The Quiet Truth about Acting: Where Art Meets Homework 

Fadekemi Olumide-Aluko

Actors are often asked a question that, on the surface, seems simple: “How do you memorize all those lines?”

It’s a common query — usually asked with wide-eyed wonder by someone outside the industry. But here’s what fascinates me. Many actors tend to brush off the premise entirely. They’ll respond with something along the lines of, “It’s not about memorizing lines. It’s about becoming the character, internalizing the emotion, giving the words life and breath.”

And honestly? I agree. One hundred per cent.

Yes — acting is far more than reciting memorized dialogue. It’s about presence. Listening. Responding. It’s about truthfully living within the world of the character. But — and it’s a significant “but” — you still have to know your lines. Not kind of. Not vaguely. Know them.

There’s an unspoken pride among actors in being able to deliver dialogue as if it’s unrehearsed, lived. That magic only happens when the lines have been drilled so thoroughly that the words no longer feel memorized — they feel organic. But to get there? You do memorize. You must do the work.

So why do we often appear to shy away from admitting this?

Perhaps “memorization” sounds mechanical — too academic or unartistic. Perhaps it conjures the image of rote learning, which seems antithetical to the creative flow we prize. But I think we do ourselves and upcoming actors a disservice when we erase the scaffolding that supports the art. There is discipline in our creativity. There is repetition behind the spontaneity. There is homework behind the magic.

The truth is, every performing art form has its behind-the-scenes rigour.

Dancers rehearse movements again and again so that the body can glide without hesitation. Musicians practice scales until muscle memory takes over. Actors learn their lines — not only the underlying whys and wherefores — the words themselves.

There is a broad spectrum of creative freedom a director may grant an actor. On one end lies the dangerously generous full autonomy to create or recreate lines in service of a living, breathing character, or even to shift intent. On the other, some directors adopt a precisionist stance — demanding every last penny from the word bank on the script. As an actor, you learn to adapt to being utilised anywhere along the spectrum. But wherever you land on that arc, one truth remains — each still demands an appropriate measure of imprinting scripted lines to memory.

No approach to the finish line is wrong. But even the most gifted improviser knows that if there’s a script, it must be respected — otherwise the wheels of the scene risk falling off before the vehicle reaches its intended destination. And respecting it includes doing the work to know it well, so you know how and when to improvise.

It is reasonable to conflate “art” with “ease.” But those of us in the profession know: the ease is earned. It’s built. It’s rehearsed. It’s shaped in quiet, uninspiring hours of preparation, where no one is watching, applauding or in any semblance of awe. To me, this is not a contradiction. It’s a beautiful partnership of freedom and discipline. For actors, art begins after the homework is done.

Memorizing lines doesn’t diminish the gravitas of a performance — it enables it. It’s what allows us to focus not on what to say, but on why we’re saying it. It frees us to listen, to feel, to respond with truth.

So perhaps in our stirring unpackings of artistic process, we should be bold enough to include more clearly: Yes, we memorize. Yes, we internalize. And yes, we do the work so the audience never sees “the work”. That’s our craft. And I think it’s worth being proud of.

Fadekemi Olumide-Aluko (“Faé Olumide”) is a Nigerian actor, author, lawyer and former school principal who transitioned to screen acting at the age of 50.