I’ll be skilled when I’m dead

[1]

I can’t dance. I can’t keep a rhythm. I have no training in martial arts. So when I read “list your performance skills” in a workshop application form, I was stumped. As actors we don’t really have specific skills.

Theatre director Roysten Abel once spoke about how he was tired of working with unskilled artists. So he preferred to work with Rajasthani folk musicians who have years of heritage and riyaz behind them.
In today’s urban theatre arts scene this is usually a problem. Where does the skill set come from? Especially since the word “training” has very different connotations for theatre compared to other art forms.
In dance there is a strong technique to master for each form, be it salsa, ballroom or bharatnatyam. In music, playing an instrument is a tangible ability. You will get better with training. There is rigour involved. And the proficiency of the artist is easily identified during the performance.
The traditional forms of theatre also have codified conventions. So during a Yakshagana performance, the skill of the performer is immediately appreciated by his/her agility or expressiveness.
But what of the modern actor?
Today’s theatre is no longer a stylistic representation like Commedia Dell Arte, but is usually very realistic in its composition. There are the basic pre-requisites of voice, and body language and expression, but nothing else that is specific. Therefore, is skill really about mastering technique alone?
Perhaps in the modern context, it is harder for an actor to work on his craft. The pressures of earning a living often supersede the need to study more. New programmes like the Adishakti residential workshop in Pondicherry and Theatre Professionals monthly workshops have gone a long way in ensuring that some kind of learning process remains with the actor.
There are also things that are harder to “teach” or practise in isolation.
There is great craft in the way an actor can command the attention of the audience or the way s/he can deliver a speech. There are actors who instinctively conquer the perils of performing live on stage, actors who are not “thrown” by an audience member’s phone or snore or even the set falling down.
A few years ago, in Beyond Therapy, a pivoting door was a key ingredient in the set. One side was blue and the other yellow. Each representing in which psychiatrist’s office the action was taking place.
One performance, the entire swivelling door came unhinged during a chase scene. Actor, Zafar Karachiwala, in whose hands the door now was, showed incredible awareness for the director’s mis-en-scene, and placed the door against a wall, with the appropriate colour facing the audience. Surely this is a skill, part of his repertoire, part of the nature of the medium. But can that really be taught?
A theatre performance is also truly complete only once it is put in front of an audience. A play that clocked an hour-and-a-half at the dress rehearsal could become over two hours on opening night. Hence, experience suddenly counts more in theatre arts, than it would in any other performing art form.
It is on stage where the most learning happens. A newbie can have great instincts, often surpassing his more experienced colleagues, but will lack craft, because he hasn’t spent enough time in front of an audience.
If theatre is truly a microcosm of life, then surely an actor is in training for all of his. So perhaps he will finally be accomplished… once he is dead.