This spring, I had an optimistic stretch where I thought I'd have time to take an acting class. This is still very much on my to-do list, or my "New York bucket list"...there are all sorts of things that fall under the rubric of "I won't live here forever, so..."
In any case, I went so far as to sit in on a few classes, including one with a noted director and actor. Now, this guy's credentials are not in question. I mean, one of those "greatest living X" kind of things -- the man knows what he's talking about.
But the class was so bad that I walked out.
Bad how?
Bad as in "two egregiously mediocre students performed one of the most wooden scenes I'd ever seen, and instead of really interrogating the work, asking questions and giving notes and GETTING IN THERE, the guy just started talking. And talking. And talking. In a way that was clearly designed to eat away at the several hours of class time and protect himself from having to address the real problem at hand, which was to try to impart anything of merit to a room full of people who cared enough to pay (both their time and money) to be there." I have seen terrific teaching. This wasn't it.
The class was by audition. And it was huge.
The cynicism required, on the part of the people who put together that class, floored me. FLOORED me. There were some talented people in that room. I can't imagine what they gained by being there, except "access" to someone who might, possibly, be able to pick them out of the crowd and further their careers. But I have to say, based on what I witnessed, that wasn't on this guy's radar...although he was happy to show up late and take their money.
And no, of course I won't say who or where this was. And of course I won't tell you if you guess right.
I hesitated a long time before writing this post at all...but the continuing purpose of this blog is to record, for posterity, what I learn. And sometimes we learn by counterexample.
What had to happen to create a room, a situation like that? I imagine it was something like this:
long ago, a talented artist of some acclaim realized that his terrific artistry wasn't going to keep him fed, or keep a roof over his head. A studio approached him with the possibility of teaching some talented aspiring actors. They would have to audition, so he'd have some control over the makeup of the class, and could work with some truly strong emerging artists. The grateful artist said yes -- this would fill the gap, allow him to take that fantastic project that didn't pay without starving.
Time passed. His class filled. He taught well, and the students in his class went on to good things. They mentioned him. The studio realized they had a commodity on their hands, and offered him a few more classes. He was doing well and figured "why not." He still let in all the incredible talents, but in order to make sure that each class hit its target number, he dipped a little lower in the pool. He recycled a few of the scenes he'd used before, some scenes he'd directed in full-length plays. All was well.
Time passed, the studio's rent went up, so they expanded classes a bit. The actor met a woman, thought about settling down, knew there was a long waiting list for his class and thought "what the hell." He added a little class. He was a little bit bored at this point, but he knew the scenes backward and forward, knew each road bump students would hit. He talked a little longer between scenes, let the mid-class break stretch a couple of extra minutes. No big deal.
A couple of his outside gigs really got him in the spotlight. He had way less energy, these days -- a demanding repertory opportunity had him drained, he and his wife hit a rough patch -- he was bored as hell at the studio but thank god for the steady income because you never knew when there'd be a dry spell and most of the TV shows were packing up and moving back west...besides, he could direct these scenes with his eyes closed, and the students always seemed to love his stories...he'd rather listen to his own voice than see one more woman butcher "Stella...Stella for star..."
And so it went.
What leads to this room?
Talented artists who can't make a living wage, who rely on a "teaching gig" to pay the bills when their hearts aren't in it. America doesn't pay its artists to be artists, it pays them to teach their art.
Studios willing to capitalize on a name, who aren't asking questions about pedagogy.
Desperate aspiring artists who hope, and are told, that "getting in the room" with people who might help their careers matters more than the quality of room they're in...so they pay to play.
A community that equates acting or directing actors with teaching acting...to teach acting one must be able to do the first two things, but it *is* a different skillset.
It's not that guy's fault. It's systemic.
But that day was a very sobering reminder...because, on some level, I'm a playwright who walks into a classroom every day, who is learning to teach on the job, who shows up at the table even on the days when I'd rather be writing. HOW do we, as teaching artists, remember that the classroom is an extension of our practice, that teaching too is an art, that it is every bit as worthy of our passion, preparation and attention as the skill set that we are trying, I hope, to instill in others? How do we do it every day?
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