The Joy of Performance: What Makes an Actor Come Alive?

Have you ever been so excited to do something you love that you could hardly

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wait to begin?

That's how I sometimes felt before walking onto a stage or stepping in front of a camera.

Not because I knew I was going to be brilliant.

Believe me, there were plenty of occasions when brilliance was not on the schedule.

But because I was about to do something I absolutely loved.

And then something interesting happened.

Once the scene began, that excitement seemed to disappear.

Or perhaps it didn't disappear.

Perhaps it became something else.

I stopped thinking about my choices.

I stopped thinking about myself.

I became involved in what was happening, and curious about how I was affecting the people around me.

And now, years later, sitting on the other side of the audition table, I sometimes recognize that same quality in another actor.

Something alive.

Something engaged.

Something that makes me want to keep watching.

So what is that?

Can we learn it?

Can we lose it?

And perhaps most importantly, can we rediscover it?

Today, we're talking about the joy of performance.

THEME / COMMERCIAL

[THEME MUSIC / COMMERCIAL]

RETURN — APPROX. :30

I want to begin today with a confession.

I'm not entirely sure I can explain the quality we're going to discuss.

And that's a slightly uncomfortable admission for somebody who makes a living explaining things to actors.

But I know I've experienced it.

And I know I've witnessed it.

It's a particular kind of creative energy that seems to make an actor come alive.

Not bigger.

Not louder.

Not necessarily more emotional.

Just... alive.

And I think it's worth exploring because somewhere between learning our craft and trying to build a career, we can sometimes forget the pleasure of actually doing the work.

WELCOME / SHOW INFORMATION

Welcome to Casting Actors Cast.

I'm Jeffrey Dreisbach.

Casting director, teacher, author, former actor, and somebody who still gets excited watching actors discover something wonderful in a scene.

If you're joining us for the first time, welcome.

And if you've been listening for a while, thank you for coming back.

You can find everything we're doing at CastingActorsCast.com.

That's where you'll find the podcast, information about my book, Booked It! The Actors Playbook for Getting Cast, and my online course, Next-Level Auditions — Prepare Smarter. Perform Better. Book More.

And while you're visiting, be sure to fill out the form and Jump Into the Talent Pool.

You'll receive access to some free resources, including my voice-over book and video, along with Casting Directors: What They Don't Tell You.

Okay.

Let's talk about something that may not be a technique at all.

And yet, I believe it can influence almost everything we do as performers.

PART ONE — THE EXCITEMENT BEFORE THE WORK

When I think back on my years as an actor, I remember something that I didn't always appreciate at the time.

I loved the anticipation of performing.

There was an excitement before the work began.

Sometimes it happened backstage.

Sometimes it happened on a film set.

Sometimes it happened just before an audition.

I knew I was about to enter a world that required my imagination, my attention, and my willingness to participate.

And I loved that.

Now, I'm not suggesting I was always relaxed.

Far from it.

I experienced nerves.

I experienced uncertainty.

I experienced those wonderful moments when you suddenly wonder whether you actually remember any of your lines.

But underneath those concerns, there was something else.

An eagerness.

A feeling that something interesting was about to happen.

And here's what I find fascinating.

Once the performance began, I wasn't necessarily aware of that excitement anymore.

I became involved.

The scene took over.

The relationships became important.

The circumstances became immediate.

And my attention shifted away from myself.

Sometimes afterward, I couldn't even remember exactly what choices I'd made.

Not because I hadn't prepared.

But because I wasn't consciously supervising every moment of the performance.

I was participating.

And I was curious.

Curious about the other actors.

Curious about what was happening.

Curious about how my behavior was affecting the people around me.

Looking back, I wonder whether that anticipation was part of what allowed me to become so engaged.

Not because excitement guarantees a good performance.

It certainly doesn't.

But because my attention was directed toward something I wanted to experience, rather than something I was afraid of getting wrong.

That's a distinction I've come to appreciate.

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN EXCITEMENT AND ENERGY

Now, when I use the word energy, I want to be very careful.

Because actors sometimes hear that word and think it means doing more.

More movement.

More emotion.

More intensity.

More personality.

And that's not what I'm talking about.

An actor can be completely still and possess tremendous creative energy.

An actor can whisper and command our attention.

An actor can play someone who is exhausted, frightened, grieving, or emotionally withdrawn and still seem completely alive within the circumstances.

The energy I'm describing isn't necessarily visible as excitement.

It's visible as engagement.

Something seems to be happening inside the actor.

They're not simply delivering a prepared interpretation.

They're experiencing the consequences of what's happening around them.

And that brings me to something important.

The joy isn't necessarily in the character. It's in the actor's relationship to performing.

A character may be experiencing terrible sadness.

But the actor can still experience the creative fulfillment of telling that story truthfully.

The actor isn't enjoying the character's suffering.

They're engaged in the artistic process.

And that engagement can be extraordinarily powerful.

WHAT I NOW SEE FROM THE CASTING TABLE

Now let's move to the other side of the audition table.

Because this is where my perspective changed.

As a casting director, I've watched thousands of auditions.

And I've seen actors with extraordinary training.

Actors who are beautifully prepared.

Actors who understand the script.

Actors who make intelligent choices.

Actors who know exactly what they're doing.

But occasionally, an actor comes into the room and something feels different.

There's a quality of attention that draws me in.

They're listening.

They're responding.

They're allowing themselves to be affected.

And perhaps most importantly, they seem genuinely interested in what's happening.

Not interested in showing me how talented they are.

Interested in the scene.

Interested in the other person.

Interested in discovering what happens next.

Now, I can't tell you exactly what that actor is feeling internally.

I don't know whether they're excited.

I don't know whether they're nervous.

I don't know whether they're experiencing the same kind of pleasure I remember from my acting days.

And I wouldn't presume to know.

But I can observe the behavior.

I can see the responsiveness.

I can see the specificity.

I can see the concentration.

And sometimes, I can see a performance that feels as though it's happening for the first time.

That's a wonderful thing to witness.

And it raises an interesting question.

What are we actually responding to?

Perhaps it's not the actor's enthusiasm.

Perhaps it's the consequences of their engagement.

PART TWO — PERFORMING VERSUS DEMONSTRATING

There's a distinction I want to make that I think is particularly important for auditions.

The difference between performing and demonstrating.

Some actors enter an audition feeling they have to prove something.

They want to prove they're talented.

They want to prove they're prepared.

They want to prove they understand the character.

They want to prove they can deliver the emotional demands of the scene.

And I understand that impulse.

After all, an audition is an evaluation.

Somebody is making a decision.

But there's a problem when proving your ability becomes more important than experiencing the circumstances.

The actor begins demonstrating the work instead of doing the work.

They show us the anger.

They show us the grief.

They show us the vulnerability.

They show us the preparation.

And sometimes, what we see is a very polished presentation of acting.

But we're not necessarily experiencing the scene.

Now consider an actor who has done the same preparation but approaches the audition differently.

Instead of thinking, "I need to show them how well I can play this character," the actor becomes interested in what the character needs from the other person.

Their attention shifts.

They're not demonstrating anger.

They're trying to change someone's mind.

They're not demonstrating sadness.

They're trying to hold on to a relationship.

They're not demonstrating fear.

They're trying to protect something important.

And suddenly, behavior becomes purposeful.

The actor is doing something.

Not showing something.

They're not showing us their work. They're doing their work.

That distinction can change the entire experience.

THE PLEASURE OF CONCENTRATED ATTENTION

Let's talk about concentration.

Because I think it's central to what we're exploring.

When actors hear the word concentration, they sometimes imagine intense mental effort.

A kind of forced focus.

But I'm interested in a different kind of concentration.

The concentration that happens when you're genuinely fascinated by something.

Think about a conversation you've had when you were completely absorbed.

You weren't thinking about how you looked.

You weren't planning every response.

You weren't evaluating your conversational technique.

You were interested.

You were listening.

You were responding.

And time seemed to move differently.

Now, imagine bringing that quality of attention into a scene.

Not because you're trying to achieve a special psychological state.

But because the circumstances matter to you.

The other person matters to you.

What happens next matters to you.

That's where I think creative engagement becomes especially powerful.

And here's something else.

When you're genuinely interested in the other person, your behavior becomes less predictable.

Because you're responding to something that's happening now.

Not simply reproducing something you decided yesterday.

That doesn't mean you abandon preparation.

It means preparation has given you the freedom to participate.

THE JOY OF PLAY

There's a word I think we sometimes forget as professional actors.

Play.

We perform in plays.

We play characters.

We have scene partners.

And yet, somewhere along the way, the experience can become terribly serious.

We analyze.

We prepare.

We study.

We rehearse.

We evaluate.

We compare.

We worry.

And then we wonder why the process doesn't feel particularly joyful.

Now, I'm not suggesting that acting should always be fun.

Some material is difficult.

Some working conditions are challenging.

Some scenes demand tremendous emotional and physical discipline.

But I do think there's room for playfulness in the creative process.

And by playfulness, I don't mean being silly.

I mean allowing yourself to explore.

To experiment.

To discover.

To be surprised.

To make a choice and see what happens.

In our last episode, we talked about asking "What if?"

What if the character wants something different?

What if the obstacle isn't what we assumed?

What if the behavior is unexpected?

Well, perhaps there's a connection here.

The actor who becomes curious about possibilities may begin to rediscover the pleasure of exploration.

And the pleasure of exploration may make the work feel less like an examination and more like an experience.

That's not a guarantee.

But it's certainly worth investigating.

WHEN THE JOY DISAPPEARS

Now, what happens when that feeling seems to disappear?

Because I suspect many actors listening have experienced this.

Maybe you began acting because you loved it.

You loved rehearsing.

You loved performing.

You loved becoming involved in stories.

You loved the relationships.

You loved the excitement of discovery.

And then the professional realities arrived.

Auditions.

Rejections.

Schedules.

Financial pressures.

Competition.

Self-tapes.

Callbacks.

Agents.

Managers.

The constant uncertainty of the business.

And somewhere along the way, acting began to feel like something you had to succeed at rather than something you loved doing.

That's understandable.

And I don't want to trivialize it.

A professional acting career can be demanding.

The pressures are real.

But I wonder whether some actors might benefit from separating two experiences.

The business of being an actor.

And the experience of acting.

They're connected.

But they're not identical.

You may be frustrated with the business.

You may be disappointed with the opportunities.

You may be exhausted by the uncertainty.

And still love the act of performing.

Those feelings can exist together.

Sometimes reconnecting with the work itself can remind us why we began.

Not because it solves every professional problem.

But because it restores something that the professional pressures may have obscured.

MORE TO COME — APPROX. 15:00

We're going to take a quick break.

But when we return, I want to explore a question that I think is especially important.

Can actors actually cultivate this sense of creative engagement?

And if so, how do we do it without turning joy into another performance requirement?

Because the last thing I want is for actors to leave this episode thinking they now have to be joyful on command.

We'll talk about that right after this.

[COMMERCIAL BREAK]

PART THREE — CAN THE JOY BE TAUGHT?

Okay.

Let's return to our original question.

Can the joy of performance be taught?

I don't think we can teach somebody to feel excitement on command.

And I certainly don't think we should require actors to manufacture enthusiasm.

But I do think we can create conditions that make creative engagement more possible.

And I want to offer a few ideas.

First, reconnect with what interests you about the scene.

Not what you think will impress the casting director.

Not what you think will get you the job.

What genuinely interests you?

Is it the relationship?

The conflict?

The humor?

The mystery?

The character's contradictions?

Find something you want to explore.

Something that makes you curious.

Because curiosity gives your attention somewhere to go.

Second, prepare enough to become available.

Know the material.

Understand the circumstances.

Understand what your character needs.

But don't prepare so rigidly that there's no room for discovery.

Give yourself a foundation.

Not a prison.

Third, become interested in the other person.

This is especially important.

Instead of concentrating on how you're delivering your lines, pay attention to what your scene partner is doing.

What are they giving you?

What are they withholding?

What changes?

What surprises you?

How does your behavior affect them?

And how does their behavior affect you?

That's where the scene becomes a relationship rather than a presentation.

Fourth, allow the experience to be imperfect.

This may be the hardest one.

Because when actors are trying to get everything right, they can become afraid of anything unexpected.

But creative work involves uncertainty.

Sometimes an experiment doesn't work.

Sometimes a moment feels awkward.

Sometimes a choice leads somewhere you didn't anticipate.

That's part of the process.

You don't have to celebrate every mistake.

But you don't have to be frightened of every surprise either.

And finally, remember that joy doesn't have to look like joy.

You don't have to smile.

You don't have to be outgoing.

You don't have to possess a particular personality.

You don't even have to feel happy.

The objective isn't to appear enthusiastic.

It's to become genuinely involved.

ART IS A SHARED EXPERIENCE

There's one more thought I want to leave you with.

When I think about my own experiences as an actor, I remember being curious about how I affected the people around me.

And that curiosity has stayed with me.

Because acting isn't simply something we experience privately.

It's something we share.

We affect our scene partners.

We affect directors.

We affect audiences.

Sometimes we make people laugh.

Sometimes we make them uncomfortable.

Sometimes we make them recognize something about themselves.

Sometimes we simply hold their attention for a moment.

And we may never know exactly what effect we've had.

That's part of the mystery.

I once found myself thinking that art only becomes art when it affects somebody else.

Now, I recognize that's a philosophical statement that could keep us debating for quite a while.

And perhaps we'd need a much longer podcast.

But the idea behind it still matters to me.

Art is communication.

And performance becomes especially meaningful when our inner creative experience reaches another human being.

Not necessarily through a dramatic reaction.

Not necessarily through applause.

Sometimes the effect is quiet.

Sometimes it's delayed.

Sometimes we never know it happened.

But the possibility of that connection is part of what makes performing extraordinary.

And perhaps that's what I was anticipating all those years ago.

Not simply the pleasure of acting.

But the possibility of sharing something.

Of entering a world with other people and discovering what might happen.

That's a remarkable privilege.

HERE'S YOUR RESET

So here's your Reset for this episode.

Before your next audition, rehearsal, or performance, ask yourself a different question.

Not:

"How am I going to do?"

But:

"What am I looking forward to discovering?"

What interests me about this scene?

What do I want from the other person?

What might happen that I haven't anticipated?

And once the scene begins, give yourself permission to participate.

Listen.

Respond.

Allow yourself to be affected.

And become curious about how your behavior affects the people around you.

Don't try to manufacture excitement.

Don't try to demonstrate joy.

Don't turn creative engagement into another standard you have to meet.

Simply remember that acting is something you once wanted to do.

Something that captured your imagination.

Something that made you curious about people, relationships, stories, and the extraordinary complexity of human behavior.

And perhaps, somewhere beneath all the professional pressures, that curiosity is still there.

Waiting for an opportunity.

Because the audience doesn't need to see how much you love acting.

They need to experience what that love makes possible.

I'm Jeffrey Dreisbach.

Thank you for spending this time with me.

This is Casting Actors Cast.

And I'll see you next time.