The Long Sunday Read: ‘Lines’ (but in truth, so much more)

A play is a story. A story told by actors. Actors inhabit characters who tell the story. And the story is made up of words. Lots of lovely words. Grouped together into things which are the greatest enabler in the creation of a thing of beauty or a nightmare for all concerned: lines.

The purpose of this little sojourn into one of the biggest issues in creating theatre is to unpick the obvious and shine a light on the easy wins - but which are not for one person to own or fix.

Let’s play.

There are probably just as many theories on how to learn lines as there are lines in your average play.

Every actor and director will have their own take, but all have the same objective. Getting to that specific date, dreaded by actors and yearned for by directors: ‘Off-Book’ day.

The elephant in the room is that each actor will have their own preferred style or method for learning their lines and honouring that date. The elephant then gets bigger in how the actor, in isolation, learns their lines (I haven’t even got onto other actors’ lines yet). Then, how the product of that learning transfers into the rehearsal room. Note to brain: A different learning environment and a wholly different process for which new elements then come in play:

How does the director run that room and the rehearsal process?

How do they ‘block?’ 

How do they direct?

How soon after casting and before rehearsals are the actors getting their script?

How much table work time (sitting down and working on the script, pencil in hand) is done first?

How does all that then translate into getting a play on its feet?

How much repetition is involved and allowed for (and structured)? 

How often does that repetition take place?

Can a director’s style impact on the process of learning lines? You bet it does.

How is that engineered into a rehearsal schedule?

And then a biggie: How much time is left in between rehearsals for actors to revisit, relearn, embed what has happened in rehearsal? They need that time. Back to back rehearsals can be a comfort blanket if all the actors are doing is coming back the following night/day not having had “me time” with the book.

Different people have preferred ways of leaning and invariably, they do not complement each other or the process.

Time for controversy:  “I only learn lines in rehearsal.”

Respectfully, hugely, I disagree.

You learn context in rehearsal. You embed your own lines in a rehearsal. Vitally, you get to appreciate other’s lines. But learn. Really?

For some – and they are out there – it’s their ‘go to’ comfort blanket for not yet knowing their lines. “We’ve not had enough rehearsal time”,  “I can’t learn lines at home.”

The latter has a good element of truth ... but not. It’s one part of the process, but a vital one. You need time on the book, reading, familiarising. No one, no one, can rely on the rehearsal room time as the only time to learn. And yes, you can shout at the screen as much as you like, but I’ve heard it all before. All time spent with the book is learning, even if it’s just the repetition of reading.

Let’s now throw the elephant those lovely curveballs:

These aren’t professional actors and this isn’t their primary job.

Time for maths revision: work + family + illness ÷ life = missing

How does the rehearsal process then accommodate abstractions? Feel free to now scream at the screen as much as you like. Here’s my take: It cannot, It must not be managed by the director being, book-in-hand, on stage, reading in lines for missing actors. 

My record for breaking my own rule is five missing actors in one rehearsal. Five. Insanity.

Yes, I can hear you screaming. “There’s nobody else to do it”, “Yes, but I’m the only person who knows their moves.” “There is nobody else but me.”

This is the point where all actors and directors think of questions they wish they’d asked before they said “yes.” Because this is where we all figure who owns which parts of the logistical process of ‘rehearsing’ and by that stage, it’s too late to ideally fix it. 

TRUISM: A play needs someone who is “on the book”, appointed before the auditions and not the director. They are NOT a ‘prompt.’ They are part of the creative team. They are in the room for the auditions. They have tons of experience. For me, they are my Assistant Director. They have eyes on everything. They are my check and balance who adds value to the process with informed, insightful observations. They double as a stand-in/read-in for the missing actor. They are a solution to so much down the line. “Yes, but we don’t have the luxury of that many people.” Fine. Then live with the consequences and suck it up when you’re all having a meltdown in a few weeks’ time. “I told you so” is petulant and annoying, not because it’s arrogant, but because it encapsulates an annoying truth.

SOLUTION: That elusive person ‘on the book’ could be a person yearning to try their hand at directing. A member of your youth theatre looking forward to being in their first adult production. An older actor who no longer feels comfortable in a role but has so much to give-back. Join the dots folks or join the whiners. Your choice.

Following the theme of abstractions, Rehearsal Schedules. Sacrosanct or a constant work in progress. I always look forward to the message on the company WhatsApp Group: “Please see the attached. Version 127 of the rehearsal schedule.”

TRUISM: Rehearsal Schedules are out of date the second you print off 20 copies of v1. Why? I refer you back to my earlier formula: work + family + illness ÷ life = missing.

You cannot do anything about life. It happens and it’s annoying but it’s, well, life.

But there are a few things which being ‘up-front’ about won’t negate the issue of missing actors. But it will go a long way to mitigating it.

SOLUTION: Honesty & Fairness.

We all juggle to get through life. But getting a play successfully presented to the best it can be is about honesty and fairness. It begins with being honest and up front about your prior commitments. You can’t be in two plays which rehearse on the same night. And yes, I have had that difficult conversation with a ubiquitous actor and felt like quoting Einstein at one point to prove my point. 

We all yearn for a fortnight's holiday, cheeky weekends away, events and celebrations to attend. But invariably, I think we all know when our birthdays are, when accompanying celebrations will occur, when you have your annual jolly. They don't suddenly appear, unannounced, unwarned, undisclosed, two weeks into a rehearsal period. If an actor is on holiday for two weeks out of the eight you're rehearsing, explain to me how that works? How do lines and those of others get accommodated in the learning process? "You don't mind if I'm missing for the next two Sundays do you?" Always easier to seek forgiveness than ask permission. It's about choices and compromises. For me, some are too huge and impactive. Some make people 'un-castable.' Everything has a consequence. Honesty and Fairness. What's the priority? Committing to a play and all that goes with it, or other stuff. One thing which absence will always affect: Lines. And not just those of the one who is missing.

Fact: actors who are in another play will be missing from yours for a fortnight at some point. Is that fair? Really? Honestly? “We’ll manage”, “But they would be ideal”, “We need them”, “They so want to be in it.” Another suck it up moment. Be a grown up and make a choice. Make a decision and commit. And to return to the point, how does this impact on rehearsals and line-learning? Your other actors. Their enjoyment and yours. You don’t need me to be that obvious, do you?

Missing actors are missed opportunities. It impacts on the finished product and the audience experience. Lines need collective repetition. Without that simple process, it has a cumulative effect. That then impacts on quality of both performance and product. That can impact on reputation. Happening regularly, it affects footfall and occupancy. And if you think that’s tosh, please get in touch and I’ll share you a lifetime of instances to prove it’s the painful truth. Another bloody elephant.

If they can’t be there, don’t cast them. 

When you cast, lay down your expectations. They begin with loyalty and honesty.

And if a better offer comes along for them – and that is the case SO many times these days – no fall outs or tantrums. Be honest that you will look to recast roles which are no longer viable due to their abstractions. Don’t take on other people’s diaries to fix. Not your monkey, not your circus. And if you do, don’t whine when you’re constantly reading in and the play isn’t where it should be.

I’m hopefully illustrating that “knowing lines” has so many influences and I’m not going to rehearse them all here (no pun intended, but I like it!).

Now I’ve got you thinking, some final thoughts which impact at some point on lines:

• If you can’t cast it, don’t choose it.

• If they can’t learn lines, don’t cast them. Obvious, but how many times have I had this conversation and sat in an auditorium digging my nails in my knees.

• If you haven’t the time in the season to devote to a play which needs work on the characters (and lines), revisit your rescheduling. Revisit your choices.

• Not every person is suitable for every role and its content (lines). Honesty is a two way street.

• Some people can’t learn lines. What else do you want me to say?

• Casting is not about having the best people but achieving the best fit.

• If they can’t make rehearsals, why are they in it? It’s not fair on the rest of the cast.

And two final, enormous issues:

So many actors start learning lines before they have learnt the story of the play.

They need to know the story.

They need to know the writing.

They need to know the story of their character and of all the others. What makes all the characters tick: relationships, foibles, wants and needs, conflict, tension, resolution, the unresolved. THEY NEED TO KNOW THE STORY before they know the lines.

The first thing I do at the beginning of the process is talk the story, walk it through. I’ve done it as an intro to auditions or even at a pitch night and I return to it constantly in the production process.

If you are directing a play and an actor says anything which begins with “Oh, right, I didn’t realise that ...” you have a problem. It will affect line learning and delivery because they don’t understand what underpins it. The story.

Lastly, some actors have an incredible ability to know all the lines. Theirs and others. They are a godsend but are as rare as unicorns.

But all actors need to know the landscape of the piece, the chapters in the book. I’ve realised down the years that lines are dropped for many reasons. But a common one well down the process is simply, not knowing what comes next. Obvious? Bear with me.

They are the bits which connect the story. The bits where the emotion, the pace, the energy, the focus, the character, THE STORY, changes direction, changes gear. Those “what comes next” moments are subconsciously assimilated when learning lines. Some times they are not. But we need to appreciate where they are. And they are dependent on knowing the story. They help with knowing other’s lines, other’s story. A Director has a role in signposting within the dialogue. Many of the times that the dialogue stops, you could easily insert the line "And what happened next was ...". Help actors to attend to them, get to identify, to know them. 

If you can get that one point home, you are facilitating the process of learning lines.

And they will never thank you for it because they won’t appreciate what you’ve done for them.

But you’ve played a part in making unconsciously competent line-learners.

You are a god.

Until you spring the first 10.00am Sunday call on them ...