Sanford Meisner’s contribution to the craft of acting has inspired generations of performers and teachers, yet no technique exists without its scrutiny. Within studios, classrooms, and on stages, conversations about the Meisner Technique have circled around not just its strengths, but also its supposed shortcomings. Among the most persistent critiques is the belief that the method prioritizes activity, that the actor’s job is defined solely by “doing.” This has led to a fundamental misunderstanding—one that overlooks the profound necessity of being present and genuinely receiving in the moment.

The acting community, with its diversity of training backgrounds and philosophies, often confronts the Meisner approach with skepticism rooted in this misunderstanding. Some argue that in focusing on external behaviors, an actor risks sacrificing inner truth. Others question the repetitive nature of Meisner’s exercises, dismissing them as mechanical or even superficial. These critiques, voiced both by those new to the craft and by seasoned professionals, demonstrate just how often the true spirit of the Meisner Technique can be misinterpreted.

My own experience, spanning over 25,000 hours in rehearsal rooms and classrooms, continually reinforces that acting is not a mere string of outward actions. Genuine acting depends on a willingness to be affected, to be open, and, crucially, to receive. This is not a passive act. To receive in the Meisner sense involves a heightened sensitivity—an actor must be deeply attuned to their scene partner, allowing authentic impulses to arise and guide the work. It is this interplay between doing and being, between action and receptivity, that stands at the heart of the Meisner philosophy.

As the technique spread beyond the Neighborhood Playhouse, students and teachers carried with them incomplete or simplified versions of Meisner’s exercises. The risk, then, is that the nuance of the work—the focus on presence, reception, and authentic connection—is overshadowed by a surface-level emphasis on activity. The criticism that Meisner’s method produces actors who are only ever reacting, never truly living onstage, reveals just how much context and depth can be lost in translation.

This chapter aims to address these misunderstandings and engage with the broader criticisms that have arisen within the acting community. Through exploring misconceptions, confronting pointed critiques, and examining the challenges actors face in their training and performance, we can see more clearly where the Meisner Technique succeeds, where it can be misunderstood, and how it continues to adapt. Far from being a static system, Meisner’s work calls for a rigorous honesty—not only in performance, but in discussion and reflection as well.

Common Misunderstandings

In the ever-shifting dialogue about acting techniques, the Meisner Technique has generated both devoted adherents and vocal skeptics. The heart of the matter often lies not in the substance of Meisner’s ideas, but in their transmission. As the technique has spread, sometimes what is heard in classrooms and workshops bears only a partial resemblance to the original vision. Among the most persistent and damaging misunderstandings is the notion that Meisner’s approach reduces acting to a kind of mechanical “doing”—that the actor’s job is simply to be busy, to accomplish tasks, to “play the action,” often at the expense of inner life. This misconception has shaped not only critique but also the practice and expectations of countless students, sometimes with lasting effects.

The Misplaced Emphasis on Doing

To begin with, it is necessary to address how the phrase “acting is doing” has become a mantra, repeated in settings from introductory workshops to advanced classes. The phrase itself, rooted in Meisner’s teaching, is not without merit. Meisner himself often stressed that acting was “the ability to do truthfully under given imaginary circumstances.” The problem arises when teachers and students interpret “doing” as the whole, rather than a part, of the process. In this view, acting turns into a checklist of actions: walk to the window, pick up the glass, raise your voice. The focus narrows to outward behavior. In the rush to “do,” the core of the actor’s work—the living inner experience, the spontaneous response, the receptive listening—falls away.

What is lost in this imitation of Meisner’s method is the balance he actually taught. Action is not isolated. It is, rather, inseparable from being: the internal state which makes each action meaningful and responsive. Some teachers, perhaps seeking clarity or concrete results, begin to stress activity and overlook the nuanced, moment-to-moment exchange that happens between actors. This is a major fault—not just a harmless shortcut, but a distortion that changes the actor’s practice at its foundation.

Receiving as the Missing Element

Returning to my own decades of study, one lesson has been repeated in countless rehearsal rooms: nothing replaces the act of receiving. True listening is not a passive act. It is not a matter of simply waiting for a cue or nodding along. In Meisner’s teaching, receiving is a process of absorbing, being affected, and allowing oneself to change in response to the other person. It is through this act of receiving that the actor finds genuine presence. It is, in a sense, the engine of truthful acting.

When “doing” is stripped of its counterpart—being and receiving—the scene becomes brittle. Actions are executed, cues are hit, but the quality of connection is missing. In my experience, performances shaped by this misunderstanding can appear technically proficient but emotionally hollow. The audience senses when actors are working from the outside in, rather than living from the inside out. No matter how skilled the execution, the absence of shared, lived experience onstage is always evident.

In training environments, this oversight can show itself in subtle but significant ways. Exercises that were designed to cultivate the actor’s responsiveness and openness get reduced to a rote exchange. The Repetition Exercise, central in Meisner’s curriculum, sometimes devolves into a back-and-forth chant, devoid of real listening or risk. Teachers may focus on what the actor is doing in response—stand up, sit, shout, laugh—rather than what the actor is allowing themselves to experience and receive in the moment.

This misplaced emphasis has consequences. Students may learn to “act” in a way that feels productive—busy, even energetic—but they may not develop the patience or sensitivity to truly receive another human being. They become adept at pushing forward, but less comfortable with allowing themselves to be changed by their scene partner. In the rush to act, to be active, the art of being is neglected.

The Importance of Being

The difference between doing and being, in the context of acting, is not abstract—it is tangible. Doing refers to the external actions, the visible behavior, the concrete choices an actor makes. Being, on the other hand, is the actor’s willingness to exist truthfully in the circumstances, to allow thoughts and feelings to emerge naturally, and to be present with their own experience and the experience of others.

Meisner’s own evolution as a teacher shows a deepening understanding of this balance. While he never abandoned the importance of action, his later teachings emphasized that genuine acting arises from a state of openness. The actor is not merely manipulating the situation or their partner; they are allowing themselves to be affected, to respond, to be vulnerable. This state of being is what gives action its authenticity. Without it, the technique becomes mechanical.

The impact of this misunderstanding is particularly clear on stage and screen. Audiences, whether aware of the specifics of acting technique or not, respond to authenticity. They sense when a performance is alive, when something real is happening between the people on stage. This aliveness depends on the actor’s capacity to receive and to be present. When actors fall into the trap of “just doing”—of playing actions disconnected from inner experience—they can deliver performances that are technically skillful but lack the spark of real human connection.

In ensemble work, this effect is multiplied. Scenes become a series of parallel actions, rather than a living exchange. The subtle interplay, the shifting dynamics, the unplanned moments that make theater and film compelling, are dulled. The audience may not be able to name what’s missing, but they know when they are watching people who are not truly seeing or hearing each other.

Why has this misconception taken root so deeply? Part of the reason traces back to the desire for clarity in teaching. “Doing” gives the actor something to hold onto—a concrete objective. It is measurable, teachable, and, at first glance, accessible. It also provides a sense of progress; an actor who can list their actions feels productive.

But the deeper work of being—of developing presence, of learning to receive—requires patience and a willingness to step into uncertainty. It demands that the actor risk not knowing what will happen. This is less comfortable, both for students and for instructors. It is easier to teach a set of actions than to guide a process where the result is not guaranteed, where vulnerability is required, and where the outcome is not always neat.

There is also the influence of broader cultural values. In many training environments, especially those shaped by Western notions of productivity, action is prized. Stillness, waiting, or simply being with another person can be seen as inactivity, or even as failure. This bias seeps into teaching, shaping the emphasis on “doing” over “being.”

To correct this imbalance, teachers and students alike must return to the heart of Meisner’s original vision. The exercises are not an end in themselves; they are a means of cultivating greater openness and responsiveness. Each repetition, each moment in an exercise, is an opportunity to receive something from the other actor and to allow that to shape your response. The challenge is to resist the urge to fill every silence, to act out of habit, or to push for effect.

One of the most useful analogies I have encountered compares acting to a conversation. In a real conversation, we are constantly receiving information—not just words, but tone, energy, subtext—and responding naturally. When actors focus only on what they are supposed to do next, they lose the quality of authentic conversation. Restoring the focus on receiving brings the work back to life.

What does it mean to train the capacity to receive? It requires exercises that slow down the process, that ask the actor to notice what is happening internally and externally, and to resist the impulse to rush to the next action. This might mean simply sitting in silence with a scene partner, noticing what changes in the room. It might involve exercises where the only instruction is to genuinely notice the other person, without planning or forcing a response.

In my own work, I have often asked students to repeat not just words, but physical gestures, to mirror each other’s breathing, or to stay with a feeling for longer than is comfortable. The goal is not to manufacture emotion, but to allow the actor to experience the full impact of the moment. When actors learn to trust this process, their work develops a depth and unpredictability that cannot be faked.

Teachers have a particular responsibility in this area. It is easy, especially in short workshops or with beginners, to focus on the visible signs of progress. But the deeper growth happens beneath the surface. Instructors must model what it means to be present, to listen, and to receive. They must also create an environment where students feel safe enough to risk vulnerability, to let go of the need to perform, and to truly connect.

This often means pushing back against the cultural pressure to always be active. Teachers must encourage students to resist the urge to fill every silence, to allow themselves to be shaped by what is happening in the room. It also means being honest about the slow, sometimes uncomfortable process of developing presence. The rewards, however, are profound. Actors who learn to receive deeply are able to bring a level of authenticity to their work that audiences remember.

It is tempting to think of this issue as a minor technicality, but in truth, it goes to the heart of what acting is. The Meisner Technique, properly understood, is not a system for producing activity, but a way of cultivating presence and connection. It is about the courage to be affected, to let go of control, and to risk being changed in the moment.

This misunderstanding, then, is not simply an error of emphasis. It is a distortion that can undermine the entire purpose of acting training. When teachers and students reclaim the practice of receiving as central, the technique becomes what Meisner intended: a living, breathing approach to truthful human behavior.

Across my own years in the theater, the difference has always been clear. I recall an actor, trained in a school where “doing” was the primary focus, who could execute every action with precision. He knew his objectives, hit his marks, and delivered his lines on cue. Yet, there was a blankness in his work—he was untouched by the world of the play. Only when he began to slow down, to allow himself to be seen and affected by his partner, did his performance come alive. The transformation was not a matter of learning new actions, but of giving himself permission to receive.

In another classroom, a group of students struggled through a repetition exercise, each waiting impatiently for their turn to “do” something. The exercise became a battleground of interruptions and forced reactions. Only when they were encouraged to simply be with each other, to notice the subtle shifts in feeling and intent, did the work become genuine. The energy in the room changed. The actors began to listen—not just with their ears, but with their whole selves. The result was a scene that felt both unpredictable and deeply connected.

The common misunderstanding that the Meisner Technique is about “doing” to the exclusion of “being” has shaped a generation of actors and teachers. Its correction is not a matter of fine-tuning, but of re-centering the entire practice. Receiving is not a passive act, but the source of authentic performance. It is through the willingness to be changed, to be present, and to truly connect that acting becomes a living art. As the technique continues to evolve, this understanding remains essential—not just for students of Meisner’s approach, but for anyone who seeks truth in performance.

The next consideration must be the critiques that have emerged from the broader acting community—questions about the method’s limitations, the challenges it presents, and the ways it has been received and resisted by different schools of thought. These conversations, too, shape the ongoing story of Meisner’s legacy.

Copyright 2025, All Rights Reserved Simon-Elliott Blake