With friends like these... (23.07.06)

I honestly thought I’d heard them all. OK, so I haven’t been in the business all that long, but I’ve been victim to my fair share of actor-y insults – you know the ones: it’s a doss job, you don’t ever do a full day’s work, I could have done it blah blah blah. Most of these don’t faze me too much – mainly because they’re a) patently untrue and b) generally uttered by imbeciles. Friday night, however, took the biscuit.

I was at dinner with friends, and another actor friend and I were talking about work. Or the lack thereof. Boo. Anyway, the assembled company gets drawn in to a whole discussion about contract length, the gist of which being: given the choice, would you rather take a part for life (eg, Mary in Mary Poppins – one character, one show, rather than an on-going developing character in series or soap) or never act again? Other actor and I both said never act again, with very little hesitation, which caused some surprise, but we maintained that acting needs to be kept fresh, and yes, while part of being in a show is doing the same thing over and over again, night after night, doing that for life eventually ceases to be acting so much as going through the motions. There’d be very little art involved, and no challenge whatever. Much uproar ensued: “really, you’d rather never act again?” and, from one of the group: “doing the same thing over and over again? Welcome to the real world”. I responded to the latter with the reasoning that yes, some people do deal with similar issues, processes etc in their day to day jobs, but not to the extent that they’d be doing that job in exactly that way for the rest of their lives. Certainly not to the extent that they’d say exactly the same words to exactly the same people and generate exactly the same responses day after day after day. I mentioned that I had trouble imagining doing a run for 6 months – let alone years and years. I may have slipped off into some sort of reverie – “imagine, every night saying the same thing, doing the same thing” at which point she fixes me with a withering look and says:

“Yes, Tegwen I do know what it’s like being an actress. I did do it for a week and a half”.

Seriously. I almost choked on my sherry.

She was almost redeemed when she phoned up the next morning to apologise though – “I didn’t mean to offend you”. Which would have been fine. Were it not for the fact that she followed that with “I know it’s hard for you at the moment as you’re having trouble finding work. I guess it was a bit of a double whammy”.

Ouch.

They're doing what with my Licence Fee? (21.07.06)

Hmmm, perhaps British TV is on its uppers again, after all, if this is anything to go by...

That said, I don't know that I could cope with another series of Little Britain... the rest of it looks good though!!

So my only question is - how do I get me some of that??

Like two ships (21.07.06)

I was on the bus this morning, on my way to my little temp job at a well known government department (where, it’s worth noting, they’re having their ‘best year ever’) and a bloke got on and sat opposite me. I spent so long trying to decide whether or not I liked his t-shirt (some bizarre navy affair with a picture of a dog in goggles and the word ‘bello’ printed above it – weird Italian ‘humour’ or just plain weird?) that it took me a while to register what he was doing. Gradually it impeded on my consciousness. He was silently shouting at the bus window. As the 63 trundled ever onward, he got more and more animated (in face only); soundless screams emanating from his lips, as he gazed intently at passing Peckham and her people. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. And then I noticed.

He had pulled from his bag a moleskine notebook, each page of which had a photocopied chunk of script pasted somewhere near the middle, and a plethora of scribbled pencil notes gaily adorning it and the surrounding paper. He was an actor, learning his lines. I instantly felt a connection with this bizarre, screamy, dog-in-goggles-loving, cooly bespectacled man. I constructed totally unfounded fantasies around him being part of the RSC’s complete works season, or the Globe’s (he was learning the Duke for As You Like It). I almost offered to test him on his lines; I had a near-overwhelming compunction to make a connection with him, to ‘reach out and touch’ another actor.

He got up and got off at Elephant and Castle, and just like that the shared experience network of actors split and frayed, my broken end crackling and waving round in the dark, waiting for another spark to ignite it, leaking energy into the void. Like one of those balls full of electricity you place your hand on in the Science Museum. And I went to work, sat at my desk and got on with my temping day.

But somehow, everything is altered. Today, I crossed paths with another actor, and, like some humanoid parasite, fed off his energy, and I am restored. I am not alone, people do work, and I will live another day to fight the good fight.

I am a duck, I am an is-land (18.07.06)

I’m sure I’ve probably blogged about this before. If I could be bothered, I’d scroll down and check. But I can’t. I feel listless. And a bit flat. This morning, at just after 10 am, I found this in my inbox…

Thank you for auditioning for Another Play That You Really Wanted to Do. We really appreciate you taking the time to apply and working so hard on your audition speech. However on this occasion we have decided to not ask you through to the next round of auditions. We will of course keep your details on file and let you know about any other opportunities that arise.

Harrumph. Another suitcase, another hall, another rejection. But, what makes me feel listless and flat is not actually the fact that there’s yet another play that will go ahead without me – there’s yet another step that I failed to take on my own personal career ladder (although, if I keep on like this for long enough that may start to depress me too…)

No. What’s really getting to me today is that it isn’t really getting to me. Yes, I really wanted to do that job. Yes I’m gutted that I didn’t get it. But am I proper upset? No. Have I cried? No. Have I even choked or teared up a little bit? Nope. Did I just mark the email for archive in the right folder, sigh, put it down to experience and wonder what I could apply for next? Yup. Like water off a duck’s back.

Now, on the one hand I’m quite proud of this. I’m happy about the fact that I have developed a thick enough skin, a mature enough outlook, and enough confidence in who I am outside of my career to shrug, think well, hey ho, perhaps not this time, eh? What’s next?

On the other hand – it’s quite sad to think that I’m in an industry where rejection is like a rite of passage. You don’t get turned down for everything for at least 3 years, you haven’t earned your right to be on the way up, my dear.

But of course, with great power comes great responsibility, and with great boredom comes a great amount of time to ‘think’. Just what I need. So, naturally, I find my self on the horns of a dilemma. (Although, naturally, it’s more a dilemma of philosophy than one of action – I’m not actually going to DO anything about anything...)

Is it better to have shone and lost, than never to have shone at all?

That audition that I did last week, the one to which the snippet above was the response, was damn good. I thought it went really well. Seriously. I acquitted myself with grace, poise, and a generous smattering of theatrical prowess. I was re-directed, and I took the direction well, and was generally proud of what I’d done. I came out of there knowing that if I didn’t get the job, it’d be because I didn’t fit the part, not because I’d messed up. But is this better?

Is it better to know that you tried your best and just weren’t good enough (or just weren’t right), or to not get a job and then look back on the audition and say – well, yes. I was a little below par that day. That’d be why.

I’m going with the former. I’d say that for 8 professional actors in 10, if you don’t get the part, chances are that it’s much more likely to be because you didn’t fit the director’s idea of what s/he wanted as much as the next person. This possibly because most pro actors are around the same level of ability, but mainly because directors are increasingly placing MUCH more emphasis on looks than on talent or ability as the phenomenon of reality TV ploughs ever onwards.

If you find solace in the latter, then you’re making excuses for your craft. There’s always a reason that you’re rejected – more often than not, it’s something outside your control (I can’t be 5’ 6" or a size 10, if that’s what they’re determined they want) sometimes it highlights an area that you might need to work on (I could do with honing some of my impersonations – they’re a bit rough round the edges. And in the middle.). But surely better to know that you’ve done your best and just weren’t right, than to think that you didn’t do your best and if only you had your time over again, you’d be better at this and that and...

No regrets. Be the best of what you can be, and control as much as you can. The rest is out of your hands, and, if you’re wise, like water off a duck’s back.

Speak to my agent (17.07.06)

Well well well. It would appear that there has been a turn up for the books! (And, no – it’s not the fact that I’m still alive. Although things had been so quiet I was beginning to wonder if I had in fact fallen off the edge of the planet...)

No, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I have an agent. I am now represented. I can now honestly say "Have your people call my people", and have actual people in mind. I can genuinely get someone to ‘talk money’. I can now legitimately, in the heat of the moment and on a crap job, throw a Queenie Strop and whine "Well, just you wait until my agent hears about this".

My agent. MY AGENT. I like the sound of that.

I don’t know much about My Agent, it has to be said. They don’t (yet) have any outstandingly famous people on their books. Or moderately famous. Or anyone I recognise. At all. But that’s not necessarily a terrible thing. Not-too-famous clients generally means that no one client will be monopolising their time, so they’ll be able to get me work. Which is good.

They talk the talk. What remains to be seen is whether they walk the walk. As demonstrated below, this ain’t necessarily so. But we’re streets ahead – I’ve already called them twice, and they’ve answered the phone both times, as well as answering my questions and having a conversation with me, so we’re moving in the right direction. Crazy how someone answering their office phone and speaking to you I’ve come to see as a bonus.

In general, I am optimistic. (OK, so for me that’s more of a life statement than a reflection on this particular situation.) But here I am too. Chatting with a couple of people about it this weekend I expressed apprehension (not worry, mind, apprehension) that I knew little of them or their reputation, and that I was a little nervous of what lay ahead. The impeccably sage advice that came back was threefold:

Firstly: They’re not signing me up to be their friend, they’re signing me up as a business opportunity. They are, after all, a business. If they didn’t think they could make money on me, why would they bother, when they could represent someone else instead who would make them money? Good point.

Secondly: If they don’t work for me, I don’t work. Which makes me unhappy. Unhappy with my lot in life and in acting, and ultimately unhappy with my agent. And bored. And what do unhappy bored people do? They bitch. Or they blog. Or both...! If they weren’t working for me, it would do nothing for their reputation, and that matters in this business. Another good point.

Lastly (but not leastly): If our partnership doesn’t work out, then pick up and move on. It’s not like I’ve married them, or signed over my whole career to them. In fact, I haven’t signed anything – there’s no period of contract – there’s no contract – there’s just an agreement that you’ll give them 4 weeks notice if you decide to leave, and to a certain extent even that’s negotiable. It’s win-win. Plus, if you have an agent, you’re in a much better position to get another. You’ve lost the stigma of being un-represented. And what a stigma that it. But, work at the relationship, and if it doesn’t work, I shouldn’t flagellate myself over it (too much), but be mature and professional, and move on.

So, with that in mind, I’m as happy as a clam (not the pilates clam exercise, mind – that’s not happy, that’s hurty. As happy as a little clam in the sea that’s, well, happy. Who knows why...). I have an agent. At last. And it looks like things might be on the up.

So, if you want to get hold of me, you know, to book me for your show before I get too big, you know what to do.

Speak to my agent, darling.

Actor, know your place (26.05.06)

When I was at school I was really good at maths. I once even got a little smiley face stuck on my exercise book for doing a particularly hard sum. I always loved maths. I even toyed with the idea of becoming an accountant, but ended up doing something else. I sometimes think now, maybe I should try accountancy? I mean, all my family used to say I’d be a famous accountant one day. Whenever they had a dinner party they used to make me get up and do a long division for their guests. It was so embarrassing. I usually had to do one of the latest long divisions from a really high profile FT case. I mean, I was OK – well, I think I was quite good. I always got the long-division solos in the interschool maths competitions. Yeah, I could have gone into accounting. But I decided to be an actress instead.

You never hear people saying that, do you? Funny that. That’s probably because everyone knows that accountancy is a highly qualified career for which you spend many hours, days and years studying extremely hard. For which you have to read many books on technique and process. For which you have to have a highly developed specialised knowledge. For which you have to have nous, instinct and a natural talent. So, nothing like acting then.

So when people say Oh, yeah, I could have been an actor you know. I was always very good at acting when I was at school, that doesn’t make me angry at all. Because, after all, if you can wear a tea-towel around your head, point at the ceiling and say "look, a star in the East" and not fuck up your lines, then obviously you’ve got the talent to bring to the Lady Macbeth "all the perfumes of Arabia" scene a startlingly fresh perspective, to imbue Martha in Albee’s …Virginia Woolf with a hitherto unseen level of pathos, to move an audience to tears as Schiller’s Mary Stuart in the play of the same name. As we all know, acting has nothing to do with talent, gifts or genius. And it certainly has nothing to do with hard work, dedication and graft. Acting, is all about dossing. All about not wanting to get a ‘real’ job. People are only actors so that they don’t have to get up early in the morning to commute to work. And, more importantly, anyone can do it.

I think Shakespeare put it best when he said "All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players". Although, if you ask me, I don’t think that was quite what he was getting at.

But then what do I know? I’m just an actor. Although, I could have been an accountant…