Acting in Film Read online

  If your concentration is total and your performance is truthful, you can lean back and the camera will catch you every time; it will never let you fall. It's watching you. It's your friend. Remember, it loves you. It listens to and records everything you do, no matter how minutely you do it. If theatre acting is an operation with a scalpel, movie acting is an operation with a laser.

  The scale of a film performance may be smaller than that of a performance in the theatre, but the intensity is just as great. Perhaps greater. On stage you have the dramatic thrust of the whole play to help you along. In film you shoot isolated moments, probably in the wrong sequence, and you have to constantly crank yourself up to an intense pitch of concentration on every shot. There isn't any coasting along in films; your brain is basically working double time or you don't exist on the screen. And you would be surprised how large a "small" performance can be on film, provided it is rooted in naturalism. But don't just stand there and do nothing; and it won't help to make semaphore signals the way you do in the theatre. Don't imagine that you do everything theatrically but just at a reduced pitch, either. You must be thinking every moment because the camera looks into your mind, and the audience sees what the camera sees. The real key is in your mental transmission. If the mind is in overdrive, the body is headed in the right direction.

  LESS IS MORE

  I sometimes encounter actors who think they're going to steal a scene by being big and bombastic. Those actors are using their bodies and voices instead of their brains. They don't realize that in terms of voice and action, less is more. You see the great theatre actor who can't be bothered to come to terms with the movie medium. Ile probably needs a new Mercedes, so he's condescended to cope with a cinema gig between productions of Titus Andronicus. Now put the camera on him. Watch. Everyone goes into hysterics. The voice is too loud, the movements-famous for causing whole theatre audiences to gasp-now seem suddenly exaggerated and false. If I'm playing opposite somebody who goes into orbit like that, I just come in underneath him. I stick to the naturalism I believe in, and he is left up there looking pretty stupid.

  BILLION DOLLAR BRAIN

  Directed by Ken Russell. United Artists, 1967.

  A tree is a tree in the movies. It's not that painted bit of canvas that says, "We're in the theatre. We've agreed to suspend disbelief and pretend it's not all cardboard. We're going to see wonderful stage actors acting." On stage, you have to project your voice or the words will sink without a trace into the third row of seats. On stage, the basic premise is action; you have to sell your attitudes to the audience. In movies, the microphone can always hear you, no matter how softly you speak, no matter where the scene is taking place. In movies, it is reaction that gives every moment its potency. That's why listening in films is so important, as well as the use of the eyes in the close-up. You don't have to shout and scream. You don't ever have to do it big.

  SCREEN POTENTIAL

  It is impossible to tell someone's screen potential by just looking at him. Nobody knows what the secret ingredient is, and until you see an actor on the screen doing his work, you can't tell what's going to happen. There are just some fortunate people out there whom you, I and millions of other people want to look at. Look at the old screen tests of Marilyn Monroe and James Dean-those tests reveal a lot of fear; but they also reveal that magical stuff that dream movie careers are made of.

  The screen test is the basic initial assessment of your screen potential and it can be rough. Most screen tests are done with another actor-not one of the stars (who hasn't time to try out novices) but someone specially hired for the event. They put the camera on you and do a close-up. They turn you sideways to get a look at your profile. Then they pick out one of the more difficult dialogue scenes from the picture for which you're auditioning and tell you to do that scene with the back-of-the-head actor. Your screen potential is judged by what you look like, how relaxed you are, the sound of your voice, and by that rare hard-to-define commodity that radiates from some movie actors like gold and diamonds.

  GET YOUR OWN ACT TOGETHER

  Film acting makes other demands, mental and physical, that never show up in the final results and are hard to imagine unless you've at least played a small part for a day or two. These demands start at home, before you even get in front of the camera. Much of the preparation sounds like getting ready for school rather than entering the glamorous world of film, but then you don't actually find glamor on the film set, just lots of hard work.

  First, you have to psych yourself into a good night's sleep, after having arranged a fool proof wake-up call. Second, you have to be sure of your transportation arrangements when you do get up in the morning because your time is their money, and if you don't know how you are getting to the studio or the location on time, you won't have the job when you do get there, late. Establish where to go (the venue of your shoot might always be changing) and then mentally rehearse your journey there as if it were the first scene in the film. You've got to get your own act together before the camera's act can begin. Being prepared isn't just for the demands of your part; it's also for the demands of the studio or location. You must get your bearings and establish where to go and what to do when you get there.

  Once you're on location, any neurotic fussing distracts attention from the main event, which is the making of a movie. You have to be ready-that is, in your makeup and in costume-at dawn. Now you're all dressed up with nowhere to go. Careful. Don't dribble butter down your chin or trail your trouser bottoms in the mud. Don't waste energy with a lot of frenzied socializing, either, even though you may find yourself waiting all day before you are called to do anything. And don't expect regular meal breaks; you may have to keep shooting so that the camera people can catch the light they want. No one will be deliberately trying to starve you; you may even be able to smell the canteen around the corner, but as with everyone else, that film is your first and only priority. Even your stomach only grumbles on cue.

  PLAYS ARE PERFORMED; MOVIES ARE MADE

  Shooting a movie is a long, relentless grind. If you're not physically strong, if you don't have the stamina to go the distance, don't bother starting the race. There may be night shooting and you may have to be back on location at dawn the next morning to start all over again. Waiting can be as tiring as doing, but you've got to save the best of yourself for when the camera rolls. Then, when it does, be ready and able to give not merely the best you've got, but give precisely what the director wants, sometimes under demanding working conditions: in lousy weather, wearing a crippling costume, and mobbed by distracting crowds who can't tear themselves away from this fascinating event on their doorstep.

  The single most startling principle to grasp for the theatre actor entering the world of film for the first time is that not only have you got to know your lines on day one, you will also have directed yourself to play them in a certain way. And all this accomplished without necessarily discussing the role with the director, without meeting the other people in the cast, without rehearsal on the set. The stage actor is used to slowly wading into the play's reality. First a read-through with the assembled cast to acquaint him with the broad outline of the author's intentions. Then the director's view. Then maybe a free-for-all discussion. Gradually, book in hand, stage actors splash themselves with gentle doses of the play, scene by scene, starting with Act One, Scene One. Pity the poor stage actor who is about to be immersed, Baptist style, in the movies. Plays are performed. Movies are made.

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  CALIFORNIA SUITE

  Directed by Herbert Ross. Columbia, 1978.

  There may be rehearsals, but that is by no means certain; and more than likely, if you have them, they won't be for you but for the benefit of the camera people! And despite all your preparation, you have to remain flexible. You might have to incorporate new lines or physical changes at a moment's notice. Panic is prohibited.

  It's very tough for the theatre actor to und
erstand that the other actors' performances aren't really his business. Whether he is helped or hindered by the other actors' performances in the shot, he must react as if they have given him exactly what he wants, even if he feels shortchanged. Remember, unless you are actually looking through the camera and seeing the shot, you can never know if all the performers are delivering the goods or not. Half the time, movie acting is so subtle that the actors on the set with me will say:

  "I don't know what you're doing."

  And I say, "Wait till you see the rushes." (Sometimes I've even said that to the director.)

  Once a director said to me: "I didn't see that, Michael. I didn't see that on the take."

  And I said, "Where were you sitting?"

  "Over there."

  So I said, "How do you expect to have seen anything? The lens is over here by me."

  Another tough challenge for a theatre actor presents itself when he has to summon up an actor who isn't there-that is, talk to the camera with no actor behind it. Mostly the off-camera actor is there and will be very generous with his time and give you just as intense a performance as he did in his close-up; but sometimes he's needed elsewhere and you have to cope by pretending he's there when he isn't. At this point, I don't care if he's there or not-in fact, I usually suggest he go home. I could do it to the wall because I hang on to the emotional memory of how it was in the shot when he was there. The only completely disconcerting moment occurs when the continuity girl stands in for a passionate bit and drones away, "I - love - you - darling - but - I - have - been - unfaithful," and you have to emote away, "Oh, God, no! Please don't!" That's a bit difficult.

  Discipline is necesssary at any level of film acting, but in some ways, small parts are the hardest. It's terrifying to have to say just one line. I did it in about a hundred pictures. I played a police constable in The Day the Earth Caught Fire, for instance. I had to hold up the traffic, direct cars in one direction, trucks in another, and say my ONE BIG LINE. When finally I thought I knew what I was supposed to be doing, and the director obligingly said "Action!" inevitably the police helmet came right down over my eyes! I couldn't see where to direct the trucks and I couldn't remember my line. The director said to me: "You will never work again." (By the way, there are some things you never say in the movie business: that's one of them. It usually turns out that the person who says it never works again.) The point is that reliability is at a premium in films. And reliability isn't only punctuality or making sure your shoes stay shined. Reliability is also functioning well under pressure when the camera rolls. Just to come out even against everything that's flung at you requires a high level of alert competence. I let that police helmet distract me.

  "QUIET!" AND YOU'VE NEVER HEARD SUCH QUIET

  And in the midst of your necessary alertness, let's not forget that you have to achieve relaxation. Movie acting is relaxation. If you're knocking yourself out, you're doing it wrong. So one of the first things you have to learn is how to overcome nerves. Preparation is a big step toward controlling those nerves. All the work you do beforehand is going to help subdue the fear. All your preparation points come together to create a safety net. And everybody needs one. Remember: in film acting, you don't usually know the director's intentions until you get on the set, and terror may strike the best of us under those circumstances. There's the big director and his big star; they and everybody else are all waiting poised for you to come up with this great thing that you're paid so highly to do. There's the moment when they say "Quiet!" and you've never heard such quiet. It's deafening. You can hear the blood in your own eardrums. Then the director says "Action!" If you're not experienced, that moment turns you into a sort of nervous automaton.

  The social situation doesn't help much, either, particularly if you're the new guy and the movie's been shooting for a while. Everybody's saying, "Hello, Charlie. How ya doin? Get me a cup of tea . . . " And you're standing there not knowing anybody. Then over comes your star-usually a pain in the neck, a bit conceited, and doesn't talk to you because you've only got a small part-and you stand there, nervewracked. It's especially scary if there's a big scene going on and you have the last line-your only line.

  It's no wonder I have sympathy for one-line actors. I've been there. The troops come down the hill, the beach explodes, and you say:

  "Quick! The Germans are crumming!" (One line!)

  "Who got this guy?!"

  The casting director comes in and says, "What's the matter?"

  "This guy can't say one line!"

  (You're standing there cursing yourself.)

  "All those troops have to come over the hill again!" (Because of my crumming line!) "It'll take two hours to put the explosives back in ..."

  Then the great star says his long speech absolutely perfectly, yet again; and you say:

  "Quick! The Germans are crumming!" Then you ask desperately, "Can we post-synch that? Will it be all right?"

  And the director says, "NO! We've got to do it again!"

  Preparation

  "You're your first best audience long before anybody else hears you. So don't be an easy audience. Keep asking for more."

  So to avoid all that horror, prepare. Apart from anything else, preparation uses up a lot of the nervous energy that otherwise might rise up to betray you. Channel that energy; focus it into areas that you control.

  The first step in preparation is to learn your lines until saying them becomes a predictable reflex. And don't mouth them silently; say them aloud until they become totally your property. Hear yourself say them, because the last thing you want is the sound of your own voice taking you by surprise or not striking you as completely convincing. If you can't convince yourself, the chances are that you won't convince the character opposite you, or the director. You're your first best audience long before anybody else hears you. So don't be an easy audience. Keep asking for more.

  I learn lines on my own; I never have anyone read. Nevertheless, I try to learn lines as dialogue, as logical replies to what someone else has said or as a logical response to a situation. You'll never find me going down the page with an envelope, blocking out my own speech and revealing the one before because it then becomes nothing more than "cues" and "speeches." If you haven't grasped the logic of why you say a particular thing, you won't say it properly or convincingly. And if your thoughts aren't linked to what you're saying, then you won't be able to say a line as if you invented it on the spot. So you must be familiar with the whole conversation, not just your own bits. One of the most crucial jobs you'll have as an actor will be to know what you're thinking when you're not talking.

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  THE ISLAND

  Directed by Michael Ritchie. Universal, 1980.

  Pictured with Jeffrey Frank.

  Say your lines aloud while you're learning them until you find what strikes you as the best possible expression of that particular thought. If there are plausible variations, develop them, practice them, too; but keep them up your sleeve. If the director rejects your brilliant interpretation, you're not left in a blank state of horror. You've already imagined and prepared other reactions to demonstrate. And most important, you've allowed for some element of malleability in your performance. Give your best reading as if it were the only one possible; but your mind should be hanging loose enough to take a leap, if necessary. For the moment, go with the line readings that seem to you the most valid. It may take some doing, but once the thought process is right, the words will follow.

  So much of it really is a matter of repetition, of saying the lines over and over again until you're sick of them; until someone can give you a cue, and you can say, feel, and react to the whole cycle of events, including those related to everyone else's parts. That confidence is your safeguard against terror. Otherwise, in the tension of the close-up, when you're standing there and someone is saying, "Quiet! Turn over! Speed! A
ction!" you may well go, "To bum or not to bim, that is the question!"

  Learn your lines for the whole film before you start shooting, and keep studying them during the gaps in your shooting. I was once caught on the hop when I was filming Kidnapped. We were shooting on the Isle of Mull. The weather conditions were perfect and we were ahead of schedule. Things were going so brilliantly that the director, Delbert Mann, came up to me at lunchtime and said:

  "It's such great weather, I want to shoot your last scene this afternoon."

  My last scene was a two-page soliloquy about Scotland and what it meant to me. I hadn't prepared a word. I stared at him and said, "It's not on the schedule for today."

  Mann said, "We'll never get a better day than this one."

  I said, "Give me an hour." Somehow I did it and I did it in one take. But I would have saved myself a lot of sweat if I had made it my business to familiarize myself with all my lines before I started shooting the film.