The Audition

                                     

    (A HUMOROUS rant on auditioning in LA)

It used to be that I would go out for starring and guest starring parts all the time. I’d even book a few.  It was nice to star in a film or guest star on TV.  My characters had arcs. They were essential to the stories and I even built up a pretty good resume and demo reel.  Then all these out of work movie stars, who snubbed their noses at television 10 years ago, suddenly discovered its “lucricity.”  It was a way to keep their newer “filled” faces in the public, while maintaining a steady paycheck in order to continue the lifestyle of their movie stardom hay days. Not to mention singers and rappers, whose only acting talents are their “name,” who now suddenly find themselves cast in roles that should have gone to real actors.  (Side note; the public doesn’t care about names as much anymore. All they want is a well crafted story with talented craftsmen regardless of who they are.)  Now all of us…no name actors (I hate saying “no name” that sounds so defeatist…I have a name…just not one everybody knows…well my family knows, but they don’t count.  Unless they’re in the industry… and connected…and can give me a job…or open the door to a job…or at the very least…point me in one’s direction.  Then I guess they’d count…but mine can’t…so they don’t. Count, that is.) are subjected to auditioning for co-starring parts. 

A co-starring part is a role that has no real meaning except to move the story forward.  The, “He went thata way,” types of parts.  They’re nothing more than fillers for what’s really going on with or to the main characters. I know, “There’s no small parts, only small actors.” Yeah, well tell that crap to Denzel or Will, Brad, Tom or…Tom…not that I know them by their first names or am putting myself on their level…I could be on their level…if I had more parts or practice. And I’m not talking about classes or plays…in those lil theatres on that boulevard where men prance around in matted wigs wearing tight fitted clothing and barely able to walk in overstuffed worn down high heels. 

I remember doing lots of plays…for no money…no gratitude and no audiences. Trying to trick my mind into thinking I was really working on my craft. And student films, they’re the worst. They take all day…for no pay…with the promise of food…which is a huge plus…but it’s vegan and it taste like chalk…and you’re promised a copy for your reel…that you never receive and have to hunt them down and threatened to beat their ass before they finally get you a copy. 

I’m talking about a real role; that has a story line, and a budget.  Where the characters are loved or hated by the audience…and if it’s a guest starring one, it has the possibility to recur…and with great acting skills and an overwhelming response from the public…becomes a series regular!  Then you become the break out star and you’re credited with saving the entire production from possible extinction.  But no, I’m stuck auditioning for one or two liners. What the hell can you do with those? How do you prepare?  What kinds of characters can you create out of one or two lines?!  How many different ways can you say them or intentions can you have?  Sometimes I really believe they can be a detriment because you have no time to recover if you make a mistake.  There’s so much pressure to be perfect.  You’ve got to nail it and be “spot on” the first time out or you’ve shot yourself in the foot.

I remember I went in for a popular television series where I had one word, “Doctor!” What’s even more ridiculous is they had a pre audition where I had to read with just the casting director.  Then I was called back for the producers! Now, I don’t want to say that I didn’t put in the work, because I did.  I treated that audition like I was reading for the lead. But in the back of my mind, I couldn’t get past the absurdity of it all.  They could have cast an extra right on the set. Yet they held a huge casting session and saw lots of actors for one word! In my opinion that was just so the casting director could justify his role and responsibilities to the network.  It made absolutely no sense.

I booked that part though. I sure did! I think it was because I set the scene up, said the word, “Doctor,” and then bowed at the end like I had just performed on Broadway. Made em laugh. They saw how preposterous that shit was.  I got that money though and the subsequent residual checks.  A residual check; that’s what I call them type of parts, because they’re not really parts at all to me. They’re just residual checks and a credit on your resume; ways to pay some bills and keep it moving.  

Every blue moon I do get an audition for a one day guest starring part. Used to be anywhere from 5 to 8 days.  Even with SAG minimum, it was some good money back in the day. Now they’ve narrowed that down to one or two days in order to save all the big money for the stars. So, I get this big audition; 16 pages of sides.  Those are the pages from the script. I don’t know why they call them sides. Makes them sound like lunch or something.  Anyway, when my agent said there were 16 pages, I was like, “Yes! Finally something I can sink my teeth into!” So, I downloaded the sides and…okay, usually sides have a continuous amount of dialogue and directions.  This aids in continuity and preparation for the scene.  However, parts of the dialogue and directions in these particular pages have been crossed out with a thick black marker. Now, the first thing that goes through my mind is, “WTF!”  Why would they cross stuff out in big black marker?! Don’t they realize how much ink those X’s take up on my printer!  Then if that’s not bad enough, entire scenes have been skipped.  Somehow I’m supposed to spend my precious time making sense out of all this shit.  But I do it, because I’m a professional…and talented…and I love the competition of it all.  I’m perfect for this part and my mantra is, “He who makes sense out of all this crap…wins.” So, I put my cell phone on silence and turn off the TV.  I devote all of my time to the motivation, subtext, and to preparing the character to being a person in a place.

By the time I walked into that casting director’s office I was ready.  I’d connected every dot and I’d made every stupid unnecessary cross out make sense.  I was fully prepared to kill that audition when the first thing out the casting director’s mouth was, “We’re only going to read the first two pages.”  What…the fuck?!  You mean to tell me I spent all night cramming my brain full of unnecessary shit for nothing. Not to mention the time I put into making this piece crap make sense and you’re going to tell me we’re only reading the first two pages?! Oh, hell no! We’re reading all these motherfucken pages! Fuck that! Sit your ass back, get all them pages out, and let’s go! (Pause)  That’s what I wanted to say. That’s what went through my mind.  That was the subtext of the expression on my face.  However, all I said was, “Okay.”  Okay?  Okay?! No I didn’t just say, okay?! I couldn’t believe it, I just said, “Okay.”  I wanted to smack my own self in the mouth.

Then she asked if I had any questions.  Any questions?!  Hell yeah I got questions.  Like, why are you wasting our time?  When did you know you weren’t going to use all these goddamn pages?  Didn’t you think it would have been appropriate to call our agencies and let them know?  Do you even feel bad about this?  Do you know how much better I could have been if I only had two pages to study? Why are some you guys also talent managers?! Why are you teaching classes and workshops?!  I shouldn’t have to pay to get in front of you. It’s your job to discover me without me having to pay for it! And don’t you think it’s a conflict of interest that you’re represented by talent agencies?  In addition, what qualifies you to evaluate my greatness?! You’re just an out of work actor who couldn’t cut it!  (Pause) Damn...I’m losing it. (Pause) So, instead I just smiled and said, “No…no questions.” (Pause) Why did I smile?

I didn’t get the part, probably because of all the nonverbal communication contradictions that ran through my body.  On the other hand, instead of me just moving on, I go through the arduous task of trying to figure out why not. When in reality, who cares?  Whether I was too tall, too short, too dark, too light, my nose was too broad, my lips were too big, I didn’t have enough hair, I was too skinny, too fat, I looked like the neighborhood bully that used to beat you up, I look like your dad or uncle that use to…, your ex-husband that use to…, I was too talented, not talented enough, too sexy, not sexy enough, and everything in between.  The bottom line is, nobody bought what I was selling that day and my ego can’t handle it. Therefore I’m going to morph myself into what I believe the industry wants.  You want a thug; I’m going to give you that. You want college educated; I’m going to be that. You want sexy; I’m that. You want nerdy; I can be that too.  I’m going to walk into the room as the character. I’m going to walk into the room as myself, then transform into the character.  The only problem is; I don’t know who I am or who to believe anymore.

Do I believe my parents who say I’m wonderful because they don’t want to disappoint me? Do I believe my acting teacher who says I’m talented because she wants that continuous check? Do I believe my friends who don’t want to hurt my feelings or my spouse who loves me just as I am?  My sense of reality is becoming warped and I start sinking into a depression. Am I good enough? Am I a fraud?  Am I kidding myself into thinking I have real talent? Am I enough? Do I have anything of artistic value to contribute anywhere?

I find myself crying hysterically alone, cursing myself for making the decision to become an artist.  Wanting to stick my head in the oven, only to realize...that’s going to hurt!  On the verge of a complete emotional breakdown, I become fully aware and present in the moment. I can taste the saltiness of my tears.  That’s when I pick myself up and look at myself in the mirror. I'm a wreck, but somewhere deep in my mind this little voice says, "What does the contortion of my face look like?  How does the feeling I’m having show up in my body?  Is there anything I see that I can use in my art? Anything? Anything?"  Then the voice says, "Use all of it."  All of it? (Pause) Right, I can use all of it.  I can put this experience in my bag of tricks and hopefully replicate it again when needed.  That’s what an artist does, imitates life and makes it more interesting.  

My cell phone rings. It’s my agent. I have an audition tomorrow, for another co-starring part, but with the possibility to recur.  I read the description, it perfect for me. Time to brush myself off, get myself together, open my bag of tricks and start the insanity all over again.  I got bills to pay, a show to book, and an intrinsic talent that’s just been rehearsed, but being wasted alone in this room.

Clybourne Park is NOT a companion to A Raisin in the Sun

Clybourne Park is a Pulitzer and Tony award winning play by Bruce Norris written as a response to Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun.  Although I did not see the play when it was in Los Angeles, after watching the Tony Awards telecast, I enthusiastically took the liberty to read the manuscript.

I must say that I’m a huge fan of Lorraine Hansberry’s work and since Clybourne Park received such prestigious awards and accolades, I was extremely excited to read it.  The premise represented something new and fresh and I since it had been describe as "a powerful work whose memorable characters speak in witty and perceptive ways to America's sometimes toxic struggle with race and class consciousness," I was extremely interested to know the prospective of the White neighborhood and their intimate views regarding race and class.

In A Raisin in the Sun, Hansberry’s characters are rich and full of life.  They are so well developed that what they have to say is like food for the soul. Her words defined an entire generation of people who felt undervalued and demoralized, yet still aspired for the American dream. The play is so well crafted that it still has relevance today.

On the other hand while reading Clybourne Park, I found myself continuously throwing up my hands in sheer frustration at the lack of integrity to Hansberry’s masterpiece.  I understand that it’s two separate writers; however there is no substance in the story or its characters. What critics have deemed as wit is really just the author’s lack of creativity and subtext. The story is superficial and frankly as I continued reading the manuscript, I found myself becoming increasingly insulted at any type of association with A Raisin in the Sun.

The premise of the play is fascinating. Act I takes place, not as a prequel to (as advertised), but is taking place simultaneously to the actions in A Raisin in the Sun.  Mr. Lindner goes to the White family that sold their house to the Younger family and asked them to basically renege on their contract.  The play further states that the reasoning behind why the house was put on the market in the first place was because the White family’s son committed suicide in his room.  Therefore the family put the house on the market at a reduced rate. It’s insinuated that the only way the Black family could have afforded to purchase this house was because it was reduced. However, it doesn’t take into account that if the house were undervalued, then why didn’t another White family snap it up since it was in such a desirable neighborhood?  The writer also doesn’t take into account that historically, when the first Black family moved into an all White neighborhood, they usually paid more than what the house was worth. (It was only once “White flight” started to happen, were houses significantly reduced for quick sales.)

With that being said, I also take issue with the writing itself. It was so contrived and uncalculating.  Nobody cares about the origins of Neapolitan ice cream or what a person from a European city is called.  The dialogue all seemed to be unnecessary banter because the author couldn’t think of anything of real meaning to write about. I would even compare it to a vaudevillian routine reminiscent of Abbot and Costello without the humor, originality or resourcefulness.

I wanted this play to have some ingenuity. I wanted it to tell the perspective of a White community who sees their whole world crumble at the idea of being neighbors to a Black family.  I wanted to experience the absurdity and be uncomfortable at the notion of superiority and how that’s reflected in the lives of Whites during that time period. I wanted to be “a fly on the wall,” and listen to their most private thoughts.  Thoughts they only say amongst themselves. I wanted to know what their dreams were and how they were very similar to those of Blacks, yet very different.  I wanted the story to tell the truth. I wanted it to be gritty, honest and as poetic as A Raisin in the Sun. Again, I wanted it to tell the pure, unadulterated, underlining truth.

Yet, at the end of Act I, I didn’t care about any of the characters. I guess I should have cared about Rus and Bev’s loss of their son to suicide, but I didn’t.  The reasoning being, I didn’t know enough about them to care. The dialogue was written to be basically clever, so much so, that it lacked all the edibles needed to feed the imagination. Not only were the characters interchangeable, they were monotonous. None of them had anything to say or contribute to moving the story forward or to getting at what was the actual theme of the story. I felt like I was reading a play that was standing still while trying to move forward on an engine using water for gas.

Act II warranted such huge potential. It takes place 50 years later in 2009 when a White family purchases the Younger family house and wants to move into the neighborhood and tear it down in order to build a much larger unpermitted structure.  There is so much that Norris could have written about in this act, yet is misses its mark as well.  In my opinion, the reason is because the writer hasn’t committed to understanding the multifaceted issues of the times or both parties involved.  It’s not enough to simply be an excellent writer with a nack for brainy dialogue.  You have to have something to write about and you have to totally commit to comprehending the complexities of each side.  Only then can you write a story so compelling that you breathe life into the statement of each the characters.

Instead of tackling some existent contemporary social issues, Norris chose to write superficial dialogue about a White family planning on moving back into the Clybourne Park neighborhood.  What he doesn’t express is the underlining quandary as to why. What was their reason or game plan?  Was the draw low-cost housing and easier access to downtown businesses and other conveniences?   Was it their intent to take the neighborhood back?  What was the reason that they only discuss when they’re amongst themselves?  Again, I wanted to be a “fly on the wall.”  On the other hand, what he chose to concentrate on was the family vaguely negotiating with the neighborhood council regarding tearing down the Younger house and rebuilding a larger unpermitted structure.  Who cares? That’s not interesting because there are blatant issues regarding race and economics that are totally being ignored.

Interesting is the fact that they want to move back into an area which had experienced “White Flight.”  An area where Black folks have seemingly now control, yet the White folks don’t think the house, as is, is good enough for them.  They seem to feel that if they are to live amongst Blacks, they need to tear down the original structure and rebuild a much larger one so that it is more a resemblance of their lifestyle.

Missing is the entire issue of gentrification in which higher income people move back into urban neighborhoods, tear down old houses, build conglomerate structures and drive up property values; displacing poorer residents, many of them the elderly, who can’t afford the higher rents or an increase in their property taxes.  Unfortunately, all you get in Act II is more unnecessary banter and that problem is not addressed or resolved.

In this act, the characters again, are undeveloped, especially the two Black characters who, minus a few specific racial statements, can be interchangeable with the White ones.  They have nothing of significance to say other than they are protesting the height requirement of the proposed plans by the White family. There’s a reference to the same ole cliché about White people having Black friends and some dim-witted racial jokes that seem to be unnecessary and contrived.  It’s almost an act about words and sentences more than sustenance. The Black characters in particular have nothing of value to say specifically because the author doesn’t know how to write the sentiments of Black people. 

Norris attempted to make his Black characters appear articulate and White Collard by stating where they worked and that they had been to Europe, but he totally missed the essence of who they were, as well their spirit and undertones. It’s almost as if he wrote them as an after thought without any identity or clear concept. (It’s not enough to write words on a page and hope that the actor is supposed to make some sort of semblance to the meaning. Write what we say and feel and if you don’t know, then ask someone.)  Neither one of the characters had a definitive point of view or a clear and concise notion as to what they were fighting for; which was so disappointing.

There’s a sheer sense of arrogance that Black folks perceive regarding White folks moving into an area and automatically trying to take control. Some through lines could have been, “You moved out of the neighborhood when we moved in for fear of declining property values.  We’ve managed to keep it up and now because of the convenience of its location, you want to move back in.  Yet, it’s no longer good enough unless you can build a massive structure, live above us so you can look down on us as if we’re some sharecroppers.” That gives the play perspective, meat and a tangible place to go.

Lorraine Hansberry’s play was about the American dream and what that dream instinctively meant to a race of people who because of racism were disenfranchised.  It examines America’s complicated history of racial tensions between Blacks and Whites.  There’s a sense of darkness and despair as each character seems to be captivated and almost suffocated by their own circumstances.  In spite of that, there’s hope and so much passion engulfed in those characters that you get a sense of who they are, what they want out of life and what they’re fighting for.  In essence, you feel their pain and root for their success.

I feel like Clybourne Park was another knock off on our history that did not land.  I can only guess that the people who have raved about the writing of this play have not seen, read or fully comprehended the significance and meaning of A Raisin in the Sun.  There is no way to judge this play on its own merits without examining the sensibilities of its predecessor. It should never have been touted as a prequel and sequel to A Raisin in the Sun and if the author decided that was his intention, he should have done more research and stuck with the tone and integrity of Hansberry’s work. Otherwise just make it a play about a White family that sells its house to a Black family in the 1950’s and what happens 50 years later. Only then could it be judged on its own merit and not compared to such an iconic piece of literature and history.  By tying in Clybourne Park with A Raisin in the Sun, it simply falls way, way, way, too short.