#crying on command

Arnold: Do you know where you are, Dolores?

Arnold: Do you know now who you’ve been talking to? 

Arnold: Whose voice you’ve been hearing… *voice starts changing*

Robert: …All this…

Dolores: …Time.

Dolores: The center of the maze.

Dolores: The thing you’ve wanted. Since the very first day. 

I am working on this....this was amazing.

Part of me wishes I could give you a “step one, do this, step two, do this, step three, do this” to help you out, but the thing about tears on stage is that they have to come from a real place, or else it comes across as disingenuous.  As an acting teacher once told me, don’t run for the sake of running and don’t suffer for the sake of suffering.  So to try to force crying upon yourself just to cry isn’t going to come across as genuine, and furthermore, actually crying on stage usually isn’t entirely necessary.  I’ve been in a few shows where I cried on stage, one of which was A Children’s Hour and the other was a Greek Tragedy.  But the point wasn’t the crying–I was feeling emotions and grieving in a way that created tears, but they didn’t need to appear to validate the emotion.  Does that make sense?  

I don't think I can trust someone who can cry on command...

cause yeah...I'm depressed enough as it is...

Benedict Cumberbatch can cry on demand... (such a damn good actor)

How does one do this?

I struggled for a really long time with crying on command. I never really needed to until my Senior year of high school. And I had a freaking panic attack about it on a daily basis. I played Lenny in Crimes of The Heart and, if you don't know the play, there's this scene where she finds out her childhood pet -- a horse named Billy Boy -- has been struck by lightening and killed. But it's a funny scene. It's hilarious. And it was fucking impossible for me to work up the tears in such a short space of time during such a comical scene. And of course no one expected that of me, I was 17-years-old, but I never quite forgave myself for it. 

So come my next role? When I had to burst into tears and try to smack my husband and dissolve into this complete emotional wreck? I was terrified. 

And I cared so much. And I tried so hard. I tried so hard that I kind of emotionally abused myself in order to perform. 

I got into "affective memory" or "emotional recall," as it's sometimes referred. 

I know there are actors who do this. I don't recommend it. It's incredibly distracting when, while in character, you suddenly steep yourself in your own memories. At least, I found it pretty counter intuitive to my process.

It didn't help that, because of my depression, the recall eventually deteriorated into this cycle of mental harassment. Before I did the scene, when I had a little time to build up my emotional response, I would say these horrible things to myself. I would drudge up all of my insecurities and flaws and taunt myself with them. I imagined my loved ones were dead and it was all my fault. I imagined my idol and mentor spitting on me, calling me useless, yada-yada. I literally just hated myself so totally and completely during those moments that I couldn't help but cry. And it fucking sucked. And to be honest, it didn't improve my performance all that much. And the psychological damage I did to myself was kind of detrimental. It's one of the big reasons I decided not to pursue acting as a career -- I was systematically destroying myself over it. 

Anyway, my eureka moment didn't come until long after I'd stopped acting. 

I'd always heard that the key to acting was just completely and totally letting go. And I never got it. Particularly when it came to movement. I struggled so much with physical acting because I was terrified of looking like an idiot. I also hated my body and could help but imagine how terrible I looked doing all of these things on stage. I never understood what they meant when they told me to "loosen up" and "let go."

One day, after working so fucking hard during a rehearsal that I started crying when we were done, my directors reamed me for my performance. I was so infuriated, because couldn't they see how hard I was working? Couldn't they see how much I was giving to this fucking show? And all they could do was tell me how shit I was? I started to wonder why they even cast me in the role. So we went to run the show again and I was so livid that I just said "fuck it!" I stopped trying. I just fucking went with it. 

And you know what they said when I came off stage 

"That was the best run you've ever done!"

I nearly committed triple homicide. 

And ever after that I still didn't really get it!

It wasn't until I watched, of all things, David Tennant as Hamlet that I finally went, "Oooooooooohhhhhhhhh. That's what they meant!" Because, seriously if you haven't seen it I suggest you watch it, he is completely and utterly without restraint in that play. And watching him be so unbelievably fluid cracked some long held belief in my chest. It just all of a sudden made sense. Instead of trying to feel something, I just had to feel it. Instead of trying to be funny, I just had to be funny. Instead of trying to make myself cry, I just had to cry. 

And I feel like that makes no sense. I feel like that is the shittiest piece of advice ever, but I promise you it's not. 

Directly after watching Hamlet I went and read this wonderful monologue from a play called Angels in America. And I just bawled in a way I never could before. I wasn't pushing out the tears or the emotion. I was just reading and allowing the barrier in me to come down. I was allowing those emotions to be my emotions. I sat in silence for a minute before reading it and thought about this character's circumstances and mindset. And then it all flowed out of me. I can't even describe it with any justice -- the feeling. 

I realized that I was trying to separate the acting from the storytelling. I was splitting two key elements from each other. I just had to relate to my character in the same way I related to films or novels. Those always make me cry without fail -- because I trust them. I had to trust myself enough to be vulnerable. And vulnerability isn't easy to control for a lot of people. It wasn't for me until I understood that it was absolutely and without a doubt something I could wield. Emotions don't control you. You control them. 

I don't know if this is helping. I feel like I'm just wanking poetic over here. I will say, some of the more self-indulgent conversations I've ever had have had to do with acting and acting technique. Haha. 

You just really have to let yourself fall. Take the plunge. Fear is good to a certain extent. It keeps you on your toes, but you can't let it control your actions on stage. (or on screen I suppose. I never did much film acting.) It's terrifying and exhilarating when you are finally able to do this.  It's difficult, but it's worth it.

I have an ability to cry on command now because I can summon the emotion necessary on command. I don't have to bring my personal issues into it. I just feel. And the tears come. 

And just in case you read through all of that bullshit and are now like "wow, thanks Tori, you're an asshole, " I do have a couple of physical tips!

1. Fucking breathe. Holding your breathe may make you tear up a little bit, but it doesn't do the job. Trust me. This sounds really callous, but watch people when they cry. They breathe A LOT. They suck in huge gulps of air. You have to breathe in order to maintain a tearful break down. 

2. Do not be afraid of what your face is doing. Let your face be ugly. Let your nose start to run. Let your lip quiver. Let your nostrils flare. Just because Jensen Ackles cries like a fucking Greek God with his one perfect tear doesn't mean we all do. Similarly, don't be afraid to make noises. People make the worst noises when they cry. They're animalistic and they're one of the biological reasons we sympathize with weeping people. It's horribly disconcerting to hear that kind of shit. It taps into something primitive in our natures. That said --

3. Don't over do it. If you need to cry in a scene and all you get is one little tear leaking out of your eye -- don't go psycho trying to produce a waterfall. Also, don't screech like a dying whale just for the sake of sounding upset. Clearly your instinct is to cry just a little and do it quietly. Maybe you're holding back tears. Maybe that's completely in character and doing it otherwise wouldn't be. 

4. Seeing tears on an actor's face from the audience can be hard sometimes. Most of the time people can tell if you're upset. They see the distorted face, the reddening nose and cheeks, and hear the quavering voice. But tears are translucent. So don't you dare be afraid to wipe those tears away at the appropriate time. And actually, this is even a good trick if you can't quite make the tears happen. Is it a little cheap? Maybe. But if it's in character, should you give a fuck? No. You should not. Wipe that snotty nose. Wipe those tears. Fucking make sure people know you were fucking crying up there. Shit. 

and

5. Fucking trust yourself. Trust the people around you. Trust your audience. Trust your character. It's essential to trust. You don't have to force yourself into something if you trust your own judgment. Just let it go. I know that fucking sucks to hear, but just let it go.

This has been the worst and I'm sorry if you're like "FUCK I JUST ASKED A SIMPLE QUESTION WHO IS DIS BITCH?WTH??1??!!!?!?"

AHA that's a good way

Today I rubbed my eyes to irritate them and then held them open. It stung and they got all red and puffy. works pretty well