Back to Basics...

I was talking to someone the other day about setting my blog up and I remembered that I did this for any actors who were out there wondering if it was just them going through this, just them wondering if they were finding it hard, just them realising they've seen this episode of Homes Under The Hammer before. So I thought I'd go back to that today, to look at the real root of being a resting actor and not working.

Not really working can be hard for a number of reasons. Of course, there's the financial issue because, you know, tea doesn't buy itself. Then there's the morale issue because not working leads you to questioning what on earth is wrong with you. Then there's the question of whether you can still really call yourself an actor. My acting work over the last year or so has been very few and far between, to the point where, if someone asks what I do for a living, I could just as meaningfully say lawyer, doctor or brain surgeon as I could actor. I've had a couple of jobs here and there but nothing something my mum can tell distant family members about. I've done corporates, I've helped train lawyers and I got a TV acting job that didn't end up happening (one day I promise you an EPIC blog about that), and that's it.

Looking at why I've had such little acting work, and without dwelling too much on my level of talent, there are a few reasons. One, there's hardly any. I know it's cliché to say that it's really quiet right now but it really is quiet right now. Then there's the fact that I have to earn money, I have to do a day job so that I can eat and live and make sure that I've got enough clothes. Having to do a day job means I can't take time away from that to do unpaid acting jobs, not that I want to do unpaid work anyway, but sometimes unpaid stuff is all there is. Then, of course, I've been able to do other things. Writing, creating a Casting Call Woe show, watching every American boxset under the sun, they've all taken me away from acting.

I think what I've learnt in the nearly 11 years since I left drama school is that it's all about finding a balance. In the last few years I've learnt to be a bit easier on myself when it comes to the amount of acting work I do and not to beat myself up over a lack of it. Yes, I do more of my day job than I'd maybe like to and I'd love to dedicate more time to writing and creating things but, as balances go, I'm actually not that down about it. Of course, if I could then I'd make all my money from performing and writing but the performing work isn't there and my writing isn't at the level it needs to be so, right now, this balance works for me. The fact that I get to do any acting and writing work at all is, honestly, a bloody honour and I feel incredibly lucky to do what I do.

A friend of mine recently got a few of us together to, in the face of all the horror that's going on right now, look at what we're doing and how we're getting on. It's a way for us to learn from each other, help each other and just talk about what's going on in our lives and how we want to improve. I honestly can't recommend it enough if it's something you're able to do. Just making a list of what we see others do that seems to work and something we'd like to employ in our daily lives, something actionable and possible and that might make a difference but won't mean the end of the world if it doesn't. Acting can be such a stupidly tricky little beast where it often feels like things are out of your control so doing something where you can have the slightest grasp is a blessed relief.

So if you're at home wondering if it's just you, it's not. Believe me. I know it's hard and sometimes we don't get the chance to do this but remember to not be hard on yourself. Sometimes we have to be, sometimes we have to remind ourselves why we chose to do this and to stop being so bloody lazy (that episode of Stranger Things will still be there tomorrow) but we also have to be nice to ourselves too otherwise there will be nothing of us left to do that short film in Droitwich about a reincarnated llama with a murderous past. And you do not want to miss out on that opportunity...

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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 it's there if, you know, you fancy it... https://ko-fi.com/A478KN0

Drama Fool

It's a rare thing for a drama school graduate to not mention within the first 5 minutes of talking to them that, given the amount of places available for the number of applicants, it's twice as difficult to get into drama school than it is Oxbridge. It's a statistic you probably couldn't care less about and, to be fair, most actors aren't too bothered either but heck, it at least validates our lack of interest in GCSE Physics.

Step One...

But the application process for drama school is a tedious one. Given the level of competition, people probably think that landing a place is the first major hurdle but it's not. Hurdle one is finding the money to apply. Each drama school charges between £30-50 as a non-refundable fee just for the privilege of going (I'm sure some people are readying themselves to tell me that, 1) not all drama schools charge and, 2) it's to cover costs. Thanks.) And then there's the money to get to these places. Because the world revolves around London and it's important that you train within sniffing distance of a branch of Balans, most drama schools sit uneasily within our fair capital city. And unless you're one of those odd children who grew up near a tube station then, chances are, you're going to have to pay to get here.

Step Two...

So, you've scraped your pennies together by whatever way possible (I had a part-time job in a shop that sold lava lamps and dodgy piercings and I also stage-managed a production of Summer Holiday made up of a cast of 45 4-15 year olds...never again...) and you're off to London! Or Birmingham! Or Manchester! Or, heaven forbid, Exeter (sorry, Cygnets.) Well, no. Not yet. You need your monologues first. For most people, you make sure you've got your keys and your phone with you before leaving the house. But for actors, you must never walk out without your Shakespeare and your modern. NEVER. You never know when you might bump into Rufus Norris on the tube and everyone loves a bit of Bouncers on the District Line...

So you've first got to find yourself a couple of speeches. That's easy, right? Shakespeare is full of the bloody things and the fact that everyone's writing a play these days, speeches should be easier to come by than Pret. Wrong. Firstly, there's a list of speeches you should never do. I would list them here but basically they're basically anything a female says within any Shakespeare play.

"They're so overdone," people will say at you which is supposed to put you off doing them. That theory didn't stop Wet Wet Wet covering Yesterday so it shouldn't stop you.

This period of your life will be mainly summed up by you guarding the Drama section in Waterstones are you flick furiously through every play trying to find a speech that's suitable for someone with no life experience and wants to go to drama school. I spent most of that time wishing I was a middle-aged man.

Step Three...

Once you've sent off your application forms and fees, you should start racking up some auditions. Now, the auditions tend to fall into two categories:

The In-Out

Though delightful in some respects, these can be bloody difficult. One of my drama school auditions (no, I won't name the school) was an In-Out audition at its very finest. I arrived and due to the person before me not having turned up, I was instantly ushered into a dark theatre. I'd been travelling for nearly 3 hours, I'd had difficulty finding the school (this was in an age when you were considered fancy if your mobile had a colour screen) and I needed a wee. But there I was, straight onto a pitch black stage and unable to even see the faces of the audition panel. I offered out a "hello" not even sure if there was any out out there to receive it.

"Your first speech, please," a deep voice ordered.

I do my Shakespeare. The urgency of the wee making me trip over iambic pentameters.

"Go slower," I hear, just as I hit the final note of my speech, desperately trying to look like I'm still in the moment and not wondering whether I should stick to wine or spirits at my friend's birthday drinks that night.

I launch into it again, this time probably going slower than is entirely necessary and convincing myself that there really isn't a panel there at all but, instead, a tape on loop.

I'm then shoved through my modern speech by the faceless dictator and then, within 10 minutes of arriving, I'm leaving. £30 audition fee. £20 travel. £50 to not even be able to physically make eye contact with someone. Thank you very much.

But, of course, the opposite can be just as worse. It's quite something, while auditioning for a precious place with your dreams and career prospects hang on this one moment, to look up and see the panel actually wince by the time you hit the second note of your song. I defy anyone to stay in tune while it looks like your prospective head of year is struggling to keep their breakfast down.

The Passive Aggressive...

And then, of course, there is the group audition. I've written before in great detail on my dislike of group auditions: having to take hours out of your day to feign interest in a whole load of other actors where you have to try and look supportive while all trying to outdo each other. The greatest challenge as an actor is to try and assist your fellow actors in tedious drama games when really you want them to be as skilful as a drunk descending a flight of stairs.

There's a particular look an actor takes on when trying to look supportive and open to the increasingly ridiculous games being thrust upon them. Mine seems to manifest itself as a immovable look of wide-eyed wonderment. I'll know I've done it because my eyeballs start to ache on the tube journey home.

In the midst of games, improvisation exercises, singing in the bloody round and movement workshops where you have to pretend to have no inhibitions whatsoever, you'll blurt out your speech at some point. If you're lucky then you'll get to do it for just the panel. However, get unlucky and you'll find yourself doing your speeches in front of all the auditionees. Land yourself in this situation and your supportive face will go into overdrive while you listen to countless versions of Lady M and perfect the art of stifling yawns and stomach rumbles.

Step Four...

You've forked out your precious earnings, you've forced emotions upon more speeches than a politician and you've played so many games of Zip Zap Boing that you've developed tennis elbow. You've terrified yourself at just how many people you've met and how few places there are and you've wished you wanted to do something else with your life.

So you wait. And then you panic. Panic about what happens if you don't get in anywhere and panic if you do get in somewhere and then you're signed up for this. A life of Stuck In The Mud and supportive faces and being winced at.

Whatever the outcome is, you've just learnt your first few lessons in what a ridiculous, brilliant, soul-crushingly wonderful but awful profession you're trying to get into. Welcome.

Bringing It All Home

I’m currently waiting to hear details about a self-tape audition. While I sit here in my pyjamas (yes I know it's Wednesday afternoon. I also had a packet of NikNaks and a cream bun for lunch. Try judging me all you like. I'm invincible today) I’m waiting to hear if I need to spend the rest of the afternoon prepping my flat so it looks like an office and prepping myself so I don't look like I've spent the day so far being a bloody champion of self-employment. 

For those who’ve never experienced a self-tape, it’s what happens when someone can’t be bothered to hold a proper audition. Instead of hiring out a church hall, theatre rooftop, wooded area or Notting Hill McDonalds (yes, I’ve auditioned in all of these) they decide to let you do all the hard work so they can judge both you and your choice of wallpaper. For a couple of minutes, you have to shakily record yourself in the comfort of your own home, desperately trying to look professional as you realise that your BluRay of the Toy Story Trilogy is totally in shot.

Now I quite like the idea of self-tapes. You don’t have to leave the house and, if you’re lucky, you can do the whole thing in your slippers. If I don't have to brave Soho or shoes then I consider that a stunning victory. In my house there's no fear of bumping into someone I worked with three years ago but whose name I can't remember. But that’s pretty much where the pro points end. The cons list, however, is a whole other thing…

      1) Your flat will never look as ridiculous and shambolic as it does the moment before you start filming. It doesn't matter how house proud you are or how spotless you think everything is, your greying pants draped over a wonky Ikea drying rack will not get you the job.

      2)  Making your flat look like something else. It's your flat. It's where you live. It's where you mope about in your novelty pyjamas eating Nutella straight from the jar. It's not an office or a hospital or Gotham City (OK, sometimes it's Gotham City.) But don't worry. I’m sure ALL offices have tie-dyed throws over everything and damp so rampant that the mould on the wall behind you causes continuity issues.

3)You will be the living embodiment of ‘all dressed up and nowhere to go.’ It’s quite the low point when you’ve spent nearly an hour making your hair look perfect, your make-up look spotless and have ironed the soul out of your outfit just so you look presentable enough to walk from your bedroom to your living room. It also means I spend the rest of the day sitting around the house feeling uncomfortable in make up. I might not like wearing it but I refuse to spend all that time on it only to wash it all off 5 minutes later. I like to think this makes me look like one of the Kardashians or something but instead it just looks like I'm making an effort for the Water Aid door chuggers. 

4) Getting someone to film the damn thing. I’m lucky that I live with my boyfriend who’s also self-employed so I’ve got a ready-made camera assistant good to go. But I used to live on my own with only a 93 year old neighbour on hand. She was lovely but rarely does an self-tape go well when you've spent the last hour firstly explaining why you're an actor and haven't got yourself a proper job and, secondly, how to operate the camera on your iPhone. 

      5) Other people. You can guarantee that the second you hit record, the Jehovah’s Witnesses will pop round, the builders outside will start drilling through 18 inches of concrete and the couple upstairs will embark upon a session of furious sex. Apparently the rest of North London doesn't go on hold just so you can spend the next minute pretending your grubby hallway is a war zone just so you can maybe get another poorly paid job to fling at your CV. 

But still, at least you can do it all in your slippers.

An Invitation

Dear all,

To celebrate the 1st birthday of Casting Call Woe, I'd like to invite you all to a very special party.

You will all be picked up at 7pm sharp...

No pay unfortunately but you will get to ride in a white stretch limo with a midget and the band.

Please note that there is a very strict dress code...

NUDITY IS TOP OFF NO BRA

Skirt so short you feel raped just walking past her

if u want wear your sexy bikini

Those wishing to come in fancy dress are more than welcome to do so but please note there are just a few rules...

We're looking for individuals to dress up in an oversized female genitalia costume

We need some girls to be psychotic nuns. You need to be willing to be topless too

She wears an unpractically sexy knight's outfit

Clothes size is important as the Grim Reaper robes are only available in SMALL

All guests are welcome to bring a partner. However, if you are, there are further strict dress codes...

Actor: full suit of armour. Actress: full nudity.

Male - fully clothed. Female - dressed in thong, semi-naked at times, has to do casting in underwear.

Men bring suits, women bring sexy gangster outfits and lingerie. 

Also, please note:

There will be a prize for best dressed

There will be a drinks reception on arrival...

The first 10 actors to turn up get a free drink from me. It's the least I can do.

A few notes regarding catering:

Main roles in a music video available. The band will do the catering. 

I can't afford payment but I can bring as much juice and biscuits as humanly possible. Biscuits are wicked. 

This will be unpaid & voluntary. However there is a place that does beautiful falafels around there. 

And for any of those with special dietary requirements...

We require you to be able to bring a packed lunch if we have a full day shooting.

There will be dancing...

Please note the frog doesn't need contemporary dance skills.

Willing to barn dance on camera.

And there will be entertainment...

Fagin on stilts.

And there will be goody bags for all...

Unpaid but you'll get to take home a small bag of coffee.

Carriages at midnight...

Sorry I can't pay but I can pick you up and drop you home.

Please note, I can't be held responsible for any guests that are remaining after midnight...

You will be turned to mince at the hands of the pitman.

Please RSVP at your earliest convenience...

Girls welcome, boys preferred.

Your esteemed host,

Miss L
(Her once striking good looks have simmered down to a kind of smutty mess.) 

The Easiest Job In The World

"Wow. Being an actor must be really hard."

I hear this a lot. I think most people say it upon hearing that someone's an actor and I hope it's not just reserved for me when they look at my pitiful CV and can't think of anything else to say. I usually mumble something incoherently that demeans the hard work I've put in over the last 8 years to being a fully-fledged rester. They then think wistfully about their boring job and healthy bank balance and wander off to book another holiday while I'm left wondering if the free bar is still running.

But being an actor is hard. It's bloody hard in fact. What other job forces you, on a daily basis, to consider whether you're more suited to playing:

A cautious orange male hippo

or

Nude ghost

But, of course, all that hard work is worth it because when we do get work we're extremely well looked after. In fact, when looking at casting calls, I feel bit embarrassed about just how much we get in return for our work. The uneasy feeling of privilege sweeps across you when you realise you could be working with diamonds such as these:

Payment: Free food & entry to a raffle.

You'll preferably make a nice cup of coffee when we're all a little hungover at rehearsals.

No pay but the actor with the best outfit will win a prize.

It's not the levels of cheap alcohol we consume that leaves actors red-faced, it's the sheer embarrassment at just how well we're treated. And then there's all the people that we get to work with. When we're looking for work, we're constantly being reassured that being an actor is the safest job in the world:

We'd be delighted to take a clipping of your hair just for effect.

You'll be able to stay with the Director and DOP in his parent's house.

I'm seeking an impersonator who can act as my mum when me and my mum cannot meet up.

How can a job be difficult when we get to associate with such folk? And you can never complain about a career choice that lets you maintain constantly maintain such high levels of pride. Jobs such as these act as a wonderful reminder that we chose the right path:

Must be willing to have a condom full of condensed milk thrown at her face.

She is painted silver (nude), wears an elephant mask and is coated in gravy.

Please be prepared to muck in with the crew on the day as your role won't be significant. 

The director hopes to highlight George's distance from Jane by never having her in focus.

See? It's super easy. And you know what's even easier? Getting the job. In fact, it's madness that we're not working every single day of our jazz-hands filled lives:

Actress: You could prepare a monologue. Actors: You don't have to prepare anything.

To avoid time-wasting, the director's requested full-frontal nudity in the audition.

And when we're not working, it's so lovely to know that a filmmaker's main priority is bettering all the actors out there. Our well-being is at the forefront of their minds meaning that our reassurance levels are being constantly topped up:

We can pay for any cosmetic surgery she may require for the movie. 

I may require you to eat less that what you normally eat to perform well for the role.

But, of course, maybe I'm just being picky:

There's something unnerving about her. Maybe she's just read too many books.



All casting calls are taken from my Casting Call Woe Tumblr. A terrifying look at really horrible and horribly real casting calls.

Casting Call Woe - Recent Highlights

As I'm sure you're all very well aware, as well as this blog and my incessant Twittering, I also run the Tumblr site Casting Call Woe. The world of castings has become soul-itchingly horrible that I felt the very worst should be put up for all the world to see and have a good ol' cry/laugh at. However, some of the delights tend to get a bit lost so here's a selection of some of my favourites from the last month... (and yes, if you're new to this, these are all real.)

She gets a couple of lines, a light-hearted orgy scene and then gets kicked through a window.

Please eat before coming on set.

This has the potential to be the next Buffy/Angel/True Blood, except it's about an elf living in London.

The budget for this film doesn't exist.

The director hopes to highlight George's distance from Jane by never having her in focus.

The harnessed kids are used as slaves to work for the aliens.

No nudity but actresses confident in bikinis and hotpants will be a plus for water and pillow fights. 

Skirt so short you feel raped just walking past her.

Nudity is not required but may be encouraged.

We're looking for individuals to dress up in an oversized female genitalia costume.

Happy Firstday

If you're lucky, you're making your way to somewhere suitable. However, more often than not, you're heading to someone's house, someone's office or, as I genuinely have, an abandoned roof top. If it's sunny, maybe you're heading to the park, your pollen-filled eyes raging and wondering why you're putting yourself through this. But wherever you're going, you're probably a bit nervous. As you check GoogleMaps on your phone for the millionth time, convinced that no one would hold a first rehearsal down this road, you become convinced that you're going to hate everyone and whether you'd be better just to turn back.

I arrive at things so early that even Doctor Who is jealous of me. So, I normally arrive in time to walk around the block a few times to then arrive at the venue 15 minutes before the director turns up. The director, thinking they've arrived a good 15 minutes early will give me a quizzical look and wonder just how keen I am. However, I believe the experience for most people is to arrive when the room is actually open.

So, you get there. Maybe some other members of the cast are there too. You recognise someone from your audition.

"Hey, we you at-"

"Yeah, we were in the same group. Wonder if that guy got in to?"

You laugh. You don't which guy they're talking about. You soon realise that they don't recognise you and think you're someone else. As more cast members arrive, two will be surprised to see each other. They worked together on a previous show or they trained together. However it is that they know each other, they'll make sure that's everyone's aware of this incredible coincidence within seconds. It's around this time that someone starts getting changed in the middle of the room.

Once you've all arrived, you're asked to sit in a circle. Scripts, pencils and bottles of water are gathered and everyone sits on the floor. You think you're still fine sitting on the floor. 30 minutes later you realise you're not but someone's already been told off for lying down on your front so you put up with the pins, needles, daggers and fire in your bum cheeks. You all get to know each other. If you're lucky then you'll just go around the circle and everything will say a bit about themselves. Someone will insist on talking about the AMAZING show they've just finished in and you'll realise you have nothing interesting to say about yourself but it will all be fairly painless. If you're unlucky then you'll be made to play a game. A game involving names where everyone's just a little bit too eager to prove they're willing to throw themselves into anything.

Maybe you'll then read through the script. It's usually around this point that someone will ask if you've got a spare pen or pencil. Everyone takes a huge gulp of their drink. You learn who everyone's playing because they cough before their first line. You start hearing other people's lines and start wishing you had their roles instead. Everyone else seems to have the funny lines or dramatic scenes. You start to realise that your part is a lot smaller than you originally realised. As you realise this, the director tells you that you're going to be the non-speaking village person in this scene, the talking owl with one line in this other scene and the tree in the final scene.

Once you've stumbled through the play, you might be shown a stage plan. Or, if you're really lucky, you'll be shown costume designs. Everyone else seems to have had elaborate drawings done of them with lots of thoughts and theories behind what they're wearing. When it comes to your character, you're little more than a stick character in a Primark scarf. You try to look enthusiastic while wondering whether you can kill someone with a highlighter.

You start packing up your things, delighted to be working but looking forward to going home. They all seem like nice enough people but are they people you want to spend the next two months working with? Just when you think you're not that keen you hear the words:

"Anyone fancy going for a quick drink?"

Ah yes. It's going to be fine after all.

Moral Dilemma

It's been a long time since I got an audition. In fact, it's been so long that when I was offered one this week, I instantly presumed it was a trick. Some poor filmmaker who I'd mocked on Twitter had found out who I was and was now seeking revenge. I'd be lured to a church hall and would be slowly diced up with copies of The Stage. But finally, reminding myself that going to auditions is supposed to be a massive part of my job, I reluctantly convinced myself that it was genuine.

I got there this morning, so embarrassingly early that if I'd turned up in a pony and trap while wearing a ruff and tossing tuppence to a street urchin, I wouldn't have looked at all out of place. I got to the venue and, as usual, the instructions were ridiculous. Getting into an audition venue has always been a problem of mine. Maybe it's the universe trying to save me from the inevitable humiliation that's about to take place but doors are not my strong point. If it says 'push' then I 'pull' and if it says 'no entry' then I walk in anyway. And, to top it off, when people organise auditions, they put the most confusing instructions possible to get actors to the right place. I've seen ones with hastily scrawled maps, ones written in the faintest pencil possible and I've even had one tell me that the venue is no longer in use to actors should make their way to the local McDonalds round the corner where they'll be auditioning instead.

Today's instructions decided to go for the written explanation. About five different directions were written on a piece of paper that Commander Hadfield could've photographed from space. After first attempting to get into a shed, I finally realised I was surrounded by younger, prettier versions of myself and knew I was in the right place. My name was ticked off the list and I was handed a script to look over.

Now, I only vaguely knew what I was going up for. I hadn't actually applied for this job so when they invited me, they told me a little bit about what it was for without any real specifics. So, I started to read the script and I soon realised that this was promoting something that I really don't agree with. You don't need to know what it is but I suppose it's similar to a vegan finding themselves auditioning bacon grease slicked roast chickens. And, to top it all off, the script was horrible. There was spelling mistakes, unnecessary abbreviations and instead of stage directions, they'd used emoticons. It was horrible. And then an actress walked in demanding to be seen next. And then more actors came in, all through the wrong door despite the biggest sign the world has ever seen and I started to wonder whether I need anger management assistance.

Pushy actress was seen next and after the entire world's schedule was turned upside down just because she can't organise her diary properly, I was finally seen. I was greeted by a panel including a man who I'm sure isn't a stranger to wicker pants and stirring his dandelion tea with incense sticks. After a little chat, we went over the script a couple of times and that was great. I was then asked to try out some accents and I'm sure I managed to offend maybe half the world's population in record-breaking time. I was then filmed on their phones and probably put up on Instagram and it was all over. I was thrown back out into the world knowing I'd done a decent audition and having to battle the odd sensation of not wanting to get the job.

It's typical. I've waited months for an audition and now, after finally bloody getting one, it's for something that I don't agree with. Of course, they might've thought I was awful and my fretting is all for nothing. The phrase "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it" has been used a lot today. But still, however :-( it made me, I should be :-) to have been seen at all.

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?

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.

A Nude Sensation

Ladies who dont mind doing nude scenes, not a requirement for all but it does pay more.

Something excellent happened this week. After a lot of hard work from lots of people, including the brilliant Karina Cornell, Equity have now decided to investigate the worrying trend that is seeing an increase in acting jobs requiring nudity.

To avoid time-wasting, the director’s requested full frontal nudity in the audition.

Those that follow me on Twitter and see the casting calls I post on my Tumblr, Casting Call Woe, will know that the constant calls for actors to get their kit off is something of a scantily-clad bugbear of mine. There is not a day that goes by when I don't see at least one casting call that requires actors to get naked to play the roles of strippers, escorts, prostitutes or 'the love interest.' And yes, while it's mainly the women that are asked to get naked so they can keep their CV up to date, I'm seeing an increase in calls for male nudity too.

Nudity isn’t essential to get the part but it is encouraged.

So why is it happening? It's easy to say that the problem is mainly in the short film and student film sector where you tend to get a lot of inexperienced filmmakers just having a go at putting something on camera. Maybe they want to make their work to be more edgy and seem like they're doing something different and they decide that the way to do that is to get all the cast to go through excruciating simulated sex scenes in a bedroom donated by the director's best mate's cousin (who just so happens to be there to 'keep an eye on what's happening.') And these jobs often don't pay. All you're offered is your return train fare, a slice of Asda Value quiche and a constant reminder on DVD of that day you found yourself getting naked in front of a crew you'd only met for the first time 5 minutes ago.

It would be ideal if actresses are willing to go topless.

But I think the problem is coming from higher up. As bloody brilliant as shows such as Game of Thrones are, it's almost impossible to watch an episode where the Boob Count hasn't reached double figures by the closing credits. And while shows such as these set a precedent for well made, intelligent programming, they also suggest that all actors are totally fine with getting what their mother gave them out for all the world to see.

Must be willing to show/flash your breasts. 

And what if you're not happy about getting naked? Just because you're an actor then that shouldn't mean that you're willing to do anything for your art. When I first started out the temptation is there to show those dishing out roles that you're happy to do whatever they tell you so that you look employable. Showing willing is what you think will keep the roles coming in. Now, thankfully, I was never put in that situation but I can't say for definite that I wouldn't have if I was asked. There will be actors out there who think that this is acceptable (and I'm sure there are plenty of actors out there who are absolutely fine with it and good luck to them, there's certainly plenty of work out there for them at the moment) and that is a worry. No one should ever feel pressured into getting undressed just because they're worried their showreel hasn't been updated for a year now.

Girl wanted for naked role.

I was recently sent a script by a student filmmaker asking if I would be interested in being in a film he was making. The script contained excruciating lines such as 'he buries his face deep between her thighs' and 'he digs his face into her bosom' and that's when I knew I was definitely out. Now my CV is in seriously desperate need of new work on it but there is a line and this job was nowhere near it. The thought of desperately clawing through a sex scene with a group of 2nd year film students fills me with a dread normally reserved for sitting down and doing my tax return. Yes, maybe they're a wonderfully talented bunch and one of them might go on to win an Oscar but that's not a risk I'm willing to take.

Lying on bed naked and she is thrown across the room.

I know the point has also been raised that this investigation by Equity could lead to censorship and the loss of artistic freedom for writers and filmmakers. I don't think anyone wants that to happen and I don't think anyone in the industry is saying that there needs to be a ban on nudity entirely. However, I do hope that if nothing else, it encourages writers and filmmakers, when sitting down and coming up with their next idea, they spare a thought for the actor approaching their new creation and consider what it requires of them too.  

(For anyone wondering, the lines between each paragraph are genuine sentences taken from genuine casting calls. I wish I'd made them up just for this blog but they are sadly very real and what actors face every day when looking for work.)

Spare Any Change, Mate?

Today, a casting call arrived on my laptop screen offering the actress it was looking for the princely sum of £3 an hour. Yep. £3 an hour. Sometimes there are jobs where I think I'd prefer they just paid nothing rather than price-matching the first job I had at the age of 14 where I found myself holding the head of a dead pig while an autopsy was carried out. In 1997, that's what £3 an hour bought you. A teenager holding a dead pig's head. Now, £3 an hour buys you an actress. Apparently.

It was only when I read through the rest of the casting that I saw the film also required the actress to get naked. Of course. If the world of casting calls are to believe then all films need at least one lady to get her bits out. And fair enough. I mean, that's totally why we got into this job. We like to watch the male actor folk do what they love while we wander around in the background wondering if our nipples are in shot.

The thought of getting £3 an hour for bringing your boobs to the yard is pretty grim. Unless the filmmaker is paying by BACS then there are very few positive outcomes:

1 hour of filming: the filmmaker sheepishly drops three pound coins into your hand and you slope off into the night without even having your bus fare covered. You later find that no machines will accept one of the pound coins.

2 hours of filming: you get a grubby pound coin wrapped in a tattered £5 note. You use the money to buy a KFC Hot Wings Box to cry in on the way home.

3 hours of filming: the filmmaker asks if you have change for a £10 note. You've now become the shopkeeper of your nudity.

4 hours of filming: you get a £10 note, one £1 coin and two 50p coins. While you depressingly funnel the change into your purse, you wonder whether this was really worth it.

5 hours of filming: this doesn't include change! You rejoice...until you're left waiting in the filmmakers living room while he spends 15 minutes searching his flat trying to find a £5 note.

6 hours of filming: you're cold now. The crew bought two pizzas an hour ago but ate them all while you were crying in the bathroom. You're given a £10 note and a load of change gathered up from the rest of the crew. You can't even be bothered to count it to check.

7 hours of filming: you've forgotten that you're even naked now. You get given a £20 note and somehow you're made the feel the awkward one when receiving the additional pound coin.

8 hours of filming: the filmmaker asks if you have a pound. You don't. You spent it on crisps. Although he could just give you £25, he instead spends the next 10 minutes nervously asking the rest of the crew if they have £4 in change to give you.

9 hours of filming: you don't really care what happens any more. You just want to go home. You're given an envelope with your £27 in as a lot of it is made up of coppers and 5p coins.

10 hours of filming: £30! YES! You skip home with the newly acclaimed knowledge that pride is apparently worth 10 hours of sitting around nervously with your boobs out.

So, when you think it can't get any worse, just imagine receiving change for getting naked.

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.

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.

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.