Missing Milestones

The small child wailed, stomping across the room. 

The other girls briefly paused, looking as though they’d seen it all before. Their silence dissipated and they continued the task at hand.

But the girl curled up on the floor, under a table and snarled as the teacher tried to coax her out.

“They won’t let me be the main character…They won’t do what I say…I want,” the teacher interrupted, asking the other group to include her in their scene. An amenable bunch of lads, they agreed.

The girl set them to work. On HER scene.

We all know that children can be prone to the odd tantrum. But is there room for self-centred tirades in a drama class? Are these children ‘gifted’ or simply goaded and gratified? And what really makes an actor a star?

Now, I’m not usually a drama class teacher and I’m the first person to admit that, being a high school teacher, small children generally tick me off if they’re not my own. But, recently, I did have to step in and this behaviour was frustrating.

In a room full of great kids with high energy and enthusiastic imaginations, this one kid kind of ruined things. 

And you could tell the others were over it.

At the heart of theatre is collaboration.

Unless you’re in a one person show directed, produced, costumes, managed and lit by yourself, you can’t be a bombastic baby.

There is a great deal more to a performance than the star.

Like a toddler learning to walk, being the star takes years of hard work. Years of watching. Years of failing. Falling. Crying. And years of getting back up, bracing yourself and trying again.

Too many parents mistake obnoxiousness for talent and a worthy dramatic trait. They pull out the dummy and their child is a performer - loud, screaming and unafraid of the spotlight.

But they fail to see the crucial missing milestones.

As class coordinator, I get emails all the time asking about performances and applicant parents seeking enrolment because they believe their child has something special. They’ve even left our classes because they want to ‘focus on their performances.’ 

What they don’t get is that it’s not the performances that matter, it’s the class itself. 

The milk they so need to suckle is building a rapport with a team, feeding off one another to form empathy, understanding and communication skills.

And, yes, performances come from this, but these babes first have to build the capacity.

Recently, I watched a feature documentary on comedian and actor Martin Short. He attests the longevity of his successful career, whether the star, the supporting role or the cameo, to the troupes of actors he worked with in his formative years. It was in the life long friendships formed backstage on Godspell or the collaborative fun on Second City that his talents were cradled.

Shakespearean actress Judy Dench views ensemble-based troupes as vital “stepping stones” for young actors to nurture their craft. In a discussion about the demise of repertory theatre in England, she claims that it was “where you went to learn and make your mistakes and watch people who knew how to do it.”

I’ve never had formal training, but I have had years of this teething. 

Community theatre is a kind of daycare for all that is necessary in an actor. But you cannot writhe on the floor when you don’t get the lead role or the director doesn’t see things your way. Gifted or not, it all comes back to cooperation.

And it CAN happen amongst children.

These past few weeks, we have seen twenty-one kids on stage, bouncing and bumbling their way through Long Joan Silver, a troupe-like depiction of Treasure Island. No dummy spits, they have held each other up, even when they have teetered. They have listened. They have giggled. They have experimented, have wobbled on and off script, babbling and cooing, and they have founded synergistic relationships that will last. 

The rudimentary lessons they have learnt will garner talent for years to come.

Stars who have meltdowns don’t stay in the sky for long.

As for giftedness? 

It needs the swaddling of others.

Otherwise it’s just a babe in the woods.