Letting Go

Somewhere in one of those boxes (my next purging project) I have an overwatched video of a favorite WGBH Mystery and a Charlie Rose interview with Emma Thompson. I think she was promoting Remains of the Day… but that isn’t what sticks with me fifteen years later. In describing her philosophy on acting, she said it was all about letting go. 

I had no idea what she meant when I first saw that interview at age 19. I pretended I did. Hell, I performed in a Shakespeare play. I was a smart cookie. I was an actor. Obviously, I could understand what Emma Thompson was talking about in an interview. Only – in spite of the fact I used that as a reference point in many discussions - I really didn’t get it until… well some point in the last six or seven years. And considering I’ve only been on the stage a handful of times in those years, I think my comprehension of that statement has come more from sitting in the audience or sound booth watching someone else act. 

What it means to me - and maybe it isn’t even remotely what she meant in that interview a decade and a half ago – is when the actor doesn’t hold onto anything. Not the research. Not the subtext. Not all the commentary before, during, and after rehearsal. And most importantly, not who she is as a person. Casting aside fear, insecurity, hubris, and anything that impedes just losing herself in the role when the lights go on. Just being – to borrow another overused phrase in acting – in the moment. Because, really, to be in the moment, one has to let go of everything that is right there in that second.

It’s easy to say all this is what one should do as an actor. Shoulds are easy things to spew when one doesn’t necessarily have any intention of making it a will. They are also easy to forget and put aside when other things seem more important. Like the fact a certain someone is watching in the audience. Especially a certain someone who might write about the performance and publish an opinion for all to see. Or hear. Or if a prop is in the wrong place and the routine is upset. But the ability to let go of all that and forget anything else except the words and the scene are what make the play come alive into its own little world. Then it has the power to transport those watching to another place. It is when the art leaves the realm of pleasurable fancy and becomes a tool to make people think or feel.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Not because I have any grand aspiration to take to the stage or even work behind it right now. But because… it is something that I’m slowly starting to realize shouldn’t be a rule simply applied to the stage.

I hold onto stuff. Who doesn’t? We all have habits and affection for physical objects that may or may not be valuable. They may motivate us. They may hamper us. They may limit our view of the world. They may inspire emotion that ignites a smile… or tears. It’s not bad to hold onto things. It aligns our balance. It sets our steps in the right direction. Like a script teaching us lines. Or the motivation to make someone laugh with the delivery. But… to really grow, to really find the potential of a moment, it is better to let go and see what the unknown present has to offer.

It’s not just about unworn clothes or dusty books or the uneaten food I removed from my cupboards. It’s about habits and fear and just continuing to do things because, well, that’s how it’s been done. Maybe it isn’t always worth it to try to fix something that isn’t broke… but, it isn’t worth it to hold on when it isn’t necessary. When you know the lines, have the balance, and can walk out into the lights and dare to not care about what is behind or before you. Just what is right there beneath your feet or in your hand. To just be here. Now. Letting go.