Lesson The Pain

I realised this morning that, give or take a couple of weeks, I graduated from drama school exactly 9 years ago. Bloody hell. Gnarls Barkley was at number one with Crazy. We’d only seen 2 series of The Apprentice. The best mix up on TV had just happened when Guy Coma ended up accidently on BBC News. And, like it knew there were a whole new bunch of actors in need of procrastination, Twitter arrived…

But, after a few hours of dicking about on Twitter, it got me to thinking about the lessons I’ve learnt in those 9 years. There are fair few supposedly wise words that I’ve kicked to the curb; chiefly that a pair of character shoes and a character skirt are a wise investment. I can only assume drama schools suggest buying these so you can own something that gathers more dust than your acting career.

However, a fair few have stuck and, because I’ve got a spare hour and blogging time is scarce these days, I thought I’d share them with you.

Lesson 1: KKK

Now, when we were told at drama school that we should consider the KKK when looking at potential jobs, I was shocked to say the least. I know the industry is rather in favour of white actors but, really? They went on to explain that when you’re faced with a job offer (it took a while longer to learn what one of those was, sadly) you should consider the 3 Ks:

Kicks

Kudos

Kash (hey, we weren’t at drama school for our excellent spelling anyway…)

I must say, I dismissed this at first. When you graduate and you stare into the awful void that you thought would be your glittering career, you, sometimes foolishly, take on whatever job you can get your hands on. But it’s wonderful for those jobs you’re just not sure about. So, when in doubt, see if you can get at least 2 of the 3 Ks covered. And it kinda works. Of course, you can never be entirely sure and we’ve all had those jobs that we thought would be fun but ended up being an utter nightmare (hello eating dried apricots on a riverbank at 2am…) but it’s a handy little technique for those of us who are a little less decisive than we’d like to be.

Lesson 2: We all have our own career path

This was a tough one to learn. You spend your 3^rd year determinedly planning your career. You’ll do a spot of TiE first because, y’know, that’s totally the done thing. Then you’ll do a bit of fringe theatre, a few short independent films…and oh, that’s what I did do. However, that’s when it all starts to fall apart. I thought I’d then do some TV, maybe a major advert and then, obviously, Hollywood would be ready for me and I’d be sorted.

Hahahahahahahahaha.

Now, that totally happened for some people in my year. Others got the massive film job instantly and haven’t stopped working since. Others got a TV job immediately and then never worked again. Others gave up the second they graduated and I now get to log into Facebook and look at the houses they own and the holidays they go on. But the majority of us just toddle along our own little road. Sometimes we’re striding along looking fabulous, sometimes we’re stumbling around drunkenly and other times we’re sleeping at the side of the road while surrounded by biscuit crumbs and cups of tea. At some points our paths will cross and at other times it’ll take us out somewhere horribly remote. But I now find having my own path rather comforting. Yeah, maybe I don’t look after mine as well as I should. I’m sure others get more money for the upkeep and others are more resourceful but I like mine just the way it is, potholes and all. Which takes me on to my next lesson…

Lesson 3: Don’t compare yourself to others

This has been the toughest one of all to learn. It seems straightforward but, believe me, it’s bloody hard to not compare yourself to others when you’re sat on the sofa, you’re wearing your oldest pyjamas, you’re picking crisp crumbs out of your hair and you look up to see one of your drama school mates looking a bazillion dollars on TV.

If we didn’t compare ourselves to others then we wouldn’t be human. I don’t care how sorted you say you are, if you say you don’t sometimes look at someone else’s career and then look at your barren CV on your barely functioning laptop and wonder where the hell you went wrong, then you’re a liar.

The point is that, when you see someone else doing fabulously, you don’t beat yourself up over it. Yeah they’re on TV playing a part that you’d kill for but have they ever got to pretend to be an electric toothbrush in a church hall in Derby? Sure they’ve been listed in that ‘Ones To Watch’ article but have they discovered that Papa John’s Special Garlic sauce makes the filthiest, most glorious topping for macaroni cheese? See? You’re doing just fine. You might want to get your cholesterol checked out but, seriously, YOU’RE FINE.

So there we go. 9 years and 3 lessons later and here I am. Sat indoors on a sunny Saturday afternoon wondering where the next acting job is coming from. But I have biscuits in the kitchen, tea on the go, Netflix on the telly and a pair of pyjamas that will last longer than any of the acting careers of my peers so, y’know, my path ain’t looking too bad right now…

Nothing To Showreel

I don’t currently have a showreel.

If I was doing pretty much any other job (that wasn’t a writer, musician, designer, singer, etc) then this wouldn’t be a problem. Accountants don’t need to submit a fancy time-lapse video of them balancing books and judges don’t need to attach a .wav file of their gavel hitting. But as actors, to prove that our CV isn’t just a pack of lies that we dreamed up one quiet Wednesday afternoon, we’re expected to have hard, physical evidence of our ability to be on screen.

Now, for anyone who either knows me in real life or follows me on Twitter, you might have spotted that my last couple of years as an actor have been about as fruitful as Scotland. In fact, I’ve got to the point where I’ve even considered committing an unsolved crime just so I can get the chance to play myself in the re-enactment on Crimewatch. Thankfully the realisation that I probably wouldn't even mange to get cast for that has put me off and I'm clean as a whistle, guv. Honest.

So I find myself without a showreel. The things I have been in have either been made by buffoons who are so inept that even providing a copy of my work is far beyond them or they’ve been corporate jobs who won’t allow their precious training video to be seen by the public for fear that it’d just be too upsetting for people to witness. As it is, I’d be better off chasing down GoogleMaps cars and trying to get the footage they’ve got of me wandering down Crouch End Broadway.

But the problem with not having a showreel is that it makes it damn hard to get into things that would help you towards getting a showreel together. When you’re pitting yourself against a small army of Doppelgangers, it’s no surprise that the casting director goes for the ones who can prove that their CV isn’t just a well-formatted wish-list in Times New Roman. So you can’t get work because you don’t have a showreel and you can’t get a showreel because you can’t get the work. And you can’t even get an agent to help you get work because you don’t have a showreel to show them your work.

“Oh hello, Catch. The usual, is it? One 22 coming right up.”

What to do then? I’ve got new headshots in the hope of at least attracting a few people before they realise I’m seriously lacking in the dramatic montage department but they’ll only take me so far. It’s getting to the point now where I’m going to have to do some unpaid work if I want my showreel to be any more than just a grainy clip of me, aged 6, playing Jack Frost in the school play. I’m not really in a financial position to do so and supporting the majority of unpaid work (the whole debate around unpaid work is for another time) makes me feel more than a tad queasy but what else are you supposed to do?

Making your own work? Yes, but that takes planning, getting equipment, writing, finding time amidst earning money to pay bills and organising other people who are all trying to do the same thing.

Stealing Jennifer Lawrence’s showreel and sticking my own head on hers? More tempting.

Infiltrating the police and stealing all the CCTV footage of myself that I can find? Probably the most likely.

Or maybe, just maybe, I might get lucky. On second thoughts, someone get me Jennifer Lawrence’s showreel and the number for the Met. 

The 10 Commandments for Being a Bloody Decent Actor

1. Thou shalt not snap when someone asks whether you’ve been in EastEnders. They're just not sure what else to ask someone who has decided to be a tree professionally. 

2. Thou shall always remember to smile appropriately when another actor gets work. Too little and you look bitter, too much and you risk jaw dislocation.

3. Thou shalt not tweet or create Facebook updates about how much acting work you have on at the moment. Just do your job and tell us when you’re nominated for a BAFTA. 

4. Thou shall remember that leotards are for indoor use only.

5.  Thou shalt not compare you career to anyone else’s, however tempting it may be. One actor’s TiE is another actor’s Hollywood.

6. Thou shall always treat crew with respect. If in doubt, imagine your mother is always watching you.

7. Thou shalt not feel bad about, occasionally, having a duvet day. Spending a whole Wednesday in your pyjamas watching RuPaul’s Drag Race is what makes being self-employed bearable.

8. Thou shall leave your tax return until the very last minute. Completing it any earlier is just disrespectful to your fellow self-employed friends.

9. Thou shalt not talk above speaking volume in casting waiting rooms. You’re impressing no one.

10. Thou shall remember that you do the best bloody job in the world. Enjoy it, keep that skip in your step and remember that for every awful audition, your best-selling autobiography gains another chapter.

The Real Lessons of Drama School

Drama school. What a waste of time, eh? Singing, dancing and prancing around pretending you’ve got a glittering career ahead of you. Surely it’s just three years preparing yourself for a life on the dole, right? Wrong.

With it’s dizzying array of classes and subjects, drama school can seem like a very expensive way to become proficient at jazz hands but all those subjects can genuinely help you in the real world…

Singing…

Ever wanted a tube carriage that’s exclusive to you and your little gaggle of actor friends? All you need is a good song to sing in the round and with just one turn at ‘Rose, Rose, Rose, Red’ you’ll have ordinary, hard-working people risking life and limb to get themselves on to another carriage. Ah, a seat all the way to Cockfosters... 

Dance…

You might think that the dance that you learn at drama school will make you a hit down at the local disco. And maybe it will if the kids at Infernos are impressed by the same 4 moves repeated for the entirety of Orinoco Flow. But what will eventually stop their taunts and jibes is when you’re stuck in the queue for the toilets. While they’re miserably hopping from one foot to the other looking like amateurs, you can style out that wee-dance like the beautiful lovechild of Wayne Sleep and Michael Flatley that you are.

Improvisation…

Keith Johnstone, author of the book ‘Impro’ which will you'll see an unfinished copy of in every actor's bookcase, said:

“Good improvisers seem telepathic; everything looks prearranged. This is because they accept all offers made – which is something no ‘normal’ person would do.”

Quite. And that’s why improvisation is such a useful tool. There’s no way you’re going to do well as an actor if you deny any knowledge of Microsoft Excel in your temp agency interview. Say yes to EVERYTHING. Fax machines, accounting programmes, open heart surgery...anything so you can stop living off the random selection of cold meats and drying quiches in Tesco’s discount fridge. You can worry about the dead bodies and confusing spreadsheets later. 

Voice…

Vocal support is incredibly important. And no, not because the meanies at the National Theatre won’t let you have a mic. But because how else will you let the rest of the bus know that someone once told you that your portral of Sally Bowles was better than Liza’s? I said “BETTER THAN LIZA’S.” If you don’t allow that to resonate through the whole bus (both floors) then no one will realise just how important you are. And you never know, there might be someone very influential listening in like Trevor Nunn or the recruitment officer for Asda.

Animal Studies…

Tutors can spend as long as they want telling you that Animal Studies is important for character development. It’s not. However, what it is useful for is having a story that’ll instantly make someone else feel better about their life. Friend just been dumped? Sibling lost their job? Their woes will be instantly alleviated when you tell them about the time you were chased around a dance studio while you lumbered about pretending to be a pig.

Accents…

Because you never know when you might be asked to fill in for Aiden Gillen on Game of Thrones…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHIykid21j4 (contains spoilers,)

Alexander Technique…

You might think that lying semi-supine in a studio can’t teach you anything. However, this class will teach you the invaluable gift of sleeping while you pretend you’re doing something incredibly important. If anything, Alexander Technique sums up your whole life as an actor.

Movement…

You may not still fully understand the point of Laban and your physical interpretation of the sound of running water may have been reminiscent of a skittish cat but I defy anyone to beat you at Charades from now on. And what better way to show your family that you’ve finally made it then successfully miming Saved By The Bell to your cousin this Christmas?

Acting…

Don't worry, you won’t be needing that.

The Search Begins

As an actor, one of the first things you’re asked, after when you’re going to be in EastEnders and what kind of acting you like to do, will be whether you have an agent. Now, if you follow me on Twitter or read my blog regularly then you’ll know that I was recently made agentless. It’s a weird feeling that puts you somewhere in between elation and rejection; you’re delighted that you’ve finally shed  someone who mainly put you up for jobs that would get you out of the country for as long as possible but at the same time, you’ve just been dumped and feel a bit useless.

So, the hunt for a new agent begins. The thought of it already makes me feel tired. The searching for agents, looking through their client list, thinking they look perfect, the annoyance of seeing they already have someone who looks exactly like you, the frustration that they’ll only take on clients who are currently in something. All those things are waiting for me. All those things are waiting to frustrate me and make me wish I’d chosen a far easier job, like rocket science or plucking needles from haystacks.

I therefore thought it might be interesting to chronicle what it’s like hunting for a new agent. I mean, it’s highly likely that it’ll be utterly tedious but you never know, one tiny thing might come out of it that someone might possibly find useful. Also I need an excuse to procrastinate and while my career is more quiet than a pin dropping in a vacuum, I need to find something to write about other than daily rants about unpaid work. 

So today I started gently by sending my CV to a few agents that lovely kind people on Twitter had recommended. I have nothing to show them apart from my gurning face and a few grainy clips online so who knows what will happen. It’ll serve me right if they head to Twitter and mock me for all I’m worth but hopefully, if miracles really do happen, maybe just one of them will bite. So get ready my lovely readers for tales of woe, despair and general wonderings on what the heck a rester has to do round here to get a break. You better hope someone snaps me up quick.

Networking

This week I attended a screening for a piece I filmed back last year. I could bleat on about the fact that, because we were running  late, I missed all the free champagne. I could complain that the room chosen was too small for the amount of people invited and because I was late and small, I was stuck at the back and only able to see about a quarter of the screen. I could harp on about how a room with pillars isn’t the ideal room for a screening. But these things aren’t necessary. What I really wanted to talk about was networking. That horrible, awful thing that we’re supposedly all meant to be masters of and something we’re constantly told we won’t get anywhere without.

I’m not a networker. The idea of it brings me out in a cold sweat and a panicky breathless state of terror. It’s just not something I can do naturally. I’ll happily chat away to anyone and that’s why I’ve spent countless train journeys learning random facts about people’s lives. But put me in a room full of supposedly important people and I clam up faster than, well, a clam. I hate the idea of starting up a conversation with someone just because you want something from them. Now, I know we’ve all chatted up people in bars and, of course, that’s because we ultimately want something from them, be it a drink or their hand in marriage. But in a networking situation it all feels very different. It’s very much ‘I have an inkling that you could further my career so I’m going to desperately try and make polite conversation in the hope that my inane mumblings will inspire you to cast me.’ And the problem is that most of the time, people at these things either aren’t that influential or could give two figs about your failing career. Usually they’re just there so they can collect their free glass of vinegary wine and limp ham sandwich. They’ve got about as much influence on your future as I do (absolutely none.)

I know some people who are wonderful at these things and I usually look upon them with envy as they charm the greying pants off them in the foyer after a show. Sadly I think I’ll always be too self-deprecating and conscious of how loathsome a task it is to ever get very far when it comes to sweet-talking the movers and the shakers in the world of acting. I’ve now learnt to admit defeat when it comes to these things and accept that while others are gaining valuable contacts, I’ll be sat in the corner having much more fun with the crew (no, not like that.)

The worst time has to have been after my drama school showcase. I’d been in a wonderful scene which The Stage had raved about and I’m in a casting bracket that should get agents excited. I don’t want to sound like I thought I was going to get snapped up straight away but I was fairly confident when I stepped out of our frighteningly over-packed dressing room which contained ten girls constantly spraying their hair and one girl allergic to hairspray.  Networking type drinks had been arranged in the foyer and so we all filed out dutifully like a parade of slaves. However, there was a major flaw in the fact that no one knew who anyone else was. Some people’s friends and parents had somehow slipped into the event so you no idea whether you were talking to a top agent or someone’s dad. This meant that you had to stand around looking aloof while desperately waiting for someone to come up and talk to you. About three people were approached while everyone else stood expectedly against the walls, drinking ourselves into a cheap wine stupor. I don’t think I need to tell you which group I was in. The only person who chatted to me was a friend’s mum who told me they liked the dress I’d been wearing on stage. Not quite the result I was looking for.

I’m not entirely sure what the solution is. I know there are some actors with more balls than a ball pit and will happily hand out their business card in any situation but I struggle handing round a bag of sweets (it’s highly likely I’ll drop them/poison everyone/be in a room full of diabetics) so I’ll never join that gang. And there are those that just instantly attract people and find that everyone comes to them but I have about as much magnetic charm as an aluminium tray so that group is closed to me too. Maybe I’ll just stand in the middle of the room with a massive banner saying ‘Actress For Sale’ and scare the buggers into hiring me…