EMOTION COMES LAST

Why Actors May Be Preparing Scenes Backwards

There is something actors do all the time that I completely understand.

They get a scene.

They read it.

They discover that something terrible has happened.

And almost immediately they make a decision.

“This is a sad scene.”

Or—

“This character is furious.”

“This character is terrified.”

“This character is heartbroken.”

And then the preparation begins.

How do I become heartbroken?

How do I get angry enough?

How do I make this feel more emotional?

And right there—

before the actor has even really started—

we may have a problem.

Because emotion has suddenly become the assignment.

And I’m beginning to think that emotion may actually be the last thing we should prepare.

Welcome to Casting Actors Cast.

I’m Jeff Dreisbach.

And today I want to give you a very simple way of thinking about scene preparation.

It’s not designed to replace Stanislavski.

It’s not replacing Meisner.

Nobody needs to remove their Uta Hagen books from the shelf.

And I am certainly not showing up with stone tablets from the Acting Gods saying,

“Good news everybody. We finally figured it out.”

No.

This is much simpler.

It’s really an organizational tool.

A way of taking many of the things actors already understand and putting them into an order that, I think, makes preparation clearer.

And much more playable.

The order is this:

WANT.

NEED.

BEHAVIOR.

EMOTION.

Four things.

But the order matters.

Because I think actors sometimes start at number four.

And then spend the entire audition trying to reverse-engineer numbers one, two and three.

Let’s start with WANT.

And right away, I’m going to use that word a little differently than actors normally do.

When actors hear “want,” they usually think:

“What does my character want?”

That question has been part of acting training forever.

And it is an important question.

But I want us to start one step earlier.

Before we ask what the character wants—

ask what the scene wants.

Why did the writer write this scene?

What has to happen here?

What does the audience need to understand when this scene is over that they did not understand when it began?

That is the writer’s intention.

And I think it is one of the most overlooked pieces of actor preparation.

Because actors are not only portraying people.

We are telling stories.

And a scene exists because something in the story needs to move.

Someone discovers something.

Someone changes their mind.

A relationship shifts.

Information gets revealed.

A decision gets made.

Someone leaves.

Someone stays.

Someone realizes that the person they trusted has been lying to them for twelve years.

Which is also known as Tuesday night television.

Something changes.

So before I ask myself—

“How emotional should this be?”

I want to know—

“Why is this scene here?”

That question can save an actor enormous amounts of unnecessary work.

Because sometimes we see auditions where the actor has created all kinds of interesting emotional activity.

There are tears.

There’s tension.

There’s anger.

There’s a dramatic inhale that suggests somebody somewhere should probably call an ambulance.

And yet the actual scene has disappeared.

The actor is performing an emotional experience.

But the story isn’t moving.

And those are not necessarily the same thing.

Here’s an example.

Imagine a scene where a daughter tells her father she is leaving town.

An actor might immediately decide:

“This is heartbreaking.”

Maybe.

But why did the writer write the scene?

Perhaps the important event is not that she is leaving.

Perhaps the important event is that the father finally realizes she no longer needs his permission.

That is different.

Maybe the scene exists because the daughter has spent her entire life trying to please him and, for the first time, chooses herself.

Now the scene is not simply about sadness.

It is about independence.

Or perhaps the father secretly wants her to go but cannot bring himself to say it.

Now the scene is about release.

Same dialogue.

Completely different storytelling.

The emotional possibilities begin to multiply once we understand what the scene is doing.

That is why I like beginning with the writer.

The writer gives us the architecture.

The actor gives that architecture life.

So the first question becomes:

What does this scene need to accomplish?

And sometimes I literally recommend that actors write one sentence.

No poetry.

No dissertation.

You are not submitting this to the Nobel Committee.

One sentence.

“This scene exists so that…”

And finish it.

“This scene exists so that she discovers he lied.”

“This scene exists so that he finally asks for help.”

“This scene exists so that the audience realizes she already knows.”

“This scene exists so that their relationship changes from professional to personal.”

That becomes your north star.

Because now you know what story you are helping tell.

And there’s another benefit.

It gets the actor out of themselves.

That may be one of the most useful things preparation can do.

Instead of:

“How am I doing?”

“Is this emotional enough?”

“Am I interesting?”

“Do they like my choices?”

You begin with:

“What story am I serving?”

That is a much healthier place to work from.

And frankly, a much more professional one.

Because actors sometimes become so involved in creating a character that they forget they are participating in a larger piece of storytelling.

The scene does not exist so that you can demonstrate the fascinating complexity of your inner life.

I know.

Disappointing.

But there it is.

The scene exists because the story needs it.

So WANT, in this framework, belongs to the story.

What does the scene want?

What does the writer need from this scene?

That is step one.

And once we know that—

we can finally turn toward the character.

Because now comes NEED.

And this is where the work becomes personal.

Not personal in the sense of—

“I’m going to think about something terrible from seventh grade.”

Personal in the sense of relationship.

What do I need from you?

That question changes everything.

Because acting is rarely about having feelings alone in a room.

Even when you are alone in the room.

Someone is usually present psychologically.

Someone you need.

Someone you miss.

Someone you hate.

Someone whose approval you want.

Someone you are trying desperately not to think about while clearly thinking about them every three seconds.

Human beings are relational creatures.

Characters are too.

So once I understand what the scene needs to accomplish, I ask:

What does my character need from the other person?

Not what do I need to feel.

What do I need from them?

I need you to believe me.

I need you to forgive me.

I need you to stay.

I need you to leave.

I need you to stop treating me like a child.

I need you to tell me the truth.

I need you to respect me.

I need you to admit that you were wrong.

I need you to love me.

Now something begins happening.

Because the scene has direction.

There is energy moving between people.

And that is very different from the actor thinking:

“I need to be angry here.”

Angry at what?

For what?

Toward whom?

To accomplish what?

Emotion without direction can become theatrical wallpaper.

It decorates the scene.

But it doesn’t necessarily drive it.

Need gives emotion somewhere to go.

And I think this is where actors often discover that scenes they thought were about emotion are really about persuasion.

Or protection.

Or survival.

Or connection.

A character screaming, “I hate you!” may actually be saying—

“Please don’t leave me.”

A character saying, “I’m fine,” may desperately need someone to recognize that they are not fine.

A character saying, “I don’t care,” may need the other person to prove that they do.

That contradiction is where acting gets interesting.

Because human beings are almost never as simple as the sentences they speak.

I sometimes think the actor’s job is discovering the sentence underneath the sentence.

What am I really asking from you?

Once you know that—

you have something to play.

And notice what has happened.

We still haven’t talked about emotion.

We have story.

We have relationship.

And already the scene is alive.

That leads us to behavior.

And this is where preparation becomes especially practical.

Because NEED tells me what I am pursuing.

BEHAVIOR tells me how I pursue it.

Let’s say I need you to forgive me.

Fine.

How do I behave?

Maybe I become charming.

Maybe I become defensive.

Maybe I minimize what happened.

Maybe I take responsibility.

Maybe I make jokes.

Maybe I blame someone else.

Maybe I become completely still because I am terrified that anything I say will make things worse.

Those are behaviors.

And behavior is playable.

That word matters.

Playable.

“Insecure” may describe someone.

But “seeking your approval” gives me something to do.

“Loving” may describe a condition.

But “protecting you” creates action.

“Egotistical” might be accurate.

But “making everything about myself” gives the actor a behavioral path.

This is an important distinction.

Labels describe.

Behavior activates.

If I say—

“My character is dishonest.”

Okay.

What does dishonesty look like here?

Am I avoiding eye contact?

Am I over-explaining?

Am I changing the subject?

Am I becoming unusually helpful?

Am I attacking you before you can attack me?

Suddenly the character becomes specific.

And I like dividing behavior into two categories.

Mental behavior and physical behavior.

Mental behavior is what the character is doing psychologically.

Assessing.

Testing.

Protecting.

Manipulating.

Avoiding.

Controlling.

Seducing.

Concealing.

Comforting.

Searching.

Physical behavior is how that psychology enters the body.

Do I move toward you?

Away from you?

Do I become still?

Do I fill the space?

Do I avoid your eyes?

Do I stare too long?

Does my voice become faster?

Quieter?

Sharper?

Do I touch you?

Do I refuse to touch you?

None of those things should become choreography.

We don’t want:

“Line three. Look away.

Line five. Touch chin.

Line seven. Become emotionally available.”

That is not acting.

That is assembling IKEA furniture.

But behavioral awareness gives the actor choices.

And choices create specificity.

Here is a simple example.

Two actors can have the exact same need:

“I need you to believe me.”

Actor A pursues that need by explaining everything.

They become verbal.

Detailed.

Urgent.

Actor B pursues the same need by becoming completely calm.

Almost unnaturally calm.

Same need.

Different behavior.

And therefore—

a completely different character.

That is why I think behavior is one of the most useful places for an actor to spend preparation time.

Not:

“How do I make this interesting?”

But:

“How does this person behave when they need something badly?”

That question creates character.

And here is where the other actor becomes essential.

Because behavior cannot become fixed.

I may enter the scene planning to reassure you.

But if you laugh at me—

my behavior may change.

Now I challenge you.

If you challenge me back—

I may retreat.

If you suddenly become vulnerable—

I may soften.

The need may remain the same.

But my behavior changes according to what I receive.

And that brings us to the final part of this process.

Emotion.

The thing actors often prepare first.

I want to suggest something that may sound radical but really isn’t.

What if you didn’t prepare the emotion?

What if you prepared everything that makes emotion possible?

What if emotion is not something you impose on the scene—

but something you discover inside it?

Because if I know what the story needs—

and I know what I need from you—

and I know how I tend to pursue that need—

then something happens when you respond.

You give me what I want.

Or you don’t.

You surprise me.

You reject me.

You misunderstand me.

You forgive me.

You betray me.

And suddenly—

I feel something.

Not because I manufactured it.

Because something happened.

That is a very different acting experience.

Emotion becomes consequence.

And this is the phrase I want you to remember:

Emotion is not the instruction.

Emotion is the information.

It tells us what is happening to the character as they pursue what they need.

Think about real life.

You usually don’t walk into an important conversation thinking:

“At exactly 3:17 this afternoon, I intend to become devastated.”

It happens because something occurs.

You hear something.

You realize something.

You lose something.

You get something you desperately wanted.

Emotion follows experience.

Why shouldn’t acting work the same way?

Now, obviously, actors sometimes know where a scene is headed.

The script may say that the character cries.

Fine.

The actor still has to arrive there truthfully.

And chasing the tears is often the fastest way not to get them.

Because now you are monitoring yourself.

“Am I feeling it?”

“Is it coming?”

“Should I blink less?”

“Do my eyes look watery?”

Meanwhile the other actor has just revealed that they have been having an affair with your sister and you have completely missed it because you are checking your tear production.

This is not ideal.

The audience does not care whether the actor has successfully produced the assigned emotion.

The audience cares whether something is happening.

That distinction matters enormously.

I have watched auditions where an actor became emotional and it was very affecting.

And I have watched auditions where an actor became emotional and absolutely nothing happened.

Because emotion alone is not storytelling.

Sometimes the most moving moment in a scene is the character trying not to feel what they are clearly feeling.

Trying not to cry can be more compelling than crying.

Trying not to become angry can be more dangerous than shouting.

Trying desperately to remain professional can reveal far more than collapsing emotionally.

Behavior gives emotion shape.

And this is why I like putting emotion last.

Not because it is less important.

Because it has to earn its place.

WANT.

What does the scene need to accomplish?

NEED.

What do I need from you?

BEHAVIOR.

How do I pursue that need?

EMOTION.

What happens to me because of what I receive?

That is the order.

Story.

Relationship.

Action.

Result.

And notice what this does for the actor.

It gives you something concrete to prepare without forcing you to decide in advance exactly how the scene must feel.

That makes preparation useful—

without making the performance predetermined.

And I think that is one of the great challenges of acting.

We have to prepare enough to know what we are doing.

And remain free enough to discover what happens.

Those two ideas are not opposites.

Good preparation actually creates freedom.

Imagine a jazz musician.

They know the instrument.

They know the key.

They know the structure.

They know the tune.

And because they know all of that—

they can improvise.

Actors work the same way.

Preparation should not make you rigid.

Preparation should make you available.

That is why I would never want an actor to leave this episode thinking:

“Wonderful. Jeff has given me four more things to control.”

No.

If anything—

I want you controlling less.

I want you preparing the conditions.

Then letting the scene happen.

Here is an exercise you can try with almost any scene.

Take the script and do not perform it.

Just answer four questions.

First:

Why did the writer write this scene?

Write one sentence.

Second:

What do I need from the other character?

Again—

one sentence.

Third:

What behaviors do I use to pursue that need?

Choose two or three possibilities.

Maybe you reassure.

Maybe you provoke.

Maybe you conceal.

Maybe you protect.

Maybe you dominate.

And fourth—

do not write down the emotion.

Leave that one blank.

Then play the scene.

See what happens.

When you finish—

ask yourself what emotional shifts actually occurred.

Not what you planned.

What happened?

You may be surprised.

The scene you thought was furious may actually contain humor.

The scene you thought was heartbreaking may contain enormous relief.

The scene you thought was romantic may actually be about power.

And that discovery is one of the reasons acting remains interesting.

Because you can study a script for days—

and still discover something when another human being looks at you.

That is the magic.

Not the emotion you planned.

The response you didn’t.

So here is today’s Reset.

The next time you receive a scene, resist the temptation to decide how you are supposed to feel.

Start somewhere else.

Start with the writer.

What does the scene want?

Then move to the relationship.

What do I need from you?

Then examine the behavior.

How do I go about getting it?

And only then—

allow emotion to arrive.

WANT.

NEED.

BEHAVIOR.

EMOTION.

You don’t have to force the last one.

If the first three are alive—

emotion usually knows where to find you.

And that may be the most freeing part of all.

Emotion isn’t something you bring to the scene.

Sometimes—

it’s what the scene does to you.

I’m Jeff Dreisbach.

This is Casting Actors Cast.

And I’ll talk to you next time.