Getting Stanislavsky Wrong

2014 ◽  
Vol 30 (3) ◽  
pp. 210-212
Author(s):  
Charles Marowitz

In 1923, all of New York was bowled over by the first visit of the Moscow Art Theatre to America. No one in this country had seen such synchronized ensemble playing or a troupe of individual actors of such power and persuasiveness. When the company returned to Russia after a triumphant national tour, actors such as Maria Ouspenskaya stayed behind and, along with Richard Boleslavsky, an earlier dropout, began instructing American actors in that strange doctrine known as the Stanislavsky System. One of Boleslavsky's most attentive students was Lee Strasberg. He and his close friend Harold Clurman were early converts to Stanislavsky as handed down by Boleslavsky.

Author(s):  
Kurt Hemmer

James Dean (b. 1931–d. 1955), along with the actors Montgomery Clift and Marlon Brando, ushered onto the American silver screen a type of acting often called the “Method,” which was inspired by the teachings of the Russian director Constantin Stanislavsky. Although a great deal of debate exists over what the Method actually is, it can generally be described as “reacting” rather than “acting,” in order to create a more naturalistic and internally derived style. To what extent Dean absorbed the Method through classes he took with James Whitmore in California and Lee Strasberg in New York, or whether his style of acting was simply “natural,” is a matter of debate. What is indisputable is that his name and reputation are connected to this technique that had a tremendous influence on the New York stage via the Actors Studio before coming in front of Hollywood cameras. Although Dean starred in only three films—East of Eden (1955), Rebel Without a Cause (1955), and Giant (1956)—he is still considered one of the major influences on contemporary acting with actors from his own generation (Paul Newman, Steve McQueen, and Dennis Hopper) to the next generation (Jack Nicholson, Al Pacino, and Robert De Niro) and the following generation (Sean Penn, River Phoenix, Brad Pitt, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Johnny Depp) being inevitably compared to him. Many biographies, journalism, and documentaries have accumulated over the years since Dean’s death, in forms often exploitive and sensational, dealing with his sexuality and psychology. Much vigorous scholarship on the true worth of his acting skills and his place in the cultural landscape of his time and in the 21st century can still be done. Unlike Clift and Brando, Dean did not spend much time refining his craft on the stage and did much of his initial work on television. What makes Dean unique is his position as a cultural icon, largely the result of his tragic death in a car accident on 30 September 1955. His image is recognized throughout the world as a signifier readily filled by several types of, often contradictory, iconography: teenager, rebel, all-American, cowboy, biker, punk, homosexual, among others. Born in Marion, Indiana, and later raised in Fairmount, Indiana, by his aunt and uncle after his mother died when he was nine, Dean achieved in his short lifetime what he claimed was most important to him—immortality.


2019 ◽  
Vol 47 (3) ◽  
pp. 631-636
Author(s):  
Alicia Mireles Christoff

In February 2003 my close friend Jeff Hubbard died in a car accident, taking the curve of an icy metro Detroit highway exit ramp too fast late one weekend night. He was twenty years old and had been living at home with his parents since we graduated from high school, working odd jobs—a host at a Mexican restaurant, a temporary letter carrier for the USPS—and helping take care of his young nephew. I was in college in New York, and a friend called to give me the news. I knew that I needed to go home to Michigan for the funeral to believe that it had really happened.


Author(s):  
Marcia Umland

I was born on October 28, 1942, in Washington, B.C., where we were living because my father was in the service. I don’t know exactly what he was doing there. We lived in Washington only six months. We moved a lot, New York, Virginia, Southern California, Nebraska—six months here, six months there. I remember Father studied at Cornell to become an entomologist, so Mother did secretarial work there. Dad was the first in his family to go to college. His father died when he was a teenager. A lot of pride revolved around his Ph.D. from Cornell University both before and after he got it. He finished school when I was in the first grade. I felt his pride in me when I gained academic and leadership recognition in college. I was not expected to do well in college. It was pleasing to surprise everyone, but most of all, my father. By the time I was in eighth grade I had been in eight schools. I remember being new all the time. I made a very poor adjustment at first up in New York. But for three years we lived in a tiny town in Virginia called Holland, where I went to second, third, and fourth grade. I was very shy. I remember the teachers. On the first day there a girl brought me an ice cream bar, and across the classroom sat an Indian boy. We eyed each other a lot. I felt an identity with him because I had been mistaken for an Indian myself. I even made a close friend, Elizabeth Ann Felton—I don’t remember whether she spelled Ann with or without an “e”—I think she became a minister. I remember going to her farm and loving her family. They seemed so stable. In Virginia I wrote a sentimental story. It was the first time a teacher paid attention to me. She told me she wanted me to read it at the PTA meeting. I was very shy, but I did it. As I began reading the paper aloud I got caught up in it and read it well.


2000 ◽  
Vol 41 (1) ◽  
pp. 47-68
Author(s):  
Bruce McConachie

Triumphalist accounts of the spread of “the Method” in post-World War II America generally explain its success as the victory of natural truths over benighted illusions about acting. In Method Actors: Three Generations of An American Acting Style, for instance, Steve Vineberg follows his summary of the primary attributes of “method” acting with the comment: “These concerns weren't invented by Stanislavski or his American successors; they emerged naturally out of the two thousand-year history of Western acting.” Hence, the final triumph of “the Method” was natural, even inevitable. Vineberg's statement, however, raises more questions than it answers. Why did it take two thousand years for actors and theorists of acting to get it right? Or, to localize the explanation to the United States, why did more American actors, directors, and playwrights not jump on the Stanislavski bandwagon and reform the American theatre after the appearance of the Moscow Art Theatre in New York in 1923 and the subsequent lectures and classes from Boleslavski and others? The Group Theatre demonstrated the power of Stanislavski-derived acting techniques in the 1930s, but their substantial successes barely dented the conventional wisdom about acting theory and technique in the professional theatre. Yet, in the late 1940s and early fifties, “method” acting, substantially unchanged from its years in the American Laboratory and Group theatres, took Broadway and Hollywood by storm.


Author(s):  
Mena Mitrano

In any history of the migrations and transformations of modernism, Peggy Guggenheim (1898–1979) deserves a privileged place. She shares with Marcel Duchamp, a close friend and her first guide to modern art, the distinctive merit of introducing surrealism to the New York School artists. Though it formed her taste, surrealism was by no means the only force behind her acquisitions. Her collection comprises masterpieces by a variety of European artists she enthusiastically promoted – from Kandinsky to Klee, from De Chirico to Severini, from Giacometti to Brancusi – and of American artists she supported through thick and thin, most notably Jackson Pollock.


Author(s):  
Emily Herring Wilson

In 1926 Eleanor and Marion purchased a private school for upper-class New York girls. Marion was principal and Eleanor became one of the most popular teachers, taking her students on field trips to visit court rooms and tenement districts to broaden their educations. Eleanor commuted back and forth to Albany, where she presided as First Lady during FDR's two two terms as NY Governer, assisted by his close friend and secretary, "Missy" LeHand.


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