When people ask
each other where they trained, what they're asking is, what did you
study. Not just "clown" or "bouffon" or "physical
theater"—they know you studied that. But did you study "Eye
Control"? Did you study "Delightful Gestures"? Did you
take classes in "Fucking Awesomeness", or were you born
that way?
In the past I've
made the mistake of answering that question by naming this theater
teacher or that. But the truth is, other people have trained a lot
more with those people or in actual grad schools, and I haven't. I'll
tell you where I really trained. I trained in pleated pants and
wingtips teaching The Scarlet Letter to tenth graders in a New
York City prep school. I trained by being a high school English
teacher.
Here's the thing
about New York prep school students: either their parents have MOHNAY or
those kids are AWESOME and on MAD SCHOLARSHIP. Either way, you're not
dealing with what commonly comes to mind when people think of high
school students in America. You're dealing with kids who mostly want
to be there, at the very least, they want the bells and whistles
associated with wanting to be there. Grades and recommendations and
internships and law school and eventual second homes. So as a teacher
you've got a real advantage there.
But that doesn't
mean your students want to be in class. They show up, they did the
homework, but let's be serious, how many kids would rather discuss
The Scarlet Letter than do anything else on earth? One or two
a year, tops. Little English teachers-in-training.
Most of the kids I
had in class were initially distrustful of my
ability—of any teacher's ability—to really hold their interest
and inspire them. I had to prove myself. It wasn't
crucifixion/StandAndDeliver-hard to prove myself, but it was
still a learned skill. And it was satisfying, to see them fall in
love with old musty books, even a little bit, to see them believe me
when I said The Scarlet Letter was the sexiest book ever written
about Puritans. I must have convinced them, or they would never have
enthusiastically pointed out the double meaning of that rose bush, or that flogger, or that pumpkin patch.
With your average
show audience, a performer is facing a similar vibe to that prep
school classroom—at least if the performer is not famous (audiences
for famous people are different, slavering things). The
audience members have made the time for you, they got the tickets, they
put on pants, but they still need convincing.
I put in lots of hours exploring how to keep the energy up in a room full of sleepy
teenagers for an hour.
That's where I
trained.
And if I could tell
all performers where to train and they'd listen to me, I'd say, teach
teach teach. Teach something worth learning. And more importantly,
teach people who would rather be elsewhere doing something else.
I think that's
probably what I need to start doing more of, again.
