events ::September 14, 2005

New Actor’s Workshop puts dead dog to good use

By LAWRENCE COSENTINO
When a group of local actors starts a "workout room" for local thespians, a strange regimen comes to mind: eyebrow-raising for a warm up, 20 reps each of outrage and surprise, a half hour of cardio-arguing, maybe a deathbed scene as a cooldown.

This fall’s new Actor’s Workshop isn’t quite like that, says actress/instructor Lela Ivey, but it will be a place where actors can keep their "instrument" well oiled by trying out things they don’t get to do on stage.

Like many teachers, Ivey wants to offer sympathetic guidance she often found lacking in her own career. An extreme example is her brief scene in Woody Allen’s 1985 film "The Purple Rose of Cairo." After two awkward auditions for Allen, one of them an "ice cold reading" from a totally unfamiliar script, a messenger showed up at Ivey’s door one night and told her to show up at 6 the next morning.

When Ivey arrived on the set, she still didn’t know what character she was playing. "They said ‘you’re a hooker!’ and threw some lingerie at me," Ivey recalls. "I had one line to say, with Jeff Daniels, and I said it 13 times." Allen offered no guidance on how to say the line, and Daniels disappeared between takes. "Woody said, ‘just do it 13 different ways, we can always cut it,’" recalls Ivey, shaking her head. "Some actors like the total freedom Woody gives them, but I like to have some parameters, some structure."

Lawrence Cosentino/City Pulse Film and TV actress Lela Ivey and her fellow instructors are full of plans for a new Actor’s Workshop, to be held this fall at the Hannah Community Center.

The Actor’s Workshop Hannah Community Center 819 Abbott Road, East Lansing Classes begin Sept. 26 (517) 372-0934 or (517) 324-4342

On the other hand, Ivey was happy to do a scene with Meryl Streep in Mike Nichols’ "Heartburn." "He has a theater background, he likes to talk, and he works very well with actors," Ivey says.

But few directors — in film, theater, or TV — are as solicitous of actors as Mike Nichols. Ultimately, it’s up to actors to develop themselves, because the market just doesn’t care about professional development. "You fall into bad habits," Ivey says. "You take the easy way out — maybe take a role that’s only slightly different than one you’ve done before."

Ivey is one of three instructors at the workshop, to be held in the Hannah Community Center this fall. All actors are welcome, whether they have a lot of experience, some, or none at all. "My dream is for it to be like a gymnasium, where we could go and do scene studies, monologue work — try things out in front of each other, critique each other," Ivey says.

Joining Ivey in the enterprise are fellow instructors Dana Munshaw Brazil and P.K. Van Voorhees, two local actors with an armload of credits and awards to their names. The fall workshop is, in part, an outgrowth of Kate Veihl’s successful theatre workshop at Hannah Center this summer.

Ivey is in a good position to appreciate the benefits of acting classes. She made her living through the ‘80s and ‘90s as a TV and film actress, first in New York. It sounds like fascinating work, but she often felt professionally pinched by its limitations.

"Working actors, from my experience, get typed and do the same thing repeatedly," Ivey says.

Owing perhaps to her breezy, outgoing personality, Ivey found herself forever playing the ditzy neighbor in sitcoms and dramas.

"I did a lot of guest spots — ‘Murphy Brown,’ ‘Empty Nest,’ oh my God, I did ‘Golden Girls.’ Even the one-hour drama stuff I did, like ‘Murder She Wrote,’ ‘Quantum Leap,’ I played these sorts of kooky characters. After a while, you start thinking that’s all you can do."

Such repetitious work can lead to burnout, but Ivey says she rediscovered the joy of acting through classes. "I found out I have this other reservoir of stuff I could draw on, and it gave me confidence to get out and do other kinds of work," she says. "I may never play Lady Macbeth, but I could go into a studio environment and try it, and get feedback on it."

Ivey isn’t the only one who feels that way. A girlfriend of hers in L.A., a series regular on ‘Chicago Hope,’ rubs shoulders at acting lessons with Giovanni Rubisi and Ray Liotta. "Some heavy hitters are still taking classes," Ivey says.

Ivey says she wants to give actors "tools" to open themselves up or get away from bad habits, and doesn’t mind opening the toolbox a crack to illustrate. "Say you’re doing a scene at a funeral, and you’re supposed to be sad, but you’ve never lost a close family member. Use your dog. That’s substitution — you substitute the dog for the dead mother in the coffin, and ftoom."

Or, if a long and complicated monologue is causing trouble, Ivey might ask the actor to write an imaginary listener’s mental responses into the margins of the script. Once internalized, the silent "feedback" becomes a trampoline that bounces with each line, giving the monologue a sustained energy. Ivey says there are "a thousand" such tricks.

"It’s an art form," Ivey says. "Talk to any sculptor or musician and they always want to keep pushing themselves, changing their sound from album to album. You look at these class descriptions ["Audition Workshop," "Acting Technique," "Musical Theatreworks" and "Introduction to Musical Theatre"] and it’s not particularly sexy, but I’m fascinated by putting an actor on stage, giving him a scene, and trying to get him to dig. I’m all about doing the emotional work, to get depth. That’s the artistry."

The process, says Ivey, is the payoff — an unusual approach in bottom-line-obsessed show biz. "You get your performance fix in class," she says. "It’s like a sanctum sanctorum. Whatever happens in the class stays in the class."

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