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Much like age, weight is a weird issue in this business.  It’s okay to be skinny.  It’s okay to be heavy.  In a business renowned for type-casting, there are roles for the very old, the very young, the thin, the large.  But in-between?  A never-never land of sorts.  I wear the dress size “most” American women wear.  Never mind that it is a size smaller than Marilyn Monroe (or one of my idols, Jane Russell).  Things today have changed.  There was that time the producer of “Sex in the City” boasted that all of his stars were a size 0.  For a while in my youth I tried to be one of the skinny people.  I was 20 (think, actually functional metabolism).  I worked out three to four hours a day.  I ate 500 calories or less a day.  If I slipped at all and had an actual meal, I followed it with a box of laxatives.  And it got me to … a size seven.  I still had curves.  It’s in my makeup so to speak.  Lest I forget the impact of genetics, pictures of me and my cousins show a group of women who would fit great in those 1940s dresses but seem heavy or chunky by today’s standards.  Thankfully, after decades, I’ve found peace with my size.  I eat intentionally, work out daily and am told by my doctor that I sit in the top 5% of the “good health” metrics.  So, I’m healthy.  But not svelte.  And I never, ever will be.  And that’s okay.

At an audition I am on my best behavior.  I wish I could say that of all the folks on the other side of the table.  Many are great.  They greet you, watch your work with patience, thank you for coming in.  There are a few, however …

So, let’s just go over the “don’t” list, all of which I have unfortunately encountered.

• Please don’t take my resume, during my monologue, and scrunch it up in your hand and place it in a trash bag next to you.
• Please don’t take your pen and draw a big line through my resume, then slam it down in the (clearly) “no” pile during my audition.
• Please don’t spend my audition reading my resume like it is War and Peace.
• Please don’t assume I am a mind-reader.  If you want me to direct my monologue to you (or not), just let me know.
• Please don’t take calls, have side conversations or text during my audition.
• Please don’t sit there with a martini and then yell at me in the middle of my monologue (yep, it happened).
• Please try, just try, to look like this isn’t the worst day of your life as you watch my audition.  I know you are busy, stressed, tired.  We are in theatre.  Fake polite interest.

Bottom line — your theatre called the audition.  Actors have worked to prepare 60-90 seconds of something for you.  As part of the partnership, give us that time to show you what we got.

Thanks!

 

Funny thing.  When I was in my early 40s I kept getting called (and cast, at one point) as a 60 year-old.  Now that I am “in the ballpark” so to speak, I’m seen as too young to audition for a 60-something.  It’s weird.  But age in this business is weird.  In my 20s I auditioned for Hamlet.  I wore a cherry dress, curled my hair, put on pink blush … and was asked to read for Gertrude.  In my 30s I went to audition for a role for a 20-something and laughed when I saw a friend at the audition who was also “faking it.”  We had both shopped for new shoes, coming to the conclusion that a generation could be defined by its footwear.  In my 40s I went on a round of agents in NYC.  In one room the agent said “you are probably 40s but I can see you doing 30s and it would get you more work.”  In the NEXT ROOM not FIVE MINUTES later the next agent said “you are probably 40s but I can see you doing 50s and it would get you more work.”  So, can I really pull off a 20-30 year age range?  Probably not.  It brings up a very interesting point, however.  Perception of age is highly subjective.  Let me say that again — Perception of age is highly subjective.  Fun fact.  Most of the women on TV playing mothers are, on average, about 12 years older than the women playing their daughters.  So, a good while back, I decided to heck with it.  I would, and will, continue to audition for roles I feel chronologically appropriate for.  Don’t take offense, directors.  If you feel I’m not a good fit, that’s fine.  Just remember that any random assembly of people of the same age aren’t going to look alike.  

“How many actors does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”  “100.  One to do it and 99 to say ‘I could have done that better’ “.  On more than a few occasions I have heard actors refer to a role as “theirs”.  I’ve tried very hard not to be one of those.  Having directed from time to time I understand that strong actors just don’t get cast sometimes.  The director has a vision.  You may think you are perfect for the role but that’s your vision.  You may not fit into the vision the director has for the production as a whole.  It’s not a reflection of your ability, it’s a reality about casting, which is not only vision, but chemistry.  Two great actors won’t get cast if they don’t have chemistry with one another.  I remember auditioning for a role I really wanted, in a play I loved, several times over the years.  I finally got the role when I read against another actor who “played tennis” with me.  I lobbed a line, she lobbed it back.  There was something palpable in it.  It was exciting as an actor and it was exciting for the audience.  We both knew, walking out of the audition, that we had hit it well.  So I tell myself, when I think I’m a good fit for something, that there is a larger picture — the director, the other actors, factors I can’t begin to fully appreciate.  We treat it like a job interview but it isn’t that personal.  It’s about alchemy, which is something you can’t really control.

So, I finally had my “first audition back” and yeah, the nerves were there.  Ran my monologue until I could do it while driving and on the elliptical.  Funny thing.  Two older gentlemen were there, auditioning before me … and they were really nervous!  They looked like the kind of professional actors who have been working for decades and have done television as well as theatre.  And they were nervous.  Which made me a little less nervous.  I know, misery breeds company, but the reality of seeing actors with packed resumes feeling a little uptight gave me permission, of sorts, to be nervous, and my thudding heart slowed down, my breath calmed.  So, thank you, random actor guys — I think I did better because of you.

New headshots now on the site!  And yes, it takes a village to get me looking this good.  Many thanks to the following:  Dr. Jigmey Dorjee at Dominion Hills Dentistry, Mark Clements at George at the Four Seasons Salon, Mai at DC Lash Bar, Carolyn Walter Makeup Artist, and Kristina Sherk and Melissa Robbins of Washington DC Headshots. 

Saw a notice for a local audition.  There is only one role I might be right for and that’s pushing it.  Clearly looks like the producers are shooting for something which is “not me”.  So, do I do the “actor thing” and just audition for everything whether I’m right for it or not?  Actors would say yes — put yourself out there.  Directors might say “no”, don’t waste their time.  But there are directors and casting agents who say “go ahead”, because they like to be inspired and don’t have a lock on how they want to cast a given role.  How are you supposed to know the difference?  It’s a dilemma.  

I spent years in Ballet.  Then my chest grew and my legs didn’t and the teachers “guided” me to “other” choices.  I then spent years doing Jazz and Modern.  I’m a big girl who isn’t built like a dancer, but I can move.  I was good, if not particularly svelte.  I felt good about what I could do.  Then I tried Tap.  And failed.  Wildly.  So I gave it up.  Years later I discovered Bellydance.  Dancing barefoot and shaking all those things one held tight and firm in other dance styles was freeing.  Again, I got to a point where I felt fairly good about what I could do.  But the thing about Tap always nagged.  I’m not one to give up.  So here I am, decades later, trying Tap again.  And I suck.  But that’s okay.  I am at a point in my life where it is okay to struggle.  I’m sticking with it for as long as it takes.  Will check back if I ever get the basic moves down!

No, not talking about the book (you know, “that” book).  A number of folks around here are flipping out about Hurricane Florence.  Legit — looks like a big storm which can do a lot of damage.  It got me thinking, however, about fear and its cousin, worry.  As I told one family member, it’s okay to fear something that you should fear, but worrying about something you can’t control just adds to the stress.  So, where in this does stage fright land?  Stage fright was something I never experienced early in my career.  I was young, I was confident in my abilities, and I felt more at home, more “myself” on stage than I did in real life.  But then I got older.  That super-confidence which 20-somethings have drained away and I found myself getting more and more afraid.  I blew auditions, I blanked lines in performances.  I tried to steer more towards film (mess it up, do another take!) but stage was where my heart was.  I spent a good part of my last few active years in the biz working to address the issue.  I’m not sure I ever found a real answer.  I tried to put my energy into what I could control — my focus, running lines, etc.  and “let go” of things I couldn’t control — what a casting director thought of me, how an audience reacts, but the nerves are still there.  I imagine myself to be an athlete.  I go out and play my best game and walk away knowing I have done the best I can.   I may be looking for an answer for something which has no answer, but I am open to any ideas folks have.  Fill out a contact me form if you have any thoughts.  Thanks.

So, after a brief hiatis, I am returning to the wonderful world of Theatre and Film.  I’ve updated my resume, am working on the website, getting new headshots made and am reading plays madly to find some fresh monologues.  Wish me luck!