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How Do You Memorize All Those Lines?

5/11/2018

The question folks love to ask actors. It’s inevitable in a talkback--often the first one asked.

While you may not actively see a row of actors roll their eyes at it, we’ve been known to grumble about it in the dressing room afterwards.

I’m not trying to police audience behavior. It’s a valid question. I expect many audience members have horror stories of having to do some light memorization or public speaking from their school days.

The potential eye rolling is likely due to A) It’s asked all the time and B) our answers are usually BORING. When it comes to itemizing the unglamorous life of an actor, line memorization is at the top. I think we’d rather discuss characters, themes, and moments.

Rest assured, I don’t roll my eyes at this question. (I may at “Are you going to be on Broadway?” but that’s another post.) I wish I had a fun late-night-talk-show answer. It’s hard to answer it in a short, satisfying manner suitable for a talkback. Because the heart of the answer is closer to: “How do you act?” or “How do you prepare for a role?” Those are huge questions. I’ve been a professional actor for 10 years. I have a terminal degree in it. It’s hard to distill my process. And I suspect some actors find sharing the process not worth an audience’s time, or that it’s intensely personal and would take away the magic of the theatre. I love process. I soak it up. I’m a glutton for interviews and talkbacks and behind-the-scenes stuff.

So I offer the following as the long version of a talkback answer I wish I could share.

HOW I MEMORIZE MY LINES

I need to speak my lines and repeat them over and over again.

For the past four years or so, I’ve made flashcards of all my lines. On the front, my cue is written, and on the back, my lines are there. It’s a great way to test myself. It’s also great to have written down my lines and to learn them in my own handwriting. I’m sure there are fascinating neurological bits at play with this process. But I won’t get into those because that’s not my realm of expertise.

I also need to be on my feet. I will often walk around in neighborhoods and parks, overtly holding my notecards. One time I was memorizing lines on a nice trail system when a passerby said: “good luck on your test.” I smiled and said thank you, careful not to shatter the illusion. Thank goodness they didn’t hear me say: “There is so hot a summer in my bosom that all my bowels crumble up to dust.”

WHAT I DO BEFORE (AND DURING) MEMORIZING LINES
It doesn’t HAVE to be grunt work. And often, it isn’t.

Just look at that last line again: “There is so hot a summer in my bosom that all my bowels crumble up to dust.”

If you just read that, isn’t the line wonderful? I mean, it’s macabre, but wonderfully so!

Read it aloud a couple times.

There is so hot a summer in my bosom that all my bowels crumble up to dust.

There is so hot a summer in my bosom that all my bowels crumble up to dust.

“Crumble up to dust” is so vivid. “Bowels” is equally funny and disgusting to me. And it’s the second great “B word” in the line (“bosom” being the first).

Even if you don’t know what’s going on, why John is saying what he’s saying, I venture that this line is marvelous. Just on its own. It took me no time at all to memorize. I didn’t have to drill this line over and over.

This is one of many lines that I inherently love in King John. And this happens to us all the time! I’d venture there’s a song or two, dear reader, that you know all of the words to. Or you can quote The Lion King or Monty Python and the Holy Grail because it hooked you at a young age, and you’ve seen it many times. You don’t have to work at it. A few days after Black Panther was released in movie theaters, a video was shared of a little boy acting out some pivotal dialogue from the movie. He had only seen it twice (if I recall correctly). This boy couldn’t have been more than five. He was quoting important scenes from the movie, verbatim. It took no work at all. And it was magical. There’s a meeting of some brilliant writers meeting eager fans at work here. And, thankfully, that often works for me when I’m memorizing. But this is not 24/7 ecstasy work.

The tricky thing is I have 360 lines of Shakespeare in King John alone (1 line equals 1 line of verse: iambic pentameter). Billy Shakes wrote some great lines, but they’re not all created equal. So there are certain things I need to do before I do the grunt work of learning all of those lines by rote.

This is where the “what do you do to prepare?” question comes into play. Here are things I do before and during memorizing:

I read the play. Sometimes I’m familiar with it. Sometimes I’ve been in the play. And this summer, I’m playing a character I’ve played before. But, like in the case of King John, I need to read the play. And I should try to read it more than once. And then another time after that.
Research: reading about the playwright, reading about the context in which the play was written, reading reviews of past productions, reading critical theory, reading actors’ accounts, reading director’s notes. It may mean watching film adaptations (and now, more theatrical productions are available to watch). For King John I watched The Lion in Winter, the 1970s BBC version of King John, episodes of The Devil’s Crown (another 1970s BBC series tracing the reign of Henry II through John), and Disney’s Robin Hood. I’m listening to an audiobook of Marc Morris’s recent King John biography. I purchased the latest Arden edition of King John, which contains loads of background material and footnotes. In past productions of Shakespeare’s histories, I have avoided a lot of historical research because it is totally overwhelming. You can’t stop researching and a lot of the information can be dry and unactable. I can load up on facts, but if I don’t personalize them, it ends up being a waste of time. Plus, Shakespeare took a LOT of liberties with history. For King John, it’s been fun to know what actually happened versus what Shakespeare changes to make the drama happen. Ultimately my method is to inundate myself with information. This way, I’m not leaning too heavily on a single film or review or whatever.
Another kind of research I indulge in every now and then is acting/actor research. The Players of Shakespeare series is a collection of essays written by notable British actors. They write, frankly, about their process of working on a particular part. It’s like sharing a bourbon with them in their dressing room. There’s also Oregon Shakespeare Festival Actors Telling the Story--a series of edited interviews from a bunch of OSF actors sharing their secrets and thoughts about acting and memorizing. And they’re all different. I’ll likely give Declan Donnellan’s excellent The Actor and the Target another read soon. Or the classic Backwards and Forwards by David Ball. This step is more of a yearly check-in.
Before rehearsals begin, I’m eager for director’s notes. I love to know what the design of the play will be beforehand, if possible. Recently, I had a lovely chat with the King John director about where he was coming from, what questions he wanted to ask, what excites him. And I did the same. It was so much fun and illuminating. And he shared what kind of world the play would take place. This is so helpful to know ahead of time.
Sometimes I’ll do some period/production research of photographs and put them on a Pinterest board. Any image that connects me to events, characters, places, emotional states, etc. (whether they be period or not) is up for grabs. It’s a fun way to brainstorm. But I often find that once they’re pinned, I don’t engage with them any longer. I suspect this may be more of a stalling tactic.
Inactive/active daydreaming: I can’t quite explain this one, but it’s a little related to the pinning above. I’ll be living my life, visiting with friends or family, reading for fun, listening to music, whatever. And something I witness, overtly or not, attaches itself to the play I’m working on. I may remember it later or not.

ENGAGING WITH THE TEXT

Then I return to the text. I need to know what’s going on both on macro and micro levels. I need to know what every single line means. I need to know, for example, that when King John says “Thou hast made me giddy/ with all this ill news” he’s not being ironic. “Giddy” means “dizzy” in this context. I didn’t know that. And, before I looked up the word, I had a hard time with the elation that “giddy” means today. Now, the fun thing is that the audience may not know this when they hear me say the line. But I will do my darndest to think/feel dizzy when I say giddy.
I need to know WHY I’m saying the words I’m saying. This means having a careful study of all other words EXCEPT mine. This is easier said than done. In my rush to get off book, it can be easy to disregard anything that I haven’t highlighted. But it’s important to know that the highlighted lines wouldn’t be there without the lines surrounding them.
When I make my cue cards, it’s usually sufficient to include the last few words preceding my text. But I may have to jot down other operative phrases that trigger my response. The key to a response may be deep within a long speech.
Iambic pentameter and other jargon: Over the years I’ve learned many ins and outs of Shakespeare’s verse. There are lot of terms that give an actor clues to what “key” I’m playing in. What is accented, slurred, staccato, loud, soft, etc. I love playing with these “rules.” Many people (scholars, historians, actors, directors, teachers, etc.) have many thoughts about how Verse Should Be Spoken. I try to recognize these “rules” as tools if I get hung up on a line or phrase. I don’t hold myself to them, and my work of using verse is starting to become automatic.
English Class. I use, on a daily basis, elements of each English course I’ve ever taken. Personification? Check. Onomatopoeia? Check. Diagramming sentences? You betcha. All of those poetry/prose explications and dreaded five-paragraph essays have been instrumental in navigating Shakespeare and other playwrights. (Thank you, teachers!) The fun is transferring that book knowledge into acting juice--understanding WHY a character might be using any given rhetorical device. The possibilities are endless and that’s the creative fun of acting.

This is a lot of work. And I’m glossing over many details. But if I invest in steps I’ve mapped out, the memorizing has a solid foundation. And this is done before I walk into the rehearsal room. Once I start to play with the other actors, director, dramaturgs, designers, and stage management, a host of other connections fuse with the words I’ve memorized. The language becomes connected to the collective, collaborative imagination in the room. It becomes connected to actual events happening in the room: the swoop of a cape, the weight of a crown, the fit of my shoes, a wink, a laugh, a growl.

Some actors don’t like to have their lines memorized before rehearsals start. They don’t like to be set in their ways before meeting the other actors (and no one’s getting paid for working before a contract begins--which is usually day one of rehearsal). I understand that. But for me, it’s more agonizing to act with a script in my hand. That ends up being my scene partner, and it’s such a crutch. I don’t determine how I’ll exactly say a line before it’s memorized. On the other hand, I don’t learn the lines completely neutrally either. It’s nearly impossible when I do all this work. It’s about being prepped enough to bring something to the table, but available enough to be flexible. I can’t do this on my own.

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How Do You Memorize All Those Lines?

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