An update, for those interested.
I filled my weekend with activities unfamiliar.
FRIDAY
I drove to Madison to audition for a film. Having been told to prepare to read for Billy — a 19-year old badboy seducer — I did not expect to be cast, but had a good feeling about becoming a member of the stunt crew, should my schedule permit.
When I arrived, I made small talk with the pretty young college students who were also hoping this might be a big break. They were perhaps more starry-eyed than me, so I tried to ease their shaking hands with a few stories from people I knoew “in the business.” Strangely, as we waited longer, my nonchalance transformed into a sort of panic. While I always want to do well in these situations, in this case I assumed that my read was mostly a pleasantry, as I am hardly the type. So why fret?
But I was fretting. I memorized and paced. I tried lines in ways unnatural. I pried into the psyche of a stock character who would be killed within moments of the audience meeting him (spoiler alert!). I imagined scenarios where my theater training would allow some talent scout to see past my less-than-photogenic exterior and note the intensity of my performance. Johnny Depp’s career was built on this!
Finally, the door opened. Applause for the previous audition; no pressure. “Good luck,” I said honestly, but quietly, to my new acquaintance and competition. Shake hands, smile, make a quick joke. It’s all going well. The director, who has seen my headshot, the headshot where I am dressed exactly as I am now, looks me over and immediately changes his mind. He hands me a different cutting, where I play a right-hand man to a crime boss, out on a wetwork assignment to kill a disobedient hired killer.
The stunt coordinator and I run the scene, after a brief moment to read. They seem impressed when I drop names (or the equivalent thereof in stunt terms): “I am well-versed in combat and weapons, but I am inexperienced with jerk harness, air ram, burns, etc. I have done high falls, though.” My first read is weak, uncharacteristic of me. My second read gets the polite applause and a broad, seemingly genuine smile from the director and producers.
Stunts? I am in. Speaking role? As I was handing in the script, my eyes darted across a stage direction I had missed. “… over the bodyguard’s distinct southern drawl…” Oof. I could have done that. I did not see it. Should I ask to read once more? No. Not my way. Let’s hope they believe the special skills section of my résumé where it says “Good with dialects.”