First, though, I am pleased to say that we have in this issue a link to a recording of the memorial service that was held on April 2nd for Earle Gister so those who were unable to attend may view it and those were there and might wish to revisit that very moving afternoon may do so here.

There seems to be an abundance of voices in this issue of people who are teaching and acting and drawing some conclusions from that dual experience and, just as frequently, coming up with more questions. Peter Jay Fernandez and Michael Potts are both teaching in New York City and acting in New York City which, I think, is a pretty neat trick and nice work if you can get it. Peter is new to teaching and has been keeping a journal to help him—and us—understand the process. Mr. Potts has been teaching for a while now and has some particularly provocative thoughts to pass along. I just have to insert here that when I was an agent, I had the large honor of representing Michael Potts and it is a pleasure to report that he thinks as vividly as he acts.

Michael Horak is also teaching and acting but he is doing so up in Canada. We published his thoughts on having taken the Teacher Development Program in our last issue and, at our invitation, he continues to offer his insights into how these two complementary but very different disciplines affect his life on the planet.

Zachary Fine is on the road with The Acting Company—currently in New York with “Julius Caesar”—and discovering the realities of his dream of being part of a band of brothers who travel and act together.

As of this second, I do not know if Lucas Caleb Rooney—who recently went to Madagascar and saw the face of God (about that, more later)—and who more recently emerged from tech to perform and open in a new play in New York—has had time to put together an audio feature for this issue which consists of excerpts of his interview with a clown colleague, Lorenzo Pizoni, and, for the more committed, the entire interview, which lasts about 45 minutes. If not this time, next time.

Alas, contributing Editor Bryce Pinkham, who has also recently emerged from tech and is currently in previews on Broadway, has definitely not had to time to put together something for us this time but I know what is on his mind and it will definitely be worth waiting for.

Finally, on Phil’s Page, I have a few words of my own to contribute, dredged up from that fortress of solitude and vast warehouse of unspoken thoughts since my shrink had the temerity to retire. (The selfish son of a bitch.)

Take. Have. Eat. And please enjoy.

ADDENDUM

I have just returned from 24 hours in Philadelphia and I have a rather hurried and indignant few words to add this Letter. Hurried never translates on the page but I am hoping the indignation comes through.

This morning, as I was filling up time waiting for my Bolt Bus to whisk me back to Manhattan, I walked around what seemed to be The City of Brotherly Love’s very thriving theatre district. I saw many marquees and posters and bus stop ads for a large amount of what appeared to be some very interesting theatre, either currently on display or coming very soon. There were famous playwrights and emerging playwrights, and directors I had heard of or heard about, awards that had been garnered and Artistic Directors who had been around forever or who had managed to break through in Philadelphia. This one thing I did not see on a single ad was the name of even one solitary actor. Do plays now get done by themselves?

Earle Gister Memorial

J. Michael Miller

In 2006, at the first gathering of the National Congress of Actors and Acting Teachers, Marco Barricelli spoke somewhat bitterly about the “role” of the actor in the theatre. Last week I had lunch with Michael Potts, currently in a long-running play on Broadway, but who for much of his career has worked in non-profit theatres. I would say Michael’s response to what is going on was more pragmatic than bitter, but I was nevertheless deeply struck by how much his experiences echoed Marco’s six years later, and asked him if he would write down his thoughts for this issue of the Journal. His piece follows mine, and I am going to let Marco set the stage for me.

Marco Barricelli, 2006
I told Michael Miller that maybe I wasn’t the best person to be on this panel because I feel very cynical about the theatre after 25 years of pretty steady work. Last year I left probably the best job an actor can have in the regional theatre. I was one of four company members at American Conservatory Theatre in San Francisco. I worked with great people. I loved my boss, Carey Perloff. I loved the space that I worked in. I loved San Francisco. I was there for eight years. I did every great role anybody could want, and I just lost enthusiasm. I didn’t care about it anymore. I didn’t see myself going where I wanted to go, and that was eventually to run a theatre. That’s what I’d hoped when I graduated Juilliard: to become an actor, gain a lot of experience, and eventually—naively enough—I thought I would work my way into running a regional theatre. That’s how I thought you could make a difference as an actor, as an artist in this society.

But I realized that wasn’t going to happen. Slowly but surely it dawned on me that not many boards are interested in considering actors as artistic directors, which is too bad because I believe that actors are problem solvers. Yet as an actor you walk into a rehearsal room and the director gives you the concept, and the designers give you clothes and sets and lights and music, and so in many ways I found that my job became to be a great justifier of other people’s choices.

The title of this program is “The Role of the Actor as Artist in This Society.” I find that to be presumptuous, not in the negative sense of the word, but in the sense that it presumes that actors in this society actually have a choice in defining their roles as artists in this society. My experience has been that the actor in our society must simply get work, however and wherever that can happen. Perhaps other actors have found a way to define a career in the premeditated sense, but that has rarely been possible for me.

To state the obvious, my experience is that being an actor in the theatre in America is nothing like being an actor in film. Few stage actors in this country are able to shape and define their projects. Unlike the film world, we do not reach a certain level of experience and financial independence and finally have the opportunity to decide and shape our projects. I’m a bit disillusioned by the state of regional theatre in this country. I see theatres searching for and spending money on more and more dazzling production values, new buildings, office spaces, ever-growing administrative staffs, carpets for lobbies, but almost never putting that same effort into compensating actors or raising them to the level of decision-makers on any given project.

Really quickly, I can think of two, and there are certainly more, positive ways to deal with this dilemma. Number one, to have more regional theatres make a commitment to hiring a “real” acting company—not de facto companies that say, “We’ll promise you 15 weeks a season of work”—but a real acting company with seasonal contracts, as happened for me at ACT, and give them a real voice in season planning. And number two, and most importantly, I think appointing more actors as artistic directors. Both these suggestions have their hidden complexities, obviously, but it seems to me that it’s a start.

YES! Thank you Marco. That statement opened a much-needed debate. He was not universally supported by his fellow actors, who felt that he was whining. Why bitch when you have had the career that you have had? Because Marco experienced and understood that there was and is a fundamental artistic problem. If the actor is not free to inhabit the world and the human being within the world of the play, why do it? If there are too many people with competing agendas that impinge upon the actor’s ability to do her/his job, why do it? If there is not a human being on that stage living as a human being in the world of the playwright’s imagination, why do it? If you cannot provide a suitable, equitable living wage for the central artists in any theatre production, the playwright and the actors who inhabit the play, why do it? There is a big issue there, and it was not addressed in our meeting at Lincoln Center. Anne gave us that opportunity, but we were much too polite with each other. Much too deferential, and much too protective of our own interests. Not the play’s interests, not the audience’s interests, but our personal interests. Good people all, but wary of facing facts, and/or their employers. I ask you all to pay close attention to another actor, Michael Potts, who is willing to speak out. One day, my hope is that we will all SPEAK OUT on these issues.

Keep the faith,
J Michael Miller

Michael Potts

A second incident begins with my asking or rather telling the director (since I already knew what the response would be) “You can tell me to suspend my disbelief, but if _____ makes that choice, then everything we have to say and do after that makes no sense.” His answer began, as expected, with the admonishment, “yes you should suspend your disbelief.” The other actor’s choice got a big laugh. It was a case of scenic truth vs. big laugh. Guess which won?

Sadly, get a group of actors together and these types of war stories can go on ad nauseam. That’s incredibly disheartening. Tragic when it comes from actors who are considered successful. By most measures, I’m considered a successful actor. I am in the enviable position of being offered work. Granted, they’re usually the same 2 or 3 directors doing the offering. I have been blessed to make my living working as an actor since I graduated from Yale School of Drama 19 years ago. There I was taught by the late masters Lloyd Richards and Earle Gister that the prime directive of theater is collaboration and the cardinal rule of acting is that everything you do on stage is for your partner. I found these same principles reinforced a decade later training under the great Russian director and teacher Slava Dolgachev. Boy, was I spoiled or what? This is sacrosanct to me. I try to honor it in each and every performance I give. However, all too quickly, I learned that despite my career success, the tenets I learned during that golden time have less and less currency in the present market.

Every year at Playwrights Horizons Theatre School/NYU, where I’ve taught part time since 1996, we’re asked to submit course descriptions for the coming year. Mine has been the same for the past 7 years: Acting III – Advanced Technique and Scene Study. Lately, I feel the more appropriate course description should be something like: Acting – A Seminar on How to Defend the Integrity of Your Work in Today’s Non-collaborative Theater.

This academic year in particular, I’ve found myself doing more preaching than teaching. I’ve been harping to the point of harangue that they (students) must, MUST be able to defend their choices or find themselves justifying or worse yet becoming the tabula rasa for the choices of others. Hey kids, if you want scenic truth, you gotta fight for it. I demand that they be able to specifically articulate what their choices are, why they made the choice and what in the text backs that choice up. Nothing revolutionary in that. It’s what I was taught. It’s what I know works. I urge them to challenge me, take a risk, engage in debate. I admonish them for being too nice, too safe, too pedestrian in their choices. I exhort them to learn to fight. Fight for their place in the room, fight for their choices, fight for the scenic truth of their characters, fight for the craft of acting.

You’re no longer an artist, you’re a pugilist. On contact sheets, the writer(s), director, choreographer, et al. are listed under the heading “creatives”. You’re listed under “cast” … or is it “caste”? So much has changed in just the short time since I’ve been out of acting school. Sadly, not for the better of either actors or theater. Lloyd Richards once said something to me over breakfast at the Eugene O’Neill Center the summer after my first year at YSD. I was regaling him with stories of my first year experiences. I was all youthful exuberance and euphoria recounting that first of what would be three absolutely golden years in my life. He listened patiently, never once interrupting or wavering in his attention. When my enthusiasm was finally spent and I fell silent, waiting and hoping for his approval, this theater giant smiled, shook his head from side to side and mournfully said, as if to himself, “It’s a shame, you’ll never be used that much again.” At the time, I didn’t understand what he meant by that or why he said it to me. But I never forgot it. Now, I know all too lucidly what he meant.

Michael Potts is a superb actor who I first saw do an astounding Othello at Yale where he studied with Lloyd Richards and Earle Gister. He subsequently appeared in scores of classic plays at theatres around the country who still do classic plays and the world premier of “The Intelligent Homosexual’s Guide” at The Guthrie. He won an OBIE for “The America Play” at The Public and has appeared on Broadway in “Grey Gardens” and “Lennon”. He has been seen all over the small screen including arcs on Damages”, “The Wire” and more “Law & Orders” than is good for a person. He is currently in “The Book of Mormon” at the Eugene O’Neill Theatre.

Peter Jay Fernandez

This column is a personal examination of the joys and frustrations of a middle-aged actor teaching part time in an MFA professional training program in NYC and attempting to maintain an active acting career.

February 15, 2012:
As I check the class list for attendance today, my student secretary informs me that L— is out sick today and so is A—. “They said they e-mailed you. They’ve got some kind of stomach ‘thing.’” I glance over her shoulder and see that P— is sitting with his eyes closed at the back of the room. He does not look good. Another candidate for the ‘stomach’ thing? What is going on? They are falling like flies. This (again) is going to wreak havoc with the scene schedule, so I’ll have to scramble to fill out the class with meaningful work. Yes, it’s that time of year when colds and the flu rise up, and I know that a college campus is like a Petri dish with the students passing illness around, but something else is at work here. In addition to the absences, there’s a general sluggishness in the room of late and I’m sure it’s tied to exhaustion. And not just the physical. It’s clear that these young men and women are overworked and overstressed. Too many rehearsals, presentations and performances and not enough time to absorb and understand process. Things aren’t sticking in class because their focus is split in too many directions.

I know that working quickly and intensely is important in preparation for the professional world of shortened rehearsal periods and instant ‘go for the sensational’ choices that seem so often to be the norm today, but this can become debilitating, and what does it ultimately produce? More tricks and shortcuts, if we’re not careful. Where’s room for the in depth exploration that produces art and artists. I certainly understand the ‘survival of the fittest’ model and recognize the need to ‘toughen’ their actor skins but I worry that sometimes, the cart is pulling the horse. Too often, I’m seeing a lack of specific, informed choices in the scene work and it’s not because these actors aren’t capable. They are smart, talented and brave, but with the depth of responsibilities placed on them daily, they’re coming to a place of diminishing returns. They still have more than a year of training ahead of them. What to do? I know that I’m not the only teacher with these concerns. Two of the Alexander teachers have spoken to me about working some of the same scenes in both our classes, which would eliminate the need for the students to have to learn and rehearse yet another set of scenes. It could yield fruit in both classes by slowing them down and allowing more time for exploration. I’ve also extended an invitation to other instructors to come and observe my class in the hopes that we eliminate working at cross purposes if possible. We’ll see what happens.

March 1, 2012:
Encouraging news! Given the economic climate and it’s effect on educational institutions, our classes will be smaller next year, and more importantly, several faculty meetings have been scheduled to discuss a major realignment and shift of focus within the graduate program. The new head of the Drama school has been listening to faculty and student concerns and is determined to work with all to effect positive change that addresses the student’s needs as we head into the next school year. Hope springs eternal!

Now, one other area of concern: As I look around the hallways and classrooms, I’m not seeing many people who look like me, particularly among the faculty. Given the increasingly diverse environment that we are living in here in New York City (and I would argue, elsewhere) the lack of persons of color teaching here in a school that is actively seeking more students of color presents an obvious problem. When the three young black women in my graduate scene study class tell me that they have had no professors of color before now, something is amiss. It’s not by chance that I’ve seen next to no male students of color here. To be fair, the artistic head of the school (who is in his first year on the job) has made it clear that this does need to be addressed. But what strikes me is that this situation is depressingly similar to the one I encountered as an undergraduate acting student in my training program in the SEVENTIES. The past can’t be fixed, but what is the picture that we’re painting in our classrooms for the here and now, and by extension, the future? More later….

Oh, one more thing (and this would go under the ‘practice what you preach’ heading):
Last week, during the penultimate scene of the play that I’ve been doing (‘CQ/CX’ at the Atlantic Theater Co.), I had one of those, ‘What was I thinking?’ moments that I’m always riding my students about. I realized near the end of the scene that I had been so focused on building to the climax of a disagreement with the two other men in the scene that I had failed to process some vital info provided in the transition between scenes. It was a minor detail that could and should subtly affect my attitude toward one of my scene partners. It would enhance the storytelling in a small but I believe important way and I had overlooked it for weeks. I always impress upon my students the importance of questioning all aspects of the script and the circumstances that are set forth before making important choices in the playing. “Who’s story are you telling? Yours or the playwright’s? You have to do the digging!” Who’s story had I been telling? Well, if that’s not a teaching moment, I don’t know what is. Until the next time…

Dave Horak

It’s opening night
For the past two and a half weeks I’ve taken leave of my teaching job in order to rehearse “Boeing-Boeing” at one of the professional theatres in the city. I teach in a mid-sized liberal arts university theatre program that specializes in training musical theatre “triple-threat” performers in Edmonton, Alberta. I’ve been fortunate with this job that I can take time off and continue to work as both a director and actor outside the University.

While most theatre departments value instructors who maintain professional relationships and continue to work in the business, I’ve noticed there are many pitfalls to trying to maintain the balance between the professional and the educational work. Over the next few months I’ll explore what these challenges are and look forward to any feedback on these issues that are both practical and philosophical.

At the moment I’m about to open this frothy, silly 1960’s sex farce and I know that current and former students of mine will be in the audience. I can try and deny the stress that creeps in as I imagine these students who know me only in the role of teacher witnessing me run around door slamming and chasing pretty women, but no matter what concentration and relaxation exercises I employ, I’m nervous. The more that teaching becomes an important part of my creative life, the more it matters how the students view me. Perhaps it shouldn’t. I guess I’m worried about how this new “side” of me is viewed by the students. However, I realize none of this is in my control and so I buckle down and focus on the work ahead.

After opening
The production is funny and has the right innocent touch to it—it’s a crowd pleaser and will be a joy to perform for the next eight weeks. I return to teaching the following Monday and the students appear both delighted and surprised by what they’ve seen but I actually don’t want to talk about the show with them. I’m not exactly sure why that is; perhaps it’s because I’m too close to it—after all, I’m still in the middle of the process. This hesitation I have in speaking about the work so immediately reminds me that I often expect the students to respond quickly after they do something in class. What a great reminder to be patient and allow space for students to process the work.

I know that the students respect the fact that all of their teachers continue to work professionally, but it’s so much easier using examples from past work or even other people’s experiences rather than something current. I’m curious to see if that changes over the course of the run. As silly as the play is, there are some good reasons for the students to see it: great examples of comic timing, quick, sharp dialogue, and bold physical choices.

Back to the classroom
I remember acting teachers who would regale the class with stories of past theatrical triumphs and I always enjoyed these anecdotes of real world experiences. So I wonder if it really is my own insecurities that are holding me back sharing my own stories. Perhaps I feel that my work is not valid or interesting? As often as I tell my students to use their personal experiences in their work, I forget that I need to do exactly the same thing in my teaching. What am I afraid of?

Now that I’ve been doing this back and forth between teaching and working in the profession for a few years now, I’m beginning to see how I have become a better actor because of what I’ve learned from the students. I have gained empathy for the individual’s process in rehearsal, I’ve become a better listener on stage and more observant in real life. The link between teaching and working professionally is becoming more noticeable and how exactly they speak to each other is just now becoming clearer. I now need to find a way to allow these new experiences into my teaching. I began teaching because of my professional experience; it was this that made me hirable, and now I find I am going back to acting and directing with new insights from the classroom.

This latest professional experience reminds me that one of the things I endeavor to teach is how to articulate the process in order to evaluate growth. The students I have are generally nineteen to twenty-two years old and are often unfamiliar with having to speak clearly about their own work. I now realize that in order to give space for them to speak, I often pull back from the conversation. There must be a way to balance this without feeling like I am taking something away from the students.

As silly as the production is, there are technical aspects that I have begun to highlight in class. Rather than speaking about my own work in the show I present exercises in class that demonstrate how to keep the sharpness of dialogue and dexterity of physicality over a long run and this appears to be useful for the students. I’m much more comfortable using my own examples if I wrap them in a blanket of practical exercises, and perhaps this is much more effective anyway.

As the school term begins to wind down, I recognize that the students and I have much in common since we are all dealing with the issue of stamina and maintaining health. They are getting just as worn out as I am at the end of the term, but we solider on. This may also be one of the lessons here, that sometimes just demonstrating or modeling the behavior you wish to see in the students can be just as effective a teaching tool as anything else.

Even with all the challenge it brings, I’m fortunate to both work professionally as well as teach, but now what happens when one side begins to push the other out? This issue is now beginning to emerge as I look toward the summer and next season’s auditions. My job at the University is fairly secure, but what happens if I have to choose between teaching and working professionally? I never thought it would be a difficult choice, but over the next few months, this may actually be tough.

-Dave Horak
Edmonton, Alberta, Canada

Dave is an actor, director, and theatre educator currently living in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. He has worked at theatre companies across Canada and the United States including The Citadel Theatre, The Mayfield, Catalyst Theatre, Workshop West, Leave it to Jane, Quest Theatre, Pleiades/Vertigo Theatre, WPA Theatre (NYC), and Theatreworks USA. He has been a faculty member at MacEwan University’s Theatre Arts Department since 2003 and holds a MFA (Directing) degree from the University of Alberta. He participated in The Actors Center Teacher Development Program in 2011.

Our stops thus far have been 1-2 nights, giving us just enough time to work out, find a decent meal, snap a few pictures and maybe chat with a local. More often though, we are in and out of a town so fast you’d think we were criminals on the lamb. The constancy of movement has been the hardest thing to get used to. The whirligig of pack, unpack, shower, show, pack, unpack, shower, show, etc., has taken its toll. The rigors of touring have begun to threaten the primacy of the mission; to bring quality theater to communities across the country with little to no access to such work. So the question that has continually pressed upon me throughout has been, how do we do that?

To say that this tour has been a roller coaster is such a boring cliché, but I’m going to use it anyway because my brain has literally turned to mush. I think somewhere around Mansfield, Ohio or Hilton Head, South Carolina or St. Johnsbury, Vermont I lost my ability to think straight and I turned into a farm animal. Nothing against farm animals, it’s just that I feel much more like I’m part of a herd of cattle rather than an actor. I shuffle from one town to the next, stopping long enough to barely eat a meal before I’m entering as Mark Antony to find out that the leader of Rome and my best friend has been stabbed 33 times. Hamlet says the readiness is all, and lord if that ain’t the truth. Readiness is perhaps the thing I’m learning the most about.

I think the thing that has been most surprising and challenging about touring is actually doing the show and doing it well. When I’ve been in a run of a show at a regional theater the consistency of the run helps you find your rhythm and learn in a quick way the contours of the role. The opposite seems to be true on this tour for me. I perform 3-4 times per week as opposed to 8. The venue is different practically each time, as well as the demographic of the audiences. We go from poor underprivileged communities to the exact opposite in the span of 24 hours. The inconsistencies are what have been the most educational because they demand a readiness for the unexpected, even though your body may not be ready at all. This is a lesson I hope to take with me into my next job.

The inconsistency of this life has also led to a slight depression. This wasn’t exactly what I had romantically envisioned when taking this job. I thought—or at least naively hoped—I would be joining an illustrious heritage of thespians treading the boards in a different town each night, carousing with the “locals” and spreading the uplifting antidote of live theater to the masses of common folk just dying for some culture. I thought that I would be on fire with the gospel of theater, reveling in my association with a long line of actors who’ve traveled the country putting on plays. In reality, I’ve been playing to cavernous auditoriums in the middle of nowhere with a scarcity of people in the house. Our student matinees are more often than not our largest audiences, but unfortunately those kids are there because they are required to be. There have certainly been some wonderful shows, but on the whole if I were to use this tour as a barometer for the country’s interest in live classical theater, I would say it doesn’t look good. Not to say there aren’t people out there who are devotees always and forever, but this is not what I’ve experienced for the most part.

As a result, I’ve found myself falling in and out of a slight depression, but ultimately out. I began to wonder if what I’m doing doesn’t really matter? It’s true that I don’t really know if that is entirely the case, and there may certainly be individuals out there who have been affected in a positive way by our work, but I can’t say for certain that I feel that as often as I’d hoped.

In light of this I have sought the silver lining as often as possible. As I said in my first essay, I was interested in learning something about company on this tour, and I think I have. What I’ve learned more than ever before is that being in a company is damn difficult, but damn necessary and that no matter where and when and for whom I am doing the show, I must keep the fire of my artistry alive. I do this most successfully when I put all the other challenges of company life aside for the few hours I have each night doing the show. Company life has taught me this in a more immediate way than a regional run, because you are open and susceptible to other people’s energies more than ever because of the constancy of your contact with one another. Therefore, the skills needed to switch gears and block that out are perhaps even greater. It’s kind of like having a constant case of poison ivy, but you still need to perform. This isn’t always the case, and I feel great affection for my fellow company members, but take any group of adults and throw them on a bus and truck tour and they will inevitably go a bit bonkers. To have this to contend with has only strengthened the preciousness of time on the stage. It is my time to block it ALL out and do the work of the play. This has probably been the most valuable acting and life lesson I have learned from doing this job. I’ve never done a role this large for this long a period of time, and it has pushed me to investigate how to keep it alive and fresh while staying as focused as possible. Being part of The Acting Company has undoubtedly pushed me to deepen my commitment to what is required of us to be great on the stage each night.

What I sense from traveling around the country is that people don’t really know if they really need theater anymore. Students come because they are forced, and many others come because they feel an obligatory sense to try to be “cultured.” There are always those out there who feel a strong connection now and forever to the theatre, but their numbers are dwindling. When I’ve felt uncertain about my purpose on this tour, I’ve been able to rely on my company members to reinforce for me our mission and sense of purpose. I take great comfort in the fact that we are gathered together to do something that we believe is important and necessary, and that belief can be contagious. Even if we are outnumbered at times, to be part of a group of people who want to do this has strengthened my belief enough to help me keep the faith and learn a lot about myself as an actor.

I wish I had more to say at this point. I think that because I am still within it and processing it all it’s hard to understand the impact it is having on me as an artist and the impact the work is having on these communities. I hope that with time I come to a greater understanding of what it is to be part of an acting company and in particular, The Acting Company.

Philip Carlson

One of the exercises I do in my workshops is ask the students to imagine that they themselves were agents and to come up with a dream list of clients. This accomplishes many things, not least an awareness that an agent is likely to have more than one client. But it also gets them thinking about types and categories of actors and, if they work on their lists fully enough, it may even get them thinking about what type they might be themselves. Of course, not to be typed is every actor’s goal, but I have found that the first break the business is willing to offer a beginning actor is not going to be too far away from who they are when they wake up in the morning. Play Benjamin Braddock first. Then play Ratso Rizzo. Does anyone imagine Dustin Hoffman would have been allowed to play Ratso Rizzo first? They barely let him play Benjamin Braddock. I think I heard that Nichols had to insist.

So anyway. One particular girl in my class had come up with a list of actors who were mostly dead. She said she hoped I didn’t mind but she felt that all those actors in black and white movies were so much better, so much more interesting than what is generally on offer today. Well, I didn’t mind. I mean, she had Edward Everett Horton on her list. Mind? I was thrilled. I told her she herself reminded me a bit of Barbara Stanwyck. She was thrilled. Fortunately, before I was able to ask her to run away with me, another student piped up wanting to know, “Who’s Barbara Stanwyck?”

Does every generation feel that life, art, passion are all thinner than when they were young? How long has it been since Norma Desmond bemoaned the colorless current crop of box office stars who had supplanted her own by-then-over-the-hill generation? “We had faces then,” she famously proclaimed. Was she right? If she was, and substance actually dissipates as the world continues to spin, there ought to be nothing but vapors left by now. But substance survives, believe it or not. We should never doubt Lucretius. Somnambulism has not overtaken civilization. I’ve seen some actual faces on stage and in a movie or two myself. Viola Davis is alive and acting. Philip Seymour Hoffman is working and hasn’t deserted the stage. And not just actors. Neil Young opens his mouth and touches my soul. (Now there’s a face.) Depth in artistic endeavor has not left the building. Oh, there is much to complain about but there is still Christopher Walken and Zaha Haddid and I think “The Sense of an Ending” is a pretty good book. There is much to celebrate and be grateful for. But IN GENERAL, there is cause for alarm. The sky may not have fallen but it is falling. Those people in black and white movies, forget if they were better actors, they were certainly more committed actors. And not afraid to let that commitment show. Passion isn’t really cool. And cool is very much required these days.

Passion can also be expensive. The very passionate young Marlon Brando cost the producers of “Mutiny on the Bounty” a fortune in demands for more time, more authenticity, more of whatever he felt he needed to create his performance. The hands that held the purse strings concluded that passion equals self-indulgence equals money lost. Perhaps in Brando’s case it did. The older Brando, encased in folds of fat, seemed to have long since traded in his early passion for the irony that currently rules all things. But wait a minute. Was Marlon Brando not, in addition to being an actor of staggering gifts, also a gigantic spoiled brat? Perhaps if someone had said no to his indulgent demands, he might have continued to do admirable work. If anyone had ever said no to Elvis Presley he might not have OD’d on that toilet, either. Maybe River Phoenix would still be alive. Heath Ledger, too. Well, gee. This was never meant to be an essay about child rearing but there is not a lot of no being said to infants, children, young adults, or stars these days. Is it possible that this unrestricted approval has a cost? The list is long and sad of young artists who intended to speak loudly but got sideswiped by their own demons with a ferocity sufficient to overwhelm and drown whatever it was they might have ultimately been trying to say. Are we approving too freely? Are we creating too many examples of what the psychiatric profession refers to as “his majesty the baby”? I’m just sayin’.

Actually, I have a theory about that. If actors are no longer truly collaborators in the artistic process (see Michael Potts elsewhere in these pages), if all anybody wants from them is their hotness, their sex appeal, then is it any wonder that so any of them turn to drugs or alcohol or whatever the latest painkiller is that’s making the rounds that drives so many of them into the arms of Betty Ford. (And God bless her, make no mistake.) But if all we want from actors is to bask in their beauty or the specialness (whatever that may be with any given actor), it’s not surprising that so many of them have ceased mining their own depths. It’s a difficult and painful process, done right. Far easier to live off your looks. And I don’t know too many people who make a habit of that who have wound up feeling fulfilled in any sense of the word. Madame de Pompadour notwithstanding. Putting in a few hours at the gym is a hell of a lot easier than knowing for certain why you are coming into the room and what you want once you are there. Let me explain what I mean by that.

I suppose I am the last to hear of these teacher evaluations handed out at all academic actor training programs. If a student feels unduly pressured by a teacher, he can complain about it. In writing. And be heard. And if enough students complain, the teacher’s career could be in jeopardy. Is learning how to become an actor not a difficult process? Is it not necessarily arduous and painful? Recently, the head of one of the college programs told me about a day in class when he was a student of Paul Mann’s many decades ago. This particular day, Paul would not let him get past the doorway when he was trying to come on stage. This teacher said that a friend of his in the class told him Paul stopped him from entering over 40 times. His friend had counted. Paul kept saying, “I don’t believe it,” “You have no need to be there”, “Who are you kidding?” “Where have you come from?” What do you even want?” Things an acting teacher says, in other words. This poor guy was sobbing, shattered and spent but, he said, he learned more about acting that day than he ever learned before or since. Can we imagine a student surviving such an ordeal today and not swearing vengeance for such teaching methods? (Do other methods exist? Can we gently coax a great performance out of anyone?) No, that student would be reaching for a teacher evaluation form and checking off every negative assessment he could find as fast as he could scratch his little marks.

I started out—as I usually do—talking about myself and saying that I had and have difficulty expressing passion. That’s why I need actors and I need actors who go deep. I live for them. I learned in retrospect, one day in class with my own acting teacher, that I was not an actor. That’s wrong. I’m an OK actor. But feeling just OK was why I left. Who wants to be just OK? Good acting without passion is just OK. I was a great agent, I’ll tell you that. I was a passionate agent. But I was not an artist. And artistry is what this Journal is all about. Where is the next generation of artists and their teachers going to come from? Perhaps that girl with her list of dead black and white actors (as she called them) will make a contribution. Maybe we can just all start talking to each other and recognize that we have shared goals and they may not be cool but they are, oh, so necessary. And there are many of us. We are, indeed, a community. We need an address. We could start with a National Theatre.

Earle’s sons have established a face book page, “Friends of Earle Gister.” We ask you to send a brief note of appreciation or memory of Earle, along with the date you first met him. If we possibly can, I want to display your homage permanently on The Actors Center website, listing you alphabetically by year of first contact.

Earle R Gister has been my closest friend and career partner for over fifty years. I am determined to find a way to record a semblance of Earle’s legacy for his children, and I ask your support. A memorial service is planned for his birthday, March 30, 2012. Details will appear on these pages as they come clear. You will all be welcome.

To all of us who loved Earle, I send my deepest condolences,

J. Michael Miller

In this issue, we attempt to get at the marrow, the core of what we, individually and collectively are all about. On the Founder’s Page, Michael sets forth the background, the dream and the necessity of his dream for a National Theatre.

In Ongoing Concerns, he proposes a concrete plan of action for the next two years leading up to the 100th birthday of Actor’s Equity Association which might enable this dream to actually happen.

On Phil’s Page, I attempt to tackle my still (after all these years) ambivalent feelings about starting out as an actor’s manager and my considerably less ambivalent feelings about what I think of managers today.

For the Actor/Teacher section, we give you two short pieces, one from David Horak, a Canadian actor who is beginning to teach. He took the Teacher development Program last year at The Actors Center and discovered the artistry of teaching as opposed to just the paycheck of teaching and Peter Jay Fernandez who will be sharing his journal with us as he acts and teaches here in town.

Also beginning a journal in this issue is Contributing Editor Zack Fine who is beginning a six month stint touring around the country with The Acting Company. We look forward to hearing how his student dreams of being part of a repertory company compare with the reality of actually being a part of a repertory company.

We also are introducing a new Contributing Editor named Bryce Pinkham. We first met Bryce when he read a paper at the very first Congress of Actors and Acting Teachers. He spoke movingly, and with insight into his own feelings far beyond what his tender years would have led anyone to suppose a first year acting student might be able to tap, of his hopes and desires for what would become of him during the three years he was facing in the MFA Drama program at Yale. He is currently in rehearsal for “Ghost” which is opening on Broadway this spring.

Further, though this is more of a preview of coming attractions than an accomplished reality, we plan to introduce weekly columns/blogs by a number of Contributing Editors which, we hope will, bring you to our site with greater frequency and with, dare we hope, greater sense of engagement. And to facilitate that, we will have a Facebook Page. All together now: It’s About Time!!

And apropos of absolutely nothing, I am wondering if there is not hope for humanity after all. When I was a boy agent, I had a client named Anne Twomey who was in a play with Eva LeGalliene on Broadway. The play was called “To Grandmother’s House”. The great LeGalliene was grandmother. She was, at the time, 83 or 84 years old and her very ambulatory presence was considered a minor miracle. Her performance, considering her age, was thought to be beyond admirable. However, thirty years later, I must report that I have recently seen a number of astounding performances by actors in their 80’s with no allowances made for their age whatsoever. Forget admirable. These were brilliant, powerful performances by professionals I was privileged and enriched to be able to witness – far outranking most of the above average work I have seen from the generations upcoming who will be called upon to replace these giants.

Vanessa Redgrave, Lois Smith, Christopher Plummer, Rosemary Harris, Zoe Caldwell, James Earl Jones, Angela Lansbury and Alvin Epstein. These are gods and goddesses and, in a world far better than our own, it might not even be remarkable that they are all in their 80’s and the performances they have given which have entered my marrow and enhanced my life, have all been given in their current decade and all of those performances were on stage –no Winnebagos waiting in the wings for these geniuses. Is it ungallant to call attention to their age? Oh God, I hope not. I feel that the sheer mastery of their powerful talent is so much more germane to the value of life on earth for the rest of us than any lingering vanity any of them may harbor concerning their date of birth. So with that nod to what is very likely their very human vanity, I have to say that I am here to praise their Herculean gifts and offer thanks for the awe they have awakened in me and the gratitude I feel for still being around to have witnessed what they are capable of accomplishing not solely because they are all so fucking brilliant but because they are so fucking old. I bow down.