Showing posts with label casting director. Show all posts
Showing posts with label casting director. Show all posts

Sunday, 19 March 2017

Laying Bare

A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon this casting call..







Of course, I laughed. Everything about it is bloody funny, from the idea of being festooned by the occasional crab to being the Meryl Streep of stunt corpses. But, as this beautiful dead woman lies on our examination table and we investigate further, we quickly gain an insight into a huge issue on how women are portrayed.  Setting these hilarious little crabs aside, there is a huge problem with the casting of the Beautiful Naked Female Corpse.

Dead, naked women pop up regularly on casting websites. If they're lucky, they're not being shagged...









What these roles do is boil down to what is essentially wanted from a female character: attractive, naked and silent. Little thought has gone into the character. In fact, there's no character at all. Just a body to be gawped at, fleshy set dressing, a goose-pimpled prop. I'm starting to think that drama school is failing women in not teaching them how to get their kit off and learn how to keep as still as possible for as long as possible.









Reading these casting calls is utterly heartbreaking.  I'd find it easier if I didn't come across these so often but they are everywhere and it's reducing women to literally a piece of meat, a role that could be played by a mannequin. What's incredibly sad is that, often, the actress is cheaper than a mannequin. Pose this role as incredible experience, wonderful showreel material, some easy work, and save yourself a few pennies in the process.







I've never paid a dead, naked woman. I have, however, played a woman in a coma. I joked around at first, at how I was just getting to lie around all day in bed. The crew joked that I could have been horrendously hungover and it wouldn't have mattered. But then there's the horrible realisation that anyone could do this. There's no acting involved, nothing to draw on, nothing to feel proud about, you just lie back and think of what the heck you're doing with your life.









So why are there so many? Why, every time you watch a crime drama, is there a scene been played out as a woman lies there, nipples out, like a meaty coffee table? We have a woman, the victim, shown at her most vulnerable. She has no lines, no personality, she's just a thing to be referred to. Maybe, if she's lucky, there might be a flashback where we see how she dies, because if there's anything we like more than a dead woman, it's seeing that naked (obviously) woman being tortured...


But what angers me more than the nudity, the lifelessness, is that they're still, so often, required to be beautiful. Even in death, even after unspeakable murder, she must still remain magnificent. She is a woman, and even on the mortician's slab or dragged into a ditch, she must fulfil her duty as stunning set dressing.


Look at that last one. She's dead and yet she's still seductive, still beautiful, still a sex object. She's a piece of attractive meat that is there to be fucked. They mention that the actress needs strong acting skills, presumably ones that allow her to remain lifeless while she reminds herself that she deserves better than this. 

It was recently International Women's Day, a day that we clearly still need to have because this is how the world still sees women, as nothing more than a mannequin. My hope is that, by the next one, the Beautiful Naked Female Corpse will no longer be the role I see on a daily basis. We are not slabs of meat, we're not lifeless sex objects and, my god, we are not to be festooned with occasional dead crabs. 



I've recently set up a Ko-fi page where the idea is that, if you like what someone does, you treat them to a virtual cup of coffee by donating them the money of what a coffee would be in a reasonably pricey cafe. I'm not a fan of coffee, I'm more of a tea person myself, and, to be honest, just people reading, sharing and commenting on what I do is payment enough but sometimes going through these casting calls requires much tea-based comfort so, you know, it's there if you fancy it... ko-fi.com/castingcallwoe 

Thursday, 5 March 2015

Don't Believe The Skype

Technology is great. It means I can check the weather on my phone without having to even open the curtains, I can watch telly and not really take in what’s happening because I’m too busy tweeting about it on my laptop and I can judge the lifestyle choices of ex-schoolmates via Facebook while I sit around in my pyjamas on a Wednesday afternoon, wondering if I’ve already seen this episode of Escape To The Country.

Technology is bloody everywhere and, because actors are bloody everywhere too, it was only a matter of time before the two worlds collided. It’s hard to tell whether this has been a good thing or not. On one hand, I can now apply for acting roles that I’m never going to get at the click of a button but, on the other hand, I can’t check my phone without seeing I’ve been invited to like yet another actor’s Facebook fan page. NO I DO NOT NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THE THREE AMAAAAAZZZZZIIIIIING AUDITIONS YOU’VE HAD TODAY #SOBLESSED #ACTORSLIFE

But the biggest impact the world of technology has had on casting (apart from, OBVIOUSLY, film, TV and the fact that we can now obviously be both seen and heard on screen too now like a particularly irritating Victorian child) is the introduction of Skype auditions. Now, don’t get me wrong, there’s something very lovely about not having to leave the house to get work. Anything where this is an even slight possibility of wearing slippers while auditioning is top banana. But, ultimately, Skype auditions are a proper pain.

Imagine, if you will, that you were called up one morning and they told you that instead of coming into the office for your interview, the panel had decided to come to your house instead. One, on a reasonably slow day, that would probably make the national news and, two, your house will never look as grubby as when you realise someone who doesn’t live there is going to be seeing it for the first time.

Just like you’re never more than 6 feet away from a rat or 2 feet away from an out of work actor, you’re never more than a camera pan away from a laden clothes horse, much-neglected plant or patch of damp wall in our flat. So, time that should be spent preparing is instead spent finding the one camera angle that is well-lit, doesn’t include your pants drying in the background and stops the director being distracted by the mold visibly creeping along the wall behind you.

And then there’s making yourself the living embodiment of ‘all dressed up with nowhere to go.’ There’s something rather heart-breaking about spending the best part of an hour doing your hair and make-up and picking the perfect outfit to just make the 3 second trip for your bedroom to the living room. 

Then, of course, there’s praying to the Internet Gods that your flaky broadband holds out, roping in the elderly lady from across the road to read in the other part and hoping the daily Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t come by in the next 7 minutes.

But all this is nothing compared to what you actually have to do...









That is a genuine list of requirements that I’ve seen for a Skype interview. Now, I know actors can be worse than piles when it comes to being pains in the arse but an actor has had to have done something seriously awful to you to make them go through that. And actors will have put themselves through it. Actors will have shamelessly paraded around their living room, finally putting their copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare to good use by precariously balancing it on their heads while they wonder if they're now meant to show their best moves while it's still teetering up there.

Now, thankfully, I didn’t do this particular audition but I did put myself through something vaguely similar. I received an email last year asking if I’d do a self-tape to apply for a role in a music video. They wanted it done by the end of the day. Fine. I wasn’t doing much else that day and, thankfully, my boyfriend was on hand to film it for me. I opened up the instructions. They wanted me to be dressed in smart business attire, put money into a vending machine and pull out a branch. This was already too much effort for someone who had been holding a wee in for the last 30 minutes because they couldn't be bothered to get up. I read on. They then wanted me to move to a photocopier, switch it on and be amazed at all the weird photos coming out of it. And they wanted all of that in one 30 second video. If it went over, they said that they'd refuse to watch it. Oh for crying out loud…

I refused to actually find somewhere with a vending machine and photocopier to film the damn thing and was determined to do it all at home. The next two hours were then spent with me putting together an outfit that looked vaguely like what I’ve seen people on TV wear in offices and rearranging our study to basically hide everything in it. The photocopier was to be played by our knackered old printer. The vending machine - a wardrobe full of sheets and pillows. This was about as convincing as an actor saying they know the different between stage left and stage right without having to think about it first.

I already knew this wasn’t going to work.

First take – 30 seconds has gone by and I’ve only just established that I’m a bored office worker trying to get a drink out of my wardrobe vending machine.

Second take – I realise the ridiculousness of pretending to put a coin in a wardrobe.

Third take – I manage to get to the point where I quizzically look at the branch (played admirably by Thin Air) and then 30 seconds is up.

Fourth take – frustrated by this point, I race through it at such an angry speed that I’ve done the whole thing in 18 seconds.

Fifth take – like my last day of woodwork class in Year 9, I'm as close to nailing it as I'll ever be. The whole scene comes in at 31 seconds. I’ve already decided the email I'll be sending to Watchdog if they dare complain.


Then it’s back into pyjamas (I leave the make up on because I never do it this nicely and damn me if I’m wasting the time and effort spent on not looking like a clown) to then faff around with WeTransfer for the rest of my life. 4 hours. 4 bloody hours the whole debacle took.

I didn't get it.

Sunday, 23 June 2013

Butter Freckles


This is a real casting call. I repeat, this is a real casting call.

Dear Man/Woman/Stranger,

Sorry I can't call you by your real name but you've unfortunately left it out of your masterful casting call. However, as you've called your character 'Girl' I'm going to presume that you don't mind being known by a similar name. Also, I'm going BUTTER to presume you're a man. I don't know what it is but I can already picture you despite having no idea who you are. You have blond streaks in your side-parted hair, you wear leather sandals, spectacles and I bet you're kind, courteous and dependable. Am I right? I bet I am.

Anyway, oh, hang on, let me just get out of this oversized gingham fisherman's jumper. I do love it so but the extra-long sleeves make it FRECKLES incredibly hard to type and the constant smell of fish mean that all the neighbourhood's black cats won't leave me alone. Good job I love black cats, eh? Anyway, where was I? Yes, I'd like to apply for the role of 'Girl.' I really do BUTTER think that I'm the girl for you. And how lucky I was to spot your advert. I'd just got home from my daily walk around the local cemetery, sat down with some pastry with lots of jam (strawberry, of course) and a coffee. I sat down at my computer to have a chat with my friends. None of my friends speak in real life so the only way we can converse is online. I'm not sure why none of us talk. Maybe it's because we're constantly turned on and the continuous biting of our bottom lip makes it difficult to speak. Also, the biting has given us all some quite nasty wounds and the resulting infection means that we can no longer form words properly. It does make our regular sleepovers very quiet but at least my house has got plenty of windows for us to look out of. If you need any non-speaking extras for your film then please do let me know. They're cute, smiley and seem happy just receiving oaty, syrupy squares as payment.

I would FRECKLES love to apply for the job you're advertising for, mainly because I identify with the character so much. I thought it was just me that giggled with just three fingers over my mouth so I was delighted to see you'd created a character who does the same. I find, when I hear a joke, the best way to show my appreciation is to take some time and choose which three fingers to stifle my laughter with (my preferred choice is actually my thumb, middle finger and little finger) rather than just letting rip. BUTTER. And the belt thing! I totally do that! When wearing my dungarees, fisherman's jumper, three quarter length skirt and high-heeled, open-toed sandlas (they're like sandals but the heel is at the front instead - walking across dewy grass is a nightmare) I find my outfit isn't complete without my brown soft leather belt around my waist, the excess looped down.

I'll bring this to a close soon as I need to pop the local cafe. I go there every day. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's just me keeping it in business. But I must say that I've just looked out the window to see a man with blond streaks in his side parted hair, spectacles and leather sandals stroking my Pashley bike. He's put 100 pencils in the basket (handy, as I've just run out) and he's scratched BUTTER FRECKLES on the side of my Fiat 500. It's funny, if I didn't know better than I'd say that's you out there. Just the thought of it being you made me laugh so much that my shoulders hurt now. I do wish they didn't shake so.

I do hope this application finds you well. I've also popped a flapjack in the post for you. If you would like any more then please do let me know but please be aware that I only make one a day.

Yours

Zooey Deschanel

PS On a side note, do you think I'd look good with a topknot?


Tuesday, 18 June 2013

Wishing & Waiting

Yesterday, the Secret Actor (for those unaware of my relationship with The Guardian's columnist, should read here first) wrote about getting acting roles out of the blue when you haven't even auditioned for them. The SA makes my blood boil at the best of times, but on a morning when I've been planing a blog about my current inability to even get an audition, it erupted in a way that even Eyjafjallajokull would admire.

Y'see, getting auditions lately has been tough. Whether it's a lack of decent work out there or just because I'm not that employable at the moment, for some reason I'm just not getting much acting work right now. I've been well aware that as the months have gone by that, so far, 2013 is not the year I'm going to find myself in a 'Ones To Watch' style article but the realisation really whacked me round the face a couple of weeks ago.

I applied for an acting job that I was PERFECT for. Every single aspect of it described me. It wasn't even a particularly lucrative or exciting job but I matched every single thing they asked for. In fact, I matched maybe three of the eight or so roles on offer. I matched all three perfectly. I fired off my CV almost certain that I was going to get an audition for this. I mean, I had to get one. I WAS PERFECT FOR NEARLY HALF THE ROLES THEY WERE CASTING FOR. I was so perfect for it that I was tempted to just put that in the cover letter and nothing else but, surely, when they saw my application they'd realise that? Of course not.

I'd made a note of when the casting was, already getting excited about what would be my first audition in bloody ages, and waited for the inevitable phone call. Nothing. The casting was on a Monday so I was sure I'd hear from the by Friday but, Friday evening came and still nothing. I convinced myself that they'd be organising castings over the weekend instead but every glance at my phone and inbox refresh was met with my increasingly disappointed face. Monday then arrived and, sadly, no last minute booking arrived. I'll admit, I was sad but I consoled myself with the fact that they'd, somehow, had plenty of other applicants who were equally suited to the role.

So, cradling my slightly dented ego, I tried to forget about it. And I was doing alright until I saw another advert from them still trying to get enough actors to audition for some of the roles. THE ROLES THAT I WAS PERFECT FOR. I watched my pride jump out on the floor and have a full-on tantrum. I could, if I hated my pride, re-apply. I'd done it before and that's why I couldn't do it again. The feeling of submitting yourself for a second round of rejection is too much. This job is exceptionally good at chipping away at your ego without additional help from me and a grovelling cover letter. So I've left it, my pride scowling and muttering in the corner while I desperately wait for a happy ending to this story.

I'm still waiting. But still, at least the precious 2% are getting work.

Saturday, 6 April 2013

A Real Actor's Tax Return

Earnings:

Sandwiches: all unidentifiable except 1 tuna sandwich that had been left out in the sun for 3 hours. Food poisoning. 

DVD copies: 1 that doesn't play, 1 that's supposedly been in the post for the past 4 months, 1 so awful that even my mum can't sit through it.

IMDb credits: spelt incorrectly.

Experience: therapy still being received for resulting rage, nightmares and irreparable damage done to my CV.

Money: huh?

Outgoings:

Travel: most costs are for my desperate attempts to build a time machine so I can go back to the moment that I decided to become an actor.

Clothes: none. As all female roles require full nudity, clothes are no longer needed.

Casting website fees: see a penny, pick it up, spend all day getting angry over it hasn't come anywhere close to covering the amount of money you've chucked at casting websites.

Headshots: if photos of you gurning with your eyes closed paid the bills then you'd be a bloody millionaire.

Showreel: because spending money on an eternal reminder of all the terrible student films you appeared in is the key to happiness.

Voicereel: ah yes, that was a great day. Spending a week's earnings on a new voicereel only for people to constantly remind you that "getting into voiceovers is the hardest thing in the world." They weren't wrong.

Tickets: stupid non-comp giving 'friends.'

Entertaining: yes, Mr Accountant, all those drinks I bought were while I was out networking. I sat in the corner with my large glass of red and complained on Twitter about actors. 

Compensation: for all the people I've injured after they've asked me when I'm going to be in EastEnders, why I don't just do acting as a hobby and whether I've been in something they might have seen.





Sunday, 24 March 2013

A Real Acting CV

HERE IS MY NAME. IT'S BIG. I SPENT AN ALARMING AMOUNT OF TIME DECIDING WHICH FONT TO USE.


Here is a photo of me
from 2 years ago after spending a 
week barely eating. I also spent over 3 hours
making myself look like this. 
Beautiful, aren't I? I'll never
look like this ever again. 

These are my contact details because I naively think that
you might bother to get in touch with me.

Boring stats:
Height: Do you really care?
Eyes: Green with envy at all the other actors you've hired in the past.
Hair colour: Look at my photo you lazy fool.
Playing age: This depends on what I'm applying for but let's presume 1-100.
Weight: At least 2 stone less than what it really is.

Training: No, I didn't go to RADA. Hey, don't go!

Parts Played:

This first role is the biggest one I've ever played. Despite the fact it was over 5 years ago, I'm still putting it first so that you definitely notice it.
Second is the best thing I was in but I didn't have a named part. I've made up a name so I look more important. 
Here are some things I did when I first left drama school or, as they're otherwise known, 'CV Filler Roles.'
The next few roles are one that I've made up or wish that I'd been in.
These jobs at the bottom are ones I'm pretending I didn't do in drama school.

Special Skills:

I could tell you about all the accents that I'm a master at in my head and how good a singer I am although my voice is regularly likened to a cat on speed. However, if I'm being honest, these are the only things that I'm really skilled at:
  • Being able to avoid drama school classmates while in Soho.
  • Thinking up wonderful excuses for not bothering to print off my CV for an audition.
  • Reusing monologues time and time again because I can't be bothered to learn new ones .
  • Hiding the fact I've a full driving license until I'm sure you won't be using me as an unpaid chauffeur for your profit-share schools' tour of 'The Drugs Don't Work.' 
  • Listing a language on my CV that I'm 'currently learning.' The fact that the last time I studied it was back in 1999 while doing my GCSEs is utterly irrelevant.  
 Upcoming Work:

I've left this free because casting calls always state that actors need to be available for work. By leaving this blank I should be the most employable actor out there. Please hire me. Thanks.  

           

Monday, 11 February 2013

Caught In The Website



When you’re paying to work, that’s when alarm bells should start ringing. That’s why, despite what your thoughts are on unpaid work. I’d urge everyone to avoid jobs that don’t even offer to pay your expenses. At the very worst, you don’t make any money out of a job. You should never find yourself paying out your own money to get experience.

So, why do casting websites charge actors to access paid work that they post on their site? Why are actors finding themselves paying up when productions don’t have to pay to post their casting calls? Surely this is madness? If this was happening in any other industry then people would’ve had something to say about it. Now, I realise casting websites have overheads. Despite how it may seem, I’m not that naïve. I realise that you can’t run a business on fresh air alone. But why is it falling to the actor to cover these costs?

Of course, the websites are there to serve actors and help us find work but surely these websites are also there for production companies too to help them find performers? Spotlight aside, I currently pay to use one casting site. I pay £20 a month to be able to access the paid work that they advertise and I used to justify this to myself because one paid job a year would usually pay this money back. I used to be confident of the fact that I’d at least get my £240 back if not more. And I did. This particular website used to earn me at least triple that every year so I felt that paying was OK. But now I don’t earn anything from it. In the last year, this website has earned me £120. That’s it. And it’s now that I’m starting to realise what little value for money that really is.

Obviously this is just me. I know other actors who’ve done far better from this site. But I also know a lot of actors who’ve got next to nothing from it. However, the fact remains that these websites make a heck of a lot of money out of actors with no promise of us getting a return from it. Now I realise this website isn’t in charge of the industry nor is it responsible for my career. However, this site today advertised 16 paying jobs and a whopping 76 unpaid jobs. If actors are paying to use a site then surely we should be able to expect some form of control over the work that is advertised? The more I think of it, the more unfair these websites seem. Not only do actors have to pay to use the site but they also have to prove themselves before they’re allowed to join. Often actors need to have a minimum amount of professional credits to their name before they’re allowed the privilege of paying to find work. But, again, the production companies have nothing asked from them. Those who follow me on Twitter and Tumblr will know that when it comes to castings, very little quality control is put in place. 

But of course, as usual, it’s actors who put up with this sort of treatment so it’s actors who continue to pay.