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.

The Starving Actor: Beans and Rice

You're home between shifts, and you've got JUST enough time for lunch. You want some protein and some carbs and you just wanna eat all of it

But all you've got is rice and a can of beans.

That's alright. With a little effort, we can make this meal a little less depressing.


Beans and Rice

A tablespoon of oil (and some more on standby)
About 2 cups of rice
A small onion
A medium clove of garlic (or garlic powder)
1 15.5 oz. can of beans (black or kidney)
Salt
Pepper
Oregano
Cumin
Paprika




[Unlike carbonara, this recipe is very free form. There's a wider margin of error, and more leeway when it comes to things like seasoning and consistency.]

1
First off, cook some rice. Put a little less than two cups of rice in your rice cooker, and cook to your preferred level of dryness/stickiness.

If you don't have a rice cooker, then, Jesus, I'm sorry. Get one. This one was $20 at a local hardware and kitchenry store. They're so convenient for poor artists.

If you don't have a rice cooker, cook rice the way that you normally cook rice: take a little pot, some some rice in, put in double the amount of water, cook it on medium-low with the lid on, and don't take that lid off.

ANYWAY, while the rice is doing its thing,



2
Finely chop a small onion and mince a medium-sized clove of garlic. Or a large-sized clove of garlic. If you love it, then just HAVE it.

Now, we're going to start by cooking the onion and garlic in a fat of your choice. The healthy choice would be olive/vegetable/canola oil. Doing so would keep this meal completely vegan.

I went with bacon grease. Since we have so much.



3
Over medium heat, put about a tablespoon of oil/grease into a small pot (or saucepan as fancy recipe magazines tend to call them - they look like pots to me).



What I like to do to move things along is tilt the pot slightly so the fat makes a little pool. If you shake and angle the pot, you can use that little pool to coat the whole cooking surface.





4
Now throw that damn onion and garlic in there. Give them a stir (Use the fork you plan on eating it with to save time later during clean-up!) to make sure that they're evenly coated with your oil/grease.



If it seems a little dry in there and some of your onion is lacking shine, feel free to add a little more fat, like I did. You don't want to sautee these guys so much as you wanna soften them. This is gonna be the foundation on which we build our beans.



5
So we're gonna zap 'em with a little flavor. Add about three shakes each salt, pepper, oregano, and cumin. You can do a little more or a little less of each depending on your preferences.

I just realized that the paprika is kinda creeping behind oregano there. What are you doing? Get outta there. We don't need you.



6
Give it a stir and cover until onion is softer and just turning translucent. Drop the heat slightly to avoid browning the onion. Interestingly, this lid does not belong to this pot, but it works!



Meanwhile: the rice cooker is cooking the rice. I don't even HAVE to pay attention to this thing. When it's done, I'll have cooked rice. How great is this



7
Get your beans ready. Black beans or red kidney beans work best. And always Goya. Goya will never let you down. I fucking swear by Goya.



Once the onion is mostly cooked through - that is, soft and definitely no longer raw - pour in those beans, liquid and all. Give it a stir and crank the heat. Get it to a simmer.



Check it out! I found the queen bean! Incidentally, I guess you shouldn't buy Goya if you're vegan.



8
Time to season again! Hit your beans with salt and pepper.

Then stir again, cover, and keep the heat on so the beans continue to simmer.

In my travels, I've learned the advantages to cooking something in a pot or pan with or without a lid.

With a lid
Liquid is conserved, keeping contents wetter and soupier.
Heat is conserved, making the boiling point much easier to reach.
All the ingredients within soften and share flavors, like a swingers party.

Without a lid
Liquid is reduced, making contents less watery and more viscous.
Heat is reduced, allowing cooking without fear of liquid boiling over.

When it comes to cooking something like beans, combining covered and uncovered cooking is the way you achieve the results you need.



9
While the beans are having a flavor party, let's fluff rice! Fluffing the rice and mixing it up makes it happy, and makes it so that it doesn't just form into a mold of the pot it's been cooking in.



10
Uncover the beans and take a few out for taste testing. They should be soft and, most importantly, taste good. Mine didn't right away, and I was a little concerned at the paleness of the whole affair.



Last time I did this, it was with black beans, and the liquid black beans come in are closer to the color of the beans themselves. Kidney bean liquid is paler, which can be a little off-putting.

11
So, I put a little paprika in there, which I was so ready to shun earlier.

At this point it's a waiting game. The longer the beans cook, the softer they will get, and the smoother the concoction on the whole will seem.



At 10 more minutes, my beans were looking a lot healthier, as the paprika did its thing and the excess liquid began to disappear. Give it another taste test before you commit to declaring the meal a success.



Once it's to your liking, put your beans over some rice and enjoy a simple-ass meal with plenty of rice and protein. I had OJ with mine, and it worked for me.

You can also fill that bean can with change and then shake it to stop dogs from barking.



Yeah, you stupid idiot, you have no idea what you're in for.

Hey, wait a minute.



There's already a recipe for rice and beans on the back of the can!

#4. Fresh Ink's Second Season

I worked for Fresh Ink before as a stage manager. But now, I sought to be a stage man; eager.

There were auditions for two shows. When I expressed interest, I received sides for both plays.

THE EMBRYOS, about a family that tries to raise their failed embryos as children, sounded like a hoot, but I knew the only role left for me us the male embryo, and something in my head told me, "No... that's not for me."

But FIRE ON EARTH, about the smuggling of illegal translations of the bible during the reformation of the church of England, not only sounded great, but had a part that made perfect sense to me.

John Frith, a real life opponent to the Anglican Church, was earnest, gentle, and ready to die for his beliefs.

I was asked for conflicts for both shows. I wrote down my conflicts for The Embryos before I realized I didn't really want to audition for it.

For my last handful of auditions, I was just happy with the prospect of being considered for any role. It's empowering to finally have the opportunity to say, "No - I want THAT role."

I read specifically for Frith at The Factory Theatre before, I believe, most of the Fresh Ink staff and the director of either show.

I got to go all the way through both sides, and it felt good.

I'm excited for the show, whether or not I'm in it.



6 headshots remain.