One of the things I love about teaching actors is that I get to interact with young people in what, for many, will be one of the most creative phases of their lives. It may not be apparent from inside the experience, but four years of theatrical immersion is an immense luxury and privilege, and for those of us lucky enough to teach full-time, that experience never ends.
For many, graduation from acting school marks an end to that period of profound growth. Newly-professional actors have a lot on their plates, from holding down day jobs to constant auditioning with limited opportunities to actually work, and many recent grads experience a kind of isolation in their art-making without the regular experience of scene study with actual scene partners.
When I was in Russia, I witnessed a very different kind of life for professional actors. In Moscow, graduating actors audition for repertory-based theatres rather than entering the gig economy, and if they’re fortunate enough to secure a position, that becomes their full-time, permanent job. Many actors stay with the same company for years, and eventually collect a pension and enjoy retirement. Auditioning-for-a-living isn’t a thing for these artists, and they get to put all of their creative energy into actual artistic, collaborative, acting work—similar to that immersive experience of acting school, but on a professional level.
In the US, professional actors, who do mostly audition for a living, get used to driving solo. When I’m working in a professional production context, I notice a variety of responses to the availability of coaching support. Some actors are hungry for collaboration. But others are reluctant. It’s as if these actors have gotten used to doing things their own way, without input, and feel threatened by collaboration.
Perhaps they had a negative experience of being a student, and coaching reminds them of that experience. Perhaps they had teachers who actively discouraged seeking coaching outside of class, framing it as a form of “cheating”. Perhaps they have bought into the myth of “talent”, and getting help with specific skill sets feels like an admission that they lack some sort of miraculous innate ability. Perhaps they believe that there’s some kind of valor in going it alone. In any case, coaching is a rare luxury in the professional world—not every company is able to budget for it, and many actors forgo individual coaching if for no other reason than a lack of financial privilege—so some actors just aren’t quite sure what to make of a collaborator who isn’t a director.
In these cases, it’s up to me to make sure that the actor understands that I’m there to be a supportive colleague and a second set of ears and eyes, not a critic or a boss. Putting the artist in the driver’s seat is a best practice for coaches. Being aware of power dynamics and hierarchies that might unsettle the actor is an important skill—no one wants to feel like they’re being sent to the principal’s office when they have a coaching session. Part of my job is inviting the actor into relationship by setting a tone of respect, mutuality, and support.