I was invited to attend a Tuesday after Landmark Forum 'event' by a young friend of mine. My partner (an admirer of Dianetics, but not a full blown Scientologist) and I duly went along and were seated to witness a Kiwi woman give a very accomplished "evangelical" style intro to the world of Landmark Education. Long on promise, short on detail (Except the cost) and accompanied by the expected 'Witnessing' by "Graduates" this front person earned my praise for the way she had learned the basic techniques of audience control. Not quite in the league of John Edwardes or the gorgeously attired Benny Hinnes, she was entertaining and expert in her manipulations.
Now, people, this stuff ain't new. Its not even mind blowingly revelatory. It utilises techniques common to many praiseworthy self help/discovery snake oil sellers and others not so praiseworthy self help/discovery programs to achieve a "revelatory" ( or in Landmark Speak "Transformation") sensation in the attendee. I’ve spent the last week studying eye witness accounts both in praise of and derogating the forums of all levels. Having been pestered to hell and back to attend a "course" even to the point of having said young friend offer to pay: "I get it". I see how it's done,I see the techniques employed, I see the desired ( By Landmark) end game, there isn't one, you pay and keep paying or you are cast into the cold world again. Landmark Forum gave the attendee and organisers a complete inability to listen to anything that wasn't affirmation of their words and a commitment to attend.. Interestingly as soon as my partners admiration of Dianetics was discovered, offers to attend the course ( for her) stopped abruptly. Now that opened a whole new can of worms when my research threw up some connections between the founders of both!
As a veteran sales person, entertainer and inveterate researcher of all things self discovery, I feel the end result is indistinguishable from that offered by hundreds of other workshops, facilitated self help seminars, etc. etc. That the founder of EST (which became Landmark) had a very “interesting” life ( Look him up people!) adds to my scepticism of their good nature and intent if not the efficacy of the content.. That, coupled with the amount of money and resources they seem happy to have allocated to litigation (its there for the world to research) over the years also rings alarm bells in my world.
The admonition to "trust" is constant, and by that they mean "Trust implicitly and only what we say" another point in my ever so humble opinion of those that seek to separate the mark from his marker. The technique of "hi jacking' meanings of commonplace words to subtly influence thinking and producing an insiders jargon again sets up alarm bells for this gun shy rabbit. A clever technique but not acceptable in a world that can communicate clearly and effectively without recourse to twisting English words and phrases consistently doing the job for which they were intended. The restriction of toilet times? Oh come on. Any grown up who lets that happen in a 'voluntary' situation should treat the rest of the program with complete contempt. The techniques documented to induce personal breakdown of life's individual paradigm and the “welcome back to the herd” techniques and approvals from the facilitator/leader are well known and practised by many other organisations including main stream religion. As I said, it ain't new, and for those in robust mental health, not particularly dangerous in my opinion.
My advice?
If it works for you do it, take along a healthy dose of self respect.
A larger dose of scepticism that it is a altruistic venture.
Most importantly do your research, and beware the admonishment to trust unconditionally.
Never 'Volunteer" to work for them, their revenue is large enough to comfortably pay an adequate stipend.
Don't take your friends along to be signed up, it smacks of MLM even though I am told there are no commissions. If the whole she-bang transforms your life, your friends and family will notice and ask; then involve them. The pressure to bring along several guests at the Tuesday session to be inducted reminds me of money seeking behaviour how ever many anecdotes (long on story, short on detail) of courses being "scholar shipped" or funded by organisers without thought of repayment because “you need it, really, really”
And finally? Oh yes find and study cognitive skills and read some Maslow, it will save you buckets of cash.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Journal of an Elder Actor, Mayday!
Its the beginning of May. The Dockers and Eagles play tomorrow. Such excitement. Well, not here. Not for that exhibition of testosterone and fulminating local bias. Tomorrow I'm on a somewhat organised feature film set. I even got a real call sheet with the correct times. So there. For once this year I am playing a “good guy” if I can so describe a Detective Inspector. It is a brave effort, and indie feature with no budget, and as such, deserves support. Anyway you cant keep an old thesp such as me away from camera. Irony abounds...if irony is the correct term for me playing an upright “Defender of the Public” this week and continuing to rehearse my part of a crazed, psychopathic multiple murderer for the next eight weeks! Maybe it is not irony just a coincidental juxtaposition of random fate. Fun anyway.
I have come out...no no no, steady on dear readers, not from a closet, or even a free standing IKEA gents wardrobe with canvas shelves, no; from a self imposed ban on all things community theatre. It was a role I have coveted for years that made me abandon my vow of anonymity . Challenging and, played with great success by the great and late Boris Karloff; now them's giant shoes of menace to fill. I'm enjoying the roller coaster ride that is essential to coarse theatre, and giving my all to the two directors. Of Irish descent, they are charming, strong willed and artistically sensible, a pleasure to work with and very, very talented. Oh and did I say as gorgeous as a pair of Dresden figurines in a Sotheby's Auction. I didnt? Well, in fact, they are.
At my age young actresses can be rather tiresome. Especially so when their enthusiasm in no way matches their actual talent. I find myself now sorting them into the category of formerly “Wow!!!! I want her sooo badddd” and now in my mature years, “ Aaaaaw, she's is so sweet and, umm, shiny and new” and the category of” “Get away from me; I think I knew your Mum/Grandmum/Auntie” and “ I dont want to know you in the same way”. Actually I adore the youngsters now. They are so shiny and honest . Eager and passionate in their field without the falseness that bedevilled my sad and war struck generation. The 'youngs' expect kind crustiness from my age of older gentleman, and, accordingly I find it impossible to default. They are all my surrogate grandchildren. We can flirt, harmlessly. It is exercise for them and a compliment to me. Bless them.
Young actors, like sons, are all difficult. Lacking the vision, intuition and experience of pain that is a young woman's lifetime they flounder, try harder, smile and, very, very, occasionally ask how to learn. They become the best actors. The ones that can see the pain in my eyes and mirror it in their own when required. Clever boys they are. They ask good questions and will hug unreservedly, which in my day was a mark of homosexual advance. On the whole I like a hug even if accompanied by the rough rasp of a male's unshaven chin.
I didn't learn to hug, as many of my generation have never learned, until my early 30 somethings. Then, I learned to hug, but used the gesture either uncomfortably or as a means to an end. Now, I hug, and I mean HUG-g-g, unreservedly. With love, compassion and genuine like of the action. I am, envious, yes, envious of the all the Gen x and y who were brought up to hug and enjoy embrace. I always feel somewhat empty after relinquishing someone from such an intimacy. As if all the loneliness of my childhood and false embraces were still haunting me, draping themselves with haggard, transparent fingers on my shoulders. I like the vibrant presence of youth.
I ruined all my sons. My ego, my over weening self, destroyed their desire to talk to me. They are brilliant, each one, diamonds, sharp, reflective and bright. I love them, do not deserve them but feel pride that they have done, and become despite me. Sorrow does not befit me. Nor regret. But I do, every day. Regret, that I cannot hug my son. Next life. Ahhh.
And now I am running my lines, audience of cat ,dog and a very disgruntled partner. I am getting the words. Mayhap , with direction, a good performance will result. We shall see.
I have come out...no no no, steady on dear readers, not from a closet, or even a free standing IKEA gents wardrobe with canvas shelves, no; from a self imposed ban on all things community theatre. It was a role I have coveted for years that made me abandon my vow of anonymity . Challenging and, played with great success by the great and late Boris Karloff; now them's giant shoes of menace to fill. I'm enjoying the roller coaster ride that is essential to coarse theatre, and giving my all to the two directors. Of Irish descent, they are charming, strong willed and artistically sensible, a pleasure to work with and very, very talented. Oh and did I say as gorgeous as a pair of Dresden figurines in a Sotheby's Auction. I didnt? Well, in fact, they are.
At my age young actresses can be rather tiresome. Especially so when their enthusiasm in no way matches their actual talent. I find myself now sorting them into the category of formerly “Wow!!!! I want her sooo badddd” and now in my mature years, “ Aaaaaw, she's is so sweet and, umm, shiny and new” and the category of” “Get away from me; I think I knew your Mum/Grandmum/Auntie” and “ I dont want to know you in the same way”. Actually I adore the youngsters now. They are so shiny and honest . Eager and passionate in their field without the falseness that bedevilled my sad and war struck generation. The 'youngs' expect kind crustiness from my age of older gentleman, and, accordingly I find it impossible to default. They are all my surrogate grandchildren. We can flirt, harmlessly. It is exercise for them and a compliment to me. Bless them.
Young actors, like sons, are all difficult. Lacking the vision, intuition and experience of pain that is a young woman's lifetime they flounder, try harder, smile and, very, very, occasionally ask how to learn. They become the best actors. The ones that can see the pain in my eyes and mirror it in their own when required. Clever boys they are. They ask good questions and will hug unreservedly, which in my day was a mark of homosexual advance. On the whole I like a hug even if accompanied by the rough rasp of a male's unshaven chin.
I didn't learn to hug, as many of my generation have never learned, until my early 30 somethings. Then, I learned to hug, but used the gesture either uncomfortably or as a means to an end. Now, I hug, and I mean HUG-g-g, unreservedly. With love, compassion and genuine like of the action. I am, envious, yes, envious of the all the Gen x and y who were brought up to hug and enjoy embrace. I always feel somewhat empty after relinquishing someone from such an intimacy. As if all the loneliness of my childhood and false embraces were still haunting me, draping themselves with haggard, transparent fingers on my shoulders. I like the vibrant presence of youth.
I ruined all my sons. My ego, my over weening self, destroyed their desire to talk to me. They are brilliant, each one, diamonds, sharp, reflective and bright. I love them, do not deserve them but feel pride that they have done, and become despite me. Sorrow does not befit me. Nor regret. But I do, every day. Regret, that I cannot hug my son. Next life. Ahhh.
And now I am running my lines, audience of cat ,dog and a very disgruntled partner. I am getting the words. Mayhap , with direction, a good performance will result. We shall see.
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