Getting over myself: Lesson #672

The Fringe show I’m stage managing is a collective creation project. More on that to come. And while we don’t yet have a full show, we do have a clever little song. And our wonderful director has a vision about how that song should be performed. This vision includes a verse sung from the booth…and the person in the booth would be…me. Right.

Apparently I neglected to mention that singing in public is not in my contract (and I would sooner die).

The lovely assistant director came to my defence, to which the response was: “Oh please, she went to theatre school at NYU, I think she can handle it…”

Touché. Ok, Director, you win this round.

And really, it’s more talking than singing. I think I can handle it, too. But way to foil the plan, silly NYU theatre education, you have officially invalidated any excuse I will ever manage to come up with to not do anything for the rest of my theatrical career/life…geez.

Flying: A Retrospective on my years of airline travel

Greetings from 30,000 feet. Well, sort of. Because I’m typing it up here but I’m not posting it from here. There will be no more forking over of my dollars for modern conveniences (like checking baggage and food…seriously) on this little aeroplane adventure.  Sigh, I remember the days when they actually fed you for free if you spent more than three hours in the air…even if it was crappy airplane food. Oh, nostalgia. Although, there is one redeeming factor of the long-haul (or long-ish haul) flight that has remained: the in-flight movie. That is, unless the in-flight movie is Race to Witch Mountain. I am all for the family friendly movie and whatnot, but I will not be supporting the film career of Mr. The Rock in any way, shape, or form.  Seriously, Disney, that will be enough. 

And it was Inkheart on the way here. Which I tolerated because I was flying First Class (The Photographer’s Dad is rich in frequent flyer points, thank you very much) and the costumes were pretty cool…Really, who is in charge of choosing these things? I think I need to write a letter.

So I’m on a plane full of crew members (as passengers…I’ve never seen this many of them before…I guess this means there are plenty of people aboard who could land this thing in the event of an emergency…) and Mormon missionaries (I know this because they’re wearing badges that tell me so) with nothing to do.  What an interesting life I lead…

I don’t remember the first time I was on a plane.  I was an infant and my parents took me to Puerto Rico.  Apparently I was well-behaved, but I’m not sure any baby, even a good one, is cute when you’re trapped in a pressurized sardine can with it for several hours.  I did a reasonable amount of travelling as a child, at least one trip a year. I’ve had a pretty privileged existence that way, I’m aware (and grateful).  And I got to see the pilots in the cockpit (clearly, this was all pre-9/11) and I remember Canadian Airlines used to give out colouring books.  In some ways, the getting on a plane part of travelling used to be my favourite. But times have changed.

This whole jet-setting thing is not as glamorous as it may seem.  It’s a lot of packing, waiting in lines, dealing with airport security (which pretty much has carte-blanche to do whatever they want these days, at least in the US…and whether this is to the benefit of our safety is up for debate) or, heaven forbid, Customs, being herded from lines to waiting areas to planes, stuffing bags into already stuffed overhead compartments, jostling for elbow/leg room, spending several hours in less than comfortable seats (and I’m not that big a person, I don’t know how some people manage it…even average sized humans), and finally arriving wherever you’re going basically exhausted.  The stories I could tell…I once flew out of what was basically a giant party tent by the side of a runway. The tickets were dirt cheap. Clearly, the sketch-factor of the experience was reflective of that. Anyway…

I used to fly back and forth fairly regularly between school in New York, my parents’ house in Michigan, The Photographer in Toronto/London, ON, and various other locations abroad.  I spent a large portion of my university life either in an airport or on a plane.  I was basically an expert on the art of air travel.  I had the time it took to get from my apartment in New York to LaGuardia, through security, and onto the plane without spending an extra minute waiting in what I would argue is one of the lousiest airports around down to a science.  And I’m not overly anxious in the air, but I was getting to the point where I just about needed meds to get on a plane.   Something about hurtling through the air in an over-glorified tin can just seems unnatural.So while I miss all the cool places I got to visit, I don’t miss the actual act of travelling.  This is where people get confused. Being somewhere new, interesting, amazing, that’s the glamorous part. Travelling, the getting there part, is not.  The fact that until this trip I hadn’t been on a plane in about a year is thrilling.  Because if you do something frequently enough, it kind of stops being fun.  It becomes a chore, an unpleasant necessity, and you take it for granted.

But I was thinking as we took off over the Great Salt Lake that flying has once again become kind of novel in my world, like it was when I was little, especially on a clear day with a window seat (although my camera is stuffed in the bin overhead, which is really too bad because it was beautiful).  I once again appreciate the wonder of going places.  I’m not so travelled-out as I once was.  And despite the lack of food, the fact that you now have to pay to check even one bag, the ban on doing pretty much anything other than sitting in your seat quietly, and the general lameness of the in-flight movie selections, it’s all kind of worth it to see the world from up here.

We weren’t really meant to fly, or so I gather by our lack of wings, but the view is pretty incredible.

NYU's Newest Undergrad!

My lovely little protege, a friend of The Photographer's sister, has been on an exhausting audition tour of basically every prestigious theatre school in the US of A. She has been everywhere from Minnesota to Juilliard, learning the ins and outs of auditioning for theatre programs. And I have been supplying advice and encouragement via email throughout the journey (despite my own audition issues, I do give pretty good advice)...oh, and I've answered about six million questions. Which I loved doing because I wish I'd had someone to answer all my questions when I was making the rounds as a fresh faced, idealistic 18 year old.

Well, I'm pleased to announce that as of yesterday she has been accepted to her number one choice, New York University. She'll be joining the ranks of their musical theatre program (CAP21) in the fall..and I am sure she'll be amazing! So proud!!

Changing how you think of yourself changes everything.

My first year at university the head of the drama department told us that the difference between actors from our school and actors from other schools is that actors from our school have ideas. I wasn't sure what exactly this meant at the time, but I know it sounded exciting. What he meant was that when we graduate, it is with ideas about what is means to be an actor and what it means to be an artist. These ideas are not, I would argue, specific to me and my fellow alumni but my alma mater did take painstaking care to instill them in each of us. Over four years of very intense training, equal parts practice and theory, we developed our own sense of what each of these titles meant to us. Always, we were encouraged to view ourselves not just as actors but as theatre artists.

This concept of myself as a theatre artist was frequently challenging for me. While I have more than a few ideas about acting, about theatre, about the world, I always felt false referring to myself as a "theatre artist." To me, it sounded pompous, arrogant, pretentious...Perhaps because I have seen it portrayed as such so many times. But it doesn't have to be. In fact, thinking of yourself as a theatre artist can be liberating. This is what I am learning now.

Creating a career in theatre is a Herculian task, requiring an iron will and unwavering determination. Any advantage you can give yourself in this pursuit is invaluable; thinking of yourself as an actor only is limiting, stifling even, and discounts your worth to the theatre world. Any well-trained actor is capable of contributing to more than just what is happening on stage (in my opinion not only are we capable of it, but it is our responsibility). And when you realize this, you begin to understand how the potential for a career in theatre is infinite.

I have an unexpected and intriguing interview today for an unpaid internship with an artistic development program. It isn't my dream job; it isn't on stage. It isn't a job for an actor. But it is an opportunity to grow as an artist and to engage in the theatre in a new and meaningful way. It is an opportunity to demonstrate the breadth of what I am capable of. If everything goes well it has the potential to lead to a productive relationship with a prominent theatre group and to further ideas and opportunities. I think this is the modern day version of "paying your dues."

Tom Stoppard's Coast of Utopia was on stage at Lincoln Center in my final year of university and one night a favourite professor (also a well-respected theatre critic and editor) decided to use his second comped ticket for a good cause. Namely, me. It was the best seat I ever had in a New York City theatre. And not just for the fantastic view of the stage. As we sat there talking about my future plans and pipe dreams he told me something I have carried with me every day since: It is very difficult to make a living in the theatre, but, if you want to, you can make a life in the theatre.

So I propose that the difference between "actor" and "artist" is this: to be solely an actor is to limit yourself to the neverending pursuit of a near impossible living, whereas to be an artist is to open yourself up to the possibility of a life.

The neck bone is connected to...

Today I want to talk about one of the many bits of wisdom I picked up in Theatre School. Now, Theatre School is quite different from, say, Business School or Medical School or any other kind of School. It’s unconventional, to say the least. The good Theatre Schools are, anyway, and my alma mater certainly falls into that category.

Today’s lesson is about how Casting Directors have no imagination. You, as an actor and potential castee, must spell it out for them. For some casting directors (and I do know some) this is not the case. But for many, especially the ones who don’t love their jobs and aren’t particularly successful, it is. And here is a story to illustrate my point.

In my final year at Theatre School, I spent a semester having my soul sucked out by a camera learning how to act for film and television; it is a completely different art form than theatre. As part of this foray into the dark side we were required to meet every Monday night with industry professionals. These included casting directors, commercial casting directors, agents, and managers. It was, well, interesting.

The majority of people who came in were nice and encouraging. Some were even intelligent. The best of them tended to be of the agent or manager persuasion, though there were a few bitter ex-actors thrown in: word of advice, you don’t ever want to work with one of these. The worst tended to be commercial casting directors. My disclaimer is, of course, that not all casting directors or commercial casting directors are like this. But you should probably go in expecting them to be; if they aren’t, consider it a pleasant surprise.

My group’s first encounter was with a commercial casting director who we’ll call “Horace” (Why “Horace?” Why not?). The idea was for him to impart the wisdom of his experience to the eager little actors before we took turns reading mindless drivel commercial copy for him. The reality was that this man obviously had not much of a personal life and viewed this as a phenomenal opportunity for him to command an audience and run the show. He certainly thought he was charismatic. And maybe in real life Horace is a wonderful person, but all signs pointed to Loser. It was almost sad. Almost.

Horace rambled on at length about everything we absolutely must do in order to get a job. None of it was original, insightful, helpful, or even accurate. I was fortunate enough to have had a much better source of career advice the previous semester. Anyway, in the course of regurgitating the text of every bad book on how to break into show business, he starts on the topic of headshots, a topic frequently obsessed over by actors, significantly less so by everyone with the power to actually give you a job. And out of the pile, he grabs mine.

My headshot is, admittedly, a faux headshot. My senior picture was a black and white headshot and used to serve this purpose incredibly well, but that picture was taken when I was 17. I look a bit different now. The current headshot (and I do need to have new ones done) is actually an impromptu snapshot of me taken by my boyfriend, The Photographer, with a professional camera whilst walking through the woods in England. How romantic. I am wearing a cashmere scarf/shawl, my hands are in the picture, and I look about to laugh or do something mischievous. So it isn’t really a traditional headshot but here is why I use it:

1. It looks like me on a good day. So I look good. But it also looks like me when I walk into an audition. Subsequent comments on this headshot have, indeed, included, “Wow, this actually looks like you.”

2. It is interesting. At least, I think so. It says something about me and isn’t just me posing nicely for the camera. Your headshot is supposed to get people interested. There is nothing particularly interesting in just smiling for the camera. My point is, this picture shows my personality. Another subsequent comment: “Great picture.”

3. I like it. Plain and simple. Given that I could not (and still cannot so much) afford “real” headshots, it was and is the best alternative.

Horace’s comment?

“Look at this! This is a bad picture. I can’t tell what you look like, I can’t even tell if you have a neck!?! Do you have a neck?”

Well, Horace, if I don’t have a neck, how do you suppose my head is attached?

Not only is it my generation, but apparently my classmates...

I may have, at some point, mentioned my distaste for reality television and how I think it is destroying our culture and our minds. I'm sure I could go on about it ad nauseum but, frankly, I have more important things to do today. I will, however, note that MTV has begun their onslaught of "reality" fodder, premiering both The City and Bromance. Neither of which I will be watching. The reason I am even bringing this up is that it came up somewhere in my Google Reader this morning and I realized that I actually know one of the girls on The City, Erin. She lived down the hall from me my first year at university and I was friends with her roommate. Small world, I suppose. And sad world. I don't know her well at all and I haven't seen her in a few years, but she was always nice enough to me and she seemed reasonably intelligent. At least, intelligent enough to get that this is probably not a great idea. I am sick to death of people who are famous for nothing. What happened to the time when we admired people with talent, courage, charisma, perseverance, or any other redeeming quality?

On a more positive note, welcome to my new (and first) blog follower! Nice to have you...

How to audition for theatre school.

I was recently asked to give some advice to a friend of The Photographer’s little sister (we’ll call her The Camper—the sister, not the friend—because, though we are all campers in his family and in mine, she has been on the longest, craziest canoe trip and therefore is most deserving of the title…) who is auditioning this winter for my obscenely expensive prestigious alma mater. I have sent said friend a rambling email or two at this point, which she claims has been helpful much to my relief, and I thought I should share some of my insights here. I don’t really claim to be an expert (yet), but I did audition for, attend, and graduate from (with honors, thank you very much—and minus the u as it is an American school) one of the top drama schools in the U.S., if not the world. So I would think my advice does carry some weight…plus, she is not the first person to ask for my thoughts and there are some common questions. So here I go in five simple steps…

1) Auditioning for drama school is not the same as auditioning for your high school play. Or any other play for that matter. Generally, when you audition for a play whoever is casting that play is watching you to see if you make sense as a specific character. They’re looking at you for “type” (which is one of the worst words in theatre, but we will talk about that some other time) and to see how you would fit into a production on the whole. When you audition for theatre school none of those things apply—no one is looking for you to be a certain “type” or character or to fit you into a preconceived production aesthetic. They aren’t even necessarily looking at whether or not you’re a good actor. They are looking at whether or not you are mouldable. It’s all about whether or not they can turn you into a great actor, which has very little to do with already being one. Think about it, if you are already perfect, why would you need to go to theatre school in the first place? They want to see how you take direction, how you think about and process things, how you are capable of changing—this is very much a rehearsal and not a performance. That is generally how I feel about auditions anyway, but especially in this case, focus on working with the person conducting the audition and don’t worry about being perfect. They’re looking for potential, not perfection.

2) Don’t try to be anything you’re not. I realize that seems really simple, but so many people overlook it. This applies to basically everything about the audition, but mostly to the audition monologues. Now, I hate audition monologues on principle and I think that “contrasting, contemporary monologues” are the three most evil words in the English language, but the fact of the matter is they are important. Now, “contrasting” can mean just about anything, so feel free to branch out from “dramatic” and “funny.” Especially “funny.” “Funny” for females in less than two minutes is hard to find, plain and simple. The difference can be subtler, like “anxious” and “in love.” The point is not to do two monologues with the same feeling—but don’t stress too much, no one is going to cross you off the list based on the degree to which your monologues contrast (or don’t). It is far more important to pick something you connect with, that resonates with you, than it is to pick something because it’s different from the first thing you picked.

Also, “classical” does not necessarily mean Shakespeare. Although for my intents and purposes, it usually does. Shakespeare is great for theatre school auditions because, frankly, there’s a lot for an eighteen year old to choose from (but don’t do it if you don’t understand it or if you can’t do it well, there is other classical material out there). This brings me to the second part of this section: in high school or community theatre productions, we often play more of what we aren’t—think high school students playing Jean Valjean in Les Mis or someone under the age of 105 starring in King Lear—and there is definitely a place to push those boundaries. This is not it. Stick close to what you know; this will make it easier to connect to the material and to focus when you are shaking and terrified in your audition, which will make you less shaky and terrified.

3) Drama schools admit people. So be a person. The real upside to drama school auditions is that they’re interested in who you are as a person. No one may ever be again in the entertainment world, or at least not for a while, so take advantage of that. And think about it beforehand. Most of these auditions also involve an interview of sorts. It’s important to be honest and not just to say what you think people want to hear or expect to hear—I will never forget the reaction of the man I auditioned for when he asked how my parents felt about my proposed career and I said “Good” as if it were nothing. This is an opportunity for you to make your case and to express yourself in your own words—so do it well! Granted, this may be more difficult if you aren’t adept at speaking off the cuff, but there are some questions you can probably expect to hear: Why do you want to go to school here? Why do you want to be an actor? On the former, do your research, on the latter, “because I want to be famous” is not an acceptable answer, even if it is true. Remember, drama schools are interested in turning out quality actors, and most quality actors are people first.

4) Make yourself memorable by dressing the part. Technically, you should already be memorable because of your dazzling conversational skills and brilliant monologue choices. But in case that isn’t enough, there is something really simple you can do to stand out and to stick in their minds after the fact. For some reason actors really love to wear black. Don’t. Or not all black, at least. Guaranteed at least half the people you audition with will be clad all in darkness but, please, embrace color. Black is classic and wonderful but will not distinguish you in this situation. And what you wear is another opportunity to show your personality. Ideally, you should look like yourself but a little more put together, not necessarily dressed up. If you wear jeans and a t-shirt every day of your life, don’t change that. Just make sure it’s clean, not wrinkled, and maybe consider throwing a button down shirt over that. Keep in mind, too, that you may need the freedom to move for your audition, so be comfortable. It sounds so simple, I know, but look around at your audition and see how many people don’t do it.

5) Prepare. Prepare. Prepare. And then stop worrying about it. Preparation means a lot of things. First, do your research before you apply and know exactly what the school has to offer. This will help you to formulate ideas for the interview part of your audition and to have a clearer understanding of what, exactly, you’re getting yourself into. Next, don’t leave your monologues until the last minute because it will just stress you out: I am the Queen of Procrastination. I actually hold that title. I memorized one of my monologues on the plane to my audition and pretty much wanted to vomit the whole time. I really don’t recommend it. Granted, last minute panic works for me, but it isn’t terribly pleasant. Now, you’re bound to come up with some questions while you’re doing all this—see if you can find someone to ask. If you can find an alumnus to talk to, that is definitely the best bet, especially if they’re a recent grad or current student because the experience will still be fresh for them. Plus, they’ll have the most up to date info. Failing that, call the school to see what they can tell you or who the can put you in touch with. If it’s a general question, there are forums all over the web. There’s me! And ask anything and everything. Even if it seems silly or trivial. The more info you have the more comfortable you will feel about the whole thing. And finally, forget about it. When everything is said and done, after you’ve auditioned there is nothing more you can do. So don’t worry about it. It is out of your hands. And, provided you did everything you should have before the audition, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about after.

Sundancing.

My illustrious alma mater just sent me an 8 page single-spaced list with the names of all my fellow alumni who are in any way involved in the Sundance Film Festival. 8 pages!?!


What am I doing with my life?!?

Savouring a Jamaican beef patty and a ginger beer. Eating my feelings, that is what I am doing.

But I'm really not a negative person and I'm over feeling sorry for myself. So congrats to my fellow alumni on your accomplishments. I really am proud of all of you. Now win some awards and get some slope time in while you're there!

P.S. The No Name Saloon, pictured above, has the best buffalo burgers in Park City. Go with it, trust me.