Have you ever started a book and for whatever reasons finished it decades later? Surely other readers old enough must have experienced this too, no?
This was a book I picked up in San Francisco in the early aughts at the now deposed Borders Books on Union Square, at Post and Powell to be precise, a lovely and always packed bookshop with a humming cafe on the second floor that I spent countless hours and dollars in, now a casualty of the digital age, thanks Amazon.
I stumbled upon the book and having a passing interest in The Method combined with a few auditions here and there decided that it might be a worthwhile thing to delve into.
As my twenties drew to a close, I packed away my boxes of books and junk shop knickknacks along with my assorted youthful pursuits and romantic notions and locked them away in a storage space down on Mission street. I made several hungover trips down there, bleary-eyed and dark-circled, sweaty in the blazing California sun, carting and schlepping my life away, storing more stuff than future wisdom would counsel, not to return for a full five years to that dusty time capsule. Whatever my twenties had been, whatever vague longings and aches and strivings and breakthroughs and endlessly debauched nights I had endured and achieved during those Wander Years, it was over now, sealed up in a dark quiet space for future rumination, and Lee Strasberg’s ‘A Dream of Passion,’ for better or worse, was in there with it all.
So was the book any good, you might be wondering?
Not bad. I should say at the outset—or should have said at an even earlier outset—that I am not an actor (nothing much came of those erstwhile auditions that fell into my lap), and that actors might find some of this book’s exercises and activities more useful than I did.
The parts I did find interesting had to do with the psychological grapplings with the nature of emotion: How are emotions stimulated? What takes place physiologically? Where are emotions localized? How are they expressed? etc.
The starkly meditative aspects of acting surprised me to some degree. The centrality of relaxation to the craft, the way relaxation sets the stage (no pun) for good concentration, how concentration is the key to the imagination. Strasberg states, ‘the talent of the actor functions only to the extent that his concentration is trained.’ And the more relaxed one is the better she can concentrate. These ideas will be familiar to anyone who has spent even just ten minutes in a guided meditation.
Naturally as a book geek I also loved the part on the ‘objective correlative’, which I didn’t know or had forgotten was used by T.S. Elliot for his reflections on creativity in his essay, ‘The Problems of Hamlet’. (Though the phrase is most commonly associated with Elliot he apparently borrowed it from the painter Washington Allston). Elliot’s description of the O.C. is rather autocratic in terms of creating emotion in art, but his quote is still notable:
‘The only way of expressing emotion in the form of art is by finding an ‘objective correlative’...a set of objects, a situation, a chain of events, which shall be the formula of that particular emotion; such that when the external facts, which must terminate in sensory experience, are given, the emotion is immediately evoked.’
Strasberg connects this to the method actor’s affective memory technique in that he must find an objective correlative from his own experiences to help him express the emotions his character needs at different moments.
In a late section on Bertolt Brecht, Strasberg is poignantly reverential towards the pioneering work of the late great man and takes a good deal of pride in the idea that Brecht enjoyed their semi-collaborations in rehearsals, and that it was Strasberg alone who understood and could see the true intent behind Brecht’s techniques and how they were influenced by Stanislavski’s Method. This part of the book could grate harder were it not for Strasberg’s clear admiration and adoration of Brecht and his work, in particular the play, ‘The Caucasian Chalk Circle,’ which Strasberg refers to as ‘among the half dozen outstanding experiences of my life.’
More importantly for our purposes in that section we learn of Brecht’s use of the ‘alienation effect’, essentially a distancing technique that adds depth and complexity to a play in which the audience is conflicted about or unable to form sympathy with the central character(s) due to their words, action, behaviors, etc.
A memorable passage discussing artists’ heightened capacity for sensory and emotional recall uses Proust’s immortal madeleine and the way its taste conjures up a lost world of youth as its prime example. In his ruminations on the difficulty of recovering our emotional memories and past selves, Proust writes, ‘The past is hidden somewhere outside the realm, beyond the reach of intellect, in some material object (in the sensation the object will give us), which we do not expect.’
Indeed, sometimes the random object might even be a musty old paperback found in the bottom of a cardboard box that had been locked away in San Francisco many years ago; and holding the book and feeling its particular heft and turning its pages and seeing its shiny red and lavender cover could even transport a middle-age man back to his high and hungover twenties, a time of being listless and lost, yes, but blessed with the freedom and the sweet ache of youth too.