Kim Stanley: A Mystery And A Secret

Kim Stanley in costume for A Far Country, and photographed by Carl Van Vechten (1961)

Interview with Kim Stanley

Conducted by James Grissom

Los Angeles

1992

I'm tired of talking about acting, because it's something that is terribly personal and mysterious, and even I don't know what all went into the creation of a performance or a moment--or a life, for that matter. It's like asking me how each second of my life transpired; how each moment in the act of sexual intercourse felt or progressed. I mean, I sometimes tell my students that if you stop and focus too intently on how and when you breathe, you'll die: The breathing will stop, because you have interrupted its natural progress.

I know you're here asking things that Tennessee [Williams] wanted to know about, to linger over, but it makes me angry, because he of all people should understand the mystery of things, of how memories, open or shrouded, pop up when you want to share or understand.

Acting is like walking on water, and I mean that in the magical sense, not the religious sense. The text and your soul and your intentions are this roiling lake or sea, depending on the seriousness of the material, and you somehow have to get to the other side, safe and dry and with a line of clear intention to let the playwright and the other players take the same, safe route. A good director or teacher will give you the faith in yourself to calm the waters, to talk you across what appears to be imminent death, but they can't make you act or make a play work. They can only calm the sea, and stand, arms outstretched, on the other shore. That's a lot, but no one ever explained to me what acting was or writing was or living was.

It's all on us, and it's a mystery and a secret, and I don't want to talk about it any longer. I just want to keep the waters calm and find myself on a shore with other people who made it.

©  2019  James Grissom