By Shelly Frome
As a struggling actor, I was taught there are two basic
approaches. You can strike a pose and play the result; or become the character
and allow everything to happen as if for the first time.
The first option you go through the motions and attempt to
seem sweet, wicked, motherly, clever or whatever result seems to be called for.
Put another way, in this light characters have a function and are simply a
means to an end.
If, however, you opt to bring your character to life, there
are all kinds of considerations. For instance, there is a sense of place and
the given circumstances; your known and unknown response patterns and your
evolving relationships. Above all, you have to accept the give and take and
unpredictability of each and every situation.
Interesting enough, these two approaches also spill over into
fiction. For a prime example of playing the result, there’s that
bestseller about an ancient code and secret religious society. Robert Langdon
plays a clever symbolist, that’s it. Sophie is a diligent cryptologist. There
is an albino who is stamped as a psychotic and so on and so forth. Though the
mutilated curator in the Louvre is Sophie’s grandfather, there is no room for
grief on her part or any misgivings. She isn’t even allowed to wonder why
Robert Langdon appears to have no dimensions at all save for his fixation on
unraveling the code. Thus the only objective is to keep readers turning the
pages as Langdon and Sophie race from Paris to London, crossing paths
with assorted allies and villains.
The opposite approach: we can easily turn to any incident
from Harper Lee’s To Kill aMockingbird. Take the famous mob scene, the one that finds Atticus on the
porch of the jailhouse where the black man he is defending is being held. It’s
nighttime and seasonably mild in tiny Maycomb,
Alabama during the Great
Depression. In the semi-darkness, not only does Atticus have no idea what will
happen as he confronts the angry men, he also suddenly has to deal with Jem and
Scout who, along with their playmate Dill, have followed him here.
If Scout was earmarked to be unruly, she and the rest of the
characters never would have come to life. When Jem refuses to leave and a burly
member of the milling band yanks him off his feet, Scout would kick the man and
put up a big fuss. But even when Atticus chides Scout and asks Jem to please take
the children home, Jem impulsively stands his ground and Scout switches gears.
“Hey, Mr. Cunningham,” she says to the man who appears to be
the ring leader.
The big man blinks, hooks his thumbs in his overall straps,
clears his throat and looks away.
“Don’t you remember me, Mr. Cunningham?”
Instead of saying, Hey, I’m Scout in some cocky way, she
says, “I’m Jean Louise Finch. You brought us some hickory nuts one time,
remember?” She goes on to tell him that she goes to school with his boy
Walter. And she once brought Walter home for supper. “Maybe he told you about
me, I beat him up one time but he was real nice about it. Tell him hey for me,
won’t you?”
The more Scout tries to get through to him, the less certain
his angry quest becomes. Which, in turn, spurs Scout on to be even more polite
and friendly. Assuming that’s what Atticus must be waiting for. It must be
what’s wanted because neither Atticus or the other men are saying a word.
Soon, Scout begins to feel sweat gathering at the edges of
her hair because she can stand most anything except a bunch of people staring
at her.By then Cunningham does a peculiar thing. He squats down,
takes her by both shoulders and says, “I’ll tell Walter you said hey, little
lady.”He straightens up and waves at the rest of the men. “Let’s
clear out. Let’s get going, boys.” And there it is, unfolding within a specific time, place and
set of circumstances. Even when Scout tries to play the result and be polite,
she gets more and more flustered and somehow becomes “a little lady.”
There are countless novels that reverberate with this
selfsame ring of truth. Some say these narratives are character driven as
opposed to plot driven. Personally, I always look at it as honoring the spirit of the
moment.
___________________________________________________________
Shelly
Frome is a member of Mystery Writers of America, a professor of dramatic arts
emeritus at the
University of
Connecticut, a former professional actor, a writer of
mysteries, books on theater and film, and articles on the performing arts
appearing in a number of periodicals in the
U.S.
and the
U.K..
His fiction includes
TinseltownRiff,
Lilac Moon, Sun Dance for Andy Horn and the trans-Atlantic cozy
The Twinning Murders. Among his
works of non-fiction are the acclaimed
TheActors Studio and texts on the art and craft of screenwriting and
writing for the stage. His latest novel is
Twilightof the Drifter. He lives in
Litchfield, Connecticut.His works can be found on Amazon, through his
publishers or via independent bookstores. He has a profile on Facebook where he
can be reached or on twitter @shellyFrome.
POETIC
