Portland Center Stage

The Small Actor

Posted by cynpdx | 13 October 2011 | Comments (2)

The Small Actor, by Don Kenneth Mason

“Remember: there are no small parts, only small actors.” – Konstantin Stanislavsky

This became especially true for me the other night. I was making my way through the crowded lobby of lingering theatergoers who were offering congratulations and seeking autographs from some of our outstanding leads. There was a small group in front of the door, applauding our fantastic Laurey, Ms. Brianna Horne. While I was waiting to pass, I had the most wonderfully brief conversation with one of the patrons. It went a bit like this:

Patron: “Wasn’t she great?”

Me: “Yes. Yes, she was.”

Patron: “This whole show is just outstanding! Terrific show.”

Me: “Yes, it really is.”

Patron: “Wait… were you in the show?”

Me: “Yes, I was.”

Patron: “What part did you play?”

Me: “I play Fred.”

Patron: “Who?”

Me: “Fred. He’s in the ensemble.”

Patron: “Oh. Well… it was a really good show.”

Me: “Thank you, sir. I’m glad you –”

By now, the lovely Ms. Horne was free, and the gentleman rushed to her to offer well-deserved praise. I chuckled and continued on my way home.

In my career, I have played a litany of pivotally-important “who the heck are you?” characters. Who could forget Frankie’s dramatic rescue of Peggy Sawyer in 42^nd Street? I mean, if Frankie didn’t catch Peggy before she fainted, what would become of her? Then there is the poignant character study of Boy #2 in On the Town. If he doesn’t ask Gabey and friends what they’re going to do with their weekend shore leave, there’s no opening number. No opening number, I tell you! Remember Guys and Dolls? Who is Sergeant Sarah going to preach to if there’s no Drunk Man on Bench? If Paul doesn’t give Fred’s flowers to Miss Lilli instead of Miss Bianca in Kiss Me, Kate, the shows stops right there, people. Bring in the curtain.

I could go on, but you get the idea.

The truth of the matter is that there is a lot of fun being those “who the heck are you?” characters in a play. For starters, the fewer lines that you have to remember are fewer lines that you might forget. There’s also a fine line of being “not too important” and “important enough” that comes with being in the ensemble. Could Peggy Sawyer faint gracefully to the floor? Of course. Would the sailors sing about “New York, New York” of their own volition? Absolutely. Could Fred Graham be a dolt and accidentally give Miss Lilli the flowers himself? Sure thing. Could Sergeant Sarah preach on an empty street? Yes, indeed. But the world feels a bit more realistic the more people we have in it. Though it’s true that the ensemble doesn’t necessarily propel the story forward, we are helpful in making you believe that a story is actually taking place.

For those of us who relish all our small parts, another wonderful thing happens: we get to learn A LOT. I was a math major in college, with a minor in English and education. I was all set to become a college professor when I got knocked off-course by the acting truck. As a result, I never got to study or learn the craft the way most of my colleagues have. For me, the stage is my classroom. In every production I’ve ever done, I’ve spent the majority of my off-stage time in the wings, watching the action on stage. Why did he say that line that way tonight? How did the audience react differently to the way he said it tonight versus last night? How does she get herself to cry like that? Why does he walk that way? What are the nuances of that sentence that change it from a statement to a threat, just by emphasizing a different word? What are the actors doing when they DON’T have a line? How does body language affect a scene?

Watching your contemporaries pore over a script in an attempt to carefully develop their characters can rub off on you. I start to look at the little bit that I have to say or do with a different, more critical, eye. Plus, the less that you know about your character, the more you are able to make stuff up. I like the freedom of creating back stories for each “Boy #2” or “Drunk Man on Bench” I get to play. The more I make up for myself, the more I’m able to invest in the action of each scene, even if I’m leading the action in any way.

I also start to notice how all the actors depend on each other and respond to each other on stage. There’s no time for a lapse in focus. There’s no time to be distracted from the world they are all working so diligently to create. More important, there’s no time for me to belittle my contribution to the process.

No small actors here.

In conclusion (English minor, remember?), it may be my destiny to spend the rest of my career in the ensemble. I may never get my own bow and ovation at the end of the night. No biggie. You may never recognize me or stop me for my autograph as I quietly make my way through the crowded lobby. No harm done. You may have absolutely no clue as to who Fred is in Oklahoma!. Totally okay. I cherish every single opportunity I get to stand in the wings and learn, and to stand on stage in relative obscurity.

And I’m having the time of my life doing it.

--Don Kenneth Mason