STUDYING A RÔLE
Different artists have different methods of studying their parts, but
all I think will be agreed on one point, namely, that they cannot
possibly be learned too thoroughly. Marvellous stories are told, no
doubt, of difficult rôles having been completely mastered by prodigious
efforts in a fabulously short time. But he is taking terrible risks who
attempts a _tour de force_ of this kind, and in my own opinion no artist
should ever be asked to do this. To master a rôle in the proper way
should be a matter of weeks and months, not to say years, of careful
study so that it becomes part and parcel, as it were, of the very being
of the artist. Then, and then only, can it be attempted on the stage
with that absolute confidence and assurance and that entire freedom from
anxiety without which the best results cannot possibly be hoped for.
Very foolish, or at all events very courageous, is the young artist who
for the sake of an appearance at all costs essays a part which he, or
she, has not thoroughly prepared beforehand--for that way disaster
lies. A part simply cannot be too well studied if failure and mishaps
are to be absolutely assured against.
Let it be remembered especially by the student who runs through a part
so easily in the privacy of his study with the aid of a friendly
accompanist at the piano, how infinitely more difficult are the
conditions on the actual stage--alike in the psychological and purely
material senses.
There is the consciousness, in the first place, of being part now of a
huge inexorable organisation which admits of no error or failure under
any circumstances, and that at first has an almost paralysing effect
upon the faculties. There is the consciousness of that eager, critical
public on the other side of the footlights and of all that there is at
stake should any failure occur. There is the difficulty in the physical
sense of hearing the orchestra properly, which seems so far off and so
infinitely less helpful than the friendly homely piano. There are the
perturbing factors of one’s costume, action, business. In short, the
whole thing is utterly different, and for this reason, therefore, the
young artist cannot be too firmly grounded in his rôle if he is to be
proof against all the possibilities of failure and all mischances and
mishaps in the hour of trial.
As to the actual process of mastering a rôle I believe thoroughly in the
practice of studying it at the outset apart from the music. Read the
whole book through and master the story and the drama completely in the
first instance. Get every twist and turn and every detail of it into
your mind. Try to visualise and represent it to yourself as
realistically as possible.
Imagine that it all actually occurred and that you were, in fact, the
character whose part you are to represent. Learn all you can about the
period of the story, the scene of the action, the circumstances of the
time, and so on, so as to realise it all as vividly as possible.
And then, having done this, study with equal thoroughness every detail
of your own part. It may be only a small one. Never mind. You can make
it just as lifelike and as perfect in its way as one of more importance
if you make the most of it.
It was in this way that Mario always studied his parts, and most other
great artists, I think, will be found to adopt a similar method. We read
of Mario that no trouble was too great and no research too laborious to
ensure that any rôle which he had undertaken should be represented as
correctly and as perfectly as possible. Nor did his fastidious care end
there, for he paid the greatest attention to his words also and even
rewrote every line of his part in Gounod’s “Faust” because the words of
the original Italian version were not sufficiently singable to please
him.
It was Mario, also, who said that unless he had all that he was singing
about in his head as well as in his throat he could never hope to do
justice to his part.
It is the old, old story. The greatest results in anything are only to
be obtained by unsparing labour. It may not be a complete statement of
the case to say that genius is only an infinite capacity for taking
pains. But it is certainly true to say that that capacity is almost
always associated with the highest genius. Caruso supplied a more recent
instance. He took endless pains to get his parts right in every detail.
He was as careful, we read, about creating the proper make-up for the
character which he was impersonating as he was about studying the proper
gestures, declamation, and musical expression.
Signor Fucito writes:
“He pondered the mental, emotional and moral traits of the character as
they were revealed not only in his own lines and music, but throughout
the entire opera. If he found that insufficient he searched
elsewhere--in art, in literature, in history. When he was preparing the
rôle of Samson he went to the Bible for additional enlightenment on that
legendary hero in order that he might visualise him more vividly; and
when he was studying Eleazar he sought advice on Jewish customs from a
prominent Yiddish actor of New York.”
Respecting “make-up” this should be done as carefully and artistically
as possible, bearing in mind always that although some of the audience
may be a long way off, others will be much nearer, while opera glasses
will further help to abridge the distance and to reveal every detail.