Q

Chaliapin from The Adventures of Don Quixote (1933)

I often think of the work to which I devote my life as quintessentially Quixotic.



Mine is an absurd tragicomic quest. Tilting at windmills, challenging imaginary giants to duels.



I am exploring the interstitial richness contained in the silences between what is false, what is true and what is real...

Acting, like life, consists of a series of questions with no real answers. Of course, put like that I set myself up as a posturing and pretentiousness prat. People will queue up to prick and pop bombastic balloons.

We actors must ask ourselves the question, “Is that why we will always have an audience?!”


Probably.



After all, such pompous–sounding philosophising is so easily lampooned and ridiculed by persiflage. And the masses have always adored sacrifices and public executions. Actors are variously labelled as luvvies, fakes, wankers, etc.

“Show us the results!” they cry?

“What exactly are you FOR??”

-when all secretly KNOW exactly what we are for.

We take on their sins and are crucified for them.

As mountebanks we often end up retreating behind the invisible shield of arcane mysticism (and sometimes its opposite- a feigned Christ-like “meekness” and humble “servitude”)- both postures reserved for the initiated- as if I, (-the Act-orrr!) were draped in the invisible garb that conferred membership of an ancient and elite cabal. Ah, the emperor’s clothes!! :-)



It is difficult, if not downright impossible, to produce irrefutable evidence of salvation when pursuing the ineffable and the unknown.

People go away feeling better sometimes.
That’s it.
It can’t be proved.

But I fail.

So often the audience do not get what they needed from me.

My response is to keep up the pretence of self-assurance, adopting a secret smile of knowingness- a defensive strategy.

A clique of one!

It is impossible to speak of the work except in terms of metaphor anyway- and so it becomes shrouded in romanticised poeticism that obscures a botched life with impressive pretension. (I think of Spooner’s bombast in No Man’s Land.) Part of me wants to resist allying myself with the cult of Artist as it’s so often associated with the affected, the preposterously pompous- But what else do I have to shield myself from their slings and arrows? The only alternative is ripping away the mask and declaring it’s all just storytelling, ladies and gentlemen! Mere chicanery and imitation! Silly masks and funny voices…! Only a story. All bollocks.

So how do I preserve my dignity…?

The simple answer:-

I don’t.

The arcane investigation of the soul, and the pursuit of the puissant creative potential of the Higher I, is actually made even more heroic because on the stage the Hero treads the same path as the Fool. Both are pelted with rotten fruit as they stride off to transcendent self-martyrdom. Pilloried and denounced for daring to live and think authentically without the protection of their own ego.

We will always be seen to be tilting at windmills, because the work is about making the imagined life real.

And hey, how stupid is that!

(Actually that isn't a rhetorical question.

How stupid IS that???)

And I find myself asking another question: Who is the child here? Is the child the one who thinks it’s cool to knock others off their pedestals ‘cos he’s jealous he can’t play the game properly. Or the child who tries to play the game? It’s a game whichever way you play it.

A cruel and complicated game.



Somebody has to suffer.

What kind of world is it that will only applaud success, and never heroic failure?



It remains my contention that this ‘foolishness’, the world of the “Imagined”, is not the same thing as “untrue”. ‘Fictional’ does NOT equal ‘fallacious’. Fairy tales are NOT false. In the post-modern world such an idea is seen to be- at best- child-like; at worst, utterly crazy. Art is dismissed as “a lie”; a bauble, a distraction from what is actual. Inessential. The world of science and logical empiricism vilifies such vain shadow-chasing. “Give us the facts,” it demands.

The 21st century paradigm dismisses the delusions of the dramatic artist for not being more grounded, practical, and down-to-earth. “Get real!” - by which they mean of course, “Buy OUR lie instead!”)

But the artist chooses to believe that myths are NEVER mere falsehoods.



Far from it! Myths are infinitely truer and more substantial than everyday life according to the rules of the actor’s universe. The actor understands that the notion of character and the actor’s process of role-play and characterisation are a very powerful means for gaining purchase in our understanding of ourselves, our lives- of clarifying who and where we are, why we’re here, how we fulfil our destinies. He reminds us that we are not who we think we are.



Art is NOT founded on self-deception or artifice; the “fiction” is only a camouflage for the real alchemy-, which has the power to distil the clarity of Beauty and Truth (capital B, capital T) from the muddled morass of existence. Drama is a very potent remedial corrective to uncomplicated Gradgrindism and empiricism. Drama reminds us that the world of spirit is infinitely more real and substantial than the so-called ‘facts’ of everyday life.

It gives us a route out of despair.

It gets us out of our heads.



As Rex Ambler says: "I think therefore I'm a long way from where I am"!!!!

And, as dear Oscar says, "The truth is rarely pure and never simple."

The actor is a practical philosopher.







Never let anybody else decide for you.



Go to drama school.