My personal philosophy of teaching theater is best told by a story about one of my students. A nervous mom came to me and asked if I could help her son with a very important speech.
“Of course, what is the occasion?” I asked.
“He is the valedictorian of his high school, and has to speak at graduation. He has a 4.8 GPA but he can’t really speak in front of people, and he’s scared.”
When I met
this young man, I was very impressed by his academic knowledge and GPA, but sorry he had never taken a theater class or sparked creativity or played at improv. I wondered to myself, “What is the good of being so smart, when you cannot communicate?”
For the next several weeks, his mother looked at me askew while I cajoled him to play imagination games, asked him questions to which there was no “right” answer, and made lots of faces. It seemed childish, but we practiced making faces, imitating animals, emotions, characters, and passion. For several weeks he was concerned with the content of the speech, the grammar, the wording. I jumped around like a maniac. All that is good, but I wanted him to communicate. Communicate! Then we worked on the speech. I would scream out and hit the table.
“What’s in your gut?!” “Express yourself!” “You are in charge, show it!”
Then we turned a corner. I coached him to let go; raise his head, use gestures, emphasize, dramatize, and lead. It was my personal “King’s Speech.” It was a proud moment for me when he could communicate not just words and content, but with wonder, passion, and heart. For me, it’s not about making of a new “star” in theater. Show business can be cut-throat, but there are many stages in life. It’s about bringing out the star in each student.
