Who Would Play You

Everyone loves a round of "Who Would Play You," right?  You're having a casual dinner party, or chatting on the bus, whatever, it's a great game.  Someone chimes in, "Amanda Peet would play me."  Her friend says, "No, no, you're more of a Scarlet Johanson!"  Hilarious!  "Am I Dennis Quaid, or Mel Gibson?" he asks.  "Quaid, circa '83." A hearty laugh goes 'round.

It's all fun and games till it's the Asian girl's turn.  "Lucy Liu?"  Awkward silence.  "That girl from Sideways?"  "What about that new girl in the latest Terminator?" 

You get to be Amanda Peet, and I'm the girl no one knows from the latest/crappiest Terminator?

Ugh.  OBVIOUSLY, I would play me.  I would play me!  I just needed a dramatic way to bring up that they need me to play me.  C'mon, Hollywood!  Discover me already.

To Audition, or Not to Audition?

The usual trajectory of an audition (theoretically):

 

1.  Find Casting Call.

2.  Answer Casting Call with resume/headshot.

3.  Actual audition.

4.  Them: Yay or nay.

5.  You:  Yay or nay.

In actuality:

1.  Scour emails for casting calls.  Decide whether you'd like to play a heroin addict, a girl of "ambiguous ethnicity," or if it's worth it to take your chances with the sketchy Craigslist posting.  

2.  Review your resume and headshot.  Adjust margins to make resume look fuller.  Remove dates that look old; decide to remove all dates.  Give headshot a look over.  Wish you could afford to take new photos, wish you didn't still have reams of old ones.

3.  Wake up obscenely early.  Shower.  Blow-dry hair.  Pick outfit that does not type you as "sexy," "tacky," or "of ambiguous ethnicity."  Decide on black shirt and jeans outfit you wear to every audition.  Leave obscenely early.  Get lost.  Thank lord above you left obscenely early.  Get there obscenely early.  Sit there uncomfortably amongst actors/actresses "of ambiguous ethnicity" all dressed in black shirts and jeans.  Try to warm up without looking like an idiot.  Sweat until your name is called.  When name is called, walk into room.  State name.  State title of monologue.  Give 'em what you got for 60 full seconds.  Bow.  Exit room.  

4.  Them: Yay or nay.  Meanwhile, you ride adrenaline filled cloud-nine-like-elation.  Turn up music in car or in headphones.  Execute amazing dance moves.  Pat self on back for being best actor of all time who has just given audition to end all auditions on best day of life, ever.  Adrenalie leaves body.  Confidence quickly turns to tiny sliver of doubt.  Doubt multiplies with rabbit-like rapidity.  You enter downward spiral of panic.  "Maybe I'm not right for the role," gives way to "perhaps we didn't have enough chemsitry," which becomes "I should pick a better monologue for myself," to "I am the worst actor of all time," and finally, "If I happen to encounter a Shakespeare quote today, it will undoubtedly self-destruct in my presence as I am completely un-worthy of even speaking the Good Bard's name."

5. You: Yay - obviously.

Now, try that on for size a few times a week.... and start your own blog.