​In some ways, my experience rehearsing and performing in All the Way at South Coast Rep has been more like working on a movie than a play. In general, scenes in plays are longer than those in movies. This gives the actor the chance to settle into the life on stage, to connect with his acting partners, to feel the rhythm of the work on a particular evening, and bring breath and truth to the event. Of course, there are some longer scenes in All the Way, but my function in Robert Schenkkan’s historical drama is to fill in nine distinct characters that flesh out the action around the central players, Lyndon B. Johnson and Martin Luther King. How to do this presents some interesting challenges.

Of course, much of the work of defining these roles falls to the wardrobe and wig departments, and you can see the results of the hard work of Costume Designer Holly Poe Durbin and Wig Master Laura Caponera in this mug shot array. 

Manny and Levison are the first two characters I play, and with the help of a wonderful team of dressers just off-stage, I exit as Manny and reenter as Levison a mere 97 seconds later. So much for the outward transformation. But how do you deal with the task as an actor?

First, I try to be as simple and clear as possible about my “moment before” and immediate objective. Manny is new to the White House, it is a pressure-filled, volatile situation, and he needs to get LBJ’s accurate measurements so he can tailor the President’s new suit. Levison, too, is under pressure, but it has been a long meeting, and he still needs to persuade MLK that LBJ’s presidency offers real opportunities for the Civil Rights Movement. Next, add accents — French for Manny, Brooklyn for Levison, two different Southern dialects for Seymore Trammell and the Reverend Edwin King, Boston for Speaker of the House John McCormack — with the help of our wonderful dialect coaches Tracy Winters and Nike Doukas, who is also in the cast as Ladybird Johnson. Finally, I think about physicality. This develops throughout rehearsal as each character finds his own way to stand and move, and is influenced by my thoughts on time period, circumstance, and activity. Add some props — cigarettes for Levison, a reporter’s mic or notepad, the Speaker’s gavel — and the transformations are complete. With all of these elements in place, I can internalize a different character, have the internal life supported by all the necessary outward accouterments, and translate a clear and detailed picture to the audience.

Why put all this work into every character, even the very, very minor ones? It’s true that in some of my scenes, I’m almost an extra. In one scene, I’m a nameless FBI agent digging for the body of James Chaney, the slain civil rights volunteer. In an earlier scene, I’m another FBI agent recording a meeting between members of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, and the NAACP. Again, the agent is anonymous, while those at the meeting are historical characters we know: MLK, Ralph Abernathy, Bob Moses, Roy Wilkins, and Stokely Carmichael. Although the only thing the audience will see, if they look at me at all, is a man digging, or another listening on headphones, I still believe it is crucial to bring an internal life to these characters who are never part of the main focus of the scene. On a purely selfish level, it makes my work more interesting and enjoyable. But on an artistic level, it brings energy, integrity, and detail to the theatrical event. If a member of the audience glances for even a moment at a minor character, and that actor is not fully engaged, it will shatter the illusion, and lessen the impact of the storytelling. And that, ultimately, is what it is all about.

Actors hate getting headshots. Oh, perhaps not all actors – on occasion I meet one who claims to enjoy sitting for a still camera. But most actors hate it. Not that they hate actually having a compelling photo to send to agents or casting directors; they hate (or at least fear) the process of getting them done.

Facing this anxiety, actors find almost any excuse to put off scheduling a headshot session; their reluctance might lead one to think that they’d prefer root canal to posing for portraits. Eventually, though, their agent says they need them, or their manager says they have to get them, or the actor finally realizes that he or she no longer looks like their decade old headshot, and the level of embarrassment at such an obvious age discrepancy is now too much to bear. It is resolved, with equal parts resignation and resentment, that New Photos Must Be Taken. Oftentimes this occurs at the beginning of a New Year, much like a resolution to lose weight, floss daily, quit smoking, or join a gym. Rarely is there excitement or delight – these emotions are reserved for getting the damn part. No, in all my years of photographing actors, I’ve rarely heard one of these “athletes of the heart” express anything other than trepidation and various levels of dread at the prospect of having to sit still for a photographer armed with a camera.

Doesn’t this strike you as something of a shame? Actors do need headshots, which are a vital tool in the acting business. Why must it be such a Herculean task? I want to assure you that it needn’t be. You see, in addition to being a photographer, I’m an actor, too. I used to feel the same dread and discomfort that many of my clients (initially) feel.

I studied acting at the American Conservatory Theater in San Francisco. My professional training, which led to my MFA in Acting, was rigorous and comprehensive. We studied everything, it seemed, that could be of use to us on the stage – Scansion, Phonetics and Ear Training, Stage Fighting, Ballet, Jazz Dance, Voice, Heroic Speech, Scene Study, and of course many techniques and approaches to Acting itself. Upon completion of our training, one of my classmates suggested we should all get new headshots. It made a kind of business sense, even if it caused a bit of panic amongst us. Someone had a few names of local photographers, so our first step was clear: We had to make a phone call or two and set up an appointment. But after that, what were we to do? For all of our training, we hadn’t a clue as to HOW to get our pictures taken.

I think that’s the problem. We don’t know what we’re doing when we sit in front of a still camera. No one teaches us that.We schedule a session, crossing our fingers, hoping that we get a good night’s sleep, and that our skin is relatively free of obvious eruptions. We hope we like the photographer, we hope we have a good hair day, we hope it isn’t too embarrassing or awkward or humiliating. We write a check, and we hope we haven’t wasted our money. We hope for a lot, but we feel we have little control.

This has to change. We have to take control. No longer can we cross our fingers and hope for the best – there’s just too much uncertainty and chance to such an approach, and there’s too much at stake. Our headshot is often the very first impression we make with agents, managers, and casting directors. We need to know how to take a great headshot. We need tangible, specific techniques – we need to know exactly what to DO when we’re sitting or standing in front of a camera. It’s my job to teach you.

I hear quite frequently from clients that they don’t think they’re photogenic, that they “take a terrible picture.” Look, we can ALL take a bad picture. I’m sure Marlene Dietrich’s publicist tossed out many a photo. It happens, even to the most gorgeous people on the planet. But if we approach a photo session with the idea that we take a terrible picture, we’re not doing ourselves any favors, and we’re setting ourselves up for failure and disappointment. Imagine an actor walking into an audition saying to him or herself, "God, I'm terrible at auditioning." Now, I don't know many actors who truly enjoy auditioning, but walking into a casting office expecting to do poorly won't help. If we face the camera with the attitude that we’re not photogenic, chances are we’ll look uncomfortable, embarrassed, apologetic, guarded, and resentful. As real as those feelings may be, they aren’t the qualities we want to capture.

What do we want to capture? Casting Director Joanne DeNaut, who’s seen thousands of actor headshots, says, “I want to recognize the person walking into the audition based on the photograph I’ve seen. The headshot needs to reflect who you are, and that you are comfortable with yourself. It should not be the younger, more glamorous you; it should just be you. At your best, yes, but still you.” She’s right. Your headshot needs to be about you, not about how clever, quirky, or brilliant the photographer is. It needs to look like you, and it needs to capture something real and compelling about you. No single photograph is going to capture everything about you – that would be impossible. You could have a portfolio of two thousand photos, and together they couldn’t encapsulate every facet of your personality. But when you look at your headshot, you should feel that it expresses something – an essence or spirit – that resonates with you as part of your authentic self. “Yeah,” you should say, “I like what this photo says about me.” When you hand your photo to a casting director, or hit the “Send” button as you email your photo to a prospective agent, you should do so with confidence that the photo represents you honestly and compellingly.

At its best, the relationship between an actor and a photographer is a rewarding and exciting collaboration. Before that kind of relationship can be forged, though, you need the confidence that comes from learned skills. Mastering any skill takes practice, so I remind my clients to think of their session not as an audition, but as a rehearsal. Remember: You got the part. It’s you.

If you need new headshots, you can look at Daniel's portfolio and contact him at Daniel Reichert Photography.

A few months ago, a good friend and I were discussing my different jobs, all of the myriad ways that I make a living. Most of the time I’m an actor. Often I’m a teacher. On some days I’m a writer, an audition coach, an editor, a public speaker, or a continuing legal education instructor. I was telling my friend that I was feeling somewhat overwhelmed by wearing so many hats, juggling my many different websites, defining myself in too many different ways. It’s gotten to the point that when I’m talking with my father, he’ll often laugh, telling me that I have more careers than anyone he knows. So my friend gave me a challenge: “Figure out your brand,” she said. “Define the central idea that ties all of your endeavors together. That will tell you who you are, and what you have to offer to others.”

Her challenge struck a chord with me, and I began struggling with it. I went back through my old blog posts, my lesson plans, my various talks and interviews. I looked for threads that might appear and reappear in every context in which I work. As I did this I realized that I was doing what I challenge my acting students to do: Figure out their mission and what’s important to them, aside from becoming an actor. What do they have to say, what do they want to stand for in the world? I tell them that’s the road to a kind of career satisfaction that can withstand the vagaries of show business, that can sustain them in both the good times and the lean.

This type of self-examination is more and more important in our changing socio-economic landscape. Gone are the days when you could think about having one job with one company that would provide you with security, or even when you could think in terms of having one career. You now have to look not at what your particular job might be, but rather at what your skills and abilities are. Perhaps the most important qualities that you can foster are adaptability and flexibility. Since employers will come and go, showing neither longevity nor loyalty to their employees, your ability to define yourself as a business with an ethos and skill set all your own will set you up to thrive. Don’t think of yourself as an employee. You are a business entity unto yourself, and you conduct business with others.

As I engaged in this exercise of self-reflection one thing kept jumping out at me: the idea of “Story.” In one way or another, all of my study and work has revolved around Story, far more than any other concept. As an English major, I studied literary criticism. As a law student and then as a lawyer, I worked with fact patterns and learned how to pull the salient details out of them to fit one legal theory or another. As an actor and author, I tell stories, and as a literary editor and a teacher of actors and lawyers, I help others find voice for their own, or their client’s.

This realization, that Story has been central to my life, has led to an understanding of myself and my work that is both more succinct and more inclusive. Three women have helped me on this journey, and they have my gratitude: Meghan Pinson, of My Two Cents Editing, posed the initial question; Joanne DeNaut, casting director at South Coast Repertory, helped me find an artistic home after my move to the West Coast; Karen Hensel has fostered my teaching career and honored me by turning her beloved Acting Intensive Program over to my grateful hands.

The results of this questioning have been profound for me. Internally, I now know that all my various enterprises are actually connected, and this helps me to present myself with more confidence and authority. Externally, this exploration has led me to a rebranding, together with a new website that allows me to be more accessible to others in the way that I am now more accessible to myself. Take a look at it if you have the chance. I’d love to know what you think.

Thanks to Dan Reichert of Daniel Reichert Photography for the new headshots and help with the website. If you need new pictures, Daniel is invaluable in helping you capture an image your truest self.

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