Acting

I have never read something like that. Twelve Angry Men, a fabulous plot.

Actually I haven't read the whole plot. Only one page. 25 lines, not more than that. It took me 4 hours to read that page. I was supposed not only to read it, but to live it. Act. Feel the weight of every word, behave like your line, be your line. While acting there is no space for fiction. You need to be the bad guy; you need to want to hang that guy. Acting is no pretending.

A character insulted mine. I moved around the table, slowly, apparently calm. Suddenly I grasped the knife, and jumped on my fellow, screaming for his blood. All the other characters had to use all their fear to stop me. A chair flew in the air, a table cracked. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I was my character, no distinction between him and myself, except that in a remote part of our brain.

That being double while being one, as the hands of a musician, as in a simultaneous orgasm, is the essence of the art.