William "Sandy" Smillie

Just about every Thursday night, the boys and I get together and play poker in my buddy’s basement. It is the quintessence of masculine bonding, with an occasional intellectual twist. We talk about sex. We boast about or explain away fights we’ve been in. Oprah-like, we discuss the books we’ve been reading. We make fun of each other’s taste in music. And we drink. Man, do we drink. Which would be fine, if we all didn’t have to get up for work in the morning.

In the case of my friends, they have to get up and go to the office. Or the construction site. Or the school (God save our youth). In my case, I have to get up and go out on auditions.

Normally, none of this presents a problem. We’re all adults and generally know how to put the glass down when it’s time. And even if we imbibe a bit too much, we normally head home with enough time to get at least a handful of hours of sleep. We may not be on the top of our game the next day, but we can function.

Normally.

Cut to: three Fridays ago.

When I was finally able to peel my eyes open, I could just make out the clock through the film covering my eyes. Plenty of time. My audition for the new Johnny Depp flick, Public Enemies was at 12:00 PM and it was only… awesome…

I leapt out of bed, scaring the living daylights out of my two sleeping dogs. Reliably, they reacted as they normally do when I’m in a hurry: they dove for my feet and remained underneath them until I managed to make it to the shower.

Alternating between scalding and freezing myself solid due to my inability to muster the fine motor skills required to tune my apartment’s plumbing, I rushed through the process of bathing. It was about this time that I actually started to wake up. Not coincidentally, it was also around this time that I started to feel like I was going to vomit up my lungs.

I managed to keep my insides in, and get my outside covered in something approximating audition-worthy clothes. I gathered my headshots, the sides, my keys and out the door I went. It was not until I reached my van that I remembered that my dogs had not been walked in close to 14 hours. I threw my gear in the car and then, as if leaning into a strong wind, made my way back home.

Having indulged the dogs, I finally piled into my car and set out for Tenner Pascal Rudnicke. I remember two things clearly. First, my van was conspiring against me by putting a marvelous little car-sickness spin on my hangover. Second, I had no idea what my lines were. I rummaged through my bag to find the sides I’d stashed there earlier and split my attention between keeping the van on the road, keeping my stomach in my torso, and keeping the lines in my head.

I found parking and stole into TPR, miraculously on time, and settled onto one of their benches. With an unsteady hand, I filled out the audition form and settled down to squeeze as much of the scene as I could into my shattered brain. A few minutes later, they called me in.

Here are the lines, as written:

Wait, wait…! Hold it! Federal Agent! Department of Justice. Bureau of Investigation! We’re on a federal stakeout! Put that gun down and back those cars out of the alley. But stay close because we may need you.

Here is what I said:

Take One - “Wait, wait….! Hold it! Federal Agents. Bureau of… Department of Justice. Bureau of… I’m sorry. I’m going to try that again.”

Take Two – “Wait, wait…! Hang on! Federal Bureau of Justice. We’re on a stakeout… a federal stakeout! …so put those guns down and… and stick around… here.”

Take Three - “Wait, wait…! Hold on. Federal Agents! Department of Justice. Bureau of Investigation. We’re on a stakeout so… your guns, put them away and move your cars because we might need you.”

And that was as close as I got. Also, all of these takes were delivered with a level of intensity similar to that with which you might read the back of a cereal box. Which was all I could muster.

I was unprepared. I was incapable of concentration. I was embarrassed. I was a mess. They knew it. I knew it. And in a few days, quite rightly, my agent would know it.

What’s the moral of the story?  Only go out and get stupid when you are reading for a part for which I am also auditioning.

Of late, there have been a number of things driving me towards writing this article. First off, a friend and ensemble-mate of mine, Kurt Naebig, asked me to come see the Infamous Commonwealth production of Keely and Du that he’s directing. The first act is a series of cut-scenes, one of which is a full minute of silence capped with a wonderfully simple two line exchange. It’s one of the best moments of an altogether fine show.

Then, there’s the time I’ve been spending on the train watching other people. While I’m sure I’m getting some of the fine details wrong, I’ve been fashioning little day or life stories for these unknowing commuters simply from watching their body language. Just this week, I’ve racked up a bad breakup, a great job interview, and a lifetime of hard drinking.

Another (minor) contributing factor drawing me into writing this article: I watched The City of Lost Children a couple of days ago. While the movie itself was so-so, it helped me realize that I really enjoy the French pronunciation of the word “silence”.

Finally, listening to NPR on the way home tonight, Bob Mondello did a truly excellent piece on the nature of Charlie Chaplin’s signature character, The Little Tramp. If you get a chance, give it a listen.

Anyway, what all of these things have been leading me towards is a need to discuss the power there can be in silence. When done right, silence and stillness can be one of the actor’s greatest tools.

Too often, actors seem compelled (or are directed) to “fill in the gaps” or “take out the air”. To be fair, sometimes they’re right. ”Move it along, already” is rarely a bad direction. The thing is, silence is only a “gap” when it’s devoid of anything useful. There are plenty of examples of completely riveting silence. In the spirit of show don’t tell, let me refer you to the final scene of Big Night, which is an absolute gem. Or try the opening sequence from Once Upon a Time in the West. Perhaps something more recent? How about the first, say, ten or fifteen minutes of There Will Be Blood? All of these examples feature minutes of silence and oodles of useful character work.

As an actor, the trick is finding and showing that which is useful. Whether on screen or on stage, the only way you’re going to be able to effectively fill a silence is by experiencing the silence as your character would. If the silence is the result of someone having just dropped a conversational bomb, you have to take the time to listen and digest what was just said. If the silence comes from there being no one else in the scene with you, you have to fill it with your reason for being there to begin with.

To be able to convincingly pull off silence as an actor, I believe you need to know how a human being actually operates in a similar, real-world silence. It’s easier to get an honest picture of how silence operates by watching others. You can try observing yourself, but the acting version of physics’ observer effect really gets in the way. Basically, it’s difficult to truly observe your own actions without having an effect on them. In other words, self-consciousness is a pretty tricky thing to get around. Plus, by watching others, you can get yourself a great little toolbox of alternate takes on the same thing.

So, as an exercise in actIng, spend some time unobtrusively watching others. As far as I’m concerned, this is the best way to learn about acting period, but let’s focus on silence for this. The train, the park, the office. These are all easy to access places where people are constantly dealing with their circumstances silently. Watch how they react when things go wrong. Watch how they react when things go right. Learn to discern what is on their mind, or at least what you think is on their mind.

The thing is, you don’t have to know what’s going on with them. The goal is to recognize the way they are behaving and how it makes you feel. The actual reason behind their actions doesn’t matter at all. If a person’s body language makes you feel like they’ve just, say, heard some really amazing news, that’s the body language you should remember for the next time you need to silently portray Really Great News.

And here’s part two: once you know how a real person reacts, internalize it and play that reaction only – nothing more. If there is one thing in this world I can’t stand, it’s mugging. When you overplay a reaction, that’s exactly what you’re doing.

If I drop my change at the store, I may be exasperated by it, but I don’t throw my hands up in the air, let out a big sigh, and then reach down and get my change. I don’t even let out a little sigh. At most, I look down for a second and then go get the fucking change. I don’t physically or vocally announce that I’m pissed about dropping it or in any way make it clear to all around that I Am About To Go Get My Wayward And Unruly Change. However, if you watched me do it, you would likely know exactly what was on my mind because my body would tell you.

Basically, the reason you should observe others is to keep your actions honest. By taking note of how others really behave, you give yourself a gauge for what real people do in real situations. Take the time to listen to the silence around you. You’ll be amazed by what it will tell you.