Acting in Film

by Michael Caine

  Courtesy of Paramount Pictures. ©1965 Sheldrake Films Ltd. All rights reserved.

  ALFIE

  Directed by Lewis Gilbert. Paramount, 1966.

  TIME IS ONLY DEAD IF YOU KILL IT

  There is a lot of dead time for an actor during the making of a movie. You can sleep and possibly appear dopey on camera, or you can socialize and wear yourself out. I socialize enough not to offend anyone, but I deliberately spend a lot of time in the dressing room. I use the time to go through those lines. Unoccupied time doesn't have to be dead time. It's only dead if you kill it. A lot of actors run other businesses from their dressing rooms or trailers. I was working with Sylvester Stallone and I asked him what was so attractive about his trailer that he kept rushing back to it between takes. I thought he might have a girl in there. "I'm writing Rocky III" he said. Then there was an actor who used to play the New York Stock Exchange from his trailer. lie's not a film actor anymore; but I saw him on television: he has his own program about stocks and shares. I figure it's more profitable for me to deal with the business at hand because if I play my part right, the current picture may make more money for me than any other business. If an actor is thinking about another business, maybe he should be in another business.

  I'll tell you what goes on in my trailer. Show business. Walk in and you'll see me doing a scene over and over again. There I am mumbling it and mumbling it and still mumbling it, so that it becomes second nature. It's no good if you're about to start a take and you're thinking, "It's coming soon, that difficult bit where I say `One hundred and thirty-eight North Ponders End Road SW16."' You must be able to stand there not thinking of that line. You take it off the other actor's face. He is presumably new-minting the dialogue as if he himself just thought of it by listening and watching, as if it were all new to him, too. Otherwise, for your next line, you're not listening and not free to respond naturally, to act spontaneously.

  THOUGHT RECOGNITION

  It may sound like a contradiction, but you achieve spontaneity on the set through preparation of the dialogue at home. As you prepare, find ways of making your responses appear newly minted, not preprogrammed. In life, we often pick up the thought that provokes our next remark halfway through someone else's speech. Thoughts don't leap to the mouth automatically. We don't interrupt at every occasion when a thought formulates itself; or, if we do, we don't have many friends. Similarly, in a film script, your internal thought processes might well start articulating themselves long before you get the chance to speak. The script sometimes directs you to interrupt, but if it doesn't, your thought may start well before you get a chance to respond. There may be a key word that triggers you during the sentence the other actor is saying. So pick up on that; form your thought and be ready to speak. For example:

  Other Actor: I've got to get a bus to Clapham-I'm already late for my date.

  You: You won't get far. There's a bus strike.

  The other actor doesn't stop talking after he says "bus," so you can't get in and say your line at the actual moment of thought recognition. But when you hear the key word "bus," from that point on you know what you're going to say directly after he stops. You can show this by your reaction. And that bit of acting can only come from serious listening.

  Or you can bring new life to an apparently mundane reply by planning a thought process based on a key word and then never voicing it:

  KIDNAPPED

  Directed by Delbert Mann. AIP, 1971.

  Other Actor: Would you like some tea?

  You: Yes, please.

  "Tea" is the key word. The simple word "tea" can open up so many responses. Let's say you would have preferred coffee. The minute the other actor says "tea," your eyes will change because you'd really like coffee. Or maybe you're allergic to tea. Then you answer politely, but with a bit of anguish, knowing that you won't really drink it. The camera thrives on niceties like that; yet you often see actors missing out on these little presents that can open up whole realms of possible reaction. "Tea" could be an indication that he's too poor to offer you booze, or that he regards you as an alcoholic who shouldn't be offered a drink. Take the script and explore these possibilities because to pick up key words opens a repertoire of potential response that can lift a scene off the page and into reality. Don't make a fetish of it or you will complicate things unnecessarily. You'll seem a maniac if everything sets you off. But take it to reasonable bounds and you'll find that your performance is more interesting to you and more believable on the screen.

  MINIATURE GOLF

  There may or may not be rehearsals; it depends entirely on the director. So you must do as much as you can to construct your role before you get on the set. The director always expects you to bring a fully formed characterization with you, and this without your seeing the set or meeting fellow actors. Make the decisions about your character's physical mannerisms, practice themand keep it simple. Once you get on the set, you will have to repeat those mannerisms and actions accurately for a variety of shots.

  We'll deal with special problems of continuity later, but basically you usually need to repeat a sequence at least three times on film: once for the long shot, once for the medium shot, and once for the close-up. The long shot is the wide-angle shot taken at a distance. This shot reveals all the ingredients of a scene. If there are three actors practicing their golf strokes on the office carpet, in the long shot you will see all of them plus the carpet. This shot is also frequently called the "master shot" because it shows the whole scene. It is the best guide to the placement of the camera for the other shots and it is the reference for inclusion of other shots when the scene is edited. The medium shot is a closer view of selected ingredients. The close-up is a very close view of only one element. If you were one of the golfers, the close-up might be of your feet on the carpet or of your face.

  When you prepare your character's physical mannerisms or actions at home, keep them simple, so that later, on the set, you can repeat them accurately for each type of shot. If you fiddle around with your golf club during the master shot, you must fiddle in exactly the same way for the other shots. Initiating a movement that you cannot repeat will often mean that scenes will have to be shot again. If you are holding the putter on your left side for a particular line in the master, but you shift it to your right for the medium shot (which may be filmed several hours later), then when the editor comes to cut the film he won't be able to use that shot. It would look as if the golf club had jumped around of its own accord.

  You've learned your lines, now it's time to learn the layout of the set and begin to orient yourself to your surroundings. I go through each scene and do my actions the same way, over and over, exactly as I imagine I will have to do them on the set. Wherever I happen to be, whether at home or in a hotel room, I rearrange the furniture and try to put tables and chairs in places that create a logical mock-up of the scene. I put out cups and saucers or whatever I may need and I time the dialogue around my actions. Now obviously you may not know the exact layout of the set you will be working on or the exact nature of the props you will be given to use, but any clear decision you can make beforehand will provide you with a life raft. Somehow it's a lot easier to change one well-planned course of action for another precise course of action than to turn a vague idea about physical movement into a concrete one on the spur of the moment. And it's surprising how many of your assumptions about furniture and props will turn out to be right.

  Plan your mannerisms and actions precisely and keep them simple so that you can repeat them effortlessly and accurately. But don't overdo it. This is not the area for inspired improvisation. Keep it simple with those golf clubs. If you're going to initiate an action, PLAN IT. Organize your physical actions and tasks so that they are logical-that way you will remember to do them-and practice them so that they remain memorable. You have got to be able to do a physical task the same way over and over again absolutely perfectly. Otherwise, the master shot, the medium shot, and the close-up will not m
atch, scenes will have to be shot again, and you will be costing the producers time and money, not the most endearing quality for producers to remember when they're casting their next film.

  At the

  Studio

  or

  On Location

  "It's vital that an actor never hold anything up for any reason he can avoid."

  Time is money and it's vital that an actor never hold anything up for any reason he can avoid. On arrival at the studio or location, it's up to you to get the hang of the geography as soon as possible. Find your dressing room, the makeup and hairdressing department, and the shooting stage or location. You probably spoke with an assistant director when you got your call to appear on the set; make sure you introduce yourself to him, if he hasn't already run you to earth, because it's his job to summon you to the set at the appropriate moment. Always wait to be summoned. Eager hanging-about before you are called is not recommended. Everybody on a film set has a function, and if you don't, you're probably in the way.

  The first port-of-call is makeup and hairdressing-a department where everyone is trained to make you as happy and relaxed as possible. Obviously you have already thought about the way your character should look. If your part is large enough, you will have had prior discussion with the director and with makeup and hair artists. If your part doesn't measure up to that kind of attention, the director will have already given that department some indication of what he wants. These guys are experts, so unless you're related to Max Factor it's best to let them get on with it. Besides, the makeup and hairdressing department is usually the hub of the universe, socially speaking, and word of your behavior there soon spreads.

  If you're feeling particularly sensitive about the bags under your eyes or the pimple on your chin, go on, point that out. If you're fair and have blond eyelashes, as I have, you ask for mascara (because if you're in a movie and you have blond eyelashes, you might as well be in a radio play). Eyes are what eventually sell you in a film. But makeup will most likely have spotted that problem anyway.

  Once the makeup and hairdressing artists are done with you, it's up to you to try to preserve the effect. No one wants this expensive handiwork ruined. Don't immediately eat a greasy hamburger or walk in the rain; someone will be there with an umbrella-wait for him! Also, begin to take careful note of variations that may inadvertently occur in your look or costume between scenes: a change of hairstyle, the addition of a coat of nail varnish, etc. Polaroids will be taken on the set to ensure that your appearance remains consistent day after day. Makeup artists and directors will usually take note of any inconsistencies, but no one is infallible and no one is going to thank you if a scene has to be reshot because you held your tongue. When I was in Zulu, my first major role, I had a scene that required me to jump off a burning house. Massed Zulus were coming toward me. It was a big number. We finally finished the scene, much to my relief. Then the continuity girl suddenly said, "Hang on. Michael's shirt was buttoned up to the collar in the sequence before this and now he's got two buttons undone." Of course I'd undone them between takes, probably because of the heat. We had to shoot the whole damn thing over again.

  172 20th Century-Fox/Palomar Pictures. All rights reserved.

  SLEUTH

  Directed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz. 20th Century-Fox, 1972.

  The costume that was fitted for you with the costume designer will be in your dressing room or trailer when you arrive, and a wardrobe assistant will check with you to make sure that the costume is complete and that it fits properly. But as with your makeup and hair, taking care of the costume until you get on the set is up to you. Common sense comes in here. If you're supposed to be immaculate, it doesn't make sense to sit about in the clothes for hours because you'll just be a crumpled mess when your moment comes. But if it's a lived-in sort of costume, it may be a good idea to get into it ahead of time. If it's a period costume, you may also want to wear it for a while to get the hang of a cloak or train. These decisions are up to you; the only definite rule is to be ready when you are called to the set. The assistant director will warn you in plenty of time.

  I always think I'm ready, but I've got a psychological aversion to getting my tie or shoes on. When the moment comes to be all dressed I sometimes discover the shoes are the wrong size, and then there's a big panic while the dresser rushes off to find another pair. While my shot is being lined up, I'm usually knotting my tie and still wearing my own shoes. I try to wear my own until the last minute because they're bound to be more comfortable. In fact, I always ask if my feet are going to be in a shot; the director usually tells me, "No, it's fine," and then the camera pulls back and, lo and behold, there are my dirty old sneakers. If I'm playing a well-dressed businessman, the shooting has to stop while the right shoes are produced. So don't follow my practice on this one.

  TRY EVERYTHING

  There is some sleuth work you can do at the studio that will add considerably to your command of your role. In fact, if you don't do it, you may very well look like an idiot once you do get on the set. If that set is supposed to be your character's home or office, you'd better get out there before it's filled with technicians and learn where every prop and piece of furniture is and how everything works. I always go onto the set before the take so that I won't have to look around to find the cigarette box when I reach for that cigarette or the phone when it rings. Those things should be second nature, as they are in your own home or office. Make sure you know which way each door opens because you're supposed to have been in and out of that room fifteen hundred times. If you try to leave your house by pushing a door that only opens inward, or show any hesitation at all, it's obvious that you're really not at home there. You've got to know how every object on that set works because in your own home, you do everything with extra facility.

  ZULU

  Directed by Cy Endfeld. Embassy Films, 1963.

  'Pictured with Stanley Baker.

  Doors are always a problem on a set and especially worth a thorough check ahead of time. If you have to knock on a door and then enter, you may find when you try the knob that the paint that has just dried has glued the door shut. During the rehearsal, try everything you are supposed to use or handle, and if there isn't a rehearsal, try it all on your own anyway. So if the door is stuck, you can politely inform the assistant director and he can get one of the crew to solve the problem. Of course, now here comes the take: you knock on the door, and it flies open before you even touch the knob. That's typical. But at least you did all you could.

  The way the set is put together sometimes surprises you during fights, too. You don't fight full blast in rehearsal, of course, so on the take, while you're swinging a punch past the other guy's head, you may find your fist going right through the castle wall that's supposed to be centuries old and three feet thick.

  Just the opposite applies to sets that aren't supposed to be your own home or office (or your mother's home or girlfriend's office)-that is, somewhere you supposedly have never been before. Let it surprise you. In the event of retakes, try to remember that initial sense of disorientation and recreate it. Anticipation is the enemy of all actors. It wreaks particularly savage havoc in films because the camera sees everything, especially lack of spontaneity.

  01966 Universal Pictures, a Division of Universal City Studios, Inc. Courtesy of MCA Publishing Rights, A Division of MCA Inc.

  GAMBIT

  Directed by Ronald Neame. Universal, 1966.

  "In film, other actors' performances really are not your concern. If the other actor isn't giving you what you want, act as though he were."

  Always tell everyone your first name when you're at the studio or location, because if you insist on being called Mister, Miss, or Ms., you might find hammers and lamps falling off the catwalk perilously close to your head. The sooner you establish a friendly relationship with the technical people, the sooner they'll go out of their way to help you. No one despises inexperience, only toffee-nosed inexperience. Don't establis
h friendliness by moving your own props or being helpful in a technical vein, however, or you'll run into union problems; each technician has a clearly defined job that he alone is supposed to do. And always, especially if you're concerned with looking beautiful on screen, be nice to the cameraman because he can make or break you. Most of them wouldn't do anything too detrimental because they want their work to be respected. And of course when I say "be nice" I mean be cordial, say good morning nicely; I'm not advising you to bribe him or throw your clothes off and hurl yourself at him. But if you want to look really handsome or beautiful, good manners do help.

  SLEU'T'H

  Directed by Joseph L. Manldewicz 20th Century-Fox, 1972.

  Pictured with Laurence Olivier.

  In movies, the form of rehearsals depends entirely on the director. But since the director's mind is on all aspects of the film, don't expect any particular accolade or sign of approval during rehearsals. If your director isn't saying anything to you, that means your work is probably fine. In theatre, actors and director use rehearsals to explore character and relationships. In film, at this point in the process, there isn't time for dissection of your role. You use rehearsals to show the director and other actors what you're proposing to do physically and more or less how you're going to say the lines; you use rehearsals to show the thorough preparation that you've been hired for.

  Usually rehearsals are used to set blocking, which is the process of working out the moves for each scene. Don't be cowed by technical considerations here; the actor's instinct is vital to this process. Move where and how you feel it is comfortable and right for the role, because they can put the camera on top of St. Paul's Cathedral, if necessary, to suit your moves. Of course, if the director says, "I want you to end up on that spot, no matter how you feel about it," then you had better follow his instructions and get there.