Benjamin Lloyd - The Actors Way: A Journey of Self-Discovery in Letters

The

Actors

Way

A Journey of Self-Discovery in Letters

BENJAMIN LLOYD

2006 Benjamin Lloyd

All rights reserved. Copyright under Berne Copyright Convention, Universal Copyright Convention, and Pan-American Copyright Convention. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

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Published by Allworth Press
An imprint of Allworth Communications, Inc.
10 East 23rd Street, New York, NY 10010

Cover design by Derek Bacchus
Interior design by Sharp Des!gns, Lansing, MI
Page composition/typography by SR Desktop Services, Ridge, NY
Cover Photo : www.paulgodwin.com

ISBN: 1-58115-447-X

ISBN: 9781581158281

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Lloyd, Benjamin, 1962

The actors way: a journey of self-discovery in letters / Benjamin Lloyd.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN: 1-58115-447-X

1. ActorsNew York (State)New YorkFiction. 2. Acting teachersFiction. 3. TheaterFiction. 4. Self-realizationFiction. 5. New York (N.Y.)

Fiction. I. Title.

PS3612.L554A28 2006

813'. 6dc22

2006011283

Printed in Canada

Winter into Spring

RECOVERY

The following are a series of letters between my son Andrew Fallon and his former teacher, Alice Jones, with other letters and documents interspersed chronologically. I am grateful to the executor of Alices estate, her sister Sarah Shelly, for permission to publish Alices letters here. My gratitude goes as well to Andy, for being open to this project, and for all of his assistance in gathering letters and other documents.

One of the aspects of their correspondence that fascinates me is that it was, at Alices insistence, almost entirely handwritten. Without the benefit (or curse) of the editing properties of computers, Andys and Alices edits are visible in the form of crossed out words and phrases. I have left these intact, sensing that there is something as revealing about what was almost written as there is in what was finally written. I also include occasional addenda in the margins of letters. The only editing I have done is correct some spelling errors. With Andys help, I have footnoted some theatrical phrases or concepts that were clear to him and Alice, but might not be for a wider audience. I have done the same with some Quaker ideas, with Sarah Shellys assistance. Later, as I include other authors, I have tried to be true to the difference between handwritten letters and other types of correspondence, like e-mail. Over the nearly year-long exchange of their letters and postcards, Alices handwriting went from a graceful, classical script to a nearly illegible shadow of its former elegance. I occasionally guessed at words I wasnt able to decipher. These guesses are in brackets.

The book these letters and documents create is hard to pin down. But at the center of it is a gesture: the reaching out of a young artist to an older one, then a grasping of hands, resulting in discoveries about acting, teaching, and the Life of the Spirit. It was an extraordinary year for all of us. At the very least, it has brought me closer to my son. I hope you find it as interesting as I did.

[printed script in red felt-tip pen on yellow legal paper]

12/26/04

Dear Teacher Alice,

Do you remember mo? I was that scrawny kid you cast as Peter in The Diary of Anne Frank in 1987 at Wallingford Friends School

ITS ALL YOUR FAULT. YOU MADE ME LOVE THIS. No I dont mean that I mean

Look, I dont even know you anymore. I last saw you in ninth grade. Who am I even writing to? This is for me because Im feeling a little cracked. Actings not its killing me. I cant remember why I loved it, why I keep doing it. But I have to keep doing it. I have to keep acting. There is nothing else for me. Its all Im good at. And when Im good at it, nothing else matters, all the pain goes away. But now, the pain isnt going away. I feel hollow inside, vacant, detached. I think I have to stop acting. Forever.

LOOK AT THIS WHAT A FUCKING CLICH IAM!! T0RTURED ACTOR BULLSHIT!!

Hows WFS? I miss all the grass, the playing fields the It made sense before. You made it make sense. Thats why Im writing to you. It was bigger than me and more beautiful than the world. You put us on a mission, we were your secret warriors of truth and beauty. Rehearsals with you were the best part of my day. They were the island the raft on which we were all escaping the same sinking ship. And we sailed to new worlds: Annes Jewish ghetto, Gogo and Didis haunted wasteland by the little tree, the forests around Athens with the lovers and Bottom, the strange inhabitants of the Welsh town Llareggub.

Now Im rehearsing Florizel in The Winters Tale for $225 a week before taxes, waiting tables at Blue Angelthe same stupid/trendy NYC restaurant Ive worked at for six yearsand drinking alone in my studio in Washington Heights. Its the day after Christmas and I stayed in NYC to make some extra money Thats a lie. I stayed in NYC because I couldnt bear going home and facing those cheerful faces asking, Hows it going? Thats a lie too. Its like my whole life is a Its not the question that kills me its what I say in response: Great! The bullshit that comes out of my mouth when Im around my family is intolerable (sorry to offend your Quaker sensibilities), as if I have to lie to them about how Im doing because telling the truth is admitting defeat, and admitting defeat is an invitation for them to say, So do something else with your life.

QUITTING IS NOT AN OPTION!

I will not do something else. Ive been at this since I met you thats 15 years. I got a B.F.A. in acting from Emerson in Boston, Im freelancing with two agents, I do about two shows a year. Things are going really remarkably greatly.

Except that I broke down my closet door last night and I dont remember doing it. I visited some actor friends in the Village Christmas day, then came home and watched videos and toasted the season with some contraband Veuve Cliquot. By the second movie it was still light outside and I wasnt sleepy enough, so I resorted to the contraband Dewars. Then I woke up this morning with a swollen hand and a smashed-up closet door. I think I might Why am I even writing this to you? Who am I even talking to? This is ABSOLUTELY NUTS. Youre never even going to get this if I even send it. You might be dead for all I know.

OK. This letter is a prayer to my memory of the last person I ever knew who made acting seem extraordinary, life-fulfilling. You started me on my way, and it has come to this. The thing that once saved me is now my oppressor. When I met you, it felt like I had escaped from a madman into a dollhouse filled with magic creatures, comfort, rich feeling, intelligence, and meaning. Now I live in that dollhouse, its empty, and I think it might belong to the madman.

Theres a still, small voice inside me that says, It is good to be an actor. You put that voice there. But Ive forgotten why its good to be an actor. Who cares? Im a smart guyshouldnt I help cure cancer, or fight injustice or something? Why bother, Alice?