Saturday - August 15th, 2020 - “The Actor’s Instrument” - Edward Dwight Easty - Part I.
There is an idea that I like very much, which I first discovered in Edward Dwight Easty’s On Method Acting, which was first published in 1966.
I first read the book four years ago; though I can’t remember how I came across it –––– whether I saw it in a bookstore and it caught my eye, or whether I was browsing books on the creative process and it grabbed my attention. All I know for sure is that it was not recommended to me by anyone. This was a book that I summoned into my experience, one that called me up on the telepathic telephone and demanded that I answer its call; and begin reading its pages, at once.
Like many, I’ve long been fascinated by the thin line that divides a heartfelt and moving performance from one that presents, and therefore exists, as hackneyed and canned, and therefore: quickly becomes excruciating to watch, and nearly impossible to sit through.
As a poet and writer, concrete methods, measurements and instructions exist for creating strong lines and compositions: show don’t tell; drop the adverbs; keep it as simple as possible; use flowery language sparingly (if at all). But if these are a few of the more common tools for helping poets and authors; and screenwriters; and playwrights create the lines that the actors will rely upon to bring their characters to life, then what methods, and tools, can the actors rely upon in order to create realistic and moving characters on the screen, and on the stage?
Keep in mind, this line of inquiry was not moving through my mind when I first picked up (or ordered) On Method Acting; or if it was, it was happening in an intuitive and organic fashion, rather than as a deliberate and intentional series of thoughts and resulting actions. All of this is to say, I did not will myself toward this book; instead, I must have been in a calm and serene and curious vibrational state, and as a result, I allowed this book to present itself to me, and thereafter become a part of my experience.
This past July, I recalled the enjoyment that I felt while reading On Method Acting, and began looking for the book again. As I have moved a number of times since 2016, I couldn’t locate my copy, thus, following the same impulse that I followed four years ago, I ordered a copy of the book again. I’m glad that I did; and am enjoying reading it once more.
Here’s the block quote, which is printed upon the very first page of the 1989 version of On Method Acting:
“An actor’s instrument is his whole self. It is his body, his mind and being, complete with thoughts, emotions, sensitivity, imagination, honesty and awareness. Try to imagine the actor’s instrument in much the same way you picture the musician and his violin, the artist and his canvas, paints, and brushes. Think of them as one and inseparable. Just as the musician practices daily on his instrument, always perfecting its response to his will through training, and the artist mixes his paints, brushing them on with the precision and beauty accrued only by drill, so must the actor be concerned with the training and development of his instrument and its responses to his commands.”
For a number of reasons, I love the passage above: its precision and rhythm; its descriptions: quick, clean and neat; combined with the strength and clarity of its thesis –––– “The Actor’s Instrument is this _______,” makes for a gripping and important first hook of a passage.
Even more lovely, is one aspect of the Actor’s instrument which has been left out from this passage, which I’ll describe, through this light: Easty compares the Actor’s instrument to the Painter’s canvas, paints, and brushes; as well as to the Musician’s violin; however, he does not extend this comparison to the Writer’s pen. Why not? Because the Writer’s instrument is not his or her or their pen, nor is it the computer and keyboard that he presses his fingers against so that words may appear on a screen. Instead, in the same way that the Actor’s instrument is “his body, his mind and being, complete with thoughts, emotions, sensitivity, imagination, honesty, and awareness,” the same must be true for the Writer.
Whenever I have tried, whether intentionally, or absent-mindedly, to write from outside of my body; without my whole mind and being, without my thoughts, emotions, sensitivity, imagination, honesty and awareness, I have been disappointed, if not more severely: quite angry and resentful toward myself.
If the Writer’s instrument, like the Actor’s, is his body, his mind and being, complete with thoughts, emotions, sensitivity, imagination, honesty, and awareness; and not his pen; then what separates the Artist’s canvas and paint brush, as well the Musician’s violin, from the writer?
At present, I can only say that there is an answer to this question, and that it is, indeed, an important inquiry; but please, if you’ll allow me the time and the space to rest and fine tune the instrument from which I am writing these words, we’ll pick up here again, and I will get back to you.
_____
