By Anon
It was all I could do. It was all I was good at. What else was there.
Like many actors, I found my love for performing as a child. School plays and musicals gave me an outlet unlike anything else. To most people I was a very quiet kid, not gregarious at all. Dyslexia plagued me early in life, so I kept quiet and out of the way in most lessons, the fear of being wrong preventing me from ever trying.
But in drama class, I was a different person. I could shout. I could scream. I could bring out my American accent, perfected over years of growing up with an American dad. There was nothing I couldn’t do in a drama class.
Dyslexic kids have to find new ways to learn things. We don’t work the same, and have to discover our own paths to get by. Acting gave me a confidence that hadn’t existed before, and whilst the rest of my “studies” never went very well, I always knew I had THIS one thing; this thing that I did better than everyone else. Of course, I needed to be at drama school.
My route to getting to drama school was tough. I didn’t get a place anywhere my first attempt, which is really hard for a young 18 year old to take. It’s not talked about, the mental toll of seemingly “failing” to get into drama school, when you’ve barely even left regular school. You’re practically still a tadpole, yet you hold yourself to the highest possible standard, as if you are already a professional.
I ended up attending a small course local to where I grew up, that kept me busy for many years (too many years actually), but ultimately didn’t nurture me in the ways I wanted, and left me feeling like I had wasted my time and money. At age 23, I started applying to drama schools again.
I include that intro to give a little context to how much of my life was being focussed into this small area; this singular idea that drama school was going to be the solution to my life. That it would solve the equation of me. That it would serve me up into the world, ready and able to achieve what I wanted. That’s not to say I wasn’t aware of the competitiveness of the industry. Far from it, young actors are inundated with opinions and “hot takes” about how difficult it is to have a career. It IS difficult, and is only getting harder. My point is that Drama School starts to take on something of a mythical status in the mind of a young actor. It’s seen to be essential, yet unattainable, and becomes the first (of many) “If-I-just-make-it-there” type goals that inundate young would-be actors, all of which are red herrings, just leading you into mental health traps.
SIDEBAR: I think it’s important to mention I also have NOT had the genuinely traumatic experiences that some suffer whilst at drama school. I’m a straight, white, male, fairly introverted, and not inclined to ruffle feathers. I never suffered verbal, physical, or psychological abuse (well, we’ll see about that one) at the hands of teachers or fellow students. Everything I’m trying to articulate is tame compared to what others have been subjected to. I don’t wish to diminish them at all, nor do I want make it seem like my experience was some how worse. I guess my goal is to unpack how Drama School training is currently not fit for purpose, and in fact has a much higher likelihood of severely damaging a young persons mental health, even when literal abuse is not present.
One of the hardest things to accept at drama school is that it isn’t fair. Sadly, tutors have favourites. This is universal amongst drama schools, and whilst no doubt is denied in certain circles (I’m sure the favourites themselves wouldn’t agree that it is as rampant as it is!), it remains an inconvenient truth. In every academic year, there will be a handful of students that will be prioritised, and a handful that will be forgotten about. It will manifest as a steady drip feed of opportunity, slow enough that it is hard to notice initially, but after a while it will become very apparent who is getting favoured more often, and you will start to notice how the favour is genuinely affecting the potential of that students early career. It’s important to understand that the decisions that tutors at drama schools make do have genuine, and specific impact on how each student is ejected into the world at the end. How they are seen, how they are packaged, how they comport themselves, it can all be hugely affected by the opportunities they have, or don’t have whilst training. And I do use the word “ejected” very purposefully there. Post graduation pastoral care for young actors is non-existent if you don’t immediately become a “success”. I visited my drama school about a year after graduating, and the head of Drama didn’t recognise me. I had to re-introduce myself.
During my short time at drama school, I was not one of the lucky ones. Since graduating I’ve attempted to downplay how disappointing my experience was, assuming I was overreacting or just bitter because a career never materialised for me. Surely I was just jealous, and needed something to blame. Only during therapy, and getting other peoples’ perspective have a realised that I did, in fact, get totally screwed. A lot of it was genuinely just bad luck. Getting down to the last 2 to be entered into the Carlton Hobbs competition and then not getting it; bad luck. Missing out on being cast in the play you really wanted; bad luck. Finding out after the fact that other people had had private meetings with the head of acting about which show they wanted to be cast in; not necessarily bad luck on that one.
The issue of casting in public shows at drama school is always contentious. People like to spout the good old “There are no small parts; just small actors!” line and try to feel better about their poor lot. Kicking up a fuss or being disgruntled with your casting is seen as bad form. For most 3rd year graduates, there’s invariably going to be a lot of variety, some large, some small parts, but you’ll get a good shake at something at some point. You have plenty of shows in the year after all. If you are on a shorter course, a Masters Degree or a Diploma, your chances are severely reduced. If the drama school then decides to stage a play with one lead character (played by someone else) who has 90% of the lines, that never leaves the stage, and is surrounded by about half a dozen tiny bit parts played by 6 other actors… then your chances are reduced again. Damn. Bad luck..? Sure.
So, as I barrelled toward my one and only real opportunity for a good public showing of myself, I hit the next brick wall of confidence shattering reality; my tutors didn’t know anything about me as an actor.
Picking a showcase piece raised some serious alarm bells for me. Young actors are terrible barometers for picking a good piece to represent themselves, and it’s understandable. The showcase has a ludicrous amount of pressure heaped upon it, for a scenario that is so removed from being able to actually showcase your skills. It’s an outdated system, that frankly should be stopped now because we really don’t need it. It seems to be kept for the base purpose of allowing the agents an opportunity to all gather and have a schmooze together. Usually, by the time showcase rolls around in the year, all agents have had a look online or in person at a show and have an idea of who they are interested in, if they haven’t already approached prior. Showcases are useless in this new digital age; yet we still inflict them on graduating students. Why.
Regardless, the process of picking pieces takes months (also ridiculous in itself). You’d think months would be more than enough time to find something that really sells you as a concept. I remember doing piece after piece for my tutors only to look into their eyes and just see blank confusion. They had no idea what to do with me. And you’re pretty young, you expect your tutors to have more experience, to know more about everything you’re doing there! Right?! I brought a number of pieces that I liked, only to be told “No, those don’t work for you”. So, what does work for me? Guide me, please, to what is better. Seemingly, that was a step further than they were willing to go for me. Ah, that was the old fabled “tear down”, but where was the “build back up”? The reality of that bullshit is that there is never a build back up. There never has been. The victims of the tear down process have never recovered, and either left the school, left the industry shortly after graduating, or have significant mental health issues. It is a myth, bunch of shit spouted by tutors who want to seem aloof and mysterious, like their process is magical and out of reach to the average person.
So my showcase was a bust as well. Shit. Bad luck.
As I’ve already mentioned, my first public performance had garnered me all of 5 minutes of stage time in a 2+ hour play. So I was understandably hopeful that the last piece I would be involved with would give me something that really showed me off, really spoke to my strengths and allowed me to flex my acting muscles. After all, everyone else had gotten their chance, now it was my turn! The director brought in for this final show owned a circus company. My first red flag. They were renowned amongst the other students at the school for being utterly bizarre, and creating complex and abstract theatrical pieces that were confusing but ultimately visually impressive to behold, if not to everyone’s taste. We are already heading down a road of “this is not my thing”, but, again, I wanted to be positive. We had the play, we had the script, we had our parts. Gotta make the most of it right?! On day one, the director was furious. They didn’t believe in casting prior to the beginning of rehearsals. They also confessed that they didn’t even like the play we were doing, and in fact, were mad that they weren’t just creating something from scratch. What followed was a rehearsal period of highly conceptual work, heavily movement based, with the barest attention paid to the script or the story at all. And to be clear, I’m not saying that this way of working is bad, and doesn’t create worth while theatre. What I’m saying is, this was so far from my skill set, so far from the best I could be, so far from the one opportunity I had to make an impression on any potential industry professionals who may have visited. And part of me knew it. By the time we got to opening night, I was miserable. I knew I was phoning it in. And all the tutors just lapped it up.
Something really toxic starts to happen in a training actors’ brain when you aren’t committed to what you’re performing, when you know you are just essentially fucking around until it’s over, and then everyone still comes to tell how great they thought you were in it. It doesn’t make you feel better about it, it does NOT sate the thirst for improvement, it actually sets you back. In your mind, you know you are fooling them, because you don’t care for what you’ve just done. This mindset embedded in me, and cynicism became my default going forward.
Later, I did manage to ask why I had be cast in that play. I was told that they thought the experience would be good for me, challenge my natural instincts and open me up a bit. They weren’t wrong. It did challenge me. I did learn things. But why are the lessons I get always about dealing with a bad situation? Why do I have to pay for the privilege to not get the same attention and focus that other students did? I know it’s a little crass to mention money, but fuck it, when drama school is so damn expensive it becomes relevant. The nagging thought starts to sit in my brain; I’ve paid the same as everyone else here, and I’ve been fucked at every turn. Admittedly, my course at drama school was a masters degree, and therefore much shorter than a BA. A lot less time for tutors to get to know me, and find out where I really excelled. They managed fine with almost every other member of my class, but oh well. Bad luck. Again.
We also worked on a short film during my degree. Another area I was very interested in, very excited for, and that totally let me down. During drama school, all students will be pushed to stretch their skills sets. But during the process, everyone will independently find their way to particular disciplines. Everyone will have strengths and weaknesses. I was skilled with dialogue, and could keep my face very still. Screen work was comparatively easy for me compared to others. We were all looking forward to the project, but even my class mates told me this was gonna be my term. It wasn’t.
The process started badly, and never improved. Our main tutor for this module was going to be away making a film, so we were getting replacement teachers. A husband and wife duo. I found out later they were somewhat infamous, after putting the previous year group through a bizarre process of telling truthful secrets and personal stories about themselves and then explaining to them how they would be used in the film they were creating. The students had to complain to the school about the lack of disclosure in this process, that the secrets were shared in confidence, and they had no right to use these personal details to inform their film. They backed down. This didn’t stop them from doing the same thing with my year group, just with a cursory speech at the start to effect of “we may use these stories in the writing process!”. We protected ourselves accordingly; nothing overly personal, kept it light.
The eventual film created was embarrassing. Student film fodder in it’s most bargain basement form. I was genuinely ashamed of my 90 seconds of screen time across the 10 minute film. Utterly useless, I would never be showing it to anybody, let alone an industry professional to convince them to hire me.
The film project is primarily there to give us set experience, but also to furnish us with showreel material when we graduated. It was mortifying to see the finished product, but more concerning was the total lack of care that other members of staff had for the quality. I never heard a word of concern from the senior acting staff. Did they even care? Did they think it was good?! This speaks to another point; wider accountability. Everyone is fallible, and capable of error. It never felt like there was any concern for how all classes were being maintained, and that a bench mark of quality was being maintained. The violent rocking back and forth between different teaching abilities of different tutors was so disruptive.
This all gets further exacerbated by the previously mentioned favouritism, where those happily chosen students would sail through all situations blissfully unaware of issues. It made me feel like I was being gaslit, like I was going crazy. I had no one that I felt I could talk to, and wasn’t really able to articulate myself even if I did. They would’ve circled the wagons anyway.
Why did it feel like anywhere I had a chance of being successful was an area that the tutors couldn’t give two shits about. At every turn, I felt abandoned. Within the first few months I felt them turn away from me, focus fully on the others who they preferred, maybe who they perceived had a greater chance of being successful after training. I noticed that. And whether or not I acknowledged it at the time, the effect of noticing that has rippled throughout my entire life. I left drama school having practically no confidence in my abilities at all. I had wasted time, money, and now had no idea what I could do. Yet… it was the only thing I was good at, wasn’t it? It had only been this for my whole life. What was I supposed to do now?
The answer was nothing. Nothing at all. As a long term sufferer of depression (as many actors are) I fell off a cliff. I worked in a hotel and a bar. I didn’t act again for years, and even then it was a test. A test to see if it still sparked, if I could find what I remembered from my childhood. I couldn’t find it. Instead, I resented everything. I resented the director, the production design, the whole ethos of the theatre I was working in. I didn’t want to be around my cast mates. I thought I could’ve done everything better than everyone else. Everything felt limp, unworthy, and just not good enough. I fully acknowledge that this response is hugely unreasonable, and years later I would spend a lot of time in therapy analysing my train of thought through that period. It took more years still before I fully accepted that I would never consider myself an actor again. That to do so would be self harm.
Did I not follow my dreams hard enough? Should I have never given up? Was the small boy who had that dream maybe not a reliable source of goal setting?
I think people give ‘giving up’ a bad rep. Sometimes dreams lie. Sometimes dreams are facades, constructed by people who have a vested interest in you believing the dream. And sometimes the dream is shattered by circumstances beyond your control. We need to find a new way of approaching the idea of following your dreams. There’s got to be a more organic way of noticing as your dreams change, or shift entirely. A way that doesn’t cost you so much money, so much time, so much heart and soul. As soon as I accepted that acting was not in my future, I became a happier person. There are parts of me that have flourished since letting go, like my ability to raise up those around me those I care about. I give really good advice now, and have helped a lot of people work through tough times of their own. The idea of returning to acting now almost feels like a joke. It doesn’t hurt anymore, it just seems obscene. Why would I do that to myself?
I don’t know if I have achieved what I set out to in writing this. I haven’t mentioned every instance that Drama School failed me, and I think if I did this would just devolve into a disgruntled failed actor rant, if it hasn’t already.
Drama Schools need to change. A new culture of safety and equality needs to be fostered. I think the prevailing opinion that all actors are slightly unhinged is due in no small part to Drama Schools perpetuating these traits in already vulnerable young people. Extrovert or introvert, young actors are emotional, highly flexible and dynamic thinkers, who can be easily moulded, for good or for ill. They shouldn’t be moulded to being anything other than who they want to be, and that should be treated with the same respect and care as everyone else. Otherwise, all we are left with is a meat grinder, with only gristle and cartilage making it through to be consumed by the masses. How tasty.
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