Creating Diversions

Today, Channel 4 announced that they are issuing strict diversity guidelines to ensure there is greater diversity and representation in shows being commissioned. This means that commissioned dramas and comedies must have at least one lead role played by a BAME, LGBT or disabled performer and 50% of lead roles are to be played by women, if there are no other minorities featured.

So far, so bloody brilliant. But unfortunately these guidelines have been brought in with a threat to cut Channel 4 executives' bonuses if they fail to meet diversity targets.

Oh.

Because there’s nothing like seeing diversity on TV and knowing it’s there because an exec has been bribed with money. That’s a definite victory for female, disabled, LGBT and BAME performers everywhere. Getting to be on telly because someone’s been threatened with having their pocket money cut is what we all dream of.

What we actually need is encouragement for dramas and comedies to be created with these under-represented groups because it’s more interesting watching something that isn’t just a bunch of white men dicking about. What we don’t want are so-called “minority” performers being crowbarred into programmes, especially given the way that these characters can be sometimes written...

Women can be fully dressed for the duration of their screen time. They can be over 18. They don’t have to be but they can. They can also be over a size 6. Again, they don’t have to be but they can. They can also have a role that isn't defined by their relationship with the leading white male.

Not all BAME males are criminals. Or shop owners. Or wise-quipping mates. They can also have a role that isn't just a bit part in furthering the lead white male's story.

Not all BAME females are oppressed, a sassy best friend or over-sexualised. They can also have a role that isn't just a bit part in the lead female's life, the female who is in a relationship with the lead white male.

When establishing an LGBT character, their first scene doesn’t HAVE to be about confirming their sexual orientation with the audience. They can also have a role that doesn't require them to deal with an unrequited love for or from the lead white male. 

Disability doesn’t necessarily mean being in a chair. Or being a pitiful character. But, likewise, they don’t have to be the villain either. That’s not the way to show you’re TOTALLY RELAXED ABOUT WRITING A CHARACTER WITH A DISABILITY. They can also have a role that doesn't involve them being called upon to give advice to the lead white male.

Basically, don’t base the character’s character on their minority status. You don’t have to ignore it completely but female, BAME, LGBT and disabled characters can have depth too.  If our streets were full of such stereotypes it would be bloody weird, and it’s no different on our screens too. 

Hopefully these new guidelines will be a celebration of the UK's diversity without a crowbar in sight. Hopefully they'll allow previously unseen performers have a chance. Hopefully it'll make television even more brilliant than it already is and be the shake-up that this industry needs. Hopefully I'll finally get a telly credit on my CV... 

OH, AND DON’T THINK I’VE IGNORED THE FACT THAT WOMEN ARE STILL BEING CLASSED AS A MINORITY. THAT IS FOR ANOTHER BLOG WHEN I'VE RUN OUT OF THINGS TO SMASH.


Many thanks to @margojmilne, @daisymartey, @hayleynovember & @ShamirDawood who all helped with this blog. 

A Handy Guide for Filmmakers

Inside The Mind Of A Student Filmmaker

He's excited. He's been given a new brief. He's mid-way through his degree course at a university that he often has to convince people actually exists. He sits at his computer and starts to write. Ideas come flooding out of him like a leaky tap in the middle of the night. This has never happened before. He's suddenly got ideas for characters that he's never thought of before. He types long into the night, eager to make sure that this incredible idea isn't lost.

He wakes the next morning, his head squished into the keys of his laptop. He looks at what's on the screen and finds a script he's fairly sure he hasn't written. It's crafted beautifully, it has interesting characters and a story arc that he can't quite believe he has created. As he scrolls through thrilling action and delicate conversation, he begins to get worried. He must've stolen this. This gorgeous creation can't possibly be his. As the script comes to the most stunning end, a mash of words start to appear on the screen. It's what his sleepy forehead has brought into the world as it crashed down in exhausted slumber. He starts to breath a sigh of relief as his work becomes familiar again. The characters wave at him like he's a lifelong friend. The gangster and the woman that's naked throughout both smile at him knowingly. The female character has her knickers round her ankles and an awkward sex scene plays out. This is the work he recognises. This is the film he has written.

He hastily deletes the mystery script, hoping no one ever discovers his act of accidental plagiary. Now it's time to get this film made. As he's student, he doesn't have to worry about budgets or paying actors so he sets about finding himself a cast. He's described the actress as being in her 40s so he needs to find an actress, preferably in her 20s, that he can insult as much as possible by offering her the role. And that's when he finds her: Miss L. There's her face, all happy while she desperately clings on to the final dying months of being 29. He scowls at her as she endlessly smiles at him through the screen. She knows nothing of what is coming her way and is blissfully unaware of the 20 years that are currently being added to her. While she sits there in her all her comfortable clothes like a normal human being, he's planning to humiliate her as possible with unnecessary sex scenes and gratuitous nudity.

He looks back over the dialogue between the two characters to check that it's as unrealistic as possible. "They'll struggle with this," he thinks to himself, barely able to contain his utter glee. He giggles as he imagines how much they'll agonise over his poorly written lines, misspelt words and baffling construction. He pictures their constant awkwardness on set while they trip up over the clunkiness of it all and he wishes he could high-five himself. He realises that high-fiving himself is the same as a clap and he applauds his masterfulness for the next hour.

Once his hands have cooled down from 60 minutes of self-congratulation, he emails her, adopting a friendly tone in hope of fooling her. If he's polite in his cover letter then she might just fall for it. In just a couple of months she could have nearly 30 minutes of material that makes her cringe so hard that she has to work in a call centre for the next 6 months to afford enough Botox to correct it. He'll become a legend for creating the first film that's so excruciating that she can't even bring herself to put it on her showreel. Her experience on set will be so horrific that she talks about him for years. People will think she's lying but she'll know. Her nightmares will remind her.

He fires off the email, sits back and waits. Waits for her cries to echo across the internet.

Small Parts vs Small Actors

“There’s no such thing as small parts, only small actors.”

I bloody hate this phrase. From the very first time I heard it up until right now, it sends a shiver down my spine that is usually reserved for lecherous directors. It’s the type of phrase that’s tediously wheeled out as often as “It’s not what you know but who you know” and is usually followed by a knowing and fist smackingly smug smile.

Now, I understand the reasoning behind this phrase and, to a point, I completely understand it. Just because you only say a couple of lines, that doesn’t mean you have to sulk and whinge about it forever more. There have been plays I’ve seen where a withering look from a butler became the highlight of my evening. As Bananarama wisely said, “It ain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it.”  However, there are actors out there who are obsessed with the amount of lines and stage or screen time that they get. I remember at drama school we were in production where because there were so many of us and so few parts, we had to role share. To sort it out fairly, the director had counted the lines to make sure that those of us who were sharing parts all had pretty much the same amount to do. Can’t argue with that. He had these lines written down on a piece of paper that he kept tucked into his copy of the script. One afternoon he had to leave for a few minutes and left his script on the window sill. Most of us ignored this and merrily got on with whatever it was we were doing at the time (most likely pretending to explore how our character truly feels while having a little nap in the corner.) However, one actor in the group was utterly obsessed with this bit of paper. There wasn’t an hour that went by where he wasn’t musing over who had the most lines. So naturally, as soon as the director was gone, he pounced on this little slip of holy grail. Furiously he devoured it and then proceeded to make notes on everyone’s numbers. The rest of us couldn’t give a casting director’s hugely kissed arse about who had what. It was a second year drama school production that would be seen by no one. If anything, the less lines you had then the less work you had to do which meant more time spent in the student bar. The director returned and the piece of paper was hastily returned back to its resting place. The rest of the afternoon was spent rehearsing a crowd scene that we were all in. What ensued can only be described as the most boring game of Murder where Line Obsessed Actor would whisper to you throughout the scene where you stood in the pecking order. He seemed to take great delight in telling me that out of the five actresses who were sharing the main role, I was the one with the least lines. I took even greater pleasure in reminding him that out of the five actresses, I also happened to have the most dramatic scenes. Disappointment spread across his face like a crumpled tablecloth and he dragged his character-shoed feet onto his next victim.

So yes, I can see the thought behind it and I have to agree with it. However, there’s also a risk of the phrase encouraging some monumental upstaging. If you’ve been given one of those parts that has a pride-crushing lack of lines then you either accept that this piece isn’t going to be the one to bring you fame and fortune or you wring out every single movement and syllable for all it’s worth. And that’s great. For you. But what about the other people who happen to be on stage who are engaging in some pretty serious dialogue. While they’re there furthering the intricate story of the piece, you’re goose stepping in the background making the type of sweeping gestures that should only be reserved for an amateur production of Mary Poppins. There’s making full use of your stage or screen time and then there’s being a dick.

And also there are just times when the part you’ve got just isn’t that wonderful. I saw a play recently that was wonderfully written. The parts were bloody brilliant and everyone had plenty to do all except for one poor actress. Her part was so poorly written and she was the one unlucky soul on stage who really just had nothing to do. You could see in the moments when she wasn’t talking that she was desperately trying to remain engaged and keep up the paper-thin shell of a character she’d been given but sometimes there’s only so much you can do. There’s a limit to how many times you can look surprised or interested or interestingly fiddle with the hem of your skirt before you realise you might as well just sit quietly in the background until it’s time for you to leave. 

So no, maybe there aren’t small parts, maybe there are only small actors. But mainly there are lovely actors and irritating actors and you just have to make sure you’re the right one.

Bored of Directors

I’ve done some horrible auditions. I’ve been shouted at for doing things wrong and I’ve been told off for not knowing things. I’ve been ignored, I’ve been laughed at and I’ve been made to feel like an idiot. And at their worst, they’ve made me wonder whether I should really be an actor. And today’s audition fell firmly within that last catergory…

Directors, I know most of you are good people. I know you do a damn fine job and are a sheer joy to work with. You respect the people you work with and you actually know what you’re doing. But oh how I wish you’d all been with me today to see just how it shouldn’t be done. I got to the audition venue about 15 minutes early because that’s how I roll. I hold running late akin to drowning puppies so I will always be early for things. I’m usually so early that I have to do a fair few wandered laps around the venue so that I don’t look utterly ridiculous with my insane timekeeping. But 15 minutes early is massively acceptable so I headed straight in. The audition was being held upstairs and I was told to head straight up so, being the law abiding citizen that I am, I did.

At the top of the open stairs was an open door so I tentatively poked my head round where I was greeted with a ‘hello’ that was so shocked, I wondered if I was accidentally wielding a bloody axe. I wasn’t and I stepped into the room as that seemed the polite thing to do. The director glanced at me, sighed, rolled his eyes and grunted a ‘And who are you?’ in my general direction. My reply, which I attempted to accompany with a handshake, was completely ignored and he turned to his producer to ask ‘Do we want to see HER now?’ She made a fuss about having to check half of south London first to make sure that no one else was waiting to be seen. She traipsed off with her A-Z and compass and in hand and I was made to wait in the middle of the room while the panel stared at me, making no attempt to make me feel comfortable. I told them that I was happy to wait until my actual time slot but his only response was a look that is usually reserved for when you tell a panel that your audition piece will be you drinking your own urine while you play the national anthem by tapping a cocktail stick on your toenails. Our intrepid explorer finally returned and she said that they might as well see me now. This was greeted by the director with a slump down at his desk and I was finally invited to sit down.

The second I sat down, I was asked for an in-depth analysis (the type even Freud would’ve called excessive) for a character that has a total of eight lines in a 30 minute film. I gave what I thought was an extremely detailed and well-considered answer and I was actually rather proud of the points I made. But oh no. Mr Director politely nodded until I was done and then went on to tell me that I was completely wrong and then treated me to a lecture to his thoughts on the character. Fine. Have your moment of glory, you jumped-up, unsupportive, horrible piece of directorial trash. 

I was then asked to read a couple of scenes which were both fine. I was reading with the producer who seemed more interested in checking her emails than actually helping me and the director seemed to enjoy giving me the type of direction where you’re asked to be happy, sad, confused, angry, sarcastic, devious, honest and tentatively bold with a single line that contains one word. It’s such a hideous thing to ask of an actor and only results in them line coming out either completely flat or at a pitch you didn’t even realise you were capable of.

By now I was feeling so low about the audition that I was fairly sure things couldn’t get any worse. But of course it could. I finished the final line of the last scene, held the moment for a couple of seconds like all good actors do and then looked over at him to see him actually wince. Directors, if you ever want to make your actor feel like they’ve been wasting their life chasing their dream, try wincing after their performance. You’ll be amazed at just how useless it can make someone feel.

Apparently I’ll be hearing back from them later today on whether I’ve got the part. If I get it then I will eat my hat, shoes, coat and snood because it’ll help detract from the pain of having to work with this director again…

Lazy

Now, I’m supposed to be working on a script for next week. Not only should I be learning lines and working out my character but I’m also supposed to be learning another language for it. Y’know, just a language I know very little about but am supposed to be extremely comfortable with by next week. No biggie. But the problem is that I don’t really like the script. I’d like the job but the script is dull and predictable. It tells a story that has been told a million times before and contains characters that bring nothing new to this all too familiar story. I want to like it and what the playwright doing is commendable but I’ve read it through twice now and I’m already fed up with it.

I know that I need to put the work in and, to be honest, I’ve got very little else stopping me at the moment.  It’s gloriously sunny outside but if I try and work out there then I look like an epileptic meerkat as I desperately try to see what’s on my laptop screen. I could wander up into town but I appear to have developed a blister the size of a small, painful child on the bottom of my foot so I’m currently walking at a very slow, hobbled pace. So, I’m essentially trapped indoors. It’s just me and the terrible script.

So, here’s the thing. I’ve been told that I’ll be asked to speak in this language at the audition next week although they realise that I’m not a speaker of it at present. They haven’t given me anything to prepare so I’m not 100% sure what to expect. I can only imagine that I’m going to have to enter into some uber-style sight-reading task where I’m expected to make the script sound like I haven’t just learnt the power of speech. So, I thought I’d look up a few basic phrases just so I’m familiar with how the language sounds. That lasted all of three minutes before I got distracted by a bird on our patio. I then thought maybe it would be better to see if I could translate the lines I’ve got so that I’m one step ahead. I found a translation site, put in my lines, only to find that they translate it into the written form (it’s a language that doesn’t use the only alphabet I've ever bothered to learn) and so my screen was full of a load of squiggles that I don’t understand.

So I’ve given up.  Like the lazy, no-good actress that I am, I’ve thrown the script on the floor. My only work on it, the highlighted lines which I did two days ago, are staring at me like an angry, disappointed director. Maybe they’re looking for an actress who lacks commitment but is a whizz with a pink highlighter? Maybe they want someone who can’t be bothered to do as she’s told and instead likes to go for the dangerous method of winging it? Maybe? Fine. I’ll try again.  

Corporate Questions

I love corporate jobs. They pay well, you're wonderfully looked after and they tend to only take up a day or so of your time. As long as you don't crave emotional depth from your work then they're pretty much the best jobs out there. I value bacon sandwiches and endless cups of tea over being emotionally moved and that is why I love them so very much So, I was rather excited to get an audition for one yesterday. It had everything you want from such a job. It's well paid, it would be one day's filming just down the road from where I live and it's never going to be seen by anyone I know. As jobs go, these are the ones I want to make sure I don't have a mad panic about rent at the end of every month.

I headed off to my audition yesterday ready to smash it and make sure they couldn't even consider giving the role to someone else. I'd received the script the day before so I was familiar with it (it's hard not to be familiar with a script that is more exclamation marks than actual words.) As scripts go, it was actually one of the better written ones but the problem is with corporate scripts is that their main purpose is to get as much information across as quickly as possibly. This means that the sentences tend to be full of technical jargon that you don't really understand and seem completely unnatural. I've had roles where I've suddenly had to quote acts passed in 1979 in the same casual way that I might mention that I quite like your cardigan. So what you end up with is a very awkward script that is a beast to try and nail in an audition.

The point of the piece I was auditioning for is to help those in jobs where a high proportion of the staff are on the more socially awkward end of the scale. The idea being that they're far too clever at what they do and therefore find it incredibly difficult to ask questions. And it was very lovely of the company to help us get into character by putting in a representative from the company in the waiting room to sit with auditionees. I'm not 100% sure why they needed to be there unless they'd heard on the grapevine that actors are very lightfingered when left in a room with office furniture. But anyway, she was very pleasant but clearly determined to make as little conversation as possible which is lovely when it's just the two of you in the room. All my usual attempts of polite conversation were flatly rejected and it's only now that I'm starting to wonder whether this was actually part of the audition to see if I'd learnt anything from the script.

Thankfully I was quickly saved from the waiting room of doom and was ushered into the longest boardroom the world has ever seen. The person in charge, instead of waiting until I made the trek to the other end of the room, decided to introduce me to the panel while I was still barely visible to them. This lead to a wonderfully awkward, hardly audible set of 'lovely to meet you' greetings and then a confused look on everyone's faces as they they wondered if they still needed to shake my hand once I'd finally reached my chair. For some reason, my brain panicked and I decided that I really ought to shake the hand of the company representative who was sat opposite me. Sadly, I made this decision before realising that the table was far wider than I am tall and I ended up looking like a snooker player attempting some fancy trickshot.

The audition itself went ok and I was pleased with how I read everything (despite an alarming moment when one whole sentence came out Cockney.) However, it was clearly obvious when I left that the job wouldn't be mine. It's that slightly sympathetic tone that someone takes on when they tell you that they'll be in touch soon that just makes sure you know that you're going to have to find your rent money from somewhere else. They said that they'd be in touch either way so I've now got a joyous four day wait which I know won't end in good news. Best start saving the pennies for next month's rent then.

I should also mention that the incredible people at The Actors' Guild are now kindly featuring my blog alongside Steve Dineen's superbly written blog. The Actors' Guild is a wondeful resource for actors and I wholly recommend you check them out here.

Bare Essentials

I've spoken before about turning down work. It's something that when I first started out, I never thought I'd find myself doing. There was a time when I'd do pretty much any job for anyone who dared offer me one, regardless of whether they felt it necessary to reward me with food, money, warmth or all of the above. However, I've recently started noticing that I'm becoming a bit more picky about these things and I can only presume that this is a good thing. The amount of unpaid work I now do is down to an absolute minimum and if a job involves something that I'm just not comfortable with, I'm now comfortable enough with myself to say thanks but no thanks.

This morning, for example. I woke up to find someone that I'd never met or contacted was offering me a job. Although they had next to no budget, they were offering a very small payment and were able to cover expenses. Because my bank account is currently full of cobwebs and a few bits of loose change rattling around, I decided that it would be worth doing. It would keep me in crisps for another week and I figure if I'm trapped on a film set then I can't be out frittering away my last few pennies on a Mars bar. I had a quick look at the first couple of pages of the script and as it all seemed OK, I stupidly replied to say I was interested but would like to know which character they wanted me to play. "But why do you say that was stupid?" I hear you cry. Well, I'll tell you why. I didn't bother to read the whole damn script. Had I read on I'd have soon seen the word 'touch.' I'd have then seen the word 'thigh' a bit later on. Finally we have 'hands gliding' and it all starts to make sense. Because very soon after I'd initally stopped reading, the film very quickly descends into porn. But this isn't just porn, it's lady porn. And while I don't particularly have a problem with the world seeing my bits or getting entangled with another female for my art, I do have a problem when I'm being paid 83p an hour (I worked it out and that's honestly what I'd be getting.) Plus, with such a limited budget, it's fairly certain that it would be shot pretty poorly and no one wants to see my badly lit post-Christmas padding flailing around on some poor person's bed.

The world of film has been subjected to my lady parts before and although it was shot within the relative safely of drama school, it was still an horrific experience. It was the very first scene of the film that was shot and I found myself in a ground floor, street facing, tiny hotel room with my co-star and crew members, all of which were men. The curtains had to be partially open so that the light could get through so I apologise now to anyone who was driving through west London in 2005. The first couple of shots were about as traumatic as when they made Strawbery Ribena toothkind, but by the end I was happily taking notes from the director with everything on display. But of course, this was back in 2005 when I was 22 and we all looked a lot better back then. Despite the poor lighting and general lack of photographic talent, I still looked OK but six years on with no daily dance and movement classes to keep me trim, it's a very different story.

They still haven't responded to my initial question so, technically, I'm still doing this job. Best pull those lettuce leaves out from the back of the fridge just in case...