When I was out one evening with Marian Seldes, we saw an actress—well-known, talented—and she and Marian began to talk. Marian was excited; the other actress was exhausted. A stream of invective flowed from her, about the untalented, the undeserving, the injustice that she was not as admired or awarded as X or Y. I was invisible to her.
Marian touched her arm and said “Oh, don’t do that. All of that negativity will spoil the beautiful talent you have.” Marian then proceeded to remind the actress of her performances, the responses she had received, the future that awaited her.
I was impressed.
Later that evening, in her apartment, I asked Marian if I could get her on record as to how she remained so positive.
She agreed.
This is from March of 2003.
I was lucky to have been born into a family that did not engage in casual cruelty. I see it all the time now. I go to a friend’s house for the Academy Awards or other things, and people sit around and say, ‘Oh, she’s so ugly,’ or ‘God, he’s put on weight,’ or ‘I have always hated him.’ People comment on teeth and necks, and I find myself uncomfortable. What do they say about my teeth and my neck when I’m out of the room? Also, how would they survive the same investigation and cruelty? Also, who taught them to respond in this way?
We’ve talked about this before, but I’ll say it again: Whether we call it envy or depression, the base is always fear. Fear that another chance won’t come, or that chance has forgotten where you live and work. It’s that big pile of chances I mentioned before, and I always reminded students that there is no such big, single pile of opportunities over there, and whenever someone gets a job or an award or a rave review, it’s one less item in the pile, and you now have to scavenge the smaller pile and take the…oh, what’s that term? It’s a bit tacky.
Sloppy seconds?
Exactly. There was an actress who understudied me several times, and I overheard her once telling a friend, ‘I’m so sick of this. I live for Marian to get sick or die. I wanted more.’ I was devastated. She was a talented actress, and she felt she deserved more, and she resented me. And there she was, throughout that run, hovering, so angry that I didn’t miss a performance. Well, I had a pact with my producers and the playwright and the audiences. I don’t miss performances. I have a job to do. Was I supposed to ‘throw’ her one? I couldn’t do it. Maybe I should have. I might have been wrong. Eileen Heckart and others have spoken of how the actresses they understudied arranged for them to go on. A ‘sickness’ was arranged. I hate now to think that I might have been a cause for this actress to remain so bitter.
But back to remaining positive and optimistic. I could not tell you how many times I’ve sat with friends who tell me about their diets. I hear about four ounces of chicken; I hear about five servings of vegetables; I hear about three starches; I hear about four fruits, but not bananas or watermelons; I hear about the sixty-four ounces of water and the four diet sodas that are demanded or allowed. I listen, and I watch as they lose weight and feel better about themselves. When I was studying the ballet, I knew I had to go to class and I had to do certain assignments, and I knew I had to go home and wash out my tights and my uniform and look over my notes from class. I knew that this was required of me, if I wanted to do better.
I have applied this discipline to my thinking. I know that I wake up each day and I have things to do. I used to wake up and know that I had to teach, and then I had to get to the theatre and act. To do these things, I had to take care of myself, and I had to take care of not just my body, but my mind. I consider it a sin—a mortal one—to bring my negativity or unhappiness to other people. I loved and was responsible for my students, so I could not come to class and be tired or cranky or impatient. Their entire lives stretched before them, and their talents needed my hope and my attention. Well, so do the people in the stores where I shop. The people on the street. The friends I have. I see on people’s walls and refrigerators the quote about sweeping in front of our own doors first. I don’t know who said it. I don’t care. It’s good, and it reminds me of what Ruth Gordon would say after she spent time with a negative person. She would say, That person just took a shit in my front door. Well, it’s perfect.
So I have a mental diet. No negativity ingested or shared. I don’t feel I’ve followed the diet unless I can get home and think of four or five instances where I was helpful or kind.
I had to offer opinions on things, and I was honest, but I was never cruel. If I said that a performance didn’t work, I always added that I meant only for myself. I did not attack the actors or the production. I let it be known that I had an opinion, and it could be wrong. There is such a need for people to be right all the time. Now, I’m afraid to say anything about anything.
I think that people are essentially good. I also think that some people think it brings them attention if they display a certain cruel streak. It’s true of writers, particularly, but in my profession there are people we call green-room ghouls: They love to gossip, to spread bad news about famous people with whom they have worked or about whom they’ve heard things. I’ve heard things said about productions I was in and people with whom I’ve worked that are entirely untrue. I gave up arguing a long time ago. When I would defend the person being ridiculed, I would be accused of being incapable of seeing anything wrong with anyone. Is that so bad? I wondered.
To be engaged in negativity is to destroy yourself. Nothing good rests easy on or around the person who engages in such thoughts, who feels constantly competitive with others. I know you remember I did a play last year, and an actress in it, whom I admire greatly, misbehaved on the stage terribly. I know she was operating out of fear, and I couldn’t understand why: She is a talented, beautiful actress. But on the stage she kept finding ways to upstage, to do what we call stealing focus. The company talked about it. There was negativity. What was I to do? I wasn’t blind. I wanted to be supportive of others in the company. So I nodded and smiled and hoped help would come. It didn’t, but I don’t regret for one moment being in that play or with those people. You cannot hold grudges or negative memories. It’s poison.
If a friend ever engages in such activity—and you have, my darling—I always tell them that I miss the lovely friend they have been, the beauty and the power they could have. Why, why, I ask, are they wasting themselves?