I wrote this at 2:00 in the morning, I apologize for any confusing/weird/nonsensical shit I throw out.
Alright, where to start.
I’m on a nice roll/groove right now. Remember that walking audition I mentioned? I ended up booking that, which is awesome, and even cooler because it’s a commercial for FRANCE 2. I clearly have never used my walking skillz to their ultimate potential.
I also finished filming an AFI film about the Wright brothers. That was pretty sweet.
The shoot was in this really old, yellow mansion, complete with it’s own mini-church (convenient) and no curtains. I discovered the latter when I was changing into my costume and realized the apartment complex across the way was getting a free show. And there was a lot of awkward crouching while attempting to use the loo.
If I learned anything from that it was a) a film script is to putty as a theater script is to an ugly lamp your grandma loves. b) I’m still get some sort of performance anxiety while acting for the camera in front of lots of equipment and people.
Let’s start with ‘a’ cuz I go through my shit alphabetically.
So I didn’t have a whole lot of lines in this film, but it was a cool part and basically the only female role in the piece. When I rehearsed it, I basically tried to cram everything I could think of into those lines. Not excessively or anything: I didn’t turn them into facial-expression monologue. But you know.
I get on set and we start to rehearse the scene…and the lines have changed. Not because the writer changed them, but because the director told the other actor to basically change the lines to whatever felt comfortable.
The theater actor in me was very confused.
I still remember my first scene I ever did in college with one of my professors (Risa). She basically told me and my scene partner to get our shit together on our lines, because we were paraphrasing, and threatened to read the script AS we were doing it to make sure we got everything right.
You’re told the writer wrote those words for a reason, so say them that way. And then suddenly, moving to film, it’s like the script is a basic skeleton of the story where you flesh out the words. It’s like the actor suddenly becomes the second editor to the script.
Which felt, and still feels, fuckin’ weird.
And now to ‘b’.
So in this project, Wilbur (close employer) dies, and there’s a close up panning of the doctor who tried to heal him, and me, obviously distraught.
I’ve gotten myself there emotionally when we’re apparently ready to shoot, but then find out we’re still trying to set up camera equipment. So I’m stuck with this “oh shit someone I know just died” feeling in my stomach for what seemed like forever, and I start feeling sick. I let it go, because I feel like if I keep feeling like someone just died, I’m gonna keel over. And then, of course, it’s filming time. And the camera is like waaaaay close up. Like in mah face. And it was this weird feeling of “Oh, people are filming it”. Which is obvious, but not really something you wanna think WHILE you’re being filmed.
And the place I had vacationed to a mere 5 minutes ago was buried underwater forever.
I mean, I think it’s cool that I didn’t cry or whatever, but it was a weird moment of not being able to sink into a part and just kinda slide on top and hope the story still comes across. Which obviously, I wasn’t really cool with.
Oh! So. I did my first day shooting with the guy who played Oliver Wright. And guess who did my make-up/hair?
Muthafuckin’ Sweet Pea from Project Runway. What. That was awesome. She’s super nice…I’m not sure anyone ever thought otherwise, but I thought I’d throw that out there.
Like, really familiar.
And then I realize…
It’s Buster Bluthe. From Arrested Development. And I died.
I had to stop myself from going fan-crazy on him. Cuz that’s not cool.
And now for the horror-audition part of this blog.
So I got as audition to be the spokesperson/host for Zynga Poker. The description was this:
I was like, well, shit, I’m a redhead. Or enough of one. I can improv. Let’s do this.
I get there, and sit down with this girl who had gotten there a little before me. We’re sitting down in the lobby, and this other girl comes in, clearly not a redhead at all, and signs in.
She comes in, still talking to someone on her phone for everyone to enjoy.
The desk attendant tells her to sign a non-disclosure agreement, to which she responds with:
“Oh, yeah it’s a good thing I’m doing that, I have, like, the BIGGEST MOUTH, I blab all the time.”
To which the desk attendant kind of ignores and pretends she never said anything.
They take all 3 of us to a quick briefing about what they want us to do: read some sides in cardboard with lines from a potential “shit poker girls say” video, and pretend we’re opening a poker event.
Alright, all good.
And then the director is like, “Alright, so whoever was in the door first, can be up first”.
So I’m like, alright, cool, I’ll be next.
But the first girl starts leaving. And it’s clear we’re all going out the door.
And I’m not stupid: there’s improvisation shit, she probably wants to prepare something.
The casting director is like, “Sooo…who was first?” and I look at the girl, to which she goes, “Who was in the door first?”
Like in the door to the room we were in vs first person who signed in.
Really?
Well, that wasn’t me either, so fuck.
Then, like she’s stepping up because the rest of us WEREN’T THE FIRST PERSON HERE, she says “I mean, I’ll go first, whatever.”
What a hero.
And then…I get stuck with confidentiality-agreement girl.
So we’re both waiting in the lobby, and she suddenly turns to me with a confused twinkle in her eye…
“Where are we?”
I kinda give her a blank stare and respond with, “What do you mean?”
Like someone had just teleported her from her house to here and she has no idea where the fuck she is. Or has severe amnesia.
“Like, what is this?”
And I was still too baffled by the question to tell her “This is a casting company. You’re at an audition”. So I think she’s probably still wondering where she is.
Then, to somehow book-end this enlightening conversation, she says, “I don’t know why they’re casting redheads…we’re both not really redheads.”
Alright, let’s not lump me in the wrong-hair-color category. At least I’m strawberry.
The casting director saves me and sends me into my audition.
It was weird, as all of these pseudo-seductive and partially-skanky castings go.
They had me slate my name, do the 360 pose-dance, and then I had to read the cardboard slides. Which. Was weird. Because it’s one thing to see how people do with cuecards…it’s another to just put the lines a cardboard piece and have people read it and then say it to the camera. I’d think just sending out the lines to everyone the day before would be cheaper.
I said them. Yay.
And then I pretended I was hosting an event. Hooray poker.
And then they had me pose. Which. I don’t know. Was weird. And all I could imagine was a bunch of 40 year old men playing poker while I had my tits out as extra entertainment in between hands…poker hands. But that was very innuendo-y of me.
Ehhhh.
So I don’t think I got it…but I might be okay with that.
But shit, all in all, things are lookin’ up. I’m on day 2 of this film shoot: 6 PM to 6 AM. It’s for a Chapman film about this group of girls who roll and put this girl in a coffin to “initiate” her and shit gets real.
It’s a really cool part, kinda bad ass. And I now know exactly how to use a lighter. I’m a one-flick wonder now, so I’ll light all your lightables for you. I’m trying to figure out exactly how my sleep schedule is going to work, though. At one point, I have the filming til 6 AM, drive back to my place at 7:20…and then have a really good audition at 10:00 in Culver City, which is about 30 minutes away. So. I have about an hour and a half to sleep/get ready before having to be awake enough to be funny.
If I’m in delirious mode, this might turn out ‘aight.
Oh, I got a card for an agency today. While walking down a street in West Hollywood. Oh I wish it was that easy. I’m pretty sure it’s not super legit: it said somewhere they weren’t registered which is always bad news bears.
And so the search continues.
Not too sad about it, though. I mean, I’m submitting myself for shit and keeping 100% of my moneyz. Which isn’t bountiful.
But the harvest is not finished…
Okay, this is starting to not make sense which I think means I should drink another cup of coffee and get myself a case of the shakeys.
Holah.
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