t first glance, the opening credits for the Bravo TV series “Inside the Actors Studio” seem promising.
Oversized wooden doors swing open from atop the steps of the two-story Greek Revival building on West 44th St. in New York. Images of James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Paul Newman and Dustin Hoffman flash
by, followed by a glimpse inside the exclusive theater space where Lee Strasberg once held court. A sign reads: “Quiet. Work in session.”
Suddenly, however, everything switches to a large auditorium at the New School of Social Research at the opposite end of town. Seated in the audience are, predominantly, a group of students from a three-year MFA program, many from overseas. On stage, a moderator introduces the celebrity of the week. Speaking in hushed, reverential tones, he recounts the guest’s awards and accolades, shows a few film clips and prompts the guest for lively anecdotes. This portion of the show is followed by taped highlights of the interviewee’s response to student questions about today’s market, especially in film.
Subsequent airings indicate that most of these famous people like Anthony Hopkins, Harrison Ford, Gwyneth Paltrow, Mary Tyler Moore, Jack Lemmon, Steven Spielberg, Lauren Bacall, Carol Burnett, Julia Roberts, Meryl Streep, Shirley Maclaine, Jerry Lewis, Stylvester Stallone, etc., are not associated with the Actors Studio. In fact, during one segment the comedy star Nathan Lane made fun of Method animal exercises. During another segment, John Hurt, the noted British actor, proclaimed, “I pretend, dear boy. I pretend.” Counter to an approach that traditionally centers on emotional recall and other means of living the role, Hurt spoke of sophisticated pretense, text analysis, visual imagery, vocal adjustments and the extraordinary as opposed to the real.
Admittedly, from time to time one might come across a rerun featuring a seasoned Studio member or someone who had taken Strasberg’s classes. In that case, you would discover, say, the actress Sally Field touching on the subject of psychotherapy and her decision to trade in her “flying nun” costume for more serious efforts at self-disclosure. For his part, Paul Newman alluded to his acute anxiety while auditioning for the Studio in the 1950s, and, during her stint on the show, Ellen Burstyn mentioned her indebtedness to Strasberg and her dismay upon initially receiving one of his notorious harsh appraisals. But these instances are the exception rather than the rule. From all indications, the once controversial temple of the Method seems to have significantly altered its course.
Taking a closer look at the MFA prospectus per se, we find that graduates are offered “an industry passport” plus a life membership. The cost is $60,000 ($20,000 per year). During the 1950s, there was one twelve -month period in which 2,000 people auditioned and only two were admitted (Steve McQueen and Martin Landau). As mandated by its founder Elia Kazan and its co-founder Bobby Lewis, no fees were attached. The only criterion was talent: a unique sensibility and “a promising instrument.” Otherwise McQueen, who was destitute that year, would have been forced to decline. Moreover, the workshop had nothing to do with schooling or obtaining a ticket to commercial success. It was a shelter, an artistic haven offering the chosen few an opportunity to explore and expand their expressive range free of the pressures of Hollywood and Broadway.
But those were different times under different circumstances. Today the MFA venture brings in vital revenue and keeps the operation afloat. While the actual Studio lingers in the background, young people from the U.K. and foreign lands with the financial backing of their parents and anyone from anywhere with a degree in any subject are eligible to take part.
To attract these aspirants, the brochure characterizes the New School as a historic site of “innovation and bold exploration” harkening back to the Dramatic Workshop of the 1930s and 40s where Strasberg and Stella Adler taught their first classes. By implication, Strasberg and Adler were associates and Brando, Tennessee Williams, Walter Matthau and Shelley Winters were under the same umbrella. The marketing strategy goes on to depict the Studio as a “motion picture Parnassus and a who’s who of American theater, film and television.” Expanding on this notion, the roster is said to be unmatched by any theatrical institution in the world and living proof of the validity of the Studio’s process.
Without going into the details of the lifelong feud between Strasberg and Stella Adler and the fact that Brando was Adler’s student, and both Sandy Meisner and Stella Adler created their own schools and unique way of working, suffice it to say there is a grain of truth to a few of these claims. Although no one learned their craft at the Studio, members were doubtless influenced by each other’s work. And there was a period in the 1950s and early 1960s when a goodly number of notable actors were actively engaged in Studio projects. Unfortunately, with the failure of both productions at the Aldwych Theatre in London (during the World Theatre Season in the summer of 1965) and the subsequent demise of the Actors Studio Theater, most of these prominent figures drifted away. In a sense many well-known performers did pass through its exclusive doors: some fleetingly, some by way of honorary membership, some legitimately through audition, some both active and passive in their affiliation or somewhere in between.
Be that as it may, the new policy attempts to bypass and/or modify the realities of the past in order to accommodate the practical needs of the present and future. By the same token, the promotional materials link Strasberg to the New School’s beginnings. Elia Kazan isn’t credited at all nor is Bobby Lewis. Stella Adler and Sandy Meisner’s techniques are incorporated in a broad curriculum that includes classes in movement, voice, text analysis, Alexander technique, theater history and theatrical styles. And all of this is amalgamated into “a common legacy.” In effect, this new composite serves to downplay the former preoccupation with self -absorption and psychological realism and to capitalize on the Studio mystique and contemporary trends at the same time. Hence the mix on the cable TV show: a wide range of celebrities who affably share some of their thoughts and experiences plus an occasional “name” from the Studio to suggest a semblance of continuity.
On the face of it, this reinvention of the Studio seems to be achieving its purpose; although the TV show has produced one little glitch. The administrative secretary at the Studio West is besieged by calls and inquiries from those wishing to mingle with the “artists” they’ve seen on TV. These hopefuls, who are perfectly willing to pay the fees, take the courses and become card-carrying members, are disappointed to learn that in Los Angeles the rules are different. There is no school or MFA program. You must be a working professional and pass a set of auditions. The workshop nestled south of Sunset and west of Fairfax is loosely affiliated with the parent institution but its workings are not at all the same. And the Hollywood stars and directors in question have absolutely no connection.
In any event, this inconsistency is of no concern to the students in New York. Their quest during their three-year residency is the acquisition of a “toolbox”--a set of competencies that will enable them to meet any demand. Consequently, they readily accept what is imparted to them at the outset: a view of the Russian master Konstantin Stanislavsky as an evolving pragmatist; a utilization of Strasberg, Meisner and Adler techniques in different combinations plus anything else that might come in handy to succeed in a play, musical, TV sitcom, film or what have you. No one comes to see an actor act, they are told time and again. They come to watch a story or to experience an event. As performers, their task is to help make that happen; help the story along, help the given project succeed.
The “tools,” they are reminded, are whatever works. If sensory elements apply, use them. If they don’t, put them aside. The precepts of any given theorist are not to be taken to heart. It’s all about being in the moment and doing the job. If it’s a Neil Simon comedy, the focus is on the words and comic timing. It has nothing to do with smelling the coffee or remembering similar moments from your life. Readiness is all. The more you have to draw on, the better prepared.
For example, one instructor suggests that you place the character outside yourself: imagining the person there, what they look like, etc., fully experiencing their presence and then morphing into that form. It’s all pretending, never personal. Dragging your own life into the equation is not acting, not theater—it’s dangerous. And it’s not an efficient tool like the morphing approach, not something you can readily use.
Some individuals are advised that they need to lose control, break barriers and strip themselves of old habits. Beginners with no background are told to gain control and fashion a technique. Malleability and an egalitarian attitude are reinforced through the notion that everyone on the talk show, everyone who speaks in the seminars, everyone encountered on the pages of theater history is after the same thing. The Method is just another term for whatever props you up, gets you to the character or enables you to carry out a given task.
The students from overseas and those with heavy regional accents take classes in standard American speech. All students study voice production. There is a playwrights and directors unit that meets with those on the acting track to insure that everyone gets the basic message: those speaking a different language must adjust until a cohesive path is discovered and all and sundry are “on the same page.”
By the time participants have added mask work, stage combat, accents, clowning and variations of style to their repertoire, they are deemed ready to engage in fifteen weeks of repertory. Upon graduation, they may take advantage of any projects the Studio has to offer (such as a series of new plays at a nearby off-Broadway facility). Or they may tuck their membership card away for future reference and seek other venues.
In the meantime, those still active at the home base on West 44th, unobtrusively continue their twice-weekly sessions behind the traditional closed doors. Different moderators comment on the work of longtime members who are in town and wish to bring their intuitive and emotional responses to bear on a piece of selected material. Here they still hold to the credo that the artist is found in the suffering child and it’s this kind of vulnerability that taps one’s “instrument” and fuels one’s search for truth. During the explorations, a smattering of students from the New School can be found peering down from the tiny balcony as if witnessing the rituals of a secret society.
And so, even as the focus and changes proliferate across town and on TV, a few of the old guard fondly recall the era when the Method seemed central; so central that Marilyn Monroe came east, studied privately with Lee Strasberg and observed the restricted sessions as she strived to be taken seriously as an actress. Overlooking his flaws, these same veterans refer to “Lee” as a man of some genius who instilled a sense of dedication; a master teacher who spoke of legendary theatrical figures like Eleanora Duse who fully inhabited their roles. They remember the glory days when Method actors were separate and unique and Strasberg’s approach was an ideology; when the director Frank Corsaro and the actor/writer Mike Gazzo forged A Hatful of Rain through a slow, organic process incorporating Lee’s sensory/psychological techniques. Realism was in vogue, Gazzo’s play enjoyed great success just down the street as did William Inge’s writings and the works of Williams and Miller et al. They fully realize those days are gone, but they long for them all the same.
© 2001 Shelly Frome
Shelly Frome is an Associate Professor of Dramatic Arts at the University of Connecticut. His latest work, The Actors Studio: Reality and Myth, will be published by McFarland & Co. this summer.
© 2000-2001 Aviar-DKA Ltd. All rights reserved (including authors’ and individual copyrights are indicated). No part of this material may be reproduced, translated, transmitted, framed or stored in a retrieval system for public or private use without the written permission of the publisher and the individual copyright holder. For permissions, contact publishers@scene4.com.
