How Lee Daniels’ The Butler Serves Audiobook Narrators

  

While observing Forrest Whitaker and Oprah Winfrey in the film, Lee Daniels’ The Butler, it occurred to me that each performance offers the audiobook narrator lessons that are applicable to storytelling. One performance is indicative of what works, the other a work in progress.

It is fair to argue that for as many people as have viewed this film there may be as many valid opinions about the quality of its co-stars’ performances. In proffering my clearly opinionated notions about these performances, my larger hope is that audiobook narrators will regard the notions (as opposed to my opinions) as viable lessons that can assist them in their effort to become more compelling storytellers.

For me, Forrest Whitaker’s performance worked; Oprah Winfrey’s worked sometimes, and sometimes it didn’t.

Actors and their show biz brethren are particularly prone to critique performance on the basis of what worked or didn’t, especially while conversing with their peers, as if only creative types really get what worked means. How do I define worked? My baseline definition—one that applies to audiobook narrators as well as all performers, whether its film, theatre, TV, dance, music, etc.—is: organically connected emotion. I’m certain this definition is no surprise to anyone who’s read this blog. Simply stated, when the actor (or storyteller) organically connects the subtext’s emotionality to the viewer or listener, the performance works. Conversely, when the actor fails to organically connect the subtext’s emotionality, the performance doesn’t work.

In Lee Daniels’ The Butler, Forrest Whitaker organically connected the subtext to the viewer and Oprah Winfrey was far more challenged, and ultimately, not consistently successful in her effort. In focusing on why this was so, I again want to insist that whether one specifically agrees or disagrees with this assessment of performance, the larger lessons remain important for any narrator who regards him or herself as an actor and storyteller.

The three performance issues I’ll interrogate are: the stakes; less-less-less; indicating. Appreciating their impact on performance is central to appreciating why one of the film’s stars connected and the other misfired. Additionally, I’m hoping that as narrators consider these issues, they’ll appreciate why one audiobook performance is compelling and another is uninspired, boring.

I was engaged by (connected to) Forest Whitaker’s performance throughout the film. In terms of the three issues I’m raising, that’s because: his emotional response was always commensurate with the stakes; he vocally and physically matched the subtext’s demand (he never helped or pushed the words; never inappropriately physicalized a feeling); his response to the script’s words and the other characters appeared reflexive, suggesting that it emerged from his visceral connection to the subtext and therefore was organic, and real. He was, so to speak, plugged in.

Ms. Winfrey’s response to the stakes didn’t always satisfy their intensity; she seemed not quite as mad, not quite as sad, not quite as happy, not quite as frustrated: as if the stakes weren’t quite as high as I imagined the subtext was telling her they were. At times she seemed to vocally and physically overwhelm the words, as if we (the audience) might not get what she was feeling so she had to vocally jump-start or kick the words. And she had to over physicalize the feelings the language suggested as well. Finally, she sometimes appeared emotionally uncoupled from the words’ feelings (albeit impossible to know for sure) and that left her no choice but to, in effect, imitate or indicate an emotion because she simply wasn’t grasping it.

I am hesitant to offer too many examples of instances where what’s mentioned above occurred because that’s liable to create an argument that, in turn, forces the conversation towards who is right and who is wrong. How can Paul say this? He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Or, I agree with Paul. He’s absolutely right. That said, it seems disingenuous to offer no examples, so here’s a couple:

Towards the end of the film, Cecil (Forest Whitaker) confronts his estranged son at an outdoor protest. It is, arguably, one of the most powerful, emotionally consequential scenes in the film. Having banished his son from his life, Cecil realizes he’s made a catastrophic error, and comes to make amends, to apologize, to re-connect to him. The stakes are through the roof! In that heightened moment when the two meet, the son asks, what are you doing here? Cecil speaks not much above a flat whisper; he is more subdued than overtly charged; his body and physical persona quiet, oddly weak. In this still moment, Mr. Whitaker had pulled me inside him (or perhaps the other way around) and it was as if I was that father, paralyzed by grief, yearning to be forgiven by my son. I was connected. The performance worked.

The scene between Howard (Terence Howard) and Gloria (Oprah Winfrey) in which she wards off her neighbor’s provocative sexual advances found Ms. Winfrey somewhat uncomfortable and unfocused, as if she was aware of herself trying to find the proper reaction to Mr. Howard, who, by the way, appeared laser-focused and confident. Specifically, when Howard physicalized his advances and made plain with his language that he wasn’t surrendering his sexual pursuit of Gloria, I asked myself while watching, what are the stakes on a scale of 1 – 10? While Mr. Howard pursued at a ten, Ms. Winfrey—whatever she may have been feeling—seemed to be waffling, unable to committedly attach herself to that feeling. And what exactly was that feeling? Was she insulted, aghast, tempted, angry, seduced, all or none of these? It just wasn’t clear moment to moment, at least to me. But what did emerge was a less than one hundred per cent, focused grasp of whatever state she was trying to evince. Ms. Winfrey seemed to be flailing about a bit, like an overwrought puppy digging for a bone, trying to unearth the subtext oscillating beneath the words, but just not discovering it. Unable to organically connect, she was left no choice but to manufacture the feelings, vocally and visually.

As I viewed this high stakes scene between Howard and Gloria, what appeared to be working fully for Mr. Howard wasn’t working for Ms. Winfrey.

It’s important to reiterate that my interpretation of these performances—informed or uninformed—is subjective and based on my perceptions, not immutable fact. But I hope that the larger performance issues that have been raised—the stakes, less-less-less, indicating—are not only applicable to audiobook narrators, but can act as takeaways the narrator can consider when thinking about what constitutes compelling storytelling.

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Looking forward to recording tomorrow with Nicola Barber, whose performances work!

Becoming a Confident Storyteller: step one to mastering the craft of audiobook narration

            

In an effort to master the craft of storytelling, confidence isn’t preferable, it’s imperative. In basketball there’s a universally accepted truth: no D (defense), no W (win). Axiomatically reimagined in the audiobook narrator’s parlance: no C (confidence), no S (storytelling).

What does confidence mean? Specifically, what do I mean by confidence when it’s connected to storytelling? Why is confident storytelling so crucial to mastering the craft of audiobook narration? And if confident storytelling is a prerequisite for mastery, exactly how do narrators cultivate this confidence process?

Defining the Confident Storyteller

Confidence is a state of being, a mind set, a belief in one’s self, often associated with one’s behavior or ability to perform a given task. From there we can define the confident storyteller: one who faithfully believes in one’s self as the sole interpreter of feeling. And where is that feeling located? The subtext.

What this definition implicitly takes for granted is that the subtext, not the text, is the emotional pool from which the narrator accesses the feelings he or she connects to the listener. Beyond that implication is a grander, slightly transcendent, notion that indicates just how aesthetically critical the confident storyteller is to the listener’s experience of the narrative: without the narrator’s committed and focused devotion to the subtext, there is no possibility of involvement because the narrator hasn’t connected listeners emotionally. There is no emotion for the listener to be involved with. A narrator who is disengaged from the subtext is effectively asking the listener to passively hear the text’s words read aloud.

Addendum: emphasized or modulated words that don’t emerge from the actor’s organic connection to the subtext—no matter how confidently evinced—are indicative of Aunt Mary’s style, not the storyteller’s. Non-organic, vocal thwacking suggests (even if the intent is sincere)) a kind of hubris that implies the narrator will arbitrate emphasis because clearly the subtext can’t.

Faith and the Subtext

When narrators fail to consistently respect and prioritize the subtext’s efficacy—as if connecting to the emotional stakes isn’t always and absolutely necessary—they deprive listeners of the story’s full emotionality. No matter how vibrant or unique the actor’s voice, no matter how well or how often the actor animates the words, a narrator who doesn’t faithfully engage the subtext all the time can hope at best to create a non-committal, lukewarm version of the narrative’s emotionality. At worst, disregard for the subtext disconnects listeners; it bores them. Narrators who do not engage the subtext are, in effect, asking listeners to pay full price for a half baked story. And here’s the resulting irony: no matter how confidently the actor proffers his or her vocal chops, what is revealed to the listener is a tepid, tentative rendition or indication of feeling. Listeners are hearing a narrator who is not in possession of emotional confidence: arguably a disservice to the listener, not to mention the audiobook publisher.

The First Step

Becoming a confident (and commensurately, a more compelling) storyteller begins with the narrator’s first step: the belief that the yellow brick road to mastering the craft of audiobook narration is located in the subtext, not the words. This step’s greatest challenge—especially for emerging narrators—is that it is so counterintuitive because as the metaphorical foot is raised, it admonishingly cries out: don’t act the words; engage their feeling! And this admonition applies to drama, comedy, fiction and non-fiction.

I’m not sure if there’s a suitable acting definition that would satisfy all performers, let alone academicians. But what I’m more comfortable asserting is the following: for many audiobook narrators, acting means consciously helping the text. Acting means don’t just sit there, vocally highlight or push the words, like a lion tamer snapping a whip and cracking demands at the nonplussed cat: do this, now do this!

Engage the subtext and each individual word’s emotional consequence will direct you to emphasize it (or not) organically: that’s storytelling. FYI, narrators are often surprised at how vocally non-demanding and aesthetically satisfying this engage the subtext process is to them.

Confident storytellers dive, not so much unconsciously, but without conscious agenda, into the first word’s subtext and intuitively connect to it—not as something to pronounce, but to feel. Confident storytellers eschew meaning and chew feeling because the intellectual story in front of their eyes is irrelevant to them as actors: only feelings are actable. Engaging the emotion embedded in the words and connecting that feeling to the listener is the narrator’s only responsibility.

Once narrators have faith that the subtext is the straw that stirs the narrative’s emotional drink, they can begin, if I can conjure this image, sucking the subtext as if they’re parched vampires who’ve got thirty seconds till the crack of dawn.

Confident storytelling is the result of myriad performance practices that become second nature over time. But these collective techniques are subsumed by the storyteller’s job-one: don’t act, don’t act, don’t act; connect, connect, connect.

Becoming a Consistently Confident Storyteller

If Rome was built in a day it likely wouldn’t have become the most dominant world power of its time. Confidence isn’t achieved overnight. Narrators who, often bravely and against their intuition, determine that flexing untried performance muscles in order inhabit the subtext is in the listener’s interest, must consistently flex as if each word they say demands this focused commitment from them: it does.

Believing in the subtext and engaging it are separate and unequal endeavors. In other words, believing is easier than doing. But before you can do, consistently, you gotta believe, consistently.

How can the narrator be certain their best effort to consistently build confidence is paying off? I’ve never met an actor who isn’t hyper aware of themselves as they work, who isn’t tuned in to the nuances of their performance as if their entire body was an oscillating antenna. Listen back to your performance. Listen often, particularly when you detect vocal slippage (loss of faith), when you sense movement away from organically connecting to the subtext and towards the dark side: modulation and other vocal schtick. Listen to yourself as if you’re a consumer and determine whether what you’re hearing sounds good or feels good (feels good wins). Who more than the actor can truthfully critique whether what’s emerging from that actor is a rose or something akin to a beautiful, albeit, synthetic flower. If you think, hmmm, sounds a little forced, a little pushed, a bit sung, or hit, don’t sit for it! Rewind! Go back and confidently believe that your obligation as a narrator is about confidently letting go of the words and grasping their feeling.

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I’m eager to soon be working with John Keating (If you haven’t seen him off-Broadway in The Weir, currently playing at the Irish Rep., I thought the show and John were equally sublime.) and Caitlin Davies. Additionally, these posts are coming a bit more slowly as I am continuing to write fiction during my MFA creative writing program (I think of this process as grinding away with an ax in my head.).

I will be posting narrator workshops on my website (Tribecaaudio.com) shortly.