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The Z List

Opposite the direction of paparazzi lights and red carpet hemlines–with still-personal Instagram accounts under the radar of Major Casting Agencies and non-existent to actors with impressive but questionable populations of subscriber bases–here we are. We are actors who have no option left but to keep acting for the love of it.

We work against the stress and the time-crunch of full-time jobs, families, responsibilities and other obstacles to excavate one glimmering reason to live. We can’t afford to take off work for the audition. We build our own reels.

I’m working on mine today. I’m reading sides in the background for a friend who has an audition tape due this week. He’s kind of an asshole, but a really good actor and writer. I asked if he’d help act with me through a very brief scene I wrote. That way, we both get something out of it for our reels.

Our director friend offered to help and secured a location for us. Originally it was the director’s idea to shoot my scene, because he knew I’m building my reel. So we get it all set up and we are planning to meet at 3:00pm, and he puts a message out to my actor friend asking for money.

I guess I just need to vent that I never expected services for free, but I’m a little irritated with being offered a favor and then later asked for money about it. My friend was asking for help when he reached out to our large group-text of actor friends. He wasn’t saying “hey I’ll pay someone to tape my audition.” And I chimed in to hell my friend (for free). So when the director stepped up and said “yeah I can help; let’s meet across town at 3:00pm on Tuesday and while we’re at it, Katie why don’t we do your scene too” it wasn’t proposed that he’d be looking for payment. I don’t know how my actor friend felt, but I definitely felt that this was not a great way to “do business” with people.

So what I’m trying to learn from this experience is that I shouldn’t assume either way that a taping opportunity is free, just because I didn’t expect any form of payment for it. I would have appreciated it more if the director was up front about wanting money. “Yeah for sure I can help, if you want to kick me some money I can get it done in a studio. Katie, since you’re coming to help your friend, do you want to make this happen? I can give you a good rate.” That would have cleared up any potential issues from the start.

But again–expectations are trouble in the making. It was my expectation that I’d be getting to tape a scene for free that let me down–not the director’s irritating way of handling it. I get it. He’s going out of his way. I guess what bothered me was that I think both my friend and I thought he was doing it out of the kindness of his heart–it really didn’t come across like it was anything other than that.

Our silence on the group text since the director’s solicitation has hopefully said enough.

I’m miffed, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to be a bitch about it. I don’t even know if it’s worth it to speak my mind about it at all. I have to study and get over this soon.

Instead of going there

I went everywhere else. Spent way too much money. Ate meat. Ok. Time to back up. I have to be done. There’s no end to it. I haven’t been reading the reflections or saying the third step prayer much. I think that must be it. More yoga. Really working on myself. Guitar.

The Reel World

There’s a site from which a lot of actors find out about and submit for auditions, called actors access. You post a few of your head shots, your resume, size card, and elaborate a little on your talents and assets. When an audition in your area comes up, you can submit your information to hopefully get the opportunity to audition for whatever commercial, film, reality TV series, etc. you have in mind.

But if you’re like me–starting out in the entertainment industry, with little to no experience on film–then you have nothing when it comes to being able to provide a submission that includes a reel of clips of your best work on tape.

It’s GOT to be the question of the century–not just for actors:

But how can I get experience if I have no experience?

Well–my approach isn’t all that unique. I’ve decided to write a few 1-3 minute scenes of my own. They’ll include me and a friend or two, and hopefully showcase any viable talent I could possibly demonstrate for the camera. Expensive camera equipment isn’t in the budget for me at the moment, as I’m moving into my own (expensive) studio at the end of May, so I plan to do all of the filming using my iPhone, an external mic, a tripod, and lots of creativity.

The thing is, for me, it’s been nearly impossible to get an audition using actors access without clips and/or a reel. I’ve tried it. If I have any chance at all at getting a role, it’s most certainly going to be based on my acting talent rather than my head shots. I can’t speak for anyone else on this one, so you might be able to land auditions left and right based solely on just a head shot. I’m just saying it didn’t work out for me like that.

And because I love the process, I’m going to keep trying. While I’m at it, I might as well have some fun.

The first scene I’m working on comes from a work of fiction I have in progress called Union Of Vampires. I intend to write a short scene and act it out with my dad. He and I will be vampires–Father & Daughter.

I put out the word to my friends on social media that I’m looking for friends who are open to acting with me in my self-written/self-taped/self-directed scenes, and I got great feedback and support. I had no idea so many people would be willing to play around with me, and it brings me joy to think about.

At the very least, even if I find I’m not made for film work, at least I will have some awesome experiences with brave and open-minded friends and family to look back on one day.

For me, having fun with it is the most important thing. And hopefully, I’ll be able to put together some clips at the end of it all that speak for my abilities. Who knows? Maybe a few of my friends and family will want to get in on the action!

Staying True To Yourself: The Dream

I had a dream I was at an audition.

I didn’t know much about the production or who was putting it on. I just wanted a role. Most of all, I wanted the lead role.

There was a large group of actors in a dark but open area. I had to get the director’s attention.

I want to act. I don’t care what the role is.

I approached the director. Up close, he had a strange familiarity. Ice cold blue eyes. He had a black energy. I didn’t like it, but I wanted a part in the production.

So I asked him to dance.

Por su puesto, he laughed, and took me to dance before the crowd. (I didn’t know what por su puesto meant in the dream, in waking hours I asked one of my Colombian friends and she told me that it means of course.)

Of course.

We danced, but the feeling wasn’t good. The way he led the dance, I felt as if he wanted to possess me. He wasn’t interested in me as a person, an artist or an actress. He wasn’t interested in my charm or my potential. He was only interested in his own power–that I could have been any girl, wanting and wishing for a part–because I love acting. He had such power, the director. He could make dreams come true. To be engaged in my audition, I looked into those cold eyes and pretended–pretended to have a grand old time, pretended in that moment I belonged to him. And I won him over. I knew it. But the darkness crept in and I realized who I was dancing with. I was dancing with the devil.

At the end of the dance, he was  pleased with himself. I felt like I’d sold myself out. I didn’t want any part in this production. I should have done the research. I felt rotten inside. I felt tricked in a way, but the truth was that nobody put me up to that dance. I was the one who asked him to dance, after all.

The good news was that it wasn’t too late. I didn’t have to continue the dance.

And that was how it ended–with the devil, satisfied thinking he had me that one time. My satisfaction? Knowing that dance was the acting performance of my life.

So my question to everybody is this: How far are you willing to go to be a star?

Forget about being a star, and start thinking about being an actor. It will save you a lot of time and energy. And you might just sleep better at night.

 

 

 

 

For the Love of Improv

I showed up to the audition exhausted. It had been a challenging week at my day job, and a part of me wanted to stay home and relax rather than drive out to the south end of town. But I did it anyway, because I told Karla (a girl I met at Keli’s workshop) that I’d be there.

There were people waiting outside the studio when I arrived. Everybody was nice. Again, it seemed like everybody knew each other already. I got my hands on the paperwork and began to complete it. Then I saw the practice time for the group for regular members: Wednesday nights. Uh oh.

I already have a commitment on Wednesday nights. If I was selected to perform with this group, I’d have to cut the commitment short by thirty minutes just to get to group practice on time.

Oh well, I thought. I’ll just try out and have fun, knowing I won’t be able to participate even if I do get selected.

Maybe it was the casual attitude with which I approached the audition that allowed me to open up; maybe it was the fun and enthusiastic nature of EB, the audition coordinator. Maybe it was the talent of the individuals with whom I was auditioning–I’m not sure. But I excelled at the audition. I was on.

I would like to save notes on the process of this audition for another entry, because what I want to talk about here is the mistake I made despite doing well at the event. I had marked on my paperwork that I wouldn’t be able to participate in the group if offered a spot. But I had so much fun during the audition that I seriously considered backing out on part of my other commitment.

Then, when I was offered a chance to practice and perform with the group (via email from EB), at first I agreed. Then I went back on my decision again–knowing that I had to do the right thing and keep my previous plan.

So, I wasted everyone’s time because I wasn’t clear with my needs.

I apologized to EB for going back and forth on things, but I never heard back from her. And I don’t blame her.

I just wanted this to be a lesson to everyone to make sure you’re solid as far as your availability. Don’t waver. Be clear. If you really love acting, you’ll find a way to be an actor. Look for another opportunity if practice time doesn’t meet your scheduling needs. Be honest.

I told EB I was bummed not to be able to participate. Then I had to let it go, despite wanting to apologize a thousand more times for being so wishy-washy. I’ve got my eyes set on two additional workshops coming up this weekend. They will take up almost my entire day on Sunday. I’m looking forward to the workshops because they will address both object work (a weak point of mine) and working past comedic impulses to produce drama.

Moving on!

 

 

 

Improvisational Theatre Workshop: Lesson 3

“You’re good at playing the weird character. But you don’t have to do that all the time,” Keli suggested.

“I can’t help it,” I responded. The other artists in the workshop laughed.

In the moment, I felt discouraged. I’d always used my strangeness as an advantage. Saying bizarre and sometimes ignorant things usually garnered laughs from the audience. I had become comfortable being an oddball.

But once I gave Keli’s correction some thought, I realized she was absolutely right.

I don’t have to be weird all the time.

I’m learning as I go in this process. And what I’m recognizing is my own tendency to limit myself within the boundaries of certain characters I create. I’ve hidden behind humor in the same way. A scene might be good with some humor and a out-of-this-world lines, but how can I elevate myself beyond the comfort zone of playing the fool?

I have to be myself. And if I don’t know myself, I want to figure myself out. I know for sure that in everyday life I only sometimes play the fool. Sometimes, I play the dumb female jock–physically strong but intellectually incapable of creating something. Sometimes, I play the child–naive and hopeful, sweet and begging for protection. But seldom have I embraced my own true existance as a real woman, a real human being for that matter. I’ve been playing from my head and not my heart.

What on earth will happen if I come to the performance from a place of love and compassion? Of humility? Of a need to be forgiven? Of stress and chaos of adulthood? Of the reality of feeling like I have such unanswered potential? What if I bring my need for validation as a human being and not as an actor?

These are the questions I want to explore. Later this week, I’m going to be auditioning for a spot in another improv troupe in town. And honestly, forget the audition–I just want to play. And I want to play better than I ever have before. Best case scenario, I get a spot. Worst case scenario, I’ll make a few new friends. Sounds like another win/win to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Improvisational Theatre Workshop: Lesson 2

Our job as artists is to make the audience feel.

Having my strength in comedy improv performance, I feel most comfortable defaulting to humor. At times, I’ve even gotten a sense of pride from my ability to come up with great one-liners in a split second. But Keli was quick to remind us that there is something deeper than comedy to each and every scene, and we ought not use humor as a crutch just because it’s easy to do or just because we love to make people laugh.

During an improv scene, when I’m paying close attention, there is the moment right before I make a choice in what I am about to say. And it’s true–I can go ahead and say the funny thing, or I can hold on another brief moment and uncover a deeper meaning that often tends more toward the profound. It’s a type of letting go that is really fascinating once you are aware of it happening.

Keli also pointed out that though it’s great to make people laugh, it’s our job onstage to move people–and moving people can mean bringing them to laughter, tears, disgust…

Moving people can also mean making someone so uncomfortable she feels the need to leave! Success! (Or, was my performance so bad that she couldn’t take it anymore? Still success! I moved her! I did my job!)

This lesson in getting to the point of our job as performers and artists helps us to break through our comfort and into uncharted territory, where the best art is made. Here, we triumph over the fear that keeps us predictable and confined in our options.

So, rock on and express yourself as an artist–but show the audience you are as boundless in your forms of expression as they are. Don’t just take the easy way out because you’re good at a particular skill. Keep that skill in your back pocket and use it when it burns not to, but remember there is more to you than that.

There is so much more to you than that.

Improvisational Theatre Workshop: Lesson 1

I have decided to break up the lessons learned in this workshop into several different entries because I learned so much! 

 

Over the past weekend, I participated in an all-female workshop for experienced improvisational theatre artists. The workshop was run by Keli, a local artist who also helps head up one of the city’s regularly performing improv comedy troupes.

I should say that I don’t have a lot of experience with performance arts–I was Smokey The Bear in my kindergarten play, and later in elementary school I was The Ant in our humble production of The Lion And The Ant. Cute, huh? I played Gay Wellington in my high school’s You Can’t Take It With You. The truth is, I never felt particularly strong in theatre until I started dabbling in improv–and I didn’t start doing improv/improv comedy until spring of 2016. But improv worked like magic for me–I got started last summer with a troupe that met weekly at a bar/market for practice in front of its patrons. Aside from a few experiences singing and playing guitar for people, this was my first experience feeling like I could really be somebody.

I arrived at the workshop feeling confident. Over-confident. I said my usual Hail Marys and Our Fathers–just because that’s my tradition–and I asked my source for a learning experience.

We started with some warm-ups to help everybody get comfortable. Of about 10-15 women, most artists knew each other or at least one or two others in the class. I only knew Keli, from attending one of her troupe’s shows last year. The first exercise was to go around the room and pay everyone a compliment. We walked around, telling each other I like your hair, You have pretty eyes, I like that shirt, etc.

Then Keli had us go around and give compliments that speak of energy rather than appearance. This was a little harder for me, without knowing anyone there. You seem like such a fun person! I like your vibe–you must like plants. (Yes, I said that…?)

The idea was that there is a deeper connection and wavelength that we regularly ignore. We want to connect with people in and outside of our work, we usually focus on the material world because it is a comfort zone of sorts. But recognizing and complimenting someone’s energy–that is a really nice thing to do. It honors the spirit of the person–not whatever mask they are wearing. And we all wear masks.

Now, we can take this exercise and apply it to our performance experience. What is the energy on stage? Will I elevate the energy or will I match the energy? What is my job in this scene? If we are lost in our own heads, thinking about our own performance, we have already missed out on a major gift–perception of the truth. But if we take a moment to read the scene we are about to enter, acknowledging its energy, we can compliment the scene by adding our own energy from an honest perspective.

 

One of the worst possible audition mistakes, and I made it.

My acting coach warned me.

Project your voice.

I thought I was loud enough.

The problem with not projecting your voice enough in auditions is simple: it doesn’t matter how awesome you are; if nobody can hear you, you might as well be speaking another language.

This feedback came directly from the director of our local production of The Crucible, after JR asked him if I could make any improvements on the audition. By this time, we knew I didn’t get a role, and we would use the director’s input not just for my own sake but for anyone in class who could use a reminder.

I’m looking forward to the next opportunity to audition with this recent error in mind. I had taken for granted that everyone in the auditorium could hear me, and I won’t make that mistake again.