Casting directors are among the most powerful figures in showbusiness, able to make or break careers. But what exactly do they do? Laura Barnett talks auditions, callbacks – and tears.
Up in his office on the sixth floor of the Palace theatre, in the heart of London's theatreland, Stephen Crockett is letting me in on a secretive world. The walls are lined with posters for hit shows he has worked on: from Chicago to almost every Andrew Lloyd Webber musical; from Mamma Mia! to Jerry Springer: The Opera. His desk is buried beneath piles of newspapers, CVs and headshots. But – showing me a photograph of performer Dianne Pilkington, just cast in Mamma Mia! – he assures me it's organised chaos. This is the mysterious world of the casting director.
They are rarely interviewed. Few people outside theatre, film and TV know who they are. Yet casting directors rank among the most influential operators in showbusiness. As the people who find the right actors for plays, TV series, adverts and films, they stand between every young actor and that big break. As an actor friend told me: "Casting directors are the gatekeepers. If they don't know who you are, it can feel impossible to get a decent part."
So who are they, and what do they do? To find out, I tracked down four. As well as Crockett, who casts musicals as part of Grindrod Associates, they are: Andy Pryor, whose film and TV work includes Doctor Who; Wendy Spon, head of casting at the National Theatre; and Lucinda Syson, who has cast Hollywood films such as Batman Begins, Troy and X-Men. They are sadly unanimous on one thing: I won't be attending auditions. As one of them puts it: "Asking an actor if they mind someone sitting in is a bit like asking a woman if she minds someone watching her gynaecological examination." I'll take that as a no.
In his eyrie on the sixth floor, Crockett tells me that casting for a musical takes about six weeks. "We send a breakdown of the characters we need to a number of agents – usually between 200 and 300. Within a day or so, hundreds of envelopes arrive back. We divide them into characters and go through every CV, deciding who to call." For a major show, Crockett might receive 1,000 CVs; from these, he'll choose around 500 performers for the first round of auditions, then whittle those down to a shortlist of "recalls". These last auditions are usually attended by a show's director, who will make the final choices.
It's a dizzying task, made harder by the sheer volume of performers around today: when Crockett started out a decade ago, Spotlight, the directory that actors pay to join, was just one volume – for both men and women. Now, there are five volumes for each gender, updated annually (two actors per page, with a headshot and brief CV), and an ever-expanding website. There are also a huge number of actors' agencies. "Agents pop up like weeds, frankly," Crockett says. There are, he says, only around 50 agencies he takes seriously. "Essentially, from a casting point of view, you're going to go with somebody you trust."
Actors without an agent will try to get in touch with casting directors off their own bat. This isn't frowned upon, or at least not exactly: most casting directors' email addresses are listed in the Actors' Yearbook. But they don't go out of their way to publicise their details. "If people really wanted to get hold of us, they would know how to," Andy Pryor tells me in his office (this one more neatly ordered than Crockett's) in London's Clerkenwell. "But we're not going to put our street address on everything, because we are inundated – we get around 10 emails from actors a day, plus hard-copy CVs."
Some actors even send presents. Pryor grimaces. "The worst," he says, "is when you get a card with a teabag in it, and the card is filled with glitter – so that when you open it, it goes all over you. They say, 'We just wanted to get your attention.' It's like, 'Yes you did. Now we've got to clean this shit up.'"
Pryor has occasionally called in an actor on the strength of an unsolicited CV, but the usual process is, again, to go through trusted agents, or to invite performers he's seen on stage. Pryor trained as a stage manager, and worked at London's Bush and Royal Court theatres before becoming a casting director (there is no formal training). He goes to see plays, especially new ones, three or four nights a week, always talent-spotting: not long ago, he and his assistant spotted Jack Farthing at the Royal Court. They cast him first in a small role in Stephen Poliakoff's series Dancing on the Edge, followed by a bigger part in the BBC1 comedy Blandings. "Theatre is where you see people at their best," Pryor says. "You often see actors playing very much against type: that way, you get a great idea of their range."
What comes through most strongly, in talking to Crockett and Pryor, is how much they love actors: how far from secretive and intimidating they strive to be. At the National, Wendy Spon, arguably the most influential casting director in British theatre today, gives the same impression. "You have to like actors and value what they do," she says. "And want them to feel comfortable and nurtured. When they come for auditions, we meet them at the lift, give them water, tell them what to expect. Nerves do funny things to people. We've had a few people cry."
As a public institution, the National may have more of a responsibility to be clear about its process – yet no contact details for Spon and her team are listed on the theatre's website. The workings of, say, the literary department are much more obvious, with clear instructions on how to submit a play. Spon explains that the casting section is being reworked, adding: "We do have a responsibility to be available to people. We don't do open calls, but actors can invite us to see plays: we read everything we receive, and we're out seeing hundreds of plays every year. We're not intentionally mysterious. I'd be disappointed if people felt they were knocking on a door that was never open."
How does a casting director go from looking at a CV, a headshot, or even an actor on stage, to deciding that they're the embodiment of a character? I'm struck by how much of this seems to hinge on instinct. Spon points out, however, that it's the director's instinct that ultimately counts. "It's not about my vision," she says. "I could read a play and think, 'Oh, the perfect person for this part is whoever.' And then the director says, 'I see it like this.'"
Casting a major feature film involves walking an even more precarious tightrope between filming schedules, actors' availability and studios' tastes, as Lucinda Syson explains in her tiny attic office in Soho. We talk in the "taping room", where auditions are filmed; one wall is light blue, apparently the most flattering colour for skin. "Many producers look at casting," says Syson, "and think of it as just finding people for individual roles. It's actually about a total alchemy. You've got to be able to tune into the director – to where they're shooting, to what the undertones and sense of the project are."
With a Hollywood film, the casting process usually takes three months; for a European movie, it can be up to a year. Like the other casting directors, Syson works through agents, but does sometimes hold "generals": meetings where an agent sends in an actor in the hope that something suitable might be coming up. Britain's Aaron Taylor-Johnson came in for a general just before Syson started casting 2010's Kick-Ass, and got a lead part. "I was literally sharpening a pencil," Syson says, "and his agent sent him in. It was unusually good timing."
I quiz all four casting directors on the perils of typecasting. Many of the non-white actors I've interviewed over the years have felt excluded from lead roles, or confined to stereotypical parts. They all say they think about this a lot – and that things are changing for the better. "Most people working on our side of the industry," says Pryor, "have a completely open mind – it's just about finding the right person at the right time. And it's a much better time now for actors from ethnic minorities. There was a time when only white, middle-class kids thought they could be actors. Now, we have more black actors coming through."
Spon has one final reflection on her role. "It's a curious job. You're in a position of influence but not power: we don't ultimately decide who gets the job, but we can influence who's in the frame. It's not just about having an opinion – it's about having an informed opinion based on seeing work over a number of years." She laughs. "That's quite a hard slog."
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I'm not entirely sure why this is the case but it has been quoted so many time that I guess there must be an element of truth in there somewhere. As you may have noticed, I have not written for a while. Ashamedly so, as I set myself a goal when embarking on this blog to constantly and consistently document it all; warts and glory. There are two reasons why I would not be writing: 1. I am way too depressed and bummed out at the lack of work that I cannot bring myself to push the buttons on the keyboard to inscribe how deflated one is; 2. I am so damn busy being a busy ass actress that I have not had time to write. Luckily for me, my reason has been the latter, but this may possibly soon descent into the former, and I shall explain why. I have thought about quitting acting a few times. Not seriously, otherwise I would not be the self-proclaimed busy ass actress that I am. My previous reasons in my earlier career were based mainly on fear, inability to cope with rejection, insecurity of the job, lack of money, heavy competition, cut throat industry blah blah blah. My recent reasons have been different. Having worked respectable projects consistently for a long while, and we're talking almost two years, not days, and been financially sufficient for that time, my contemplation of leaving this job I so love and adore evolved to a new phase. I have been lucky in my career to have worked on some wonderful projects across all mediums, and not just in this country. This is great. Tick. Well done me. Add to this mix, I am also an incredibly sentimental and emotional being. I keep cinema tickets from my childhood, and I am always the one willing to give a failing (and at most times dead beyond belief) relationship another try. Finally, add to this cocktail a dose of longevity: something that is so rare in our industry - long contracts. Plays can take months in rehearsals and performance, film and TV are the same, and if you work in TV serials you can be potentially working at the same place for years. The concoction of all the above ingredients is what makes me want to quit. Acting is my 'job' but it is more than just that. It is who I am; every place I work, I make it my home, and the people my family. I am not going to look through everything with rose tinted goggles and delude myself that I have loved every single person I have ever worked with. No, I have hated some and some have reduced me to tears on many occasions. But you weather it out, like a professional, if you care about what you are doing enough, and soon enough, these cunts turn into family too, you know, like the horrible drunken aunt that always makes you feel like shit because she is battling her own drinking problem or the ugly stepsister who makes you feel worthless because she is really suffering from her own insecurity issues and you still love them. Once you recognise what is at the heart of why people behave like dicks, it's a lot easier to forgive them and move on. OK, actor-unity-relationship advice over, let me get back to my point. A job like mine is more akin to a relationship than a job, and here is why. Let's take an example of an actor, an office worker, and a relationship.
You see what I mean? As such, every time I finish a job and have to not only say goodbye to the, by now, familial colleagues including the dysfunctional members without whom wouldn't be the same, bid farewell to the location/country/city/hotel, but most of all, lay a character I love to rest knowing I'll never play her again, a little part of my heart breaks. Just like in relationships. I think every break up leaves a little scar on our hearts, and it's testament to our strength that we heal, and learn how to love again. Although, you know, some people don't, and live a life of solitude after one single heartbreak. And although I have loved and lost and gone on to love many more times, I can absolutely see their standpoint. People do not deliberately go out to seek break ups. It is the worst kind of emotional stimulation - grief. So I find myself questioning if this is what I want to be doing for the rest of my life, going through professional break ups as well as personal ones. Goodbye is goodbye, grief is grief, the end is the end. Whether you are saying goodbye to a real person or a fictional character whose lives you have had to inhibit everyday and whose eyes you vicariously see the world through day after day, this shit hurts, man. Perhaps as I work more I'll become de-sensitised to that. But then... is that what I really want? To become de-sensitised to life? Perhaps I should just do myself a Ken Barlow/Ian Beale and be the same character for the rest of my life. In the past I have mocked such actors and questioned their motivation for getting into acting. Surely playing one character forever isn't going to get your creative juices flowing? Well, perhaps, perhaps not, I can't say as I've not done it. But from what I have experienced in my years to date, you are an actor only a small percent of the time. Let's say 30%. So the rest of the 70% of you is a living, breathing and feeling human being. And it's important to realise that this human being needs to not be forced to live a lifestyle that most other people actively shy away from if it doesn't feel right anymore. What we do is very hard. It's hard to not be in work, and it's hard when one is in work. An acting teacher once taught me: "I am a human being first, and an actor second". Look after your neglected 70%, love it, listen to it and give it what it needs. So I have been crazy busy recently (hence the lack of posting). I have been doing photoshoots, interviews, TV appearances, screenings, working and this weekend, despite it being a religious holiday that affords us a few rare statutory days off, as nothing in this industry is standard, and I shall be shooting on a very exciting star studded film this weekend. However, I believe I do have a few precious hours off (schedule TBC....) and I am most excited about getting out of town and spending time with those I love the most... my family.
My lifestyle of late has been a whirlwind of activity, all very exciting and sparkly. Nothing like the mundane life of an actor that I used to have, yes I used to work, and have been involved in big projects, but now everything is happening at once, projects are overlapping, I deal with three different PR agents for the various projects, I speak to my agent's office more than I do anyone else, and last week I spent more time with my publicist than I have with any of my friends at all this year. Exciting, very. Tiring, yes but manageable. Lonely, yes. It's never failed to baffle me how one can be surrounded by a hubbub of people everyday (sometimes hundreds if working on a big film), and yet feel so empty at the same time. When you close that door to your home/hotel room and the noise ends, the emptiness and silence is deafening. Where is the runner to make me tea? Where is the caterer with my food? Where is the cleaner to do my washing up? As an actor, you are the centre of attention when you're on set, whether this is justified, I am not so sure at times, but hey, that's the way it goes. So when it stops, what do you do? Of course you can meet and make new friends on projects, but one must not forget (and it is easy to do so) that these people are paid to attend to you. If you took everything out of context, they will not drop everything to make you tea or a hot water bottle, or stand over you with an umbrella whilst they are getting wet. If you demanded that of someone in the street, they would rightly tell you to fuck off. I have spent months on a project before, travelling a foreign country with the whole cast and crew, living together, eating together and working together. They were my family, and every day was a dream. We were also on a very exotic location, which definitely added to the dream like trance I seemed to have inhabited during that time. I felt so at home in this environment, fell in love on the way, even adopted a stray animal, and I was ready to give up everything in England to lead this new life. After the project ended, I came home, and now I am not in touch with anyone from that project, and we all no longer have anything in common. Even returning for the promotional trip a year later, I organised a reunion, and wow, was conversation stifled. This has happened to me on so many projects I have finally realised the reality of the situation. What I am not saying is to close yourself down at work and not speak to anyone as it's not real. NO. Don't do that, that is not what I am saying at all. It is real, it is just real in that moment. So grow close to people, have a laugh, enjoy them, share your secrets, listen to their stories, gossip, indulge, all of what is natural human bonding behaviour. But just realise that when it's over, 100% of what kept you together and made sure you see each other every day, has gone. So don't be sad, depressed, clingy when the family disbands. It is no one's fault. It is the natural course of projects. By all means keep in touch, but don't try to replicate the environment of the project that kept you together, and through this, you will learn if your friendships and bonds were real enough to have penetrated to a deeper level, and you will develop your friendship with that person based on their own right, not as 'Sally-the-make-up-artist', or 'John-the-assistant-director'. And keep grounded by your real friends and family. These people are more important than anyone ever could be to you. They may not be able to give you jobs or pay your income, but they keep you human, loved, supported, and whole. And without that, you are nothing. Who cares if you have millions in the bank, you may as well become an investment banker and buy all your friends. Stay real. Stay connected. Sometimes you stumble across someone else gem of a blog, and you think, 'I couldn't have written it better myself'. So I shan't bother, and use a good old cut and paste jobby. The full article is at
http://annoyingactorfriend.com/things-i-wish/ And for those who can't be bothered to click on the link (hang on, why am I encouraging this beyond lazy behaviour?) here is what they have to say: March 18, 2013 Things I Wish I Had Been Told at [CCM/CMU/Michigan/Anywhere Else Is Irrelevant] My actor friend, Callam Radya, recently published some of the fundamental lessons he learned while pursuing an acting career in Canada. However, I believe the life of an actor in New York City is somewhat different. I may have just graduated from my BFA program last May, but I spent an entire summer pounding the pavement before booking my first Broadway show in September. That difficult time in my life provided me with several lessons that I wish were shared with me before I walked off the stage at my showcase and into the offices at Gersh.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- More of where this came from at: http://annoyingactorfriend.com/ I recently started a longish running job, and overwhelmed at being at full time work again, I complained to my agent at how busy I had suddenly become and how I really needed time off to do 'normal civilian' activities, you know, the boring life maintenance things that celebrities have minions to take care of. Yes, I have given myself a slap since for being so ungrateful and now I am fully on board with the whole work thing, and loving it. (It's amazing how quickly you forget right?)
She did, however, bring up a very good point regarding my chosen lifestyle, that it is a 'famine or a feast'. And it really is. I have been flown off at short notice to shoot on locations for months on end, and landed career changing jobs so soon before shooting that I cannot believe they leave casting such roles until so late in the day. But the point that I realised on this particular call to my agent extraordinaire was that you should never expect to be free indefinitely. For two main reasons:
I now have a backlog of things I should have taken care of before. Not because I didn't believe I wouldn't work again, but I was still knackered from the last one and what can I say, I default to lazy when civilian activities include boilers, GP appointments, car maintenance, bank visits... hash tag boreoff. And now I'm swamped; I don't have time to go to the doctors, so I might die (drama queen, yes, I am an actress), and I can't take time off to have my boiler serviced so I'm looking forward to its imminent breakdown (thank god it's Spring soon, or is it now? Fuck knows what with this random Island of UK weather). Don't put off until tomorrow what you can do today. This is not just sound acting advice, it's good general life practice. Don't wait until tomorrow to write that email. Don't wait until next week to call your friend. Don't wait to tell someone you love them. Sorry kids but tomorrow is not guaranteed. Just assume that you only have now. What are you waiting for? Once upon a time, in a leafy area of North London one misty evening, upon my journey home I encountered a male figure crouching down and attending to something on the ground. As I approached him, it seemed as though the still gentleman was carefully and delicately picking something off the ground arranged on a rectangular object.
"Oh no", I thought, "poor guy has smashed his phone. Sad face". This, of course, is my default thought, having written off three phones of late, only two of them being my own. Upon closer inspection, I saw that this was not a phone, but a card. And upon it, beautifully moonlit - was a slug. Yes, a slug. One of those gooey things that leave a snot trail out its arsehole and its killer blue pellets a staple diet of the garden centre. The man lifted the card on which such arsehole snot producing creature sat like a Cinderella in her pumpkin, and headed towards the bush, presumably to return mucus arse to its natural habitat. I couldn't help but beam manically at him as I walked past. Sounds like a (weird) fairy tale right? And every fable has a moral... How many times have we all felt like the most ugly, useless, unemployable creature to walk this earth, let alone enter an industry where one is judged on looks, prodded, poked and made to turn on a dime? You are that slug. Yes, you are. So am I. And out there, exist people who will stop, take notice of you and help you. Even if you resemble a bogey and it's dark. Human nature is human nature and it extends to slugs, vermin, crustaceans, insects and... even actors. Just because you have faced endless rejection in the past does not mean that is all there is. There are wonderful people in this industry and there is a slug saviour for all of us, you just don't know when they're going to turn up for you. Have faith, keep going... you never fail, you just give up. The time has come for any self-respecting actress/blogger/writer to address the dreaded C-word that is to actors what Voldemort is to Harry Potter and what MacBeth is to... err, actors.
Castings. Hands up, who likes 'em? Rather than write a list of reason why we all hate castings and how to beat the nerve (you can't, by the way, and don't imagine the casting directors naked, that's just super weird), I'm writing from this article from the perspective of being on the other side. The other side, that is: sitting alongside the big bad evil decision makers, behind the invisible line you have created in your over anxious mind that separates those with and those devoid of feelings; sitting beside the ones who lure you into the room, rouse you into giving them a 'performance' (dance monkey dance), only to throw you out into the cold and banish your name and 8"x10" image from their hard drive and retinas ever again. Is that what you think happens when you leave the casting room? I was privileged and honoured to be asked along by a top class casting director to assist him with his next project, along with the director. We ain't talking low budget indie movie here, the director is so good at what he is doing, he has a little golden statuette of a bald man holding a sword on his mantlepiece. So now I've bigged up this scenario, I'd better come up with some interesting lyrical nuggets right? Together with the director and the CD, I was to be meeting high end British actors; Prada, not Primark. Aston Martin, not Ford. One was so A-List, his agent insisted that he was to meet with just the director; the CD and I were to leave the room during his meeting. Wow. Interestingly enough, he never showed up. (Probably too busy loading all his Prada gear into his Aston Martin.) Men came and went, read and discussed, shook hands and flicked their handsome manes (OK, I had to insert the last bit for compositional flow and lexical drama). You might be shocked at my next statement, but it's true, it really is. Take a deep breath and believe that the director and casting director, and pretty much everyone in that room: ARE ON YOUR SIDE. They want you to get the job. Think about it, why would they not? You should have seen the director, he was pretty much leaning on the edge of his seat willing the actor to do his best and to nail that audition and offer him the role. It was so obvious that is what he wanted. There was no malevolence of sadistic torture that we actors so often feel is the real intent behind that 10 minute coming together of the powers that be, and little old us. There were actors who forgot their lines and had to reach out in the middle of the reading for his lines. That was fine. There were actors who had questions about the script, didn't understand parts, and wanted to discuss aspects with the director. That was fine. There were actors who swore and used profanities. All absolutely fine. Some actors did great readings, but didn't get the job because they were too tall, too short, too old, pretty much along the lines of the article 26 Reasons Why You Didn't Get The Part. These things are fact and cannot be reasoned nor argued with. You can be great and still not get the job. Boo fucking hoo. Next. There is however, a cautionary tale amongst this. The director's quest to find his leading man extended outside the CD's office and at one time, he devoted a whole morning to a young man whom he had met at a place of worship. Divine intervention perhaps? On top of this, the young man just so happened to be an actor, currently training at a prestigious drama school in the middle of rehearsals for a showcase. So on this sunny Sunday the young man arrived for the meeting, and the CD and I were all very excited to meet him. Oh dear. Flustered and overwhelmed at the gravity of this opportunity, yet torn between where he should focus his limited resources; showcase preparation or casting that could be your big break, the poor young and (now apparently) naive man, chose the former. And boy, did that cost him. In no way this gentle, humourous and supportive director angry or negative towards the young and naive actor, but I could see he was disappointed. The actor whom he had devoted a whole morning to, pinned his hopes on, afforded such an opportunity and rallied his comrades into attending a weekend meeting to... The actor repaid him not knowing his lines, fumbling around constantly for the pages, and whether it was down to his poor preparation, his nerves, or his inadaquency at that point in his career to smash an audition on a cold read, he was, how can I say this... just not good. You're never going to get judged or blacklisted (if this actually exists) if you're just not right for the part. I have been rejected for parts before, then months or years later, called in for something completely different based on the previous audition. However, if you are ill prepared, do not know what you're doing, and openly admit you have been putting your efforts into another project, fully aware of what sacrifices the director and others have made for you to attend this meeting, then you damn well show some respect. Professionalism is all this is about. You cannot get the part, but you can damn well know your lines, show up on time, and understand what is expected from you in casting room. If you don't fully understand what is expected of you, there are literally hundreds of classes, workshops and one-to-ones you can attend to find out, practice, and learn. There are no excuses, and in a sea of hopeful actors who are diligent and professional, there really aren't that many opportunities for mistakes which are so within your control to prevent. So as you may have noticed, I am currently 'in between work', 'resting', or whatever other equivalent positive industry spin of 'unemployed' one can put on this state of no income, no work. I now have a casting tomorrow for an important project, important director, important casting director etc etc. A job that will pay me well and sustain me in work for a good few months. And what am I doing? Procrastinating. There are literally hundreds of things I would rather do than learn my lines and work on the script. Don't get me wrong, I will. But what is up with that? When there is nothing on the horizon, and I mean nothing - when you are desolate of castings, phone calls, meetings, anything, you'd give your right arm for a call. But when you have a meeting, a job or things in the pipeline, all you want to do is... everything else. Just me? Q: How do you make an actor moan? Agents are a contentious subject to any actor. I am lucky that I am in the minority. I genuinely like, trust and can get drunk with mine, and her assistant. As you can tell from my last post entitled 'Tumbleweed', there ain't a lot going on right now, and I'm either staring down the void, or staring into a computer screen. I wonder how much one can tap the 'refresh' button on any given day? As such, a panicked email was sent to my agent. Not along the lines of 'what are you putting me up for?' 'Why am I not going to auditions?' I don't believe in this approach and I never have done, perhaps one of the reasons why I get on well with my agent. Later, my cry for help was answered, but I missed the call, and a wonderful message was left for me. If you are not fortunate enough to have an agent as great as mine that calls you in the evening to reassure that you're ok, and to provide that beacon of light, even if a glimmer, in the darkness, then I wish to share with you her wise words here: Please don’t be panicking, it is what it is right now. And no actor works all the time, no actor acts all the time, they just act when they’re acting. What’s happened to you, is that you have had the great privilege, like if you’re in the theatre for a hell of a long time, of acting every day, or thinking about it every day, which is great. It’s a bit like when you leave drama school and suddenly you’re out there in the big wide world. I recently did a press conference promoting my latest project. Although repetitive, I always enjoy these things. As film and TV is shot far in advance, by the time you actually come to promote it, your life has (hopefully) moved on somewhat, it is pleasantly reminiscent to be brought back in time, if only momentarily. Sometimes life moves on so much, that once, when promoting a movie on a live breakfast TV show (of which I was a last minute-oops-slipped-the-mind-of-the-overworked-PR-girl booking), I actually forgot the storyline of the film, its content of which formed the premise of the interviewer's first question. #awkward #wheresthedelaybutton. I love my job and I can talk about it until the cows come home. I would then happily continue to regale tales until said cows are asleep, such as: how an actress once farted during our scene together and did not acknowledge it, thus denying me an opportunity to corpse and therefore continuing with the scene biting heavily on my lip; how my colleagues and I were once so ill with food poisoning when abroad on location that we were texting each other bowel updates whilst firmly rooted to the toilet seat. [My stories won't just be of poo and farting, but it obviously says a lot about my psyche being the first to jump to mind...] However; the one question that will no doubt silence me, if not momentarily in my head which feels uncomfortably like forever transmitted on screen, no matter how well I have rehearsed it, is: "So, what's next for you?" How does one get out of such an unwelcome question? I have done this via:
Unless your reality is actually along the lines of the first column, this inevitable question is never particularly embrace inducing. Ironically, even when you do have projects lined up, if they are not announced, your default answer has to be 'I have an exciting project in the pipeline'. ("That is such a bullshit standard answer for 'I've got nothing lined up'", My agent: "Yes, but you know you have", Me: "fuck that, I want the world to know that I'm still going!") We all want to slide seamlessly from one project to another, and as ideal as this is, unfortunately this is not the reality for most of us. Admitting to our own selves that we're not working is one thing, but to others; friends, family, fans, press, media, is different. Failure, stigma, judgement, and fear [insert your own detrimental noun here] are all labels that tag themselves undesirably to the idea of lack of work. Another actor's trait is, however much we tell ourselves we don't care what other people think about us, we absolutely do. If you are an exception, please do share why and how, and provide me with ID so I know you are in fact a real human being. [Cue freakout: Will my family start pressuring me to get a proper job? Will my agent drop me? Will my fans give up on me? Will the press run a humiliating 'where is she now' feature? EXUENT rational thought processes STAGE LEFT.] As much as I want to, I cannot reassure myself that work will come again. Santa, the Tooth Fairy, Guaranteed Success and Constant Work all reside in a magical land far far way, the illusion of which was shattered when you realised it was your dad under that Santa suit, and you auditioned for a Pot Noodle advert the day after you wrapped on a big budget movie (my dad never did the Santa thing but the Pot Noodle story is sadly true). However, having worked in this industry for over five years, with projects and roles ascending every time, I must take something away from that. Here is a paradox that explains everything. Preface: I love being on stage, on set, rehearsing, reading a script, I love it. I've even grown to love auditions. Common belief: Work is not to be enjoyed. People hate work. Behaviours associated with above belief: Moaning, waiting for 5.30pm, counting down until weekend/holiday, drinking excess amounts during time off/evenings to escape. Conundrum: So what's wrong with me? Conclusion: Periods between 'work', is actually work. This is the part where we knuckle down and do unenjoyable things to make ourselves as good as we can for the next role/project. Work out, be screen ready, use the time to give your skin a break from the make up to restore itself, eat well, sleep lots, update your reel, website, headshots, catch up with old friends and colleagues, watch movies, plays, TV, all these things are work. And yes, these things do cost money. But we also get paid silly money when we do work, so be wise and don't squander your cash because you think you're made for life. Look at Martine McCutcheon as a sad recent example, and read where she spent all her money. I'm sorry you're not in front of the camera or treading the boards. That is your equivalent of a JP Morgan bonus. If our job really were that easy and enjoyable to boot, any cunt would do it. Good luck, and here's to the next one. |