For the past seven years, Bobby has been an observer and guest performer at the Actors Studio, though he does not cotton to the Method notion that the key to every character is situated within one's own psyche. “Of course, you always bring something of yourself to a part, but to me acting means playing different parts, trying to get as close to the reality of a character as possible, learning his lifestyle, how he holds his fork, how he carries himself, how he talks, how he relates to other people. It's hard to do, because it means you always have to keep looking. Some days you find nothing, other days you're inspired and you see lots that's exciting. That's why I like to travel before I do a part ... so I can feel I've prepared as well as I can. I want to feel I've earned the right to play a person.”

For the part of Bruce, the blundering ballplayer of “Bang the Drum Slowly,” Bobby traveled South — to Florida, where the scrutinized teams in training, and to Georgia, where he taped the conversations of townspeople so that he might later study them and perfect his Southern accent. For the part of Johnny Boy, the gun‐wielding schizoid of “Mean Streets,” he traveled a far greater distance—all the way back to the corners of his childhood and the memory of a wild‐eyed boy who used to amuse, and sometimes terrify, the inhabitants of Little Italy. And he has already begun traveling for his next part.

Shelley: “A few weeks ago, Bobby's agent was looking frantically for him. I said, ‘Try Sicily,’ and sure enough, that's where Bobby was, studying for his role in ‘The Godfather, Part II.’”

Shelley, who is undoubtedly the best all‐around Bobbywatcher, still has vivid memories of that time he traveled to the Ozarks to play one of her murderous brood in “Bloody Mama.” “I was very nervous just before we shot the first scene, so Bobby came over to me and said, ‘What's the matter, Shelley?’ I said, ‘I'm upset because have to bathe five grown men in this scene, and I don't even know all of you.’ ‘ Shelley,’ he said, quite seriously, ‘we're your babies.’ And, you know what? Bobby was right; they were my babies. I mean, you have a baby and you change

FINAL CURTAIN

THE RIVER NIGER, the Negro Ensemble Company's production of Joseph A. Walker's play, will close Nov. 25 at the Brooks Atkinson after 400 performances. his diaper and you don't get embarrassed about it, right?

“Sometimes Bobby gives the impression that he's dumb, that his mind is wiped out, because he doesn't say anything. But behind those slit eyes, he's watching everything. He is definitely something new under the sun; I've never seen an actor do the kind of exploration, the minute research that he does for a role. He doesn't act; he becomes.

“He scares me. The things that he does with his body are truly frightening. He can blush or get white as a sheet in a second, and he could force his hair to curl on command if he wanted to. The character he was playing in ‘Bloody Mama’ was supposed to deteriorate physically, and Bobby got so frail that we all became alarmed. His face got this horrible chalky look and his skin broke out in disgusting sores. At night, we'd all go out to dinner and stuff ourselves and there Bobby would sit, drinking water. I don't think he ate a bite of food during the entire shooting of the movie. He must have lost at least 30 pounds.

“I tell you, Bobby gets to the kernel, the soul of a character and he refuses to let go. This is going to sound crazy, but ... Bobby got killed in ‘Bloody Mama,’ his part was over and he could have gone home. On the day we were to shoot the burial scene, I walked over to the open grave, looked down and got the shock of my life. ‘Bobby!,’ I screamed. ‘I don't believe this! You come out of that grave this minute!’”