Beginner acting: what it is really like to start acting from zero

The fear did not disappear. I discovered that there was another world on the other side of it.

Why I booked Beginner Acting

I booked the course before I had even finished my first improv course. That was partly a bargain with myself: I would complete improv, allow myself to opt out of its biggest exposure exercises if necessary, and sign up for Beginner Acting immediately.

Improv had shown me that a class contains at least three experiences at once. There are the games and moments of exposure, the people you meet, and the skill you are supposedly there to learn. I found my improv classmates hilarious, but comedy improv was not a form of performance I naturally watched. Films were. I loved stories and characters, and the possibility of acting spoke to me in a way improv did not quite manage.

I did not enrol because I secretly believed I was already an actor. I enrolled because I would love to be able to act, and because the idea still scared me. One week before my final improv session, I began Beginner Acting at City Academy.

Walking into a silent room

The course took place at City Academy’s main Farringdon building. Walking in felt like I had stepped onto the set of the TV show Fame. There were studios everywhere, with students dancing, singing and doing all sorts of creative work. London suddenly contained this whole creative life that I had previously walked past without entering.

Reception gave me the studio number. Inside, five or six people were already sitting in a circle. Nobody was talking. You could have heard a pin drop.

Loud environments often make me retreat, but very quiet, nervous rooms create a different pressure. I feel an urge to say something. I spoke to the person next to me. She was kind, and she was there for almost exactly the same reason as me: fear. A few students had acted at school and wanted to return to an old interest, but many of us were genuine beginners. Even the more confident people seemed self-conscious and respectful of the silence.

That immediately distinguished the class from improv. The atmosphere felt softer and calmer. It also felt more beginner-friendly, although my six previous improv sessions may have prepared me more than I understood at the time.

Amber’s approach: permission to opt out, encouragement to continue

Our tutor, Amber, arrived with an upbeat, warm energy and spoke early about fear. Some exercises would feel uncomfortable, she explained, but that discomfort was part of why we were there. The message felt aligned with what I needed.

Nobody was forced to participate. It remained possible to opt out. But this was not a course where nervousness became a reason to stay permanently protected. Amber kept nudging us: to be louder, more awake, more open and more willing to try.

Her greatest quality was her presence. Beginner performances are not always accomplished or exciting, but I never felt that she was bored, detached or merely waiting for an exercise to end. When I performed, she connected with what I was doing. If it became difficult, I felt she was there with me. During my most frightening performance, her attention felt like a lifeboat.

There were approximately 10 to 12 people in a two-hour session, so nobody received prolonged individual coaching. I nevertheless felt I received enough feedback for an introductory course. Amber regularly invited questions, and students could speak to her before or after class. Often, including for me, nerves stopped us from asking as much as we could have.

What we actually did

Games, movement and getting out of your head

We began with introductions and drama games. These recur in acting, improv, singing and other performance classes because they serve more than one purpose: they warm up the body, interrupt overthinking, and begin forming connections between classmates.

I found many of these games stressful for a long time because people were still watching. Not every exercise unlocks every student in the same way. I respond more easily to structure. But I came to understand why the games mattered. Acting requires you to be less trapped inside your own commentary, and performing with someone requires enough trust to respond to them.

Mirroring: the first major unlock

The first exercise that truly unlocked something for me was mirroring. In pairs, one person moved and the other quietly copied them. At first, everyone tried to catch their partner out with large, silly gestures. Amber stopped us and asked us to slow down and pay attention to tiny movements, closer to how we might observe ourselves in a mirror.

The exercise changed as soon as we became quieter. Looking down, touching a face or making a small shift suddenly carried meaning. It created an unexpected connection with someone I hardly knew. That experience later led me to book a separate, longer Meisner workshop because I wanted to understand how quickly attention and repetition could create intimacy between strangers.

An introduction to Meisner

In the second session, Amber introduced us to a Meisner repetition exercise. Two actors observe one another and repeat a simple statement back and forth: ‘You have a blue shirt.’ ‘I have a blue shirt.’ As attention deepens, the observations can become more immediate: ‘You look stressed.’ ‘I look stressed.’

Written down, this can sound absurd. In the room, it produced more connection than mirroring alone. I had never heard of Meisner before. That session sent me into a rabbit hole of acting approaches, including Stanislavski, Strasberg and Adler. The course did not teach any one system in depth, but it revealed that acting had techniques and structures. It was not simply a mysterious talent some people possessed.

Objectives, obstacles and a song without the music

Between the second and third sessions, Amber emailed us an assignment: choose a song whose lyrics we knew and would be willing to perform as a monologue.

My immediate response was to choose something upbeat and make it surprising or clever. I chose ‘The Best’ by Tina Turner and sent a recording to two friends, asking for severe feedback. One of them recognised the defence immediately: ‘You’re doing it again. You’re not being you.’

I changed to ‘Castle on the Hill’ by Ed Sheeran. It told a story I genuinely related to, which made it easier to understand and far harder to share. I could no longer hide behind a jokey concept. Saying something I meant felt naked.

Before performing it, we applied a simple acting framework to the lyrics. What does the character want? What prevents them from getting it? What can they do to overcome that obstacle? This introduced me to the architecture underneath a character and a scene. The additional week of preparation made the story feel more personal, and the performance feel more consequential.

The performance: ‘Do less’

On performance day, we warmed up with games, including whispering our story to someone on the other side of the room. Then the chairs moved to one side and we performed one at a time.

I watched the clock, calculated that everyone would probably not have time. Amber noticed. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘We’ll do overtime to make sure everybody has a chance, even you, JP.’

By the time my turn arrived, I was intensely nervous. My stomach hurt. My hands shook enough for it to show when I held the paper. During the performance I forgot to breathe and eventually locked onto Amber’s eyes, willing her attention to carry me to the end. I do not think she knew that her eyes had become a lifeboat, but that was how it felt.

I tried to illustrate everything. When the lyrics suggested a phone call, I made a phone with my hand. I acted out sitting in a car and indicated different people. Amber’s feedback was that the performance was believable, but I could do less.

“Do less” was acting advice, but I heard something else inside it: less is fine. I am enough.

Less is fine. I am enough.

My classmates nodded and later said that the performance had felt genuine. Most of them did not realise how frightening it had been. I often appear bubbly and happy, which can conceal what is happening internally.

The fear did not vanish the moment I finished. During the performance there was adrenaline; afterwards came the shaking. But the dominant feeling was not relief. It was energy. I wanted to talk, share and connect. We discussed what had happened while walking towards the Tube, continued walking together, and I sent audio messages to people afterwards. Repeating the story made the experience feel stronger.

For somebody else in the class, it may have been one classroom exercise. For me, it was enormous.

For somebody else, it may have been one classroom exercise. For me, it was enormous.

From monologue to scene work

In the following session, we received a script to rehearse with classmates. The work initially felt relaxed until we learnt that we would perform the scene as a pair in the next lesson.

My original partner dropped out, so I was paired with another student at short notice. The scene was an argument between a couple: I had returned home late, my partner had been worried, and she had reached the end of her patience. We worked on movement and on entering and leaving the scene.

This time I was not alone. We could look at one another, respond and help each other through it. We had both prepared, and I felt that we were on the same team. Getting into a genuine argument for a few minutes, then laughing together afterwards, was brilliant. It felt like acting rather than merely practising an exercise.

Was the course well structured?

Yes. The six weeks felt deliberately sequenced. We began with lower-pressure games and quiet observation, moved into repetition and connection, then analysed and performed a monologue before working with a partner on scripted material. The tasks became more demanding, but they did not feel like arbitrary leaps because each previous exercise supplied something needed for the next.

Two meaningful performance opportunities felt appropriate for a beginner course. I could happily have continued for many more weeks, but the course completed its job as an introduction. It made the size of the wider acting journey visible rather than pretending to finish it.

What I learnt about acting

Before this course, I did not understand how many approaches to acting existed. Beginner Acting gave me glimpses of Meisner and other traditions, while introducing practical principles that I could use immediately.

I learnt that a character has an objective, faces obstacles and takes actions to pursue what they want. I learnt that exercises can build both presence and trust. I learnt that preparation matters, but that once a scene begins, good acting requires enough freedom to stop controlling every moment.

Most importantly, I learnt that acting does not have to resemble an exaggerated performance from another era. I did not need a grand voice, theatrical gestures or an imitation of something I had seen on television. I could bring my own way of observing and responding. Amber’s instruction to do less remains the clearest piece of acting advice I received.

Did I become a better actor? Yes, although I started from zero, so some improvement was inevitable. I also became more willing to act, which meant I could test more ideas and continue learning. The course offered breadth rather than depth. Someone seeking intensive training in Meisner, Method acting or another particular technique should take a specialist course. For a complete beginner, however, specialising before experiencing the foundations may be premature.

How the group changed

The final lesson looked nothing like the first. Instead of a silent circle, most of the group gathered around Amber, asking questions and saying thank you. Leaving took time. People remained together as they moved out of the building.

We did not all become inseparable, and it would be dishonest to suggest that we did. Some connections never formed. Smaller relationships emerged, sometimes influenced by age and sometimes not. Six weeks was not long enough for everybody to come completely out of their shell.

But there was real warmth. I texted and laughed with one classmate outside the sessions. People became more playful and, in many cases, supportive. I felt proud whenever somebody stood up and attempted something vulnerable, although I was sometimes too absorbed in my own nerves to judge how universally that encouragement was expressed.

Amber helped make the change possible, but the particular mix of students also mattered. A different teacher or group could produce a different experience. What the course structure can do is create repeated opportunities for strangers to pay close attention to one another. That makes connection more likely; it cannot guarantee it.

What changed afterwards

The course did not remove fear. New groups still challenge me, and a scheduled performance can still produce intense nerves. What changed was the calculation I made when fear appeared.

Before acting, signing up for almost anything new involving a group felt primarily threatening. This course gave me evidence that something extraordinary could exist on the other side: the energy after performing, the walk to the Tube, the conversations and the feeling of having shared something difficult with other people.

I became more able to accept that one class might go badly without treating it as the end of the experiment. The next session might be easier. The group might become familiar. The experience might become worth the effort.

The consequences were concrete. I booked a longer Meisner workshop because mirroring and repetition had fascinated me. I later enrolled in singing, something I do not believe I could have done without first passing through acting. Small interactions around classes, such as meeting someone in a lift, became easier.

Most significantly, my view of other people changed. I had sometimes wondered whether I simply did not like people, when much of what I experienced around them was fear and difficulty. Acting showed me that people could make life better. I did not need everybody. I needed more opportunities to find the people with whom a particular subject, exercise or moment could create a connection.

Improv began this process, and other courses reinforced it. It would be inaccurate to credit Beginner Acting with every subsequent change. But this was the point at which the possibility became convincing. It was not merely a high after one performance. It redirected what I was willing to try.

The weaknesses and limits

The course’s breadth is also its main limitation. Six weeks allows an introduction to games, presence, character objectives, Meisner-style repetition, monologue and scene work, but not mastery of any of them. Students already comfortable on stage who primarily want detailed technique may find the pace gentle and the individual coaching limited.

A group of 10 to 12 also means that personal feedback must be shared. Amber made herself available and repeatedly invited questions, but nervous beginners do not always know what to ask. A short individual note for every student after each major performance was also given.

Drama games will not work equally well for everyone. Some helped me connect; others intensified the feeling of being watched. Their usefulness depended partly on whether I understood their purpose. Explaining that purpose consistently can make a significant difference for students who prefer structure.

Finally, the emotional experience depends on the tutor and cohort. I can review the course I actually attended with Amber, not promise that every run will reproduce the same atmosphere. City Academy currently lists several tutors, venues and timetable formats, so prospective students should treat this as a first-hand account of one cohort rather than a guarantee about all of them.

My clearest frustration came from liking the course so much. By the end, I was not wondering whether I wanted more acting. I was asking what kind of acting I should do next. The available routes included Improvers, Meisner, Method acting, screen acting and longer performance-focused courses, but the differences between them were not obvious to a new student. I wanted more guidance about what each pathway developed, how much confidence or experience it assumed, and which route best matched what I had responded to in class.

A short end-of-course conversation, written pathway guide or personalised recommendation would have helped convert the momentum of the final class into a clearer next decision. City Academy offered plenty to continue with. The problem was not a lack of options; it was that I had discovered a new world and wanted somebody to draw me the map.

My verdict

City Academy’s Beginner Acting course succeeded because it took the word ‘beginner’ seriously. It did not assume confidence, prior knowledge or an existing ability to perform. It began with observation and connection, increased the challenge gradually, and still required us to cross the line into real performance.

It taught me enough acting structure to understand that the craft could be learnt, while leaving me aware of how much more there was to explore. It gave me two demanding but achievable performances. It introduced me to Meisner, character objectives and the value of responding rather than demonstrating. It also gave me a teacher whose attention made frightening moments feel survivable.

This was not simply the most enjoyable class I attended. It became the most important. It led towards Meisner, singing and a wider life of learning in person. It turned London from somewhere I lived into somewhere full of rooms I could enter, subjects I could try and people I might meet.

It turned London from somewhere I lived into somewhere full of rooms I could enter.

On the other side of the fear, there was another world.

That outcome cannot be guaranteed by a course description. It came from the structure, Amber’s teaching, the particular group, the work I had already begun in improv, and my own decision to continue while frightened. But the course created the conditions in which it could happen. For a beginner acting class, I cannot imagine a more meaningful result.

I paid £250 for the six-week course. Given the quality of the progression, two meaningful performance opportunities, the teaching and the effect it had on what I did next, I consider that extremely good value. I wanted more and more and more. My only real complaint is that I finished with enormous momentum and not quite enough help deciding where to direct it.