Genre for Actors

Want to learn everything there is about genre as an actor? Fill in the blank at the end of this excerpt:

INT. BATHROOM – NIGHT
SALLY steps into the pristine, white bathroom of her inner-city loft. She fumbles for the light switch in the dark and stares at her face in the bathroom mirror. She runs the tap and the camera pans down to show her rinsing the sleep from her eyes. When she stands back up, she looks in the mirror to see _____.

What did you come up with: a scary face? A monster? A stalker who disappears the minute she whips around to confront them? The point is, you came up with something. And that the idea of seeing nothing at all makes no sense at all.

Genre refers to shared signifiers within certain types of stories that group them together thematically. These signifiers may be stylistic, structural, even emotional. Genre allows artists and audiences to easily, instantly share ideas about and within stories.

If you can be aware of the conventions of genre as an actor, you put yourself at a great advantage when playing characters within those worlds. You’ll know where to sit, how to fit … and where you can shatter expectations.

What is Genre?

As a broad definition, “genre” (from the French, meaning “kind”) refers to categories—generally in art, but in various contexts—of commonly-agreed-upon conventions within human society. Genre is a way of grouping ideas together based on our expectations of what those things promise to deliver, or be.

Within dramatic storytelling, we think of genres as the different ways we group stories based on their shared components. “Action”, “horror“, “comedy“, “science fiction” are the ‘big four’: examples that cover most literature, plays and films in the Western canon. And within these genres, sub-genres can exist as extensions, fusions or subversions of their broader counterparts.

When exploring genre, it’s worth asking who decides upon the genre of a story, or even how a genre is defined in the first place. Some responsibility belongs to the artist—as they choose what and how to populate their story. However, the power to define and refine genre lies predominantly in the hands of the audience—the collective viewers and consumers the artist engages in dialogue through their work.

How many times have you laughed at a terrible drama that ached to be taken seriously? And, in turn: how many times have you seen a comedy try desperately to send something up and fall completely flat?

What is Genre Used For?

Depends who’s asking. For audiences, it’s a way to discover the kinds of stories we want to experience. Without having actually seen a play/film/series/etc. we can get a sense, from its genre, of how it will make us feel and think. Generally speaking: what kind of night we’re in for. Genre helps steer us towards the things we enjoy, and away from the things we don’t.

For artists, genre is a little more complicated. First of all, it functions in the same way it does for audiences, as all artists are audience members as well—of their own work as much as that of others.

However, they can also use genre to shape and guide the creative process. By communicating genre to their collaborators, they can clarify what kind of story they aim to tell; this ensures everybody involved is, creatively, on the same page.

Once their work is done, genre also helps them reach an audience who will appreciate it—the kind of people who might actively seek out the particular story being told.

A Shared Language

This is the greatest gift that genre offers to artist and audience alike. It’s a shared language of ideas and conventions: one that is easily—almost immediately—understood by those who share and experience stories. It clarifies without simplifying. And it offers up possibilities for what we might expect without offering so much as a single written word on a page.

When genre is unclear, or ill-considered, there is an immediate disconnect between artist and audience: a communication breakdown. Here’s an example, by way of a log-line for a film called “Mike’s Clown Friend”:

On the night of his tenth birthday, a lonely boy named Mike wishes on a shooting star for a best friend. He is visited that night by a clown named Mister Grins: who promises lifelong companionship if Mike agrees to run away with Grins’ Magic Circus.

Notice how this brief synopsis, despite giving us plenty of plot and character info. But it fails to capture the essence of the audience experience by obscuring its genre. Is this a cute, kid’s movie full of catchy musical numbers, or the next blood-drenched, cult horror flick?

If you, like me, are a wuss when it comes to all things horror, the lack of genre information might make you hesitant to buy a ticket. That’s a serious problem if you’re the writer/director of “Mike’s Clown Friend”, who pitched the thing to Disney as a family-friendly blockbuster.

Expectation and Subversion

So far in this article, we’ve spoken at length about the idea of genre as “expectation”: what the audience expects from the artist and their story, and vice versa. Interestingly enough, “expectation” is only one half of the genre equation.

Think back to the mirror scare we discussed at the top of this article: if you had a look through the Youtube compilation provided, you might notice that every few examples something is different. The ‘monster’ is friendly. There’s nothing there until the protagonist turns around. Sometimes, the face of the protagonist is the thing that’s frightening, not the thing in the background.

If genre worked exactly the same way every time, there’d be no need for new stories. Therefore, “expectation” is balanced by the presence of “subversion”: how the artist takes what we know about a type of story and then delights us with the unexpected.

“We know monsters are scary,” the audience says, warily settling down to watch the latest creature feature. “How is this one any different? What is it about the way it looks, or moves, or kills?” Expectation brings the crowds in. Subversion gets them to stay, to gasp and tell all their friends.

Genre for Actors

So. With all this theory in mind, how does your new-found understanding and appreciation of genre help you become a better actor?

Firstly, genre is a terrific short-hand to help you understand a story/character you might be performing. Keep genre in mind when auditioning, rehearsing, or even performing script analysis. You’ll have a clearer understanding of how the narrative fits together, and what may be expected of you in style and tone. If you can grasp the expectations of the genre, as well as how it might be subverted, you can make less obvious choices that will really distinguish you from others playing the same characters/stories in the canon.

When you know and understand the finer points of the genre of a story, you’ll also be able to make more grounded, realistic choices for your character. Too many actors approach science fiction, comedy or horror with the panicked thought that they have to somehow change everything about their process—often to deliver some kind of heightened performance that leaves truth in the dust.

The reality of acting in ‘genre’ shows is that your work needs to be all the more fixed in truth: anchored by clear objectives and marked by strong work in given circumstances. Actors, being human, tend to be the thing in extraordinary stories that the audience can ‘anchor’ themselves to.

The universe can be unbelievable, the monsters non-Euclidian. But if the characters seem fake, everything else crumbles around them.

Is Acting in Genre Movies Bad?

First, a quick clarification. ‘Genre films’ refer specifically to lower budget, borderline-exploitational material made to cater specifically to a built-in audience. Some of them are pretty awful, to be honest. And so the above question is an understandable one for an actor to ask when auditioning for “Zombie Cheerleaders 9.”

To answer it, we’re going to call on the wisdom of the late, great Sir Christopher Lee: “Every actor has to make terrible films from time to time, the trick is not to be terrible in them.”

Some actors take on a role in a genre movie and wonder about where to ‘pitch’ their performance. If they show up, their head swimming with the method technique and a rich character backstory, is it going to look like overkill? Not if you do it well.

The reason there is a risk (and rich history) of genre movies being of a lower quality is because the crowds will show up anyway. Their production can invite laziness from creatives who know they won’t be judged on artistic or technical proficiency. If you find yourself in such a situation, don’t panic: remember Sir Christopher’s wisdom.

Conclusion

So there you have it: the StageMilk lowdown on all things genre for actors!

Remember that ‘genre’ is not something that belongs to schlocky horror films—it’s a system that encompasses all stories, from the high art to the lowest of brows. And being aware of conventions and tropes isn’t inherently lazy; it’s a foundation on which you can build exciting, compelling performances.

As with all things acting, aim for truth. No matter how ridiculous or out-of-this-world the story is, your job is to make an audience believe your character and the choices they make. Do this in Shakespeare, do this on the surface of Mars.

Good luck!