Michael Laskin Studio

We are in the season of films like “The Avengers”, and there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. After all, the concept of superheroes goes all the way back to Greek mythology – and has always occupied a place in the human imagination.  And when it’s summer movie season, let’s face it: superheroes rule.

As actors, most of us will never know the unique challenge of bulking up and slaying the enemy in front of a green-screen.  I, for one, have never been asked to be a superhero – as unlikely as that may sound!  I could certainly be the superhero’s lawyer or dermatologist, but the actual superhero? No….that is not, and has never been, me.  But some very fine actors have donned superhero garb, and somehow come out of it unscathed:  Robert Downey Jr., Jeff Bridges, Stanley Tucci, Tim Roth, Nick Nolte, Natalie Portman, Sam Rockwell, Ian McKellen, Anthony Hopkins, etc. Do not judge unless you have walked in the superhero’s boots.  It is possible to be a great actor and a superhero.

I always considered acting an art form, long before I really thought of it as a career.  And most actors, including this distinguished group of superheroes, think of themselves as artists. If you don’t at least begin with that aspiration, I believe you are in the wrong line of work.  As artists who are battling the evil forces commercializing of our art and careers, we really need artistic superheroes:  those whose body of work, integrity, innovation, and standards elevate them to this status, and who inspire us to be better.

Your “artistic superhero” can be your high school drama teacher, a college professor, or an acting teacher who helped you break through to the next level. It can also be fellow actors, writers, and directors whose work has inspired you, who pushed you reach higher, and who helped you set aspirational standards.

These heroes can even be from other artistic disciplines.  For instance, being a classic jazz fan, some of my artistic superheroes are great musicians and composers. Or, how about Marc Chagall? Picasso? Ansel Adams? “Adopt” a great artist, study their work, and see where this takes you….

I have been very lucky to have had a few “artistic heroes” touch my life and career.  Here they are, in no particular order:

•  John Sayles:   I have been very fortunate to be in three of John’s films.  I hold John in extremely high regard for his brilliance as a writer/director and his uncompromising vision. John is a master storyteller (across many mediums), who gives a voice to people who rarely have their stories told.  John has created a body of work that will stand the test of time.
•  Michael Langham:  Michael gave me my first important job in the theatre as a company member at The Guthrie Theatre.  His productions had the ability to intermingle real magic with high intelligence – and anyone who was a part of them knew how special they were. He was a superb servant of the script, and a taskmaster.  He also had a worldwide record of brilliant artistic achievement for over 60 years – beginning with directing plays in World War II in a Nazi prisoner-of-war camp.
• Paul Mazursky:  Paul had an uncanny ability to totally understand the filmmaking process and at the same time deeply know the actor’s process – being a fine actor himself.  This is quite rare. You never felt like a cog in the wheel, but rather an integral part of the story no matter what size your role was. I worked with him toward the end of his working career (1998), and he was still at the top of his game.
• Delbert Mann:  Delbert Mann was also nearing the end of his career when I had the privilege to work with him on a mini-series.  He was a meticuius craftsman, and you always knew you were in extremely confident hands.  You also felt the presence of greatness – this is the guy, after all, who directed “Marty.”
• Robert Duvall:  I had heard Duvall was difficult.  He was not.  He was, however, the most prepared actor I have ever seen or worked with – which did create some fear.  You better be on your game because his best work was on take one.  Like a racehorse at the gate, he was absolutely ready to go at on the first take.  If you got to take four, it’s probable he might not be happy.  Is that difficult?  I would say he was the ultimate professional who was an astounding actor to be around, and set extremely high standards.
• Haskell Wexler:  Haskell is undeniably one of the greatest cinematographers of all time. Haskell always brought the actor into his orbit in a way that few cinematographers do.  He is an artist, a craftsman, and a passionate citizen.  His legacy as a cinematographer, director, and documentarian is extraordinary. Haskell always makes you feel like you are on an adventure together.
• Stephen Bochco:  When I came to Los Angeles, “Hill Street Blues” was the new big hit – a show that changed television in a very big way.  I said to myself, “I want to be a part of that.”  I eventually got a guest-star role on that show, and many others written by and produced by Bochco and his amazing team of writers, directors, and producers.  He raised the bar for everyone in television.  I was happy to have even a small part in his world.
• Charles Nolte:  Charles was a bright light in the life of everyone he encountered.  A major Broadway star in his youth, Charles was a  inspired director, a true man of the theatre, and always made  you feel talented and hopeful about this journey.  No one had a bad word to say about Charles – ever.  He was winning, fun, optimistic, inclusive, had a first-rate mind, and was passionately interested in the world at large.
• Jack Reuler:  Jack is the founder and Artistic Director of The Mixed Blood Theatre Company in Minneapolis (www.mixedblood.com). Mixed Blood is a professional multi-racial theatre company that “promotes cultural pluralism and individual equality through artistic excellence.” Jack has been way ahead of the curve for thirty years.  He is still innovating, still discovering what is new, and still driving his theatre forward by bucking conventional wisdom.  Jack’s friendship and artistic stewardship gave me a sense of collaboration and freedom I had not previously experienced.
• Jeffrey Tambor:  Jeffrey is an inspired and singular actor.  His great gift is artistic bravery, a message he imparted to me as a friend, teacher, and mentor.  Jeffrey always has had the courage to fully bring his life to his work – which has inspired me in my acting, and my teaching and coaching. His unique life has informed and become his unique career.
• Jack Warden:  When I first started working in television, I went to the “school of Jack Warden”.  One of the great character/lead actors of his time, I had the privilege of working with Jack a few times.  He was always very good and often brilliant.  He had the common touch as a person and an actor.  I learned an enormous amount about the art of acting for the camera (at a time when I really needed that), just by being lucky enough to watch Jack do the work he was so great at. It was like watching Fred Astaire dance; the appearance of being effortless.

The purpose of this is not to re-tell my old stories from the trenches, but to really recognize those whose life and work has really impacted mine: my “artistic heroes.”  They all share a couple of very important traits – they all taught me something significant and they all set extremely high standards that I have tried to incorporate into my life.

Others whose unwavering artistry makes them heroic to me are:

• Louis Armstrong
• Spencer Tracy
• Charles Chaplin
• Arthur Miller
• Benny Goodman
• Fats Waller
• Billy Wilder
• Studs Terkel
• Fred Astaire
• Sidney Poitier

I just spent my second afternoon sitting around a table in a conference room at ICM reading a screenplay with Al Pacino.  I was there, along with a handful of very fine actors including Richard Cox and Tom Bower – both old friends of mine.  The first one of these I participated in was a few months back, and apparently Al asked for me on this last one – an ego boost to my currently hibernating film career.  I had landed in the right room.  We get into rooms in this business – and it’s always empowering to be in a “big” room, a room with big ideas and big talent.  Al Pacino has developed films he’s been involved with this way for many years.  He reads, he explores, he questions, he seeks the collaboration of others.  And it’s clear this endeavor is not about some participation you as an actor may or may not have in this project, should it go forward.  It’s solely about the age-old practice of actors gathering to explore.  Period.

Once you get past the novelty of being across the table from Al, it becomes very interesting to actually read scenes with him.  Al’s process is one of constant exploration.  Rather than “plant a flag” he’s still climbing the mountain, and hasn’t reached the summit yet. He talks, he pauses, he mumbles, he shouts, he laughs, he stops, he explores.  The thing I came away with is that Al is an artist.  He puts himself out there.  He walks the rope without a net.  This explains a brilliant career that is full of big hits, and grandiose misses. He is still searching, still seeking, still excited about what the work is all about.  His reading of a role is never about the result, and always about the process – an important lesson to remember.

When the reading is over, we all sit together for at least an hour and discuss our thoughts and feelings about the screenplay, the characters, our emotional response to the writing.  It’s not about what Al thinks, anymore than it’s about what I thought, or Tom Bower, or Richard Cox, or the others.  Al is genuinely interested in your take on it, and freely welcomes all commentary and discussion whether it supports his positions or not. He’s friendly, kind, thoughtful, unfailingly polite, and 100% professional.

I saw that Al Pacino is just another actor who is trying to figure it out; trying to find dynamic truth moment-to-moment.  Yes, he’s been a big star for well over thirty years. Yes he was Frank Serpico.  Yes he starred with Gene Hackman in “Scarecrow” – one of my all time favorites  (and lesser known) of his films. Yes he was in one of the most iconic films of all time, “The Godfather”. Yes he screamed, “Say hello to my little friend!”, and yes he is a recipient of AFI’s Lifetime Achievement Award.  But last Wednesday, he was just another actor trying to make sense of the text, and make an emotional connection with the character he is exploring.  It’s the most human of endeavors.

After the reading was over, I headed straight to my weekly Wednesday night class.  Needless to say, I had a bit of “fuel” with which to propel my night’s work in class forward.  I spent the day watching one of the most celebrated actors in the world try to figure it out, and then taught a class to those far less celebrated but equally striving.  The hard-wired desire to play and explore was the connective tissue between the two events.  And, of course, I had a chance to act with Al as well, and explore with him.  What a treat and a privilege.

I came home from class at 11:30, having been artistically “on-point” since 4 pm if you include the reading and class afterwards as one continuous flow of work and creativity.  I was completely exhausted.  It was the kind of tired you can only wish for.

Of course…..I couldn’t sleep.

Haiku:   A type of poetry from the Japanese culture that combines form, content, and language in a meaningful yet compact form. The most common form for Haiku is three short lines.  The first line usually contains 5 syllables, the second line seven (7) syllables, and the third line contains five (5) syllables. Haiku doesn’t rhyme. A Haiku must “paint” a mental image in the reader’s mind. This is the challenge of Haiku – to put the poem’s meaning and imagery in the reader’s mind in ONLY 17 syllables over just three (3) lines of poetry.

It’s Pilot Season once again.  The madness begins.  If you are in the mix, you will be tested.  If you are not in the mix, you will be tested in a different way. The audition is the great leveler, the door through which we all must pass.  How we pass through it is up to us.

Consider this:  If your talent is a lyric poem, then think of your auditions as a Haiku:  short, compact, intense – embodying all characteristics of smart, informed, excellent acting – but compressed. Compressed doesn’t mean faster, by the way. It means emotionally immediate.

All actors have at least one thing in common:  we all struggle with auditions. Rarely do we feel that the audition experience fully shows our talent.  If you could design a “minefield” for actors, you’d design the TV or film audition: scant preparation time, little in the way of guidance, long drives (and long walks from the parking structure) to your meeting, little or no direction, sometime meaningless feedback.  And on, and on.  It can feel a little like target shooting in the dark.

The television and film scenes that are chosen for auditions usually show some important change in the character’s arc, some conflict, or some dilemma – all things they want to see in your work in that room in real time. They choose the scenes that are definitional to the character.  Our task in the audition is multi-layered:

• Discover the obvious changes in the scene – creating your “roadmap” for the scene
• Find (and earn) a moment that you think no one else might find – a moment that is unique to you
• Change the rhythm of the audition room
• Treat audition opportunities as a job and conduct yourself with that narrative
• Create space for your authentic self to be in that room as an equal, a collaborator, a solution

Let’s be honest.  We ALL want it; we all want the job.  We also all want that phone call from our agent or manager telling us that we have an offer.  If we didn’t want it we wouldn’t be human.  We want that “gold star” up on the blackboard by our name, the specialness of being chosen. But beware, if that specific narrative comes into the room with you it’s deadly.  They can smell it coming all the way from the parking structure – the need (that is inherently in our nature) and sometimes the desperation that stops everything dead in its tracks . So we have to trick ourselves to go against our very nature: we simply have to consider these opportunities to be jobs.  Period.  You have a job – it just happens to be on the Warner Brothers lot at 4:45 on a Thursday afternoon in Building 142, Room 10.  And – you actually may get a chance to do that job again, for money, on a soundstage, or on location. But for now, it’s your job at 4:45 on Thursday. Your job.

Is creating this new narrative for yourself easy?  Not always.  Here are some of the obstacles.

I’m an actor, and I love actors.  I understand them.  I understand the mental game of  bringing our own “personal brand” into these transactions.  I understand the test of each day, each opportunity, each disappointment.  For these audition opportunities, we must create a compressed, immediate, and dynamic version of ourselves, one that they get the minute you walk through the door – a Haiku.  Your “blink of an eye” factor is already there – you may simply not be fully aware of what it is.  It starts with knowing who you are.  Combine that with talent and strategy…..you will be on your way.

Through the dark doorway

My true light shines from within

I am your answer

ML

In my weekly class, I reserve the first twenty minutes of class for general discussion and downloads from students about the previous week.  And I always have a theme I have identified as a starting-off point.  A wide-ranging discussion takes place before we actually get down to the work that was brought in to class that week.  I find this to be a great way to open everyone up; it’s a part of class that we all enjoy.

One week an actor in my class came in and told us that he booked a movie.  We were all thrilled for him, of course.  Then, sometime later (during one of these class discussions) he spoke of the shooting experience on this film.  He said, “It’s a silent film.  Yeah…silent. I have no idea really of what this is.  It’s kind of strange, but they really seem like they know what they are doing.  It was very professional, and the director was really clear and direct. But, I honestly have no idea really.  It was fun. It was….different.”

I had forgotten about this until I saw the great new film “The Artist.”  This was the “strange” silent film my student Dash Pomerantz had a part in.  I thought the film was superb, original, and very moving. Dash had a very nice featured role, and was quite good in it.  I gave him a call right after I saw it, and it was clear he was enjoying the whole thing, as he should.  Take it from me, it’s great to be in a film that everyone is talking about.  It boosts your self-esteem, and adds a little jet fuel to your journey – not to mention giving your agents and managers something very real to talk about for quite some time. It can buy you a year or two of viability – which is a very good thing. I asked Dash if he remembered talking in class about how unusual and odd he thought the whole experience was?  Of course he did, and we both laughed because the great lesson is – you just never know.  You truly never know when a great opportunity presents itself, or what it will look like.

One of the big enticements in our profession is that things like this can happen to anybody at any time.  One day your professional life can change forever. When I walked in and booked an episode of “Seinfeld”, little did I know that I would be (as one of my students said), “part of TV immortality.” It didn’t change my life, to be sure; it was just an average day that turned out to be a link to something bigger.  As Bogart says in “Casablanca”, “We’ll always have Paris.”  Well, Dash will always have “The Artist.”  Always – even though at the time he had no idea what it really was, and certainly no idea of the impact.  He found himself at the intersection of his talent, opportunity, and a little bit of luck.  This time it turned out to be a wonderful stroke of good fortune.

Take that lesson into 2012.  The new year embodies renewal, new opportunities, new chances, new people in our lives, and a chance for a tiny bit of immortality.

May Dash’s good fortune rub off on us all.  A very Happy New Year to him, and to all my students, colleagues, and friends.

Dash Pomerantz:  http://www.imdb.com/name/nm3317474/

Metaphysical: an idea, doctrine, or reality outside of human perception.

Speaking of metaphysical, I was fortunate to work with Johnny Depp when he was a kid on several episodes of the original “21 Jump Street” – the series that launched him.  On my first episode, we shot our scenes, and I saw nothing out of the ordinary that would indicate what was in store. However, when I watched our work onscreen, I was blown away.  I saw things in Johnny’s work that I simply did not see face-to-face when we shot our scenes.  Things that amazed me.  The camera revealed the scene quite differently than my perception of it as we shot it in real time.  They say perception is reality, but not when the camera and Johnny Depp were involved. That was a huge lesson.  The camera simply revealed him – he didn’t do much and didn’t have to.  Johnny had something special, even then, and he knew it.  And he had the good sense to really work at becoming an artist – mating the magic he naturally possessed in front of the camera with real skill. Johnny has a metaphysical relationship to the camera – it was simply outside my perception.  As they say, the camera “loved” him.  I was a mere mortal.  But the lesson was enormous.

From the screen back to the stage…….

I was recently in Las Vegas appearing in a play (a contradictory statement, I know….).  Not just any play, but an old-fashioned “well made” play where the words are paramount, the characters rich, and the set-ups and pay-offs are as carefully crafted as a Swiss watch.  This wonderful play is the 1948 Broadway hit, “Light Up The Sky” – written by the immortal Moss Hart. We had the advantage of being directed by Moss Hart’s son, Christopher Hart who knows this play at a cellular level.  He deeply understands the world that the characters inhabit;  he simply knows how it’s supposed to go. He understands not only where the laughs are, but also the quality of the laughs – laughs that illuminate the characters, the situation, and the world they inhabit. Acting in this play is like riding a thoroughbred horse:  the horse knows where it’s going, and you are along for the ride…..a great ride.  It’s witty, funny, brilliantly crafted, and full of heart (not to mention Hart).

Getting back onstage was “just like riding a bike” – it’s true. It’s a blood memory: the sensation of a live audience, knowing when to move and when to remain still and throw focus to others, feeling when to come in with your next line just as the laugh peaks – driving the play forward. You are enveloped in a living organism (an ensemble of actors), and you are a functioning part of the glistening machinery of this well-made, well acted and well spoken play. And it all happens in real time – tightrope walking without a net!  No time or room for, “can I try that again?”. One of our cast members said it’s like going to “actor’s re-hab”, a place to rediscover yourself, and return to those original impulses and instincts that sparked a love of acting in the first place.

This world of the theatre is where I came from when I arrived in Hollywood and first appeared on film.  This was all pre-Johnny Depp, pre- metaphysical.

A confession: I was honestly stunned at how bad I was when I first saw my work onscreen in those early days. I did not have enough respect for the art of film acting. I shared a certain snobbery about the theatre that a lot of us felt back then – a lot of us who had never tried acting on camera. But when I saw myself onscreen, everything I did looked pushed, fake, and worst of all….mediocre.  I began to realize that this film acting thing was VERY different from the world of the stage.  It was more difficult than I had imagined, and without the immediate feedback of a live audience – it felt more lonely, more artistically solitary.  I was motivated by pride, and the desire to never be seen as that mediocre again.  Fortunately I worked in film and TV a great deal after arriving here, and learned on the job.  I made it a point to watch the really good film actors I was privileged to work with; how they played the close-up, how they effortlessly channelled their true selves into each moment, how they creatively managed their down time between takes, how they stayed alive and imaginative at the end of a 14 hour work day.  I gladly attended the “school” of Jack Warden, Robert Duvall, Johnny Depp, James Caan, David Straithern, Jeffrey Tambor, Brian Cox, and all the other great actors I took “lessons” from while watching them work.

This transition from stage to screen is something I know a lot about since it is my story as an actor. For the actor “burdened” with formal training, this can be difficult because most acting training is still theatre based.  But screen acting is essentially not like the work we do in the theatre – at least not as much as those of us who used to be theatre snobs thought.  ”It’s about the work!”, we proclaimed.  No, in fact, it’s about YOU.  And the work. Theatre training is great for the deep examination of the text (an essential skill for stage or screen), for understanding the use of your body and voice, and for teaching you to be a collaborative fellow artist  - all very important things, to be sure. But remember this: the theatre rewards you for becoming someone else entirely. The screen, however, rewards you for being….you.  The true you.  The real you.  The revealed you.

Here’s the bottom line:  the theatre allows you to show what you can do. Film allows you to reveal who you are.

And therein lies the difference.  And film reveals this whether you like it or not.  So you must get on with knowing yourself, and liking yourself.  You must get on with being more of yourself.  The camera does not lie in this regard.

The rewardable virtue in the theatre is to disappear into the role – to transform.  But the rewardable virtue on film is to reveal something  of yourself – because they actually want YOU, not some character.  YOU are enough, as long as it’s a real, fully examined you. Possessing a wide range (something most actors strive for) often confuses the powers that be in the world of the screen.  If they need someone who does an Irish accent, they’ll get an Irishman – regardless of your ability to convincingly play Irish. Simply being you is not easy, and it still requires smart strategy, strong choices, and skill. Actors who always play a version of themselves are onto something. All that outward energy that the theatre requires usually reads false onscreen.  All those wonderful theatre skills are often trumped by an indelible sense of self when the camera is rolling. That’s why Jonah Hill, for instance, wouldn’t be a very good Hamlet – but he’s the best, imperfect, odd, funny, Jonah Hill that there is.  He has a world-view that we, as the audience, know in the blink of an eye.  That world-view is revealed because he has no artifice. He is completely comfortable with himself, with being himself, with his persona being the lens through which we see the story unfolding. He has a definite lack of traditional theatre-based actor skills. He is an extreme example of an indelible sense of self triumphing over traditional skills.  And, he’s growing as an actor as well in case you hadn’t noticed. He makes it look easier than it probably is, in reality.  He faces the same obstacles we all do when working, but he just doesn’t have the added burden of thinking he needs to be anyone else.

As thrilling as being onstage is, screen acting is exciting in a completely different way.  The opportunity to be absolutely real, with no artifice, was liberating to me when I finally found that sweet spot.  Study the great naturalistic actors: Spencer Tracy, Joel McCrea, Jimmy Stewart, Gary Cooper, Robert Duvall, Tom Hanks, Jeff Bridges. They all play versions of themselves – to great effect.  ”All they do is play themselves” – another sour battle-cry from the sidelines. Try it.  It’s not easy, and it does not preclude anyone from being a great actor.

I recently introduced the camera into my acting class, and it reminded me (and taught my students) that the camera finds moments that we are not even aware of.  It reveals unplanned moments – or if we have the gift – metaphysical moments. Accidents can be a terror when onstage in front of a live audience.  These “accidents” can make film work more dynamic. Accidents are opportunities. Imperfection is what interests us and draws us in.  The human condition can be illuminated with merely a thought on camera.  Instead of playing a 2 hour story arc every night at 8 pm, we are playing a small real moment in that arc. Once you can get your head around the fact that you don’t have to be anyone else really, the whole thing opens up and can be very freeing.  To be sure there is creative strategy involved in film acting – I would never imply otherwise.  You do have to create a “roadmap” for your work, but also be open to take an interesting detour should the opportunity arise. When we can see the pores of your skin onscreen, we can also read your soul, your heart, your life-force – all in the blink of an eye.  If you let us.

Rehearsing and performing in this play (this well-made play) has been a joyous experience – one that reminded me that in the theatre we meticulously prepare and craft each moment, each laugh, each turn, each exit. We leave little to chance. We create the super-structure of the performance, within which we can play.  There is an accepted level of artifice that is a pact between the audience and the actors – even in a realistic play.  This is the craft of it.  And if the structure we build with our craft is strong, there is room for art.

The art and pursuit of  truth in acting is endless.  We can find it onstage at 8 pm, we can find it in an office on the Sony lot at 4:30 pm, and we can find it on location in front of a camera lens – a lens that sees right into us. The camera, and our relationship to it is metaphysical.  As actors, we plan and strategize as we prepare our work, but the camera ends up revealing other things we did not plan - things outside of our perception. That’s the magic, that’s the fun, that’s the terror, and that’s what makes film acting, at its very best, so wonderful and surprising.

Embrace yourself.  You will find many rewards within.

I recently spent a few hours with a young friend who was seeking my counsel.  He talked about the difficulty of juggling all the many variables at play in his life:  his acting work, his directing and producing efforts, his personal life, his finances, etc.  This is a very talented and substantial guy who, like so many of us, is trying to create a life based upon his passions.  Not just a career, a life. I’m more than a few years down the road from where he is, but I remember and understand the struggle vividly.  I’m still in the struggle!  I think if you’re not struggling, odds are that you’re dead.

I gave him two pieces of advice:

• First, separate all his efforts into distinct and different “silos.”  Each should exist alone, even though they invariably overlap and blend at times.  If they are not kept apart as much as possible, they can and will infect each other. When something bad or disappointing happens in one area,  everything takes on a negativity – unless you keep them separate.  Bad news is contagious, and it can overrun other parts of your life and work where it frankly doesn’t belong.  By maintaining distinct and separate “silos”, when one your efforts goes dormant, at least there are other areas to devote your talent to, and they have remained uninfected from the virus called disappointment.
• The second piece of advice I gave him really hit home, and I remember when it was given to me it had the same effect:  pay yourself first.  A bit of background: many years ago I engaged a financial advisor.  When I expressed to him that I wasn’t sure how I could save anything to invest because I had a mortgage, kids, and all the accompanying expenses that come with both.  He said very simply, “pay yourself first.”  In other words, if you have $5000, pay yourself $1000 first, put that away, forget about it, and find a way to live on the rest.  This was tried and true advice, hardly original, yet when I first heard it, it made such simple and ultimate sense.  Paying yourself first, creatively, helps to keep that well of inspiration full.  Only you can create the time and space in your life for that replenishment to happen – and it has to happen.

My young friend was struggling with finding the time to put into further developing his acting.  After all, he had directing and producing projects, he was writing a screenplay, his personal life was temporarily unsettled, he was waiting on some money that he knew was incoming…..and on and on. These issues were all beginning to infect each other with stress and negativity.  Separate these issues – put them in different “silos” , I advised him. Put your most precious resources into quarantine, which helps to create room for success in other areas – areas untouched by adjacent failures that can and do occur.

In his case, working on his development as an actor is crucially important to him, yet he makes precious little time for that.  He finds it difficult to justify and fulfill since it is not an immediate and present producer of money. Ironically, this is the very passion that is the foundation of all his other professional efforts and successes.  It’s this very passion that informs everything else he does as a writer and director.  So, that “bank account” has to be replenished. It gets drained from time to time, and it must be refilled so that it can help “pay” for his other creative efforts.  It is the headwaters of the river.

By the way, these are lessons I learned the hard way – by making ALL of these mistakes at some point in my own creative life.  Lessons learned the hard way are always the most resonant.

• Make time for the passions that are central to your efforts.
• Understand that if you don’t fund your creative self, no one else will.
• Place real tangible value on your creative life.
• Pay yourself first:  You never know when that bank account will be needed.

A coaching client of mine, Leslie-Anne Huff, recently told me that she was going to be leading a workshop for aspiring actors about acting careers and the “business” – focused on the Filipino community, which is part of her heritage.  She was reaching out to her friends, and (in my case) mentors for thoughts and advice. Leslie-Anne is a successful film and television actress, and is also an extraordinary young woman: talented, smart, funny, compassionate, inventive, entrepreneurial.  In short….the complete package.

She specifically asked what I thought was the number one piece of advice to aspiring actors.  The number one piece of advice?  That’s a very tough question because there are so many elements to success. And of course it depends how you define success.  Leslie-Anne wanted my thoughts about acting and the business; the intersection of art and commerce. This required a more expansive answer.

As I was  going through my to-do list this morning, Leslie-Anne’s request was initially just another item to check off that list.  But as i got into it, it quickly consumed me.  It became a way to clarify my thoughts on this issue – in a bullet-pointed kind of way.  The reality is, so many people aspire to so few actual jobs – hence the dream remains only that for those with no roadmap, no strategy for personal and artistic success.

Leslie-Anne and I have a mentor/mentee relationship. What she probably doesn’t know is that I often learn as much from her as she does from me, and I consider her a true success story on all levels. Thus, I took her request to heart, and this is the list I sent her; it became a nice round dozen.

Nostalgia is very seductive.

I loved Woody Allen’s recent film, “Midnight in Paris”.  Aside from thinking it was one of his best films in many years, I strongly resonated to the idea of longing for a better, richer time in the past – as Owen Wilson’s character did by yearning to be part of the literary and artistic scene of Paris in the 1920′s. Woody then tops this brilliant idea by having the woman Wilson falls in love with (during his time-travel to the 1920′s), also longing for the past – the “Belle Epoque”.  You might say, that’s really the ultimate version of not being in the moment!

The past is always a safe refuge.  We observe the “good old days” through rose-colored glasses; our selective memories often have us only remembering how wonderful things were.  But upon deeper reflection, sometimes a fuller picture emerges; a picture more complex, more varied, and possibly less rosy.

Our current world, if you bother to take notice of it, has a deeply ailing economy (the Dow just plummeted over 600 points today), few jobs, starvation, extreme heat, political stasis; in short not a lot to feel cheery about.  Historically, there have always been times of bad news, hopelessness, disaster.  The end of the world has been just around the corner ever since man first became capable of rational thought. The “good old days” had tons of  doom and gloom that we tend to forget.  As I said, nostalgia is seductive (and memory selective) – even when musing about your own life and career.

I recently had a friend offer some unsolicited advice to me about how to speak to the young actors that I teach and coach.  He said, “Be brutal with them.  Tell it like it is.  Tell them that if they can do anything else…..they should.”  I’m not exactly sure what this sledge-hammer approach accomplishes. That advice would certainly have rolled off my back when I was young – I was not going to be discouraged.  Hope and encouragement are among the traits the young actor needs to go out and “tilt at windmills.”  And that kind of advice always rings of bitterness, a reflection of someone whose dreams remain unfulfilled.  Not my style; I am not in the discouragement business.  While I will not “shine on” someone who clearly doesn’t have what it takes, I have seen enough improbable success stories to be humbled. One person’s opinion is just that: one person’s opinion.

In our endeavor, the world of acting, it can always seem to be the worst of times. Even during the so-called great eras of the past, disaster was around every corner.  The advent of sound, of television, of the internet – all of these were predictors of impending doom.  Yet they all ended up producing new opportunities not even imagined a few years previously.  But the ongoing leitmotif is that the old days were better – “Midnight in Paris” again comes to mind……

“You can’t make a living in this business anymore.  You might make a killing, but you can’t make a living”

“You should have been in this business thirty years ago.  It was run by showmen, not accountants”

“Talent means nothing anymore.”

“It used to be fun, it used to have heart, it used to mean something.”

“Standards have fallen.  Now anything passes for talent.”

“There’s nothing good out there.”

For the record: these were all things I heard over 30 years ago, when I started.  Everything old is new again.  I observed older actors who were bitter and closed off to the changes around them, and I vowed to never wander into that neighborhood.

“Tell it like it is, be brutal” – as my friend suggested.  I do believe in being realistic, but imparting pessimism is like spreading the flu.  It takes hold, and nothing really good comes of it.  There’s simply no point in discouraging those who cannot be discouraged.  It’s a sisyphean task.  And, by the way, it’s precisely the ones who cannot be discouraged who have a real chance of success.

But, let’s be completely honest:  if you consider the odds of success in this pursuit every morning before you have your coffee – you’ll never leave the house. It’s a very tough business.  It is unforgiving, unfair, fickle, heartbreaking, dream-crushing, mean, myopic, and merciless.  It’s all true – every bit of it. However what’s also true is that this endeavor has the potential to be be inspiring, fulfilling, educating, brilliant, fun, and life-affirming. That’s also all true – every bit of it.

For my students and coaching clients: it’s imperative that you continue to work at your craft.  We do that in class, you do that on set, and when you work in a play.  That’s a given, and must be part of your routine.  But that aspect of your artistic life cannot exist in a vacuum.  You do exist in real time, in the world as it is – and hopefully as it may be, or should be.  You are artists, but you are also citizens. Your job, frankly, is to reflect the world as it continues to change and morph.

However, a great deal of acting training creates a hermitically-sealed world that has little connective tissue to the real world around you.  It’s focused on skills only – not on the imperfect flesh and blood that has to eventually leave the artifical bubble of class and make their work compelling in an office at Warner Brothers….where they only want to do one of the three scenes you prepared….where your name was not at the gate….where you had to park several blocks away….and where you had to walk those blocks trying to stay in the zone and not sweat through your clothes before the meeting.  That’s what it really looks like. That’s what success, failure, heartbreak, and luck really look like.

It’s terribly important to place yourself in the context of what exists, and what is coming.  It’s our duty as artists to have our ear to the ground and hear the trains coming down the track.

Remember this:  the only constant is change, and the future will present opportunities that will surprise and delight you – as long as you stay open and engaged in the world at large.

Let me offer a little encouragement and faith about the future – (as my people say) “It wouldn’t hurt.”

While doing some paperwork at home the other day, I had TCM (Turner Classic Movies) on in the kitchen.  Background noise….usually ignored.  They happened to be airing a short bio piece on Billy Wilder, the great screenwriter and director.

A note: for my younger readers who don’t know Billy Wilder’s work, he wrote and directed some of the greatest films of all time:  ”Sunset Boulevard”, “Some Like it Hot”, “The Apartment”, “The Lost Weekend”, among many others.  Check him out.  He won seven Oscars as a writer and director, and many other prestigious awards – among them an AFI LIfetime Achievement Award in 1986.  I attended that event and heard him speak with an undiminished razor-sharp wit about the state of the film business, art, and life.  A Jew who fled Nazi occupied Europe, his world-view was deeply informed by that experience; his body of work laced with irony, wit, depth, and a puckish sense of humor.

Back to my story……I was listening to this short bio of him on TCM, and as I worked away I heard a quote that simply stopped me cold.  Jack Lemmon was speaking in glowing terms about Wilder, and how much he meant to him as a mentor, a friend, a fellow artist.  At one point Lemmon quoted Wilder as saying, “Remember, you’re as good as the best thing you’ve ever done.”

Wow.  That hit home; a powerful concept that is easy to lose sight of, especially in tough times. Artistic lives have an ebb and a flow, and when we’re in the inevitable ebb phase our “go to” psychological position can be bleak.  I certainly have done my time in “I’ll-never-work-again-hell”. Precisely at these junctures, remembering the value of our very best work is terribly important.  In fact, it’s key.

Wilder had the “misfortune” of living to be 95 in a town and an industry that worships youth – and always has.  He made his last real feature at age 75, and it was not a success.  He tried for many years to get another film, and never succeeded.  I used to see him in Beverly Hills often.  He was out and about; a vigorous man who was still sharp, clever, and engaged in life.  I feel certain that this quote was something he also privately said to himself, and about himself.  His place in the pantheon of cinema history was secure, but he still wanted to work.  He still had stories to tell. Conventional wisdom was that he had lost it – whatever “it” is.  We will never know if he had another great film in him….I suspect he might have.  But I have to believe that he never lost sight of this core value: “You’re as good as the best thing you’ve ever done.”

Keep that in mind as you move forward.  I have often said that the very best thing I can do for any student of mine is to help them become their own guru.  I am not into the teacher-student co-dependancy thing, in case you hadn’t noticed!  In that vein, this wisdom from the great Billy Wilder is a tremendous launching-off point.

Do work that you are  proud of.  Embrace failure, when it happens. Learn from it.  And when times get tough, as they inevitably will, remember these words:

“Remember, you’re as good as the best thing you’ve ever done.”

Thanks, Billy.  Duly noted.

BIlly Wilder accepts AFI LIfetime Achievement Award

The ending of this is very powerful, as he talks about the culture of fear in Hollywood, and the very human element of our art and craft.

At the end of this past week’s Wednesday night class, one of my newer students came up to me before he left the theatre and said, “Thanks for a beautiful class.”  I don’t think he has any real idea how much that meant to me.  It may be of the more meaningful things anyone has ever said to me….thanks for a beautiful class.

You see, I have a commitment every Wednesday night that I take seriously. And, every week before my regular Wednesday night class, I give myself some time to think about what is truly on my mind – and what part of that might be pertinent to explore in class as a launching-off point.  I make time in my day for this.  It’s my obligation to come to class every week with some new ideas, thoughts, observations, challenges, and points of view – pertaining to acting, the business, the culture we live in, the life we have chosen.  I don’t want it to ever feel dispassionate or “by-the-numbers”.

But we are all human, and before last Wednesday’s class, I was simply not able to summon anything meaningful.  I had nothing. Normally I get my thoughts in line, write down a few “bullet-pointed” ideas, and forge ahead. And on the 30 minute drive to class I usually talk out loud in the car (yes….I’m that guy), rehearsing my opening thoughts.  But, as I said, this past week – I had nothing.

So (necessity being the mother of invention) I decided to simply come to class, do a quick “read” of the room, and start talking – flying without a net, as they say.  Teaching is a performance of sorts, and requires both mental and physical preparation.  And teaching actors specifically requires perceptive personal focus; the ability to understand and work with the flesh and blood in front of you, in real time.  You must remain creatively “on-point” for three plus hours, all the while navigating the work, the person, the needs, the insecurities, the breakthroughs.

As I began to address my students last Wednesday, the class took on a life of it’s own.  That’s the mark of a good class, an engaged teacher, or both.  I am comfortable enough at this point to simply start to talk and see where it goes.  With a connected and curious class, it always goes to a strong place.  And so, we continued.  Scenes went up, personal moments took place, nervousness fell away and boldness came forward.  It all jelled into a very strong class.

I do confess that I get nervous before class, just as I do before a performance, an audition, or an important meeting. And I need to have a “roadmap” as to where I want to go in these transactions. Being professional means that I never want anyone to feel that my best effort was not there, in the room.  My full presence is required.

“Thanks for a beautiful class.”

Thank YOU for being on this collective ride.