Years ago I was testing for a series. My first audition was terrific, if I may say so myself. Bold, unexpected, daring, unique. As the process went on, and a series of callbacks ensued, I get getting notes from various producers, writers, casting agents, about how to change the read to make it “what they’re looking for.” (The “they” in this case, was the network brass.)

When it came to the final screen test, moments before I entered the room, one of the producers quite literally changed me. He told me to take of the jacket I was wearing and wear his. It was better, he insisted. While I appreciated his wanting to help me, it turned the whole affair into an unmitigated disaster.

By the time I entered the room I had no idea what I was doing, let along wearing, and my original interpretation that had gotten everybody so excited, had totally vanished. I was doing it their way. Needless to say, that role got away very, very quickly.

I can’t say that I would have been cast had I stuck to my guns. That would be a foolish claim. But at very, very least, I could have walked out singing,

For what is a man? What has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught.
To say the things he truly feels, and not the words of one who kneels,
The record shows, I took the blows, and did it myyyyy waaaaaay.

And yes, that matters.

A healthy dose of pride is just that: healthy. It leads to better performances, confident auditions, faster recovery time from rejections, and inspires others to be their best. It is, when you have it, an absolute gift from the Gods.

Arrogance, on the other hand, is rooted in fear and self-doubt. It’s the worst kind of make-up the industry has ever seen, as it covers nothing. It will hurt you, hurt others, and drag the whole stinking ship into a sea of loathing.

So, fine, terrific. Pride: good, arrogance: bad. But how do we distinguish?

I told a friend the other day about a professional accomplishment I was genuinely proud of. It wasn’t a big thing, but it meant something to me. But it came off as arrogant, as if I were trying to have a small achievement stand in for something greater.

We’ll have a hard time finding that exact line between pride and arrogance, but presentation alone could have a lot to do with it. The very same announcement, “Hey, I got the gig,” can be one or the other depending on inflection. But hey, this should be the easy part for actors.

If I can offer any pearl of wisdom, it is this: pay attention to humility. Arrogance may well be pride without humility. If you have something you want to share, be it a performance, a handshake, or your good news, keep a touch of humility present at all times.

You’ll be glad you did.

A little bulb went off in my head. Actors today are trained toward playing character, and we do, in fact, often neglect the scene. There’s little hiding from this.

This is especially true in film and television, where more attention is paid to character elements like wardrobe, stylings, mannerisms, look, haircuts, habits and catchy one-liners, than if a scene is any good in its entirety. Whether something is advanced in the emotional make-up of the character, or whether we learn something beyond simple story points has been rendered nearly irrelevant. It’s a race between plot and character, scene be damned.

The scene, as it were, is nearly dead, rendering our most basic criticism of them as to whether they’re too long or too short. “Too long” means we got the plot point and would like the narrative to move on, “too short” means there wasn’t enough time to get our needed dose of character.

I have an audition coming up, and as I sat in class I ran my lines in my head, searching for whether I’d done any work on the scene. I had not. Several choices about vocal pitch, clothing and a nervous twitchiness had been established, but there was little in my preparation that answered the question, “So, what is this about? What’s going on? What are the points A and B here?” I had no idea, and here I was, a professional actor, studying with a celebrated teacher, suddenly clueless about the basics of my own craft.

But I felt as though I’d been mercifully spared another round of an anguished audition later. I could go back and do my work, properly. If I do the job, the rest follows, and it’s the attention to scene that will separate a mediocre read from a good one. Whether anybody in the room knows what’s going on doesn’t matter. Something will be felt, the way good stitching holds a bad together even as we desire only to feel the smoothness of the leather.

And at any rate, nearly all the classes out there are still being advertised as “scene study,” are they not?

Today, I sat in a small room I’d once cleared out and painted.  My scene partner sat across from me, and not a word was said.  The photographs on the wall of Lee Strasberg, Elia Kazan and other luminaries seem to do all the talking.  Finally, the knock came and we were escorted to the top of the stairs into the dark of the theatre where a pretty young woman extended an arm and whispered, “Right this way.”

The words bounced around in my head as I stepped forth into the spotlight.  Right this way.  Right, this way.  Right, this way.  This was not a distraction, but rather the perfect way to get into character.  We were doing a scene from “Long Day’s Journey into Night,” no easy task, and my character Edmund surely would have chewed a while on right this way, and so I did as well.  When the first line came to start the scene, I was fully alive, deep in thought, and the scene went beautifully.

I have no expectations for membership.  It’s notoriously hard to get in to the Studio on the first try.  But I’m satisfied with the work we presented and the presence I was able to hold forth.  Something’s clicking, I can feel it.  It’s an unmistakable sensation in the bones.

Right.  This way.

For the Mineralava Musings…

After a moment, a second actor, cut from the same cloth, sauntered over.  The two recognized each other, greeted a fond hello and started in on some idle chatter that soon turned into a litany of complaints, laced with profanities and full of bile.  It was uncomfortable for anybody within earshot.  Endless moans about part time bar jobs, unemployment and getting old.

I looked over and asked myself, “What is to stop me from becoming one of these guys in twenty years time?”  They must have gone forth, as younger men, never dreaming that one day they’d be reduced to this.  Who or what is to say that I will be any different?

But then it struck me.  Today is the future I created yesterday, and tomorrow is the future I’m creating today.  It’s in what I do right here, right now, moment to moment.  And suddenly I was lit up with gratitude.  Not for all the privileges I enjoy, but for the ability to see clearly what is at stake, and to recognize my part in it.

I know exactly what will determine whether I wake up one day a bitter old man.  It’s whether I wake up right now.

For the Mineralava Musings, this is Edoardo Ballerini.

In the last year I’ve added another piece to the preparation repertoire, and it involves feeling out the character in daily life, being him as I go about life as usual.  How would he stand in line at the DuaneRead?  How would he swipe his MetroCard?  These actions may be unlikely to ever show up on screen, but it gives me something to do as I amble around from stop to stop, and it can be helpful to get the guy in my bones so he’s on automatic recall when it comes time to shoot, allowing me to concentrate on the more interesting aspects of the character, namely why he’s doing what he’s doing and saying what he’s saying.

As a firm believer that there’s always something to do in an acting career – I like to think that while 90% of the business is beyond my control, I can at least maximize the 10% that’s mine – I’ve taken to using my time between stops to try out characters.  It can be as simple as a walk, or wearing a suit even when there’s no need, just to see what it feels like.  It could be chewing gum.

Last week I was at a voice-over audition.  The lobby was crowded, and they were running late.  I eventually found a quiet spot to read the copy in the form of a large utility closet.  Once satisfied I knew what I was doing I opted to stay there rather than head back out for idle chatter.  And I decided to start working on something.  A friend of mine in LA has a bobbing, twitchy, physicality I’ve always found fascinating, and I’m sure I can use it someday, possibly soon.  So I started being him, as best I could, making up a story to tell and feeling it out.

As fate would have it, I had my back to the door, and somebody opened it, and suddenly I was on display, walking in small circles like a crazed pigeon, talking to myself.  When I turned around, a few people were just staring at me with a mix of confusion and concern.  I looked back at them, took a breath, and in perhaps my greatest acting moment, I stayed in character, grabbed my bag and strutted back out to the lobby.

Hey, whatever works.

For the Mineralava Musings, this is Edoardo Ballerini.

I was at an audition yesterday, slinking around the waiting area, as you do.  There was a group of older women there, as well as a few of us scattered males.  The women looked to be in their 50s, and all were very beautiful.  They were clearly models, the type of women that caused traffic accidents in their 20s but now go largely ignored because their hair is gray and they have wrinkles around the eyes, which is a shame.  Not that they should still be causing accidents, but that we don’t prize beauty beyond the age of 30.  At any rate, I was perfectly content to stay in that room for a few minutes and enjoy the scenery, though I was dismayed to see that nearly all of these women were doing little more than gossiping and chatting with each other.  Once a model, always a model, I suppose.  But across from me there was this one, lone woman reading a book.  A book of the “self-help” variety, something with a title like, “Racing to Catch Up,” which most of her compatriots would surely ridicule, if they could in fact read the title.

Before I go any further, I should point out that “self-help” is a misnomer.  It’s “help.”  There’s another person involved, namely the author of the book.  So, there’s little point pretending you’re doing it all by yourself.  But we’re stuck with the label because Americans like to add the prefix “self-“ to anything they can.  It makes them feel in touch with their pioneer roots.  Self-awareness, for example, is just awareness.  If it’s limited to the self, you’re screwed, because that bus is barreling down the avenue and you might want to notice it.  Just an FYI.  Anyway, I happen to love “self-help” books.  I read them voraciously.  Most of them say the same thing, “Think positive, make a plan,” that kind of thing, but there’s always some little unique kernel of gold in them that I can extrapolate, and I think because I’m making so many fundamental changes to who I am, what I am, where I am, how I am, that if I can saturate my brain with these messages, something should come out of it.  And it has.  I’ve learned that it’s okay to want to change, and that change is, forgive me, self-controlled.

So, to the woman sitting there racing to catch up, as the pretty people around her complimented each other’s latest haircut, I applaud you.  You are my sister, and I wish you well.  Ignore the smirks that accompany the reactions to the titles of the books you read, and every undermining comment that these books are for suckers.  Perhaps, just perhaps, the suckers are the ones who don’t know that a mirror is for more than checking eyeliner.  But we wish them well.

For the Mineralava Musings, this is Edoardo Ballerini.

Once again it seems my spiritual practice is dovetailing with my professional life.  I study meditation.  That may sound strange.  What is there to study?  You just sit there and do nothing, right?  It’s a little more complicated than that.  At any rate, I do study, and I have a wonderful teacher, who last week raised the distinction between “letting go” and “letting be.”  It’s subtle, but important.  “Letting go” can often lead to further frustration, if, in fact, the thing in question – anger, fear, resentment, whatever it is – isn’t let go of.  Now you’re stuck with the original thorn in your side, only it has been twisted.  “Letting be,” on the other hand asks only that you accept that the anger, fear, resentment is allowed to exist.  That’s all.  It just… is.  I’m frustrated, I’m angry, I’m afraid.  So be it.  It’s just a feeling.  It will work it’s way off on its own, as you simply observe it.  In fact, you might even try to befriend it.  Stop me if I’m moving to fast.  But try it.  You’ll see.

Anyway, I had an audition today.  Nothing that was going to change my life, but interesting enough to get me down there.  About ten seconds into the reading, I could hear a voice in the back of my head saying, “Hey, this, too, is something to just let be.  It’s not unpleasant at all, but let’s just let it be.”  I’m in a room.  I’m reading a few pages.  Somebody is recording the event.  This is what is happening right now.  And a remarkable thing happened.  I found myself intensely more relaxed and comfortable, and more able to listen to the words coming at me.  The old joke is that actors memorize their scripts in the following way: My line.  Blah, blah, blah.  My line.  Blah, blah, blah.  My line.  And I’m sure I’ve falling into this trap as well.  But not today.  Simply letting things be cleared the space to take it all in, as if I were more than one person.  The guy speaking, the guy listening, and the guy observing the event as a whole.  No one part was dominating, and in the end I felt light and refreshed.

As I left the building and headed for the subway I fairly floated through the crisp New York autumn air, grinning like a doofus.  Maybe there’s something to this studying thing after all…

And I’ll get back to you about what happens if I don’t get the offer.

For the Mineralava Musings, this is Edoardo Ballerini.