It is Wednesday, and that means there’s a new episode of It’s Storytime With Wil Wheaton, waiting for you wherever you get your podcasts.
This week’s story is Wend-Way-Go by Tim Pratt. It was originally published in Uncanny Magazine.
I made a creative choice for this week that I haven’t made before on the podcast, and it was so satisfying, I wanted to talk about it a little bit.
When I was working on Star Trek, one of the adults in the cast — and I can’t remember who, no matter how hard I try — introduced me to the concept of “meeting the demands of the material.” They meant that our job as actors is to serve the writer’s intention, not the other way around. Before we start changing words or rewriting lines, it is our responsibility to do the work of understanding the author’s intent until the scenes work. And if the scene still doesn’t work after all of that, then it is time to talk about making changes. But you don’t go making changes because you’re 15 and don’t yet know what it means to be an actor, beyond following direction.
It took me awhile to process that, and it took me even longer to reliably meet the demands of the material, but I eventually got there and never left.
As a narrator of over 100 titles, my job is easier, more joyful, and more satisfying because I know to listen to what the author wants to say, and then do my best to communicate that through my performance. When it works, the listener doesn’t even know what I did; they just feel the story more completely than they would, otherwise. It’s a pretty great trick.
When we recorded this week’s story, Gabrielle (who directs and produces) and I both felt that the material was making a specific demand, that was also a gift to me: without saying so directly, Tim sets this story in what felt to both of us like South Carolina, for some reason. It was so clear in the text that the narrative character needed to speak in a soft drawl, that supported his fundamental gentleness.
It is a creative risk, to be sure. Accents are tough, and present a unique trap that catches me all the time when I discover I am doing an accent, when I should be performing with an accent.
So it’s exciting and a little scary, but I’m glad I did it. I loved this story, and I hope you do, too.
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Just happened to be at my computer when this popped up. I’m looking forward to listening.
I loved this story and your accent was fantastic. And I totally didn’t cry at the big moment. Nope, not at all (can you tell I’m lying?)
“…when I discover I am doing an accent, when I should be performing with an accent” – LOVE this distinction!
When I studied Literature (with a capital L), and Critical Theory both as an undergraduate and graduate student, my professors took the “many lenses, many interpretations” approach to thinking and writing about an author’s work. I did find the “many lenses” approach interesting, but I had a constant battle with many ivory tower, tenured professors when they stated what the author intended to communicate was hardly ever a viable, critical option. We could never know what the writer intended, the instruction went, and even if the author stated explicitly his or her intent, it couldn’t be given serious consideration because the author could be an unreliable narrator, or have unconscious intent that even the creator of a work couldn’t communicate.
Hogwash, to put it mildly.
I have artist friends who have bought into this critique to avoid accountability on how an audience may perceive their work. Artists (and authors) are merely a “conduit” for the work with culture, psychology, timeline, zeitgeist, venue, etc. having “spoken” through them and it’s up to the recipients of art to know what has been communicated.
Blah-Blah with two capital Bs.
I don’t believe in the Rorschach aesthetic. There is more to the arts than just throwing something at a wall and calling what sticks “art” and in complete control of the many minds of the audience. Knowing what the author (or artist) intended and how well they communicated that intent is tantamount having an experience of Art as opposed to what 100 chimpanzees type out on a hundred typewriters, or put in a frame on a museum wall or a parent’s refrigerator.
In a collaborative endeavor, such as film and theater, knowing what the writer intended to communicate should be the starting place, and autere theory, where the director’s vision and interpretation is paramount, has led to some embarrassing flops and countless cries from the audience of “but the book was soooo much better!” Subsequently, an actor can ignore stage direction and punctuation to create a character (Christopher Walken is said to have ignored all punctuation in a script to find his own character rhythms where William Shatner salvaged those extra commas to bring gravitas to his own Captain Kirk rhythms).
Starting with what the writer wanted to explore in setting, themes, character development, and story plot and structure, and willfully ignoring the author’s intent does a disservice to the art. Paying attention and complementing that with an appropriate accent?
Mwah! Chef’s kiss!