Performer Stories – Part III – Released a Tad Too Early

One of my acting schools in New York allowed people to audit classes, so anyone could simply walk into the school, sit in and/or participate in a class. This, oddly enough, was not as much of a problem as it could have been (even the criminally insane generally have the good sense not to make a career of acting). But once in a while, something strange transpired.

A large and intimidating guy audited this one day and volunteered to do a monologue. He appeared to be somewhat agitated to begin with, but that, in and of itself, was not all that uncommon: performing in front of strangers can be exhilarating, but also fairly stressful. Though, the agitation seemed to be somewhat more hostile than standard nerves...

He began with text that I can only remember as being very incoherent, and he vocalized it by rocking back and forth angrily: “then I killed that bitch… I killed her…” He went on for a while: “I don’ care! You know how it is?!” and “Yeah, you don’t care.”

This continued until our teacher, gentle woman that she was, finally inquired about the piece. “Where is this from?” She asked softly.

He mumbled something: “CD.”

“Sorry, where?”

“It’s from a RAP CD!” He intoned, his fury building.

This was not going well – her questions, meant to help him in his acting choices, seemed to provoke him further…

He spat out that the monologue was from the album’s liner notes. (Isn’t that everyone sources for good monologues?) and, after he briefly (and heatedly) debated our teacher about the merits of such the text, she withdrew her objection.

“OK”, she said, giving up, “please continue.”

More incoherencies and then came the pivotal line: “I was in jail!”

Now, a oft-used technique in acting is to get the person to really connect with the text by reminding them where they are or what is going on. To this end, our teacher then asked: “Where were you?”

Clearly feeling as though he was being interrogated or challenged in some manner, he became enraged. “In JAIL!” He yelled.

Our teacher, caught between wondering if he was a lunatic and, even if so, trying to nurture his inner performer, again asked: “Where were you?”

This time, he spat out “IN JAIL!” and then threw his chair across the room and yelled: “FUCK YOU BITCH – YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND NOTHING!!! FUCK THIS!”

With that, he stormed out of the room, and out of the school leaving us all to wonder if the local mental institution had a drama program this individual intended to transition from.