Talk To An Actor!

I don’t understand screenwriters, and other writers, who denigrate actors.  At one end of the spectrum I think are lemmings, blindly following along behind famously anti-actor types like George Lucas.  They don’t know much about either craft, writing or acting, and just want to sound cool.  And then at the other end are writers who, for whatever reason, misunderstand the relationship between writer and actor.  They’re jealous of their own characters, or they look down on actors–and pretty much everyone else–as stupid.  Which, labeling every actor a dumb bunny and a himbo is as silly as labeling every writer brilliant.  Actors, as a group, tend to be interested–in learning about their character, in learning about themselves, in whatever–whereas a great many writers tend to adopt the world-weary attitude of “I’m too good for this” that they think signals them as a creative genius.  So there’s often a lack of communication, too.

Which is unfortunate, because you can learn a lot from an actor.

I’ve always found the tenets of method acting tremendously helpful to character creation, and time spent with actors has helped me to better understand method acting.  You can, as a writer, learn a tremendous amount about what it means to really invest in your character–and how to do that, in practical terms–by following along with the titans of the movement like Daniel Day Lewis.  His career is, in of itself, both an inspiration and an education.

But if you’re fortunate enough to know any actors, and fortunate enough that they actually want to work with you, whether formally or informally, then you can learn even more: because you have the opportunity for feedback and, if your character is coming alive on the big screen, potentially serious improvement.  The actor playing your character, if he’s any good, is going to have a perspective on who that character is; embodying them is, for him, a personal act.  A lot of writers misunderstand this, too, and that’s where the jealousy comes in.  They feel like they’re loaning their character out, and this hateful actor is taking over.

When, in actual fact, if you’ve accomplished what you’re supposed to as a writer, then you’ve created a real person.  The actor in question isn’t making off with your character; he’s merely giving form to another person who, in your heart and mind, and his, and possibly in the hearts and minds of fans, is already alive.  Which is why, when he challenges you about your script, or says, I don’t think my character would do that, you should listen to him.

This person is just as invested in your character as you are.  He’s become a shared person, really, between the two of you; a shared person who, again, if you’re both doing your jobs right, is going to become greater than the sum of both of you.  This is–and I’m speaking as a parent, here, so I know what I’m talking about–in a sense a birth.  And like any good parent, as your child grows and evolves, you need to rein in your ego and begin the hard work of appreciating your child as an individual and letting him go.  Not letting go of loving him, or being there for him when he needs you; but of letting him become his own person.

You, as a writer, have created your character; the person playing this character on screen is now in charge.  He’s picked up where you’ve left off.  And if you recognize that, and focus on being a useful member of a team rather than fighting for creative dominion, you can learn a lot.  This actor is giving you the gift of talking to your character.  How many writers get that?

Make the most of the opportunity.