Page 37 of Method Acting

He gnashed his teeth at me, then jumped up to his feet. He offered me his hand, which I stupidly took—thinking he was helping me to my feet—only for him to let go of me so I fell on my ass.

“Deirdre?” I said from the floor. “I’d like to request a partner change.”

I don’t know why no one took me seriously. Even Amos laughed.

The next day we spent the day with the camera crews. It was one thing getting familiar with Amos and being partnered with him, but it was another thing getting used to having cameras on us in a reality TV sense.

Being aware of angles and the camera without any stage direction wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. The reality-television aspect of this meant candid filming, and not looking down the barrel of the lens was difficult given there was no fixed camera angle.

We acted out scenes from Friends, just small skits, as a group of eight. Our designated camera crew was Daniel and Bridgette. Daniel held the camera with a stabilizer and Bridgette was his assistant. He did all the filming, she walked behind him, guiding him so he didn’t bump into poles or people.

We’d need to get very comfortable with them being our shadows and in our faces, while pretending they weren’t there at all.

Amos seemed to be able to do it a lot easier than me.

“I’m surprised you struggle with it,” Amos said with a frown. He packed up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, ready to leave now that class was done.

“Why?”

“Because you always have eyes on you,” he said. “Wherever you go, people watch you.”

“No they don’t.”

They did, but I wasn’t admitting to knowing that.

He rolled his eyes. “For an actor, you can’t lie for shit.”

“You know, contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually ask people to look at me.”

“I never said you did. And I get it. You look like a young Brad Pitt. People are gonna look.”

“Are my genetics a crime now?”

“Sure. Looking like generic Hollywood is a federal offense.”

I glowered at him. “I hate that word. And you took it back. No returns.”

“Should I just call you Hollywood?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. And anyway, you look like Keanu Reeves from My Own Private Idaho.”

He considered that and smirked. “Thanks. He was hot in that.”

I sighed. “My point is, people look at you too.”

He held the door for me as we walked out. “And my point is,” he said, “just pretend the cameras are people. The people who watch you. You know they’re there but don’t act like you know. They’re the extras on your stage, not the other way around.”

I thought about that. “That actually makes sense. I dunno why it’s so different for me,” I admitted. “I’m used to having a stage or a set, an audience or the camera that has a fixed location, ya know? This is random.”

“Like freeform,” he said. “You’ve done that before.”

True. “Jeez. Are you right about everything?”

“Mostly.”

I stopped walking when I realized where we were—at the door to his dorm. “Oh. What are we doing here?”

He nodded to the building. “Well, I’m going to get changed for work. I have a shift in twenty minutes. I don’t know what you’re doing.”

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