Here it is, folks: my commitment to share the stories of my life as an artist in Portland. The transition from Florida has been hard, and I haven't felt that my life here, so far, has been blog-worthy. I'm no longer in Russia, so who cares what I'm doing?
Well, the answer needs to be: I do, so You Do Too. One of the things my Russian acting teachers asked us to do was give our "impressions," weekly. We would talk about people we saw on the street, or the differences or similarities between life in Russia and life in the States, how theatre performances that we saw changed us, classes, relationships -- for 3 months in Russia, almost everything was new, so there was a lot to talk about. Actors are storytellers, and it's important to recognize and share the stories in our lives, whether they're happy, surprising, thrilling, or sad or difficult to share. Noticing and weaving the stories of my life helps me stay awake, passionate, and motivated, and it reminds me to believe in myself and this journey I'm on.
So here it is. My commitment to share my stories here.
I went to a film audition last week and read with the most clueless actor I have ever had the privilege of meeting. Truly, his behavior made it impossible for me to be nervous; he made me feel joyful; he made my heart laugh. Largely because of him, I gave a really good audition.
He walked into the large room that was both waiting area and audition space as the previous set of actors were just finishing up their read. They were still sitting at the audition table, and although they didn't appear to be reading scripts, they were still talking with the auditioners. This guy, we'll call him Rupert, strode confidently into the space from outside, breathing audibly ("Whew! Woo! Wow!"), taking off his coat as he walked straight up to the audition table and into the group of actors already seated there. He offered his hand to the middle auditioner, introduced himself, and began telling a long story about how he would have been late because he missed his bus, so he decided to call a cab and boy was it EXPENSIVE, but thankfully he was on time, and he was so happy to meet everyone! By the time he had finished his story, the actors who had been sitting at the table said their quiet goodbyes and left, and the auditioners asked me and another guy (we'll call him Edward) to join them at the table.
We sat down and introduced ourselves, and as Rupert said his name, he continued with, "Now, you want me to read the part of the gay guy, right? I have to tell you, I can't do the gay lisp." (... I know. I'm not making this up.) "I can't do the gay lisp," Rupert says. "I've been working on it all week, and I asked all my gay friends to teach me, but I just can't do it. So could I also read the other role?"
I think, if I had been sitting on the other side of the table, I might have said "thanks for coming in, Rupert, we've seen all we need to see; don't call us, we'll call you." But instead, one of the auditioners explained to him very reasonably that there were many ways to play the part of the "gay guy," and a "gay lisp" really wasn't necessary at all, but if there was time he could certainly read the other role.
We began reading, Edward on my left as my boyfriend, and Rupert on my right as our (gay) friend. Edward was reading the script off his laptop computer screen; Rupert had taken a script sitting on the table and was reading from it. (Does it go without saying that I had printed off the sides they emailed to us and brought them with me? Well, I had.)
You know how in scripts there are often brief stage directions between the lines of dialog? "He moves to shake her hand;" "He walks to the bar and pours himself a drink;" "He laughs condescendingly;" that sort of thing? Well, Rupert read them out loud. Sometimes twice (first quickly and quietly and then loudly and faster), so he could follow them at the same time. Thus, the beginning of our read-through went something like this:
Me: "I'm nervous that we came here tonight. Maybe we should go."
Edward: (scrolling on his computer, pause) "Don't worry sugar plum, I know she will help us."
Rupert: "Knocking on the door and smiling at his friends. Knocking on the door and smiling at his friends. Maybe she's not home."
I know. I'm not making this up. Somehow, we got to the end of the scene. Edward apologized for his many pauses, saying his computer was having trouble loading the whole script, at which point one of the auditioners asked him if he would like a paper copy. Then we read it a second time (so that Rupert could have a shot at the other part). The auditioners thanked us for our time, Edward and I made a quick and graceful departure while Rupert stayed to discuss with the auditioners how MUCH he LOVED the script and how FUNNY that ending was...
I got an email yesterday: I got the part. If I show up on the first day and Rupert is there, I'm leaving.
Well, the answer needs to be: I do, so You Do Too. One of the things my Russian acting teachers asked us to do was give our "impressions," weekly. We would talk about people we saw on the street, or the differences or similarities between life in Russia and life in the States, how theatre performances that we saw changed us, classes, relationships -- for 3 months in Russia, almost everything was new, so there was a lot to talk about. Actors are storytellers, and it's important to recognize and share the stories in our lives, whether they're happy, surprising, thrilling, or sad or difficult to share. Noticing and weaving the stories of my life helps me stay awake, passionate, and motivated, and it reminds me to believe in myself and this journey I'm on.
So here it is. My commitment to share my stories here.
I went to a film audition last week and read with the most clueless actor I have ever had the privilege of meeting. Truly, his behavior made it impossible for me to be nervous; he made me feel joyful; he made my heart laugh. Largely because of him, I gave a really good audition.
He walked into the large room that was both waiting area and audition space as the previous set of actors were just finishing up their read. They were still sitting at the audition table, and although they didn't appear to be reading scripts, they were still talking with the auditioners. This guy, we'll call him Rupert, strode confidently into the space from outside, breathing audibly ("Whew! Woo! Wow!"), taking off his coat as he walked straight up to the audition table and into the group of actors already seated there. He offered his hand to the middle auditioner, introduced himself, and began telling a long story about how he would have been late because he missed his bus, so he decided to call a cab and boy was it EXPENSIVE, but thankfully he was on time, and he was so happy to meet everyone! By the time he had finished his story, the actors who had been sitting at the table said their quiet goodbyes and left, and the auditioners asked me and another guy (we'll call him Edward) to join them at the table.
We sat down and introduced ourselves, and as Rupert said his name, he continued with, "Now, you want me to read the part of the gay guy, right? I have to tell you, I can't do the gay lisp." (... I know. I'm not making this up.) "I can't do the gay lisp," Rupert says. "I've been working on it all week, and I asked all my gay friends to teach me, but I just can't do it. So could I also read the other role?"
I think, if I had been sitting on the other side of the table, I might have said "thanks for coming in, Rupert, we've seen all we need to see; don't call us, we'll call you." But instead, one of the auditioners explained to him very reasonably that there were many ways to play the part of the "gay guy," and a "gay lisp" really wasn't necessary at all, but if there was time he could certainly read the other role.
We began reading, Edward on my left as my boyfriend, and Rupert on my right as our (gay) friend. Edward was reading the script off his laptop computer screen; Rupert had taken a script sitting on the table and was reading from it. (Does it go without saying that I had printed off the sides they emailed to us and brought them with me? Well, I had.)
You know how in scripts there are often brief stage directions between the lines of dialog? "He moves to shake her hand;" "He walks to the bar and pours himself a drink;" "He laughs condescendingly;" that sort of thing? Well, Rupert read them out loud. Sometimes twice (first quickly and quietly and then loudly and faster), so he could follow them at the same time. Thus, the beginning of our read-through went something like this:
Me: "I'm nervous that we came here tonight. Maybe we should go."
Edward: (scrolling on his computer, pause) "Don't worry sugar plum, I know she will help us."
Rupert: "Knocking on the door and smiling at his friends. Knocking on the door and smiling at his friends. Maybe she's not home."
I know. I'm not making this up. Somehow, we got to the end of the scene. Edward apologized for his many pauses, saying his computer was having trouble loading the whole script, at which point one of the auditioners asked him if he would like a paper copy. Then we read it a second time (so that Rupert could have a shot at the other part). The auditioners thanked us for our time, Edward and I made a quick and graceful departure while Rupert stayed to discuss with the auditioners how MUCH he LOVED the script and how FUNNY that ending was...
I got an email yesterday: I got the part. If I show up on the first day and Rupert is there, I'm leaving.
Wow. Just... Wow.
ReplyDeleteBut they have to give him the part! Didn't he tell them how expensive it was for him to get there?