By Vanessa Libbey

Back in 2019, I found myself dancing deep in the woods of Massachusetts. I was there to wrap up shooting for a film about the magic that happens when a little boy gets lost in the forest, only to find a “curiosity” – a lost imaginary friend who lives in a big old beautiful house, best located when you fall right off the map. 

I played the imaginary friend, Adelaide, who is described in the script as “a hummingbird”. She overflows with curiosity, with life, and bouncing, electric, crackling energy; all meted out in softest contrast to the deep sensitivity and patient regard she has for children. 

The scene we were filming wasn’t in the original script, but we had all gotten up early to drive to the edge of the forest, walk through fields of tall grass, and go deep into the old part of the woods, where the ground was thick with spongy loam and little orange-spotted salamanders meandered through the damp leaves that accrued over the years.  

Twigs snapped underfoot as I twirled and twirled. The air was heavy with summer heat, and the forest became a haze of green light as I spun. I threw my arms into the air and threw my head back to the treetops, and I was filled with a deep, delicious joy. And I laughed. 

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Rachel has been kind enough to invite me to speak on the art of acting, and how comedy can be a cure. I don’t mind telling you that I have thought long and hard on how I can accomplish this, because to me, explaining the art of acting boils down to simply opening a window to my mind and showing you what I do, and maybe standing there for a minute before saying, “so, what do you think?”

This is to say, there’s no technical knowledge I’d like to impart. And I hope it’s implied, but I also wish to say upfront that I don’t believe my understanding of this stuff to be absolute – one of the biggest hindrances in my acting life has been the belief that there was a “right” way to play a character. I won’t regurgitate Uta Hagen’s books here, or lecture you on the Meisner technique, fascinating though their contributions are. Their work has certainly been helpful to me and to many, but (as I am constantly reminding myself) my art doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s. It just has to be mine. 

And, I have spent a good amount of time trying to think about all the reasons why we love laughter – why we need it – and in between my head exploding and me picking all the pieces up from the ground, I have some gathered thoughts to share. But I’ll save them for later.

For now, let’s dive in to “The Art of Acting, According to Vanessa.” And let’s follow that title up with, “I’m Not Sure Why It Works for Me; I Hope It’s Entertaining For You.” 

As you can see, Rachel very astutely did not ask for my help creating titles.

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The first and most important thing in acting is to be ready for anything.

Yeah, it’s vague, but be ready for literally anything to happen. 

I could say “come prepared”, which is advice that I have received, and which is in the same ballpark; but showing up prepared might imply a rigidity: I’ve learned my lines, I have my pencil and my backup pencil; I am now ready. Instead, it might be helpful to think, “Why do I need to be ready for anything?”

For instance, I once showed up to shoot a short film, expecting to be handed some lines. Instead, I was told that I could say anything (that turned into a fun afternoon, and two more film gigs besides). Or one time, I came out of hair and makeup to shoot a Joe’s Jeans commercial, and contrary to my wildest expectations, I was presented with two small children and instructed to make cupcakes. That beautiful piece of comedy didn’t make it through to public consumption, but that might be because the Joe’s Jeans I was wearing were 100% hidden by a marble countertop, 100% of the time.

You might be asked to engage in the alarming, yet simultaneously thrilling work of getting a scene back on track when, say, a really important prop has just fallen off the deck of the boat, or when someone just can’t seem to remember that line. If you don’t want to stand in front of an audience, grating out, “I said, how well did you know him, Horatio?” you might need to find an entertaining way to nudge a memory back on track. And that means you might need to know your scene partner’s lines.

There’s more to it, of course, but you see my point – we come prepared because acting is about more than our part in the play. And, since acting is a small piece of real life, anything can go awry. It’s just that in acting, it’s your job to bend reality back on track before the lighting cues change.

The next thing is absolutely delectable, in my opinion. We have arrived at the freewheeling imagination part! When I get a script, I sit down and ask approximately one million questions about the world this character inhabits. Questions like: 

Where do they live? 

What do they do?

What are some deep beliefs held by the character?

What does their home look like?

Are they messy, or neat?

Does this character possess self-confidence?

What is the primary set of emotions for this character? Or, does it range deliciously wide?

How does this character spend offstage time? What are they likely to spend their time doing?

At what speed does this character talk? 

What limits this character?

Is there a dialect in play?

What does the character hope to accomplish, and what means are they willing to go to in order to see that accomplishment realized?

How does this character view the world they are in? Is it wondrous, boring, overwhelming, or full of despair? Or, is the character oblivious? 

Does this character have a default facial expression, or a stance that’s different than mine?

How does this character walk?

What is this character afraid of?

What brings this character joy?

Then, I start getting really familiar with this character’s world. I imagine how it would feel to live there, in the character’s shoes. I try to empathize with their quirks and shortcomings, and understand their beliefs so well I can put them on like a pair of glasses and have my view change, because that will help me lend fidelity to the character’s lines and actions. 

Once I can enter the world of the character, I generally find that being present is the most important thing. If I don’t know how this person I’m playing would react to bad news, or even if I’m not sure of my lines, I’ll be thrown out of character by shock, or because I’m constantly thinking ahead, scanning for when my line will come up. I find this to be important across the board, whether I’m playing a whimsical imaginary friend, or the distraught daughter of Gianni Schicchi. 

When I am onstage, I try to put my full energy into it. It’s best to be able to forget everything else, and take a dip in the world of acting for a while – I’ve noticed that when actors are immersed in the material, everyone feels more relaxed and there’s a good chance the audience will feel comfortable suspending their disbelief and going along for the ride. 

This is separate from the “how” of acting; but it’s another hard-won nugget. In a professional sense, I think it’s important to be able to look at your work as separate from yourself. If a mistake is made or if something doesn’t quite land, it’s important to differentiate that moment from your actual worth as a person! That way, you can forget about torturing yourself for being so human, and get on with the show.

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Comedy is such a personal thing, because each audience is different. They laugh at different things; sometimes you see someone weeping where it is not expected, and sometimes, no one claps in the spot where eleven prior audiences have gone absolutely mad (if you ever find yourself up this particular creek without a paddle, use the “be ready for anything” clause I have written above – simple!). 

A hearty laugh can be a panacea: maybe you walked in miserable, and walk out with your troubles just a little bit assuaged. Or maybe you didn’t realize how very heavy and cloudy you were feeling until you laughed. Or maybe the shock of emotion created an opportunity for other emotions to be noticed, which might have otherwise gone unseen. 

 This is art permeating life. What a truly beautiful thing. 

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Much of my art deals with this intersection between truth and beauty – whether acting, singing, writing, or painting, I am always pleased to uncover wonder and to point it out. I find real value in Mary Oliver’s declaration: “Let me keep company with those who say ‘Look!’ and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads.” Deep thought and consideration, nuance, and a nod to the sacred are well-worn pages of my personal playbook. In fact, one of the reasons I was so drawn to playing that wild-hearted imaginary friend, Adelaide, is that she had some serious melancholy mixed with her mirth. 

In the face of the injustices which roam our broken world, it can seem as though the grave and responsible thing might be to stand, tough and flinty, ceaselessly striving for a better tomorrow. We do need to do that, of course. But the truth is, laughter and tears were created to go side by side. In shaking the dust from our souls with a hearty laugh, we gain strength to persevere in the long, hard work of: unrelentingly opposing injustice, engaging in advocacy, loving, and generally being the helpers. It can seem so diametrically opposed, when in reality, laughter yanks us right out of our everyday expectations and opens our eyes to something wonderful that we can bring back into our everyday life.

Take it from me, the woman who waded into the woods to dance. When that laughter rose up within me, I was acting out the true joy of being found, and freed.

Vanessa Libbey

A singer, painter, award-winning actress, commissioned poet, and calligrapher in NYC, Vanessa is an all-around creative. Tell your story, dream your dream, go to bed tired.