Working on Original Material is a Learned Skill (And should be taught as such)

(Photo: Scott Rylander)

by Ashley Griffin

www.ashleygriffinofficial.com Twitter: @ashleyjgriffin Instagram: @ashleygriffinofficial Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ashleygriffinofficial

There’s a myth in many a theater program and rehearsal room that once a piece has been produced, “frozen” and published (and in the hands of you, the student/performer of a licensed production) that it has reached a state of perfection. After all, if something about a line from “Romeo and Juliet” isn’t working for you, you, obviously, must be the problem, right?

But let me tell you, as a writer, that’s not how things really work.

Yes, there does come a point when, for the most part, a piece is “baked” – it’s been developed, it’s solid, and there is a general agreed-upon “best form” of that piece. There would be no real way to license things unless some “finished” version of that show had been achieved and accepted by multiple people who know what they’re doing. And as such, it should be respected. The flip side of the thesis of this article is people who completely ignore the writer’s prerogative and willy-nilly start changing, cutting, and rewriting text without permission. As an extreme example note the recent coverage of The Door McAllen’s production of “Hamilton” No, just because you’ve licensed (or are illegally producing) a work does not give you the right to change anything in the text. The writer has slaved over each word in that script, it’s there for a reason, and unless you get permission you do not get to change it.

But that’s not what I’m talking about here.

Right now I’m talking about the fact that most students rarely (if ever) get the chance to work on original material – especially original material written by an established artist who is in the room during the creative process. Because that’s a WHOLE different experience than being handed a licensed script and needing to just put it up in your school or regional theater. It’s denying students the opportunity to learn the specific skills needed to work on a new piece and it’s hindering their ability to be cast (well, let’s just say cast again by the same team.)

Even though I was incredibly fortunate to get to do new work from a very young age, I was still not able to escape the bombardment of subliminal (or direct) messaging that the text was sacred, the writer was God, and that if something didn’t feel right to me it’s because I wasn’t trying hard enough to make it work, or I was just flat out incompetent.

This only changed when I started to have success as a writer. Even as a writer, at the start of my career I kept pushing and waiting for that moment when my text would become sacred and perfect – never needing a rewrite again.

The truth is, that isn’t reality.

Here’s the truth:

All stories, all plays, are living, breathing things. Forgive me for being schmaltzy, but you would never say a rose is in an utter state of perfection – there is beauty in the first sprig emerging from the soil, the first buds, those buds opening for the first time…the rose can be different but just as glorious in a myriad of colors, in the garden, in a vase or in a buttonhole. They are all beautiful, equal expressions of “rose.” And the same is true of a play.

Even when a play has had significant development, been laudably produced, and won a myriad of awards, it’s still a living entity. I like to make tweaks and adjustments to my work depending on who’s playing the roles. Nothing major, but little rewrites here or there can turn a piece into an haute couture, tailored garment for whoever is stepping into a particular character in that incarnation. I have a piece that’s currently pretty far into development where one of the principal characters is someone who you’re never quite sure if they’re telling the truth or not. In one incarnation an actor played the role who, onstage, just intrinsically carried themselves as someone you’re a little dubious of. So as that character’s lines developed I added some blatantly sincere moments for them. More recently an actor played the role who was just naturally someone who had a more honest quality to them in performance. So I tweaked the dialogue ever so slightly to minimize lines that emphasized sincerity and turned up moments where an intention was questionable.

Now let me say that both of these actors were fantastic. Both fit the role wonderfully. This wasn’t a case of one actor just not being able to pull off the part, this was two equally brilliant performers who had slightly different interpretations – both of which worked. It’s a case of one performance being Madagascar Vanilla and the other French Vanilla. They’re both equally valid and wonderful, but a master chef just might tweak the recipe slightly to emphasize the unique strengths of each.

I love this process. I love tailoring work to a fantastic, interesting performer. Even at earlier stages where a script is just beginning development and I’m learning what works and what doesn’t about what I wrote – I love the rewriting process! But I have been shocked and alarmed that most actors’ default assumption whenever a line is being changed or a moment reworked is that it’s because they did something wrong. There have been many times when I’ve had to explain to a panicked actor that, no, they’re fantastic and they’re doing everything right – the line I wrote isn’t serving them. That’s on me, and I’m going to fix it because it’s not fair to them to make them work with sub-par material. I’ve seen actors near tears terrified that it’s their fault that a moment’s not working, promising if they just have more time they’ll make it work.

That’s not serving anyone.

Some of that is because of the inherent nature of being an actor – even when a show is getting its first professional development you’re the last person brought on to a team. The show has already been worked on and analyzed sometimes for years by the writer, director, etc. Even if you’re creating a role you still have to fulfill a certain pre-determined function and, accentuated by the fact that actors don’t get to act unless someone hires them too (contrasted with writers who can write just about any time anywhere,) there is a need to please the team, to be “right” and keep your job.

But that’s only part of the challenge. The part that seriously concerns me is that actors aren’t taught how to collaborate.

The way most programs are structured, actors are taught to be “yes men.” To be open and available and to do what the director tells them to do. The irony is that most creators I know actively seek out actors that can be collaborators on a project – that will bring their own ideas and won’t just wait to be told what to do.

I love actors who (respectfully) ask questions in the rehearsal room. Who articulate any challenges they might be having. If a line doesn’t make sense – ask! If a line feels antithetical to your objective – say something! I can either clarify for you or, if need be, make a tweak. My job as a writer isn’t to write a perfect script – it’s to see what’s working and what’s not and to translate solutions into words in the text. But often by the time actors start getting comfortable really asking questions or articulating challenges we’re now in tech week and it’s too late to really change much of anything.

And yet, asking questions and articulating challenges is often actively criticized in training programs. Ask questions or point out inconsistencies and you’re suddenly the “difficult” actor. The “combative” actor. The actor who needs their hand held and is slowing down the process for everyone.

The only way to find the balance between committing to the text in front of you and fixing any challenges is to practice and be taught how to do it. You need the opportunity to be in a rehearsal room with a writer and experience those kinds of conversations. Feel what it’s like to try a scene in different ways with different rewrites and to truly get to know what is something that you need to adjust, and when it’s the text that needs adjusting. And it’s time to stop internalizing the blame for everything that doesn’t work about a production. It was an eye-opening experience the first time I watched back footage (years later) from a show many performers, including myself, had struggled in only to realize that none of the things we felt we were failing at was our fault. We hadn’t been directed well. The script had inherent flaws. We were doing the best we could with material that wasn’t helping us.

This is why it’s so important to give students multiple experiences of working on original material with the creator in the room. Many universities incorporate such productions into their program, but they’re few and far between, and often the productions, to be frank, are either opportunities for staff members to put up their own material and use the students (who are obviously trying to please their teachers) as puppets, or a situation of a student writer putting up a show with student actors with neither being guided in how to collaborate in the room. There is usually little discussion of how to most successfully conduct yourself in rehearsal for a new piece and how that might be different from an established one, and there is almost no (if any) focus on giving students the tools they need to work as a collaborator with the rest of the production team. It can sometimes be a tricky balance finding the middle ground between taking over the room with your wants and suggestions and sitting silently by while you just let your creative team figure things out (not to mention the ins and outs of working with different types of writers/directors who want collaboration in different ways.) There are aspects of dramaturgy, general people skills, learning to communicate your thoughts in an as effective a way as possible that need to be learned and practiced…and yet I’ve never seen these skills actively taught.

We need to include young actors in the development process of new works and give them tools to navigate the experience, otherwise, we’re just turning out performers primed to either say “yes” or keep their mouth shut – neither of which is beneficial to anyone involved. Yes, there are times to be quiet in a rehearsal room, but when that is the only thing being taught we are silencing important voices and sending students out into the world without some of the most important tools they’ll need to be successful working actors.

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About Ashley

Ashley Griffin is the first person in history to be nominated for a major award for both playing and directing HAMLET. As a writer Ashley is most well known as the creator of the pop culture phenomenon FOREVER DEADWARD (New World Stages,) praised by MTV, E!, EW and others, and the hit off-Broadway play TRIAL directed by Lori Petty. Her work has been developed at Broadway’s Manhattan Theater Club, Playwrights Horizons and La MaMa (among others.) Ashley is currently in development with a new network series, and is artist in residence at The Access Theater Company.

As an actress, Ashley has performed on and off Broadway as well as in L.A. and London. This past year she appeared in HOMELAND, THE DEUCE, THE GREATEST SHOWMAN (starring Hugh Jackman,) and in the off-Broadway play THE NEUROLOGY OF THE SOUL at A.R.T. originating the starring role of Amy. She has a BFA from NYU's Tisch School of the Arts (where she has subsequently taught,) and has studied at R.A.D.A., The Boston Conservatory and the Hamilton Academy of Music.