When I was cast as Achilles in The Iliad: Book One, I considered what a seemingly daunting task lay ahead of me. How do I portray such a larger-than-life figure? This man was a demi-god, the greatest of all the Greek warriors and had no small temper. Not to mention the recent Hollywood images that invaded my mind from movies like 300  and Troy. My goal with any role is to create something completely sincere. One possible etymology of the word sincere is that it comes from the Latin “sine,” meaning “without,” and “cera,” meaning “wax.” Dishonest sculptors in ancient times would often use wax to cover imperfections in their work. So “without wax” means that the work is seamless, whole and nothing about it is artificial. With this goal in mind, I kept my doubts at bay and began my work. I gleaned as much specific information as I could about Achilles via the text and started developing a physical life for him that was congruous with his training as a warrior. I also looked at outside mythologies to fill in the blanks about his past, but quickly realized there were many different, often contradictory, variations. Our director, Peter Meineck, helped to set me on the right path by explaining that, as myths were passed down orally, each culture and generation had their own versions, and the important thing was to stick with what was handed down to us in this version performed for the Athenians around 750 B.C.E.

The rehearsal process was fairly quick, so our performances on the road became opportunities to continue to explore. I began to go into more and more minutia about what Achilles was trying to accomplish from moment to moment. What tactics was he taking with Agamemnon? What layers were there to his relationships with the other characters and how did that affect his intentions? As equally informative as this work was the variety of audiences and performance spaces we encountered. Dealing with constant change, whether it be an audience of 20 or 1200, a conference room in a library or a large hall, helped to shape my performance by making me flexible and adaptable. Often times revelations would occur due to the fact that I was in a new spacial relationship to the other actors on stage or had an audience on 3 sides of me or was able to feel the audience being swept up in the story. I particularly enjoyed the library shows, as there was always a certain buzz of energy that came along with the spontaneity of not knowing quite what to expect. Not to mention the fact that the audience was usually very close to us, which provided a thrilling ability to connect with them more immediately and forced us to be truthful. It was also fascinating to hear the different impressions, often deeply personal, with which audience members were left. Everything from people identifying aspects of themselves or their friends in Achilles to the stage imagery telling them a specific story to a new-found understanding of the nature of the gods in Greek Mythology. It was inspiring to know that I was part of presenting an ancient tale with timeless themes that allowed people to connect with elements of their own humanity that may have otherwise gone unnoticed.

Through all of this, my performance continued to grow as my understanding of Achilles deepened. The last chapter in all of this, however, occurred when we began performing in New York City at the Lucille Lortel and at libraries in the area. All of the work that I had done, all of the internal connections I had made, all of the clues I had strung together from the myriad observations were for nought if I was not really inhabiting the role as myself. As actors, we as humans are the only instrument we have. Obviously my performances had been coming from me on the road, but as we took more time to dive into the characters in rehearsal, I realized that what I had done was pile everything I had learned on top of the same preconceived notions and prejudices I had had from the beginning about who Achilles “must” be. So yes, there were layers and nuances to what I was doing, but it was not truly me at the core. Both internally and externally in my physicality I was wearing the role as a suit. Subconsciously I had not fully trust that I had the qualities within me to be Achilles. It was an uncomfortable truth at first.  It involved me shedding certain doubts and simply embracing that if I believed I was Achilles, others would. The irony was that I had been touring the country, encouraging others to recognize their own humanity in the strengths and flaws of Achilles, when it was me that needed the humanity check. He was just a man, like me, but one in an extraordinary circumstance: he had been endowed with divine qualities. And because of this dichotomy within him, there was a constant struggle. I think everyone at times can identify with the feeling that you have something unique and special about you that is your gift and that that one thing makes you unstoppable. And when something or someone inhibits you from that potential, it can be extremely frustrating. For Achilles, he had the immortal quality of being indomitable in battle, but was also tied to the frailty of his mortality. In some ways, he was his own worst enemy, which was the seed that developed into his extreme rage and temper. Of course there are factors in the Iliad that caused his rage to rear its head (the dishonor he faced at the hands of Agamemnon and the death of his friend Patroclus are two examples), but the reason his temper reached such heights in these situations was due to the internal conflict that was already deep in his bones.

Once I finally was able to “own” Achilles as mine, it suddenly became a lot more powerful and real. I was no longer attempting to meet people’s expectations of what Achilles was with my performance; I was allowing myself to reshape them by bringing his humanity to light through my own. They say creating art is often about the process, not the product.  It was never truer than in this instance. My goal to create something “without wax” could not have been achieved by simply connecting the dots. It required a journey that led me away from myself, only to come back again with the sincerest interest in my own humanity at heart.