#Woof. Crab the Dog

Commonwealth Shakespeare Company is looking for a few dogs to tag team the role of Crab the Dog in Two Gentlemen of Verona.

Lauren and I brought our dog Brother the Rott-Chihuahua and Internet celebrity Maestro the Corgi to the audition.



Look at these picturesque pups. Both know a couple of tricks and have been trained in the ways of agility, and they've been around actors.

The audition was held at Bark Place in the South End. You can wash your own dog there! Lauren spied on this happy pup as she got her bath.



Lauren took Brother in before the director, the gentleman playing Launce, and many others.

Brother: 25% Rottweiler, 25% Catahoula Leopard Hound, 50% Chihuahua. 30 lbs. Loves small, darting things. Hates noises with unverifiable sources. Can jump three times his own height when excited.



He was freaked out by the man with the camera because it had a light mounted on it, which made it look like the camera was a scary floating thing that hated him.

Yeah, it was a long shot, we knew Brother is just too antsy to be a Show Dog. Be we wanted to give him new experiences.

I took Maestro out before the assembly, on behalf of his owners.



Maestro: Pembroke Welsh Corgi. Fluffy as cotton balls, dense as dark matter. Loves balls, food. Hates brooms, exhaust fans. Will play fetch for as long as any human is willing.

Unlike Brother, Maestro can accept many weird situations in stride. Also, he knows a butt-ton of tricks! They were all quite enamored with Bang! That's when he gets shot with an imaginary bullet and plays dead. He held this position while everyone took pictures.



The Results

Maestro is already among the few esteemed dogs offered the role of Crab.

All those who know him are unsurprised.

#X. Stagesource, Again

The big one! It's been a while, so I was actually excited for this one.

My big self-imposed challenge for this one was to debut two brand new monologues.

Techincally, I failed. Not that I haven't enjoyed what I've seen or read, but nothing that was particularly me

SO I went with Prince Lir, whom I used just once before, and one from my character in Party Time. (coming later this July!!)

Of course, the big thing about non-Equity auditions is the two-minute time limit on the audition. (My peer Joe, as a Union member, gets three whole minutes.)

A peer of ours named Casey Preston posted some Stagesource advice on Joe's Facebook wall.

Do two contrasting monologues with contrasts within the contrasting monologue. Forget about trying to tell a story or have the monologue make sense. Nobody is actually paying attention. Your goal should be to wake up the audience by showing your ability to quickly change moods or characters.

I cut down both monologues a lot and actually timed myself. Every few times I went over I looked out for another sentence to drop. Whenever I was worried about making sense, I reminded myself that sense may not necessarily be the most important part of my audition.

How do other people do it? I still don't know.

The scheduled audition time was for 11:00am. I was asked to show up 45 minutes before. So basically my audition time was 10:15am. I got up nice and early, so instead of making the transfer at Downtown Crossing, I walked through Chinatown up Washington Street.

It was in a rehearsal hall in the Calderwood Pavilion, Boston's theatrical bastion. I headed up to the top floor, where the actors were corralled, and handed over my 40 headshots.

Since every waiting chair was taken, I put my stuff down on the floor, slumped against the corner, and played a little Wild Arms.

I met a fella named Woody, with whom I commiserated about a dearth of seating and a surfeit of time. Soon, Juan C. Rodriguez appeared. We were all in the 11 o'clock crew. My roommate Chelsea appeared soon after.

When our turn came, we were trotted to the break room just outside of the rehearsal hall, at which point we were informed about the audition space, including the presence of a precious chair, and reminded about the 2-minute limit - the stage manager, Maureen, would open the door to the hall and say, "Time."

We were also informed that we'd have 10-seconds prior to say Hello and introduce our pieces. It was then that I forgot who wrote The Last Unicorn.

Some people got their audition down pat. Woody strolled out of the door just as Maureen opened it to say, "Time."

When I went in, I said, "Hey, gang," grabbed the chair, placed it up-left, came down center and said, "These two pieces are from The Last Unicorn and Pinter's Party Time."

I liked doing the Unicorn piece. I don't think I'm who comes to mind when casting directors think of "princely" but it was mostly for me to have fun and get energized.

The Party Time one, though, is definitely what people would cast me for - a sad weirdo with serious problems. I got to the last word just as Maureen said, "Time."

I realize now that I had actually been concerned with how much time I had left for the duration of my audition. While my mind was thinking about the clock, my mouth and the rest of my body were acting.

Practice is so important that way!







1 headshot remains.

Concerning the printing of headshots

I ordered my Stagesource headshots from urban headshot-printing juggernaut Reproductions, whom I ordered from last time. They sent me a proof, I confirmed, and that was it.

Until I realized two days before the Stagesource audition that I had not received them, despite ordering them a month ago.

When I checked on my order online, I noticed it had never received a FedEx shipping number. It was not going to be here in time.

So I quickly thought of Flash Print in Harvard Square, whom I've used for script printing.

I quickly pulled up my headshot in Photoshop, put my name on it (in Futura Book), and sent it along with my resume, requesting 40 copies of my headshot with my resume on the back.

Within a half hour, I was asked how I wanted the image cropped - I confirmed the proof, and they took care of the rest.

The color was a LITTLE off, but if I spent a little time prior to correct, it would have looked perfect.

The whole order was turned around in 5 hours at half the cost.

Actors - go to Flash Print. Or, really, just go local.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Turnip Truck: Free Work and Paying to Play

A while ago, Ken Cheeseman told me, and others like me, that we should never have to pay for the right to audition. I mean, you wouldn't pay someone for an interview, right?

That shit's getting harder and harder to do, because there are plenty of people who don't think your time is worth anything, because there are a bunch of people who want to do what you do who don't think their time is worth anything.

The acting profession has always been a weird damn thing. Centuries ago, they were on par with whores. And, going by classical definitions, things have not changed drastically.

I don't know if it's cliche by now to compare real actors with reality television stars. I know for some presentation, a school colleague of mine paralleled performances by Terry O'Quinn and Snooki.

That's one thing. If people want Snooki then, well, that's the climate. You can't change it. It's the same as print, architecture, law - demands change. Climate change is old news in acting.

What Terry and Snooki have in common is that they don't do this shit for free. And just because you don't have a recognizable name, that doesn't mean you should be doing it for nothing. There are a lot of numbers between zero and a million.

Two recent articles have brought the worth of my efforts to my consciousness' center stage, so to speak.

1) Should you work for free?

The answer's complicated, and depends on you and your field, but there are some other handy questions to ask yourself after the initial one.

Do they pay other people who do this work? Do their competitors?

Am I learning enough from this interaction to call this part of my education?

Is this public work with my name on it, or am I just saving them cash to do a job they should pay for?

If I get paid, is it more likely the organization will pay closer attention, promote it better and treat it more seriously?

Do I care about their mission? Can they afford to do this professionally?

Will I get noticed by the right people, people who will help me spread the word to the point where I can get hired to do this professionally?

What's the risk to me, my internal monologue and my reputation if I do this work?

There's also a handy flowchart here.



2) Networking event with casting directors called off

For a fee of $25, organizers — Caruso and local Coldwell Banker realtor Anthony Menounos — promised to put participants in front of established Hollywood casting directors whom they declined to identify.

Also on the agenda was a silent auction for a bridge in Florida.

As fishy as hell as this sort of thing sounds, it's not even the worst-case scenario. There have been actual networking events that have occurred where people pay even MORE money to meet actual people who don't otherwise give a good damn.

And y'know? Maybe that's okay. I'm sure there's a reason for it. Like, say, you don't actually have the skill or know-how to give a good audition, but you can schmooze up a storm, then that's one way to be noticed. Or you just hate having so much money. But please understand why you're giving your money away.

As I'm trying to get a foot into voice-over, I find out that most audition websites have registration fees exceeding a hundred dollars. Just to even be considered you've got to pay.

And whenever I see an audition in StageSource or Playbill with an audition fee, my mind just reels.

Let me tell you about a mistake I made this past year.

I paid a certain "production" company (studio? performance lab? still figuring it out) a certain amount of money for the privilege of meeting one of my favorite voice actors in a workshop.

And, money aside, it was cool. He was a great guy. He retold a lot of stories I heard from his podcast, but he actually listened to me perform and then autographed something for my mom.

The head of the company talked me up and down, and invited me to come into their facilities. Weeks later, I agreed. I was hoping to find out specifics about services and pricing, but because a chunk of my trip involved walking along route 9 in the wrong direction on a hot day, I was late, and didn't get to that part in the conversation.

I was invited to sit in on the first part of an introductory Meisner class taught by a visiting professional.

Here's a thing about Emerson College:

In my theatre training, I was taught many methods to use in characterization and performance. They were not considered to be "philosophies" or "techniques," but merely tools. For any given project, I used only the tools I needed, and did not fetishize or deify any method I learned. That is one thing Emerson is to be commended for. It's the jeet kune do of acting.

However, nothing I learned was ever named. I was tested on the history of defunct and irrelevant theatrical practices, but the differences between Stanislavski and Meisner are merely cosmetic to me. As a result, I always feel less knowledgeable than actors who have gone to other schools.

Fortunately, knowing that stuff doesn't make you better or worse.

So I sat and thought, Oh. So this is Meisner.

I already paid tens of thousands of dollars to learn this, and I don't want to pay any more.

Still, that didn't necessarily mean there weren't other things to be learned here, especially where the elusive mayfly of voice-over is concerned. So I thanked those on staff for the time that they did manage to spend with me, and made my way to leave.

In the hallway towards the foyer, a bunch of framed headshots were hung with care, clearly belonging to those trained by the studio. I was happy to find among them a headshot belonging to an old colleague of mine.

When I went home, I message him on Facebook, telling him I visited the studio, and:

I saw your headshot on their wall. How do you feel about those cats? Are they cool? Worth my time and money?

To which he replied,

Terry, I have to say it's definitely a little weird to me that my headshot was on their wall seeing as how I have never worked with them or set foot in their studio.

Listen.

I'll be launching my professional web site pretty soon. I plan on being super positive and polite on that, just like regular actors are.

But this isn't L.A. If I have any asses to lick in Boston, they're probably asses I don't need to associated with.

And if I'm not using this blog as a place to get dirty about the inspiring and infuriating cesspool that is arts and entertainment, then I'm doing a disservice to the other artists trying to figure their stuff out.

So everyone out there who plans on scamming actors along with the other pie-faced dweebs who want to be on Broadway or whatever:

Please don't treat us like we just fell off the goddamn turnip truck.

You wouldn't ask a homeless person to dance for you and then take their dime, so don't try that shit with us.

And actors, if you've been doing it right, you've already put your hard work into honing your craft.

So ask yourself: "When is acting gonna start working for me?"

#6, #7, #8. CP Casting Revisited

An open casting call. "Some projects will be paid work and some projects will be non-paid work."

Alright, that's pretty broad, but sure. I don't remember any recognition from my last audition with C.P. Casting, but I wanted to try and get in front of one of the bigger casting directors in the city again.

They distributed four monologues to choose to audition with.

1. Good Will Hunting. I still haven't seen this movie, but I assumed it was Matt Damon talking, and I figured, "I'm not Matt Damon."

2. The Hangover. Haven't seen this, either! It's when Zach Galifinakis' character cuts his hand open. I thought, "This would be funny if I were Zach Galifinakis."

3. Something with a guy named Harry talking to someone else about a woman named Helen. I was almost certain it was from When Harry Met Sally, since it was a monologue from a movie about a relationship.

4. A character named SERGEANT. I skipped right over that one.

So I went with number 3, though number 2 was close. The thing about both monologues is that, in theatre, they would be pretty lousy audition monologues. One involves reading a speech from a note, and other is an account of something that already transpired. Neither are particularly in the moment.

I went with Harry because, ultimately, even if it's just me talking to someone about about me talking to someone, it does involve navigating through a tense situation.

So I go to the door, and there were moving men there. Now I start to get suspicious. I say, "Helen when did you call these movers?", and she doesn't say anything. So I asked the movers, "When did this woman book you for this gig?" And they're just standing there. Three huge guys, one of them was wearing a T-shirt that says, "Don't fuck with Mr. Zero." So I said, "Helen, when did you make this arrangement?" She says, "A week ago." I said, "You've known for a week and you didn't tell me?" And she says, "I didn't want to ruin your birthday."

I worked pretty hard on this one. Even if it wasn't something I would've chosen on my own, it was the best of all the options presented to me, which meant I didn't have to second-guess myself on whether or not it was suitable. I could just work on it.

I took it off the page. I divided the beats. I Meisner'd it. I redivided the beats. I did it while I held a Jingju Peking opera pose atop the hill overlooking the Frog Pond skating rink in Boston Common.

If I put in the work, I wouldn't be disappointed with the results.

Auditions were at the Paramount sound stage at Emerson College. If I remember my time at Emerson, I'm sure exactly three students have ever used it.

I filled out an information sheet. On the back, it asked if I were interested in being cast in films by students from Emerson College.

Ho, boy. I figured the non-paid work would be for student films.

In a lot of ways, I found the theatre department and the film department at Emerson College were complete opposites. Theatre focused on artistic expression. Film focused on technical know-how. And never the twain shall meet.

But I've found even the technical skill to be lacking on so many of the sets that I've worked on. It's usually a mystery as to what half of the people are doing there - presumably suckers asked by their friends to lug equipment to and fro, waiting for nothing to happen the rest of the time.

And the shooting schedule. Is the shooting schedule something that film students are taught to make in school? They should all get their tuition back, because I've never known a shooting schedule to actually make sure anything happens when it's supposed to.

And in the case that everything remains technically sound during production, you're still at the whims of the story. Even Hollywood productions can barely handle maintaining the integrity of the script, if the script has any integrity to begin with.

PROTIP: Before you accept a role in a student film, ask for a copy of the script. If it's not a good role for you that makes you look good, tell them you're busy.

I've always wondered how student films recruited the services of casting companies. Money? In-kind trades?

Oh. Uh. Anyway.

Those running the auditions outside of the sound stage were doing pretty well keeping things on schedule, making sure someone was always in the room auditioning. I took a whizz, did some jumping jacks, and got in line when my turn came up.

"Alright," I said to myself, "Control the room, find your mark, and find the spot on the wall above the casting people's heads where the imaginary person you're talking to is."

When I stepped in, I was silently pointed toward a director's chair just beside the doorway. When I looked on the stage, the guy in front of me was there, giving his audition. Seemed as though this is how they did things so speedily. It was big enough within that he didn't seem to notice me.

Normally, watching somebody else audition psyches me out. And I realized quickly that he was doing the same monologue that I had worked on. What cruelty, to subject me to another actor's choices right before my audition!

But then,

I thought something I tend to never think about other actors.



Nothing against this guy. But he had definitely either 1) seen the movie or 2) was a staunch theatre actor. At least, he didn't seem like he was giving a film audition. It was too much.

Understand, I am rarely ever the kind of person to consider myself at all superior to someone else in any way. But being able to sit and watch this guy's audition made me feel complete confidence in my choices.

When he got up, we passed each other, and I took his place in a chair on the sound stage before several long tables with people of all shapes and ages seated behind them.

Carolyn Pickman - the CP in CP Casting - told me to slate to the camera and then direct my audition to the reader, a young bearded gentleman seated in front of me.

And I did. I felt good. Measured, natural.

And I looked at the reader - the person whose job it is to look and listen to the person auditioning - and I was super glad he was there, because my monologue IS about telling another guy what happened between a woman and myself.

But he kept... looking... at the door.

Just like... really quick and obvious glances at the door. Like he was expecting someone.

In the back of my mind I was like, "Oh, man. Some guy asked this guy if he wanted to be a reader, and he didn't know what that meant." Fortunately, I was still auditioning with the front of my mind.

When I was done, I said Thanks and headed for the door. Carolyn said something along the lines of, "Good job."

Sweet.

I hope CP Casting's professionalism reflects the work ethic of the student film production teams.

I also hope they don't notice that the cat sneezed on one of my headshots.



2 headshots remain.

#5.5 Party Time!

There actually isn't an exclamation point in the title of this short and harrowing tale by Harold Pinter. But it sure is exciting whenever Theatre on Fire announces an audition!

What's neat about Party Time is that the production'll be another home invasion like Vincent River was. So it'll be wonderful AND strange!

I was only really suitable for the last role, a character who makes an appearance at the very end of the show.

But I THOUGHT I might have a shot at a character named Terry. I didn't know if having the same name would give me an advantage or just make things awkward. I could've argued that it would save money on printing. "Featuring Terry as same."

I'm lucky because I live with Chelsea Schmidt, who is the production assistant for the show. That means I got a ride to Charlestown Working Theater where the audition was and I got to read the play before hand.

(It's a weird one, guys. I like it, but I can't quite articulate why yet.)

Anyway, the weekend before the audition I was real worried about the monologue I should use. Candy Factory has been my standby for a long time now, but I could have sworn I used it for a Theatre on Fire audition before, and I didn't wanna repeat myself. I actually had to check this blog to make sure that I hadn't. It's definitely time to learn a new monologue.

Anyway, I put Candy Factory into practice one more time at the audition. Director Darren was real apologetic about the boisterous class taking place above the theater. It worked for me. I did my monologue, honestly, the most sober way I'd ever done it. It was strange. This monologue's been real good to me. I'll miss it.

Darren also asked if I ever performed in any non-traditional spaces. I mentioned a performance installation on the Charles River Esplanade where I jogged back on forth on a pier for an hour and a half, occasionally coming to a halt while a woman in a tree far away song a wordless aria. As Emerson College experiences go, it was one of the better ones.

Three days later, I get called back! Callbacks were at the ol' BCA Plaza Black Box Theatre I know so well on a very busy day. Parking in the South End is usually hell, and this day it was particularly bad! Many actors were late. Laura Menzie, who was Juliet in that Romeo and Juliet I did that one time eventually arrived. We were jazzed.

But also nervous! This isn't an easy play to audition for. The entire play takes place at a cocktail party for the one percent, and everyone's motivations are very below the surface - tough stuff to pick up on the fly.

I was lucky to be asked to read for Jimmy, the character at the end of the show. His frame of mind is about as mysterious is everyone else's, but his language does stimulate the imagination. I also got called back for another schmuck who I wasn't as attuned to.

In the waiting room, it was killing us that Darren wasn't dropping any directions after scenes. Usually that's something that would bug me, but I understood. This play is probably harder to cast than to audition for. I don't envy 'im.

Two days later, I was lucky enough to be offered the role of Jimmy.



I did, however, forget to bring my headshot and resume to the initial audition. Whoops!



Still 5 headshots remain.

#5. She Kills Monsters

Oh boy! It's always exciting when Company One announces a show with a sizable cast. And especially when it's a show that was written by someone from Vampire Cowboys!

I wanted to a see a Vampire Cowboys show once years ago, Soul Samurai, but it was sold out, so I never did! Which is too bad. These cats seemed to be doing the sort of things I thought I'd like to be doing in Boston.

My roommie, marathon-runner and actress Chelsea told me about it, and we dived at the opportunity to audition. Days later we received our audition instructions.

• When you enter the audition room you will complete the following fill in the blank:
  "The nerdiest thing about me is _________ ."
• Next, please bring five images or objects that somehow relate to that nerdiest thing about you.
• Next, please recite a text that you love to recite. Any text, as long as it is one minute in length or shorter.
• Last, you will be asked to read from one of the sides provided at the audition.

Now THIS was a comprehensive audition! So much leeway, so many facets to control, so many ways to stand out from everyone else!

Four days later, we got an update. Due to the overwhelming response from the audition posting, in order to make time for everyone, the audition requirement was changed to a two-minute contemporary monologue. Well, I guess I coulda seen that coming.

They also sent out a copy of the script. I thought maybe I'd still audition with something from Speed Racer, which I would've done before the audition change, but I figured if they were playing it safe maybe I would, too. I went with Candy Factory, which seemed more tonally appropriate.

I was early for the audition at the BCA Plaza Theatre, the first actor there, beating even the director. I filled out my availability and my stage combat experience and hung around looking at the various paraphernalia in the lobby. I saw Bengal Tiger in the Baghdad Zoo was getting some good press!

Two ladies still went in to audition before me - I guess they wanted to stick to their schedule. It didn't work out quite so well, 'cause I didn't get to audition till after my assigned time. What's nice about C1 auditions is that they're predictable - always pleasantly staffed, always behind schedule.

When I got in, I met Shira, Phil, and Corianna. For my audition I planned on using a chair in the theater - pretending my hands are tied to the back of the chair is my bread-and-butter for this monologue. There was no chair. So I sat on the lip of the stage, with my legs out in front of me.

Thinking back, I guess I shouldn't've chosen a sitting-down monologue to audition for an action-packed show.

Afterward, the director asked me a lot of questions. Where I was from, why I was still in Boston. She was also the first person to ever ask me during an audition what the plot of Another Bad Night at the Candy Factory is: "Two guys are stuck in a candy factory, and at the act break they're tied up waiting for a man from an underground tribe to murder one of them so he can get his big boy pants."

She also asked me about Emerson College. "Honestly?" I asked.

"It's safe here," she said, gesturing to the mostly empty theater.

"I liked everyone at Emerson and I'm happy to have met everyone I did. Emerson itself was not very helpful. It's a small school that acts like a big school. Now that I'm out, I don't feel connected there at all.

"I went to Emerson because, on a tour, one of the guides said her friend was mounting a staged production of The Nightmare Before Christmas. I found out that had everything to do with the people in charge of the production, and nothing to do with the school.

"I did learn a lot about the emotional and creative aspects of acting, but very little about the mechanics. I'm training for voice over now, and I'm learning so much that I thought I would've learned by now for all the money I spent."

I think I spoiled the good will I was given with my biliousness. They were still very pleasant, and I think I was still complaining about Emerson when they said Goodbye.

The two women who auditioned before me were asked to "wait a moment" so the stage manager could check with the director to see if they should be asked to stay longer to read from sides.

The stage manager did not check when with the director after I stepped out, telling me immediately that I was "released".

Message received, loud and clear!



5 headshots remain