It's a desperate business and I simply illustrate with as clear lines as possible how we cope and react to that desperation and what it does to us human beings.
I don't feel human before or during an audition. I feel completely numb. My own feelings and selfhood do not matter, what matters is creating a favourable impression, a glittering surface that doesnt reveal any hidden depths, just reflects back whatever impression the casting director, director or camera cares to project onto me. On my way there, I sit on the bus, murmuring lines and looking vacantly out of the window in fanatic silence. I am trying to invoke my professional persona; I am trying to annhilate my everyday existence: the food i ate this morning, my dreams at night, my mood. I become empty. I arrive, I smile, I respond, I joke, but I am simply a nice object that breezes into a room, lifts it with light, musical notes and leaves again, leaving a lovely scent of carefree confidence, which gives way to the low and positive utterances of my magical, semi-made up name.
It's a wonderful, nineteen twenties esque fantasy. When I leave I come crashing back to earth. Feeling pours back into me, I feel sick with myself, I feel completely and utterly hopeless and helpless. I feel like a fraud and I feel like I am not good enough. The process of my invocation of my persona cannot help but drag out of the dead my worst self - the part of me that knows I am rubbish, that clings onto every negative comment Ive ever heard or thought I heard; the part of me that remembers and is built from every past rejection I ever received, oh it limbers up and shouts in my brain. I am more human than ever in this moment. I am struck by an existential crisis of self and a piercing loneliness. Maybe that is the real reason I do this, maybe I see this as some reward: to feel.
Yesterday I went to two auditions for commercials. The first one was good and I have nothing to say about it because of the favourable experience, but the second one must register on my worst ever Hall of Shame hitlist. GOD.
It was for a Dulux ident before Ugly Betty. 'Ingenue...Audrey Tatou...Art Student' was the brief. My agent was salivating over my chances: "this is your niche!" I agreed. I went along feeling pretty confident. My hair having been recently cut gave me a polish that worked with my made up face and cute, arty outfit. I felt good, empty, but good.
I arrived and opened the door to the casting office and a blast of smell I can only describe disgustedly as 'people' smell hit me like when you get on a commuter bus and the windows are all steamed up because those warmth fanatics dont understand that if you open a window, so opens the whole atmosphere on a bus.
Models stood like herons in the middle of the room speaking german and making it impossible to pass with their massive, expensive, designer handbags. There were a few chairs lining the walls with girls slumped in looking bored and depressed. 'How long have you been here?' i asked one girl, 'an hour', she said listlessly and cast her eyes into her lap.
I waited for about half an hour, chatting to another actor about the humiliation you feel when you go up against models. Then I was called in. It wasn't scary - you went in groups of six because of the huge number of people and waited while each person did their ident and spoke about how tall you were and if you could 'do movement'.
The casting director (OH how i long to out him so when he next googles himself which he must do every five minutes he reads this!) Mark Summers (DONE IT!) stood with his back to us as we waited, squinting into the camera and making catty, lackadaisical side comments to his minion about how he hated people filling in their forms standing up. 'My mother said never trust anyone who couldn't sit down for five minutes', I wanted to tell him there was no room to sit down, the floor was filthy and that we had been pushed to fill out our forms as quickly as possible in order to get seen anywhere near our time, but I shut up.
In a bored and impatient voice he told us to sit down and what we would have to do: an ident, a head shot, a mid shot and a full shot and that was that. He wanted this all over with.
A beautiful, eastern European model stood infront of the camera first.
"Right, Darling, she's a beauty photographer/she likes SHAPES/make a nice shape for yourself/that's it/think SEX IN THE CITY/ OK!"
I can only describe the way he spoke like this, it was punchy and soundbitey and mindless. A one size fits all mentality that everyone, including me, understood and abided by.
The girl effortlessly moved from pose to pose as he barked what kind of shot it was. She was a real pro. Showy with it too, I couldnt help but squeeze the girl next to me, who looked at me in horror: mannequins!! He wanted mannequins!
A beautiful forty year old woman stood up next. She looked so small and frail standing against the blue screen. I'd seen her look furtively and critically around outside before the casting and heard her call her agent, panicked that everyone was young. I had looked at her face closely, noted the marks of botox in her lips and forehead, her desperately thin legs and her carefully thought out pencil skirt outfit. 'Milf' was clearly her brief, or the cardboard cut out she was trying to fit her tiny self into.
She smiled on demand, flicked her hair on demand and so pointedly the minion next to the casting director had to suppress a giggle. I could only laugh too, it was so painful a sight, there is no dignity in a woman of that age bowing to a system that makes you no more than a Warhol Campbell's soup number 30004456, (with added vintage factor). In fact, I know there's no dignity in it whatever age, but somehow I forgive the young for being impressionable. I dont forgive myself.
My turn. I stood up and oh so slowly and in silence got to my mark. I could hear disapproving looks from the casting director behind me. I anticipated his scrutiny but I didnt think he would lurch into rudeness so readily. You know i like to transcribe dialogue. Here it is, without embellishment:
MS: 'Didn't your agent tell you you had to wear a dress?'
(I was wearing a dress: a shirt dress - art student- casual and feminine.)
Me: I AM wearing a dress!
Stalemate. He looks at me, I look at him, Im not going to concede. Or do I?...
Me: My agent didnt tell me anything..
MS: OH! They don't do they?! They never write comments in those little boxes either do they? I tell you, your commercial department, Ive had enough of them!
Me: ...Um...Really?
MS: YES! .................. Take off your cardi.
I took it off. I had already broken into a sweat. I could feel the eyes of the other people on me now as they waited for their turn. I felt their thoughts. They felt sorry for me, they watched me blush, weirdly compelled by the sight of vulnerability. I know, Ive felt it.
Mark Summers stood with his hand on his hip waiting for me to copy him. He stared at me, unblinking. When i meekly copied his stance he barked impetuously:
'MAKE A NICE SHAPE FOR YOURSELF! Youve got to make yourself look GOOD! She's a BEAUTY director! Just think FIERCE/ SASSY/ ATTITUDE/ SEX IN THE CITY!'
I wanted to shout ' I HATE SEX IN THE CITY! Ive never seen it! I never want to see it! Its about as far from ME as fucking MARS!!!!!' ..... but i didnt. I complied. I tried. I failed miserably...
'LIFT yourself! Come ON! I know you're not a model but you can give yourself a nice SHAPE! GO ON! SMILE!'
I smiled.
'...Don't smile. Half-smile; cat-that's-got-the-cream!'
I felt the fear pulse out of my face and straight down the camera lense. I looked like a maggoty naked person. I could feel it. The more he barked at me, the more tense I felt.
'Come on! RELAX! HEADSHOT RELAX/ MIDSHOT/ LIFT/ LONGSHOT... Name, agent to camera. How tall are you, darling?'
Don't fucking call me darling.
'Right, thanks BYE!'.
I practically ran out. I felt completely humiliated, hot faced and pitiful. I cannot stand in front of a camera, be barked at to strike a pose and do so, oozing whatever they mean by 'fierceness'. I know exactly what they mean and want, but I dont want to do it, I can't do it and its not something I will do to demand or ever! Especially being watched by other candidates. Oh God, it was hell.
And that's about all I can say about this now.
No comments:
Post a Comment