my brilliant acting career
Mood:  not sure
My writing teacher talked me into going to an open casting call last night at the local university, for five graduate student film productions. Why she thought I had any aptitude for acting is beyond me, but I agreed to go just for the sake of curiosity, and to get some insight into the everyday realities of the craft. I run a website about an actor, so I figured I might as well experience it for myself. Call it "method webpage administration".

When I arrived, the room was full of real actors: drama majors, standup comedians, people who'd done "the circuit" in L.A. and New York, people who'd auditioned for Empire Falls. They were all loafing in chairs eating Wendy's takeout and reading copies of the scripts annotated with highlighter and pencil notes. Everybody seemed to know one another already.

The woman in charge handed me a form to fill out. Under "ACTING EXPERIENCE" I listed "Alcott Elementary School, 2nd Grade Class Play: Elf #8". I didn't want to appear like I was bragging, so I left off my other roles as a tree, and the non-speaking part of "Other Cratchit Child" in a volunteer production of A Christmas Carol for the local nursing home when I was 11. It simply wouldn't have been fair to intimidate the others with my dazzling thespian background.

One of the hopefuls, a soft-spoken African-American guy named Luke, loaned me one of his scripts so I'd have an idea of what I was in for. I opened to the first page and read:

(INTERIOR, night. RAYETTE and BOBBY are at home in their seedy apartment. RAYETTE has just returned from her waitressing job. She is wearing a name tag. BOBBY is lying face-up on the bed.)

(RAYETTE sits onto the bed next to BOBBY, puts her arm around him, and slips her tongue into his ear.)

RAYETTE: Hey, sugar...

(BOBBY grunts.)

(RAYETTE slides her hand onto BOBBY'S crotch and starts slowly massaging it.)

RAYETTE: Got any more crystal meth for me, darlin'?

(BOBBY rolls over and throws up on the floor.)

***

At this point, I stopped reading and started to panic. Was I actually supposed to do all this stuff in the audition? Pretend to sit on a bed and grope some total stranger? Or would we just be reading the dialogue? I looked around the room, trying to decide whose ear I'd least mind sticking my tongue into.

Then my name was called, and I was handed a different script (thank God). In the hallway, I had about four seconds to glance at it. It appeared to be a dinner-table scene between three slightly drunk, angry women.

The audition room was packed with students, professors, A/V technicians, and assistants. In front of the black curtain, there were two stools, a spotlight, and a camera. I was miked up and asked to sit on one of the stools, next to an older woman named Carolyn.

The student director briefly explained the scene to us. I would be playing the part of Shirelle, a hard-bitten, rough-around-the-edges army vet who'd just been discharged from jail and come home with a giant chip on her shoulder. In other words, a female Brett Sprague. In the scene we were about to do, Shirelle and her Aunt June (played by Carolyn) were plotting to kidnap a girl and hold her for ransom.

I don't remember much about the actual scene, which is probably for the best. The people and the camera and the room kind of faded away the moment we started reading. Shirelle had an amusingly Doug-like monologue, something about how people don't care if you're an ex-con or a pervert or a "fucking pedophile", but mention you have mental problems, and they totally avoid you. I got a laugh when I read it, which was probably not the intended effect, but oh well. Carolyn was a terrific actress and it was fascinating reading the scene with her, watching her transform, and reacting to that energy. I can see where acting would be a very addictive profession, if you had any talent for it, which I positively do not.

Afterwards my writing teacher came over, gave me a hug, and said "I hope you weren't too traumatized by that." I told her if there's one thing I learned from the audition, it's that it's infinitely easier to create characters on paper than with one's body, gestures, and voice. I'd much rather be on the making-up-the-story end of the process, and let other people do the vomiting and crotch-fondling.

That said, there are some common aspects to both acting and writing: constant thought, constant observation, constant refinement. You have to be an astute student of humanity to do either one well.

The bottom line: 1) Don't look for me on Broadway anytime soon. 2) I have a new and deeply profound respect for what David Wenham does.