CHAPTER 4
Support the Line and Thought
We’ll begin these rites,
As we do trust they’ll end, in true delights.
AS YOU LIKE IT, V, iv
THE ACTOR MUST support the verse line all the way through to the final word. An exercise I call “kicking the box” teaches this skill.* I began using this exercise when I started working with actors on Shakespearean text some thirty years ago—kicking first an eraser (which was too small), then a sweatshirt (which was too soft), then a soccer ball (which nearly broke the windows), and then settling on a cardboard box one day when we had no eraser or sweatshirt or ball.
KICK THAT BOX!
Let’s first review why this exercise is so important, then we’ll practice it. In coaching “realistic actors” to handle Shakespeare, I have found that kicking the box is the most effective way to learn complete support of the verse line. This is the most basic and simplest of all the skills, and yet it is one of the most important. It is so important, because the natural speech of American actors is dramatically opposed to this necessary skill.
A line of our everyday speech looks something like the diagram on the following page.
The emphasis and volume peak in the middle of the line, then fade away as if the speaker has lost interest in the thought or run out of breath.
In Shakespeare, the end of the line is equally important and many times more important than the beginning or middle, because it allows the thought implicit in the line to carry forward. As mentioned in chapter 2, many verse lines are enjambed, and the thought continues from one line to the next without punctuation or pause. In blank verse, the actor cannot afford to lose interest in the thought or run out of breath.
Kicking the box helps the actor support the final word or phrase and keep the thought from ending too soon.
We want to involve our entire body when speaking Shakespeare’s language. Kicking the box helps the actor remain physically involved in the language.
For in such business,
Action is eloquence.
CORIOLANUS, III, ii
Supporting the last word or syllable of the blank verse line is not easy and, once learned, is easily ignored. Physiologically, our diaphragm doesn’t want to work that way. The muscle is “lazy” and prefers relaxation to tension. During voice training, actors learn to use the diaphragm to support speech. But even after training, many actors forget to “kick the box.”
They forget for three reasons:
• The effort to read the line “naturally” and truthfully encourages us to fade out at the end
• We don’t practice speaking blank verse on a daily basis
• Breath support becomes lackadaisical, so rather than support the ends of lines, it is easier to allow them to fade away like they do in our daily speech
Because our vocal muscles are uncomfortable with a change, any effort to support the ends of lines may at first seem strange or “overdone.” But supporting is correct. If you don’t support the end of the verse line, one can project that your Shakespeare will not be clear or truthful. The listener won’t quite know what you are saying.
You need great physical energy to speak Shakespeare’s verse, and kicking the box helps you to remember to use your body. Energy is a key to your success. Remember, Shakespeare’s plays were written to be performed:
• Outdoors
• In broad daylight
• With much of the audience standing for the entire play
• With people sitting on stage
• Amid concession sales, like a baseball game
• With birds flying around
• With the audience talking back to the actors
If you try speaking in that setting, you will discover immediately how much vocal energy is required.
Here’s the kick-box skill and how to do it.
In this example, Romeo is speaking to Friar Laurence:
Romeo: Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel. (III, iii)
Scan the line. Now speak the line in a “natural” way, allowing the final word “feel” to fade away. The line works to a degree. But now, circle the word “feel.” Place a small cardboard box on the floor and stand by it. Speak the line, and when you get to “feel,” kick the box. Don’t kick on “not,” and don’t kick after “feel.” Kick right on the f of the word.
It may help if you take a split-second pause (a caesura) before “feel,” as this allows you to position yourself and the word, and to get your leg and balance ready to kick—then kick. Later, forget the pause. It’s only for the exercise.
You will notice that the kick does two things—it gets your body physically involved in speaking the language, and it gets you to support the word “feel.” The intent here is not to overplay “feel,” not to shout it, and not to call great attention to it. You simply support it, as opposed to letting it fade out. However, for fun, try to over-stress “feel.” Shout it. It’s almost impossible to overdo it!
Your ear should tell you that the line means different things when you support or don’t support “feel.” If you don’t support it, Romeo seems to be telling the Friar not to “speak of things.” That information is in the first half of the line. If you do support “feel,” Romeo may be reminding the Friar that he is celibate and has never felt the love of a woman, so how can he advise? That reading gives both actors much more to work with. Try it.
There are other interpretations of this line, of course, but you should see immediately the difference between supporting and not supporting the final word.
Not supporting makes the line a “general” comment—supporting makes it “specific.” Remember Stanislavski’s famous observation: “In general is the enemy of art.”
Kick the box on the tenth syllable of the blank verse line.
Here are the first four lines of Sonnet 29:
When, in disgrace with Fortune and men’s eyes, (1)
I all alone beweep my outcast state, (2)
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, (3)
And look upon myself and curse my fate. (4)
First, try these two preliminary exercises:
1. Read the four lines, but pay no attention to the final words. Just let that final word of each sentence fall away, as we do in everyday speech.
2. Then read the four lines as if you’ve run out of breath before reaching the end of each line.
Having done that, put your cardboard box (size doesn’t matter) in the middle of the room, and read the four lines again. This time, kick the box on the words “eyes,” “state,” “cries,” and “fate.” To do this successfully, you must prepare your body and your kicking leg in the space before the final word in each line; you must position yourself. If you don’t prepare, you’ll kick too soon or too late. So practice this until you have it perfectly. The box will be a mess, and you’ll probably need a new one. (So that the lines make sense, don’t forget to use the caesuras—probably after “Fortune,” “alone,” “heaven,” and “myself.”)
When doing the exercise correctly, you will notice many things. By “playing” the final word of each line, the line takes on new meaning. Also, the thought in the line is carried through the entire line. The thought then continues on to start the next line.
Because it takes breath support to handle the last word in each line, the air reserve held for that word actually helps support the entire line, which provides a double benefit.
When you support the final words, you will notice your diaphragm tighten, and the tension will feel a little uncomfortable. A more “natural” feeling would be to let these final words slide away gently and not to tighten the diaphragm. But that manner of speaking ignores correct vocal support.
When you kick the box on the last word of each line, notice how your entire body gets involved in the language. You want to breathe, and can breathe, after you kick—unless there is no punctuation. That breath helps you prepare for the next line. As you get better at this exercise, you’ll discover that as you breathe in, your mind is grabbing the next line. As you breathe out, that next line is spoken. The procedure keeps repeating.
To check how much better the lines are now, read them again and let the last words fade away. Don’t kick the box. Compare!
Practice this exercise with your monologue and sonnet. If you encounter a final word of many syllables, be disciplined. Kick only on the final syllable—not at the start of the word.
Here are the next two lines from Sonnet 29. Notice the final word in line 6:
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, (kick on “hope”) (5)
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, (kick on “sessed”). (6)
You will also find that you can kick the box on any word that is followed by punctuation. For example, in line 6 above, you could also kick on the first “him.” Normally we don’t stress pronouns. In this case we might elect to give it a modest stress.
When the final phrase or word of a line is supported, the thought doesn’t “end” until another person speaks. Even when a speech contains a period or semi-colon, continued support of the final word in each line keeps the listeners attentive—they know you have more to say.
I trust I may have leave to speak,
And speak I will.
THE TAMING OF THE SHREW, IV, iii
When you allow the final word of the line to sag, it sounds like you’ve finished speaking. An imaginary “period” is heard. Then, if you begin talking again, the listener, who thought you had finished, must adjust. Nothing is keeping the thought going. You don’t want that situation. You don’t want the listener to “relax,” but to stay attentive to what you are saying. Don’t let ’em off the hook!
We don’t want to abuse this exercise and overdo stress on the final syllable or word. Let your common sense and good ear be your judge. The intention is to support, not blast, and allow the idea to continue.
Supporting the final words keeps the listener hooked.
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear,
To set his seat on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA, I, iii
MORE VALUES FROM KICKING THE BOX
Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me?
AS YOU LIKE IT, I, i
Playing the final word of the line will help continue the thought to the next line.
From The Merchant of Venice, here is the first line of Portia’s well-known “mercy” speech:
Portia: The quality of mercy is not strained; (IV, i)
What’s the line about? It is not simply about this thing called the “quality of mercy,” but suggests that mercy cannot be obtained by straining at it.
(Where does the caesura go? Probably after “mercy.”)
Read the line aloud and let “is not strained” drop away. Notice that the line seemed to be about “the quality of mercy” and something else, which was rather vague. It was vague for two reasons:
• It was hard to hear.
• The actor gave it no importance, so why should I, the listener, spend time with it?
As the next line is already coming to my ear, I have no time to deal with the “unimportant” phrase.
Now, read the line and play the condition of that quality called mercy—in other words, play the final three words of the line. Do this aloud. Voilà! Now the line is about something specific, namely that we don’t achieve the quality called mercy by straining at it. And that is the thought in the line. If you don’t play the entire line, you leave out the thought.
If your Portia allows me, the listener, to hear only “the quality of mercy (something),” I may continue listening, probably passively, but I’m not encouraged and challenged to do so. And what your character is saying seems loosely defined, not specific. On the other hand, if your Portia tells me that this “thing called mercy isn’t obtained by straining,” my mind jumps to the possibilities of that idea, and I want to hear what else you have to say—I want to hear the reasoning that supports your statement. Now, you’ve got me hooked actively, not passively. I want to hear the next line.
Here’s the opening line to the same play:
Antonio: In sooth I know not why I am so sad. (I, i)
Say the line aloud and allow “so sad” to fall away. What’s the line about? It seems to be about something called “sooth” and “why” of something, or “not why” about whatever. Now, say the line aloud and play “so sad.” What’s the line about? (Caesura? Try it after “sooth” or “why.”)
Here’s a famous line:
Hamlet: To be, or not to be—that is the question: (III, i)
Do the same exercise, first allowing “the question” to fall away. Define what the line is about. Then play “the question” and define what the line is about.
(Punctuation breaks up the phrases, so no caesura is needed.)
Together with supporting the final word of each line, you must also think about supporting the entire final phrase of each line. Here is the beginning of Sonnet 92:
But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine;
Do the same exercise, speaking the two lines aloud and allowing “to steal thyself away” and “thou art assured mine” to fade out. (Be sure to make three syllables of “as-sur-`ed.”)
Now, play the ending phrases and don’t forget to kick the box on the final word of each line. (Don’t forget to use the caesura—probably after “worst” and “life.”) What are the lines about? Now we’re dealing with someone wanting out (perhaps of a relationship) and the speaker asserting that this someone is, in the speaker’s view, emotionally owned by him/her.
The study of analysis could be started here, and you can already see the marvelous opportunities for brain work with just these two lines. What are all the possibilities of this opening comment? There will be more analysis in chapter 9.
Now do this exercise aloud with your sonnet and your monologue and have someone check you for:
• Clearly playing the final phrase of each line
• Allowing the thought of the whole line to be released
You’ve now come miles on the road to playing Shakespeare!
To show our simple skill,
That is the true beginning of our end.
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM, V, i
SUPPORTING REALISTIC DIALOGUE
Supporting the final word or phrase of the blank verse line is required for sense. This skill will also work with most realistic dialogue. Once you have learned this skill, apply it to all text. When working with prose, including Shakespeare’s, you may be amazed to discover how frequently the final word or phrase of the prose line is the most important part. Modern writers are not using blank verse or placing a stress on the tenth syllable, but the idea of supporting the entire second part of the realistic line, if not the last word, will almost always work for you.
Here is Octavius’s first speech in George Bernard Shaw’s Man and Superman. Observe the final word and phrase of each line.
Octavius: But he had daughters; and yet he was as good to my sister as to me. And his death was so sudden! I always intended to thank him—to let him know that I had not taken all his care of me as a matter of course, as any boy takes his father’s care. But I waited for an opportunity; and now he is dead—dropped without a moment’s warning. He will never know what I felt. (I, i)
Here is the opening speech of Arthur Miller’s A View From the Bridge, spoken by the lawyer, Alfieri:
Alfieri: You wouldn’t have known it, but something amusing has just happened. You see how uneasily they nod to me? That’s because I am a lawyer. In this neighborhood to meet a lawyer or a priest on the street is unlucky. We’re only thought of in connection with disasters, and they’d rather not get too close. (I, i)
Except for the second sentence, note how supporting final words and phrases will work with this speech. As for the second sentence, we rarely want to emphasize pronouns or put a question mark on a question. Playing “me” would be wrong for both reasons. Supporting the phrase, “they nod to me,” however, would be correct.
Here are two examples of Shakespeare’s prose. First, the Duke in Measure for Measure:
Duke: The hand that hath made you fair hath made you good. The goodness that is cheap in beauty makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. The assault that Angelo hath made to you, fortune hath conveyed to my understanding; and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother? (III, i)
Note how necessary it is to support the final phrase of each line, and how sometimes the final word also needs special attention.
Here is Sir Toby Belch in Twelfth Night:
Toby: Go, Sir Andrew. Scout me for him at the corner of the orchard like a bum-baily. So soon as ever thou seest him, draw; and as thou draw’st, swear horrible; for it comes to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof itself would have earned him. Away! (III, iv)
In prose, there is no scansion guide to help you to select the most important words. You must determine the meaning of the line, then emphasize the words that clarify that meaning. For example, Sir Toby’s last line basically means “Clothes make the man.” Select the words that make this idea clear.
But notice how the final word in the internal phrases and in the first complete sentence carries great importance. You would want to stress “bum-baily,” “draw,” both “swear” and “horrible,” and, in the second complete sentence, the final phrase “that ever proof itself would have earned him.” Of course, you would not stress “him.” Stress pronouns only by specific choice and only when needed for the sense, which is seldom.
Most writers have their own style for dialogue, and some may intentionally “fade out” lines, like songs that don’t know how to end. But you can’t go wrong by keeping the idea of “kicking the box” close at hand. Test all of your realistic dialogue with this skill. Not only will the skill help you to sustain the thoughts, it will give you insight into the various meanings of the lines and teach you when to breathe.
See how apt it is to learn
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING, I, i
* Cicely Berry, former voice coach for the Royal Shakespeare Company, mentions a similar exercise in The Actor and the Text, 179.