An Actor Prepares

Tortsov calls upon Kostya to repeat the exercise playing a tragic scenario, but Kostya, holding too tightly to the object he is using to focus, cuts himself badly and faints, necessitating several days recovering in bed. In response, Tortsov decides to work on physical conditioning with the actors, although he had planned to finish focusing on internal training before broaching the external body. Since Kostya is out of commission, Paul relays this message to him. Tortsov emphasizes that if the body fails, the actor cannot do his or her job. An actor with a strained body and tight muscles will be unable to focus on internal work and imagination. Therefore, actors must train the muscles in their face and body to be relaxed. When Nicholas, another student, visits Kostya, he tells him that full relaxation isn’t possible, according to Tortsov. Kostya wonders at this contradiction, but Paul comes back and clarifies that “to destroy [muscular tensity] completely is impossible, but we must struggle with it incessantly” (98-99). Even at very tense moments, the actor must work to relax the body until it becomes a habit.

The next day, the assistant director, Rakhmanov, visits Kostya with some exercises that Tortsov has provided. The goal is to lay on the floor and recognize which areas of the body are tense and then relax those spots into the floor. If a cat or a baby is picked up after lying in the sand, they will leave an impression of their entire body, while a tense person will only leave an indent at their shoulders and rear end. After Rakhmanov leaves, Kostya notices that his cat indeed leaves a whole-body imprint on a sofa cushion and resolves to learn relaxation from the cat. Tortsov professes, “An actor, like an infant, must learn everything from the beginning, to look, to walk, to talk, and so on. We all know how to do these things in ordinary life. But unfortunately, the vast majority of us do them badly” (101). These bad habits become more apparent onstage. Kostya discovers that relaxation and emulating the cat are difficult. Leo visits the next day and describes their latest exercise, during which they had to lie on the ground and relax and then sit or stand in a pose, noting which muscles are required to hold them in place. The goal was to keep all other muscles loose.

Kostya turns again to his cat, watching how he uses and relaxes his muscles. Then Grisha visits, and recounts Tortsov’s story about a woman who, while restoring a broken sculpture, “was obliged to make a thorough study of weight in the human body, and to find out, through experiments with her own body, where the center of gravity lies in any given pose” (103-04). Tortsov identifies the necessity of training oneself to identify one’s center of gravity. The next day, Leo returns and describes the class’s progress with the exercise in which they now are required to endow their poses with given circumstances, as “there should never be any posing on the stage that has no basis” (105). Leo demonstrates, and at first Kostya muses that his overweight body seems uncomfortable, but marvels at the truthfulness that occurs when Leo moves to swat an imaginary fly, thinking, “Nature operates a live organism better than our much advertised technique!” (105).

Any time an actor poses onstage, the director identifies three moments: “the superfluous tenseness [of] […] each new pose, […] the mechanical relaxation of that superfluous tension, […] [and the] justification of the pose if it in itself does not convince the actor” (105). After Leo leaves, Kostya looks to his cat. He watches the cat as he stalks something, noticing that when he focuses on his pet, the tension returns to his muscles. He finds it difficult to find his objective, determining, that “a live objective and a real action […] naturally and unconsciously put nature to work. And it is only nature itself that can fully control our muscles, tense them properly or relax them” (106).

In class, as Paul describes, the students have moved on to gestures. As with the poses, each student was required to isolate the muscles needed to execute a simple gesture while Rakhmanov felt their muscles and determined if they were relaxing the ones they didn’t need. The students found the exercise very difficult; Paul explains that he was unable to be successful, but the exercise gave them an understanding of what they would be working to achieve. Onstage, any awkward or uncontrolled movement becomes obvious to the audience. Tortsov did not expect them to succeed at the exercises right away, but to work at them over time. Leo visits and demonstrates an exercise in which the actors bend over and then slowly, vertebra by vertebra, unbend until the spine is upright. Kostya tries this and finds it difficult. Later, he observes the cat again, noting how easily the animal can isolate movement and conserve energy. Kostya attempts to move like a tiger as he did when playing Othello but finds himself entirely tense. Kostya realizes that it’s nearly impossible to “express the delicate emotions of a complicated role” (110) with overly tense muscles.

In class, Tortsov introduces units and objectives, congratulating the students for reaching a new level in their learning. Kostya recounts a recent meal he shared at Paul’s house, in which Paul’s uncle, a famous actor, explained units using their turkey dinner. He compares the turkey to a play, carving it into smaller and more manageable “units.” A unit might be a scene or an interaction between characters. He describes the gravy, spices, and other flavoring as the given circumstances and the magic ifs, adding, “the drier the part, the more sauce you need” (112). As he leaves, Kostya wonders how to divide actions like walking into units. How large should a unit be? By the time he goes to sleep, he has counted 216 units of action. Kostya asks Tortsov how to divide a complicated play into clear units. Tortsov tells him to begin with the most significant moments that are clear markers to help stay on track. While walking home the night before, his objective was to go home. While this included a lot of smaller actions, he counts only four major actions. Then, the actor can break each unit up into smaller parts. Tortsov reminds Kostya that “the division is temporary. The part and the play must not remain in fragments” (115). The actor must not lose sight of the larger picture.

Tortsov explains that they must determine what is most important in a play to determine the larger units. And “at the heart of every unit lies a creative objective” (116). The objective, which, like the unit is divided into smaller steps, refers to the character’s purpose–what he or she is attempting to do. They must be active, meaningful, and truthful, based on interaction with other characters rather than the audience. Tortsov describes three varieties of objective: external/physical, internal/psychological, and rudimentary psychological. An objective must be small enough to be manageable and yet important enough to spur the actor. Tortsov suggests that they begin with the physical, noting that there is still psychological basis for physical objectives. In order to isolate an objective within a unit, one must find “the most appropriate name for the unit, one which characterizes its inner essence” (121). The objective must be described in terms of a verb rather than a noun, because “every objective must carry in itself the germ of an action” (123). Tortsov suggests that they use the phrase “I wish to…” to formulate their objectives. The objective must be active, as in “I wish to obtain power,” rather than “I wish to be powerful” (124). It should be specific and small enough to achieve within the unit. The students begin shouting objectives for the play Brand, and Tortsov points out that each of their objectives “calls for some degree of action” (126). Additionally, the action must be powerful enough to inspire the actor. 

In class, Kostya and his fellow students are searching for Maria’s purse. Tortsov makes it known that he has been observing them, noting their truthful and purposeful actions and clarity of objectives. He tells the class to repeat the search, but, having already found the purse, they cannot reproduce what they have done truthfully. Tortsov explains that there are two varieties of truth: the type that occurs in reality, as in their real search for Maria’s bag, and there is “the scenic type, which is equally truthful, but which originates on the plane of imaginative and artistic fiction” (128).

Grisha complains that since the theatre is make-believe, using fake props and scenery, it’s impossible for it to be true. Tortsov replies that truth in the theatre is based on faithfulness to one’s given and imagined circumstances: “Truth on the stage is whatever we can believe in with sincerity, whether in ourselves or in our colleagues” (129). At the following lesson, Tortsov talks about that which is untrue. If an actor places too much emphasis on truth, he will tend to give an exaggerated performance in an attempt to play truth. Many actors can discern truth in their colleagues’ performances but not in their own, and the actor must constantly practice.

As they wait for Tortsov to arrive, the actors decide to play a game where they evaluate each other for truthfulness. Grisha and Maria begin to argue about whether Maria is lying when she claims that she has lost her key, and Tortsov interrupts, calling them “silly children” (132) and barking orders. As he picks them apart, they gradually realize that Tortsov is showing them that “a nagging critic can drive an actor mad and reduce him to a state of helplessness” (133). The actor must “develop […] a sane, calm, wise, and understanding critic, who is the artist’s best friend” (133). He urges them to look for the moments in their colleagues’ performances that they do believe, rather than disparaging those moments that they don’t. Tortsov adds that the audience will not be so harsh, as they desire “above all, to believe everything that happens on the stage” (133). The next day, they are repeating the tragic scenario, and Kostya’s character is counting money, which he is miming. Tortsov directs him to be as specific as possible in his actions, as if he were really holding money. The more detailed he is, the more comfortable and truthful he feels in his actions. Grisha argues that pretending to hold money couldn’t possibly be truthful, but Tortsov replies that one must enact all of the “fine details” of interacting with an object whether or not the object is present or real.

The second stage of the exercise is to move on with the scene with the same emphasis on truthfulness. When Maria, playing the wife, calls Kostya to the other room and Kostya complies, Tortsov reminds Kostya that some of his actions are illogical. First, he drops his work without question, even though the wife is not expressing an emergency. Additionally, he goes in to help with the baby with a lit cigarette in his mouth. They continue the scene and Tortsov corrects Kostya along the way. He urges him to imagine what it looks like when money burns, demonstrating by lighting a piece of paper on fire. When he hits Vanya, who is playing the brother, Tortsov points out that his character doesn’t know he killed him, so the murder does not exist in his character’s truth. Finally, Kostya must stand in “dramatic inaction” (139), responding to his circumstances without moving. This dramatic inaction requires inner activity. Tortsov asserts that they must break larger, difficult-to-believe actions into smaller, believable actions. When the unexpected happens in a production, it often surprises the actors into becoming more truthful. However, the actor must be able to find truth without the unexpected occurring.

Tortsov tells the actors a story about a visit to a place he vacationed in his youth. He nearly became lost trying to find his way there, as the path between the house and the town was overgrown, but he found familiar landmarks and eventually wore the path down again. Tortsov compares the path to the actions they attempt onstage and the overgrown foliage to their bad habits. He sends them onstage to replay the detailed actions they had attempted at their last class. Tortsov directs, “Mind you, only physical actions, physical truths, and physical belief in them! Nothing more!” (142).

The actors practice their actions over and over, but Kostya realizes that when he leaves the stage, he stops acting. Tortsov explains that they must remain in character even when they step offstage. He tells them afterward that “the life of the human body […] is made up […] of living physical actions, motivated by an inner sense of truth, and a belief in what the actor is doing” (143-44). Next, Tortsov states, since they have “created the body of the role,” they can work on “the creation of the human soul in the part” (144). He explains that this begins to happen automatically through their physical actions “because the bond between body and soul is indivisible” (144).

As Kostya plays the tragic scene, he realizes that he needs more detail about his character’s relationship with his brother-in-law. He pauses, and Tortsov helps him to add imagined circumstances. When they return to the scene, he discovers new truths coming to the surface. As Kostya goes through the same process with his wife, he finds that these truths make his connection to the scene much richer and his responses to his co-actors more specific. Kostya notes that he was uninterested in the exercise before but is now enjoying himself. Tortsov points out that he is finally engaging his imagination, a process they began a month ago. Kostya discovers that his imagination, which he found “difficult to arouse” before is suddenly “wide awake” (146). Tortsov tells him that the work he has done in cultivating his imagination is coming to fruition. At the following lesson, Tortsov compares acting to traveling. While traveling, the course must be so well-defined that nothing will lead you the wrong way. He asks the class what they will use as the material for their path. Emotions are “not sufficiently substantial. That’s why we have recourse to physical action” (148).

For Lady Macbeth, for instance, the act of washing her hands will cause the necessary emotions to well up if the actor is being specific and truthful, endowing that action with given circumstances. In life, “many of the great moments of emotion are signalized by some ordinary, small, natural movement” (149). Tortsov explains, “If you tell an actor that his role is full of psychological action, tragic depths, he will immediately begin to contort himself, exaggerate his passion” (149), but a physical problem imbued with interesting and inspiring circumstances will allow him to proceed without faking emotion. Additionally, attempting to produce false emotion, rather than approaching an action naturally, will cause the actor to “indulge in theatrical instead of in genuine emotion” (150). Physical action is “substantial, tangible. The significance of physical acts in highly tragic or dramatic moments is emphasized by the fact that the simpler they are, the easier it is to grasp them” (150). At the next class, Kostya observes his classmate, Dasha, performing a scene from the play Brand about an abandoned infant who dies. Kostya has heard a rumor that Dasha herself became pregnant and the child died and becomes sure that this rumor is true after seeing her perform the scene.

The entire class is moved, but Tortsov suggests that her performance, based on personal emotion, is not sustainable. Dasha works through the system again, basing her performance on a physical action this time. Tortsov compliments her but tells her that her actions with the prop baby are not as specific or full of given circumstances as her first performance. Dasha works again to capture the idea of the child that she had remembered before, but to solidify the physical actions and details she had reached for unconsciously. This time, her performance is more truthful.

Tortsov then tells her to imagine that she had a child who died, and Dasha begins to weep. Kostya informs Tortsov privately that Dasha did have a child who died, and Tortsov, horrified, begins to halt the scene. However, her portrayal is so honest and moving that he lets it continue. Later, Kostya asks Tortsov if what Dasha did the first time–simply remembering her own tragedy–was actually acting or art. Tortsov tells Kostya that it is, and that his comment only moved her to tears after she had endowed the wooden “baby” with the imagined circumstances of a real child. The fact that she wept over the prop rather than beside it shows that she was seeing a baby: “She believed in her own maternal actions, love, and all the circumstances surrounding her” (156). This work would allow an actor to call upon past experiences.

Tortsov tells Grisha to play something in order to demonstrate his grasp on the concept of truth. Grisha enlists Sonya, and after they perform, Tortsov comments that their work was technically correct, but lacking in life and truth. He asserts, “on the stage, everything must be real in the imaginary life of the actor” (157), and this did not seem to be the case in Grisha’s performance. As Tortsov begins to direct Grisha, Grisha gets angry. Grisha demeans the use of the physical as a basis for acting, arguing that art “needs space, and not for your little physical truths. We must be free for great fights instead of crawling on the ground like beetles!” (158).

Tortsov listens and then emphasizes that the body, as for any performance artist, is an instrument, and conditioning the body with physical acts allows the imagination to thrive. To reach such heights, one must begin with the smaller physicalities, rather than putting on false emotions. He suggests that if Grisha considers this, he might “become a fine actor and a useful contributor to art” (159). Sonya demonstrates her ability to create truth next and is much more successful. However, she turns a tragic moment into a comic one, and Tortsov points out that her comedy was strong but her tragedy was weak, and she clearly has a penchant for comedy.

Vanya is up next; he plays the brother who is burning money. Kostya is impressed with his performance, but Tortsov critiques his death scene as overplayed and exaggerated. Tortsov explains that not all truth onstage should be an imitation of life, as “[w]hat we use there is truth transformed into a poetical equivalent by creative imagination” (160). Angrily, Grisha challenges this supposition, but Tortsov tells the class that this idea of poetic truth cannot easily be defined and must be developed after one has done the work in the acting system. Maria performs next and offers the same scene from Brand that Dasha performed. Tortsov praises her truthfulness, noting that she only took what she needed, rather than attempting to wholly imitate life. Their ability to create “the sense of truth, falseness and faith on the stage” (161) will require work and practice to develop. In the meantime, Tortsov advises, “Avoid falseness, avoid everything that is beyond your powers as yet and especially avoid everything that runs counter to nature, logic, and common sense!” (162)