Women: Hardly Seen & Rarely Heard

Some worrying news emerged for actresses this week. No, it's not that the casting 'She's kind and hot. She's thin but she has big boobs' exists but it's news that female speaking roles in films are the lowest they've been in five years. A study of the top 100 grossing films in the US in 2012 showed that of the 4475 speaking roles, just 28.4% of those roles were female. If you're wondering what that looks like in graph form, wonder no more...

Pretty upsetting, right? But all joking aside (please, take time to appreciate it, it took far longer to make than you'd think...) it's a pretty serious statistic. If just over a quarter of speaking roles in films are being played by women then something has gone seriously wrong. And what's even more disturbing is that a third of those women lucky enough to be allowed to speak on screen were then put in clothes deemed sexually revealing. Those who read my website Casting Call Woe won't be surprised that this figure is so high, but still, it makes for pretty depressing reading. And it gets worse when you look at female teenage roles where just over half were considered to be dressed provocatively. That's bloody horrible and what's worse is that these figures are improving, they've been very steadily getting worse.

And it's not just actresses that are getting a rough deal, it's happening for all women in the industry. If you look again at the top 100 grossing films in the US last year (don't look too hard, Prometheus is in there...) then the lack of female writers, producers and directors is even worse. In that list there are just 9 female writers, 35 female directors and 164 female producers. Compare these to the 103 male directors, 223 male writers and 693 male producers and it all starts to get very disconcerting indeed.

So what's being done to redress the balance? Sadly 2013 doesn't look like it's going to help balance the scantily-clad figures. First up we have The World's End which I know a lot of us are excited about. But take a look at their trailer and it's a minute before a woman utters a line, and that's the only line said by a woman amidst shots of women dressed in school uniforms. And it's hardly surprising as when you look at the film's IMDb page there are just 2 women listed on the first page among 13 men. But that's just one film that focuses on male friendship so what about the other films coming up this year? Well there's The Hangover 3, Pacific Rim, the next in the tedious The Hobbit trilogy, the next Anchorman, This Is The End and The Wolverine. Yes, these films have women in but it's safe to say that men feature pretty damn heavily. Most of them are written by men, directed by men and feature a lot of men. "Where are the women?" I hear you cry. I honestly have no idea. There's a few in the new Hunger Games film and I think The Great Gatsby got a couple but, on the whole, there few and far between, much like their costumes.

The problem isn't the lack of women within the industry. There are women out there. Lots of them, all doing brilliant and wonderful things. The problem is that the industry seems to want to target a male audience and that seems to mean that men are top of the menu while the ladies are at the back in the 'sides' section that no one can seem to find.

Oh, and if anyone dares use Bridesmaids as an argument, that came out two years ago. It won't work any more.

Undramatic Irony

“We’ve got this really good idea for a film. How about we make a film about how tough it is being an actor. How talented they are but how tough it can be to get a break. How, to support their dreams they have to take on jobs that they don’t want. What do you think?”

“Sounds great. What’s the budget?”

“We don’t have one.”

“So you’re making those actors, playing struggling actors, work for free.”

“Yes.”

“I hate you.”

I imagine this is what would happen if the production team behind a particular casting out at the moment had the misfortune of telling me about their upcoming film. The deleted scene would then show me shoving all my bank statements down their sickening throats and garrotting them slowly and painfully with my woeful tax return. 

The premise of the film is entirely expected. At some point, all actors will have a go at writing a film. Some of them will be bloody awesome. Many of them will be about as good a read as toaster instructions. And of course, as we’re often told to write about what we know, actors will inevitably write about the lives of actors. Heck, even I’ve thought about it. I’ve scribbled down a few ideas. It’s lurking on my computer somewhere with all the other half-baked ideas I’ve had, all sat there as a constant reminder of how horribly short my attention sp- Sorry, I just stopped to watch a video of two cats fighting in French. It was great.

But if I ever got the point where I put my ideas on to camera, I’d damn well make my actors were getting paid. I mean, I’d pay actors all the time otherwise as, given all my Twitter and blog rants regarding pay, I’d be left with about as many legs to stand on as a drunk spider after an encounter with a particularly evil-minded three year old. But if you’re making a film about how tough it is being an actor then bloody hell, wouldn’t you make sure you weren’t that dick? The irony of it all appears to have smacked them round the face so hard that they think the only way actors can play unpaid actors is by not paying them. Because, of course, actors don’t understand how difficult it is to be an actor. We have no idea what it’s like to take on demoralising, low-paid jobs just to keep our dreams wheezing and spluttering. We don’t know what it’s like to be constantly worrying about money or whether we’ll ever get a break. Oh no. We need incompetent fools to not pay us in their precious little film to ensure our performances are real.  

I’m tempted to apply. Just so I can tell them where to stick their stupid film and their ridiculous ideas on how actors should be treated. I’d like to tell them how utterly hateful they are and how everything is wasted on them. I’d like to stand guard and stop any actor taking part in this insult upon our profession. But mostly I’d just like them to go away. And never, ever come back.

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.

Rising Stars

As promised, after yesterday's rambly, whiny and way too long blog, today I'll be bitching and moaning about this...

http://bafta.orange.co.uk/rising-star-award/

To be honest, the following could be today's blog...

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH(why am I surprised about this?!)HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH(why does the acting world hate women quite so much?!)HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH(wow, I wish I'd paid more attention in voice classes, this is really starting to hurt)HHhhhhhhhhhh.......

But that would be lazy and anyway, I've already stepped out of the house today to post a letter so clearly I'm not the lazy type. No. Instead I shall rant and rave for a few paragraphs until I exhaust myself out, read some much better articles that have already been released about the very same subject and dedicate the rest of the day to playing Jetpack Joyride (the most addictive game in the world. FACT.)

I'm going to try not to cover old ground with this because I've already written about the so-called gender divide in the world of acting. The high horse of feminism isn't one that I try to get up on too often, mainly because I have very short legs and look alarming in a pair of jodhpurs. However, I do feel that the world of acting is very much geared towards men and some of the biggest roles out there are the ones that can only be played if you have certain man-type bits. Just a quick look at the highest grossing films of 2011 supports this...

1. Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows Part 2 (yes, I know there's Hermione but we all saw the Equus photos and that wizard is definitely a boy.)

2. Transformers: Dark of the Moon (I know little about this film but I think we can safely presume that it's mainly full of men with a few scantily clad women thrown in for good measure.)

3. Twilight - Breaking Dawn Part 1 (I refuse to take part in this franchise but I do know that the story revolves around an odd looking man-boy.)

4. The Hangover - Part 2 (more men.)

5. Pirates of the Caribbean - On Stranger Tides (Captain Jack Sparrow. Need I say more?)

So really none of us should be surprised that there aren't any women featured in this list. When all the voting public gets to see are these films lead by men while the women get to pose in the background wearing next to nothing, it's hardly a shock when they think that the future of acting lies firmly on more manly type shoulders. And sadly it looks like the situation isn't going to improve. Cameron has now announced that he wants the British film industry to focus on making box office hits rather than nurturing new talent. Now, putting The Iron Lady aside (because I for one really don't want Thatcher to be the one female representative in the world of acting) I think it's safe to say that all these films are going to focus on them boys. And yes, us ladies will be allowed a look in but you can guarantee it will be looking over the shoulder of a man.


I was going to pass judgement on those who were lucky enough to find themselves in the list of nominees but that would be pointless. I haven't been able to find what the actual criteria is for this award so it's difficult to judge who should and who shouldn't be there. However, it's upsetting to see that Chris O'Dowd made the list while all his female co-stars in Bridesmaids were overlooked. It's also worrying that these actors are considered 'rising stars' when some of them were starring in hit films as far back as 2006. Apparently it can take another six years before the film industry will finally acknowledge your increasing popularity.

And what about the women left off the list? There are a lot of ladies who fully deserve to be recognised. The long-list for the award consisted of eight performers and it was the three women on this list, Jessica Chastain, Felicity Jones and Jennifer Lawrence, that didn't make it to the shortlist. But what about the others? All of these actresses have been doing incredible things lately, as have Andrea Riseborough, Christina Hendricks and Miss L who was awesome as Police Officer Number Two back in 2008. But, in all seriousness, it's tragic to see these women and their hard work be overlooked. And I'm not suggesting that none of these men deserve to be recognised but we have these women and the public has sadly failed to help them and their acting talent be recognised.

Sadly I don't know how we change things. While the film industry desperately tries to ensure that it keeps making money, it will keep making films that it thinks the public want to see. And until the public decide that they want to see Miss L in her very own film, the world of movies will be a very sad place to be. 

Contrasts

Yesterday was very much a day of two halves. So much so that I intended to split the day up into two blogs. Firstly so that you didn't get thoroughly bored and secondly so I'd have something to write about tomorrow. However, this happened and there's no way I'm letting that go un-blogged so I'm afraid today you'll have to put up with a full and rambling account of my day yesterday. If you wish to complain then I suggest you send your letters to BAFTA for this is really their fault.

So, back to yesterday. After weeks of aimlessly wandering around in my pyjamas, constantly worrying about the stilton in the fridge that we still haven't managed to finish, I found myself suddenly very busy. The day started with a photoshoot where I was playing a dentist. It was a lovely job and exceedingly easy but it was only when I was relaying my experience in the pub last night when I realised just how lucky I'd been with this one. Firstly I didn't even apply for it. They just contacted me out of the blue and asked if I'd like the job. When I'm not dreaming about being cast in the new Carry On film and having to learn how to do impressions of Sid James and Kenneth Williams (true) I'm dreaming about jobs that involve very little work on my part. I turned up, had a lovely time in make up and costume and then sat on a very comfy sofa in the green room surrounded by a plentiful supply of crisps, biscuits and tea. After a panic about the shoot running late, everything was suddenly back on a track and I was called into the studio. Three minutes later and my shots were done. That was it. I'd just been paid to smile at a camera for 180 seconds. And to top it all off, in the time that I'd been in the studio, Italy's entire stock of pizzas had been delivered. Even though I was leaving, I was urged to take as much as I wanted and I left with a spring in my step and a lovely layer of dough around my heart.

It was then time to head off to my audition which I did with a sense of dread. I'd already been told that I'd be there for the whole afternoon and that there would be a lot of improvisation involved. I realise that as an actress, this kind of thing should get me really excited. I should relish in the opportunity to exercise my creative muscles for a whole afternoon or some rubbish like that. Instead all I felt was a sick feeling in my stomach which may have been down to essentially eating pizza and crisps for breakfast but was mainly down to the knowledge that all this afternoon would really be about was showing off. And really, I wasn't wrong.

We'd been told that the room was open for 30 minutes beforehand should people wish to warm up. I know it's unprofessional to say so but I've never been a fan of undulating around a room while chanting tongue twisters. I know it works for many people but I just get bored. If I'm ever forced into a warm up then I'll do a bit of overly dramatic breathing, do a couple of scales and then touch my toes a couple of times. This warm up is about as effective as sitting in a freezer with a Calippo. Thankfully I entered the room and everyone was sat quietly. Some were reading, some were playing with their phones and a couple were chatting in hushed tones. However, there was one person warming up. Normally this wouldn't be a problem. Normally warm ups are pretty inoffensive and they should have very little impact upon the other people in the room. However, it's very hard not to punch someone when there is an actor in the room overdramatising yoga poses while he performs voice exercises like a pantomime Dame. It was horrific and it went on for a whole twenty minutes.

Thankfully the audition eventually started and everyone was bloody lovely. The show sounded great and the director seemed to know exactly what she was doing which is as rare as me eating raw tomatoes. The whole afternoon was spent devising and improvising various scenes and while it wasn't anywhere near as gut-wrenching as I thought it would be, it certainly had its moments. In this room you have 15 actors, all who want to be noticed. While a handful of us held back and remained sensible about the whole thing, others hammed it up so much that it would make a pig blush. I wasn't aware you could enunciate every syllable in a sentence while simultaneously gesturing every word. Nor did I know just how much overracting could contort someone's face. I felt less like I was in an audition room and more like I was stuck forever in the most bone-chilling freak show known to man. I will admit that it did feel nice to just mess about for a few hours and enjoy my job for what it is (telling a story with a ball of wool and a hat) but I've never breathed such a sign of relief as I did when I was finally released from the gurning circus from Hell.

Thankfully I'm back to normal today and instead of getting angry at people forcing others to sing Abba songs just because they're desperate to get a job, I can use my time to allow myself to get wound up by BAFTA judges. I've got a whole 24 hours to get increasingly angry about this so check back tomorrow for overly long sentences desperately trying to convey just how annoyed I am.

So Long Saturday

Ah, the weekend. A time when you can be guaranteed a lie-in and you can be fairly safe in the knowledge that no one will be contacting you to travel to far-flung places to say a couple of words in the hope that you might secure a job that will reluctantly pay your travel expenses. It's Saturday. Why would anyone need you to make a 90 minute trip to utter maybe a minute's worth of speech? Of course, I realise I'm stupid. Only if you have a nice, normal job can you be certain that you won't be called up to travel 20 miles to play a religious fanatic from the Deep South who is partially sighted with a limp. But I don't have a nice, normal job so that's exactly what I found myself doing yesterday.

It was the same people that I worked for last weekend and they needed someone to play a few small roles. Flattered to be considered, I duly accepted without a thought to the fact that I was giving up yet another weekend to flit around London for no money. I mean, I wasn't going to be earning any money anyway over the weekend and at least when you're trapped on set for hours and hours, the chances of spending any cash are pretty damn limited so I suppose they were actually doing me a favour. The call time was midday which would normally be fine but the set was pretty much on the other side of the world (west London) so I found myself crawling out of bed at a time that really shouldn't be legal on a Saturday morning. It's one thing getting up at that time when you know you're going to be the star of the show but the effort becomes far greater when you realise that you're sacrificing your weekend for the sake fo a few lines and a half-baked character.

However, how wrong I was. I got to play a handful of fun characters, most of which were just voiceovers which meant I got to play around with my dreadful catalogue of accents. Northern, Deep South and Cockney all got a look in yesterday although I'm sure they all ended up sounding like various versions of Welsh in the end.

So, on set, much fun was to be had. However, it was off set where the tedium lied. Off set can be dull at best. The bulk of filming is waiting around and therefore a fully charged phone and a damn good book are your bestest friends. A good cast are also crucial too as you'll often find that you end up spending more time nattering with them and your book goes largely unread and your phone hardly checked. But yesterday no one seemed to want to really talk. As soon as we were on set, novels were whipped out of bags and phones were constantly monitored. The usual questions were fired out.Where did you train? What are you working on at the moment? Where did you travel from today? Do you lie awake at night wondering whether anyone will ever pay you to work again? OK, one of those is a lie. No one ever dares ask anyone what else they're working on at the moment. As a question it's far too loaded and encourages boastful actors to start listing off all the projects they're involved in for the next decade and it allows depressed actors to enter a monologue of self-pity and bitterness. So very little was said at all. One actress made it her mission to turn the few conversations that were held into a game of Top Trumps where she tried to better everyone else with her dismal tales of her vague acting past. I find this behaviour tiresome and sadly it just prevented me from trying to start any further backstage chats. Of course, these people are almost impossible to stop and I'm sorry to say that even as she was leaving set, I could hear her boring the ears off someone as she rattled on about some supposedly hilarious incident that happened before the world began.

Next weekend sees even more filming . This time I'll ensure I'm fully prepared with a box of conversation starts, plenty of ear plugs and enough mouth gags to stop even the most determined of acting bores...

Auditions

Auditions come in all shapes and sizes. Some are shorter than my attention span during the finance section of the news and some are longer than soap storylines. Some are easier than the choice between tea and gruel and some are harder than an East End gangster diamond.

Yesterday's audition was one of the most gloriously short, easy auditions I have attended. The producers decided that because the parts wouldn't require a great deal of acting (it's just a promotional film) that there was really no need for them to put the actors through the torture of playing out ridiculous scenarios. I wish all auditions were like this. I once went up for a part in an advert for a large chain store (hint: it wasn't just any chain store...) and was auditioning for the role of either the hairdresser or the PA. Both of these parts were set to be on screen for all of 2 seconds so no real acting skill was required. I'm sure as long as you didn't suddenly turn into some sort of ogre the second 'action' was called, anyone could play it. I was therefore expecting to walk in, look at the screen, say my name, maybe have a quick chat on camera and then I could leave and get on with the rest of my day. But oh no, instead I had to enter into a 5 minute improvised monologue for both roles. I'm a comfortable improviser but even I struggled a couple of minutes in when pretending to be a certain Sixties model's PA. Needless to say I didn't get the role but, imagine my surprise when I saw the advert air at Christmas and the only time the PA was seen was when their hand came into shot offering someone a mobile phone. The hairdresser, rather ironically, had been completely cut.

So yesterday's audition was an absolute joy. I got to chat to a lovely group of actresses who were all up for the same part, we were well looked after and only 20 minutes of our evening was taken up. But don't worry, it wasn't completely mishap free. You will soon learn that I'm physically unable to get through an audition without some calamity taking place. I like to think that this adds to my charm but I suspect it just adds to the theory that I really shouldn't be let out of the house alone. Previous mishaps have involved turning up to a very physical audition in the tightest jeans imaginable and cocking up my lines in spectacular fashion for a high profile advert. Yesterday's involved me being the last of the group to enter the room only to sit on an office chair and go flying backwards five feet through a very swanky looking editing suite. Grace. It ain't my middle name.

I appreciate that my bar for good auditions is not set particularly high. My worst experience comes in two parts. It was for a film about the last Neanderthals on Earth. I know, when it comes to glamorous roles, they come at me like a moth to a flame. Audition number one involved running from wall to wall in a church hall, hand in hand with another actor while only wearing a bikini. For 10 whole minutes. No, I don't know why either. Somehow the crew weren't put off by watching my wibbly bits on camera and they asked me back for a recall. This came in the form of a 2 hour workshop with about 15 other actors. The workshop consisted of us basically improvising being Neanderthals for 180 very long minutes. The low point being the directors throwing loaves of bread into the middle of the room and us all scrabbling around on our hands and knees to get a piece. If that's not a metaphor for the acting industry then I really don't know what is.

I'm off to Bestival tomorrow for the weekend so there will be a few days of silence. Don't weep. Just think about me having a bloody great time and rejoice in the fact that I'll be back on Monday with more happy thespy tales.