Push Me, Pull Me

When training to become an actor, I wish someone had warned me just how much time I would spend wandering unfamiliar streets like an aimless fool. Never did I realise just how concerned I'd be by buildings being correctly labelled with their street number. Nor did I know just how angry I'd become by a street sign not being visible. But, as an actor, these things suddenly become very important. Without them, it can make turning up at auditions into such a ball ache that start Googling symptoms immediately and start wondering who to put into your will. And yesterday's audition was no expection.

It was in a part of town that I knew fairly well so I was pretty confident that I knew where I was going. With my vaguely helpful iPhone in my hand and a smug feeling that I knew exactly where I was headed, I set off. I must admit that despite my recent whinges about not getting enough auditions, this was one that I was particularly excited about. The script was poor and the concept was flimsier than my resolve to never eat crisps again. But, like the absolute professional that I am, I set off with the slightest skip in my step and the faintest twinkle in my eye.

Without wanting to brag, I found the venue pretty easily. It was a huge building on a small road and, with my expert navigational skills, I stumbled across it rather bloody well. However, upon trying the three doors I could see, all were locked and there were no buzzers or doorbells in sight. As I was about as early as the bird who has stupidly gorged on all the worms, I thought I'd have a little wander round the building to find a likely looking entrance rather than calling the director in a door-fuelled panicking frenzy. My wanderings took me through graveyard (probably full of the graves of other actors who had tried and failed to find their way into the building) and, like all great adventurers, I even got myself a sidekick. Of course, because I'm a feckless actress, my cohort was of a similar ilk and I was joined on my search by a Strongbow-swigging drunk who spent most of him time shouting at a particularly gnarly tree who I can only presume reminded him of a past loved one.

Leaving my tipsy companion behind, I finally found a door. A glass door with someone who looked vaguely helpful on the other side of it. In my excitement at finding what looked like a working entrance, I desperately tugged at the door handle. Nothing. A sign next to it had, amongst other words, 'PULL' in large, bold letter and because I was far too overjoyed to read it in full, I pulled again. Still nothing. The woman on the other side gazed at me unhelpfully. I tried pushing instead, still nothing. Still the woman did nothing to help. I waved in the hope that she might offer me assistance. Still she looked on in wonder. Finally, after a good minute of pushing and pulling that would make even The Chuckle Brothers balk, she got up and opened the door easily. "Sorry, I didn't realise you wanted to come in." To stop from myself from screaming at her for the next two hours, I bit my tongue so hard that I was millimetres from needing surgery and politely asked the way to the audition. She lead me up countless stairs while she explained that she was taking me to the waiting room. The phrase 'waiting room' conjours up images of seats in a well-lit room, maybe there are a few toys strewn across the floor and a 1997 copy of Homes and Gardens on a table. What it doesn't say is 'pitch black stairwell' which is where I found myself.

She told me to go through the next door which took you straight into the audition room. Thankfully, in a moment of rare caution, I noticed that there was an audition already going on and managed to stop myself from clumsily bursting in on someone else's casting. So, I was left to stand right outside the audition room in the dark. The stairwell was so small that the furthest away from the door you could stand was about a metre and so I lurked, as casually as possible, in the shadows. At first I stood facing the door, but worried how terrifying that would be for the other actor when they left. I tried facing away but worried about how they might think I was re-enacting that scene from The Blair Witch Project. So, like the vain thesp that I am, I chose my best side (my right if anyone's wondering) and gave them my best profile, hoping to give my waiting stance a mysterious edge.

I was finally called in, after doing an impressive do-si-do with the previous actress, and I have to admit the audition was actually ok. Sure the director gazed out of the window with the kind of expression that I normally reserve for the finance section of the news while I told her about what I'd been up to (she asked, I don't just launch into anecdotes about short films the second a moment's silence descends upon a casting.) And, of course, I was asked to be happy, sad, confused, alarmed, sassy and sensitive all at the same time. But it was a good audition. In fact, really it was only ruined by some fool who was stood far too close to the door outside when I left the room. Stupid actors.

Dramatic Embarrassment

In yesterday's blog, I touched on the subject of telling people that you're an actor. As with any job, if you enjoy what you do then you should be proud to tell people. As soon as someone asks you what it is you do with your time, you should feel the need to shout it from the rooftops. So why, when people ask me what I do, do I feel embarrassed about this silly job I've entered into?

One worry I have when someone asks about my so-called profession is that I'll come off as the type of irritating drama queen that can clear a bar in seconds. I have an almost irrational fear that I'll somehow live up to the horrific stereotype that people have of actors so instead I choose to play down my career choice so much that I'm in danger of convincing them I'm not really an actor at all. Instead of being loud and proud, I'd prefer to make it seem like my job is some sort of dirty secret. And then there's the issue of actually telling people you've chosen to become an actor. Telling someone that I'm a performer feels very much like being a five year old saying they're going to be a princess or prime minister or an astronaut when they grow up. Except I haven't grown up and I'm still holding on to a dream that most people gave up on over 20 years ago. Surely we shuold be congratulated for foolishly clinging on to our dreams and pursuing them regardless of whether it's really a particularly good idea? But instead we worry that we'll get that pitying look that says "Of course you're an actor sweetie. Just like everyone else. See you in the dole queue in a week, love."

But why do we think people will consider us foolish. Is it because other people do proper jobs? They save lives, they teach us things, they sort out our taxes and they serve us crisps at 2am. These people do important things while I'm stuck wondering whether I'm best to apply for the role of a squirrel or a rabbit in an upcoming play. But surely our use is just as important. When those life saving, people teaching, tax sorting, wonderful crisp selling people need a break they'll often switch on the TV or go to the cinema or, if they're feeling particularly brave and flush, they'll visit the theatre. They'll look to the likes of us to entertain them and help us take their mind off things. We'll take them to somewhere different for just a little while. Maybe we'll make them laugh. Maybe we'll make them think. Or maybe we'll just make them feel grateful that they themselves aren't an actor. Whatever we make them feel, why should we feel embarrassed about it? Yes, our job might consist of us pretending to be a horse. Yes, we'll sometimes find ourselves dancing around a decrepit theatre in the style of an ancient devil. But our position in the world is just as valid as everyone else's so it's time for stop the embarrassment and be proud of what we do. Just don't ask me what I do for a living...

Race Relations

I apologise for the continuing river of rant that appears to be running through my blogs at the moment. I would love nothing more than to write about me spectacularly falling over in front of an audition panel or coming a cropper up against a fiendishly mean director. I love telling you about how I’m forced to crawl around on the floor scrabbling for stale bread or running around a church hall in a swimming costume all in the name of work but sadly I have none of those tales at the moment. The world of auditioning is eerily quiet for me at the moment so until someone asks me to partake in a pointless improvisation or the kind of drama game that pulls on all your cringe muscles, you’ll just have to put up with my whinges.

Now, I’ve talked about race issues in the world of acting before. It was an issue I hadn’t planned on revisiting for a while but after seeing the new Spider Man film, I felt it needed addressing again. The film, if you haven’t seen it, is actually pretty good. The scripting is dodgier than Made In Chelsea and it doesn’t credit the audience with even a teaspoonful of intelligence but the acting is bloody wonderful. If you’ve seen Andrew Garfield before then you’re probably already aware that he’s damn good and he therefore plays a very fine lead. And it’s not just him, pretty much everyone in the cast is very strong and extremely watchable. 

But, it’s safe to say that when it comes to race, the casting of the film is more limited than my patience during an amateur production of Romeo and Juliet. A quick look at the featured roles  in this film and you’ll quickly see that Caucasian is very much the order of the day. Apart from a couple of couple of black actors who play a taxi driver and a crane operator and have been granted perhaps one line each, there is only one other person that I spotted within the film that wasn’t Caucasian, That character was the bad guy’s equally evil helper type person (sorry if my technical jargon leaves you feeling lost and confused) who was played, sadly not particularly well, by an Asian actor. And that, my friends, was it. A New York taxi driver, a construction worker and a villain. It’s the type of casting even the Village People would steer clear of. Well done, Hollywood. Let’s get the bunting out, you’ve excelled yourself again.

This raises two very obvious points. Firstly, although I’m the first person to complain about obvious ‘box-ticking’, the lack of characters portrayed by ethnic minority actors is quite alarming. As I said, I’m not saying that every single film should be employ some sort of skewed Noah’s Ark where they ensure there’s one of every race, but a bit of diversity wouldn’t have gone amiss. And hey, maybe include at least one actress of an ethnic minority? Sorry, just a thought. I realise my lady views are pretty extreme.

But then there are also the small issue of the roles they’ve been given. The only person of any authority also happens to be evil. That’s some real nice work there, Hollywood. I’m not saying you’ve done it deliberately but still, c’mon. I’ve often mentioned the hair-tearing stereotypes when it comes to ethnic casting. If there’s a character who’s Middle Eastern then you can pretty much guarantee they’ll have terrorist tendencies or they’re in an arranged marriage. That’s it. That’s your choice. I’ve auditioned for a lot of Middle Eastern roles and not one of them has just been your normal, everyday kinda gal who gets crisps in her hair and falls over in shop doorways. Oh no. They’ve all either been terrorists or married to one or are somewhere in the chain of an arranged marriage where they’re either being forced into one, living through one or are suffering the after-effects of escaping for one. (I had to audition for such a role in a branch of McDonalds. It makes for quite the Happy Meal atmosphere when you’ve got an actress wailing about being burnt alive…) And the problem doesn’t seem to be any easier for Asian and Middle Eastern men because as far as I can tell, you often play a villain or a geek. Again, no regular roles for you my ethnic friend.

Much like the problem with the lack of diverse roles for women, I think that there’s such a lack of diversity at the top that this then trickles down into the work that is then produces. So far this year I’ve seen Prometheus, Spider Man and The Avengers at the cinema and, as far as I can remember, not one of these contained a part (excluding extras) played by an actress from an ethnic minority and they had very few parts played by men who weren’t white. I’ve also had a quick look over the blockbuster-type films I haven’t seen this year such as Men In Black 3, Snow White and The Huntsman, 21 Jump Street and Wrath of the Titans and there’s an alarming lack of ethnic actors, especially of the variety that possess boobs. The only film that has an extensive list of ethnic performers is, unsurprisingly, The Dictator, which is a film that essentially mocks the Middle East. However, for women the roles are still pretty poor. I haven’t seen it but the two main actresses within the film appear to be Megan Fox and Anna Faris and, well yeah, you know what I’m going to say…Other than that, there appear to be a small army of ‘Virgin Guards’ played by Middle Eastern looking actresses who seem to essentially play ‘sexy’ guards. As roles go, they’re not the ones that dreams are built on. 

As with every single other blog I write, I don’t have a solution to the problem that I’ve just carelessly launched into the air. And, as I’ve said countless times before, I don’t want castings to change just because everyone feels like they have to be seen ticking the right boxes. Creating a more diverse cast should be instinctive and shouldn’t need someone like me to keep wittering on about it. I don’t want to seem like an actress with a racial, sexist chip on my shoulder but if you give a girl a racist, sexist, shoulder-shaped deep-fat fryer and, apart from the sore, burnt shoulder, then the results are obvious. So please, Hollywood, do something quick because I’ve got very weak shoulders…