Documente Academic
Documente Profesional
Documente Cultură
ACTORS/Weston
Need
Spine
Objective
Action Erb
Unconscious O~ectives
Choosing Objectives
Images
Obstacle
Facts
Sense Of Belief
Adjustments
Subtext
Physical Life
What Do You Mean "Specific"?
VII: SCRIPTANALYSIS
Preparing For The First Read
The Writer-Director
Editing Stage Directions
First Impressions: Chart 1
Owning The Characters
Paraphrasing
"It?3ust.. ." and "IAsmnze. .."
The Zchnique Of Three Possible
The Reality (Fact) Behind The Words
More Reading Ideas
T h e Imn~utables:Facts and Images: C h ~ r 2t
Facts and Evidence
Questions
Research
Images and Associations
Imaginative Choices: Chart 3
Hi.rtory'/Backstory
What Just Happened
Objective/Intention/Need
Issues/What'sAt Stakefie P r o b W h e Obstacle
Action Verbs
Adj~~stments
Subtext
Physical Life
Events: Chart 4
What T h e Script Is About
Spine
Summary
VIII: CASTING
IX:REHEARSAL
Rehearsal Plan
Full Cast Read-Through
Scene Rehearsal
Opening Remarks
First Reading Of Scene
Through Lines
Layers
Working In Beats
Rehearsal Guidelines
Improv
Blocking: Physical Objects and Physical Activity
Resistances
Episodic Television
Summary
APPENDIX
A: CHILDREN
AND
NONPROFESSIONAL
ACTORS
DIRECTING
ACTORS/Judith Weston
xii
INTRODUCTION
Most directors know that they could benefit from better commu-
nication with actors. The horror stories of breakdowns in communi-
cation between actors and directors are legion. It's easy to see how
this can happen when inexperienced directors are paired with experi-
enced? high-profile actors. I heard one story of a major star with a
tough-guy image who, every time the director took him aside?would
look up and say7loud enough for the crew to hear, "You want me to
suck what?" Now maybe the veteran actor was trying to relax the
young director by teasing him out of some of his earnestness - or
maybe he was crudely letting the poor fellow know how stupid he
thought the director's input was.
THE CRAFT
OF DIRECTING
You have chosen a profession where mistakes are not always bad.
For brain surgeons or airplane pilots, mistakes are nearly always a bad
thing. But for those of us lucky enough, foolish enough, to follow our
dreams into the entertainment industry, a mistake can be a blessing in
disguise; it can jolt our attention away from preconceived ideas and
into the present; it can open us to a new creative path. Sometimes a
mistake is our subconscious speaking, and we ought to listen to it. If
anything, an artist needs to get kind of excited by mistakes.
You will make mistakes. We are mistake-making creatures; we
were built that way. What you as a director, the person in charge,
must learn how to do is to bring creativity and a positive approach to
mistakes, your own and others'.
Some students tell me that the ideas and techniques I put forward
seem at first radical and destabilizing. One young writer said she
found the things I was saying "counter-intuitive." At first I was sur-
prised, but then I realized that many people mistake opinion for intu-
ition. Opinions are easy to have; they require no reflection.
Sometimes people think intuition is the first idea that comes to you,
that intuition requires no reflection. This is not the case. In order
DIRECTING
ACTORS/Weston
When you are not working well, you may conhse intuition with
assumptions, you may mistake prejudice for vision. So I invite you to
break habit; I invite you to question conventional wisdom? to get
beyond your prejudices and assumptions7to go below the surface?and
awaken your intuition at a new, deeper level. In other words, learn
the rules. Then forget them.
This takes work, probably more work than you realized was
involved in directing. But I'm going to take you through it, step by
step. Once you get on the inside, you will feel liberated. And if you
are among the happy few who already have a directing technique that
works, then you already know how important it is to keep learning
and growing; for you? the proposals and exercises of this book are
intended to challenge?refresh, and stretch your skills and imagination.
Just one warning: I'm not going to teach you how to be "com-
mercial." Trying to be commercial is just an excuse for not doing the
hard work of being original. N o one knows what's commercial
anyway, not until the weekend box office figures are printed in the
newspaper on Monday morning. In this business, people who claim
they can assure you commercial success are not to be trusted.
Acting and directing are two very different jobs. It is exactly because
I think the director and the actor each should be - must be - free to
do his own work that I believe directors should know more about
actors and acting. This is why even actors themselves don't automat-
ically know how to direct other actors. They are two separate skills.
Here is the crux of this sometimes painful, often frustrating but
potentially exhilarating relationship: the director is the viewer and
the actor is the viewed. T h e actor is exposed, vulnerable. The suc-
cess of his contribution hinges on his ability and willingness to allow
himself to be viewed without being able to view himself. This means
he must surrender completely to feelings, impulses, and simple
choices without knowing whether they are working or not. If he
watches himself, the relationship of viewerhiewed is broken and the
magic is lost. He depends on the director to stand in for the audience
and to tell him whether his efforts succeed; he cannot evaluate his own
performance. His central paradox is that this dependence frees him.
You are the one who gets to say, who has to say, "Yes, that's okay.
Print," or "No, let's take it again." It's a giant responsibility. It's hard
for a director who has never acted to understand its magnitude. You
are the protector; only you can say whether the work is good enough.
You must make sure the work is good and that the actor looks good,
and so you have to know what is good work and what isn't.
But if you are the viewer and they are the viewed, shouldn't you
be able to tell actors when their performance is not good enough?
And if you saw them floundering, if you saw them having trouble get-
ting where they need to go, and if you knew how to help them -
wouldn't that be great? You could help each other. For example,
blocking (i.e., staging the physical movements of the actors) is part of
the director's job but a lot of times the actors will help you with
blocking. They'll say, "I have an impulse to move over there on that
line," and you'll say, "Wow, that solves all kinds of problems."
On a practical level this could mean that an actor agrees that your
direction is logical and apt, and wants to please you, yet cannot find
a way to execute it and still be truthful to her impulses and under-
standings. This is because we are not dealing with chemistry for-
mulas here; we are dealing with human beings.
At this point the actor and director can clash - or they can col-
laborate. I don't like to use the word "compromise" because that
suggests that both of you are settling for something less than what
you desire and believe in. It's more like a synthesis. Actor and director
are thesis and antithesis; each prepares, each brings to the table his
best understanding of the script and his own sovereign imagination;
they face each other and give each other everything. Then something new
comes out of that, ideas for the characterization that are perhaps
better than either one of you thought of separately. The happiest
response an actor can make to one of your directorial suggestions is,
"That gives me an idea for something to work on."
Of course actors also need you to know where to put the camera
and how to tell a story filmically. Where to put the camera is not
dealt with in this book at all; I am going to assume that you already
have some knowledge of the technical side of filmmaking.
You don't have a choice about how much talent you are
born with - that's already been taken care of. You do have a
choice about whether or not to develop the talent you have.
RESULT
DIRECTION FIXES
AND QUICK
Telling the actor what effect you want him to have on the audience
is a perfect example of directing by describing a result. Instructions
of this ilk - such as "This scene should be funny," or "I need you to
be more dangerous," or "Can you give him an epic quality?" - make
an actor's heart sink. T h e director wants him to do something dif-
ferent from what he is doing - what can it be? From this point the
actor-director relationship dissolves into a guessing game, because
the direction is so vague. The actor tries something - is this it?
Usually it never is, because the actor has begun to watch himself, to
worry about how he is doing, and what the performance looks like. It
is death to an actor's gifts to put his concentration on the effect he is
having on the audience.
actors who try to play a mood can end up evoking exactly the oppo-
site of what the director was hoping for: efforts to "look" serious
often produce an unintentionally comical effect; efforts to "be" light
and frothy can prove heavy-handed. This is because the attention is
wrongly placed; the actors' eagerness to please you by coming up
with the desired effect has caused them to concentrate on the effort
itself; consequently the effort itself is the effect that finally reads.
This is called giving the actor a line reading, that is, telling the
actor what inflection to give to a line. For the line "You always do
that," there are at least four different line readings, because there are
four different words you can inflect: "You always do that," "You
always do that," "You always do that," or "You always do that." And
the different readings make the line mean different things.
Emotion and impulse are the very province of the actor. The
ability to be emotionally free and available to many subtleties of
feeling is central to her talent. But feelings are pesky critters, crop-
ping up inconveniently, and then disappearing just when you want
them. And the thing both terrible and wonderful about feelings is
that they change. You have seen it in real life; a person can be crying
one minute and laughing the next. In fact the more you let yourself
feel whatever you are actually feeling, the more available you are to a
new feeling. This goes double for actors.
The director is in a position to do violence to the actor's delicate
emotional mechanisms. It can have a shrinking effect on actors to tell
them their emotions are wrong, as in "Don't play it so angry." When
actors try to have "less" feeling, for example in response to the direction
"Don't play it so angry," they may simply shut down or become cau-
tious. When they try to have "more" feeling, as in response to a
direction to "be more nervous," the temptation is to push, to overact.
Whenever they try to have feelings because they think the character
should have them, or because the director tells them that the char-
acter should have them, there is a danger of their acting becoming
indulgent and actorish. At the very least a smidgen of self-con-
sciousness is bound to creep into the performance. They may not
believe it themselves - they may even ask you what emotion you
want them to have - but as soon as you start envisioning the char-
acters in terms of what emotion they should be having, you are losing
the chance for a genuinely exciting emotional event to take place.
5) "When she tells you that she doesn't have the money, you
get angry."
This is an extension of telling the actor what emotion to have -
telling her what reaction to have. Again, the notion that one can
decide on, aim for, and deliver a particular reaction simply because
one wishes to do so is at variance with our life experience. In real
life we may wish we could plan our reactions - we may wish we
could react calmly to bad news, or laugh merrily when a client or
boss tells an unfunny joke - but it is the very nature of such occur-
rences that they take us by surprise, however gracefully or subtly we
may manage to deal with them.
In a script these little or big surprises are the emotional transi-
tions of the movie. For an actor, the character's transitions - her
reactions to the emotional events - are the trickiest part of acting.
It is the place where the acting is most likely to go sour and start to
look like acting - when the transitions are labored, or forced,
anticipated, telegraphed, indicated - or flat. not there. It gives a
performance the texture of real life when the reactions are spon-
taneous and idiosyncratic. U'henever we (the audience) catch I the
actors working on their next reaction, it takes us out of the story.
This is what I call a fully loaded emotional map, outlining all the
feelings and reactions you have decided the character is supposed to
have in the scene.
In fact, people in real life talk about each other like this too. It's
called gossip. Now gossip in real life can be harmless and fun, but it
is not productive, and it can be harmful. Gossiping about characters
- i.e., mapping their emotional terrain, or explaining their psy-
chology - is likewise, at best, an uncreative waste of time.