NOTES TO AN ACTOR by RON MARASCO (2007)
For Ron Marasco, acting can only be learned “through experience, by trial and error, by succeeding and failing” (4). Through this process, the actor experiences “epiphanies” that will coalesce into a personal “technique” (4). Notes to An Actor is a collection of such “epiphanies” from Marasco’s own experience and that of his students. Notes to An Actor does not, therefore, propose a “technique” and Marasco explicitly discourages actors from limiting themselves to the “strict dos and don’ts" of any one acting method (19).
For Marasco, good acting is in direct proportion to how little the actor seems to be acting (14). To acheive this, Marasco encourages the actor to “use who you are”, to stretch one's own truth into the circumstances of the character (38). To do this, an actor must first be comfortable with his or her idiosyncrasies, knowing and accepting “This is what I am” rather than fixating on “This I am not” (24). The actor also needs to cultivate sensitivity so that, in the words of Marlon Brando, he or she “receives fifty impressions where somebody else only gets seven” (32). By fully opening oneself in this way, one can “feel the subtlest and most delicate physical energies” from other actors (33), allowing what Glen Close describes as “a mixing of molecules” (34-35). This includes attention to what Marasco calls "mini-thoughts", the constant stream of barely conscious thoughts that pass through every waking moment and which bring nuance to everyday interactions (48).
Marasco encourages actors to think of the word “act” as being short for “actual” in the sense that good actors “seem to be actually doing whatever their character does” (73), whether that is telling the time or reading a newspaper (16). Marasco suggests that, because in day-to-day life we intuitively seek to increase our physical comfort, actors should spend time on a stage/set doing “basic human tasks” (sitting, reading, chatting) to establish that space as a place where “real behaviour happens” rather than a place where something is “performed” (75). To actually do what the character is doing, an actor must also anchor their actions to “something or someone” physically on stage/set (76) [see Donnellan]. When this is another actor, actors should not relate to them as characters, but as actual “real people standing right in front of them”; “do it to the actor, not to the character” (79). This will enable the necessary loss of self-consciousness (11). For Marasco, therefore, the “actor's instrument” is not the actor's own body, voice or imagination, etc., but the other actor (79). And, because the power of the moment is contained in the actual “thing itself” right in front of the actor (the circumstances, the people, objects, etc.), the actor should not focus on how a director wants the audience to interpret the scene (83), but reject the “quick and easy approval of audiences and fellow actors” and let “the material make a deeper impression on you” (97).
Regarding script analysis, Marasco is not a proponent of “actioning”, in which each beat of a script is assigned a verb. He suggests that the “verb-in-the-margin” approach can cause the actor to focus more on what is written in his or her script than on the real-life actor they encounter on stage/set (58) [see Mel Churcher]. Marasco also warns against an obsession with an “objective” (“I must get what I want!”), not only because we don’t always know what we want in real life [see Mamet] but because it can lead to a “forced generic intensity”. Rather, he suggests focusing on identifying what a character loves and fears (59) and the opposing forces within a character (e.g. Hamlet is moody, but also has a strong sense of justice) (100). For Marasco, change is the essence of drama and script analysis is the opportunity to identify the “points of change” at the level of the whole play, each scene and specific moments (57) with particular emphasis on both subtle and overt changes in status (81) [see Keith Johnstone].
Regarding rehearsal, Marasco notes that the initial read-through of a script is very important, as it is the only time the actor is in the audience's position and the actor must, therefore, concentrate on the story rather than anticipating what the director might do (106). Marasco warns against “rushing to a desired effect in rehearsal rather than have it grow naturally” (56). Rather than putting on a “performance hat” too soon in rehearsal, actors should take the time to find the moments and absorb the play in “digestible doses” (56). To achieve this, Marasco recommends that actors work both ”inside-to-out” (starting with something external, e.g. clothing, gesture, walk, objects) and “outside-to-in” (e.g. memories), allowing the usefulness of each approach to emerge naturally in the course of rehearsals [see William Esper] (63-65).
In the chapter on comedy acting, Marasco notes that comic roles are “conflicts of thought” that require the actor to position oneself in relation to a contrasting other: the “obsessive character versus the oblivious character”, the "cold" (normal) vs. "hot" (odd) characters (120-124; 128; 133). In comedy, Marasco argues, the actor must "double the amount of belief" in what his or her character thinks is happening as the character is required to fully believe in things that are patently ridiculous (125). Related to this, Marasco warns actors not to try to get laughs from the start of a performance with a “forced energy”, but to let the audience get to know the character and his or her thought processes by playing that truthfully (145). Ultimately, comedy requires bravery because it is “tragedy without dignity”, involving a loss of dignity (either it is taken away or voluntarily relinquished) (147).
In the chapter on Shakespeare, Marasco suggests that all of Shakespeare’s plays are about characters who want to be something or someone more than they are (152). The drama is, therefore, in the progress they make toward transforming their identities for better or worse (152). Marasco provides clear, practical advice for those new to Shakespeare: upwardly inflecting commas to maintain momentum; reading through to full-stops/periods as clear rests; to think of iambic pentameter as an underlying heartbeat, that can quicken or skip a beat (163-170).
Marasco concludes with a chapter discussing the difference between stage and screen acting. Again, the advice is clear and practical: on screen, actors “are the character” rather than adopting a “mask”; screen acting is not “smaller”, but “closer”; actors must plot a character’s development as scenes will be shot out of sequence (188-195). While Marasco suggests that the stage actor shapes a performance through the way his or her energy may “rise, recede, build and burst” ( 182), the reverse is true on screen, where camera angles, musical score, and editing shape the performance (199). It is crucial, therefore, to avoid putting unnecessary emotional colour into what is said. To mimic real life, in which the brain is too busy composing the next set of words to focus on the words that are being spoken, Marasco encourages actors not to think of the words as they come out of the mouth, but rather think of something else, “even some random thought, unrelated to the scene” (200).
Marasco notes that every performance is a mystery and that actors often do not know where a great performance has come from. For this reason, Marasco suggests that actors teach themselves to “care and not to care” because “if you care too much about it being good, it probably won’t be” (92). Worry at rehearsal, in the dressing room and even in the wings, but “once you hit the stage and begin to perform, never worry", just "do the material as written” (92).
For Ron Marasco, acting can only be learned “through experience, by trial and error, by succeeding and failing” (4). Through this process, the actor experiences “epiphanies” that will coalesce into a personal “technique” (4). Notes to An Actor is a collection of such “epiphanies” from Marasco’s own experience and that of his students. Notes to An Actor does not, therefore, propose a “technique” and Marasco explicitly discourages actors from limiting themselves to the “strict dos and don’ts" of any one acting method (19).
For Marasco, good acting is in direct proportion to how little the actor seems to be acting (14). To acheive this, Marasco encourages the actor to “use who you are”, to stretch one's own truth into the circumstances of the character (38). To do this, an actor must first be comfortable with his or her idiosyncrasies, knowing and accepting “This is what I am” rather than fixating on “This I am not” (24). The actor also needs to cultivate sensitivity so that, in the words of Marlon Brando, he or she “receives fifty impressions where somebody else only gets seven” (32). By fully opening oneself in this way, one can “feel the subtlest and most delicate physical energies” from other actors (33), allowing what Glen Close describes as “a mixing of molecules” (34-35). This includes attention to what Marasco calls "mini-thoughts", the constant stream of barely conscious thoughts that pass through every waking moment and which bring nuance to everyday interactions (48).
Marasco encourages actors to think of the word “act” as being short for “actual” in the sense that good actors “seem to be actually doing whatever their character does” (73), whether that is telling the time or reading a newspaper (16). Marasco suggests that, because in day-to-day life we intuitively seek to increase our physical comfort, actors should spend time on a stage/set doing “basic human tasks” (sitting, reading, chatting) to establish that space as a place where “real behaviour happens” rather than a place where something is “performed” (75). To actually do what the character is doing, an actor must also anchor their actions to “something or someone” physically on stage/set (76) [see Donnellan]. When this is another actor, actors should not relate to them as characters, but as actual “real people standing right in front of them”; “do it to the actor, not to the character” (79). This will enable the necessary loss of self-consciousness (11). For Marasco, therefore, the “actor's instrument” is not the actor's own body, voice or imagination, etc., but the other actor (79). And, because the power of the moment is contained in the actual “thing itself” right in front of the actor (the circumstances, the people, objects, etc.), the actor should not focus on how a director wants the audience to interpret the scene (83), but reject the “quick and easy approval of audiences and fellow actors” and let “the material make a deeper impression on you” (97).
Regarding script analysis, Marasco is not a proponent of “actioning”, in which each beat of a script is assigned a verb. He suggests that the “verb-in-the-margin” approach can cause the actor to focus more on what is written in his or her script than on the real-life actor they encounter on stage/set (58) [see Mel Churcher]. Marasco also warns against an obsession with an “objective” (“I must get what I want!”), not only because we don’t always know what we want in real life [see Mamet] but because it can lead to a “forced generic intensity”. Rather, he suggests focusing on identifying what a character loves and fears (59) and the opposing forces within a character (e.g. Hamlet is moody, but also has a strong sense of justice) (100). For Marasco, change is the essence of drama and script analysis is the opportunity to identify the “points of change” at the level of the whole play, each scene and specific moments (57) with particular emphasis on both subtle and overt changes in status (81) [see Keith Johnstone].
Regarding rehearsal, Marasco notes that the initial read-through of a script is very important, as it is the only time the actor is in the audience's position and the actor must, therefore, concentrate on the story rather than anticipating what the director might do (106). Marasco warns against “rushing to a desired effect in rehearsal rather than have it grow naturally” (56). Rather than putting on a “performance hat” too soon in rehearsal, actors should take the time to find the moments and absorb the play in “digestible doses” (56). To achieve this, Marasco recommends that actors work both ”inside-to-out” (starting with something external, e.g. clothing, gesture, walk, objects) and “outside-to-in” (e.g. memories), allowing the usefulness of each approach to emerge naturally in the course of rehearsals [see William Esper] (63-65).
In the chapter on comedy acting, Marasco notes that comic roles are “conflicts of thought” that require the actor to position oneself in relation to a contrasting other: the “obsessive character versus the oblivious character”, the "cold" (normal) vs. "hot" (odd) characters (120-124; 128; 133). In comedy, Marasco argues, the actor must "double the amount of belief" in what his or her character thinks is happening as the character is required to fully believe in things that are patently ridiculous (125). Related to this, Marasco warns actors not to try to get laughs from the start of a performance with a “forced energy”, but to let the audience get to know the character and his or her thought processes by playing that truthfully (145). Ultimately, comedy requires bravery because it is “tragedy without dignity”, involving a loss of dignity (either it is taken away or voluntarily relinquished) (147).
In the chapter on Shakespeare, Marasco suggests that all of Shakespeare’s plays are about characters who want to be something or someone more than they are (152). The drama is, therefore, in the progress they make toward transforming their identities for better or worse (152). Marasco provides clear, practical advice for those new to Shakespeare: upwardly inflecting commas to maintain momentum; reading through to full-stops/periods as clear rests; to think of iambic pentameter as an underlying heartbeat, that can quicken or skip a beat (163-170).
Marasco concludes with a chapter discussing the difference between stage and screen acting. Again, the advice is clear and practical: on screen, actors “are the character” rather than adopting a “mask”; screen acting is not “smaller”, but “closer”; actors must plot a character’s development as scenes will be shot out of sequence (188-195). While Marasco suggests that the stage actor shapes a performance through the way his or her energy may “rise, recede, build and burst” ( 182), the reverse is true on screen, where camera angles, musical score, and editing shape the performance (199). It is crucial, therefore, to avoid putting unnecessary emotional colour into what is said. To mimic real life, in which the brain is too busy composing the next set of words to focus on the words that are being spoken, Marasco encourages actors not to think of the words as they come out of the mouth, but rather think of something else, “even some random thought, unrelated to the scene” (200).
Marasco notes that every performance is a mystery and that actors often do not know where a great performance has come from. For this reason, Marasco suggests that actors teach themselves to “care and not to care” because “if you care too much about it being good, it probably won’t be” (92). Worry at rehearsal, in the dressing room and even in the wings, but “once you hit the stage and begin to perform, never worry", just "do the material as written” (92).