Many of us remember high school as a cut-throat, dog-eat-dog marathon popularity contest and rejection fest. That was never more apparent than in my 5th and 6th period acting class. Improvisation. Monologues. Role playing games. Voice calisthenics. And then the dreaded auditions. Talk about rejection! But casting was never just about talent. How do I know this? Because our instructor loved to repeat this well known theatre adage:
“There are no small parts, only small actors.”
I used to think she only said that to make us feel better about ourselves when we didn’t see our names on the cast list. As our teacher, she needed to cut off jealousy, hurt feelings, and petty grievances at the source.
But Ms. Bishop wasn’t the first teacher to admonish her students with these words. For theatre kids like me and professional actors all over the world, it was Konstantin Stanislavski, the father of modern acting, who coined the phrase: “There are no small parts, only small actors.”
Prior to Stanislavski, actors with smaller roles often gave “smaller” performances. They moved with no sense of purpose. They performed their characters with no depth; no commitment. In effect, they were spectators more than they were actors.
Stanislavski found this unacceptable. He required actors who performed in his theatre productions to engage their roles with equal commitment, whether they were lead actors with large roles or supporting actors with few lines or no lines at all.
——-Acting Magazine, July 2018
Three centuries earlier, Shakespeare, the father of English literature, likened the whole human experience to one big theatre production:
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
There are no small parts, only small actors.
If I’m being honest, I haven’t always taken the high road. I’ve played it small, looking around and seeing people with opportunity and success looming large right in front of them and thinking: “Why not me? Why don’t I have their talent? Money? Connections? Education? Luck?”
As a young mom, I sometimes complained about the time I spent nursing, changing diapers, and doing laundry. Under the burden of all the things I had to do, I felt like my own raw talent would shrivel up and disappear for good. But these were lies. Those “small” parts weren’t small at all. Muscles I didn’t even know I had were flexing and growing.
Stanislavski believed that every role, regardless of size, mattered. In order for the audience to embrace the story, he emphasized that every single person who worked on the production had to deliver exacting authenticity. (We’ll come back to this later.)
Let’s be real: Even being a part of the ensemble is awesome. How many of us have seen Hamilton, only to be mesmerized by the seamless choreography of the supporting cast? How many of us found ourselves awestruck by the pageantry of a show like Phantom of the Opera, gasping at the drama of a “shattered” chandelier, but never asking “how”? How many of us felt our hearts swell as the ensemble in Les Mis sang “Do You Hear the People Sing?”
Not every actor can or even should be a lead. Some actors need more experience behind the scenes before they’re ready for a bigger role in front of an audience. Acting, like life, is extremely subjective. It takes years of practice, and even the best ones don’t always get a chance at the big-time. To be sure, things like connections and luck do contribute to success.
One of the best parts about being a part of that high school cast was that I got asked to do a bunch of things I didn’t even know I was auditioning for. Actors, by themselves, aren’t all that special. They need the support of those who understand costuming and sound effects, marketing and light design. I learned how to do all those things. And for one special production, our entire class collaborated to write an original play (and we won first place in the state competition!). Behind the scenes and in front of an audience, I saw first-hand how integral every single person was to the success of the entire show.
In college, I thought I was preparing for the role of a lifetime—medical school. I could practically taste the credibility and respect. I could count the money and influence. But instead of getting the role of “student,” I landed the part of “mother,” and my life has never been the same.
Am I going to complain that I didn’t get the role that came with a spotlight? (Is that even something I want now?) Or am I going to accept what I’ve been given with the grace and tenacity of a girl who is out to prove that she can be trusted with small roles, too?
Stanislavski suggests that there are seven questions that actor should ask herself in order to fully understand her character:
Understanding ourselves and the world we live in is the first step in creating a life of value. Time and place matter because these things are fluid. Just because you are deep in the throes of mothering or school or work right now doesn’t mean you always will be. In fact, one of the best things that could happen to you might be not getting what you want. And as painful as that truth feels right now, you might be surprised at what you uncover when you ask yourself why you want it in the first place.
I realized there were a thousand other ways I could create the life I wanted without being a doctor.
There’s actually two parts to the Stanislavski Method of acting, and it’s this second part that might be the most important of all. It’s called The Magic If:
Utilizing the magic if, you can place yourself in any given scenario and imagine exactly what your character should and would do. In life, that character is YOU. When you understand who you are at your core, you get to make decisions that are congruent with both your values and desires. This is true authenticity!
Embracing Empathy
The biggest thing I learned from being an actor? Empathy. According to author Josh Linker of Big Little Breakthroughs, “the empathetic process actually leads to more creativity.” First introduced to the concept of empathy as a young acting student, I’ve since discovered that it’s given me not only a love for other people, but grace for myself. Empathy has shown me not only how to identify problems around me but also how to use both my experience and imagination to solve them.
Playing it small is thinking there’s only one way to be successful, happy, influential, or even helpful. Like Shakespeare said, we are all actors with our entrances and exits, and one man (or woman) in her time “plays many parts.”
All the parts I played have made me a better mom, sister, wife, friend, and ultimately a better human. After all, every role is important. I’m embarrassed I ever thought some of them were small. Indeed, the things I originally perceived as “small” turned out to be the biggest opportunities to shape not only my own generation, but the generation to come.
