Acting, Abracadabra, and Amanda Van Arden

“Acting is an ancient and magical craft,” incanted the woman poised with conspicuous theatricality in the studio. She had an air about her, that was true, but one could argue that the air was a tad polluted.

“You are following in the footsteps of brave men and women before you and you must not take this journey lightly.” Amanda Van Arden was the kind of chain-smoking, wizened hag that one often finds lurking in the shadows of Actors Equity. She was likely, between hacking fits, to recite for you her entire resume, including tasty tidbits about how Lee Strasberg loved her “method” — “…if you know what I mean, dear.”

“Acting is what? Action!”

Nik agreed with most of what Amanda Van Arden preached…well, at least in theory.

“You have to know what you want and relentlessly pursue it from your opponent.”

This was true, but what made Nik cock his head in uncertainty was the rather unsettling fact that Amanda Van Arden was pontificating to a group of 10-year olds.

The Actors!Plus Talent Agency was one of those thinly veiled organizations that took wads of money from wealthy mothers who sent Johnny to become a famous Hollywood celebrity — and thereby ensuring that Mom could continue to be rich. The unpopular truth that Honolulu was about as far as one could get from Hollywood rarely hushed across the lips of those who walked through the hallowed gates at Actros!Plus.

What, Nik wondered, was the “Plus?”

“Amanda Van Arden is our top acting coach here and you’ll learn a lot from her, I can tell you.” Marjorie didn’t know a damn thing about acting. She found her way into Actors!Plus as a teen model and now, 15 years later, had become something akin to an Office Manager. “We all end up somewhere,” She shrugged with a comic snort.

“Yes, Marjorie, we surely do.” Nik had been hired on as a substitute acting coach (and, it should be noted for fear and fun: “Runway Instructor”) for the studio. He felt this a dubious distinction, as he was certain the Pineapple Mafia was using the agency as a front for something dastradly. Perhaps they were smuggling leis and Guava through Cuba. Perhaps that was the "Plus."

Amanda Van Arden would stalk around the studio, presumably peering deep into the souls of her pre-teen thespians. The young actors would shiver and shake though it was yet unclear whether it was due to fright or a full, immature bladder.

“You need to know who you are, where you are, and what you are doing.” Amanda Van Arden had the students work on a scene in which a boy and a girl discuss packing for summer camp. They say that they will pack shorts, comic books, towels, candy, and Avon’s bug screen, which coincidentally both of their mothers love because of its economical value and long-lasting insect fending attributes.

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” Amanda Van Arden wailed madly at the children. “Where are you? Where ARE you?”

The baffled 3rd grader looked to his peers for guidance but none was to be given. “I’m at Actors!Plus trying to…”

“No. No no no no no no. In the scene. Dear. Where will you be doing the scene?”

“Um, wherever they’re shooting the commercial, I guess.”

At that moment, Nik realized that he loved children.

“Listen to me, you have to show me who, what, when, where, why. You have to DO something. Acting is action.” It’s funny how words can mean different things to different people. To Nik, “doing something” as an actor might mean “putting an asshole in his place.” He could do that, he thought. To Amanda Van Arden “doing something” meant:

“Well, look, it’s summer, right? You’re hot. Fan yourself. You’re talking about bug spray. Swat the bugs away. And for god’s sake, you have a list of things you are packing. PACK THEM. I can tell you, I won’t be here in your audition giving you the answers. You’re gonna have to come up with it all by your lonesome.” After 15 minutes of questionable “teaching” Amanda Van Arden’s students looked like escapees from a mental ward. They were swatting and panting and moving invisible boxes and offering imaginary candies to their scene partners who, uncertain of what they were eating, would bite into…something.

There are few books that Nik has ever been excited about. The upcoming Harry Potter finale had Nik on pins and needles. It is the Holy Grail of any writer to be able to grab the attention of the masses and enthrall them with a magical, literal or figurative, world. Oh, how he had hoped to hone his craft one day to such a place as JK Rowling’s. To write with such mastery, to know one’s audience, and contour the story as they grow. Brilliance incarnate.

He remembered how as a child the Star Wars movies had captured his attention with such reckless abandon. Should he be a 10-year old now (though many would argue he still was) he would most certainly wish for nothing else that to go to school at Hogwarts.

“But why can’t I become a wizard, Mom?”

“Because those things only happen in the movies, Nik.”

And the vicious cycle would repeat.

Perhaps it is the attempt to create magic, or rather the illusion of magic, that sets storytellers apart. Nik feared losing that part of him and wanted quite desperately to ensure its survival. And here before him were a dozen youngsters, young storytellers, with that same wish: to hold on to their imagination a little longer. How could he not want to teach?

But he would not, absolutely not, teach them Amanda Van Arden’s psychobabble rubbish.

“Well, Nik, why don’t you take them for a while.” With grand regalia Amanda Van Arden pulled her tattered swivel chair to a prominent judging position to watch Nik’s tutorial. She didn’t want to judge him harshly, but if she didn’t who would?

“I want you to say something true of the other person.” Nik began his lesson on Repetition. It was as much a challenge for the students as for him. And the fact that the vulture Amanda Van Arden was perched behind him made no difference. The young actors latched onto the idea. Together they went through the practical steps of the activity, stayed focused, identified a goal and worked toward it in real, tnagible ways. Not hocuspocus. Truth. Finally! Something they could understand. A particularly precocious child, often bored throughout the class, found new confidence in himself. He stood a little taller in his chair.

At the end of class Amanda Van Arden offered up her best, most gracious clap. “That was amazing, how did you do that?”

Nik wanted to say, “Well, Amanda Van Arden, I took something that a sane human being could actually do and I told them how to do it.” But instead he said, “Oh, you know, magic” and smiled Smile #42 with a wink. After all, they were going to be colleagues.

He couldn’t piss her off.

Not just yet.