An Actor Prepares

Tortsov defines the “inner creative mood” (262), in which all of the elements they have discussed–summed up as the mind, the will, and the feelings–so far come together. The “Elements of the Inner Creative Mood” include “artistic talent, qualities, natural gifts, and several methods of psycho-technique” (262). While the inner creative mood is similar to the natural state of a person, it is different because, since it is created in the theatre, it “smacks of the theatre, and of self-exhibition, which the normal type does not” (262). But it also allows the actor to experience “solitude in public,” which “is a marvelous sensation” (262). The audience feeds an actor and helps to spur his work. However, this creative mood almost always requires work to create. Actors often perform roles with undeveloped inner creative moods, or they might be distracted or stale. In these cases, the actor’s three elements are not functioning properly. When the problem lies in the actor’s inner work, the audience often cannot see what is wrong. They can only sense that something is amiss. When one aspect of the character isn’t truthful, “truth becomes a theatrical convention. Belief becomes faith in mechanical acting” (264). In particular, new actors are likely to “acquire any number of artificial habits” (265).

An actor must do work before each performance in order to avoid becoming artificial. First, they must come to the theatre two hours before performing to prepare, working to relax their muscles, practicing choosing an object and motivating an objective, and ultimately bringing “all of the ‘elements’ into play and then choos[ing] one of them” (266). By preparing one of the three elements, the other two will become ready as well. The actor must consider his given circumstances and whether or not any need to be reimagined. With extensive practice, the actor may find that the preparation for a particular role takes less and less time. But most actors do not have the opportunity to reach that level in a specific role. While onstage, the actor must be able to recognize and address when an element is out of sorts. This means that the actor also observes oneself. When an actor tackles a complex role, such as Hamlet, Tortsov says it is like mining a mountain for gold. It requires people of various talents and specialties. The actor must “dig deep to find the motive forces of that most subtle of human souls” (269). However, the work is not all large-scale, but sometimes small or medium-sized. The objective, however, must always be clear.

The super-objective refers to a character’s overall motivation in the play, an umbrella for all of his or her smaller objectives. As Tortsov explained when introducing objectives, it is essential to find proper language to express the super-objective. It must be active and appropriate. The actor must always keep his or her super-objective in mind during the play. Next, Tortsov defines the “continuity or the through-going action” as “that inner line of effort that guides the actors from the beginning to the end of the play” (273-74). Tortsov tells the class about a well-known actress who took a break from acting because she wanted to learn the method they are studying. When she returned, she was dismayed to discover that she was no longer successful. She had no understanding of the super-objective, so Tortsov worked with her to find the through-line for her performance, since without this, an actor is “merely going through certain disjointed exercises of parts of the system” (275). Her performance quickly improved, and she was very grateful. Tortsov draws several diagrams for the class to show how, in a super-objective, “all the minor lines are headed towards the same goal and fuse into one main current” (276). Otherwise, the actor’s performance will be fragmented. Additionally, adding extra themes or elements to the play has the potential to fragment the play’s through-line.

Grisha becomes incensed at this, arguing that the director should have the ability to add elements and themes to the play. Tortsov responds that he is confusing “the meaning of three words: eternal, modern, and momentary” (277). What is modern is currently relevant and has the potential to become eternal if it relates to themes that are timeless. What is momentary is the opposite; it “lives only for today and tomorrow, it will be forgotten” (277). However, he warns, “above all preserve your super-objective and through line of action. Be wary of all extraneous tendencies and purposes foreign to the main theme” (278). At the heart of drama, “every action meets with a reaction which in turn intensifies at first” (278). This conflict–action and counteraction–is what makes theatre. Tortsov concludes by explaining that the goal of this class has been to teach them to “obtain control of the three most important features in our creative process: 1. Inner grasp, 2. The through line of action, 3. The super-objective” (279). After class, Tortsov pursues Kostya because Kostya seems unhappy. Kostya admits that although he feels like he is comfortable and prepared for the stage, he is “longing to be inspired” (280). Tortsov tells him that the system does not “manufacture inspiration. It can only prepare a favorable ground for it” (280).

Ultimately, Tortsov explains, the work they have done so far is designed to lead them “to the region of the subconscious” (281). The conscious mind organizes what it perceives, and often affects the subconscious mind. The method is designed to “put us in a creative state in which our subconscious will function naturally” (281). At first, “an actor feels his way into the life of his part” but after working for a while, “he reaches the region of the subconscious [and] the eyes of his soul are opened” (282). While there is no direct way to access the subconscious, the method can help them to approach it indirectly. Reaching the subconscious affects the way an actor experiences emotion in a role. Tortsov tells a story about a party when his friends decided to act out performing surgery on him as a joke. As they “worked,” he began to imagine that they might actually cut him and experienced fear, thinking he felt them operating. Although “it wasn’t real truth” (284), the illusion felt true in the moment. The experience accessed his subconscious memories and associations. Tortsov adds, “It’s a mistake to think that an actor experiences a second state of reality when he is doing creative work onstage” (284), as no one would be able to withstand it. Instead, actors onstage “live on emotional memories of realities” (284) and experience moments of lifelike illusion. The actor almost never truly loses himself in a role.

Tortsov refers to the surgery story as a moment when a coincidence occurred in which his emotion memory matched the situation of the role. This is just one potential way to reach the subconscious. Sometimes a spontaneous or accidental event–“a live incident in the conditioned atmosphere of the stage” (285)–such as dropping or spilling something, can help the actor to “inject a bit of real life into the theatre” and “sweep us into a state of subconscious creativeness” (285). Tortsov explains, “Such occurrences often act as a kind of tuning fork, they strike a living note and oblige us to turn from falseness and artificiality back to truth” (286). Of course, although the actor should appreciate these moments when they occur, they cannot be predicted or counted upon. Therefore, they should practice their “conscious psycho-technique” (286). Tortsov tells Kostya and Vanya to play the money-burning scene, but first, he directs them to relax their bodies, since “you begin all creative work by first relaxing your muscles” (286). They try to relax, but Tortsov keeps telling them to untense their muscles further, noting that they will really never be able to relax enough. Someone in the class asks how they will know when to stop, and Tortsov replies, “Your own physical and spiritual state will tell you what is right. You will sense what is true and normal better when you reach the state that we call ‘I am’” (287).

No matter how much Kostya tries to relax, he cannot feel quite as loose as when he is at home on his couch. Tortsov reminds them that they are relaxing for a purpose and that there are “three steps: “tenseness, relaxation, justification” (288). Kostya finally manages to relax and then discovers that his “attention was strained and kept [him] from relaxing” (288). Tortsov states that “strained attention shackles you every bit as much as muscular spasms” (288). However, strained attention must be treated more delicately than strained muscles, as “in comparison with muscles the figments of the soul are as cobwebs to cables” (288). As with tense muscles, the actors must find the root of their strained attention and direct that attention to a suitable object.

Kostya begins to think through the objects in the money-burning scene and their given circumstances. Suddenly, he discovers something new about the character, imagining that along with his brother-in-law, he also must feed and take care of his wife’s parents, adding higher stakes to the loss of the money. Tortsov comments that Kostya seems to have released his tension. He reminds Kostya to take his time, using his “inner vision to see through to the end of each thing” (289) he does. Although Tortsov is voicing his encouragement, Kostya no longer needs it, as he is “really living on the stage” (290).

Kostya begins to raise the stakes of the scene further, adding more given circumstances that make the situation even more dire. He begins to find it “easy and pleasant to execute all sorts of variations” (291). Afterward, Tortsov praises him for having “found the ocean of the subconscious by [his] own experience” (291). Kostya is ecstatic to have experienced “creative inspiration” (291), but Tortsov explains that inspiration is accidental, and what occurred during the exercise was much more significant. Inspiration didn’t occur spontaneously; instead, Kostya “called for it, by preparing the way for it” (292). The importance of this experience is understanding that the actor can “create favorable conditions for the birth of inspiration” (292) by remembering his super-objective and following his through line of action. However, it is impossible to force inspiration directly, and trying will only be counter-productive.

At the next class, Tortsov recalls the process Kostya went through: relaxing his muscles, transferring his tension to his given circumstances, justifying his action of sitting still on the stage, and then enriching his imagined circumstances. What made this exercise different, Tortsov explains, is that he pushed Kostya “to carry out each creative act to its fullest limit” (293). Vanya is skeptical, and believes this seems too simple an explanation. Tortsov replies:

Carry all of the elements of the inner creative state, your inner motive forces, and your through line of action to the limit of human (not theatrical) activity, and you will inevitably feel the reality of your inner life. Moreover, you will not be able to resist believing in it (293).

Even actions or feelings that seem small or insignificant can become very important onstage when “it is pushed to its limit of possibility, to the boundary of human truth, faith and a sense of ‘I am’” (293). While most instructors would save the subconscious for more advanced students, Tortsov believes that actors should start working on it even as beginners. Kostya agrees but asks Tortsov to teach them “the technical means by which [they] can push any one element to its very limit” (294). Tortsov tells them that they must begin by determining what is stopping them from reaching the subconscious so they can learn to mitigate those obstacles. He starts with these obstacles. For instance, the presence of the audience can be an obstacle. The actor “must achieve a proper ‘creative state’” and then “give [their] inner nature the slight stimulus it needs to begin functioning” (294). Tortsov suggests that they can do this by “introducing some unexpected, spontaneous incident, a touch of reality” (294). That rush of identification with the character might be fleeting, but “truth and faith will lead you into the region of the subconscious and hand you over to the power of nature” (295).

Additional obstacles include vagueness in the text or production or insecurity about choices that the actor has made. In order to mitigate this, the actor must be as specific as possible when reconsidering these things. Actors also often fail to understand their own limitations, attempting to play roles they are not suited for. Tortsov states, “All one can do here is to advise the actor not to try so hard” (295). Ultimately, reaching the subconscious is a complex process that cannot be learned in a day.

Having discussed obstacles, Tortsov moves on to methods of reaching “the promised land of the subconscious” (296). Since the subconscious “is not always subject to reasoning” (296), Tortsov tells the actors to focus on their super-objective and through line of action, since these are largely conscious and reasoned decisions. He calls Kostya and Paul to begin their Othello scene. They prepare, and at Tortsov’s questioning, explain their objectives. Tortsov observes that their actions are disconnected from a larger super-objective or through line. They begin again, and this time Kostya connects his objective to an overall through line. After repeating the scene in which Othello and Iago joke with each other, Kostya becomes concerned that the theme–happiness–ceases, and a new theme of jealousy begins, which defies the idea of a through line. Tortsov points out that the theme doesn’t stop but morphs as the circumstances in the play shift. Othello and Desdemona’s earlier happiness doesn’t cease to exist, it just changes, as can happen in real life. As Kostya rethinks his super-objective, he amends his smaller objectives to fit. Tortsov explains: “When an actor gives himself up to the pursuit of a larger objective, he does it completely. […] [A]n actor’s creative work, while on the stage, is really, either in whole or in part, an expression of his creative subconscious” (300).

Tortsov teaches that “[t]he creative force of the through line of action is in direct proportion to the power of attraction of the super-objective” (300). Therefore, the actor must consider his or her super-objective carefully. Defining and naming a super-objective does not require the subconscious. It must “be in harmony with the intentions of the playwright and at the same time arouses a response in the soul of the actors” (301). Each actor will respond differently to a play’s main theme, as given by a director, which will “give life and color to play” (302). In order to discover a super-objective, an actor must determine a main theme through his or her own work. The subconscious cannot sufficiently determine a super-objective. But before the actor fully studies the play, which would only serve to “clutter up his mind and interfere with his work” (304), Tortsov asserts, he should “execute some one small action (I do not care how slight it is), which you do with sincerity and truthfulness” (304). In order to walk into a room, for instance, the actor must decide who the character is, where he came from, what room he is entering, and other necessary given circumstances. These choices must come from the actor and not the director. They must ask “what if” questions to flesh out the character’s circumstances. Then, they should compare the decisions they have made to what is in the play text. This will give the actor a sense of ownership over the character.

When the actor works through the text, identifying and practicing objectives and actions, he or she will have “established an external form of action which we call the ‘physical life of the part’” (305). The physicality of the actions belong to the actor, “but the objectives, their inner foundation and sequence, all the given circumstances are mutual” (305-06) with the role as written. Those actions, however, should be “based on inner feelings,” and “reinforced by [the actor’s] belief in them” (306). Inside the actor, “parallel to the line of physical actions, you have an unbroken line of emotions verging on the subconscious” (306). It should become difficult to tell which elements of the role came from the text and which came from the actor. All of this work is necessary to identify a “broad, deep, stirring super-objective and through line of action that will be capable of leading you to the threshold of the sub-conscious and carrying you into its depths” (306). But if the super-objective and through line “are right, all the rest will be brought about subconsciously, miraculously, by nature” (307).

At the following lesson, Tortsov tells students to “imagine some ideal artist who has decided to devote himself to a single, large purpose in life: to elevate and entertain the public by a high form of art” (307). For such an artist, the super-objective of each production is one part of an overall “supreme objective and its execution a supreme through line of action” (307-08).Tortsov tells them a story about a night when, while leaving a particularly frustrating rehearsal, he encountered a group of people waiting in the cold for the box office to open. This made him realize that theatre can mean a lot to people and that they, as artists, must remain “deeply conscious of that” (308). This led Tortsov to want a supreme objective himself. An actor must not become distracted from his or her greater purpose by smaller issues.

Kostya asks Tortsov why he places so much emphasis on reason and logic in terms of the subconscious, as “the subconscious is inspiration” (309). Tortsov asks Vanya to give him any noun without thinking, and Vanya says, “shaft” (309). Tortsov asks why he chose that word and Vanya has no idea–only his subconscious knows. Then, he asks Vanya what he is thinking and feeling. Vanya responds by sitting and pondering his response, and Tortsov tells him to “repeat consciously every little movement you just made before you were ready to answer my question. Only your subconscious could solve the puzzle of why you went through all those motions” (310). Tortsov goes on, explaining that Vanya’s actions were fueled by his subconscious but not inspiration. Much of what they do is led by the subconscious and yet it is ordinary. Therefore, “we need a creative, human, subconscious and the place to look for it above all is in a stirring objective and its through line of action” (310).

Inspiration arises from commitment to objective and action. At the final lesson, after a year of training, Tortsov emphasizes how far they have come. However, “technique alone cannot create an image that you can believe in and to which both you and your spectators can give yourselves up completely. So now you realize that creativeness is not a technical trick” (312). He adds, “In the creative process, there is the father, the author of the play; the mother, the actor pregnant with the part; and the child, the role to be born” (312). Ultimately, the actor must rely on truth, as “nature’s laws are binding on all, without exception, and woe to those who break them” (313).