A few days ago my partner and I watched a documentary film about Sam Shepard directing his play The Late Henry Moss. The work was loosely based on Shepard’s father’s life, and it was being brought to life by the formidable actors Sean Penn and Nick Nolte (among others).

The film focused on the intimate rehearsal process—actors experimenting with different approaches, conversations between director and actors, everyone open and trusting and unafraid to be vulnerable. Supplementary material included informal interviews with Sam Shepard and his cast members.

I have been thinking a lot about this film ever since, not because it was a great film (I don’t think it was) and not because I am driven to see or read the play (I might or might not), but because there was something so alluring about the collaboration itself, about seeing those accomplished artists coming together to produce something that went beyond the expression of one individual. They were setting their egos (no doubt sizable ones) aside to help each other out. The shared goal was the play, making of it a meaningful experience for an audience. What an uphill battle that is in twenty-first century America. Who goes to the theater these days? Who cares? And yet there they all were, taking the time and committing the energy to make that happen.

They sat around a table during the read-through; with cups of take-out coffee; dressed in casual, even sloppy, attire; ready to trust each other and throw their all into pretending. I know from my own meager theater experience back in high school and college that in order to do the work of acting, in order to pretend believably, an actor must begin to imagine from the most authentic and honest part of herself.

Watching them I saw that search for authenticity both collectively and individually. I cannot think of any other work in this culture that demands such honesty of people. I certainly don’t see it in the halls of academia. But those actors, those expert pretenders, were not posturing at all; they were sublimely themselves.

There was something else that riveted me too, a kind of collaborative defiance. It was as if they were saying: We are going to show you the truth about human nature. We are not going to pull any punches. You might be shocked. We hope you’ll be moved. You can’t stop us.

No one was saying this literally, of course, but that was the subtext. What a mission, I thought. What scary and sacred work. And I, who spends much of my work time writing in solitude, trying to float my own vision alone—how could I not be envious!