My First Los Angeles Audition

Well, I finally got myself a bona fide audition, with a bona fide Los Angeles Casting Director, in a bona fide casting office.

Digression: bona and fide aren't actually words separately, are they? I mean, something can't be "bona," right? I can't pop off saying, "Man, these are some bona grapes, Tito!" Here's the thing; I've been playing a lot of online Scrabble, and I'm always on the look out for words I can use to cruelly crush my enemies (that means you, Patrick)…but I don't know if I could pull out a "fide" without a preceding "bona." I'll have to do some more research…

End digression. Anyhow, it occurred to me that some of you might be curious as to how the actual "audition" process happens here. It also occurred to me that this might bore some of you, and to those people I say, "Nuts!"

So, anyway, the four of us belong to a website called "Actor's Access." Basically, people looking for actors post "want ads" for actors, and (after you pay a $60 start-up fee) actors reply to those ads with a digital headshot and résumé. There are a couple of websites down here devoted to that, but Actor's Access is the one I used to find the following audition:

PROMO FOR TV SHOW
NON-UNION

[ BUSINESS GUY ]
Age 30-48

Well, I happen to be a guy…and though I'm not exactly 30 yet, that wonderful receding hairline I got from my father (or, if you believe geneticists, my mother's father) has advanced my apparent age a bit. So I submitted.

A day later, I received an e-mail that I had been selected to audition. As Sean would say, "Booyah." No details, other than an ominous "Business men: wear a suit."

Unfortunately, most of my "semi-to-formal wear" was cast out in the great weight drop of '07, so all I had was a pair of slacks and a non-matching sports jacket. It'd have to do…I didn't want to be the only guy in there not wearing a suit.

So, on the day of the audition, I hustle down to Beverly Hills (after looking up the casting director…and discovering that some magazine had labeled her the "1 Commercial Casting Director in Hollywood")…which was a 45 minute surface-street crawl. I locate a parking garage…and promptly try to "self-park" in a "Valet-only Garage" (apparently every parking area in Los Angeles has options for valet…and some don't even give you the option; this one was the latter). This, if I interpreted it correctly, angered the two Hispanic gentlemen waiting behind the valet counter. Eventually I figured it out (I've had to hit the ground running on many of these unique procedural Los Angeles driving thingies), and made my way into the casting office.

Now, a casting office is just as glamorous as you would imagine. Picture a large rectangular room with hardwood floors, and a wooden bench lining the wall. Now, while you're at it, picture about 10 actors sitting on that bench. Also, while you're picturing stuff, picture a stomach-high shelf just to the right of the entrance with a "sign-in sheet," a stack of blank forms, a small box of heavily-used eraser-less pencils that you find at miniature golf courses, and a disconnected computer monitor.

Side note – it seems (from my incredibly limited experience) that Casting Agents in Los Angeles don't like advertising the fact that they're Casting Agents on the building where their office is. It makes sense, because I'm sure there are scads of degenerate, desperate actors who would probably be totally fine with just loitering around a popular casting agency…and crashing auditions that they'd be fit for. So the more inconspicuous the office, the less chance that they'll be flooded with kooks. However, this inconspicuocity (that's a word, right Dad? Did I make you proud?) makes finding the damn places pretty tricky. End side note.

Taking all of this in, I did what any human would do under the circumstances: I signed in, and took a seat to fill out the "size sheet" (the form that basically a sheet that gives the basic info, plus your clothing sizes). Now, this being my first audition, I totally felt like everyone could just sense my "newbie" status. At one point I accidentally dropped my headshot when I was filling out the paperwork, and I just knew that every person there was rolling their eyes…perhaps clicking their tongues condescendingly…but I just had a gut feeling that all eyes were upon me the second I walked in.

So I tried like hellfire to suppress that crazy egocentric irrationality, and eventually a man appeared and called my name, along with the names of a tall black man dressed like a businessman, and a short white guy dressed like a basketball player. I choose to omit any comments referencing that defiance of racial stereotypes (for fear of coming off as unintentionally racist), and will instead inmit a random line from a Shakespeare play:

And here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and command that, of the city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but claret wine this first year of our reign.

I really like that line, because it says "pissing." And "claret." I don't know what either of those words mean.

So myself, "tall dark and handsome" (henceforth referred to as TDH) and "short white and athletic" (SWA) are called into a back room that's about 20 feet long and 10 feet wide – there are some odd "stage lights" hanging from the ceiling, and some camera equipment set in the middle of the room. It's just the four of us in the room, and the guy running the audition (not the casting director, but probably her assistant) asks us all to slate our names (which basically means "say your name," but instead of the word "say" they use the word "slate," which sounds cooler). Then he gives us the premise of our audition:

"So, guys, what I need you to do is just stand off to the right there off-camera. Then enter the scene and start talking. And make sure you're close together, and facing toward the camera."

Essentially, we were to walk, talk, and face him. It's not Hamlet, but it's still considered acting somehow. So we do so…and manage to screw it up on the first take.

"Hold up, guys. I need to you go again, but don't change your order."

Apparently SWA had lagged behind TDH…so we had to walk out again. Now, when you get three straight guys in a room and ask them to talk about something, what do you think they're going to talk about?

TDH: So…what do you guys think about Shaq going to the Suns?

Me: Yeah…crazy, man…crazy.

TDH (overlapping): I just don't think that he's gonna' fit into their game plan, they're a quick team—

SWA: Uh huh.

TDH: …and Shaq is just getting old, man. He ain't running the floor like he used to.

Me: Yeah…basketball…is…yeah…

TDH: But it doesn't look like anyone's going to be able to touch the Celtics this year. You see their front three?

Me (faking it hard): Oh yeah, they're amazing.

TDH: They're gonna' be a force in the playoffs. (awkward pause as Me and SWA try desperately to recall any basketball knowledge we had) You guys catch the Super Bowl?

Me & SWA: Oh yeah…great…wow…what a game…

TDH: I couldn't believe it, man. Best game I've seen in, like, ever, man! None of you guys are from Boston, are you?

Me & SWA: No, no…

Me: Boston? Who does that nowadays?

TDH: Who does what?

Me:Boston? That's so played. It's so…'93 to be from Boston. (ed. I have no idea what this means, but it sure as hell sounded witty to me at the time)

TDH: It's '93? (laughing) Yeah, that's funny, man.

SWA: Anyone else here excited about hockey season?

We went on to talk about how only SWA knew anything about hockey, while myself and TDH didn't even know who won the Stanley Cup last year.

Eventually, mercifully, the assistant stopped us, thanked us for our time, and showed us the door.

Of course, I didn't book that little job…not because I was bad, necessarily…but just because I'm not going to book the vast majority of the things I audition for. It's a sense of impending failure that I've come to expect, so that when/if I do actually book something, it's a total surprise.

I suppose that's all for now. Believe it or not, in spite of "not having a real job," I've been fairly busy…the details of which I will probably save for another blog entry.