moments where I'll ask myself, "What the hell am I doing?" I've admired actors and their talents since I could form coherent opinions and observations, but it's become clear that respecting and practicing an art form are two vastly distinct states of mind. I have only been taking classes for a year, but calling myself an actor is becoming more attainable by the second.
One of my favorite actors, Ryan Gosling, went on a small rant regarding the harsh reality of an actor's life. The clip made it in the documentary Seduced and Abandoned, which focused on some of Hollywood's stars and their experiences. In his rant, he covers how being in an audition room shows you the reality that you aren't unique, and that sometimes you have to commit to the acting, even though you know, it's a lost cause. I laughed when I watched it, telling myself, "That sucks," but my feelings toward this career path didn't change much. This desire to still move forward with it has to count for something, even if I struggle with myself, the actor.