From Scratch or Script: Writing vs. Acting

By Leslie Greffenius

Like many otherwise sensible people, I found myself, at 00:00 this past Friday, July 15, at a local movie theater clutching a bag of popcorn to my chest. Seated next to my 13-year-old daughter and surrounded by dozens of flamboyant Potter fans, I watched with pleasure and anxiety as Harry and his friends waged their final battle against the forces of darkness.

At a climactic moment in the film, Lord Voldemort and Death Eaters attack the bastion of Hogwarts School. Professor Minerva McGonagall, observing the destruction all around her from the school’s courtyard, calls out to the suits of armor arrayed atop the institution’s walls.  “Piertotum Locomotor! Hogwarts is threatened! Man the boundaries! Protect us! Do your duty to your school!” Then the august professor, who has barely cracked one smile over the course of eight movies, is overcome with almost childish glee. At her school’s darkest hour, she doubles up with laughter and leans toward her colleague. “I’ve always wanted to use that spell!” she admits.

One of the satisfying aspects of acting would be, to me, having the opportunity not only to crawl inside the mind of another person, but also to live and breathe and actually be that other person for a while, even – or maybe, especially? – if the character is repugnant in some way. (I love the smile of Ralph Fiennes’s Voldemort, and try to imitate it sometimes – when I’m alone.) I can watch a good actor play an interesting role any number of times without getting bored; with each new viewing, I notice some quality of the voice or movement of the eyes or lips that makes me appreciate the impersonation that much more.

Every time I watch “The Devil Wears Prada” (I won’t admit that I don’t even know how many times I’ve seen that movie), I feel greater envy for Meryl Streep for her role as the icy Miranda Priestly, fashion editor of “Runway Magazine.” Feared by her staff and many in the fashion world, she is powerful enough to discard a $300,000 photo shoot with impunity. Streep, of course, plays the role brilliantly. Maybe this is projection on my part, but I’m convinced that a “Miranda Priestly” really lives inside of Streep and that acting out that part of herself – without having had actually to BE Miranda for keeps – was extremely satisfying.

A writer, of course, has the same opportunity as an actor to inhabit the imagination of someone else. As a writer, though, you have the extra challenge (or burden) of writing the words that the characters will speak to each other or think to themselves. The task can seem monumental and terrifying – or, at times, incredibly frustrating.

An editor I was working with recently asked me to change the way a character in my story responds to another character. I thought (but could not say): “How can you not get that this is the PERFECT way for this character to answer given his personality and the circumstances he’s in? If you don’t understand this, why did you even choose to publish the piece?!” When your reader “gets you,” on the other hand, the rush is very great. On those occasions, all the sweat and all the tears, all the pulling of hair seem worthwhile. Still, there’s no use denying it: I would love to be able to sit at my desk and once, just once ( a la Miranda Priestly), lead a designer to redo an entire clothing collection with the simple pursing of my lips.

Have any of you ever wanted to cast that spell?