City Desk: The Human Strain

A FRIEND has taken up acting in late middle age. She seems to have the makings of a real character actor, but voice class irks her. She expected to be tawked out of the speech patterns of her native Brooklyn; if she could attain the flexibility of the typical transplanted southerner, who can dial the diphthongs up and down at will, that would be useful. U for Mistress Quickly, Avenue U for pizza commercials. But she sees that mastering the art of voice projection will leave her normal speaking voice sounding phony as Hebrew National.

It has to be done. Singing in a shower sounds great, because you are effectively inside a milk bottle. Try it on a stage without a mike, Sanjaya, and you will be squawking like a subway announcement in 15 minutes. So posture, breathing, and the position of the roof of the mouth all have to go into the shop to be retooled. The result, however, is an actor’s voice. You hear it in the city all the time, at every coffee-house counter or waiter’s station; it cuts through ear wax. It is always leaning forward, and it has the paradoxical effect of making the speaker seem slightly dumber than he no doubt is, because the voice itself sounds slightly smarter than anyone is likely to be. Who wants to sound like that, in the silence of your lonely room? Who wants to be on, even when you’re off? But such is the fate that awaits my friend.

About the Author

Richard Brookhiser

Historian Richard Brookhiser is a senior editor of National Review and a senior fellow at the National Review Institute.

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Arnold Schwarzenegger

The New York Times

A FRIEND has taken up acting in late middle age. She seems to have the makings of a real character actor, but voice class irks her. She expected to be tawked out of the speech patterns of her native Brooklyn; if she could attain the flexibility of the typical transplanted southerner, who can dial the diphthongs up and down at will, that would be useful. U for Mistress Quickly, Avenue U for pizza commercials. But she sees that mastering the art of voice projection will leave her normal speaking voice sounding phony as Hebrew National.

It has to be done. Singing in a shower sounds great, because you are effectively inside a milk bottle. Try it on a stage without a mike, Sanjaya, and you will be squawking like a subway announcement in 15 minutes. So posture, breathing, and the position of the roof of the mouth all have to go into the shop to be retooled. The result, however, is an actor’s voice. You hear it in the city all the time, at every coffee-house counter or waiter’s station; it cuts through ear wax. It is always leaning forward, and it has the paradoxical effect of making the speaker seem slightly dumber than he no doubt is, because the voice itself sounds slightly smarter than anyone is likely to be. Who wants to sound like that, in the silence of your lonely room? Who wants to be on, even when you’re off? But such is the fate that awaits my friend.