Advice for an actor moving to Boston

Hi Terry,

I wanted to reach out and say hi. I am a big fan of your blog. I found it a few days ago and loved reading through it. I was bummed you stopped blogging, but I totally get that life gets super busy! Anyway, I am reaching out because I am an actor and moving out to Boston after my summer contract ends in August!!!! Woo hoo! I am super stoked, but also pretty nervous.
I was wondering if you could throw any tips or tricks my way. Things that you wish you had known going into the Boston market, or any advice on navigating the audition scene and finding auditions. That is what I am having a tough time with on the interwebs.

Anywho, hope all is well. Thanks in advance for your help! 

Best,
Mary Bridget McCarthy

Thank YOU, Mary, for giving me a very easy and effective way to update 10 Headshots!

Here are some tips for getting ready to act in Boston. Starting with the most important.


1. Be friendly!

This is not just acting advice. This is living advice. Smile everywhere you go, and don't stop being polite and patient for even a single moment! If some idiot wouldn't remove their bag from the seat on the subway to make room for you, DON'T shove them onto the tracks on the way out, because they may be going to the same audition as you. They may even be running it! Boston is a small city that was founded by vengeful and petty Puritans, and no one forgets a slight - even if they pretend they have.

But being friendly doesn't just avoid the accumulation of enemies. It also encourages the accumulation of friends! Friends will be your most important single resource in Boston. Not just for typical friend-things, either, like splitting dinner bills and getting high and things of this nature. Your friends - if you chose them wisely - will be a source of constant, necessary, and up-to-date PERSPECTIVE. "You should try THIS monologue." "Have you heard of this company? You'd love their stuff!" "Someone dropped out of my show - are you busy?"

Being friendly is especially useful if you're not a very talented actor. "Well, they're obviously wrong for every single role," someone might say, "but the stage manager said they were the only person in the room who wasn't a stupid asshole, so let's keep 'em on our list."


2. Get a day job!

NO! Don't skip this!

When you do start getting into productions, you may notice certain people, especially technical experts or designers, who seem to be in the performance space long before you showed up and who stay there for some time after you go.

a) How can they afford to spend so much time working on something that pays so little?
They have a day job that's better than yours!

b) How can they put so much creative energy into this after working all day?
They hate their stupid nightmare job, but they actually LIKE theatre!

Obviously I don't suggest actively seeking a job that crushes your soul, but realize this:

When you act in Boston, you are in essence straddling two careers - acting, and the thing you do the other 70~90% percent of the time until people realize what a brilliant actor you are. And you need to get started on career number two before you send out a single headshot.

Now, if you have a degree in something useful, this shouldn't a big deal. A desk job would be a great way to free up time to read scripts, find monologues, and keep in touch with people.

"But Terry," you might be asking, "I have a degree in theatre and can do literally nothing else. What should I do?" You should go back and reread step one, because you are going to need to be friendly for your potentially multiple part-time jobs in the service industry!

Just go ahead and put the part-time section of Craigslist as the very first item in your bookmark toolbar right now, because you'll be looking at it every morning.

PROTIP: Coffee shop shifts are early and likely won't conflict with your eventual rehearsals.

Your friends are, once again, a valuable resource. If they are indeed good friends, they should be able to honestly answer the question, "What the hell do you do to make money?"

Some may even encourage you to apply for a job where they work. Some may even help you find a GOOD job, one that might even involve performance to some extent! At the very least, you'll get a good idea of how to narrow down your Ask Jeeves searches based on their input.

Friends' advice can be especially helpful they are NOT actors, as sometimes young actors are very coy about their income...

IN THE CASE OF PARENTAL ASSISTANCE 

Boston is currently the second-most expensive city in the United States. If you are moving here, it is likely because a) you didn't know that, b) you seem to think it'll work out somehow, or c) your parents are at least partially footing the bill. 

In the case of the last option, I encourage you to adhere to the previous steps regardless. You'll actually learn something, and you'll be ready for when your dumbass folks eventually make a fatal mistake and lose all of their vast fortunes - or, they may make a literally fatal mistake, and actually die. 

And IF your parents are investing in the beginnings of your career in this city, be sure and actually make it worthwhile. Take advantage of this precious time when you don't have to worry about rent, because who knows when it'll end! Take a look at those job listings on Craigslist, see what skill sets they're looking for, and find a class at an adult education center for it. Go for something with computers - get that desk job I was talking about.

3. Get in the loop!

Now let's get down to business!

Join Stagesource. Especially for your first year here, it'll be your one-stop shop to not only learn about shows that are opening and offering discounted seats once in a while, but auditions! Auditions to which someone just like you can submit a headshot and resume and just show right up!

Stagesource also provides an annual opportunity to attend Stagesource Auditions, to which any theatre producer worth a damn comes to look for people like you to cast! Well, maybe not just like you. You'll probably completely blow it the first time.

Now, you may be surprised to discover that I am not currently a Stagesource member. That is because, having attended so many auditions already, I am on enough mailing lists that I can found out when a company has any auditions coming up pretty easily. Realize that Stagesource is an intermediary. When the time comes to renew that membership, consider whether or not your relationship has been fruitful enough already.

Join New England Actor... or don't. If you want to do film and video and build up material for a reel, go for it - it's cheap enough to be worth it. Realize that you may get an email every 6 weeks from someone 10 or 40 miles outside of the city who wants you to be in his derivative sexist slasher film and is willing to pay in Dunkin Donuts coffee, and never from anyone you actually want to work with.

Whenever you get such an email, ask for the script and ask for the shooting schedule. If you like it, and the timing is right, and it will make you look good in a demo reel, go for it. Otherwise, just tell them you realized that something came up and you'll be too busy.

PROTIP: Unless someone you know can personally vouch for them, resist doing a film with an Emerson College student. They will likely not know the difference between an actor and a Fresnel. This may never come up, because an Emerson film student has never passed the script-reading phase of the process.

ALTERNATIVELY, you could NOT join New England Actor, and just directly contact the "industry professionals" who use the site to find talent.

For commercial work, I heavily suggest sending a headshot, resume, and cover letter to Christine Wyse. They will remember you, and you will get a decent amount of auditions from them, likely more regularly than any similar casting company in Boston.


4. Know thyself!

Some actors can do either screen or stage acting very easily without much adjustment. Some cannot.

If you're like me, you love table reads. You want to find out the meaning behind word choice, and what it says about your character's worldview. And you want to know about the OTHER characters' motivations so you can better understand your characters position in the piece, so you can make better informed decisions about your actions and their context in the presentation of the entire production.

When you're doing an audition for D'Angelo's, they don't care about any of that shit.

You might be extremely good at slipping right into a stock character, an archetype, something that may lack in depth, but is immediately recognizable, allowing anyone looking at you to supply all the information themselves. This is the skill that people want when they are casting a commercial.

I actually don't believe there is a vast difference between theatre and film acting. But there IS a difference between text-driven acting and marketing-driven acting. They are both valuable crafts, and you just might be better at one than the other.

You COULD be good at both, with time. Just know what your weakness is, and work on it in the meanwhile.


5. Don't be a chump!

Bruce Lee, my acting role model, once said, "If you love life, don't waste time, for time is what life is made up of."

Wasting time doesn't necessarily mean "doing nothing." Sometimes "nothing" is the most important thing you do during the day. To waste time yourself is not so terrible as to have your time wasted by someone or something else.

They say that if you want to know what's going on in theatre, you should see plays all of the time, whenever you can.

But let's be reasonable.

a) Do you really want to?

b) Can you really afford that?

c) Can you really think of anything more miserable than a boring play?

There's plenty of dumb crap that gets put up around town. And some of this stuff isn't exactly funded by audience demand. (Refer to "In the Case of Parental Assistance")

So as you take a look at the audition notices that come your way, check out the web sites of the companies hosting them. Look at their past seasons. Do you honestly like the look of the sort of shows they produce? Do their missions statement sound like something you agree with? Does it seem like they've made good on their promise?

Don't go to see plays to fill an imaginary quota. Go to plays because you are honestly intrigued, and want to see if they can deliver on those promises.

And never, if you can avoid it, go to a play by yourself. Get a play buddy, and for every play you invite them to because you're interesting in seeing it, go to a play that they're interested in.

And talk about it afterward! Get that sweet, valuable perspective. Find out which companies have earned your esteem, email them, and ask them to let you know about future auditions.

Remember, this is for the sake of your craft, and really, only you can best understand how you learn. A night watching Netflix can be just as illuminating as a night at the theatre, if you pay close enough attention.


Sometimes, the only way to avoid being a chump, sadly, is to have already been a chump. Some companies' idiosyncrasies are only apparent once you're in the rehearsal room. How can you know, for example, that a director will just straight up lie to you about a rehearsal ending at 10pm, until, after being reminded of the time at least twice, he finally decides to wrap up at 11:30pm?

It happened to me, and I didn't say anything because I didn't know the dude. I was in the room with several people who DID know the dude. And they said nothing. Y'know why? Because they were chumps.

Cliques are unavoidable in a city like Boston, but they're not always dangerous. Cliques of chumps must be constantly vetted and avoided.

Even if you're not Union, you know you're working with a semi-competent company if their stage manager keep a consistently Union-esque track of time between rehearsal breaks. This is a given in a school setting, but is surprisingly rare in some professional spheres.

If they do not have a stage manager - I mean a real stage manager, not just one of the actors who has some kind of vague captainship - get out. Actually break your leg, if you have to, because the process will be a nightmare, and no one will be held accountable.

As always, go back to step one. Enough people you may know have done enough stupid, time-wasting shit that you should be able to avoid much of it if you pay attention.


Now, chumps aren't just a good way to get slave labor, but a good way to make cash, too! Headshot photographers, video demo editors, voice teachers, acting teachers at casting companies - they all want money from YOU.

For the quality of the service they provide, some of them may deserve it! Many of them may not. Some of them, if you take their acting class, may offer you student discounts, hoping you'll ignore the fact that the original price was probably marked up to make the discount price seem sane in comparison.

If you want to start acting professionally, but you're not very good at it yet, classes like these are a great opportunity.

If you have a goddamn degree in acting, unless it's a particular skill you haven't yet acquired, the most you'll come away with from these services is an inspiring anecdote or two. If you're fresh out of school, you may have even better, more applicable wisdom to impart than they can provide.

But headshots and demo reels - you do kind of need that stuff to get noticed, don't you? And classes keep you polished, sharp, and ready for action, don't they?

You do, and they can. But that's not the whole story. Let's combine step one with step six...


6. Make stuff!

The best way to keep polished and ready is to just act. If no one has a role for you, make it for yourself.

I'm amazed sometimes at how unimaginative some actors are, how many just sit and wait for roles. We do this because we have story we want to tell, in some form or another.

You don't have to establish a company. You don't even have to avoid starting a clique. Start somewhere! Go bigger or go smaller. It won't be fantastic the first time, or even the second time, but it will be there. One stupid thing that you actually saw to completion outweighs a hundred lofty ideas you aren't doing anything with. Put it online, and you might get more views and feedback then some fringe plays get in their whole run. And your friends might appreciate the opportunity.

At the end of the day, it will cost the same or less than a workshop, and you'll have learned much more. You also might just like doing it, and make it into a regular gig!

Speaking of friends, some of them might even be good photographers or good video editors. So if you want acting materials, go to them first. You'll help them expand their portfolio, they'll be better invested in the end product, and you'll save money.

PROTIP: Unless you have something palpable to barter with, pay your friend. $100 is a great amount to start with.

PROTIP: Make sure your friend understands the difference between "a headshot" and "a picture of you."

If you do end up sending what turns out to be a crappy reel to a casting company, the worst that can happen is they will forget you. Then you can just send them a good one when you can afford it. Casting companies rarely remember the worst thing you've done - just the most recent.


7. You never know! (but, sometimes, you know)

My first Theatre on Fire production was as an assistant stage manager. Then as a stage manager who was also played a silent character. Then as an actor with multiple roles. Then as a visual designer.

I never imagined I'd have so many different roles in a short span of time with one company. But I DID know, because I had some previous productions, that Theatre on Fire was a company worth my time and respect.

Go back to step one. You never know who you'll run into, or what you can do for or with each other as time goes on.

Then again, go back to step five. You shouldn't encourage a professional relationship because it will pay off somewhere down the line.

If you had a lousy experience with someone, but you've heard that they've changed their process since then, and they're better now, take the amount of time since you've last worked with them, double it, and then wait that length of time again. If you still want to work with them, do it. But, usually, you won't.


8. Quit!

I had some of my best times as an actor when, after a lot of grueling work, I just stopped auditioning for a while and focused on side projects. When I finally was called in for auditions after some months had passed, I was more fluid and responsive because I didn't actually care whether I got the part or not. I haven't sought out an audition in almost a year.

Take care of yourself when you need to. When acting isn't turning out like you want it to, just stopping and doing other stuff with your life will give you sweet, sweet perspective. When enough time has passed, you'll know.

on Macbeth

#1. Blackadder Goes Forth

Alright, real quick: Theatre on Fire did the second season of Blackadder live, and now they're doing the fourth season, too.

I needed a comedic monologue in British accent. I did this.



It worked! I'm in Blackadder Goes Forth: Live!





9 headshots remain.

#10. Three Days of Rain

I swear I must have auditioned for Three Days of Rain once before. I probably have a post about it around here. Oh, well. Anyway, I'm trying again! This time with the Hub Theatre Company.



Auditions were at the First Church of Boston. I have memories of this place. I was in an unusually effective performance of The Last Days of Judas Iscariot here. I played a guy with the 30-second memory span here. As a space, it requires a lot of attention to detail to keep from looking damn weird and drab.



Looks pretty cool from the outside, though.

I was among some of the first to arrive. I met some familiar faces, like Tim Hoover and Mary-Liz Murray who I had seen most recently in Exit Pursued by a Bear.

The lousy thing about the situation, and the reason I almost didn't audition, was that one of the three roles was already filled - the role I thought I would've been most suited for. Still, I figured, "What the hell, type be damned."

I still haven't read the whole play, but the sides provided were really good. After me first read with the directors and producer, I was paired up with Marty, who works at the Emerson College library.

Then we waited a while. We were told more than once that we were up next to read, but newer actors came in and got precedence. The length of time was enough to get excited about the side, get bored of it, and then, fortunately, get excited about it again.

Auditions must be hard. I admit, I have yet to run one myself. Schedules; having to stick to them; people who don't know the schedule being active parts of it.

I guess the time commitment wasn't such a big deal since it kind of doubled as callbacks. The director made a point of making an adjustment to my reading. It felt like we got a surprising amount of mileage out of the scene.

Still... I would've been better for the other guy.



No headshots remain.

The Starving Actor: Carbonara 2.0

"Terry, you've really done it this time."

"I've been making it every day for the past year!"

"The Nobel Prize for Carbonara goes too..."

Yes, thank you. These are all familiar phrases to me now.

But it's time to confess: I've been misleading all of you.

I've given you all a fool's recipe. It's all BULLSHIT, and it fails to unlock the full potential of carbonara.

I was never the King of Carbonara.

But I am now! With help form America's Test Kitchen, I am able to bring you the TRUE definitive recipe for carbonara. It's a lot like my old one, but with some key differences when it comes to pulling off the finishing touches.

So here we go again.

Carbonara

Half a package of bacon (about 1/2 pound)
A medium-to-large-sized onion
Half a package of linguini (about 1/2 pound)
2 jumbo eggs (OR, 3 large eggs)
1 cup of Parmesan cheese
Some olive oil
Some salt
3 or 4 medium-sized cloves of garlic



1. Chop your bacon and onions and garlic. Bacon is easily cut into "matchsticks" while cold - or even frozen! - and just out of its package. Your onion can be cut to desired fineness. The goal is to achieve a 1:1 ratio of bacon to onion. The garlic should be minced.



2. Get your water boiling. You know, for the pasta.



3. Put your cheese into a large bowl. This'll be your serving bowl, too, so make sure it's spacious enough. HOPEFULLY, you've grated the cheese from a larger block, 'cause it'll taste better and it'll save you money. The important thing is you end up with about a cup of Parmesan cheese.



4. Add the eggs.



5. Mix it allllll together, until it reaches a consistency in which you can see the path of your utensil. If it's too liquidy, add some more cheese. If it's too dry, add another egg! I would not go above three, though.

In the old recipe, I had the eggs and cheese as the very last step. I was a monster, and though I don't deserve your trust now, I can tell you that mixing this sauce beforehand does a lot to prevent it from overcooking and becoming tough. It's also just so much easier.



6. Add your minced garlic, and give it another stir.

This is probably the most important difference in the new recipe - fresh garlic. I used to add garlic or garlic powder in with the other ingredients and cook them all together. Bullshit! This was a stupid thing to do.

By adding the garlic fresh - UNCOOKED - it keeps its strong, garlicky taste. Super fragrant. It's the best part of the recipe.

Ever since this discovery, any time a recipe asks for garlic, I always add it last, barely cooking it at all. It makes a little garlic go a long way.

This is the True Way.

All of this stuff with the eggs and cheese can be done while you're cooking during the following steps:




7. Saute your bacon over medium-high heat in a largish pan. Bacon is mostly fatty enough to cook on its own without oil or butter or anything, though a dollop of olive oil will keep it from sticking to the pan. Stir once in a while to keep it all cooking evenly.



In my previous recipe, I said it was alright if the bacon was still pink. That is still true, but I find getting it a little closer closer to red - to a medium crispness - results in a more pleasant texture. This will result in more bacon grease in the pan, which will stymie the cooking process - pour it off if there's too much.



8. Set the bacon aside on some paper towels. God rest you, bacon.



9. Hopefully your water is boiling by now, so cook that pasta. Linguini, we found, is just the right thickness for the recipe, but any of your long pastas will do in a pinch. (Add some salt and a touch of balsamic vinegar if you want some help in keeping it from clumping)



10. Leave a touch of bacon grease in the pan (like, a table spoon), and toss the onions in the same pan at medium-high heat. Add some salt, and stir until they're all coated evenly. You'll know, 'cause they'll all be shiny. If they seem at all dry, you can add a little olive oil.



Cook and stir occasionally to make sure they're all cooked evenly, until they start to get soft or when you start to see them brown lightly in some spots. You shouldn't let them get browner than this.



11. Reintroduce the bacon to the onions, give 'em a mix, and turn the heat off while the pasta finishes.



12. Strain the pasta. Let it sit aside for about a minute to cool down.



13. Mix the pasta into the cheese/garlic/eggs mixture. The heat from the pasta will cook the eggs gradually, resulting in a creamy sauce. If you combine the sauce with the pasta too quickly after straining it, you'll get a clumpy sauce that I bet you won't like.



14. Once the pasta's thoroughly mixed in, add the bacon and onion, and stir again.



You did it! You made carbonara! Great going. Serve with salad, crusty bread, some wine, and salt and pepper to taste.

#Z. Two Wrongs

Brown Box held auditions for a comedy called Two Wrongs. Like most of their productions of late, it opens here in Boston, and then tours down to Maryland. Fun, and funny!

Now, I didn't (read: forgot to) bring a headshot to my audition, but I'm writing about it anyway for one main reason.

The auditions were held at the mysterious Huntington Theatre Company offices on Huntington Avenue. Well, "mysterious" mostly because they're beneath below street level, under a convenience store.



But this waiting room! Talk about comfy. That armchair in the foreground? That couch to the side? So inviting. So warm. With the right mix of people, it also makes for a very collaborative, communal space - as occurred very neatly during callbacks.

So here's some REAL advice for you actors out there. If you're ever asked to audition at the Huntington Theatre Company offices, show up early, 'cause these seats are HOT.

Oh, yeah, and



Still, 1 headshot remains.

The Worst Audition

Here's why actors don't like linereadings.

Acting is a form of reasoning.

Using clues in the text, reacting to choices made by others in a scene, and interpreting notes from a director, an actor makes the choices that ultimately result in the actions we see and the dialog we hear.

Acting is a translation of assembled information into something more specific and more complex.

Although everything the actor has received through the text and the direction has been distilled into a single action, that action is still made up of all the deductions made by the actor up until that point.

No, y'know what? Acting is making a sandwich.

Let's say you have a personal chef. It's lunch time, and you'd like a sandwich, so this chef you hired is going to make one.

So you are going to supply your chef the ingredients they need and your chef will make that sandwich.

Naturally, the sandwich will be made to your order, but you are counting on this chef - whom you have proven you trust implicitly, as you hired them - to interpret your orders in a way that results in a sandwich that reaches its fullest potential while agreeing with your assumption as to what the sandwich should be.

Your chef will select the proper quantities to balance the flavors, your chef will choose the type of spread and apply it with their personal flourish, your chef will toast the bread to the crunchiness that will contrast with the texture of the rest of the ingredients while maintaining its structural integrity.

They do this, for this is their job. The result is a sandwich made carefully and deliberately, for it reflects their craft and their pride in their work.



If in their efforts an actor reaches a conclusion that does not support the scene or the work at large, a director will discuss other sensible approaches based on the text, identify an actor's motivations and reinterpret it to reach a compromise, or propose different actions to take that will influence the outcome of the scene.

This is all to direct an actor toward a conclusion that fits the director's vision and still reflects the depth of that actor's decision. That's why they're called directors and not tellers.

A director could choose instead to give the actor an emotion to play, or read the line to them in a way they would prefer it be said, with all the same inflection.

What this does is make an actor work backwards. Now that they have the conclusion they must now go back to look for the evidence.

This can result in two things. Upon being told to read a line "more loudly" with "more anger" an actor may begin to think:

"Okay. Am I angry because of a perceived sleight, or am I angry because of someone's stupidity? Am I loud in a way that I don't want to be here anymore, or am I angry in a way that I want to be listened to? Maybe I'm trying to make THEM leave..."

What you are doing is making more work. If there is nothing to suggest loudness or anger in the text, the actor will start to manufacture their own clues, resulting in a broad decision that may need to be corrected anyway.

This is the best case scenario. Otherwise, an actor might take your linereading very literally, down to the exact detail. What you are doing is setting a precedent in which an actor will do noting but what you say. This could result in an actor who makes no bold choices at all, or an actor who will ask you to vet every one of their decisions. "Should I walk over here now? Is it okay if I sit before that line? I'll sit after that line, but can I drink from the glass after I sit?"

PROTIP: Rather than telling an actor how they should feel when saying something, tell them what they should try to accomplish by saying it. "Make them regret it" or "defend yourself" or "convince them to stay" are all playable actions which can result in movements, tics, and emotions with more facets than "angry" or "upset".

So, all I'm saying is

when you give a linereading to an actor

what you are doing

is asking your chef for a sandwich

and then handing them this.

#Y. Nora Theatre Company

I got a call from the Nora Theater Company in Central Square, having seen me at Stagesource. inviting for an audition.

I was working at the time, so when I called, they were DONE working. So I sent an email, accepting.

They got back to me to tell me

1. it was for Absurd Person Singular by Alyn Ayckbourn.

2. sides were available at the Stagesource office (which was closed for the weekend at the time of the email)

3. they wanted a read for Sidney, who has a working class British dialect.

Haaaa, man. Here's the thing. I was a redcoat for a bit.



We mostly just hung out by Faneuil Hall Marketplace, doing cool stuff with our guns, being friendly to people. I could do a pretty rubbish, yet still somewhat believable British accent - somewhere between Ringo Starr and Dick Van Dyke.

In fact, once some girls came up to us while we were still doing the accents who believed it was how we actually talked. When we switched to how we normally spoke, they were super delighted, thinking I was putting on an American accent.

Of course, I've gotten Brits telling me it wasn't GREAT either... They couldn't tell where I was from. I suppose it's a lot like someone talking like a cowboy portrayed by John Wayne and calling it an American accent.

The thing is, the only way I could do even that shitty accent was while I was dressed as a redcoat in the company of others dressed the same way.

Accents have always kind of terrified me, and I regret not studying dialects in school.

I remember the first summer after going to college, someone asked me to do an impersonation of Harry Potter - I had round glasses and longer hair at the time.

It didn't matter that I made a distinction between acting and impersonating. It was still a blow to my confidence when I didn't know what to do.

Still... I accepted the audition invitation. You can only learn if you do, right?

What sucked is that I couldn't even read the audition sides until an hour and a half before the audition.

The whole day I listened to a British dialect CD I had borrowed from my old roommate. A track on the CD suggests that

you should be comfortable with the accent before you begin rehearsal.

Thanks, CD, but I gotta land the audition before I get to that point.

Then I rushed right to the audition at the Central Square Theatre. I had auditioned there just once before.

David, the gentleman who was my contact, handed me the sides in question. There was a scene and a monologue.

There were others in the room, already, auditioning. Two voices. I realized then, to my horror, that I would have to audition with someone else.

I just looked at the sides, wishing I had a pen, 30 more minutes, and more knowledge of the phonetic alphabet.

Bridgette Hayes then showed up, the fantastic Ophelia in From Denmark With Love. It did take a moment for either of us to realize how we recognized the other.

Then we settled down and looked at the sides.

And then Bridgette said, aloud,



The USS Confidence crashed right into that.

I did not read with Bridgette, though. I read with the next to enter, Anna Waldron, whom I respect greatly.

I really wished it were anyone else. I didn't need Anna to hear me tell the auditioneers that I did not have my headshot or resume. I spent so much time making sure the dialect CD was on my iPod, I completely forgot. (I did not ask, "What did you do with the copy you got from my Stagesource audition?" though I did want to.)

I also didn't want Anna to hear me fumble through the entire scene with an accent that wasn't from anywhere in the United Kingdom.

Fortunately, no one had to hear anything else, because I wasn't asked to read the other side.

I ran home in the rain.

#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

Monologue: Speed Racer

My love for 2008's Speed Racer is well-documented. An awesome thing about the film is that almost every major character has a monologue. The truth is, this particular monologue has been sitting in a text file in my Documents folder for a while. I finally built up the nerve to use it.

I've been told using a story as a monologue does not make an effective audition, as the events of the story have already occurred, and the point of an audition is seeing how you can deal with circumstances in the present. I believe that in the frame of this monologue, telling the story is a means to the end, not the end in itself.

Immediately before the text, Speed is offered sponsorship by the president of a gigantic automotive company. Accepting would mean dumping his current manager - his father.

In this moment, Speed paints the picture of a man who, though he may be stubborn and rough around the edges, is driven by the love for his craft and his family. Speed turns down the offer, not because of guilt or fear of reprisal, but because deep down he realizes just how much he takes after the old man.

I took some liberty in filling out the text a little bit to provide some context, since there is no accompanying montage.

This isn't an easy decision for me.

For my family, racing is everything. We eat, drink, think, and breathe racing. I mean, I was taught to drive before I could walk. When my brother died, all that went away. I can't tell you how painful that was for all of us. It nearly killed Pops. He didn't set foot in his shop for over a year.

But one night when I was still pretty young, I couldn't sleep. I figure maybe I'd go out and fall asleep in front of the TV. And I went into the living room and there was Pops, in his beat up robe, watching some old races he recorded.

He barely even notices when I sit down next to him. It takes a moment before I realize it's the '43 Prix he has on. I'm still trying to figure out how far into the race it is, and all of a sudden Pops starts screaming, like he's seeing it for the first time. And then I started screaming.

And as Burns and Stickleton duked it out, heading for the finish, we were cheering our heads off. And the second the black and white came down, we looked at each other, like we're seeing each other for the first time. And right there we realized the naked truth: racing is in our blood.

But for Pops, it isn't just a sport. It's way more important than that. It's like a religion. And in our house, the major sponsors are kinda like the devil.

I don't mean to offend you, sir, and I do appreciate your offer. It's just, I guess I understand his point of view. And after all we've been through, I don't think this kind of deal is for me.