Transcribed Masterclass Lecture '05

Transcribed Masterclass Lecture '05

by Mario A. Campanaro

Hey gang. Oh, shit, wait—where’s my coffee? What the hell did I... I thought I just... Oh, thanks, Bri. My heart literally stopped for a second. I thought I left it on the train. Losing my mind. You get a gold star for that, Brian—now, go sit back down.

Alright, I hope everyone had a great break and a restful holiday season. Happy New Year! Here we are, at the beginning of 2005—can you believe it? My, how time has flown. Where did telephone books and payphones go? I digress.

Anyway, another year, another gift—and a chance to go deeper, to grow, expand, and evolve. It’s a time to hold ourselves accountable and be the artists we aspire to be. Don’t let yourself down with fleeting New Year’s resolutions. Make them tangible. Focus on what you truly want, not just what you desire in the moment. Focus. Concentrate. Do your work.

Because I promise you, I will only give as much as you put in. I should not have to work harder than you for something you want. Or do you? Ok then. So don’t piss me off with half-hearted commitment and sloppy work ethic. You’re not children. You may play like them, but you’re not children. You’re adults who get paid to act like children—something that takes a hell of a lot of adulting to pull off professionally.

I will take those chuckles as your personal promise.

Ok. So with that said, let me start this year here:

It is undeniable that an actor’s work is demanding. It requires talent, creativity, imagination, professionalism, discipline, investment, commitment, consistency, tenacity, a strong will, perseverance, vulnerability, strength, bravery, courage, sensitivity, awareness, openness, and the ability to listen—not just with the ears, but with the mind, body, and spirit.

It demands adaptability, punctuality, good professional behavior, a positive demeanor, and a reputation as someone others want to work with. You must have the ability to take direction, make adjustments, and accept notes, as well as the professional maturity to avoid impulsive meltdowns or outbursts in response to new directions, adjustments, notes, rejection, not liking who you’re working with, artistic or creative disagreements, bad reviews, or even if your coffee goes missing—especially if your coffee is missing. There's a lot more, but you get my drift. You are not snowflakes or dandelions. You must possess the sensitivity and curiosity of a child while maintaining the balanced mind and armor of a gladiator.

That means you must understand your responsibility as a professional actor. And just the tip of the iceberg—though I can’t believe I even have to say this, it makes me nauseous—is to read the text. Not just once, but as many times as necessary to truly understand and immerse yourself in the world of the story. If you can’t do this, you need to leave the business. Because if you have no passion for the text, why the hell would you even choose this career?

You have to read the text. You have to enjoy reading the text—over and over again. You need to be a detective. An investigator. A hungry one. Someone eager to dive in, questing with skill, sophistication, and specificity—not settling for generality, which only equates to mediocrity.

You need to know the world you’re in. Know the play, the writer, and all the elements as any professional would. This means doing your work—knowing your lines inside and out so you don’t have to think about them. Do I even need to say this? Yes, I do.

It means not rewriting the text, but honoring what the writer wrote. Know your lines. If you’re still thinking about them, you haven’t truly learned them. If you're looking at your script in your chair before you get up, you have not learned your lines. Know your lines.

If I see you ad-libbing or altering the text with your own words, let me be clear—both gently and firmly—my respect for you as a professional will begin to fade. What you’re doing is the exact opposite of professionalism and respect. I can only respect actors who respect the craft of acting. Just as you wouldn’t want a writer altering your performance, do not disrespect the written word by changing it. Respect the work. Do your job. Earn respect through your work. Know your lines. And remember, I’ve seen every trick in the book. Try it, but you will not win. You will not get one over on me. I will know because I’ve done the work. Do your work.

It means not playing yourself—your personal world is too small for that. You’re here to discover every character within you. Go to the text; don’t try to force the text to fit your own life. Do your work.

It means rehearsing with your partner as much as possible to find the scene and then find your freedom in it—from the character’s perspective, so you can listen and live moment to moment with total relaxation, concentration, and presence through the character’s eyes, point of view, wants, and needs. Do your work.

This means not letting your partner down... ever. Show up to rehearsal, show up on time, no excuses. No cancelling. Commit. Be generous in spirit. You are a team. Be professionals.

It means exercising and cultivating your craft so you know how to do your job when the job comes. Do your work. You can’t skip steps. You can’t hide. If you try, you’ll be found out. Shortcuts are dead ends. Do your work.

Don’t be lazy, and don’t think you’re going to get one over on me—I’ve seen every student mentality trick in the book. I’m not looking to work with students. This studio is not structured or suited for amateurs. It is for those with an artistically professional mindset. You’ve been invited here because you are actors, and you can just as easily be uninvited. Do your work.

Your scenes are only five to six minutes long. Think about how long we work on them. Now imagine the scope of an entire play or film. Are you ready for that?

Auditioning is not the job. It’s just how people find someone for the job. You have to know how to act and do it under any circumstances—not just your own. Do your work.

If you can’t do it here, I promise you won’t be able to do it out there. And if they’re paying you, you’d better deliver. If you don’t, the door gets shut, and your reputation follows you. So do your work.

It’s easy to feel like a ‘master’ when you think something doesn’t—or no longer—apply to you. When you’re sitting on a red velvet chair, watching from the outside—observing a class, a scene, sitting in the audience, criticizing from a comfortable distance. But actually doing the work, fully inhabiting it, consistently, day in and day out—that’s another story entirely.

Anything truly ‘mastered’ requires the master to always remain a student. That’s the great paradox for the actor—but also the essence of real mastery: a lifelong journey as a student in the masterclass of the ‘Artist’s Life’, an ongoing opportunity to grow, refine, expand, and evolve.

Very often, when we believe there’s nothing left to learn, our focus begins to drift. We tell ourselves, ‘I’ve got it.’ But that’s quicksand. That mindset marks the beginning of stagnation—the beginning of the end. You might say ‘I got it,’ but why would any true artist want to create an endpoint for themselves?

Never let yourself grow numb or drift away from what must constantly be cultivated and exercised. And when those moments arise—when it feels like you’ve got it all figured out—it doesn’t mean you’ve arrived. It means you’re just beginning—that there’s something deeper to explore, or something you’re resisting. Something you’re not yet willing to confront, invest in, or grow from.

Don’t sabotage your highest potential by convincing yourself there’s nothing more to learn or cultivate in each moment of life, study, and practice. The point is to learn—always. Never become so complacent that you think, ‘I’ve figured it all out,’ because this craft doesn’t work that way. As long as you are alive, you should be striving—to grow, to expand, to deepen—to become the best artist you can be. Better than you were yesterday.

You must remain vigilant. Stay rooted in the art of listening. Keep your focus sharp and your awareness alive. Every moment you live as an actor is a chance to strengthen something in your craft. Treat it that way. When most exclaim, ‘I’m done!’ the true creative warrior—the true artist—says, ‘I’m only just beginning.’

In other words, you must have your shit together and be ready for what the professional world demands. It is no easy task—one that requires ongoing effort and growth. Once you think you’ve got it, you’re in trouble. Artistic development demands constant learning and the dissolution of any resistance that prevents growth and expansion. Do your work.

It’s a lot! Or is it? Not really. We make it a lot because we give ourselves these unjustified passes just because "we're actors." Bullshit again. We are professional actors. There’s a difference. We expect professional demands met in every other career, yet sometimes in acting, we think we get a pass. No. We do not! Nor should we. It's a career. A profession. One you get paid to do. Have yourself, personally and professionally, together. Be the black sheep, be the weirdo, be different, be out there, be the "creative type"—whatever people want to say about us these days—but be a professional one.

No one should have to tell you this twice. Mommy and daddy aren’t coming to fix your mistakes. There are no parent-teacher conferences to be had. The director is not your teacher, your agent is not your best friend, and I am not your therapist. This is a profession, and you are professionals. You have to be ready. Prepared. This all needs to be in you.

I guest taught somewhere on Tuesday, and honestly, I’m still in shock at what I witnessed. My God, what did I even witness? I’m not going to name where, but let me tell you, my jaw was on the floor. So many people didn’t care at all. They didn’t take their work seriously in the least. They didn’t know anything about the scenes they chose. They couldn’t take notes like professionals. Their child selves were showing, not their actor selves. The resistance to their own growth was shocking.

I had to tell them I’m not here to be their best friend—I’m here to help them grow. They had no interest in getting paid in growth; they wanted to get paid in compliments. But I don’t get paid to hand out compliments. I rarely give them unless they’re truly earned. I get paid to help instigate growth.

I had to tell the studio I have no desire to ever come back there to teach. I was heartbroken by the lack of care for this work.

I’m telling you this not to point fingers, but to lay down the law that will set you up for success: You are not here for the studio. You are here for your career. So listen up—break’s over. Release yourself from the chains of self-sabotage. Let’s get serious. Commit. No excuses. I mean it—no bullshit, excuse my... language. Commit. Damn it.

You are not amateurs. This is not grade school. You are not children, and you are not students. You are actors. Professional actors, pursuing a tough, often unforgiving, and ruthless business. You need to be ready. And do not miss class. Ever.

My mentors used to say, “Only upon death should you miss a class.” I agree. If you’re sick, well, actors don’t get sick. Someone else gets your opportunity. They’re called your understudy. And if you can’t get here by train or cab, rent a helicopter—or grow wings and fly. I don’t care—just be here at 5:45 PM, ready to go.And if any of this is triggering you, it’s because something inside you is being called out—that’s the part of you that needs to hear this. Do your work. Do I need to say it again? Do your work. I’ve laid out for you what’s expected, not only in here, but in the real world. Do your work.

So, I say this with love—tough love, but love nevertheless—get your shit together, people. Period. Because if you don't do the work, if you're not ready, I promise you someone else out there is. Don't get in your own way. Do you work and be professional. Do your work like a professional. Behave like a professional. And don't make me say any of this again after tonight because you all know Medusa will emerge from my being. So there's that. Anyway.

I can tell from the smiles on your faces that you’re ready. Good, I like that. That’s why you’re here. Now that we've got that beginning of the year pep talk out of the way—happy New Year again, by the way!

Copyright © 2025 Mario A. Campanaro, All rights reserved.