SHOULD AN ACTOR "FEEL" HIS PART

Much has been written upon the question as to whether an actor ought

to feel the character he acts, or be dead to any sensations in this

direction. Excellent artists differ in their opinions on this

important point. In discussing it I must refer to some words I wrote

in one of my early chapters:

"The methods by which actors arrive at great effects vary according to

their own natures; this renders the teaching of the art by any

strictly defined lines a difficult matter."

There has lately been a discussion on the subject, in which many have

taken part, and one quite notable debate between two distinguished

actors, one of the English and the other of the French stage [Henry

Irving and Mons. Coquelin]. These gentlemen, though they differ

entirely in their ideas, are, nevertheless, equally right. The method

of one, I have no doubt, is the best he could possibly devise for

himself; and the same may be said of the rules of the other as applied

to himself. But they must work with their own tools; if they had to

adopt each other's they would be as much confused as if compelled to

exchange languages. One believes that he must feel the character he

plays, even to the shedding of real tears, while the other prefers

never to lose himself for an instant, and there is no doubt that they

both act with more effect by adhering to their own dogmas.

For myself, I know that I act best when the heart is warm and the head

is cool. In observing the works of great painters I find that they

have no conventionalities except their own; hence they are masters,

and each is at the head of his own school. They are original, and

could not imitate even if they would.

So with acting, no master-hand can prescribe rules for the head of

another school. If, then, I appear bold in putting forth my

suggestions, I desire it to be clearly understood that I do not

present them to original or experienced artists who have formed their

school, but to the student who may have a temperament akin to my own,

and who could, therefore, blend my methods with his preconceived

ideas.

Many instructors in the dramatic art fall into the error of teaching

too much. The pupil should first be allowed to exhibit his quality,

and so teach the teacher what to teach. This course would answer the

double purpose of first revealing how much the pupil is capable of

learning, and, what is still more important, of permitting him to

display his powers untrammeled. Whereas, if the master begins by

pounding his dogmas into the student, the latter becomes environed by

a foreign influence which, if repugnant to his nature, may smother his

ability.

It is necessary to be cautious in studying elocution and

gesticulation, lest they become our masters instead of our servants.

These necessary but dangerous ingredients must be administered and

taken in homeopathic doses, or the patient may die by being

over-stimulated. But, even at the risk of being artificial, it is

better to have studied these arbitrary rules than to enter a

profession with no knowledge whatever of its mechanism. Dramatic

instinct is so implanted in humanity that it sometimes misleads us,

fostering the idea that because we have the natural talent within we

are equally endowed with the power of bringing it out. This is the

common error, the rock on which the histrionic aspirant is oftenest

wrecked. Very few actors succeed who crawl into the service through

the "cabin windows"; and if they do it is a lifelong regret with them

that they did not exert their courage and sail at first "before the

mast."

Many of the shining lights who now occupy the highest positions on the

stage, and whom the public voice delights to praise, have often

appeared in the dreaded character of omnes, marched in processions,

sung out of tune in choruses, and shouted themselves hoarse for Brutus

and Mark Antony.

If necessity is the mother of invention, she is the foster-mother of

art, for the greatest actors that ever lived have drawn their early

nourishment from her breast. We learn our profession by the

mortifications we are compelled to go through in order to get a

living.

The sons and daughters of wealthy parents who have money at their

command, and can settle their weekly expenses without the assistance

of the box office, indignantly refuse to lower themselves by assuming

some subordinate character for which they are cast, and march home

because their fathers and mothers will take care of them. Well, they

had better stay there!

But whether you are rich or poor, if you would be an actor begin at

the beginning. This is the old conventional advice, and is as good

now in its old age as it was in its youth. All actors will agree in

this, and as Puff says, in the _Critic_, "When they do agree on the

stage the unanimity is wonderful." Enroll yourself as a "super" in

some first-class theatre, where there is a stock Company and likely to

be a periodical change of programme, so that even in your low degree

the practice will be varied. After having posed a month as an

innocent English rustic, you may, in the next play, have an

opportunity of being a noble Roman. Do the little you have to do as

well as you can; if you are in earnest the stage-manager will soon

notice it and your advancement will begin at once. You have now made

the plunge, the ice is broken; there is no more degradation for you;

every step you take is forward.

A great American statesman said, "There is always plenty of room at

the top." So there is, Mr. Webster, after you get there. But we must

climb, and climb slowly too, so that we can look back without any

unpleasant sensations; for if we are cast suddenly upon the giddy

height our heads will swim and down we shall go. Look also at the

difficulties that will beset you by beginning "at the top." In the

first place, no manager in his senses will permit it; and if he did,

your failure--which is almost inevitable--not only will mortify you,

but your future course for some time to come will be on the downward

path. Then, in disgust, sore and disheartened, you will retire from

the profession which perhaps your talents might have ornamented if

they had been properly developed.

Little Masterpieces of Autobiography: Actors · 第 9 / 104 题