The Pros and Cons of Method Acting

The cloud was thrilled. He landed a part in an Aristophanes play, Clouds, and tonight was opening night! He was going to be Cloud #1 in the Cloud Chorus. This was such a proud moment for the cloud.

Miss Stanis, the director, a tall, gaunt woman, peered over her glasses. A staunch supporter of method acting, she wanted a real cloud for the production. She spoke slowly, dramatically. She wanted to give some last-minute notes.

Miss Stanis stared, lips pursed. “Who are you?” she demanded.

Cloud looked behind him at the door but saw nothing. He turned toward Stanis. “Oh,” he said, “You mean me.”

“Yes. I mean you. Who are you?”

Cloud shrugged, “I am a cl—”

“You are a cloud.”

“Yes! Yes, I am,” Cloud.

“No. You are a cloud. Repeat. I am a cloud.”

“I am a cloud.”

“No,” Stanis demanded. “You’re speaking in monotone. Where is the journey? Where is the need? What is your goal for this scene?”

Journey? Need? Goal? Cloud was confused. He usually just analyzed words in a script. The playwright can convey a meaning in the words themselves. He couldn’t wait to get on stage, but he had to give her an answer. Journey, need, goal, he repeated in his mind.

“Give me truth,” Stanis said, touching her heart.

Cloud thought. He placed a misty hand…limb…cloudpiece under his chin. “My goal for this play is—"

“Very good. Now, let’s give you a backstory. For truth,” she said, touching her heart.

“Well,” the cloud thought, “I was – always – moist – and foggy.”

The director paced. “Yes. Yes. Yes. No. You were abandoned in the forest and raised by moss. Your moist-osity became slime.”

“I can act like slime.”

Miss Stanis waved her hand in a slow-motion circle. “Don’t just act like slime; be the slime.”

“I am – so – slime.”

“Good. Good. Very good. Who were your moss parents?”

“Moss parents? Moss parents. Um…Moss Hart and Karen Grassle, no, Donna Reed. Moss and Donna. They treated me right. How does a cloud get abandoned in a forest, you may ask. Well, I don’t’ know. I just remember how foggy and rainy it was. I was. I had a foggy, rainy childhood.”

“What’s going on in your inner being? To be a good actor you must create your inner life.”

“Rain…drops…droplets, moisture, wet…texture?” Cloud offered.

Director Stanis paced, her head down, her glasses to her lips. “What…is your experience with…rain?”

“I am rain,” Cloud answered.

“Wrong. ‘I am rain.’”

“No. I’m saying that I am truly rain. I’m not acting.”

“Why did you choose to be a cloud?”

“I didn’t choose; I am.”

“Very good. I like that.” She waved her hand in slow circles. “‘I didn’t choose; I am.’” Miss Stanis stared at the cloud, her lips pursed, head tilted, eyebrow raised. Cloud thought he heard a clock ticking, but he was sure it was just in his mind. Opening night jitters. He cleared his throat.

“Well, I guess I should get going,” Cloud started to rise from the chair.

Directory Stanis spoke suddenly. “Be…a giraffe.” She slowly waved her hand and looked up to her left, and then directly at Cloud.

Cloud sat again and took a breath, “Um.” He tried stretching this way and that. He raised his…cloudpieces straight beside his head to indicate a long neck.

“Now let me hear it,” Stanis said.

“Hear it?” he asked, his cloudpieces dropping by his side.

“Let me hear it.”

“Giraffes – don’t make – a sound.”

The director shouted, “Let me hear it! Your inner giraffe being! Your truth! Keep your arms up!”

Cloud stuck his cloudpieces up by his head again, and looked to his right and then to his left. “Uh – uh – uh.”

Stanis demanded, “That is not what a giraffe sounds like. If a real giraffe stood in the African veldt and went ‘uh – uh – uh,’ it would be attacked by ferocious lions! Let me hear your inner truth!’

Cloud started to rain. “I’m – I’m sorry. I don’t know what a giraffe sounds like. As – as far as I know, giraffes don’t make a sound.”

Stanis softened. “Ok. Ok. I understand. You’re just starting out as an actor. Keep taking classes. You’ll get the full meaning. I shall leave you with an assignment. Choose an item. Be the item. Create an inner story. A back story. What is the item? What does the item want? Tell me, Cloud, which item will you pick? If a giraffe is too advanced, that is fine. Choose something else.”

Cloud smirked, “A blade of grass.” He was being sarcastic, of course, what on earth would the director be able to get from that?

“A blade of grass. Very good. Very good. Ask yourself, as a blade of grass, who you are. Ask what are your obstacles, your goals, your relationships. Ask yourself what time it is. Is it summer? Winter? Morning, night?” She looked at him with her head tilted and her lips pursed.

What have I gotten myself into, thought Cloud. Now I have to answer these questions.

“I will certainly think about this.”

Stanis stared at Cloud.

“Well,” the cloud cleared his wispy throat. “It’s getting late. I should be going to the stage now.”

“Would a real cloud be headed for a stage? Motivation, my boy. What would motivate a cloud to get to a stage? Is that really where you want to go?”

“Yes. I have to join the other clouds for the cloud chorus.”

“No. No. No. That shows how little you know about theater.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never say that you are just another cloud.”

“I never said —”

“Repeat after me: I am important. I am cloud.”

“You misunderstood —”

“You are not just another cloud!” The director screamed.

“I have to get to the stage. Thank you for your...direction.”

Miss Stanis leaned into Cloud. “There is always time for acting theory and practice. Now then.” She looked upward and smiled. “Ha ha, isn’t that funny? Now. Then. Ha ha ha.” She jerked her heard and faced Cloud, “Concentrate!”

Cloud shifted in the chair and cleared his throat again. “We really don’t have time for this – theory and practice. I must get to the stage. Now.” Cloud got up and floated quickly out of the office.

…

The performance didn’t go well. The audience couldn’t see the actors through the fog. They shouted, “Get the net! Get the net!”

Two stagehands tried to round up all of the clouds, but the poor workers got wet and couldn’t see. They ran around the stage, arms waving, and feet slipping on the wet floor. The clouds flew out of the theater, leaving a bitter Cloud #1.

Cloud shouted, “Not fair! I was the featured cloud in Funny Girl. I rained on Fanny Brice’s parade. I sang ‘Send in the Clouds’ in the stratospheric version of A Little Night Music.”

Cloud floated out of the theater and into the sky. “I’ll rain on all of you!”

Director Stanis peered over her glasses at the mess on the stage and shook her head slowly. “He never truly believed he was a cloud.”