Valerie Curtis-Newton

University of Washington

By Ellen Orenstein

Curtis-Newton is associate professor in acting and directing and head of directing at the University of Washington in Seattle. She is an artistic associate at ACT Theatre, where she oversees the Hansberry Project, an African-American theatre lab. She has directed projects and taken part in new-play development at professional companies nationwide. Previously she served as artistic director for the Performing Ensemble of Hartford and the Ethnic Cultural Theatre at the University of Washington, and was a recipient of the Stage Directors and Choreographers Foundation’s Sir John Gielgud Fellowship and a UW Presidential Faculty Development Fellowship.

You’re a very actor-friendly director and teacher. Can you talk about your unique way of working with actors?

Something I try to teach young actors and directors is that the obstacles in the rehearsal process are almost always based in a fear of something. When I’m talking with actors about a moment that isn’t working, I try to figure out what it is that is keeping the actor from fully attacking that moment.

Can you offer a specific example?

It may be that the character has to be really vicious in a moment. The actor’s impulse is, “I don’t want her to be a bitch,” or “I don’t want him to be a villain.” But if in the moment before, that character was hugging their kid, and now they’ve got a knife out—it doesn’t mean that character is a bitch. (Laughs.) They can trust the complexity of a character to reveal itself over the course of the play.

You also have to recognize that sometimes the character is in the play to be the villain. It is that character’s function. And if you undermine the strength and clarity of their pursuit of getting what they want—by trying to make the character magnanimous or altruistic—you undercut the play.

Can your actors hear that?

Almost always, when they’re confronted with the actual function of the role. I encourage them to remember that the character is something they play, something they do; it’s not something they are. I am constantly articulating where it is that the character wants to go in the end. So that the actors are aware of what their objective is in the moment—but there’s an echo of what that moment is in service of.

There is a negotiation between the power of the teacher or director and the self-reliance that has to be instilled in the actors. How has this shown up in your teaching and directing?

I think that’s how I began to evolve this question of finding the fear in the room. Is it a fear of my judgment? Is it a fear of the judgment of their peers? Is it the fear of the judgment of an audience? I remind them that the fear is present in every actor in the room, all the time, and that one can recognize it and continue to work without being distracted by it. I can reassure them that they can fail, and I will not think that they are any less talented.

And do they believe you when you say that?

Well—over time. (Laughs.) Invariably, they give you clues. They’ll say, “You know, I just don’t want her to…” or “I’m afraid that it will….” This gets you into performing the negative—which you can’t do. These are all big fear indicators. I will say in that moment: “That’s really interesting that you don’t want her to do ‘X’—let’s see what happens if she does. Let’s just take one run at it and let her be as much a bitch as possible, as big a racist as possible, as horrendous a sexist as possible. You don’t want her to be a loudmouth—but what’s going on right now is that I can’t hear you. So, let’s do it the other way—let’s have her be as loud as she can. Let’s find the places where loud is exactly appropriate.”

How do you begin your process when you start to work on a play?

Especially with students, but occasionally with professionals, one of the first things I say is that I won’t let them look bad—that I will tell them if it’s ugly and help them make it better. But in exchange for that promise on my end, they have to be as fearless as they can. If I’m holding out this net, you’ve got to jump.

Invariably there is some element of table work. There are inside-out actors and outside-in actors, and I don’t want to leave anybody out of the process, so I try to find a balance: What is the moment when we understand the play well enough for them to begin to take some ownership and get on their feet?

How much responsibility do you allow the actors to have in the process?

I think that the actors have to bring something new every day. Without that, it would be a really short process. You know, I can dictate a production in way less time than it takes to rehearse one. Most of the time I don’t rehearse to find the one way for something to be done; I’m looking for a range of responses to a given moment.

I tell young directors that they don’t have to have the only idea in the room—their job is to ensure that there is an idea in the room. I encourage them to hold their ideas for the end. The director has a fear of not being in charge—so I try to help young directors recognize their own fears of being judged as artists.

So many times, I’ve heard actors say —and it makes me very sad —that they have to train themselves, or their acting students, to be director-proof.

I think that “director-proofing” is bad language for trying to instill in actors a sense of responsibility for their own process. When a director says that the whole section needs to be louder, the actor should know how vocal production works so that she can do that. And if a director says it’s really important that there be an emotional response, the actor understands her own emotional process and knows how to deliver that moment. I tell my acting students that it’s about owning their own process in the same way that I have to understand Stanislavsky and Meisner and Suzuki and Viewpoints. They have to understand how to make a translation between what it is the director’s asking them to do and their acting training.

When you teach acting, what is your goal?

It’s very interesting that a lot of my time with the actors is spent actually trying to see them. They come in with “actor voice” and “actor posture,” all of it intended to show me that they’re actors—when that is a given. A very frequent note in my acting classes is: “I would love to hear that line in your voice.”

And how do you get them to do that?

Repetition is part of it. And part of it is reassuring them that, in fact, their voices are adequate.

What kind of actors do you like to work with?

I like actors who are bold—who make big choices. I like actors who prefer to do, rather than to talk about it.

How can you see that in an audition?

Sometimes I give an adjustment and I get three questions. But, if I give the adjustment and say, “Is that clear?” and the actor says “No, but I’ll give it a try and see what happens”—I love that response. With some actors, there is a sense from them that if they can get me to over-explain myself, there will only be one possible choice for them to make. That is not a brave actor. It’s the actor who makes the choice in the midst of many choices who is a brave actor.

Why teaching?

Coming out of my undergraduate studies into the world, I wanted to make ethnically specific work. There were a lot of people who were untrained, but just, frankly, brilliant. And so I needed to get more training so that I could go into my community and help people who wanted it but didn’t know how to do it. I want people who are outside the process to have a way in.