utside of the simplest of endeavors, most productive human activity requires some kind of training.  Digging with a shovel has a short (if any) training period.  Being a neurosurgeon has a very long training period.  But both have a clear connection between the training and the actual work.  The connection between actor training in the 20^th -- and now the 21^st -- century seems unusually murky by comparison. For what should actors be trained?

This simple issue lies at the heart of many discussions that have implications for us as professionals as well as for the entertainment and/or art we provide our cultures. 

Curiously, this issue is peculiar largely to the 20^th century.  Nineteenth century actors had no need to worry about training for the voice-over market.  Shakespeare and his contemporaries didn't have to concern themselves with the obstacles of crossing over from the stage to film work. Also, given western culture's general disapproval of actors and acting as a profession, those who took up the profession did so knowing that the job was acting in as many shows as possible with as little rehearsal as possible to maximize profits and minimize expenses. That these groups also produced art (works by Marlowe, Shakespeare, Moliere, et al) was an added plus.  But if a show didn't put butts in seats (or feet in the yard, natch), then pull that show and put on another.

In the 20^th century the concept of acting changes. People like Stanislavsky and Meyerhold and Copeau and other like-minded people actually think about acting as an existential process separated from pulling an audience into the main auditorium. Acting could be experimented with as an activity separate from commercial concerns.  Therefore, in Russia there was the explosion of laboratory-like studios run by experimenters of every stripe.  In France Copeau experimented with the use of antique acting techniques along with experiments in expressive movement and other technical avenues.  Occasionally these "scientists of acting" would test their experiments on the main-stage or even stage audience-ready work with the laboratory members -- but that wasn't the primary focus of their efforts.

This raises the first question, should actors be trained as artists? This question includes several implications.  One implication is the issue as to whether or not acting is an art.  In previous columns, I've discussed possible definitions of art. For the sake of this argument, I'll revive this definition.  Art is the process of perceiving a composition in time, space or a combination of time and space that has: 1) unity, 2) radiance, and 3) provides the observer with a connection with the artwork, the artist, and/or other audience members.  An actor's work as an actor can certainly meet these criteria.  So actors can be artists.

In the 20^th century, the art theatre concept has revolved around the acting ensemble.  However, this model is economically difficult to support.  To this writer's knowledge, no ensemble theatre has been able to survive economically for very long without relatively massive subsidies from private or public sources of capital. 

So, say a young actor is trained as an artist to work with other artists.  First, where will this young actor be able to work?  Let's assume the young actor joins with a group of like-minded friends and starts a "theatre commune" in some city of reasonable size.  Say this group of enthusiastic young people pool their resources to get their enterprise off the ground.  What happens when these young people reach their early 30s?  In western culture, there is a strong pull to want to live with furniture that isn't made up of discarded milk crates or a thread-bare sofa bought third-hand from Goodwill.  Likewise, say the young 30-something actor wants to be married and raise a family -- the young actor is willing to sacrifice for art.  But what about raising the child?  Where will the money come from to clothe, feed, and provide health care for the child?  Faced with these life decisions, the on-going sacrifice for art seems to pale somewhat.

So the young actor looks to the commercial market place to practice the art of acting.

Say the young actor was trained to be an artist.  The actor was in the finest university program and learned Decroux mime technique and verse-speaking from a Cecily Berry disciple and did an intensive full-course of study in a combination of classic use of a Stanislavsky-derived method derived from teachers who actually studied with Meisner and Adler and etc, and etc. . . . . . .  Or say the young actor studied in a fine privately run program in a full course of the Meisner technique.  Or studied with one of Uta Hagen's handpicked teachers at HB Studio.

Then the young actor gets a job saying, "Hi, I'm Bob Johnson -- your personal banker."  Or she gets a job smiling big and shouting, "Tastes great!" with a mouthful of chips that will end up in a spit bucket at the end of the take.  Or worse, getting cast in the video project because she has a camera-ready look with the right amount of "jiggle" in a costume that could barely meet the definition of a garment.

In such moments, the best artistic training of actors is literally pointless.  It may be worthy as an intellectual exercise.  It may be beneficial to develop the mind and body for its own sake.  But no one needs years of extensive training to smile big and say, "Tastes great!" Other than a relatively small number of actors, most actors are not in a position to have roles much bigger or much more important than this in the "industry."

On the other hand, should young actors simply be trained as business people?  This writer would argue negative to this question.  Such an approach suggests that a wise business person could be as successful as an actor as a wise person could also be a successful encyclopedia salesman. An actor's marketing of his/her marketing skills isn't precisely the same thing as selling vacuum cleaners. And many, if not most, people would likely agree that even as simple a task as saying, "Tastes great!" with energy is something more complex than simple salesmanship.  There's something else indefinable that the quality actor does that makes her/his work worthwhile.

So, once again in this business we call show, we're left with a paradox.  We're left with the artist's desire for a living and the commercial desire to utilize art wrapped together like the ancient story of the snake that continues to swallow its own tail. Ying and yang.  We separate the issues for discussion.  In reality each branch carries the seed of the other.

© 2001 Nathan Thomas

Nathan Thomas has earned his
                               living as a touring actor, Artistic Director, director
                                 stage manager, designer, composer, and pianist
                                 He has a Ph.D. in Theatre and is a member of
                                       the theatre faculty of Centenary College

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Winter 2001