"Gracefully Surrendering the Things of Youth"

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