Can I Quit?

I've been doing a bit of dinner theater lately, but not much else acting-wise. (See previous post about how I loathe commercial auditions, and apparently turn into Adbuster McNosmile the second the camera turns my way, thus not landing any commercial roles.) I feel uninspired, unmotivated and blah about my "craft" of late.

My agency now wants $70 to put me on their website. One of the agents told me she wants me to get new headshots soon. Photo sessions run a minimum of $300, and usually more like $450. Ugh.

Most of the live theater and even the new movies I see of late are... how to put this kindly... an utter waste of my precious time. Just awful. So why would I want to be in these productions? Frankly, it's discouraging.

Can I quit?

The one bit of encouraging news lately: I got free tickets to an Austin Film Festival showing of the movie Temple Grandin premiering in February. I did a very short scene as a 1965 flight attendant with Claire Danes in this movie last year for HBO. I hope my scene wasn't cut, and that this movie finally shows on HBO soon.

I Hate Commercial Auditions

I'm not one of those people with a big, natural grin on my face most of the time. I don't smile when I think of buying a new car. I don't cast a radiant glow when someone sends me a cookie bouquet.

I react naturally to everyday events. I can say the same line the exact same way 50 times for continuity. I cry on cue. I scream and yell believably. I take direction well. But, no, I don't go into raptures about buying car insurance.

I hate commercial auditions because 90% of the time, the casting person wants a big, natural-looking grin on the actor's face while they hawk anything from frozen peas to hemorrhoid cream. When I have to smile big for the camera for more than a minute straight, my cheeks start to shake from muscle exertion, and the top half of my face wrinkles in ways I didn't even know it could.

I need to be on those 10% of commercial auditions where they want a deadpan, natural, silly or sarcastic delivery. Like the audition I went on to play "Salt" (yes, the seasoning, Salt, but in human form) where I was told to read the script as if I were strung-out on Prozac, and then as if I was completely bored and boring. Even then, I didn't get the part.

This week I had a commercial audition to play a couple who just bought a new house with a bank loan. There was no script. We were told to improvise. I think I did a good job, and smiled well enough, but the guy I auditioned with kept kissing my hand during the improvised audition as a way of trying to show his affection for both his pretend-wife and his new home loan. I wanted to say, "Look here, Weirdo, I'm having a hard enough time with this audition without you slobbering on my hand and leering at me as you rhapsodize about lending rates." I kept my cool during the audition, but did not get the part.

I'm scared my agent might drop me if I don't land something soon. On the positive side, if they do drop me, I won't have to go on anymore commercial auditions.

Opportunists Knock Often

I hate, hate, hate it when I reveal to people (actors and non-actors alike) that I get paid to perform in dinner theater shows, and their first response is to tell me they want a piece of the action.

The conversation goes like this for actors:

Actor-acquaintance: You get paid for the dinner theater?

Me: Yes. Dinner theater shows can be fun, but the audiences are not typically your usual theater patrons. They can sometimes be a tough crowd, and it takes a lot of energy to keep their attention. Plus it's not high-art. So I probably wouldn't do these shows for free.

Actor-acquaintance: I'd love to get paid for theater work. When are the next auditions?

Me: We already have a close-knit group of performers involved. The last time we cast a new actor was when one of our longtime actors died. But I'll totally pass along your photo and résumé to the director. Maybe someone else from my close-knit group will kick the bucket in an untimely manner.

The conversation goes like this for non-actors:

Non-actor-acquaintance: You get paid for those skits?

Me: Yes. It's not volunteer work. I don't do it for my health.

Non-actor-acquaintance: I was a tree in my third-grade class school play. I could make some extra money doing skits.

Me: That sounds great. I'll just need your 8x10 actor photos and your acting résumé to pass along to the director for the next round of auditions. You have monologues ready, right? Oh, and who is your talent agent?



I think I've made my point.

Not Smiling? Just Buy It!

I've been on two commercial auditions over the past few months. The first was an audition for home equity loans from a certain credit union. I had to wear shorts and a tank top to the audition because, if cast I would need to wear a swimsuit with a modest cover-up. At the audition, it was clear that the casting people wanted to check out our bods without sending us to the pole on the center stage. I didn't own any shorts other than workout shorts, because I usually wear a skirt or a dress if it's too hot for pants. Also, I'm not ten-years-old at summer camp. Thank goodness I found some cute, dressy shorts for cheap at Target. I do love me some Target.

The audition went well. The other actress I auditioned with thanked me for being so nice. Are other actors not nice at auditions? It's like a job interview. One should be on their best behavior. Few of us want to cast or hire someone nasty, petty or diva-like in their behavior.

I also met a casting director there who complimented my audition. Though I did not get the part, I got some good audition practice and made valuable connections.

My second commercial audition was for a car dealership. Naturally, I won't reveal which dealership, or what brand of cars they sell other than to admit that I would NEVER buy any of these vehicles. I practiced for the audition the night before in front of the mirror. I made sure to gesture at the car so that my arm muscles looked all flexed and defined. I practiced talking super-fast and enunciating while smiling the whole time, the way that all good automobile spokespeople should. After my audition, the owner of the dealership said he loved my "look" and my vocal delivery. Then the advertising agency lady made a sour face and proclaimed that she didn't see me smile once during my audition. I totally smiled! I did not get the part. It's not just sour-grapes when I say I'm glad I didn't get it, because I don't like the product or the sour-faced advertising agency lady. It would not be a fun job to have.

I joked with a friend later about the car commercial audition and the not smiling enough verdict. I recited the commercial script in a stony-faced, deadpan delivery and punctuated the ad copy with, "so come on down and buy an effing car. Then take me somewhere in your new car. Like to dinner or something." My friend laughed and said she thinks I greatly improved upon the ad copy.

Got the Agent, Doubting Their Judgement

I finally got my agent. I interviewed the two main agents at the talent agency, and liked them. I read the contract. I filled out the paperwork. I signed the contract. I mailed everything to the agency. Sigh of relief, right?

I got an email from my agency to please go to a casting website and fill in my résumé. In the process of doing so, I saw the headshots that were selected and uploaded for me by my agency. These are the photos that casting directors will see when deciding who to choose for auditions. These photos should look like the actor, should make a great impression and should say, "hey, pick me".

I HATE the headshot photos of me that my agency chose and uploaded. In one, I have on so much makeup that I don't even look like myself and my hair looks terrible. The hair and makeup were courtesy of a goth-girl makeup artist who excused herself at one point during our session to go and barf due to "a wicked hangover". We're talking turquoise eye-shadow, people. These images were not photos that I selected to print from the photo session, but appeared on the CD of all images from the session. They are gross. They do not look like me. The impression they might make is dubious, at best. Perhaps they'll say, "hey, pick me to play the dead hooker in the alley".

Part of the contract I signed with the agency stipulates that the agency gets to pick which photographs they submit for auditions. I worked so hard to get an agent, and now, the first decision they make on my behalf is more than a bit disheartening.

The silver lining on this massive thunderhead of a cloud is that my agency has nothing to do with my theater work. I still call the shots with anything on the stage or performed live. That will remain mine, and mine alone, as will all the money I make doing stage work. Thus far, earnings from stage work and film/TV work are neck-in-neck.

Even if the (in my very opinionated opinion) terrible photos of me that my agency chose never get me another film audition, I still have the stage.

Yeah, I'm a bit sick to my stomach over this. Must smile and nod. Agent knows best.

Mayhaps I Have an Agent

Thursday I meet with my possible new agent. This talent agent was not my first choice, but certainly wasn't on the "hell no" list. Thanks, Universe.

An unrelated note on etiquette: Never, ever walk up to a friend who acts for either a living or for a hobby and burp out the phrase "still acting?", unless it is your express intent to offend and demean your friend's chosen craft / hobby. Also don't be surprised if I bark "still doing all that boring mess you do that no one cares about?" in response. Jerkwad.

Go Ahead and Judge, I Got a Rock for Your Glass House

Acting at this point is less of a profession for me, and more of an expensive hobby. I barely break even between expenses and earnings each year. (Yes, IRS, I report my earnings and expenses truthfully!)

Recently I took part in an acting class that was (not exactly) guaranteed to help me land a talent agent. In the past, I've had good luck booking extra and featured extra roles myself. The upside to this is that I keep all the money I earn. The downside to representing myself is that I obviously don't have access to as many roles as the talent agents do. So it's time for an agent! I spent $225 on this class which was supposed to last seven weeks, but ended up lasting eleven weeks. My wallet and calendar were taken hostage by this class. At the urging of the acting coach, I ended up shelling out an additional $701 for new actor photos & prints, media kit supplies, costume pieces and props.

On the night of the big showcase I remembered all my lines and gave scene performances that made me proud for an audience of talent agents and casting directors. After the showcase, my peers hailed me as the best in the class. The talent agent I most wanted to court complimented me on great performances. One of the casting directors introduced herself, and another casting director remembered me from my past work with him. The (fear-inspiring, outspoken, very opinionated) acting coach hugged me and said my scenes "were perfect". BUT (and it is a HUGE but), a week later, I still haven't had an offer from an agent. Yep, it's demoralizing.

People tell me I'm a good actress. People say I don't break their camera lenses. I lost 32 pounds in pursuit of an acting career. I exercise. I eat healthfully. I moisturize. I remember my lines. I show up on time. I bring my props and costumes/wardrobe. I respond promptly to any and all inquiries for work. I bring my 8x10 photos with résumés trimmed and attached. I am ready for this, dammit! Come on, Universe!

"Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are `It might have been.' " -- Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

I don't mind if I'm a has-been actress someday, as long as I'm not a never-been actress.