THE INFORMED ACTOR
By Josh Hyatt
July 2, 2010
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What happens when your heart just isn't in it anymore?
Hello all you beautiful theatre people. Those of us in the arts obviously have a passion to work in the arts. We don't do it for the great pay, glamour and wonderful benefits. I remember when I was first exposed to theatre; it was the movie version of West Side Story in my 7th grade English class. Before then, I had never really been exposed to theatre other than those little kid recitals I was in like Don't Count Your Chickens Before They Hatch (where I had my first part in which I played a chicken). West Side Story completely amazed me with all the dancing and singing, it really blew my mind. But my family did not attend the theatre or support the arts in anyway and, consequently, I lost my interest and I focused more on my academics, of particular interest was math and science.
In 1988, while in college, a friend played for me a tape (pre-CD's for you youngin's) of Phantom of the Opera. I was overwhelmed by the music and it moved me to the point that I had to fly to New York to see this on Broadway. I had to see what these people were doing, what the costumes looked like how scary the Phantom actually was while I heard this beautiful music. I was engaged in the story without ever seeing it. Without the internet, I was not able to look it up and have tons information at my fingertips or Youtube videos. I had to scrape together articles, reviews and pictures from the library and I kept those pictures like prized possessions filling in the action and music in my head. I scraped up a few dollars and flew to New York and saw it. I sat in that theatre, way up in the mezzanine of course as that's all I could afford, and was fully engaged, watching Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman going to town. Watching Music of the Night, being performed live by Michael Crawford, was a pivotal point in my life. All the pain of loss, isolation, anger and deep emotion swelling through that magical voice with the controlled movement and anguish I saw in his body language alone touched a primal and repressed part of me. It was the closest thing to a religious experience as I can ever recall and thus my theatre love was born.
I have discussed this kind of experience with many types of artists over the years and as varied the actual experiences are there is a common thread. It is almost like an "Aha" moment but much more profound. I have a good friend that loves art and has taken me to art galleries in Miami and New York and shown me works by famous painters such as Degas, Renoir and my personal favorite, Lichtenstein. When he described the first Renoir lithograph he ever saw, I could feel that "Aha" moment in his words and see it in his eyes. I took him to the theatre and after the show he would tell me it was beautiful and a lot of fun but I could tell it wasn't a passion in his soul like art was. I could talk all night about every detail and aspect that I liked and hated, he would nod in agreement or say, "Yeah, I guess so, I never really thought about it." I love and appreciate the beauty and creativity of all art forms but I never had that "Aha" except in theatre.
So what starts to erode that feeling? Why does the experience become less enjoyable over time?
I wonder if magicians/illusionists go through this, I don't know any to ask. Once you know how the trick is done, does the enjoyment value diminish over time until you see the next great thing which then you figure out and then enjoyment diminishes, and so forth? I find myself analyzing and picking apart everything I see and make a commentary in my head. Breaking every component down to "why would you have the actor be static here" or "what is up with that coat, it is the wrong time period." Does that take away from the "Aha" moments I use to have? That tingle I use to get as the lights dim down and first actor takes the stage?
Perhaps it is more pronounced when you work in theatre and you have to contend with difficult artists that seem to drain the life out of you. Dealing with difficult people can certainly leave you tainted to the whole process. Or maybe you have to worry about running a theatre, filling a house, paying the bills, writing another grant, dealing with unexpected catastrophes or trying to reason with vainglorious people.
Perhaps there are outside or personal factors. Perhaps there are priority conflicts or a lack of support from loved ones. Perhaps it's a combination of all. Or maybe it's just life and I need to stop whining, shut up and deal with it.
Do we sacrifice so much personally over time that the love turns to resentment?
I really don't know, I guess it varies on the individual and those circumstances change us throughout our artistic experience. Whether you are a patron, artist or donor, the art world affects us in ways that are immeasurable but you have to decide for yourself if they pay off is worth the effort. As for me, it is.
When I get crushed under the weight of my sacrifices, I pick myself up and move forward, wiser for the next time. But, sometimes, it feels that there is finite amount of energy I have to dedicate to the arts and one more piece has been stolen away for good.
I my hope is that I can find that 17 year old watching Michael Crawford singing Music of the Night again.
Thanks for listening. Please send your feedback to Hyatt.josh@yahoo.com.
