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The life of an actor is a tough one. I only dabble in this profession and nearly always only when I myself have written the script and have the power to give myself the part (with some notable exceptions - who could forget my Percy the Shepherd?). This morning I headed out through the rain to Victoria to see a casting director about a couple of small parts in a funny kids TV show. The meeting had been postponed once due to her being ill, but after taking an hour to get across town and getting pissed on by God, I discovered that the casting director was still ill and I was going to have to read my five lines into a camera anyway. There was someone there to turn the camera on (though she forgot to turn the fan off on the first take so I had to redo it) but no one to give me any direction or feedback. So you know, hopefully I just chose to deliver those lines exactly as they wanted them. Within five minutes I was back out in the rain and heading home, wondering why I couldn’t just have filmed that myself at home and saved us all a lot of time. I cannot see me getting either of the two parts I auditioned for, but they’re both pretty much blink and you’ll miss me anyway. I’d like to do a bit more acting (and I am doing a short film on Wednesday) but I don’t know how actors cope with the competition and rejection and I say that as a comedian!
It was still exciting and fun for me because it’s been about three years since I last went to an audition, but if acting was my main job and my week was full of such pointless excursions (or worse if it wasn’t even full of them) then I think I would quickly tire of it. As it was I had been able to use the journey to listen to The Headmaster’s Son. Which had made me feel slightly sick as I realised how much learning there was to do (and I suspect Hitler Moustache will be more difficult), but also made me well up a bit as I got to the slightly emotive ending. If I can get through this show I suspect that I might cry on stage (from relief as much as anything), and if I can’t I will probably cry from frustration. I really thought this would get easier at it went along, but of course, I am getting more tired and at least for now, the shows are not getting any more familiar. I am hoping that We’re All Going To Die! and What Is Love Anyway? will require minimal relearning, but I am not sure I am going to be correct. I know I say it every week, but I am really not sure that I can get this week’s shows up to speed in time.
It’s sort of exciting I suppose. And if I pull it off then I will be feeling OK again by Sunday. But I won’t do anything as ambitious as this again.
As I was looking after Phoebe and trying to get a bit of work done at the same time, she seemed determined to get in on the writing act. Here’s her first effort, "azxrfez`ze`c22zz`q`†I am not entirely clear what it all means, but I didn’t even know she knew what a fez was, let alone how to spell it. It was nice to see her working at the laptop and thanks to her I now know where the ` key is. It’s no Men of Phise, but good to have her starting on her literary career. She put that into the google box too. So I googled it with some trepidation. There were no matches. Though I guess there will be one now. And maybe she can make that into her catchphrase. I am sure we could sell a few T-shirts to fund her formula and mashed banana habits.
