Every Day Be a "Wirgin"

When I was in college, I did a lot of acting. Once, a visiting director from Poland came to lead an acting workshop. What I remember best about it was his instruction: 'Be every day a virgin.' Because of his accent, it came out sounding like 'Be every day a wirgin.'
It was good advice, and it had nothing to do with sex. He was trying to get us to deliver each line as if we had never said it before, to hear every other actor's line as if for the first time, to be, as actors say, 'in the moment.'

It is hard to do. If you're like me, you are so worried about getting the lines and movements right, you stop listening to the other actors entirely. To an inexperienced (or bad) actor, a play sounds like this: 'Blah blah blah my line blah blah my line blah blah blah my line.'

This summer I learned a powerful lesson in acting from the magnificent James Whitmore, who played Grandpa in the Peterborough Players production of 'You Can't Take It With You.' Jim is 82 years old. He first worked at the Players 56 years ago. In that summer of 1947 the founder of the Players, Edith Bond Stearns, bought him a plane ticket to New York so that he could audition for a part, then gave him another night off to return for callbacks. He got the part and went on to win a Tony, which led to his distinguished career in films and TV, and which is why he comes back every now and then to do a show here. He's a classy guy.

I had a close-up view of eighteen of Jim's performances, and not one of them was exactly like another. He varied his pace, his rhythms, his inflections. He stuttered, he coughed, he snorted, he broke into unexpected chuckles. He repeated some words, and left others out. Sometimes he delivered his big third-act speech in a gentle, ruminative way; other nights it was furious and indignant. Somewhere in the middle of the run he broke into a little jig at one point, and in the last week, he threw in a ballet move. We never knew what to expect. It was what I imagine playing jazz must be like.

And God help you if you didn't pay attention! If Jim thought your focus was wandering, he'd snap his fingers or clap his hands and demand that you look him in the eye -- in character, in front of a live audience.

It was exhilarating, inspiring and, to a person who doesn't make a living as an actor, terrifying. I thought the only way I could keep up with the professionals was to memorize each line and movement and never deviate from them. But Whitmore wouldn't let me. I found myself, perhaps for the first time ever, truly listening to another actor. And -- not right away, but in time -- I was in the moment. At the last performance, Jim suddenly turned and looked at me at a point where he'd never done that before. We both burst out laughing -- in character, in front of a live audience.

So what does this have to do with teaching? Everything. A classroom is a theater with an audience of adolescents. It's essential to know your lines, but you have to vary your pace, your rhythm, your inflections. You have to talk about Romeo and Juliet or the Pythagorean theorem as if you had just discovered them. You have to really listen to your students, and if they stop listening to you, you may have to snap your fingers or break into a jig to get their attention. Otherwise, it's just blah blah blah.
You have to be every day a wirgin.