When I last wrote, I said that I needed to consider the answer to the question "Who is your acting coach?" Based on the contents of my last post, an astute reader commented that it seems as though my acting coaches are the directors that I audition for. A good answer, I thought, as I learn more from my auditions than almost any other venue except from actual classes and films that I work on. If that is the case, tonight's audition was probably the best lesson I have ever had.
The audition that I gave tonight was the worst performance I have ever given in my life, period. It was for the role of Lela, Ginger Roger's mother, in a new musical called "Backwards in High Heels," about Ginger's life. When I submitted for it, I thought it was a singing-only role, since I have tried to limit dancing roles in the past several years as my back has gotten progressively worse. But when the casting director called to set up an audition, he said, "You DO tap, right?" That should have been my cue to say no, and end the conversation right there. But the thing is, I DO tap, having had eight years of lessons, and I told him so, leaving out the fact that I don't currently own tap shoes. He said, "Great, just dust off the shoes and bring them." Great - that meant I'd have to buy shoes. So we set up an appointment for tonight, which would also include singing two songs, and I would need to download and print the sides for the audition.
As readers will know, I've been very busy here in LA in the last week. Just in the last three days I worked all day Friday as background on NCIS: LA (and it was really work, not the kind of extra job where we sat around all day; they used me in nearly every shot for ten hours); did an audition on Saturday for a re-enactment job as an expert witness which required reading aloud 45 minutes of dialogue; and auditioned for two plays on Sunday, one comic and one dramatic (requiring two different kinds of Irish accents). So I hadn't had a lot of time to prepare for the audition on Monday. Since I don't "really" live here, my piano is not here, my songbooks are not here, and I don't have a printer here. Plus, I needed tap shoes. And after the last three days of work, I woke up feeling poorly, not even sure I could make a 6:15 audition in Burbank, knowing that I had to get tap shoes, a song book, and print sides before I went.
But the rain finally stopped (we had an awful storm yesterday, ending the beautiful weather that I have enjoyed since I have been here this trip) around 3 p.m., so I dragged myself out of the apartment around 4 o'clock. By the time I got over to The Dance Store, a cute snug shop on Robertson Avenue (where the stars REALLY shop) in Beverly Hills, and bought new tap shoes, and raced over to Santa Monica and picked out song books of material by Irving Berlin and Frank Sinatra's greatest hits, it was 5:30 - way too late to get to the printers. I barely made it to Burbank - in fact, I was five minutes late. I arrived flustered and shaky, and realized the only headshots I had left were not the ones I had sent for this job - a gaffe, but not unforgivable. Fortunately, the casting director was with another auditioner when I arrived, so he didn't notice that I was late.
Things started well enough. I gave my song book to the pianist and explained to the panel that I was new in town and did not have my usual songbooks with me. So I introduced the song, "Blue Skies," which I had not sung before but thought I knew pretty well, and the pianist began - in a key far too low for me. I stopped him, and said, "I'm sorry, that's not my key. Can you play it up a fifth?" We started over, and I began well enough, and then my mind completely blanked on the second verse. I made some words up, and finished, a little quavery, but it wasn't awful. Then I asked if I could just sing something I knew better a capella, but the director said they needed to hear how I matched with the piano. So we tried again, with "Always," a ballad that was sung at my parents' wedding (I had sung it at my brother's wedding too, but that was 25 years ago). This time the key was fine, but I sound breathless and my support was bad, probably due to my back injury. I realized my lack of rehearsal was hurting me. My voice had deserted me! What was going on? I couldn't make it steady and strong, as I always could in the past. I felt out of control.
When I finished, badly, the director said, "Okay, let's hear the a capella stuff." So I started with "Fly Me to the Moon," and got through the first verse - and forgot the second verse! I was beyond embarrassed. I apologized, but I could tell from the glazed smiles on their faces that they were horrified. I knew they were thinking, "How did she get in here?" And then the next question: "Do you have the sides?" Well, no. And this was the only place I've ever auditioned where they had no copies of the sides in the waiting room where we could get copies beforehand. I started in explaining about not having a printer at home, and the director, understandably, cut me off. "This isn't going to work," he said, nodding towards the door. Mortified, I said, "I'm sorry," and left as quickly as I could. I felt like a complete amateur, and a complete idiot. I was not even going to get a chance to use those new tap shoes (I'll be returning them to the store tomorrow, because those suckers were expensive).
What in the world had happened to me? Last week I felt like I could do no wrong; tonight, the only thing I did right was when I left. It was truly one of the worst performing experiences of my life. It seemed that my voice, my beloved instrument, was leaving me! What would I do without it? I have been a singer since I was three years old. If I am not a singer, then who am I? Will Keith still love me if I can't sing? I sing for my dog every day - she loves my voice! I wanted to tell that panel that I'm really a good singer! I've made albums! People love my voice! And I can dance and act too! But it wouldn't have made any difference, because tonight it had all deserted me, for several reasons: I was tired, and I hadn't allowed enough time to do everything I needed to do to get to the audition fully prepared. I didn't have all the tools I needed to prepare for the audition here in LA. And most importantly, I should have said NO to the audition in the first place.
That was the real lesson. This show included TAP DANCING. I am 51 years old, disabled with a painful back injury. I have no business auditioning for a show that includes tap dancing. Even yesterday, I was praying for guidance about what to focus on. This was about as clear a NO to musical theatre as I could have gotten. And as I was agonizing over the lessons of tonight's humiliation, I remembered a phrase from one of my favorite poems, "Desiderata." Desiderata means "things to be desired," and this prose poem was written by Max Ehrmann in 1959; a spoken word version by Les Crane made the Billboard charts in 1971. You may remember the chorus, if you are as old as or older than me: "You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars, you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the Universe is unfolding as it should." But the phrase that I recalled tonight was "take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth."
"Gracefully surrendering the things of youth." That hit my brain like a sledge hammer. I am 51 years old and I still dress like a 12-year-old. I know this because there were 12-year-olds in The Dance Shop today wearing leggings with a gauzy skirt over them that looked just like mine. The hardest thing for a woman like me who has always been praised for her youthful looks, one who has no children to tell her, "Mom, you're not wearing THAT!" is to "surrender gracefully the things of youth." Does anyone in Hollywood even know HOW to do that? There are entire industries in LA dedicated to fighting off the signs of age with all of our might. But what my tired body is telling me is: time to focus on something different. Time to let go of the musicals, at least for now. Time to work on the comedy, the Irish accent. Remember the Golden Girls? And then, there's Maude. Meryl Streep's still pretty hot - she's one who knows how to surrender gracefully.
Maybe surrender is the wrong word. Maybe I should pay more attention to the first part of the phrase: "Taking kindly the counsel of the years." Learn from your mistakes. Take time to prepare. Don't beat yourself up. And when you screw up, move on, with dignity. Listen to your acting coaches. Remember your own advice: "Crumple it up, throw it over your shoulder, and move on."
Blessings,
Jennie
Monday, January 18, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Learning to Love Auditions
It's a good thing I didn't try to hold myself to posting every single day on this blog. Otherwise, I would have given up by now. I find that I get very tired after a long day on a set, even though I might have been sitting down most of the time, or just doing two or three auditions over the course of a day. I find performing to be exhilarating while I am doing it, but it is almost always followed by a big emotional letdown, followed by physical exhaustion, which usually means for me that I will have to spend the day in bed.
When I last wrote, I had just had two intense work days, followed by two days of auditioning for theatre on the weekend, an audition for the Jimmy Kimmel show on Monday, and a 10-hour day of working background on a new hidden-camera show called "Fashion Emergency" yesterday. [By the way, I was invited to become a member of one of the theatre companies, The Underground in Hollywood, and to join the Jimmy Kimmel show as a sketch player on an as-needed basis; it was not, in fact, an interview to discuss my career. Damn!] I had a great time every day, but I had to stand on set for about 30 minutes during four different takes, which meant that my back was killing me when I got home. So I was forced to spend today in bed, which meant I missed two auditions, one for a new game show, and one for a student film with an intriguing lead female character. This fell into the "no pay" (well, gas money) category, but I wanted to do it because I liked the character description, and it was at UCLA, a film school with a great reputation that I have not yet worked with.
I hate to miss auditions, because for me, they are like free acting classes. If you get an audition for a lead character, sometimes you not only get to perform your monologue, but you will get a chance to do a scene study with the student director. This may be a "cold read," where you have just been given the "sides" (pages from the script that the director wants you to read with him or her) just before the audition, right before you go in; or it may be a read where you have had some time to look at the script beforehand. If you get the sides even a night before, you will be expected to have them memorized, or at least close to it, in order to have a shot at getting the part. You'll also need to take your best shot at interpreting the character without any input from the director.
Normally, I will give my reading first, and then if the director does not give me any feedback, other than "great" or "perfect" (I hate that because it is meaningless), I will ask, "can I do it again with some direction from you?" Almost always, they will ask me to make some sort of change, and the second read will be better. I may not get the part, but I will have shown that I can adjust to direction, and I will have gotten to perform the scene two different ways. And then I thank the director for inviting me to read, and I leave the room and immediately try to forget about the audition.
Why do I do this? Because, if an actor gets hung up on how they do in an audition and why they didn't get the part, and wondering if a director will call, and why they didn't call, they will go absolutely nuts. I was obsessing over auditions early in my career, when I wasn't doing very many, and a more experienced actress with whom I was doing a play at the time gave me a very wise piece of advice that I have never forgotten. She said, "I try to treat each audition as a little performance. I go in, I do my best for the audience, I smile and thank them, and then as I leave I mentally crumple it up, toss it over my shoulder, and forget it. It's over, and whatever happens from that point is no longer up to me." Wise lady. That advice has saved me a lot of grief. I love to perform, so now, I treat my auditions like performances. I enjoy them, I try to learn as much as I can from them, and if I get the part, it's just a bonus.
I do try to analyze how I'm doing, of course. My routine goes like this: every week day I review audition notices in six databases, minimum - Actors' Access, Extras' Access, Now Casting, LA Casting, SF Casting, and Casting Connection. If I have time, I also look at the listings on Back Stage West and IMDB.[There are tons of databases available with lists of castings; these are just the ones that have worked best for me. They are not free, so I had to choose based on what I can afford and my rate of return. I've listed them more or less in my order of preference. Many actors like Craig's List too, but almost all the jobs on there are no pay, and a lot of them are for "adult" films, so I don't subscribe to that any more.]
Anyway, I estimate I submit electronically about 30 resumes a day, or about 150 per week. Out of these, I get about 15 auditions, which is a pretty good rate (10%) but could be better (I'd like to see 20%, but I think I need a new performance reel to hit that - mine is mostly from 2006 now so the next investment I make will be in a reel). Of these auditions, I estimate that I will be offered 3 to 5 parts, again, not a bad success rate (20-30%; this is up from about 10% in past years, I think due my weight loss and going back to darker hair).
Of the parts that I don't get, I try to analyze what went wrong; it is usually because my look is not right (I play a lot of mothers, and often the child does not look like me, for example). Sometimes the other actress has more formal training than I do, so she gets the role. Or her English accent was better. Or maybe she got to the audition 15 minutes early, and I was just on time. It is usually little things like this that sway the part from one actor to another.
So, if you can learn to treat auditions like lessons, and not get too upset if you don't get the part (as long as you are getting hired often enough to feel like you are doing something right!), auditions can be an actor's best friend. Between auditions and working in student films, I feel like I have gotten a BFA by now. But of course, I don't have classical training or a degree in acting, only a number of director's and casting director's workshops, and my lack of training has hurt me on some occasions. I'm about to reach the stage of my career where I need to consider some serious study, because I'm starting to get asked this question at more and more auditions: "who is your acting coach?" And right now, I don't have one. Which means I'm going to have to figure out the answer to that question pretty soon.
Til next time,
Jennie
When I last wrote, I had just had two intense work days, followed by two days of auditioning for theatre on the weekend, an audition for the Jimmy Kimmel show on Monday, and a 10-hour day of working background on a new hidden-camera show called "Fashion Emergency" yesterday. [By the way, I was invited to become a member of one of the theatre companies, The Underground in Hollywood, and to join the Jimmy Kimmel show as a sketch player on an as-needed basis; it was not, in fact, an interview to discuss my career. Damn!] I had a great time every day, but I had to stand on set for about 30 minutes during four different takes, which meant that my back was killing me when I got home. So I was forced to spend today in bed, which meant I missed two auditions, one for a new game show, and one for a student film with an intriguing lead female character. This fell into the "no pay" (well, gas money) category, but I wanted to do it because I liked the character description, and it was at UCLA, a film school with a great reputation that I have not yet worked with.
I hate to miss auditions, because for me, they are like free acting classes. If you get an audition for a lead character, sometimes you not only get to perform your monologue, but you will get a chance to do a scene study with the student director. This may be a "cold read," where you have just been given the "sides" (pages from the script that the director wants you to read with him or her) just before the audition, right before you go in; or it may be a read where you have had some time to look at the script beforehand. If you get the sides even a night before, you will be expected to have them memorized, or at least close to it, in order to have a shot at getting the part. You'll also need to take your best shot at interpreting the character without any input from the director.
Normally, I will give my reading first, and then if the director does not give me any feedback, other than "great" or "perfect" (I hate that because it is meaningless), I will ask, "can I do it again with some direction from you?" Almost always, they will ask me to make some sort of change, and the second read will be better. I may not get the part, but I will have shown that I can adjust to direction, and I will have gotten to perform the scene two different ways. And then I thank the director for inviting me to read, and I leave the room and immediately try to forget about the audition.
Why do I do this? Because, if an actor gets hung up on how they do in an audition and why they didn't get the part, and wondering if a director will call, and why they didn't call, they will go absolutely nuts. I was obsessing over auditions early in my career, when I wasn't doing very many, and a more experienced actress with whom I was doing a play at the time gave me a very wise piece of advice that I have never forgotten. She said, "I try to treat each audition as a little performance. I go in, I do my best for the audience, I smile and thank them, and then as I leave I mentally crumple it up, toss it over my shoulder, and forget it. It's over, and whatever happens from that point is no longer up to me." Wise lady. That advice has saved me a lot of grief. I love to perform, so now, I treat my auditions like performances. I enjoy them, I try to learn as much as I can from them, and if I get the part, it's just a bonus.
I do try to analyze how I'm doing, of course. My routine goes like this: every week day I review audition notices in six databases, minimum - Actors' Access, Extras' Access, Now Casting, LA Casting, SF Casting, and Casting Connection. If I have time, I also look at the listings on Back Stage West and IMDB.[There are tons of databases available with lists of castings; these are just the ones that have worked best for me. They are not free, so I had to choose based on what I can afford and my rate of return. I've listed them more or less in my order of preference. Many actors like Craig's List too, but almost all the jobs on there are no pay, and a lot of them are for "adult" films, so I don't subscribe to that any more.]
Anyway, I estimate I submit electronically about 30 resumes a day, or about 150 per week. Out of these, I get about 15 auditions, which is a pretty good rate (10%) but could be better (I'd like to see 20%, but I think I need a new performance reel to hit that - mine is mostly from 2006 now so the next investment I make will be in a reel). Of these auditions, I estimate that I will be offered 3 to 5 parts, again, not a bad success rate (20-30%; this is up from about 10% in past years, I think due my weight loss and going back to darker hair).
Of the parts that I don't get, I try to analyze what went wrong; it is usually because my look is not right (I play a lot of mothers, and often the child does not look like me, for example). Sometimes the other actress has more formal training than I do, so she gets the role. Or her English accent was better. Or maybe she got to the audition 15 minutes early, and I was just on time. It is usually little things like this that sway the part from one actor to another.
So, if you can learn to treat auditions like lessons, and not get too upset if you don't get the part (as long as you are getting hired often enough to feel like you are doing something right!), auditions can be an actor's best friend. Between auditions and working in student films, I feel like I have gotten a BFA by now. But of course, I don't have classical training or a degree in acting, only a number of director's and casting director's workshops, and my lack of training has hurt me on some occasions. I'm about to reach the stage of my career where I need to consider some serious study, because I'm starting to get asked this question at more and more auditions: "who is your acting coach?" And right now, I don't have one. Which means I'm going to have to figure out the answer to that question pretty soon.
Til next time,
Jennie
Friday, January 8, 2010
On Working for Free
It has been an exciting first week of the year. I have gotten five job offers, three of them paid. I was asked to audition for two theatre companies, two plays, three student films, and one talk show to discuss "Atlas Shrugged." I am also scheduled to meet next Monday with the talent coordinator of the "Jimmy Kimmel Live" late-night talk show to discuss being a guest on the show, I assume to talk about my fledgling acting career.
When I arrived in LA on Wednesday, I went to a fitting for my first job, a commercial for Chevy Denmark which will be my first featured role in a "name" commercial. This company hired me without an audition, based on a funny clip I referred them to from the web series parody I did in late 2008, called "Whorified! The Search for America's Next Top Whore." After a morning audition for a character similar to Judi Dench's "M" in the James Bond movies (for another commercial), I spent Thursday afternoon shooting a long scene to be used to train psychologists. I played a woman who feels betrayed by her therapist because she has fallen in love with, and been rejected by, him. It was very intense and emotional, and for the first time, I was able to cry on camera. I got the tears by telling the director about my father, who used to recite long passages of poetry from memory, and how when he lost the ability to speak after he had his stroke, I read him poetry as he lay dying. And as I started to cry, we went straight into filming the scene.
I was really drained emotionally after that shoot, plus Alabama had to win the national championship Thursday night (Roll Tide!), so I had an early bedtime. Friday I had an 8 a.m. call time for the Chevy commercial shoot, which consisted mostly of me getting dressed, having my hair and make-up done, and watching the shoots with the other three girls who were also playing the male lead's "speed dates." He was playing an obnoxious drunk, and it was amusing to watch him disgust each of them in rapid succession. My actual "work" time spent filming the scene was about five minutes. And because by this time I had worked three days in a row,I was crashing physically with joint pain all over. So I decided not to go to my next audition, which was for a play, because it involved dancing, and it was for no pay.
Which brings me to the main topic of this post: actors working for free. You may have noticed that I mentioned that I got five job offers this week, and two of them did not pay. Both were for background roles in feature films, and both were offering screen credit, which means that you get your name at the end of the movie when the credits roll. More importantly, you get a credit in the bible of the film industry, the Internet Movie Database, or IMDb. When I was first working, and even now, IMDb credit is often enough to get me to a set. Many agents won't even consider taking an actor on unless they have significant IMDb credits. The more you have, the better you look to casting directors too, even if it is as background. This week, I turned the jobs down, because I would have had to come back to LA early and end my Christmas break prior to January 4, and I just decided not to do it.
Most people would be amazed at how many projects in the entertainment industry pay no more than "CCM" (credit, copy, & meals). This is true of almost every student film, although many have started adding gas money as well. But it's also true for many independent short and even feature films, and a surprisingly high number of well-known artists' music videos. Why do they do it? In short, because they can get away with it. Most of these projects do not have any sort of union agreement that covers the performers, so they don't even have to pay minimum wage. And nearly everyone wants the chance to be on TV, or in a movie, or even in a short film. So there are always plenty of actors to work for free, even if you decide you aren't.
For a long time, I did work for free, and even now, on some projects, I will still work for food and gas money (yes, I said it: WILL WORK FOR FOOD). Why? Well, everyone has to start somewhere, and I needed experience. I started with community theatre, which almost never pays, and because it was so much fun I really didn't mind it. I also started doing short films, made by students or independent directors, for free. I did this because every actor, in order to be taken at all seriously by an agent, must have a "reel." A reel is a collection of your best work, usually five minutes of film or less. Ideally, it showcases your range of emotions, and it should be of excellent quality and as current as possible.
I finally got enough footage to put my first reel together in 2006, after I had been acting for nearly five years. Reels are excellent marketing tools, because they can be mailed to prospective agents or posted to the numerous casting databases that are available to actors. Mine is available on Now Casting, Actor's Access, LA Casting, and SF Casting, and the 2006 one is still my main reel because it's really good. I used a great company, Reels for Actors, to put it together, for about $300; there are many good companies in LA who do this for as little as $99. And I started getting more roles almost immediately after I put it online. But every job on that reel was one I did for free.
But now that I have a good reel and quite a few more clips for a new one, plus several clips available on You Tube, I am taking a much harder line on working for free. In actors workshops, teachers will tell you straight up: "Professionals don't work for free." And now that I am trying to do all the things professional actors do (like, be on time, have your lines learned, show up for auditions; you know, the little things), I have decided that I am not going to work for free UNLESS: it is a new type of character for me that might lead to different types of work (like when Charlize Theron played a serial killer; they call that "casting against type"); it is a work that I write or co-write; I'm doing it on spec (that means we might sell it later) or for a friend (Jon Heder did "Napoleon Dynamite" for free for a friend; that worked out pretty well for him); or, it's a nice day, they need background for a park scene, there's free food, and I want to spend the day outside. You know, sometimes you just gotta do this because it's fun.
Til next time-
Jennie
When I arrived in LA on Wednesday, I went to a fitting for my first job, a commercial for Chevy Denmark which will be my first featured role in a "name" commercial. This company hired me without an audition, based on a funny clip I referred them to from the web series parody I did in late 2008, called "Whorified! The Search for America's Next Top Whore." After a morning audition for a character similar to Judi Dench's "M" in the James Bond movies (for another commercial), I spent Thursday afternoon shooting a long scene to be used to train psychologists. I played a woman who feels betrayed by her therapist because she has fallen in love with, and been rejected by, him. It was very intense and emotional, and for the first time, I was able to cry on camera. I got the tears by telling the director about my father, who used to recite long passages of poetry from memory, and how when he lost the ability to speak after he had his stroke, I read him poetry as he lay dying. And as I started to cry, we went straight into filming the scene.
I was really drained emotionally after that shoot, plus Alabama had to win the national championship Thursday night (Roll Tide!), so I had an early bedtime. Friday I had an 8 a.m. call time for the Chevy commercial shoot, which consisted mostly of me getting dressed, having my hair and make-up done, and watching the shoots with the other three girls who were also playing the male lead's "speed dates." He was playing an obnoxious drunk, and it was amusing to watch him disgust each of them in rapid succession. My actual "work" time spent filming the scene was about five minutes. And because by this time I had worked three days in a row,I was crashing physically with joint pain all over. So I decided not to go to my next audition, which was for a play, because it involved dancing, and it was for no pay.
Which brings me to the main topic of this post: actors working for free. You may have noticed that I mentioned that I got five job offers this week, and two of them did not pay. Both were for background roles in feature films, and both were offering screen credit, which means that you get your name at the end of the movie when the credits roll. More importantly, you get a credit in the bible of the film industry, the Internet Movie Database, or IMDb. When I was first working, and even now, IMDb credit is often enough to get me to a set. Many agents won't even consider taking an actor on unless they have significant IMDb credits. The more you have, the better you look to casting directors too, even if it is as background. This week, I turned the jobs down, because I would have had to come back to LA early and end my Christmas break prior to January 4, and I just decided not to do it.
Most people would be amazed at how many projects in the entertainment industry pay no more than "CCM" (credit, copy, & meals). This is true of almost every student film, although many have started adding gas money as well. But it's also true for many independent short and even feature films, and a surprisingly high number of well-known artists' music videos. Why do they do it? In short, because they can get away with it. Most of these projects do not have any sort of union agreement that covers the performers, so they don't even have to pay minimum wage. And nearly everyone wants the chance to be on TV, or in a movie, or even in a short film. So there are always plenty of actors to work for free, even if you decide you aren't.
For a long time, I did work for free, and even now, on some projects, I will still work for food and gas money (yes, I said it: WILL WORK FOR FOOD). Why? Well, everyone has to start somewhere, and I needed experience. I started with community theatre, which almost never pays, and because it was so much fun I really didn't mind it. I also started doing short films, made by students or independent directors, for free. I did this because every actor, in order to be taken at all seriously by an agent, must have a "reel." A reel is a collection of your best work, usually five minutes of film or less. Ideally, it showcases your range of emotions, and it should be of excellent quality and as current as possible.
I finally got enough footage to put my first reel together in 2006, after I had been acting for nearly five years. Reels are excellent marketing tools, because they can be mailed to prospective agents or posted to the numerous casting databases that are available to actors. Mine is available on Now Casting, Actor's Access, LA Casting, and SF Casting, and the 2006 one is still my main reel because it's really good. I used a great company, Reels for Actors, to put it together, for about $300; there are many good companies in LA who do this for as little as $99. And I started getting more roles almost immediately after I put it online. But every job on that reel was one I did for free.
But now that I have a good reel and quite a few more clips for a new one, plus several clips available on You Tube, I am taking a much harder line on working for free. In actors workshops, teachers will tell you straight up: "Professionals don't work for free." And now that I am trying to do all the things professional actors do (like, be on time, have your lines learned, show up for auditions; you know, the little things), I have decided that I am not going to work for free UNLESS: it is a new type of character for me that might lead to different types of work (like when Charlize Theron played a serial killer; they call that "casting against type"); it is a work that I write or co-write; I'm doing it on spec (that means we might sell it later) or for a friend (Jon Heder did "Napoleon Dynamite" for free for a friend; that worked out pretty well for him); or, it's a nice day, they need background for a park scene, there's free food, and I want to spend the day outside. You know, sometimes you just gotta do this because it's fun.
Til next time-
Jennie
Monday, January 4, 2010
This Actor's Life
As an actor married to a spouse who is able to support me while I pursue my acting career virtually full-time, I realize I am in the minority. I have read that many of the legends in this business, like Katherine Hepburn, were independently wealthy and thus lucky enough to be able to act full-time from day one. But most of the actors I have known over the years are forced to take a full-time job to support themselves, limiting their acting endeavors to nights and weekends, unless they are lucky enough to have a job with flexible hours. Others live in apartments with multiple roommates to keep expenses low so they can work part-time in order to leave as many hours open for auditions as possible, because in this business, if you can't audition, you won't make it past background (also known as extras) roles. As an actor, you've got to be available as much as possible, because if you aren't, there is always someone else who will be.
Availability is one of the reasons I decided to take an apartment in LA. For the first four years of my acting career, I was content to work in San Francisco, doing community theatre, extra work in movies, the occasional commercial, and student films. But the more I worked, the more I wanted to work, and there's just not that much going on in the way of film acting in San Francisco. Plus, theatre work is grueling - two months of rehearsals, usually followed by a six-week run. If it's a musical, you are singing and dancing, which is hard on a young, healthy body. My body is neither young nor healthy, and I was in agony during my last musical, "Merrily We Roll Along," which I did in 2005. So I decided to concentrate on film, and that meant working in LA, which meant being available in LA.
I started out with a three-month trial in 2005, getting a furnished one-bedroom apartment over the Internet on a short-term lease for only $700 a month. First lesson learned: Don't rent an apartment without seeing it first. When I went to move in on a rainy January day, the apartment was fine - a large cozy ground-floor space in a Victorian house in the historic West Adams area of LA. The problem was that the building was almost directly under the I-10/110 interchange, one of the busiest in LA, and traffic helicopters buzzed over at all hours of the day and night. In addition, this was in the notorious South Central section of LA, and although it wasn't so far south as to be really dangerous, I definitely was in the minority as the only white girl in the Victorian where I lived, in a heavily Latino neighborhood. But I came to love it, except for the helicopters. I learned to use earplugs to sleep, but as I started working regularly I realized that West Adams was a long way from the studios were most of my jobs were; it was really only convenient for the many student films that I began to shoot at USC and other film schools in the area.
I had picked up a guide called "Making the Most of Your First Year in LA," which I condensed into making the most of my three months in LA. Fortunately, I already had been to LA several times, so I knew the city reasonably well, and I had a car. I also had a steady income, which meant I could focus on acting without the need for another job. Following the advice of this guide, the first thing I did was register for background work at Central Casting, which still pretty much casts for all the television shows and many of the films shot in the LA area. I also registered with a couple of the top casting agencies listed in the guide, one of whom sent me out on a job the very next day. This job was as a nurse on a pilot of a brand new series, which turned out to be the huge hit "Grey's Anatomy." So within my first full week in Hollywood, I worked with Patrick Dempsey, Sandra Oh, and T.J. McKnight, and even had a close-up, on a major television series. I thought, "this is going to be easy."
And it is relatively easy to become a background actor. While waiting to used on set (and we spend a LOT of time waiting to be used), I talk with other actors about their careers, and we trade tips about what has worked for us. Many of them are career extras, meaning all they do is work in the background on shows like "House" or "Desperate Housewives." Most of them are SAG members (I am a member of AFTRA now, but not yet in SAG; more on that later), so the money is pretty good, about $200 a day, and the work is easy. Plus, we get fed on set, sometimes three meals depending on how long the day is, and many actors can be seen surreptitiously stuffing their pockets with extra rolls and fruit to take home, another way to save money (the term "starving actor" is quite often a literal one). Extras of all ages are needed; I once talked to a man on set who was 84 years old and said he did this "just to get out of the house." Many retirees are background actors, just to make a little extra money and give them something pleasant to do.
But, if you want to be more than an extra, you've got to work, and work hard. I would estimate that 80% of my time goes into finding acting jobs, rather than actually acting. In addition to being registered with casting agencies, I also am registered with several databases which list castings, where I can apply for casting notices suited to me. I pay anywhere from $50 to $240 a year for these databases, and currently I subscribe to six of them. They are a goldmine for actors, especially those who don't have agents, because you can get your headshot and resume in front of casting directors who otherwise might not ever see you. I usually do my submissions first thing in the morning, because posting to them early is important; most CDs will stop looking after about 30 headshots per role or so. I do have an agent now, in both LA and San Francisco, but to this day I have never booked any work through them; all of my work I have booked on my own. They have sent me out on auditions, but usually I am not the right type and haven't gotten the job. I hope that will change this year, as I am working closer with my agents to try to define more clearly what my best types are (mothers, teachers, nurses, but with a comic or dark edge).
So with the new year upon me, I am heading back to Los Angeles. I am booked for my first job on January 7, an "industrial" (the term for a video to be used for internal purposes in business) training video for psychologists. I'll drive down today or tomorrow (it's 360 miles, so it pretty much takes all day), and hopefully get in a day or two of background work this week. When I am there, I usually stay for a week to ten days, just to make the time between trips longer so I can rest up for the return. It's hard on my body, and not the easiest for my marriage, but my husband and I talk every day, and he understands that this life is not forever. But if I am going to give it my all, I've got to be available, and being available for now means being in LA.
Till next time,
Jennie
Availability is one of the reasons I decided to take an apartment in LA. For the first four years of my acting career, I was content to work in San Francisco, doing community theatre, extra work in movies, the occasional commercial, and student films. But the more I worked, the more I wanted to work, and there's just not that much going on in the way of film acting in San Francisco. Plus, theatre work is grueling - two months of rehearsals, usually followed by a six-week run. If it's a musical, you are singing and dancing, which is hard on a young, healthy body. My body is neither young nor healthy, and I was in agony during my last musical, "Merrily We Roll Along," which I did in 2005. So I decided to concentrate on film, and that meant working in LA, which meant being available in LA.
I started out with a three-month trial in 2005, getting a furnished one-bedroom apartment over the Internet on a short-term lease for only $700 a month. First lesson learned: Don't rent an apartment without seeing it first. When I went to move in on a rainy January day, the apartment was fine - a large cozy ground-floor space in a Victorian house in the historic West Adams area of LA. The problem was that the building was almost directly under the I-10/110 interchange, one of the busiest in LA, and traffic helicopters buzzed over at all hours of the day and night. In addition, this was in the notorious South Central section of LA, and although it wasn't so far south as to be really dangerous, I definitely was in the minority as the only white girl in the Victorian where I lived, in a heavily Latino neighborhood. But I came to love it, except for the helicopters. I learned to use earplugs to sleep, but as I started working regularly I realized that West Adams was a long way from the studios were most of my jobs were; it was really only convenient for the many student films that I began to shoot at USC and other film schools in the area.
I had picked up a guide called "Making the Most of Your First Year in LA," which I condensed into making the most of my three months in LA. Fortunately, I already had been to LA several times, so I knew the city reasonably well, and I had a car. I also had a steady income, which meant I could focus on acting without the need for another job. Following the advice of this guide, the first thing I did was register for background work at Central Casting, which still pretty much casts for all the television shows and many of the films shot in the LA area. I also registered with a couple of the top casting agencies listed in the guide, one of whom sent me out on a job the very next day. This job was as a nurse on a pilot of a brand new series, which turned out to be the huge hit "Grey's Anatomy." So within my first full week in Hollywood, I worked with Patrick Dempsey, Sandra Oh, and T.J. McKnight, and even had a close-up, on a major television series. I thought, "this is going to be easy."
And it is relatively easy to become a background actor. While waiting to used on set (and we spend a LOT of time waiting to be used), I talk with other actors about their careers, and we trade tips about what has worked for us. Many of them are career extras, meaning all they do is work in the background on shows like "House" or "Desperate Housewives." Most of them are SAG members (I am a member of AFTRA now, but not yet in SAG; more on that later), so the money is pretty good, about $200 a day, and the work is easy. Plus, we get fed on set, sometimes three meals depending on how long the day is, and many actors can be seen surreptitiously stuffing their pockets with extra rolls and fruit to take home, another way to save money (the term "starving actor" is quite often a literal one). Extras of all ages are needed; I once talked to a man on set who was 84 years old and said he did this "just to get out of the house." Many retirees are background actors, just to make a little extra money and give them something pleasant to do.
But, if you want to be more than an extra, you've got to work, and work hard. I would estimate that 80% of my time goes into finding acting jobs, rather than actually acting. In addition to being registered with casting agencies, I also am registered with several databases which list castings, where I can apply for casting notices suited to me. I pay anywhere from $50 to $240 a year for these databases, and currently I subscribe to six of them. They are a goldmine for actors, especially those who don't have agents, because you can get your headshot and resume in front of casting directors who otherwise might not ever see you. I usually do my submissions first thing in the morning, because posting to them early is important; most CDs will stop looking after about 30 headshots per role or so. I do have an agent now, in both LA and San Francisco, but to this day I have never booked any work through them; all of my work I have booked on my own. They have sent me out on auditions, but usually I am not the right type and haven't gotten the job. I hope that will change this year, as I am working closer with my agents to try to define more clearly what my best types are (mothers, teachers, nurses, but with a comic or dark edge).
So with the new year upon me, I am heading back to Los Angeles. I am booked for my first job on January 7, an "industrial" (the term for a video to be used for internal purposes in business) training video for psychologists. I'll drive down today or tomorrow (it's 360 miles, so it pretty much takes all day), and hopefully get in a day or two of background work this week. When I am there, I usually stay for a week to ten days, just to make the time between trips longer so I can rest up for the return. It's hard on my body, and not the easiest for my marriage, but my husband and I talk every day, and he understands that this life is not forever. But if I am going to give it my all, I've got to be available, and being available for now means being in LA.
Till next time,
Jennie
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Overnight Success: A History
My name is Jennie Floyd. I started acting in September of 2001, although technically my first performance was in the play I wrote for my class to perform for Thanksgiving in the fifth grade. I've always been what my mother likes to call a "ham," a natural entertainer who loves attention and making people laugh. My father couldn't carry a tune, but he loved music, and he taught me "Summertime" from "Porgy and Bess" when I was three years old, and I have been a singer ever since. I always thought that if I became a professional entertainer, it would be as a singer. But life didn't work out that way.
Let me give you a little background. I was born in North Carolina, the third child (of four) of Henry and Rubie Floyd, a well-educated, upper-middle-class couple from South Carolina with roots in the South that predated the Mayflower (seriously; I have an ancestor who signed the Declaration of Independence, and another who fought in the Civil War, on the losing side). We moved to Huntsville, Alabama, when I was five, and I lived there until I was 23. I recall giving my first public singing performance for my Sunday School class when I was three (every verse of "Here Comes Peter Cottontail"), and like most little girls of my generation, I studied piano and dance for eight years during elementary and junior high school, but oddly, never voice. I began to discover I had an aptitude for pop singing when I starting dating a drummer for a garage band, who encouraged me to sing Carly Simon, Carole King, and Heart. I could really sing, and when I saw my first performance of "Oklahoma!" and realized one could sing and act at the same time, I said to my mother, "that's what I want to do when I grow up." But she just laughed. We never discussed it seriously.
I guess in the South in the mid-70s, a smart girl like me just didn't go into acting. For I was really smart too - I graduated in the top 20 of my class of 450, and was offered four scholarships to colleges, one to the local arm of the University of Alabama. I don't have many regrets in life, but my biggest one is taking the scholarship to UAH and studying business there, instead of pursuing a degree at Bryn Mawr, the Philadelphia girls' school that recruited me and that my father had encouraged me, mildly, to at least consider. But I was in love, and afraid to leave the South; it would take me 15 years before I got the courage to move North and really begin to act on my musical ambitions.
So where did acting come in? Well, I had acted in a short film in my freshman year, starring in a friend's student film as a sexy hitchhiker that included a epic Volkswagen bug-packing scene (we crammed in, I think, 15 people). I also played Guinevere and Moll Flanders in a couple of short plays in literature classes. Each time I loved the feeling of being someone else, completely liberated from the normally shy, somewhat reserved girl that I was. But after I graduated from college and went into sales, I saved my performing skills for sales presentations. I didn't even realize community theatre existed until much later. I was very successful in my business career, and I dabbled in a singing career on the side for almost 20 years, singing in various bands and choirs, and as a soloist at church and in countless weddings. This may have been enough to sustain me, but my health began to mysteriously deteriorate beginning in the early 1990s.
I was newly divorced, working full-time as well as getting an executive MBA at Vanderbilt, active in my church music program, and juggling a busy social life, and suddenly I just seemed to lose all of my energy. I developed persistent bronchitis and became dangerously thin. My company re-organized me into a job I hated, and I decided it was time to make some changes. With the help of a career counselor, I managed to get myself into a less-stressful job, finally make the move to the Northeast, closer to Broadway, and start pursuing my musical dreams again by recording my first demo tape and became a "wedding singer" at my new home in New Jersey. All of these changes made me much happier, my health improved, and I met my now-husband.
After an idyllic three years, though, industry changes made us reconsider where to live, and we moved to the San Francisco Bay Area at the end of 1995 when the dot.com boom was in full swing. Unfortunately, I got right back into a job that I ultimately hated, and within three years my health collapsed again, this time for good. I was diagnosed with a serious genetic autoimmune disorder, and then in 2000 took a bad fall that ruptured a disc in my back and put a permanent end to my business career.
And this is what gets me, finally, to acting. Because I had to retire from business, I had all kinds of time to think about what I wanted to do, and what I was able to do, physically, instead of work in business. At first I thought this would be the time for me to finally pursue my singing career full-time, and I tried my best to make that happen. I formed a jazz band, learned standards, took voice lessons, and recorded a demo CD. I also fulfilled a lifetime goal of recording an album of my own songs (mostly country-flavored rock). My band and I did perform at quite a few venues, but the other members were in other bands, and not devoted to the marketing it takes to make this kind of thing happen. Then in late 2000 I had a ruptured appendix and could not sing for several months. So the band slowly dis-banded. I also tried "mystery shopping," a fun job that allowed me to do customer service evaluations as an independent contractor. I liked this because I could pretend I was "acting" when I was doing the scenario that companies wanted, and I got two great trips to evaluate hotels in Buenos Aires and Venezuela. But ultimately I got really tired of how hard I had to work for so little money.
Then in May of 2001, I saw a class in Musical Theatre offered at my local community center, and I remembered seeing "Oklahoma!" as a child. I thought, why not, and signed up. I had a wonderful instructor, who taught me how to "act" a song, and who encouraged me to audition for the local community theatre's upcoming production of "Little Shop of Horrors." I told him that, at 42, I thought I was too old to start acting. He laughed and said it was never too late to start acting. I was dubious, but I summoned up my courage and surprised myself by loving the audition process. What was a monologue but a sale presentation? And I got to sing! So, I was offered a part in the ensemble as a prostitute (one which has proved to be one of my best types!), and I have pretty much been a working actress every since.
So, what's with the "overnight success?" Well, there is an adage among actors that "it takes eight years to become an overnight success." I now have been acting for eight years, so if this adage is true, 2010 should be my year to be "an overnight success." Although I have had an apartment in LA before (three months in 2005, 16 months 2006-07), this will be my first full year of actually "living" in Hollywood as a member of a union (AFTRA), with an agent, and with a pretty impressive body of work. I also have three feature films coming out this year, and will be featured in the web series "Coming2Hollywood," which showcases rising stars, beginning in January. So I thought now would be a good time to write about what happens this year, whether I "make it" or not.
There are many ways to "make it:" many actors consider working steadily and making enough money to live on as an actor to be the definition of making it. It's a little different for me. I've been working nearly every week for the last two years, and I don't need to make enough money to live on, because my husband's generosity, and my disability income, cover my expenses. Obviously, I'd like to work every week and make $800 a month (to cover my expenses in Hollywood). But to me, really making it would mean a co-starring or supporting role on a network or cable sitcom, making mid-six-figures a year. The ultimate "making it," though, would entail winning an Emmy for this work, or winning an Oscar for my work in film ("Child of God" would be my first opportunity, in a leading role). I figure one should dream big.
I'm going to try to do this more or less daily, or whenever I have something interesting (I hope!) to say. I look forward to your comments, and I hope you enjoy reading about my "overnight success."
Blessings,
Jennie
Let me give you a little background. I was born in North Carolina, the third child (of four) of Henry and Rubie Floyd, a well-educated, upper-middle-class couple from South Carolina with roots in the South that predated the Mayflower (seriously; I have an ancestor who signed the Declaration of Independence, and another who fought in the Civil War, on the losing side). We moved to Huntsville, Alabama, when I was five, and I lived there until I was 23. I recall giving my first public singing performance for my Sunday School class when I was three (every verse of "Here Comes Peter Cottontail"), and like most little girls of my generation, I studied piano and dance for eight years during elementary and junior high school, but oddly, never voice. I began to discover I had an aptitude for pop singing when I starting dating a drummer for a garage band, who encouraged me to sing Carly Simon, Carole King, and Heart. I could really sing, and when I saw my first performance of "Oklahoma!" and realized one could sing and act at the same time, I said to my mother, "that's what I want to do when I grow up." But she just laughed. We never discussed it seriously.
I guess in the South in the mid-70s, a smart girl like me just didn't go into acting. For I was really smart too - I graduated in the top 20 of my class of 450, and was offered four scholarships to colleges, one to the local arm of the University of Alabama. I don't have many regrets in life, but my biggest one is taking the scholarship to UAH and studying business there, instead of pursuing a degree at Bryn Mawr, the Philadelphia girls' school that recruited me and that my father had encouraged me, mildly, to at least consider. But I was in love, and afraid to leave the South; it would take me 15 years before I got the courage to move North and really begin to act on my musical ambitions.
So where did acting come in? Well, I had acted in a short film in my freshman year, starring in a friend's student film as a sexy hitchhiker that included a epic Volkswagen bug-packing scene (we crammed in, I think, 15 people). I also played Guinevere and Moll Flanders in a couple of short plays in literature classes. Each time I loved the feeling of being someone else, completely liberated from the normally shy, somewhat reserved girl that I was. But after I graduated from college and went into sales, I saved my performing skills for sales presentations. I didn't even realize community theatre existed until much later. I was very successful in my business career, and I dabbled in a singing career on the side for almost 20 years, singing in various bands and choirs, and as a soloist at church and in countless weddings. This may have been enough to sustain me, but my health began to mysteriously deteriorate beginning in the early 1990s.
I was newly divorced, working full-time as well as getting an executive MBA at Vanderbilt, active in my church music program, and juggling a busy social life, and suddenly I just seemed to lose all of my energy. I developed persistent bronchitis and became dangerously thin. My company re-organized me into a job I hated, and I decided it was time to make some changes. With the help of a career counselor, I managed to get myself into a less-stressful job, finally make the move to the Northeast, closer to Broadway, and start pursuing my musical dreams again by recording my first demo tape and became a "wedding singer" at my new home in New Jersey. All of these changes made me much happier, my health improved, and I met my now-husband.
After an idyllic three years, though, industry changes made us reconsider where to live, and we moved to the San Francisco Bay Area at the end of 1995 when the dot.com boom was in full swing. Unfortunately, I got right back into a job that I ultimately hated, and within three years my health collapsed again, this time for good. I was diagnosed with a serious genetic autoimmune disorder, and then in 2000 took a bad fall that ruptured a disc in my back and put a permanent end to my business career.
And this is what gets me, finally, to acting. Because I had to retire from business, I had all kinds of time to think about what I wanted to do, and what I was able to do, physically, instead of work in business. At first I thought this would be the time for me to finally pursue my singing career full-time, and I tried my best to make that happen. I formed a jazz band, learned standards, took voice lessons, and recorded a demo CD. I also fulfilled a lifetime goal of recording an album of my own songs (mostly country-flavored rock). My band and I did perform at quite a few venues, but the other members were in other bands, and not devoted to the marketing it takes to make this kind of thing happen. Then in late 2000 I had a ruptured appendix and could not sing for several months. So the band slowly dis-banded. I also tried "mystery shopping," a fun job that allowed me to do customer service evaluations as an independent contractor. I liked this because I could pretend I was "acting" when I was doing the scenario that companies wanted, and I got two great trips to evaluate hotels in Buenos Aires and Venezuela. But ultimately I got really tired of how hard I had to work for so little money.
Then in May of 2001, I saw a class in Musical Theatre offered at my local community center, and I remembered seeing "Oklahoma!" as a child. I thought, why not, and signed up. I had a wonderful instructor, who taught me how to "act" a song, and who encouraged me to audition for the local community theatre's upcoming production of "Little Shop of Horrors." I told him that, at 42, I thought I was too old to start acting. He laughed and said it was never too late to start acting. I was dubious, but I summoned up my courage and surprised myself by loving the audition process. What was a monologue but a sale presentation? And I got to sing! So, I was offered a part in the ensemble as a prostitute (one which has proved to be one of my best types!), and I have pretty much been a working actress every since.
So, what's with the "overnight success?" Well, there is an adage among actors that "it takes eight years to become an overnight success." I now have been acting for eight years, so if this adage is true, 2010 should be my year to be "an overnight success." Although I have had an apartment in LA before (three months in 2005, 16 months 2006-07), this will be my first full year of actually "living" in Hollywood as a member of a union (AFTRA), with an agent, and with a pretty impressive body of work. I also have three feature films coming out this year, and will be featured in the web series "Coming2Hollywood," which showcases rising stars, beginning in January. So I thought now would be a good time to write about what happens this year, whether I "make it" or not.
There are many ways to "make it:" many actors consider working steadily and making enough money to live on as an actor to be the definition of making it. It's a little different for me. I've been working nearly every week for the last two years, and I don't need to make enough money to live on, because my husband's generosity, and my disability income, cover my expenses. Obviously, I'd like to work every week and make $800 a month (to cover my expenses in Hollywood). But to me, really making it would mean a co-starring or supporting role on a network or cable sitcom, making mid-six-figures a year. The ultimate "making it," though, would entail winning an Emmy for this work, or winning an Oscar for my work in film ("Child of God" would be my first opportunity, in a leading role). I figure one should dream big.
I'm going to try to do this more or less daily, or whenever I have something interesting (I hope!) to say. I look forward to your comments, and I hope you enjoy reading about my "overnight success."
Blessings,
Jennie
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