Accentuating the Negative

I’ve never been good at accents. Any attempt at an accent results in people wondering when Ireland went on a gap year trip to South Africa, Peru and the moon, their wonderings quickly followed by a letter summoning me to a tribunal for crimes against voice. So watching Peaky Blinders on BBC2 this week called for my biggest hypocrisy hat. Not only do I have no idea what turn of the century accents should sound like but I also couldn’t pretend to be from Birmingham even if my parents had flung me out the day I was born and ill-advisedly asked Ozzy Osbourne and Jasper Carrott to bring me up (although I do think the world is missing an act who performs rock versions of insurance claims…)

But Peaky Blinders got me thinking about accents and what dodgy terrain they create for actors. I’ve never been blessed with a good ear for accents. In fact, all I really have is a bunion for them, awkwardly and painfully trampling on them wherever I go. The general consensus, whether correct or not, was that some of the voices on Peaky Blinders were on the dubious side of believable. I’m not going to write a blog about that because, frankly, I don’t have any idea on how realistic they really were. Despite how I may look some mornings, I can safely say that I wasn’t around in 1919. But I do want to talk about how tricky changing your voice can be.

My heart sinks when an accent is called for in an audition. Interpretive dance? No problem. Pretending to be a tortoise playing the harmonica? Bring it on. Reading two sentences with a German accent? OHGODWHEREISTHEDOOROUTOFHERELOVELYTOMEETYOUBYE. And, for some reason, I never seem to get any warning of what my voice box will be asked to deal with.

I’ve spent many years wondering what my speciality is. I can’t sing, I can’t really dance and, as we’re learning, I certainly can’t pretend to be from somewhere else. But what I can do a good impression of someone who isn’t phased by accents. As is the problem with most actors, we’re pretty bad at saying “No.” Whatever is thrown at us, we’ll smile sweetly and have a damn good go at it. So that’s always been my approach with accents. I mean, I could just hold my hands up and say, “Look. I’m not blessed with an accepting ear and phonetics classes made me as sad as a dieter at Cadbury’s World, so I’d really rather not.” But I don’t. Instead, I take a deep breath and bloody go for it. Very occasionally something alright comes out but usually I just end up roaring something that ends up with me being forever known as The Pitchy Racist.

And then there’s the reactions that I have to cope with. I’ve had winces, looks of surprise and, more than once, I’ve been congratulated for somehow creating an accent that managed to retain a lot of my own. After each failed audition, another accent is scratched off my CV. The only reason I haven’t had an audition in so long is because it’d be impossible to go into minus accents. Honest guv.

The problem with performing in a voice other than your own is that you’ve got to sustain them. We can all say ‘conjunctivitis’ in Geordie and we all know the beercan/bacon trick but once you go past a few sentences, that’s when it starts on its round the world trip. And of course, especially when that accent is being performed on camera, it’s also got to persist through take after take. Tiredness starts to set in and the need to get the take right becomes far more important than whether your voice might actually start becoming offensive.

But still, those accents were bloody awful, weren’t they?  

Out of Office

I'm sure you've all been wondering what happened to your daily fix of The Misadventures of Miss L. I imagine you've all been crying into your pillows at night and drowning your sorrows in that fifth whisky as you wondering what possible scrapes and mishaps I was currently getting into. Sorry, what? You weren't? You actually enjoyed the silence? Oh. Sorry. You might be disappointed with what's about to come up...

I've been away this weekend in gorgeous, beautiful Ireland. T was working over there and like the tagalong that I am, I decided I'd get in on the fun too. Despite having to work on my accent while over there, I genuinely saw it as a weekend away where I didn't have to worry about trying to make a living. I could have just a few days where I wasn't constantly scanning casting calls and churning out the same old cover letter. Just a couple of days where I'm not battling with my ego and wondering whether I can really put myself up for a role that calls for the actress to be 'beautiful' and whether I can still genuinely use my stage combat certificate from 8 years ago as proof that I can be trusted with a rapier. But of course, we all know that the world of acting doesn't work like that. When it's quiet, you spend your days constantly checking an inbox that never receives anything other than newsletters that you can't be bothered to unsubscribe from and a phone that only receives calls from people who have accidentally rung you and you're left listening to the swishing of their bag for 10 minutes. But when you're busy and have gots lots of other lovely things you want to be doing, the whole world is after you.

To be fair, most of the weekend was pretty quiet and I was able to spend much of my time drinking Guinness, eating potatoes and wondering just how much I was becoming the tourist stereotype. Most of my weekend was spent feeling very lucky that I was getting to watch some amazing comedy and this was interspersed with a lot of drinking, laughing and marvelling at just how seriously the Irish take Halloween. So I can't really complain. But I will. The problem was that yesterday, in Ireland, it was a bank holiday. And because I'd done such a good job at practicing my bestest Irish accent (I listened to roughly three sentences) I reckoned I deserved an extra day off too. But oh no. Because I work in a country that hates the idea of giving people a day off so they can carve pumpkins and mess around with fake blood, everyone decided that they would all get in touch. Of course, when I say everyone, I actually mean that two people got in touch over the course of 7 hours. But to a resting actress, a couple of audition offers on the same day is about as magical as Paul Daniels fronting a Magic Numbers tribute band.

The first came in the shape of a rehearsed reading. I have no idea what it's about but I saw there was a little bit of money involved so that's all that really matters. The audition was organised for Wednesday so that was great. Hooray, I can get on with my day, safe in the knowledge that I have an audition waiting for me for when I get back. In the afternoon, T and I went for a walk and lo and behold, I get another call asking me if I want to audition for an advert. Of course I do. So, with the wind howling through my hair and the rain lashing my face, I organised a second audition for Wednesday. I was getting good at this. With my head growing at a rate faster than the speed of light, we retreated to a pub where the realisation hit that with filming coming up this week too, I was going to be a very busy Miss L indeed.

So it seems the secret ingredient to getting auditions is to be out of the country as much as possible. If anyone would therefore like to whisk me away so that the casting directors can come chasing up after me, you know what to do...

Miracles

Yesterday afternoon I found that just very occassionally, miracles can happen. Despite my apparently desperate attempts to sabotage my entire acting career, as described in Monday's entry Surprises, I only went and bloody landed myself one of the parts. It was one of those calls where the director spent a good few minutes telling me how much they enjoyed my audition and how impressed they were but I was still convinced that it would end with the dreaded 'unfortunately we just don't think you were right for any of the roles available at this time but we'll definitely keep you in mind for future roles.' But don't worry, the world won't be subjected to my highly skilled, rapping ways. Nor will it be forced to watch the part that was probably closest to my casting. Oh no. Instead anyone with internet access will worryingly be just a few clicks away from seeing me pretending to be a 16 year old Irish girl who lives on a London estate. Bin your router and get closing your internet accounts now. Soon the world wide web will be a far scarier place.

Shooting starts next week and I've just spent the last half an hour getting massively excited about the script. I get to brandish weapons, run away from monsters and strangle someone. It's one of those scripts that properly reminds me how lucky I am to do this job. Of course, the role doesn't pay but how many people get to spend their weekdays racing around a housing estate attacking monsters? Loads? Oh. Well how many people get to do it while doing a hack Irish accent?

But the miracle of getting the job doesn't stop there. Oh no. So, faced with the prospect of making sure that I'm tone perfect with this non-Welsh accent, I'd normally have to spend hours couped up in my room desperately mimicking poorly made YouTube clips. But not this time. Because Mr Miracle has decided that this week he wants me for a sunbeam, I only happen to be going to bloody Ireland this weekend. This means that I can annoy everyone I speak to by constantly whispering back everything they say in an accent that probably sounds like it's been backpacking round the world twice. If you live in Ireland then it's probably best to use this weekend as the perfect excuse to go on that holiday that you've always talked about. You have been warned.

I've got a week to get this accent nailed. If you hear a muttered dodgy Dublin accent next to you when you're on the tube or ghastly Galway mutterings drift your way while you're stood at the bus stop then I can almost guarantee that you finally discover who the mysterious Miss L is. If anyone has any tips, or even better, how to get Mr Miracle to stick around until the film has wrapped, then please let me know.

Surprises

Sometimes I wonder if this blog is trying to write itself. I really thought that after a few weeks, I'd start to struggle with what to write about. Not all my auditions could contain ridiculous amounts of hilarity. Surely some auditions would crop up which were completely normal. I wouldn't fall over, be asked to take part in some far-fetched improvisation and then stumble over lines like the expertly placed trip wires that they are. But of course I was wrong. Somehow, every audition throws up some scenario that has me leaving what the hell I'm doing with my life and then how quickly I can get home so that I can blog about it. I'm pretty sure that I'm now looking at castings for the blogging propects rather than how it can help further my career. I worry that telling you all about my pitiful tales of somehow trying to earn a living is becoming a lot more important than actually earning that said living. Oh well, here comes another....

Today's audition was for an internet sitcom. It all seemed very normal. I didn't get to see a script before the audition but the little write up on the character was all fine and didn't set off even the faintest ring of an alarm bell. It was unpaid, of course, but it looked like it could be a fun project so I set off this morning feeling fairly upbeat about it all. When I arrived I was given some information on the project and then read through the scene I'd be doing. Still, all fine. The scene read OK and despite the fact that I'd be performing right in the window, in full view of a busy high street, I was one happy actress. I was first asked to perform a quick improvisation (very faint alarm bells started to become just about audible) where I had to talk about myself for a couple of minutes to camera. I'd only read one small scene where my character had about five lines so I didn't have a great deal to go on so I had to do more padding than an A-cup bra. I have an awful feeling I said 'I like going out and staying in' and I'm pretty sure my waffling on about South America would've been a lot more interesting if my mind at that point hadn't decided to refuse all knowledge of any South American countries. After that we read through the scene a couple of times and all seemed happy.

I was then asked to read for a couple of other characters. Not a problem. If there are other characters that I'm suitable for then I'm all for increasing my chances of actually getting a damn role. The first character was 16. Oh. Right. I mean, I've got a young casting but 16? Technology has come a long way but there ain't no computer programs that can make me look that young. Oh, and she's Irish. Brilliant. If you think I should be ok with this then please read this entry before going any further. I stupidly said that was fine with that. Had I known that what would then come out of my mouth would become increasingly American with each line, I would probably have politely declined. Amazingly Welsh didn't seem to feature at all. Maybe I'm finally improving. Or maybe I've just lost the one accent that I thought I could actually do. We then quickly moved on from this character to a 15 year old girl. For god's sake. Do they realise that I turn 28 soon and just want to taunt me with increasingly younger roles? Fine. This one's from a council estate and very much into using slang. Oh good. As I read through the scene it all seemed OK, the dialogue was quite nice until the very end when my character suddenly breaks into a rather sexually explicit rap. By this time, the next actor had walked in so this poor man had to sit ten feet away from me while I rapped about wanting a well-endowed man to...well, you can probably figure that one out for yourself. If you're out there actor man, I'm very sorry for ruining what was probably quite a nice Monday so far.

I hear back from them later in the week. If my lack of geographical knowledge, embarrassingly poor grasp of accents and sorrowful attempts at rapping don't put them off then I intend to set up my own drama school where the main lesson will be how to turn awful auditions into amusing blogs. The School For The Woefully Inept.

Accents

I've never been one for accents. I mean, in my head I am. In my head I'm pitch perfect but I realise that in reality, most accents I attempt will mainly come out sounding Welsh. Actually, that's not true because then that would mean that I do a good Welsh accent and I really don't. The only accent I can do well is my own and even that I can fluff up on a regular basis.

I was watching Nowhere Boy last night on TV and was astonished at the appalling accents. Now, John Lennon and I never had the pleasure of meeting before but I'm pretty sure he had a fairly strong Scouse accent, or even if it wasn't strong, I'm sure I've seen clips of him talking and I could tell what part of the country he was from. The accent in the film was totally baffling, it seemed to go to Liverpool via London, Dublin and New York with a quick stopover in Cardiff. Now Mr Lennon was a talented fellow but I'm fairly sure he wasn't capable of speaking in five accents all at the same time. However, Lennon's mother was even more confusing. We spent much of the 45 minutes (we couldn't cope watching past this) wondering where on earth she was from. Despite the fact that she had a considerable amount of dialogue in the film, a conclusion was never reached.

As I said before, accents are never going to be a great earner for me so I really shouldn't judge but I've never let that get in the way before so it certainly won't stop me now. There's no excuse for a poor accent. I find it more distracting than poor actimg and it's entirely unecessary. Unless someone is perfect at accents, then I see no reason for someone who is not from that region to be cast within the role. However, like the double-standard little thesp I am, that doesn't mean I'm not adverse to trying out an accent myself. Due to my 'funny colour' (see previous blog entry of a similar name) I often get asked to audition with a 'Middle Eastern' accent. I'm still not entirely sure what the accent should really sound like but this doesn't stop me from stating that I'm comfortable doing this. What often comes out of my mouth is some ugly little lovechild whose parents have travelled extensively around Wales, India, Australia, America and some countries that have yet to be discovered. What's even more worrying is that I've actually been cast on the back of these wild stabs in the dark. Either my meagre attempts are charming or I've been exceedingly lucky and have auditioned for only deaf or deluded casting directors.

For the mono-lingual accent, the worst is the surprise accent in an audition. If you know that an accent is going to be asked of you then at least you can practice a bit beforehand. I usually find myself making a vague attempt at the accent, realise I have no idea what I'm doing, try looking it up on YouTube, try copying them, fail and then get distracted by baby animals. But at least I've got some idea of what it should sound like. But the sudden request for an accent once you're in the audition is a horror. I had an audition a few years back for a character that they wanted to Mediterranean, but they weren't entirely sure which country. I was then asked to try out the script in Spanish, Italian and then in Portuguese. Now I've heard people from these countries and should someone speak to me in that accent, I'm pretty sure I'd recognise where they were from. But my voice box decided to deny all knowledge of these places and out came a sound not dissimilar to a confused Welsh person trying to go undercover in Russia. And that happened for each attempt, meaning that I managed to come across as a new form of racist, trying to show my feelings through the medium of accent. And yes, you're right to presume that I never heard anything back.

I don't have any auditions lined up this week so I should probably use this time to perfect my skills. I won't. Instead I'll just wait for the day it's decided that the whole human race should speak in a hack Welsh accent and then I'll wait for the job offers to come flooding in.