Doe, a deer...a female deer

I open my eyes.  I hear frogs and crickets and some forest sounds I can't quite identify.  My head swings briskly up, my legs still folded underneath me.  I scan the space.  There are other creatures around, but I can't quite make out what they are.  Dawn is breaking, which is my best grazing time, so I stretch my legs out, shake the dew from my fur and walk out into the open space.  I grab a mouthful and chew just enough to swallow then snap my head up.  Something in the wind or some peripheral view of how the world stopped moving in its usual pace caught my attention.  I quickly scan - and find a pair of eyes on me.  Hunched forward and moving ever so slowly towards me.  I am on high alert.  My heart starts pounding.  I am being hunted.  I am in an enclosed space, so I have to choose wisely.  If I move too soon, I will be moving towards my predator.  I stand as still as a statue - only my nose and ears move as they try to catch any clues to further danger than the one in front of me.  My blood racing and heart pounding in my ears, I see the enemy's crouch deepen and I spring sideways to dodge the initial pounce and dash as far away as I can, looking for a hiding place.

This week started 'animal work' in my acting class.  For over an hour we were guided through night and day, hunting and resting, rainstorms and heat by our teacher.  We had spent the week prior preparing ourselves by choosing an animal that represented the character we are writing our dissertation on (our choice was to be based in the text), researching the spine and muscular system of the animal, and studying the movements and behaviors of the animal at a zoo and in videos.  I had been struggling with making my body match up to the doe (Gertrude from Hamlet).  My legs are much longer than my arms, so in order to get my back and head in proper alignment, my legs had to be folded awkwardly underneath me.  My neck vertebrae is much shorter, so although I could approximate the head-bob while standing...once I was in all fours, my shortened neck couldn't replicate it.  And I got tired.  After 20-30 seconds of rehearsal, I would fall on the floor exhausted.

But here I was, in class, keeping engaged for over an hour!  I have never been so sustained in a constant state of fear for so long in my life.  In our enclosed space was a jaguar, an African wild dog, a wolverine, and a hyena...all of whom were hunting me.  Also in the space were a silverback gorilla, a snowy owl, an elephant, and a black bear...who were not trying to eat me, but frightened me nonetheless. There was no resting.  I was in constant guard of my life.  (I have long since decided that a deer in THAT environment would have had a heart attack!)  When we were asked to lay down and go to sleep...all I could do was nervously watch until the ENTIRE room was still and quite before I could rest. And even then, I had to keep popping my head up to check.

After the main exercise, we transformed into a creature that was half-animal, half-human...something that walked upright, but maintained many of the characteristics of our former animal selves....and in that creature spoke a few lines from our character in the voice that emerged.  After the exercise was over, our teacher said...'Now, your mind probably interrupted you for two different reasons during this exercise.  The first was to say: This hurts.  I don't want to do this anymore. The second was to say: I'm an adult.  I'm paying massive amounts of money to crawl around like an animal.  This is ridiculous.'

The first is a complaint from the part of the brain that seeks physical comfort.  He suggested that we replace the complaint with the thought 'Who knew I could DO this with my body for this long?!' When we were 4 or 5 years old, I would have thought nothing difficult about crawling around all afternoon pretending to be a horse or a monkey or an owl.  Who knew my body was still capable of such feats?!  I thought I was exhausted after 30 seconds of practicing in a peaceful meadow living deer...and here I found myself able to sustain the exercise in a high-stress environment for over an hour!  I rock!!

The second objection was from the socialized part of the brain.  It is the part that doesn't want to make mistakes and look like an idiot.  It is also the part of the brain that is tracking ourselves.  It keeps mental notes: kind of like an outside view (which as an actor is a very crucial part to keep engaged if you want to be able to repeat with precision any gesture or moment or performance that was successful in rehearsal).  He suggested we turn off the judgement/complaint voice, but to keep that part of the brain engaged...to watch, track, and make note of the physical and emotional journey.

I immediately started to see connections in the foundation of some of Gertrude's choices.  If she is acting out of fear...it makes sense why she stays with Claudius, even after Hamlet has revealed that Claudius murdered her first husband.  If she is constantly checking over her shoulder and unable to protect herself, she is going to side with the biggest, baddest stag out there.

Now you might be rolling your eyes and saying...all well and good...but is any of this any USE to the acting process?  Not in the pure form of the exercise, for sure.  But it can absolutely give you a physical way to express the character (think of Robert DeNiro as a duck in Taxi Driver or Marlon Brando as a bulldog in Godfather - they both used animal work to help with physical aspects of creating their characters).  But for me - I take it as Stella Adler presents it - as a way to help the actor rid themselves of the social mask and to free themselves of inhibitions.

In America, theatre and film focus strongly on the work and the product.  Here in England, the tradition of performance focuses much more on creativity and the process.   I turn on the television here, and can't help but marvel that many of these talented actresses would never have a career in the US - simply because of their looks.  They just don't fit into the glossy, marketed packaging that we produce.  But the tradition of acting in which I am currently studying values substance over style, imagination over beauty.  And I am thrilled to be stretching in that vein.  What it requires is that I give over the idea of 'right' and 'wrong' and embrace the idea of 'successful'.  There is not ONE right way to approach a script, a character, a moment: there are many ways it could be successful.  As I let go of the need to get it right (which narrows my focus and choices)...I allow an amazing array of new choices to pop up.  And it may just be that the oddball choice - the one that would never seem 'right' by any definition - could be a wildly successful one for me.  Or it might be a flop.  And only by allowing the exploration of the unknown and glorious failure, can I strike gold.