EXTRA CRITICUM

Lessons from Actors: Alvin Epstein

Alvin Epstein, actor and director, has been one of my mentors. Over the 40+ years I've known him he's taught me many lessons. I'd like to briefly describe three of them here.

1. The Sign of a True Professional = More Rehearsal.

Alvin appeared in my film, We Pedal Uphill, which we rehearsed in New York but shot in various locales all across the country. It's a tapestry film, composed of thirteen short slices of life, each with a specific point of view set in a specific context chosen as a reflection of some aspect of the culture of fear that permeated the landscape in post-911 America. Alvin and Molly Powell's scene was all about the commercial railroads, their decay, graft, neglect and we shot this portion of the film in Omaha. We spent a few weeks rehearsing in New York, then our tiny crew flew to Omaha for about 4 days of shooting, most of which involved Alvin driving a Ford F-150 pickup truck with Molly in the passenger seat and Yours Truly in the backseat shooting. Although I had known Alvin for years and had even written one stage role with him in mind I had never had the pleasure of directing him in a performance. I quickly noticed something kind of wonderful about him.

Alvin could never get enough rehearsal. 

Transcending a Natural Need for Certainty

At the midway point of a summer teaching gig at Hollins University in Roanoke, I find myself thinking a lot about uncertainty and how damned uncomfortable it makes us, particularly when faced with new ideas or new areas of exploration. At the end of a recent class in which I was attempting to introduce a group of graduate students pursuing their MFAs in Playwriting to the theatrical genius of Mozart one student sheepishly asked whether we'd be learning "the do's and don'ts of writing musicals."  One thing I know for sure about my approach is that I cannot be prescriptive. It's just not in my DNA as a teacher. I don't honestly think it's the way we best acquire new skills. I think there's so much more to be learned in the doing, failing and examining and dissecting the failure than in handing out a how-to instruction manual. 

As is explained to Dorothy at the end of the Wizard of Oz, being told you simply have to click your heels three times and think of home ain't the same as making the frightening trek yourself. Who tells her that? I can't recall. Is it the Wizard or the Glinda the Good Witch? 

But I digress. This morning I awoke with a vivid memory from my days at the Santa Fe Opera. And I'm pretty sure that's what's inspired this post. I was working as the House Manager there for two summers during college. And one of the fringe benefits for me was that whenever there were rehearsals called on the mainstage, I got to sit in the empty house and watch.

My first summer there Charles Ludlum (of Ridiculous Theatre fame) was there as a guest director; he was directing Die Fledermaus, a lighthearted operetta by Johann Strauss, (the accessible Strauss, not to be confused with Richard, the Nazi.)