When I first burst onto the Houston theater scene in 2009; I was so memorized by the talent, that I was just happy to be a part of it. I accepted almost every role I was offered, whether I got to speak or not. I have spent the last few years of my theater career prancing around as: a prostitute (twice to be exact), a Doo Wop Girl, and most recently-a Vampirette.
It was that way for about 4 years. Slowly, I began getting small bit roles; mostly in short play festivals (a favorite of Houston audiences). They were great exposure. Like a majority of actors beginning to inch their foot in the door one toe at a time, I yearned for more. Once I began to get beyond the bit roles, the process became stressful and not fun at all. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was worth it. Should I just stay in the background (in other words: my comfort zone) because it was easier? It seemed as though when I was cast in anything beyond that, I’d become so overwhelmed with perfectionist noise and self-doubt that I couldn’t even enjoy this “passion” of mine.
As time passed, my confidence level eventually grew, and I found I was capable of “meaty” roles. I was not always the “ideal” look for the role, but I would do my damndest to get it right if cast. One thing I have always prided myself in is my work ethic. People seemed to catch onto that. In 2015 I got an opportunity at a great role. The audiences were not always large, and that made me question, “if nobody sees this show, how will they know what I am capable of?” Of course if I was in a show with large audience attendance, I usually had a small role. It was like beating my head against a brick wall. We do it for more than audience approval, but we WANT an audience there, right?
It got to a point where I was feeling so desperate not to be forgotten, that I happily ventured into another background role; but much to my dismay-I felt so unfulfilled. What was this? Could I possibly be realizing that not only am I capable of more, but (dare I say) READY for more?
Fast forward to February of 2016. I hadn’t gotten any calls since audition season wrapped up, and I was getting pretty anxious. Still though, as cliché as it sounds, I was not ready to throw in the towel. People suggested I try and produce my own material, but I was not interested in going that route just yet. A director and good friend of mine emailed me about a project that she was directing. To be honest, I was not really sure what it was about but if she was involved, surely it would be good. The play was being produced by a great organization in town. I thought, “of course I will audition.” While I felt I read fine, I was pretty sure I was not the type they were looking for. It didn’t make me feel bad though, I was proud of what I did in the audition. Two days later, I was cast. Um….what?
“Dialogues” was a workshop performance, so it was a unique situation. We would get daily rewrites, and spend a lot of time on table work. I am not sure what I was expecting, but it was so different than what I was used to. My fear started shutting me down and unfortunately, that showed in the first few rehearsals. What was my problem? Why wouldn’t it click? I thought: “I am working a day job, and coming to rehearsals, wasn’t that enough?” This was not my usual attitude, so I was a little taken aback. I figured I would get it eventually, you know, like everything else. We were rehearsing one Friday night, and I was trying to memorize lines with a fellow actor. I felt pretty confident afterwards, we had the weekend off. Come Monday, our first blocking rehearsal, I did not remember a damn thing. ALERT. I rushed home and the tears happened. I am not even sure why I was upset, but I did know I had to stop crying. It was just making it worse.
Kelly Cutrone has a mantra that I swear by, she says to go from “worrier to warrior.” It dawned on me that I made this commitment, and it was still early enough in the rehearsal process that I could do something about it. How though? Well, let’s think. I realized the following elements I could not change:
- The script was going to change daily. We were told upfront and since it was a workshop, that was fair game.
- My day job-I am there from 8-5, and I have to be present. It’s what they pay me for. So I could not sit there and memorize lines all day, tempting as it was.
I said, “Ok Ari, we gotta do this in a way that works for you but serves all parties with the level of commitment that they deserve.” Luckily, I have always been rather good at memorization when I do it the way I learned, on my own terms:
- Learn lines with no emotion and speed through for memory
- Run lines when I get home since I am always wired anyway
- Use the blessed lunch hour to review more specific notes
- Don’t try to get ahead of where we are in the process. I hate to admit this, but it is much more difficult for me to retain information if the scene has not been blocked
All this seems pretty basic, I know. Most actors have their terms going into something, and I admire them for that. The thing was, I do not think I ever stated my terms, or thought about my “method.” The minute I applied these things “my method”, everything changed. Not only did I begin to feel at ease in the character, but I finally started to trust myself as an actor for the first time. That trust takes a long time to build, and I am only in the beginning.
The good news is, my method may not work for every play, but there is always room for modification if needed. Now I can apply this mentality to my future projects. I also realized I cannot apologize for who I am, but I shouldn’t be resistant to change. I am a person who needs routine and planning, but not every setting will be that way. All I have to do is say “yes,” and rise to the occasion. Until I do, I will be static and non-giving, which equal death to me on stage.
My advice: know your terms and trust them. Keep a rehearsal journal and track your progress, you will be amazed at how far you come. We cannot change certain things, but we can always change our attitudes. I am slowly creeping in from the background, starting make my way to the front. For the first time, the ride feels divine.
