Barry Pineo is an actor, director, teacher, and author based in Austin, Texas. He received a BA in Theatre from the University of Maine, and his MFA from the University of Texas at Austin. He is the founder and leader of the Austin Acting Workshop and has directed shows as diverse as Shopping and F***ing, and Oklahoma!, and his productions have appeared in numerous Austin venues including St. Edwards University, the Blue Theatre, and Capitol City Playhouse. Barry has written four plays, as well as his successful book on acting technique, Acting That Matters.

Interviewed by Matthew Rose

Your first show was a high school production of Pierre Patelin. What is the infamous story behind that production?
One of the scenes takes place in a courtroom. My character, the tailor, is suing Pierre. The young man playing the judge stood at a podium and, as a precaution, had a copy of the script on the podium with him. I believe this gave him a false sense of confidence regarding his lines. We had only a single performance of the play and, at the beginning of the courtroom scene, the judge, instead of starting the trial, skipped the entire thing and delivered a line from the end of the scene. The action came to an immediate halt. Everyone began looking at everyone else. A pause ensued that felt like the longest silence in the history of theatre. I said something – I don’t remember what. My “line” was followed by yet another interminable pause. Pierre said something. Another interminable pause. I said something else and, after yet one more astoundingly long and silent time, the judge realized his mistake and went back to the beginning of the scene. I know, it sounds horrible, and it was, but I’d never felt such a tremendous rush of adrenaline in my life. Talk about hooked.

You had a stint in the Air Force. How did that shape you as an artist?
In practically every way imaginable, but it didn’t have anything to do with the service. After basic training in San Antonio and tech school in Biloxi, I got assigned to Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas. I could see the city from my barracks and it scared me to death; I’d never seen anything like it. I was just a sheltered kid from a series of small towns. I’d almost never been in a city, and I certainly had never lived so close to one. It took me six months to get up the guts to get off the base, but once I did, I acted pretty much non-stop for three and a half years. When I finished my service time, the Air Force very much wanted to keep me, but I decided I’d go and get a theatre degree, which is what I’d planned to do before I signed on.

You studied at the University of Maine at Orono and the University of Texas at Austin. Both are state universities. What are your thoughts on theater training at state schools as opposed to conservatory training?
If you want to become an actor, you should go out and act. It’s a crap shoot, really. If you want to be successful at it, I think luck plays a rather large role (as do kissing the correct gluteus maximuses and/or performing fellatio on the right individuals). Which is not to say I don’t think you should train. On the contrary, I think an actor should be all about training the body, the voice, and especially the mind. The body is an easy one to address, as there are so many ways to train it. The voice is trickier, but finding good vocal coaches, both for singing and for speaking, isn’t really that difficult to do.

Finding a way to train the mind is the most difficult part, and what I’m talking about is finding an acting technique that works. There are a lot of acting techniques out there, and finding one that works on a practical level is difficult for a lot of people. At least, that’s what I’ve found since I’ve been teaching. The number one complaint I hear from my students is that they didn’t learn anything in their acting classes, and I hear it all the time. Personally, I’ve only taken one acting class in my life, and I can state unequivocally it was a waste of my time. All we did was play theatre games and improvise, none of which prepares you in even the most insignificant way for the moment when a Eugene O’Neill play or a Shakespeare play or a Caryl Churchill play or any other play is placed in front of you. Few, if any, acting techniques actually prepare you to face a text.

So, if I was a young actor and I wanted to do it professionally, I’d first find a way to act – to get roles on a consistent basis. Once I knew I had the practical part of it under control – the actual “I’m out here acting” part of it – I’d find a way to train, and as to technique, I’d look first and foremost for one that makes approaching text a central part of its practice.

How did the Austin Acting Workshop come about?
Talk about a loaded question. I’ll attempt to answer this briefly (like that’s going to happen.) When I graduated from the University of Texas, I attempted to get a job teaching theatre. It didn’t happen. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. So, along with my wife, I started a theatre company, and it went well, but we got pregnant during our first season and disbanded it because we wanted our child to feel real secure. That meant having a job, and I got one. And I kept it for fourteen years. Toward the end of that time, I suffered from a rather intense depression, and while my doctor treated it chemically, the drugs didn’t really do anything for me because it had to do with me not doing what I wanted to do and not being where I wanted to be. I had always wanted to teach, and I’d tried to get teaching jobs during that fourteen years (and still do), but for some reason that is totally beyond me, no one will hire me.

So, I decided to start an acting workshop with some friends. Its purpose was very clearly defined – I still have the first thing I ever wrote about it: “To elucidate a technique of acting that can be practically applied to any given text.” It was me and eight actors, we met from 8:00 am to noon every Saturday, and we were brutal with each other. Each week I’d write an email trying to codify the work we’d done the previous Saturday, and out of that came my book, Acting That Matters. And after a while, even though I’d never been able to get an institutional teaching job, I discovered that people would pay me to teach them about acting. So, I quit my job and started doing the workshop pretty much full-time. (And yes, that really was the short answer.)

You teach the “rules of acting” to your students. What are some of the rules that actors consistently break?
Well, I talk about the “rules,” but really, most of the “rules” I talk about are really “principles,” not “rules.” I call them “rules” because so many people in the theatre don’t even seem to understand that there are real, solid, practical principles, an actual lexicon, that underlies all storytelling.

As to what rules that actors consistently break: All of them. Every single one them. They don’t fill the room with their voices. They don’t enjoy the words. They don’t memorize their lines. They don’t rest at beat changes. They don’t utilize physical movement to begin beats. They don’t make appropriate, text-based choices in terms of movement. They don’t utilize stillness consistently. They don’t build to a climax during beats. They deliver everything at the same tempo and they don’t push tempo. They don’t key words. They don’t play action.

What it really comes down to is they don’t understand what the work is, what the real, basic fundamentals of acting are, what the lexicon is, and even when they do, they ignore the rules, think they’re above them, think their talent will carry them, and they don’t work hard at their craft.

Do you have a lot of children and teens in your classes? What is your advice to young people who want to pursue acting for a living?
No, I don’t have a lot of children and teens in my classes, although I think children can grasp the technique I advocate. I’ve had some young people, and I’ve worked with a group of twelve-year-olds who had no problem grasping most of it. My advice (for children and anyone else that wants to act): Act every chance you get. Never be deterred. Never let anyone tell you that you can’t. Don’t let go of your dreams until your dreaming is done.

How do you respond to those who say: “Acting cannot be taught. You either have it or you don’t?”
I laugh heartily. But, perhaps surprisingly, I feel compelled to say more. Anyone can act, if they understand the fundamentals. Most of the time – and this is especially true for any kind of on-camera acting – an actor gets cast because of who he is. In other words, you don’t need to “become” anyone else. You just need to be yourself. So, what you really need as an actor is not a way to be someone else, but a way to approach your text – and your “text” can be both spoken words and unspoken words. It’s all about text – about the words on the page (or just the words in someone else’s head that you then are asked to communicate in a visual way). It’s all about communication and connection. If you understand the rules of communication, then you can act effectively.

If you want to learn how to act, you really only need three things: A mind within the range of normal; a loud, clear voice; and the ability to memorize lines. If you have those three things, you can learn to act because you can, through practice, come to an understanding of the fundamentals. Acting is all about the fundamentals. And great skill is indistinguishable from great talent.

You have a great quote on your website, www.barrypineo.com, that reads: "Actors, deep down, want to know themselves. They are compelled to know themselves. To become intimate with themselves -- and by extension, become intimate with others. But it all begins with the self. Acting is work on one's self.” This is an obstacle for so many artists. Why is it so hard to focus on “one’s self?”
Well geez, there’s a whole chapter in my book about it – in fact, that quote is from the chapter – so I’ll let it speak for itself. “From the moment you are pushed from the womb, and nowadays even before, you are being judged. ‘What a pretty baby!’ ‘He’s so nice and quiet!’ ‘He’s such a good boy!’ One of my earliest childhood memories is my first stepfather yelling, ‘Can’t you get that kid to shut up!’ (And thus my inherent and well-developed ability to run off at the mouth.)

I write this not in a search for sympathy, but only to point out that all of us to a certain extent, and some of us to a great extent, are products of our experiences. From the time we are very small, we look to others for affirmation, in order to learn how to behave, and we behave accordingly. Our instruments are molded against our wills. And not by people who have been prepared to train us or who care about or love us or are, at the very least, looking out for our best interests, but by whoever happens to be there. Often, it seems, by people who don’t really care about us at all as living, breathing, feeling, human entities.

By the time we get to acting, whether early or late in life, we have so much behind us and inside us that we often don’t know ourselves. Most of us are so afraid, we don’t even want to know ourselves. What might be there is too awful to contemplate. I believe that’s the primary reason that people are drawn to acting: When they were children, at some point or another, some essential intimacy was denied them.” And the very next thing is the lines you’ve quoted above. The short answer: It’s hard to focus on one’s self because we don’t know who we are.

What can actors gain from your book, Acting That Matters?
At least as much as they’re going to gain from any other book about acting. I would wish more, but that really isn’t the case. The book breaks acting down into a lexicon, but acting is a living thing. You can’t learn how to act from a book, mine or any other. The only way to learn how to act is to act. But, I truly believe that my book will provide an understanding of the lexicon of acting, much more so than any other book I’ve read on the subject.

In addition to teaching, you also write reviews for the Austin Chronicle. Reviewers are often controversial figures. In your opinion, what is the job of the reviewer?
To describe what I see and hear; to give my opinion about its artistic merit; and most importantly, to be fair. When I first started reviewing, I held everyone to the same standard, but after some consideration I found that holding a community theatre to the same standard as a professional theatre was simply not fair. I’ve heard from various people that, as a theatre critic, I’ve “mellowed” over the years. But I think what they call mellowing is really just me shifting my standards slightly in order to strive for fairness. I’d rather be too fair than too critical, let’s put it that way.

Austin has been your home base for almost twenty years now. It has a huge theater community. But, a lot of actors outside of Austin are not aware of it. Why not?
I don’t know. (And you should never be afraid to say you don’t know something. You should try never to be afraid, period. It hampers your acting.) It doesn’t make any sense to me. These people must not be reading American Theatre magazine. Austin productions and Austin theatres get mentioned in there all the time. I really don’t know.

Texas is a very conservative state. How do the politics of Texas affect the work that you do?
I am very proud to say that politics don’t affect the work I do. And maybe I shouldn’t be proud of that fact, as life is all about politics, very much so. I’ve directed Mark Ravenhill’s Shopping and Fucking. If I could, I’d direct Sarah Kane’s Cleansed. I suppose one could say that those are both political plays, but they’re certainly not the politics of the prevailing zeitgeist.

If I’m given the opportunity to spread liberal and/or anarchist thinking in my writing, I seize the opportunity. My government would appreciate it if I bought into the climate of fear. My community would appreciate it as well. When martial law comes down, as it no doubt will, I’ll be surprised if I’m not one of the first to be thrown into the camps. But I don’t spend much time dwelling on that. I choose to focus on what I see as the truth and go from there. And I’m not talking about your truth or my truth, but the truth. There are things that are true, and I think it’s an artist’s job–an artist’s duty–to seek out those things that are universally true and find a way to reveal those things in the work.

What qualities do you think an actor must have to live and work in a city like Austin?
Perseverance, more than anything else. It’s a small pond, so it takes a long time to break in. Some very talented and/or very skilled people never do. And, of course, being able to kiss a variety of ass is extremely helpful as well.

Do you need an agent or manager to work in Austin?
Depends on what kind of work you want to do. If you want to do theatre work, you need neither. You just need to persevere. But if you want to do paying film work, yes, absolutely, you need an agent. Every bit of paying film work in Austin–and I mean, film, television, industrials, etc.–there’s a lot of it–goes through agents of one kind or another.

What was your all-time favorite show to direct? Why?
Oh, that’s an easy one. Shopping and Fucking. It changed my life. If it weren’t for Shopping and Fucking, I would have never found Derrick Jensen’s work, which led me directly to starting the workshop, which led me directly to quitting my day job and teaching for a living. Shopping and Fucking and Derrick Jensen led me out of the darkness into the light. If it weren’t for Shopping and Fucking, I quite easily could be dead. And all of this is completely outside of the fact that it was an outstanding production. The actors and the designers went above and beyond what’s usually required of theatre practitioners. Especially the actors. A tremendously brave and daring group of people. I will be forever in their debt.

Oklahoma! is a close second, and I know that may sound strange, not only to put Shopping and Fucking and Oklahoma! in the same paragraph, but the fact that one person directed productions of both. But me, I’ll direct anything. It’s all stories. It’s all truth of one kind or another. It all has merit on some level. I directed Oklahoma! in a relatively small community theatre in Marble Falls, Texas, at another very difficult time in my life, with a very large group of people that consisted primarily of non-professionals, and I’d put the work we did together up against any professional production of a musical anywhere, anytime. It worked wonderfully, and I’ve never had a more satisfying theatre experience than I had there.

In a world of digital entertainment options, why is theater important? What does the theater provide that film and television cannot?
Immediacy. Connection. Communion. The living, breathing actor moving through time and space, your time and your space. Accept no substitute because, hey, there is none.

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