David Thomson - Acting Naturally: The Magic in Great Performances

It should become apparent that this book is a love letter, not just to actors but to their magic. I am referring not simply to the job or the art, and the uneasy balancing of the two approaches, but to those of us who have resorted to acting as a way of life and of being with other people, and as a retreat from insoluble matters. So a troubled note of thanks goes to my father.

Dad never acted professionally, but at times in his life he was involved in what was called amateur dramatics. He was a member of companies that performed locally. He was never paid for this, and the companies depended on people giving their time without thought of recompense. Amateur dramatics workedand it still does everywherebecause there are those of us who like to pretend. Its not that we believe we are good at it, but we are volunteers out of emotional necessity. That spirit covers the audience as well as the players.

There was a time when Dad took me to a theatre, and then led me backstage to meet some of the actors. He must have worked with them sometimes. I regret that I never thanked him for that. For the chance to see. How could I identify that need, aged four? Dad did not provide a context for that meeting. He did not say, Look, these are actors. You should think about what they do, how astonishing they are onstage, and how commonplace in life. That might be something for you, a guide or a warning.

He never said anything like that, but that was because he did not care to talk about matters of life. That included the odd way in which he came and went. I never saw Dad on a stage because that part of him was in the other life he led, the one thirty-five miles or so away from me and Mum and the theory of what was called our family.

I have no idea if he had any thought that I might become an actor. Yet perhaps he wanted me to behold pretending, as if it was a view of countryside that he had discovered and wanted to share. Could pretending (or presenting a self) cover up for his frightening inability to talk about life, let alone his emotions or wishes? Or any admission that he had such things? He was an enclosed person, unable to let any feeling show, yet I think he was gripped by the idea of putting on a performance. The one thing he liked to do was tell stories or jokes, and acting was close to that.

How common is this? I dont know, but in studying actors I have found a similar gap between the sheer delight in becoming someone else and a corresponding reserve or helplessness in being ourselves. That is why I find now that I like or love all actors. Plainly, there are degrees of effectiveness or talent, the measure by which some actors are famous while others remain unrecognized or secret. And we hope to manage this complicated process with an air of being natural. But the wish to tell stories to cover up ones absence or insignificancethat beckons my attention. I think it is what makes an audience, and a society.

When we go to see actors, we have two opposed purposes: to step away from ourselves, but then to find our reflection in the show. So actors are like explorers, eager to discover something new but driven to discard their awkward selves. Captain Scott wanted to stand at the South Pole, but maybe he was trying to escape his world. He managed both. This is odd and contradictory, yet I think it is a model for how many of us try to live. So acting intensifies selfhood (it entertains us and makes us feel larger) but it also helps us forget the fear of being empty. My father was often vivid or emphatic (a bit of a character, some said), but always in an evasive way. He was there and not there.