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THE ADAM DARIUS METHOD
a technical and practical handbook for all performing artists
by
Adam Darius
Preparing(excerpts)
On creativity
Creativity is not as rare as we are led to believe. Children have it in abundance but lose it as, gradually, society instills its obligatory restrictions. Children, not yet fenced in by inhibiting regulations, gambol innocently through fields of fantasy. Adults, too often discouraged by conformity, trek aimlessly through the barren desert of drugs and alcohol.
The prerequisite of creativity is a continuous state of acute consciousness, particularly to the whispered inner voice. Messages are received, in whole or part, and must be transmitted immediately before slipping into the deep funnel of forgetfulness.
On antagonizing your director
Don't.
This single cautionary word reminds me of the time when I was appearing in the remote African country of Chad. The tourist brochure had a heading WHAT TO DO WHEN SICK. Under the headline it said, "Don't. The nearest hospital is in another country."
So for the tourist in Chad regarding sickness and for the actor in rehearsal resisting his director, an equally applicable warning. Don't.
On wanting to go on stage
There are many reasons why young people enter the world of theatre. Some of the reasons stem from neurosis. The person in question turns a disturbing force, usually from early childhood, into an alarm system that clangs incessantly for attention. "I will substitute the love of many for the absence of one." Sometimes this early deprivation enables the sufferer to commandeer a career.
But it isn't only a craving for affection or a low self-esteem that propels a person into overlapping pools of many-coloured gels. There are numerous people who enter the theatre simply because they believe they have a talent and wish to express it through the vehicles of the world's finest playwrights, composers and choreographers. Or perhaps they wish to be their own creators.
To exhibit oneself, to counterbalance the early deprivation of parental love by demanding the later attention of the public, to sing, dance or play an instrument for the sheer joy of it, to express oneself, to escape the separateness of our common isolation, to share one's reverence for life by revealing it, the motives for wanting to go on stage are as varied as the actors through the ages who have done so.
On stage(excerpts)
Beginning and ending a performance
Don't keep an audience waiting more than seven or eight minutes past the announced starting time. I, personally, don't like to begin exactly on time in order to allow latecomers leeway in which to arrange themselves, thereby not distracting other members of the audience and myself.
To begin too late, however, is to overpass the public's point of anticipation. The resultant restlessness that sets in is another obstacle for the artist on stage.
When the lights fade to black at the end of an item or at the end of the performance, sustain the final pose for some five seconds. For, immediately after bright light, despite the blackout, the eye perceives a moving figure. Too often we see otherwise experienced actors exiting too soon from a fade to black.
When entering the wings, keep moving until completely out of the audience's sight line. How often have we, sitting at the extreme right or left of an auditorium, seen an exiting dancer flop out of a poised arabesque into a disgruntled waddle into the wings?
On what to do when the lips dry during a performance
Wait until your back is to the audience and then lick them quickly. To do this in front of the audience is to announce the fact of either discomfort or nervousness.
On adjusting the performance to the theatre's size
One must always work with strength, but the degree of strength must depend on the distance between the front of the stage and the last row of the theatre. To work with an excess of power in an intimate theatre is to disturb the balance between the performer and the public. To call upon a minimum of energy in a huge theatre is never to arrive in the minds of the cheapest ticket holders.
How can one arrive at this indefinable degree? the student may well ask. Instinct is the answer, the instinct which is the product of cumulative experience.
In the enormous Alhambra Theatre (now demolished) in Cape Town, South Africa, I enlarged. In the theatre in Brasilia, the capital of Brazil, the orchestra pit was not only vast, thus acutely separating me from the first row, but the auditorium seats were set at a sunken level. This peculiar architectural layout distanced me from the audience, necessitating my employing a more embracing force.
The examples just cited point out the need to adjust the level of one's performance, of never only repeating the performance of the previous theatre. Always keep in mind the importance of adjusting the energy level, the angle and the scope of one's audience embrace.
Off stage(excerpts)
On posing for photographs
There is no difference between posing for a photographer and appearing before an audience. One is giving a performance in both cases. Inexperienced people tend to withdraw when facing a photographer's camera instead of lighting up from within as they would try to do in a theatre. The tendency to curtail one's energy must be resisted, for the camera is the equivalent of a thousand eyes.
As in a performance there must be preparation. In my case, it's during the time of making up. As I put aside one face, replacing it with another, my sense of high-strung alertness has been awakened. Just before the photographs are actually taken, one must plug in all the wires, in a manner of speaking. In being electric, a short cut is a short circuit.
When the photographer clicks his shutter, the subject must be caught at maximum energy. It's too late to reach that peak during the click of the camera. That high point must be arrived at beforehand and then held when the photograph is taken. During the hold, the inner volume must be lifted. This raising of the emotional decibel level makes the difference between a living and a lifeless photograph.
It has often been stated that the camera loved Marilyn Monroe. I believe it was the other way around. It was she who loved the camera. That being the case, she responded to it as the beloved does to the caresses of the lover.
On protecting the stomach while on tour
Never sample native dishes the day before or the day of the performance. Your stomach may well rebel with abdominal pains as the result of the invasion. For new food is often just that, an invasion, as far as the digestive tract is concerned.
Never, of course, eat food bought from a street vendor. With unsanitary conditions, low prices sometimes include high temperatures.
On not leaving valuables in the dressing room
Everywhere we go we seem to be potential victims of blatant as well as sophisticated robbery. It is not uncommon for waiters to return to their customers someone else's expired or stolen Diners Club card. Not everyone checks that carefully what the waiter returns. Chambermaids have been known to steal three or four cheques in the middle of a book of travellers' cheques, thus escaping detection since few people look at sequential numbers during a purchase.
For the performer, the time for him to beware and be aware is during the performance itself, especially if it's a solo performance. The pickings are almost as inviting during the performance of a large company if the entire cast is on stage simultaneously.
(Since these lines were written, this is what befell my company during a London production of Yukio Mishima. Several members of the cast had their wallets emptied while on stage. Sad to say, it was an in-house robbery, the thief a staff employee.)
I never leave my passport, cheque book, credit cards, keys, cash, watch, jewellery or any other valuables (not to mention my appointment book with its essential and assorted information) in a dressing room unless I can have a key to that room. If there is no key, or I think the dressing room window is accessible from the street, then I give these valuables to my impresario to keep for me until the performance is over.
I'm not advocating suspicion as a constant companion but, believe me, it is no fun to be fundless or bereft of passport in the middle of nowhere.
The Method(excerpts)
On compensation
There are dreaded periods in the movement artist's life when an injury has occurred either before the day of a performance or even during. On the occasions when a replacement is out of the question, compensatory technique must be called upon as the emergency 999 on the telephone.
Once on Liberian television I pulled a muscle in my groin preventing me, the next night in Sierra Leone, from lifting my leg more than a few inches off the ground. To compensate I used my upper body with accelerated intensity so as to distract the eye from my earthbound legs. The compensation worked. My injury was not in evidence despite my being aware of it every second.
Another time, on opening night in Jakarta, Java, the adjoining building "stole" some of the volume from my sound system. (Another perfomance was taking place in the theatre complex.) I could barely discern the telephone rings in While In The Bathtub. Calling upon even more frantic antics, I tried to be more comic in, what was for me, a very unfunny situation. I compensated. What other option is open? To hold up the white flag of surrender?
Spine/thighs
The spine is the fountain of youth. As people get older and eliminate the rotary movements that ensure its suppleness, the vertebral discs in the spine deteriorate, causing the spine to shorten slightly. But more important is the gradual weakening of the body muscles so that the spine is no longer held upright, hence the apparent shrinking of very old people.
Aside from the anatomical importance of the spine, it is the base, along with the solar plexus, of the body's ability to move with plasticity. This exercise works away the rigidity that afflicts even the youngest of spines.
"Spine!" The students begin their improvisation varying the movements of the spine in as many directions as possible. They must concentrate on moving their spines laterally, forward, backward, circularly and diagonally. At times the periphery of movement is contained, at other times freed to encompass a wider area of movement. As always in an improvisation, the rhythm and intensity fluctuate.
When we think of the thighs, rarely do we attribute to them an expressive potential as we do, let us say, to the shoulders. Yet with conscious thought, the thighs by turning in, turning out, bending, rising and moving circularly, can contribute to the expressive sum total of the body.
"Thighs!" And everyone's thighs move in a multiplicity of patterns and levels.
Then the order spine/thighs is issued and the students alternate and/or combine the two, improvising with inventiveness and freedom.
Regarding the duration of this and other exercises, the knowledgeable teacher is aware that to do an exercise for too brief a period is to derive little benefit from it. To do an exercise for too long is to invite minor or even major injury.
On economy of gesture
Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. says it all when, in the Conversations section of this book, he describes his stepmother Mary Pickford's mastery in gestural simplicity.
I once saw an early silent film of the inimitable Italian tragedienne, Eleanora Duse. In it, she was an aged woman whose son had long since strayed from her loving fold. Lifting her arms slowly to the neglectful heavens, her gestures carried the weight of all those whose love is spurned and spat back by heartless ingrates.
Muriel Stuart, one of my very early teachers, was one of the only eight girls in the world entirely trained by Anna Pavlova, later becoming a soloist in her company for eleven years. Miss Stuart had seen both Sarah Bernhardt and Duse. "Duse, unlike Bernhardt," she stated to me, "would be as great today because of her simplicity."
In the economy of gesture exercise, there must be simplicity, for without it the gesture would be cluttered, extravagant rather than economic.
The students in this exercise must express offering, giving, bestowing.Think specifically what you are giving and to whom. Perhaps the intended recipient is hesitant in accepting. Then you must insist, not taking no for an answer. This insistence, with its touch of opposition, will add fervour to your offering.
Since economy of gesture is the essence of this exercise, say as much as you can with as little movement as possible. The inner monologue of offering is non-stop in its generosity, while the actuality of the gesture is frugal and economical. Reduce the physicality to its bare essentials.
Get on your knees and, with your arms, offer something to someone. Feel as if your elbows are glued to your sides so that the giving gesture becomes restricted.
Now, justify those instructions of the "glued" elbows. Are you tied up as a prisoner? Are you emotionally hesitant, therefore physically shy? You supply the answer, thereby justifying the instructions.
The actor who is given inexplicable stage directions cannot refuse to carry them out. He must resort to justification, or finding the motive/reason for that particular activity. In locating that motive, he will bring clarity to the director's order.
Back to economy of gesture, the student has rid himself of superfluous movement, expressing the emotion in its barest physical essentials.
Excerpt from Conversations with Kate Bush
Adam Darius: Do you ever feel the temptation to repeat what the public has applauded rather than venturing into new directions?
Kate Bush: No, no I don't. As far as the song that was the hit, if I could write a formula like that again,one would presume that again it would be a big hit. But, really, what is the point? It would be wrong because I would know that in my heart I was cheating myself, that I'd sat down and, instead of trying to push myself creatively, was just copping out. I would just be playing all the chords of Wuthering Heights backwards, and also singing the words backwards so that I wouldn't have to use any effort. Everyone would recognize the song and it would be a big hit. It would be cheating not only them, which is terribly important, but also myself.
I feel this is the key factor in everyone's life. You do what is right by your code. Then, that way you never regret anything. And if you do regret something, then try not to do it again. I really believe you have to feel right about things you do, and that your intuition will tell you when it's wrong or dangerous.
In UK: £9.95
In Finland: 22 euros
Hardback, 270 pages, 86 photographs
ISBN 0 9502707 25, published 1984
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