Don’t Call Yourself Professional…Unless You Are.
You know those annoying salesmen in furniture stores who follow you around and insist you need a 7-piece bedroom set for your unborn child and a china cabinet for your nonexistent china – when all you wanted to do was come in from the cold and sit on some floppy furniture you never intended to buy? There’s a big difference between those people, and the people at the grocery store stocking the shelves. The Furniture Store people work on commission. They only get their paycheck if they sell a certain amount of furniture. If you find yourself submitting to the $40 furniture polish because it’s the cheapest thing you can purchase from the smiling nice lady, then she did her job well. Because she’s Professional. And she’s on commission.
You may think these type of positions only exist in retail, but it could be said most of the Entertainment Industry works on Commission. For arguments sake, let’s say the Producer is honest and actually has $X amount to produce a show. The Producer should have $XXX amount to produce this show, but all dreams must adjust with the size of the budget. And so, Producer’s Dream Show becomes somewhat of a Labor of Love; meaning that if any of the employees actually bothered to breakdown their hourly pay, it’d likely be lower than a sweatshop in a 3rd world country.
Now, the practical among you may say “NO WAY, I NEED TO BE PAID MORE! I MAKE FOUR TIMES AS MUCH BUSING TABLES!” And if you honestly think that statement you are no longer a working artist, you have become a hobbyist. And there’s nothing wrong with that, many people enjoy Entertainment as a hobby and pursue it casually. And I’m not saying to let you or your art be taken advantage of if you are consistently offered jobs at a higher pay rate; but if you are turning down your only Industry job offer in 4 months because it would mean going out twice a week instead of four times, I’m insulted you call yourself a working Entertainment Professional. We must sacrifice to “make it” in this career. It’s not all Luck, Parties, and Big Breaks… it’s a lot of “dues” to put in, drastically abnormal lifestyle requirements, constant application of skills, careful financial planning, and yes – schmoozing with the right people in the right places.
There are 3 types of people who apply for these “Labor of Loves” [meaning all artists are being paid for their work, but not enough to live off]
- The First Type are the inexperienced. Those who either have degrees and haven’t worked in the industry since graduation, or those who are looking to “break in” and bypass the Showcase/no pay/off-off-off-off broadway theatre scene. In school things are ideal: your tuition dollars go to the latest equipment, hippest styles, and ideal technical situations. In real life: you could be working with equipment twice your age, on a show that makes no sense to you, and be operating 3 separate boards at once with no backstage crew. It’s not school: you don’t submit an idea, get a B, and walk away content. In Entertainment: you submit an idea, get a “B”, and have a ridiculously short amount of time and budget to turn that “B” into an “A” because the Producer wants an “A” and the Producer pays your paycheck. You need appropriate experience before thinking yourself qualified for design or management positions in professional theatre; there’s too much money and risk on the line already to take a chance on you. I know, the old Catch 22 of “you have to have experience to gain experience.” Get an internship at a professional theatre while you’re still in school; take as many business, history, acting theory, and tech courses as you can [the more well-rounded you are, the more career opportunities]; or after graduation get a low-stress “survival job” with flexible hours that allows you to take the low/no pay opportunities or PA positions to gain experience. Don’t expect a weekly salary on your first gig. You’ll be lucky if you get a stipend.
- The Second Type of people who apply for these positions are those budding in their career. They have the non-educational experience, whether through internship or indy theatre, there has been some low/no budget application of skills, so this Labor of Love is a mild challenge, not an overwhelming Everest of impossibility. And these type of people have found a way to give themselves fully to this position, on the salary offered, without personal lives getting in the way of creative application. Type 2 are financially stable or are willing to sacrifice through the duration of the gig, meaning the production doesn’t suffer because a member of the team is too mentally stressed to complete their job. These type of people thrive on challenges, respect their employer, and act professional.
- The Third Type are those established in their career. The “one hit wonders” who may have a few big Assistant credits, but haven’t quite yet had a consistent Commercial Theatre career of their own. This type of person has two subcategories: Type A – those for whom these Labor of Love shows have become a routine source of income; and Type B – those who think the Labor of Love isn’t quite worth their time considering but nothing else has come up, so they put little effort into the position [and usually complain of less-than-ideal equipment & situations].
Whether it is $X or $XXX, the Producer spent a lot of time considering the budget, offered you a paycheck and funds to work with, and you agreed to the terms. Type 2 & Type 3A understand this concept and will likely go far and be rehired by the Producers they work with. If you find yourself to be a Type 1 or Type 3B: finish the job and rise to the challenge – a true Thespian will understand the amount of work and hours necessary for any given production. If your paycheck is $X or $XXX, you agreed to the position and if you didn’t know what the position entailed, you shouldn’t have applied [again, going with the “honest-Producer” scenario].
Long story short you need 3 things to “make it” in Entertainment:
- Respect the Industry, the Work, and the Professionals involved
- Be willing to sacrifice and put in your “dues” – working at least 30 hours a week on your career
- Have the undeniable determination that you would be utterly miserable doing anything else and that your creative input to the profession is essential.
If the #3 isn’t fact, you may be an Entertainment Hobbyist and not a Professional. You are not an Actor just because you have a degree, live in a metropolis, have waited tables the past 4 years and “the only reason” you haven’t been to an audition the past 6 months is because you’re only looking for gigs that pay as much as your restaurant job so can’t get into the audition without an agent or couldn’t get off work on such short notice or you wouldn’t move 500 miles for summer to that one regional theatre…
You get my drift. It’s a New Year. Make a Resolution to remember what you really want out of Entertainment, and realize that you’re the only one who can make it happen by the lifestyle you choose to live [hey – if it means waiting tables & being an avid Indy theatre supporter for life, that’s AWESOME, we need audience members because half the time the artists’ friends can’t afford the ticket to see their show!] But if you are the Server who dreams of Neon Lights and the Great White Way but haven’t auditioned in months, take off your next shift and go to that open call. Your Professionalism isn’t measured by your success rate, it’s measured by your application, determination, effort, and positive attitude. If you have these in abundance, someone will take a chance on you. But you have to be willing to ruin your Career as a Waiter just for a Chance as an Actor[Director/Designer/Etc.]. Are you willing to do what it takes to be an Entertainment Professional?
Misérables Loves Company
I have a long history with “Les Misérables”, one that predates my general interest in theater. It started, as such things do, with a girl.
During my junior year in high school, I fell hard and fast for a willowy ginger in my Catholic high school’s choir. That year, in their spring concert, they did a medley from “Les Mis” and I fell hard and fast for the soundtrack, which I acquired and listened to over and over throughout the summer. I also read the novel, thinking it would take all three months. I absorbed it in three weeks of immersion. I joined the choir myself when senior year began in September, a move that initiated me into the school’s bohemian clique. (In addition to the choir, the school’s theater community was a part of it — so I spent the year among actors but failed to make that leap.)
For my 17th birthday in October, I asked my parents to take me to the show at the Shubert Theater in New Haven, about 30 miles from our house. My dad to this day calls it “Les Mez” — perhaps because we were seated in the mezzanine? Of course, he also calls the original James Bond “Sean Connerly”. A choir trip to Manhattan that spring resulted in my second time seeing the show — with Debbie Gibson as Eponine. A few years later, I dragged my skeptical college girlfriend to the show. She loved it, and we briefly met the actor who played Javert, David Masenheimer, after the performance.
My love of the show had by this point transcended that high school redhead (who now runs an organic farm in Ohio). “Les Mis” was the perfect show to capture the imagination of a romantic young man who had vaguely revolutionary dreams and a religious bent. Though it faded in my consciousness over the turning of the years, I was excited when I first heard of the film version — and then when I saw that a production would be mounted at D.C.’s National Theater, I decided I had to go, and bring my sons.
My twin boys are eight, but they have been exposed to a lot of theater, both the high-quality young audiences productions in our area and a few shows at the Shakespeare Theatre Company and elsewhere. I took one of them to see “Mary Poppins” on Broadway during a one-on-one weekend excursion, but wanted them both to see this show I loved so much.
I loved the show, because I always do, but it was still a slight disappointment. The 25th Anniversary production has some nice aspects — the use of period paintings as backdrops, for one — but the National Theater stage was too small to do the scope of the show full justice. While the original Broadway production included projected dates to let the audience know when the story was jumping ahead in time, this version did not — and it confused my sons and would have confused me if I had not already known the story well. And the stage lacks a revolving platform, which hampered things — Gavroche’s death was unseen since after he scampered over the barricade, he was out of audience view. I also thought the show’s Fantine and Cosette were among the weaker ones I have seen.
But there were some positives. Briana Carlson-Goodman was the best of the four Eponines I have seen (sorry, Debbie), in large part because she alone conveyed the anger in “On My Own”, not just the song’s sadness. She brought a muted fury to Eponine that I had not seen before. And the production made Grantaire more than just a lush with a cameo. (Grantaire, I might add, is the character I would most like to play if ever I get the chance. Well, and if I was not up for one of the leads.)
The experience was not as grand as what I’d had in Manhattan or New Haven, but I still got to share it with my sons — and one of them has been singing the songs ever since. I was very happy to be able to offer them the memory.
I then decided to go see the film version the very next day. I rarely go to movies — they cost so much now, and my free time is limited and I’d rather go to the theater when I have it. But the chance to see a Broadway production one day, and the film version on the big screen the next, was too much to pass up. This time, I went alone.
The film was impressive, with beautiful cinematography and oft-inspired direction. Some critics have said Tom Hooper relied too much on extreme close-ups, but in many of the scenes there may have been little other palatable option. He also made wise use of the novel to fill in some of the blanks in the original stage musical, like what exactly Valjean and Cosette did from the time they fled the Thénardier inn until the day the young revolutionaries came on the scene. (Neither the play nor the film, however, really makes it clear how the reformed Valjean went from poverty to wealth and office — which the book does.)
Hooper made the bold (and well-publicized) choice of having the actors sing as they performed, rather than dubbing in their songs later, and that brought an earthiness and vitality to the lyrics. He also was smart to occasionally use a bit of dialogue to fill in pieces or advance the story. The actors were generally well-selected. Hugh Jackman and Anne Hathaway are as magnificent as one would expect, and Eddie Redmayne is the first Marius I’ve seen who I didn’t want to slap. (Really, he is a tiresome chap in the wrong hands.) Sacha Baron Cohen was a risky choice for Thénardier, and while I did not love his performance — his comic “Fronch” accent was a bit much — he fit the bill. Helena Bonham Carter’s performance has received little mention, but she deserves commendation for actually bringing a bit of subtlety to the overly broad Madame Thénardier.
The casting had a few misses. Yes, Amanda Seyfried was stuck with Cosette, the blandest character in the show, but she still failed to do much with it. And then there’s Russell. Oh, Russell.
I cannot fault Russell Crowe for accepting the role of Javert. It’s the most interesting character in the story, and he has the show’s best solo song, “Stars”. If someone offered it to me, I’d take it too — even if I was not right for it. And Crowe was not right for it. His singing was curiously wan, and he came off like a suburban burgher trying to muddle through the hymns in church. However, even his acting was weaker than his norm. He looked uncomfortable throughout the entire experience.
The film suffered also from an effort to cram too much in while keeping the running time down. Scenes and songs started and stopped suddenly, with large bits cut away, making the movie at times seem like it had been hastily cut for broadcast. This is most obvious at the very end, where Cohen and Bonham Carter belt out a few lines of “Beggars at the Feast” while being tossed out of the wedding. Hooper did cut a couple of songs entirely, but seemed to try to get a bit of all the favorites in for the sake of the fans, and this was not always to good effect.
The Year I Did A Lot Of Theatre
For me, 2012 was the year of a lot…a lot of theatre. I’ve certainly done more shows in a year than I’ve ever done before but that’s always been the case. What makes 2012 different is that since January, is all the NEW kinds of theatre I’ve been doing.
Playwriting: I’ve always toyed with writing a play…I’ve written out stories, blog posts and poetry before but scripts tend to stump me before the first draft gets finished. But at the beginning of the year, I took the leap and wrote a ten minute play for a 24 Hour show—and my Begonia and Garden Gnome come to life! I loved writing it too. I’m still struggling with getting the rest of my ideas for plays completed but I took a Script Writing class last semester and I’ve started working on a zombie apocalypse webseries that I’m hoping to write this winter.
Political: I don’t know if it was because this was an election year or if it was a coincidence, but I feel like the work I did this year had a decidedly liberal and outspoken feel to it, with shows like The Vagina Monologues and My Mother’s Lesbian Jewish Wiccan Wedding. Theatre with intentions other to entertain is an interesting concept I’m considering…
Film: Also something I don’t have a lot of history with. But with a close friend and my roommate studying film, I’ve been helping them both out as an extra in their various projects. I’m starting to gain a bit more comfort in front of a camera and I’m hoping that when they get working on their big student films/my zombie webseries, I’ll be ready for more face time on screen.
Stage Management: I got my first experience in stage management, working as an assistant for a show with over thirty actors, almost a hundred costumes, a phone for me to ring backstage and a dog. ASM-ing was definitely a happy memory for 2012.
Devised Theatre: In May, I performed in a devised theatre piece, created for and by the sophomore Voice and Movement class. Out of all the shows I’ve ever done, this one holds the closest place in my heart, for the creation of my classmates into ourselves as characters and the stories we chose to tell. I also got to sing again, for the first time in a long while (but not for the last time!) and I’ll be keeping those songs in my book.
House Managing: While I was working my first job in house management, I also was working my first professional job. I loved organizing the playbills, greeting the audience members and working alongside the cast and crew every day. I don’t think I would ever get tired of listening to complaints that the theater is too cold. Have I found my perfect “pays the bills” job?
Movement Theatre: In my Voice and Movement class, I underwent probably the most life-changing of experiences I’ve had yet in college. From the way I walk to the way I see strangers on the street, I have been transformed by my professor and my classmates. Even outside of our class, I’ve been studying Modern Dance, Tai Chi, Dance Improv and have added Stage Combat to that list this semester. Also thanks to that professor, I’m becoming fascinated with the works of Pina Bausch and the thought of doing a purely physical kind of theatre is something I would like to make do.
24 Hour Theatre: While I wrote the play for one 24 Hour show, I also worked behind the scenes of another showing. I offer praises to these coming-togethers of creative types to make more theatre with as little as possible. Huzzah!
Technical: And theatre would be nothing if it weren’t for the backstage folks who keep the show going on. While I’m no Technical Director or expert, I’ve dabbled this past year in costume changes, prop finding and stage sweeping.
So that’s my 2012 by types of theatre. Full of costumes, vaginas, garden gnomes and zombies, Pina Bausch, playbills, stage combat and the novelty of wearing a name badge. I think I’d be sadder to see 2012 go if I wasn’t so already excited for 2013 and the two shows I’m already working on. Here’s to the new year!
The Holiday Drop-Off – Do They Really Like Me?
That time of year again…the high-wire act involving the balancing of an actor’s unreliable income stream with gift buying for dozens of family members and friends and of course, the business associates.
Like, I’m sure, most of you, I question and curse the motive behind the holiday shopping craze, but still get involved each year.
But there is something that fills me with even more dread than opening my January bank statements, and that is the Holiday Drop Off at my agents’ office.
Now, I want to make very clear, my agents work really hard to get me work and they deserve even more than a little thank-you gift at the end of the year. They are also very nice people. But I don’t see them much, as our communication is almost all digital. And for some reason, the thought of going into their offices bearing gifts in mid-December each year is terrifying.
This year, I figured out why. And it’s sad. Despite my consistent call-backs and sometimes bookings….despite my solid training and years of experience which have given me confidence… despite the fact that my agents regularly send me notes telling me that I’m awesome (did I mention they are great agents?)… I’m still overcome at times by that person inside who feels like she doesn’t really belong and at any moment, the big bad entertainment industry will realize that and kick her out on the street and laugh at her for thinking she is an actor…hahahahah. Who do you think you are, they’ll all say! Get out of town, you don’t deserve to work here! And each year, I fear this moment will come when I walk into my agents’ office with holiday gift bags.
You know what I mean, right? Because I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in this phobia. I’ve read many interviews with A-list, top-grossing, well-respected actors, who say the same thing… that they fear the day everyone realizes they don’t really belong. And who can forget this Oscar acceptance speech:
If Gidget isn’t even sure she belongs, how can I be?
So this year, like every year for the past three years that I’ve been with this agency, I stressed about what to wear to the drop-off…it had to be the right combination of casual/in-keeping-with-my-brand/comfortable/flattering outfit. And I wondered what to talk about… should I talk shop? or keep business out of it? But mostly I worried that I’d walk into the office as an actor and do something so stupid that they would revoke my contract immediately, and I’d no longer be an actor…
yes, the holiday stress does some crazy things to our brains.
The day came… I had told my agent’s assistant I’d be dropping by with “holiday cheer.” Then I put on my best vintage A-line plaid skirt and bright blue shirt, took a deep breath, and stopped in.
And guess what…they were happy to see me. I got big hugs. I told a few jokes which they laughed heartily at (though I think that’s required in my contract) and we talked about their upcoming holiday trips. They asked me for a link to my latest short film, which they watched and loved. The visit lasted about 15 minutes and I walked out of there feeling great…. but, not, surprisingly, because I was relieved the visit went well.. it was because I had just made a nice human connection.
Then something hit me on the sidewalk…. Sally Field had it muddled up. Winning an Oscar didn’t have anything to do with people “liking her” or not. She won because she did a great job as an actor on “Places in the Heart.” And on the flip side, I know my agents like me, as a person, but it doesn’t have anything to do with whether or not I am an actor who does good work.
Hopefully, I’ll continue in 2013 to forge the combination of the two…people liking me AND doing great work. But I know that they are actually somewhat exclusive of each other. If for some reason, the big bad industry did decide that I shall never work again, well, I’m still an ok kind of person, that people like.
And I also realized on the sidewalk how much I liked my agents as people…they are funny and involved in life and tough and brave…and just good people. So maybe, if I continue to look at them as people, rather than as a symbol of the industry, next year’s drop off won’t be as terrifying…and hopefully I’ll have even larger gifts to share.
Read the Fine Print…and that Gigantic Bold Print, Too.
As someone who has lived and worked all over the world, I am a strong advocate of auditioning for overseas contracts. They afford you the opportunity to travel and live in a variety of places from tropical paradises to bustling cities, and they make the process of green cards and relocation relatively painless. On top of this, overseas contracts usually include housing and living allowances in addition to a competitive salary, so your entire contract can be spent saving money. Then of course, you not only get to perform in the field you love, but you get to do so with a group of performers that quickly become like family since you have all travelled across the world together and are living/working closely with one another.
Unfortunately, not every contract can be picture perfect. Some you may need to negotiate. Some you should run away from screaming. From my own experience, here’s a short list of some crucial things to watch for in an overseas contract before you leave behind everything familiar to you and put yourself in the hands of a foreign company.
1.) The Obvious: what are you being hired as?
I know this sounds almost offensively obvious, but many contracts are written to hire you as simply “a performer” meaning that the company can place you in any role that they think fits that title appropriately. If you are hired to work in a theme park show inside a beautiful 1,000 seat theatre, singing and dancing, microphoned and air-conditioned, you may be quite happy accepting a contract that requires you to do this for nine months straight. However, if your contract hires you as “A Performer” rather than “Singer/Dancer #2 in Blank the Musical” you may find yourself performing two days a week in your beautiful theatre, two days outside as a fully costumed/masked, silent character, and one day as a host for that character who stands outside doing crowd control for eight hours a day.
Some, like myself, may jump at the opportunity to cross train into certain characters, as a great way to stock my reel/resume, and just to have some variety in my long contract. Perhaps you may get cross trained into other singer/dancer roles, or even learn something new to add to your skill set like stilt walking or acrobatics! But even the most open-minded performer can find themselves miserable doing a job that they weren’t expecting or aren’t cut out for because the company was short on performers in that department.
Advice: clarify, clarify, clarify! If anything sounds vague, there’s likely a reason for that. Companies expect questions about the contract so don’t be shy.
2.) A chance to travel the world!….perhaps.
Carefully read the part of your contract that outlines your working hours. Many contracts, like certain cruise lines, may have only 3-4 shows a week. These shows are at night leaving the rest of your day, and the rest of the week, completely free. Unless you are required to be “on-call” for a certain period of time, or perhaps all the time.
To divulge deeper into cruise lines, some contracts do not allow you to leave the ship in certain ports or at certain times. This means if you were expecting to embark on three different adventure in three different countries per week, you may end up with only 2-3 hours in that country, or worse: none. Another cruise contract I’ve seen has scheduled me to only perform in 3 shows a week, each show being about two hours with a call time one hour prior. This seems like a dream come true leaving entire days of the week free to sunbathe, work out, or just sleep! However, this contract requires performers to be “on-call” 24/7 in case VIP guests request personal character meet and greets. This means that no matter where you are, on the ship or in port, you must be able to return and be in costume within 30 minutes of receiving this call….no matter what.
Advice: companies need to keep themselves covered for times of emergency and your job does, of course, come before your vacation. However, six months to a year with little to no freedom can be tolling on body and mind. Make sure you’re allotted holiday time, rest days, and at least a form of overtime pay if you’re “on-call” days become “called-in” days for two weeks in a row.
3.) Living allowance…money to burn or enough to scrape by?
If a company is giving you a living allowance on top of your salary…lucky you. But don’t get too hasty. It’s all too easy to forget that some country’s sales tax work different, you have to pay more money to buy the things you are used to from home, and exchange rates can get the best of you.
In many Asian cities, you can buy the largest meal you’ve ever seen for the equivalent of about two American dollars, but the cost of eating the food that your body is used to and able to process might be catastrophically high because that food is now a foreign import. You should also consider transportation. If you can walk to work, and take a cheap metro ride anywhere else, your living allowance will go much further than living in a city with no car of your own and no public transportation, in which case you will have to take pricey taxis all over town.
Personal Experience with a rapidly disappearing living allowance: Graciously, the company I am with provided us with housing, a living allowance, and even a monthly stipend of $100 towards our utility bill. This seemed too good to be true until we got our first air-conditioning bill that soared to the mid $400’s. Don’t judge me, the humidity here is something out of a nightmare! My room mates and I split the bill and became more cautious of how we use our air conditioning, but prior to coming here we were oblivious to the fact that a huge part of our living allowance would be going to keeping us from sweating out all our vital organs.
Advice: The first thing you need to do is look up the exchange rate for where you are going to be spending the money and then you should research the cost of living in that city. The first few weeks of your contract you should keep track of what you spend and how far your allowance goes, then plan accordingly.
4.) Gypsy life can be exciting….or terrifying.
One of the most important elements to look for if you are going to drop everything at home and relocate around the world, is housing agreements. If you’re working on a cruise ship, its pretty obvious your going to be living in a stateroom on the ship. But will you be sharing a room? Do you have your own bathroom? Are you ok with living in a room that is 5 feet by 5 feet? If you travel to a resort in Macau or a theme park in Japan….housing may get even more complicated and unknown.
Personal Experience with House Shuffling: One of my former contracts was a dream come true…turned nightmare. Our contract stated that we would be living in three bedroom apartments with private bedrooms and bathrooms. The day we arrived, we were taken to the nicest apartments I’d ever seen in my life, just a ten minute walk from work, with a pool that resembled a Vegas resort. But right when we’d bought all that we needed and settled in, we were informed that we would immediately be moving to new housing due to lease agreements. We picked up everything and moved, only to be told a few days later that we would be moving again because of extenuating circumstances.
All the apartments we were moved to were beautiful and comfortable, but packing everything you own every other week, paying moving fees, moving on days you have shows, and constantly buying different furniture/appliances for new places is very trying, and the lack of adequate communication is frustrating. There was nothing in our contract stating that we would be permanently placed in any one area so we had no choice but to move…and move again. I moved five times. Kill me.
Advice: Make sure to clarify not only where you will be living, (Close to work? Close to stores? Close to public transport?) but also what kind of housing you will be placed in (Apartment? Townhouse? Hostel?) . Inquire the number of bedrooms and people per bedroom. Does your place come with a full kitchen or will you not be able to cook on your contract? Is the housing set for the entire contract or will you be moved around?
5.) Your body your business? Not for the next year….
We work in an industry in which our physical features play a huge part in casting. Many companies regulate performers appearances by contractually forbidding them to cut or color their hair, get any piercings and tattoos, or even change their diet drastically enough to show a visible change.
In addition to this, many larger companies will ensure that they are able to utilize your image and/or voice for any present or future media and merchandise. Be sure your ready to have your talent and or appearance mass-produced or utilized for profit without having your name credited or earning residuals.
Personal Experience with a company “owning” my appearance: I worked at a dinner theatre that is part of a large chain, which therefore produced retail merchandise in their theatres all over the country. Photos and videos were taken during the show and my image was used on t-shirts, posters, mugs etc. This was actually quite exciting to have some merchandise with my image on it. However, I was less than thrilled to have my voice recording used as a track for other girls to sing to during latter performances without any credit given to my name.
Advice: Voice your opinion, negotiate additional salary for media/merchandise, or just accept it and be flattered by the fact that your image/voice is profitable 😉
What’s the most valuable advice I can give you about tackling these adventurous career moves? Become an expert of “L’arte d’arangiarsi” – the art of making something out of nothing. If your schedule is destroying you and your housing looks like the projects after a hurricane, remind yourself that you’re getting paid to do what you love and you have job security for the next several months. Then remind yourself that it isn’t forever, live and learn.
The Society of American Fight Directors recognizes…
Me and my high school musical friends used to borrow the wooden swords and spare brooms to sword-fight backstage, splintering a few in the process. That was the extent of my fighting skills, breaking a broom in half. And that wasn’t even a useful skill until I joined the Quiddich team. But Stage Combat was never something I had much experience in until now.
You see, in the last five years, I gave myself the goal: to be certified in Stage Combat by the S.A.F.D. (The Society of American Fight Directors). I got hooked taking basic slap-and-knap combat workshops in high school and a small stage combat club in college; hooked into the dream that I could be an Actor Combatant recognized by the SAFD (Society of American Fight Directors).
“An Actor Combatant is someone who has demonstrated a high degree of skills proficiency in the art of staged combat. Actor Combatants have undergone intensive training in the compulsory techniques required for unarmed, rapier & dagger and broadsword, spending over thirty hours learning to safely perform choreography in each of these three “fight” disciplines, as well as additional classes in other weapon styles.”
It was a long five years. First, I had to find someone to train me. When I was looking at colleges, I specifically made note if they offered combat training (Note to college applicants…most B.F.A. programs in my experience will…but always ask! B.A. programs however, are a rare exception). Being a B.A. student myself, I hoped to be one of those rare exceptions, one of those lucky few students allowed into the B.F.A. combat classes and who get to test. This year however, my school has become one of two schools in the nation to offer TWO stage combat instructors and one of the very, very few to offer a stage combat class for B.A.s, this semester being the guinea pig test trial. We spent a semester learning how to punch, block, fall, kick, throw, knap (stage combat sound effect), slap, choke and roll.
In my freshman year, my combat club arranged for the in-coming Fight Master, brought in by the school to test that year’s class, to give us a master-class. That was the first time I met J. Allen Suddeth and the first time I was told that I was not physically centered enough. The man looks like a turtle, moves like a panther and he left an impression on me. I was going to be “centered”! Someday, I would test for him and I would be on my way to being an Actor Combatant.
Allen helped me realize the essence of me, that I am cerebral and not physically intimidating or centered. I will likely never be either of those things or 5’8″ and a soprano belter to boot but because of his critique, I’ve undertaken Modern Dance, Quidditch and Tai Chi to help me become more physically aware of my being. Judging by the way I’ve worn through most of my shoes, the way I move and walk HAS changed over the past two years. I’m still not centered enough yet but that’s what next semester’s eight a.m. ballet class is for, right? I will conquer you, Second Position, I will, just you wait.
And even though I’m still a work in progress, it was the end of the semester and time to put my money where my fight skills were.
Required Moves for Unarmed Testing:
Attacks
- Three Punches (one contact, two non-contact per combatant): These may include the Cross, Hammer, Hook, Jab, Rabbit, Roundhouse, Straight or Uppercut
- One Stomach Punch
- One Slap
- One Elbow Attack
- One Kick (per combatant): This may include an Ax Kick, Back Kick, Crescent Kick, Front Kick, Heel Hook, Roundhouse Kick, Side Kick, or a Snap Kick
- One Knee Attack
Defense
- One Block -either punch or kick (per combatant): These may include a Forearm Block, Open Hand Block, Wing Block and X/Cross Block
Floor Work
- One Fall or Roll (per combatant)
Grappling
- One Strangle/Choke hold
- One Hair Pull
- One Throw or Flip
Knap Techniques
- Two Knap Techniques (per combatant): These may include a Cage Knap, Clap Knap, Partnered/Shared Knap, Self/Body Knap or Slip-Hand Knap
My combat partner and I cobbled together a scene (from Buffy the Vampire Slayer) that involved all of the above requirements (do you know how hard it is to find a really good girl vs. girl fight scene that doesn’t involve a catfight? Even guy vs. girl scenes were difficult to find!). I was a nervous wreck in the days leading up to it—I even had an actor’s nightmare! But when we did our final run-through and heard the classes’s applause and got high-fives from both of the teachers, I started to breathe and knew that I was going to do this.
I got through that fight scene fine. And the master class after it as well—both of the classes were mixed in and we learned a small fight sequence. It was interesting, to see the styles mixed; their chokes were completely different from our chokeholds and freaked me out a bit. Then we were dismissed while Allen figured out who had gotten a Fail/Pass/Recommended Pass.
But when it was all over, BOTH of our classes had Passed. Quite a few people had even gotten a Recommended Pass. I’m not quite up there yet but there’s always next semester (Quarterstaff and Broadsword!). I got good feedback on my many falls and the “face attack”. And, the S.A.F.D. and J. Allen Suddeth recognizes me as proficient in Unarmed Stage Combat. I’m on my way to be a someday Actor-Combatant.
Marketing Mind Taffy
With the new year upon us, I have begun thinking about how to market myself better as an actor. The only problem is, marketing is not one of my strong suits. I am hoping to improve in this area in 2013. Here are some of the things I struggle with:
I have a business contacts list, where I organize all the names and contact information of the people I have met and would like to keep in touch with. The only problem is, every year – this list grows shorter and shorter. People move/change their e-mail addresses and don’t think to update me. So each year, I lose important contacts.
I usually write to my contacts twice a year. Once at the beginning of the year, and once at the end of the year. I have heard of people writing more than twice a year, but I don’t want to be a burden. I’m never sure if I should be writing to my contacts more than twice a year or not.
I also tend to get really excited whenever I have a new project/update to announce. I love going on Vistaprint.com and creating neat, colorful postcards to announce the news. However, I always have trouble actually distributing the postcards! I always feel braggy giving them to friends/fellow actors, and I can usually only think of a few people to actually send the postcards to. In the end, I usually have a large box of leftover postcards that I don’t know what to do with. I hate to waste them, but they are out of date.
Maybe there are simple solutions to these problems, but I just haven’t discovered them. Do you run into these issues? How do you solve them?
A Gap You Can’t See.
The day after my father’s funeral, I learned a monologue. This was not a reaction to the event, not done as something to take my mind away from the grief I was just starting to grasp at–am still only just grasping at. This was a professional requirement: the week after this major life event, I was scheduled to be seen at my first audition after just over a four month gap.
If you read this blog with any regularity, you may remember back in October I was going through a crisis of faith. After finding out my father was diagnosed with a terminal disease earlier this year, I spent the summer working for a Shakespeare festival, spending my spare time wondering what was the point of anything. When I returned to New York, the pondering became overwhelming when exacerbated bysuddenly being unemployed again. I went into shock. I could not audition.
I made up and found so many excuses. I was moving. I needed to lose the weight I gained over the summer that I could no longer hide under skirts or have suctioned into corsets. My headshots were way too old, and I needed new ones desperately. I didn’t have any new material worth taking into the room. And my most favorite old-chestnut-crutch: All the good jobs were only for Equity members, so why bother?
I spent the better part of October and early November talking myself off the proverbial ledge, and slowly working through my excuses one by one. I found an apartment relatively quickly, spending only one month couch hopping. I lost the extra weight pretty easily once I started walking around New York again and opted to not drink a whole pitcher of beer every other night. I got new headshots that look great and look like me. I found a perfect audition song for my voice part. And I was slowly coming to terms again with being non-union, especially since that status allowed me to get an audition appointment with a fairly affluent Off-Broadway company in December for one of their spring productions. I don’t think I was perfect for the part, but it was a chance to be seen by the company’s artistic director, someone who I’d like to have know my work. And of course, it was an opportunity to audition again, and in a scheduled appointment: no getting up at 5AM to wait outside in line, only to be turned away at 9:25AM with a “No thanks, maybe next time.” Circumstances seem a lot more optimistic when you know you are going to be seen.
And then my dad got sick. It was very sudden, and very unexpected–especially since we had been told again and again over the preceding months by doctors, nurses, specialists, that he was doing well, that he had three to five years left at least. I won’t go into any kind of play-by-play here of the days leading up to his passing, but it goes without saying that those estimates were wrong. So much of this industry and so much of life can be explained with the simple admission: “Nothing ever goes according to plan.” After three weeks of hospitalization my father died, years ahead of schedule. He was always in a hurry.
And still there was the audition to worry about. It loomed in the distance. I had spent the month previous to the appointment either at my parents’ home in order to visit my father in the hospital, or in the city waiting for a phone call asking me to return again. Needless to say, I was under prepared. And now that what I had been waiting for had happened–now that my father was gone and I was released from commuting or holding my attention hostage, focusing only on death–now that I was free to concern myself with only business, it suddenly occurred to me how inappropriate the event felt. How could I audition a week after giving my father’s eulogy? Was that how you were supposed to grieve? Was that appropriate?
Well, it certainly wasn’t inappropriate. At least, it didn’t appear to me. And the more I thought about it, I had two choices: Go on the audition and make best of it–since it was my first audition back after so long, I was not expecting a miracle, I just needed to stretch the muscle again; or I could cancel the audition, make it harder to get an appointment with that company again in the future, miss out on the opportunity to be seen, and sit alone in an apartment with cats and cry. Given these options, there only seemed to be one thing to do: suck it up and go to the audition.
So the day after my father’s funeral I ran a bath, taped my monologue to the tile walls, and didn’t get out till I had memorized it. (I can only learn monologues in bathtubs.) I ran it several times over the next few days, trying to carve out time away from my family to focus on the task at hand. When I got back to the city, away from any immediate reminders of my father, caught up in its unmerciful pace, it was easier to just get on with prepping as I normally would: booking a rehearsal studio, working with a friend briefly on the text, pulling out the thoughts. But just as this old, established practice was taking place, so too emerged the nerves which had paralyzed and put me out to pasture months before. Suddenly the prospect of walking into a room and reciting roughly twenty lines of Shakespeare–something I could do at any moment before, even in my sleep, and had been paid to do months before–was too much. I began losing sleep from the anxiety, thinking about how horrible I was going to be, and how horrible it was to know that.
My parents have largely supported my career choice from the beginning. We had a couple snafus, particularly after I emerged from grad school when the typical questioning occurred: “So, are you going to be able to teach with that degree?” “What are you going to do without health insurance?” “How much longer are you going to do this for?” Neither of my parents were what you could call artistic, and I think that severely hindered their ability to understand why I would choose this lifestyle, one that guarantees a fair amount of built-in suffering. No parent who cares about their child’s well-being wants to see that child suffer. So the arguments, the points of contention they would present me with, were simply ploys on their part to steer me toward a life they not only understood, but one they expected would be easier on me. They were just trying to be good parents.
Over the last few years, however, the tables had turned. If I was bemoaning having to take time off work to go to a class or audition, my mother would become severe and simply say, “You’re going.” For his part, my father would call to check in a couple days after an audition if he somehow knew about it (I rarely discuss auditions) to see how it went. I would usually send his incoming calls straight to my voice mail, knowing why he was calling, and not wanting to talk. He would always end the message asking me to call back, but not to worry if I couldn’t, “No big deal.” I’m sad to say that more often than not I took him up on the offer and didn’t call.
Now I was alone–with a father gone, and a mother trying to comprehend being made a widow at fifty-seven–with only my mind to keep me company (and it was not proving to be good company). Out of another preparatory habit (and slight desperation), I began scanning over columns of “Auditioning Tips.” I was looking for an answer: what was going to make me know my audition would be great, instead of the tragic act it was certainly destined to unravel into. However, as I reviewed the continually repetitive tricks of the trade, I felt like I had already incorporated all the advice somewhere: know your piece, make strong choices, make eye contact when you walk in, blahblahblah. All of this was useful for the actual performance of the piece, but didn’t make me feel any better. Rather, it just gave me more to obsess over ruining.
And then I re-discovered a packet of advice and quotes given to me at a different kind of audition workshop I had taken part of in early November. Led by actor, singer, and Backstage contributor Michael Kostroff (you’ve seen him in something at some point, trust me), this workshop focused solely on the mental state of the actor leading up to and immediately after the audition. Aptly titled “Audition Psych 101,” Kostroff takes special care to look at an aspect rarely addressed but ultimately influential to the outcome of an audition: how an actor deals with how they feel about auditioning.
Among the many points that Kostroff discussed during the workshop was the idea of scale. He advised that if you were feeling nervous about an audition, to take a moment and think about how large that event really was. When down the street someone may be giving birth at a hospital, or begging for food, or even dying, your audition comparatively seems pretty manageable. All you have to do is walk into a room, show your work, do the best you can, and leave. That’s it. It’s actually a very simple action.
This sense of perspective, especially given what I had experienced over the last month and especially in the week before, helped me relax about my audition. I wouldn’t say it quelled the nerves completely, but it made them manageable and I could acknowledge them objectively without becoming crippled by them. When I got to the studio, I signed in and waited patiently. They were running ahead (miracle of miracles) and I was going to be seen before some other people in my slot had even arrived. I waited patiently: I was as ready as I’d ever be. I listened quietly while the girl two slots in front of me recited the piece I was going to do, but that did little to phase me. Over time I have accepted the fact that there are only four female classical monologues, which are used in rotation, so it was hardly surprising to hear someone else saying the words I would speak in two minutes time. “And anyway,” I thought, “I like my choices better.”
When I walked into the room I smiled, introduced myself, recited my speech, then was asked to sing 16 bars, got a thank you, said thank you back, and walked out. As I took the elevator down, I was filled with awe. I could hardly believe it: It had been so easy. Why had I been freaking out? That was nothing at all! I was particularly struck with the thought: “I can’t believe I didn’t die.” And then I considered that phrase and what had just happened to my father, and it seemed so disproportional to what had been asked of me to do. How could I have been filled with so much terror over something that simply could not hurt me in that way?
I got to the street laughing and smiling at my folly, relieved that it was over and had gone well–well enough to be let go of once I left the room–and went off looking for some ice cream. I felt I had earned it. I also felt, most of all, that my father would have been proud that I had stuck to my guns, pulled myself together, and pushed forward. I wish he could have been around for me to call him afterwards, to tell him how it went. But I think, maybe, he knows.
For more information about Audition Psych 101, or to sign up, please go to the website here: www.auditionpsych101.com
The Green Room 