I recently picked up the book, “An Actor’s Work,” by Konstantin Stanislavski.
Stanislavski was an early 20th century Russian actor and theater director. The story is told of a dog that would come to his rehearsals:

“…being rather lazy, [the dog] would sleep in the corner all day long. Strangely, every evening, just before the actors were to finish, the dog would be at the door, leash in mouth, waiting to be taken home. What astonished Stanislavski was that the dog would wearily haul himself to his feet several minutes before his master called him.

“Regular as clockwork…the dog would trot to the door and wait there patiently. Now how could a dog possibly know that the rehearsal was over before anyone moved to the door? Finally Stanislavski figured it out. The dog could hear when the actors started talking like normal human beings again.

“The difference between the fake and the living was just as sharp as Pavlov’s bell.”

(Declan Donnellan, Introduction, “An Actor’s Work,” p. ix)

I’ve become fascinated by this idea of what makes characters on TV shows or movies so believable. I mean, believable to the point where the viewer suspends their disbelief, enters into the fictional world, and actually believes everything happening is real.

I was watching one of my favorite shows, Smallville, the other day, and was struck by how believable the characters were to me. I believed their words, their emotions, and their body language.

I’m sure there are many of us who have witnessed bad acting. Poor scripts aside, bad acting (for me) is acting that is hollow, wooden, and devoid of soul and character. I don’t believe the actor’s portrayal. I don’t believe his or her character is real.

If there’s anything that I’m attempting to get to the heart of, it’s the essence of what makes a person believable, even to themselves. I KNOW when I don’t believe something about myself. But on the flipside, I also know when I DO believe something about myself.

Usually what I don’t believe lies on the surface. You know, like some kind of lotion that doesn’t penetrate the skin barrier and feels all greasy.

But what I do believe has penetrated my very soul. It has a life of its own. It’s something I would fight for.

And the crossing of this divide is what many people in the acting community accomplish daily, which is why a friend encouraged me to explore the subject.

Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman were interviewed by Oprah recently about their new movie, “Australia.” Nicole gave a really great insight into how that divide is bridged when she talked about her approach to the kissing scenes:

“…you do have to step into this place…especially when it’s romantic…where you have to be true to the characters. So a lot of it is still creating mystery between you so that there is chemistry…We both would have to commit to that…and then you step out of it and you go back to your life…

“But there is this sort of imaginary existence that you have to commit to…You have to commit to the love of the moment in the scene and then you walk away from it. You go back to your life…but you have to make it believable in that moment…you have to be real…it has to vibrate through me. And then you shed it. You go back to your life.”

On a funny note, another friend of mine recounted a time when his buddy was pulled over for doing some major speeding. As the officer approached the window, my friend (on the passenger side) leaned forward, groaning that he had to get to a restroom fast or he wasn’t going to make it.

While my friend isn’t an actor, he sure was committed to his part. The cop let his buddy off…