Background
Why is this chapter so short? After all, isn’t directing the most important part of an audio dramatist’s job? Surely, there’s much more to say on the subject? Yes, but I’ve said it in the rest of this book. A director should know as much about playwrighting as a playwright, about acting as an actor and about producing as the producer. I don’t mean that a director must actually write plays or perform like a pro. However, you do have to study a script and parse its values in order to present it. Often, you have to edit the script for production. And, unless you know what acting is all about, how can you help your talent* or even know what to expect of them? Therefore, the aspiring audio director should review the other chapters in this tome. Further, you should get some experience behind the mike yourself to get some first-hand knowledge of the kind of effort that goes into the actor's job, particularly how it feels to be on the receiving end of a director.
Cultural literacy and first-hand interaction with a variety of peoples in a variety of environments, pleasant and unpleasant ought to go without saying. Often artists of all types, finding the world at large hostile to them, cloister themselves within a community of fellow artists. Perhaps this explains why writers especially tend to write more authentically when they’re young, before they have gained admission to the specialized world of the literati and when the unspecialized, everyday world gleams bright in their consciousness. At any write, no matter how much you may specialize in one genre or subject matter, eclectic, cosmopolitan and wide ranging experiences can only add depth to your work.
You must come to the party thoroughly prepared. Know what you want.
I can’t emphasize enough the importance of casting. Review that chapter well. Casting is ninety percent of your job. As director, you’re only as good as your talent.
Believe it or not, after casting, you’re most important job is "directing traffic" — that is, conducting sessions efficiently, making the best use of your collaborators’ time. The more efficiently you work, the less your actors and techies have to wait around for their turn, the better they all behave. Personality conflicts, bruised egos and frustrations develop in idle time. On the other hand, concentrated work stimulates performers, keeps them alert and assures them that you know what you’re doing, which encourages their cooperation.
The more professional you are, the more professional your collaborators will be. Professionalism begets colleaguery, that spirit of mutual support and collective identity that contributes so potently to creative exchange and the sense of ensemble. It is your responsibility to engender this spirit by setting an amiable, stimulating, creative and professional example.
If you can see the characters and action while listening to your players, the scene is working. If you can’t see, then it isn’t and you have to bring about adjustments in the playing until you can see with 20/20 vision in your mind’s eye.
You can’t direct actors to sound the way you heard the play in your head when you read the script silently to yourself. You won’t get anywhere that way. Instead, you want to bring out the "spine," or underlying values — sub-text, motivation, style, etc. — that made you hear the script the way you did.
In taking the Hippocratic Oath, doctors swear to uphold the dictum primum non nocere — above all, do no harm. If directors had a similar oath, it would state: "ABOVE ALL, DON’T GET IN THE WAY!" If your cast and crew are doing fine without you’re help, keep your mouth shut and leave them alone. If you do not know what to say to aid them, say nothing. For, if you do nothing but let them work, they will somehow come up with something that will play. It may not be exactly right, what the script calls for, but it will get the theatrical job done more than if the players sit idle while you pontificate at length. Avoid running off at the mouth. Valuable rehearsal time should be spent rehearsing. Let your actors get to work and learn to direct them succinctly, if at all.
The desirable first step in any rehearsal period is the "read-through" or "table read," in which the actors perform the script for the first time. They read from beginning to end without any comment from the director, except to clear up some textual ambiguity or type-o. The P.A. reads the sound and music directions. I like to hold this session away from the studio in a cheerful well-lit environment with the cast sitting comfortably around a table.
Thus the actors begin learning how their voices relate to those of the other players, how their parts relate to the property (i.e., the play) as a whole, and, often, how their lines sound when spoken aloud. They begin bonding as an ensemble. If you listen carefully, you learn what your cast brings to the table, the qualities they have to flesh out their characters, the kind of help they need from you to do their best work.
If I have any tips for the talent, I deliver it after the read. Even then, I don’t address specific line readings and scenes. Usually, I say something about the general motivation or personalities of the characters, or about the style and atmosphere of the play. Some encouraging words are always appropriate. I like to hold the table read a day or more before we work together again. Talent has some time to mull over what they’ve just experienced and the advice they’ve heard from me.
Unfortunately, circumstances — tight budget, scheduling or logistical difficulties, or a long episodic property — may sometimes render a read-through impractical. In such a case, you need to schedule more time is needed in the sound studio, and more responsibility falls on the director. Personally, I like the actors to do all the work. All I want is the credit.
After the table read, work should proceed in three overlapping phases, as follows:
Mechanical Matters. Teaching the stereo blocking, and/or assigning and spiking mike positions. Get his over with as soon as possible or it will get in the actors’ way by dividing their concentration.
Interpretive Detail. Concentration on developing characterizations, and extracting values in individual scenes or beats.
Flow. Fitting the play within time constraints, if any; fixing the values discovered in the second phase of rehearsal, building ensemble; effective playing of the rising and falling action, pace, the flow of action and consistency of style. If you are recording foley with the voice tracks, which I recommend, your foley walkers should be rehearsing with you during this phase.
This means at least three passes at the script, more if possible. But not every script in every circumstance requires extensive rehearsal. In radio’s heyday, most shows went through one run-through before going on-air live. Of course, in those days the plays were written so simply that they could be sight-read, like TV news copy is now. Casts and crews did this kind of work every day. And in series with continuing characters, the principles would come in already steeped in their roles. The more you, your cast and crew have worked together in the past, the easier or simpler the property, the more professional experience everyone brings to the session, the less rehearsal you need.
What to do
What’s the best way to communicate with actors? Some directors use various exercises or extra-verbal techniques. I find doing so a waste of time. Every so often, I find a little physicalization helps, that is, moving or positioning the actors to the scene’s visual requirements. For instance, when once working with a pair who felt awkward doing a love scene, I made them cuddle in a comfortable nook of the studio, which seemed to work. In another instance, the script called for the characters speaking while they get out of a car, walk into an airport and into an elevator. I staged this by having the players get out of a car in the studio’s parking lot, walk into the echoey reception area and into a nearby walk-in closet. This was less for the actors’ benefit than for the changes in overtones on the voices from the differing environments. With the addition of airport ambiance track and elevator door sfx in post, those overtones heightened the sense of action and place for listeners.
Normally, however, I find the best way to communicate with actors is to just tell them what I want. If capable actors understand what you are looking for, chances are they’ll find a way to provide it. If actors understand but still can’t produce the goods, you made a mistake when you cast them. Unless, of course, they’re kids. My technique has always disappointed me when I’ve had to work with children — or, for that matter, anyone with limited comprehension of English. Otherwise, I have developed a large vocabulary and trained myself to be articulate enough to pull off "the talking method" with most adult players I am privileged to work with.
How to Do It
How you speak is as important as what you say. You can come off like a fool, a tyrant, abusive, a snot or an egotist if you don’t watch out. I, for one, wouldn’t mind projecting any one of those personalities, if it produced results. But it tends to get in the way. (I need to qualify this remark. When I was starting out on a career, the director I trained with, by far the best in Chicago at the time, had a remarkable knack for building ensemble in his casts. He did this by being so obnoxious that the players would bond in their collective hatred of him. Whether he behaved badly on purpose or not, I can’t say. I only know that it worked for him in my home town. Later, after he left, he made himself so odious to the writer of a play he was directing that the writer burned down the theater. The lesson here? You tell me.} I’m not sure why I get along so well with talent when I get along with practically no one else. However, I think it’s because:
1) I love actors and working with them has always been a treat (actors can sense your feelings towards them and will respond accordingly);
2) I am often energized and confidant when working with capable people who are doing their best, and such animation is infectious.
Conversely, when I’m not feeling good about how things are going, my affect can make things worse. This I control as best I can and always regret when signs of frustration and impatience leak out. Which brings up the subject of temper. You never should really blow up at actors. You should only fake it as a directorial technique. The only time you can afford to show temper is when a player does something outrageous — a conscious breach of professional behavior that threatens to undermine the production, or when it is clear that the performer is not trying. You have to be prudent when using temper in this way. Negative affect as often as not encourages negative affect in your players. Never, under any circumstances, are dismissiveness or condescension or personal remarks justified.
When to Do It
When do you throw your two cents in? When necessary. Otherwise shut up and let ‘em work. Most of the time, I take notes while I listen, usually a word or two to remind me of what I want to say along with the page and line numbers to which the note refers. At a convenient stopping point, I will give my remarks. During recording, I will stop if I hear an egregious flub that will derail the sequence we’re working on. If the flub is slight, I’ll let it go and take it again in a wild track to be edited in during post. If you keep interrupting the actors will never get a sense of the flow or how elements of the property relate to each other and make for a dynamic whole.
If you have some luxury of time, you may find it productive early on to interrupt as things come along that need correcting. Once the details are pretty much out of the way, concentrate on the entirety — the dramatic flow, the build to a climax. Let the actors work in long chunks before pausing for notes.
A pitfall to guard against — A common error of beginning directors is to concentrate so much on little details that by the time they have to lay it down, they’ve over-rehearsed the first part of the play without ever getting to the rest of it. Thorough preparation and smart scheduling helps prevent this misuse of rehearsal time.
Before you can call it a day, you have to listen to the usable takes and choose the final tracks. You may have already selected keepers while recording, or have reviewed the day's takes at the end of individual sessions. My practice is to instruct the editor to use the last take of each scene or recorded sequence, unless otherwise noted. I may cut good lines from otherwise bad takes into good takes with some bad line readings or flubs. Then, if the play was recorded out of sequence, comes the "assembly," in which the good takes are edited together in sequence. After that comes your last chance to effect the actors' performances, by editing the tracks.
Now, you can sit down with your engineer for the editing session, make the changes yourself, or, better, audition a CD or DAT copy of the assembled tracks, marking the changes you desire in a script. It is my practice to mark the script in red, using the following notation:
# = add a beat pause ## = add a longer pause / = shorten a pause // = totally remove pause /\ = boost the gain \/ = lower the gain ¯¯¯ = smooth out the edit O = remove breath or noise A squiggle in the left margin opposite the note alerts the engineer that there's an edit in the body of the text. Thus, script page could look something like this:
Handing the producer and engineer an annotated script works best little need be done in post beyond the editing. When there are a lot of music and sfx to add in post, you either need to edit and overdub with the engineer, trust the producer to decide on the final edits, or, as I do, both produce and direct.
When a live audience shares space in real time with the performers, you have to be aware you have two audiences to consider, the one in attendance that can see and the remote one that can't. For the latter, the former is part of the show, even when it is silent. Direct your actors to play to the house. This does not mean that they have to project to the last row. After all, the cast is miked and the signal piped into the auditorium (or should be). Quiet moments can still be played quietly. But the actors have to "play up" as they would in a regular stage play — that is, more broadly and, in general, louder than they would perform in the studio. If you've ever directed for the live theater, you already know that a synergy can develop between the house and the players that energizes the talent and deeply stirs the viewers. You want to shoot for that synergy. The remote listener will hear it. On the other hand, if you try to ignore the house and play to the home audience, you will probably satisfy neither.
Direct traffic carefully, making sure that each actor gets to the right position in time for his or her cue, that the stage is balanced, and that crosses to and from mikes are accomplished without your people bumping into each other or displacing audience focus. All players required for the act should come on stage before the act begins and stay, seated quietly upstage when not needed. Even then, they are part of the performance, because the house can see them. Therefore, they should be fairly still and completely silent, attentively watching what's happening at the mikes while following with their scripts. It's a good idea to keep bottled water under each chair, though it is not such a good idea for actors to hold and sip frequently from their bottles while waiting for their cues.
At the mikes, place actors for the best compromise between good on-mike positions and good sight-lines. They should always uncover to the house, holding scripts in their downstage hands. The more mikes that are "hot" at one time, the more risk of feedback and unwanted noise. Since you may need two or more mikes for the foley, and more for the musicians, avoid using more than three or four mikes for the talent. They can share mikes, if necessary, though you should avoid placing more than three actors on the same mike at the same time. Actors should stand at the mikes; standing is best for sight-lines and energy. Give an actor who must sit a high stool rather than a regular chair.
Hand Signals
In the studio, I use hand signals sparingly if at all. They can distract and irritate more than they can help. The beauty of them is in the ability they give you to direct without interrupting the flow of a scene, which you particularly want to avoid when the talent is on a roll. But if your gesticulations are just going to divide your actors’ focus, you defeat that purpose. So, you have to feel out the cast members, some of whom may take to it and some not.
When I do use hand signals in the studio, I ensconce myself on the same side of the glass as the talent. They can’t see me well if I remain in the booth. I wear "cans" (earphones) so that I can hear how they sound through the equipment. That’s the sound that the audience will hear and that you are directing for. I make sure I’m wearing soft-soled shoes and clothing or jewelry that will not produce rustling noises. I stand so that when I’m signaling I do not force talent to adjust mike position in order to see me.
When directing in an auditorium before a house audience, hand signals take on an additional role. They provide visual interest for the viewers. So that I can talk freely with the engineer, I stay in the booth and guide actors through the intermediary of a floor director. The floor director, position between the talent and the audience on the auditorium floor for the sake of sight-lines, hears me through cans and passes on my comments via hand signals. I often engage a performer to direct from the floor, as a little judicious showmanship applied to the job doesn’t hurt. The floor director cues the audience to encourage applause and hardy laughter in appropriate spots.
The signals shown below are all that I ever need. I have the chart duplicated and distributed to the talent at the first rehearsal, during which I will demonstrate their use. I will then use them during subsequent rehearsals so that the cast can get use to them.
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 I lost my @#%&@ place! |
Whenever you can, rehearse the actors at the mikes. While the actors are getting needed practice positioning themselves properly and maneuvering script pages silently, the recordist can set levels, practice riding gain, check on and resolve potential problems such as too much room tone, over- and under-modulation, mike popping, etc.
Record rehearsals. You may be able to pull lines from them in case you find flubs in otherwise usable takes during post. Besides, who knows? You could get lucky, even on the first try.
Under-rehearse to preserve spontaneity in your players. If there are minor flaws, you can clean them up with wild tracks and judicious editing. Trying for perfection can result in over-rehearsing; by the time the actors are letter-perfect, they’re stale, lifeless. You then have to work them some more to get the spark back.
Avoid giving line readings — that is, speaking a line yourself and asking talent to imitate you. Most actors consider it insulting. However, if a player asks for it, feel free.
Have actors hold scripts rather than use music stands. Music stands just get in the way.
Encourage players to keep physically still at the mike. Some will shift on their feet or try to make eye contact with the other players, thus compromising their mike positions. Some will gesture, thinking that doing so somehow helps them perform vocally. All it actually does is diffuse energy that is better focused up and out the mouth. Other actors fidget nervously without realizing it, even noisily rattling the change in their pockets or playing with the jewelry they're wearing.
The more you value your actors, the more they'll notice it without your trying to show them, and the easier it will be for you to get good performances out of them. I don't know why this works, but it does.
Pauses are very potent in audio. Use them sparingly.
The opening of acts and scenes should be played somewhat slowly and deliberately to allow the location, time and characters to register in the listener's mind. Anything flying by too quickly will get lost.
