Everything You Always Wanted To Know About Acting (But Were Afraid To Ask, Dear) (32 page)

I’m thinking of holding auditions in the West End after shows finish – at 10.30 p.m. Actors are already in London, and I'm sloshed by then. Perfect, dear.

Commercials

Auditioning for a commercial is unlike any other casting you will do, mainly because it is entirely about your look. The advert’s only function is to sell the product – so if you look right, and convey the right image for a product, then you could potentially earn big money. Of course, just like there are many different types of actors, there are many different types of products. You could be one of the lucky ones who is perfect for an aftershave commercial, or you could be more unfortunate and find yourself as the face of the latest haemorrhoid cream, dear.

When auditioning for an advert you will be allotted a time like any other audition, but you should always be prepared to hang around for at least two hours. I have been reliably informed by almost every actor I know that commercial castings never run on time – in fact, it is against acting laws if they do. The castings themselves usually take place in dingy, mouldy rooms in Soho, and when you arrive you can be expected to be greeted by an unenthusiastic receptionist who finds any form of social communication difficult. This lovely person will hand you lots of pieces of paper to read and sign. These pieces of paper will be enquiring about what other commercials you have done recently, your age, name, agent’s details, and phone number. Obviously it would be too much trouble for them to fill these forms in themselves
– as the people running the casting are too busy staring at YouTube. However, if you fill them in correctly you have passed the first test, and will be asked to stand and have a Polaroid of your face taken, so that the casting director and director can remind themselves of who you are.

When posing for this Polaroid it is advisable to look straight into the camera and not smile like a lunatic. If you do feel the need to smile, then make sure you haven’t got any of your lunch lodged in your teeth. This can be particularly embarrassing, especially if you are at a casting for a dental hygiene advert.

Next comes the arduous task of sitting around and trying not to look bored for a few hours. This is the time when you can read the ‘brief’ or ‘script’. The brief will comprise of a few lines about the product, followed by a page going into great detail about the advert, which has been done solely to convince you that it is a good idea. When you finally get into the audition room there will be a couple of casting assistants and the director. The casting assistants will introduce you to the director, who will usually be a cool-looking mid-thirty-year-old who is surrounded by empty Starbucks cups. Never come across as too enthusiastic at this stage, because they will never be enthusiastic to you. The director will look at you briefly, then ask you to stand in a spot in front of the camera. Everyone will smile politely at you for ten seconds until they get distracted by their coffee.

You will then be asked to do an ‘ident’, where you look into the camera and say your name, agent and sometimes age. You will also be asked to show your profiles, which means showing both sides of your face to the camera. Make sure you linger longer on your favourite side. If you do not have a favourite, just pick the one that is the least spotty.

Sometimes you may be asked to partner up with someone; they could be playing your lover and you instantly have to appear comfortable with them in any situation. This can be a problem if the person you are partnered with resembles an old scab. If this is the case, politely decline and ask the
casting director if they can put you with someone better-looking. If this is not possible, you will have no choice but to rely on your acting skills.

You will frequently feel like you’re making a fool of yourself in commercial castings, often for the amusement of the casting directors. But don’t worry: most of them, in all honesty, barely take any notice anyway. The typical director of ads tends to be more concerned with the next movie or TV series they’re working on – and only agree to do adverts for a bit of extra money. So in terms of passion and excitement, you’ll be lucky if you get a smile from them, dear.

When your time arrives, and the camera is focused on you, waiting to see your best impression of a credit card, or your best premature ejaculation face, you simply have to think of the money. There are actors I know who have even changed their moral and ethical code because of good advert money. One actor got offered a McDonald’s advert promoting a new burger, and because the money was so good he leapt at the chance. He spent the whole day biting into the most perfect-looking beefburger ever, and then smiled contentedly at the camera. After four hours of filming he got through forty burgers – which must be a world record for a strict vegetarian.

In terms of your performance, different rules apply in adverts. You will only know if you’re being too big or too small when the director gives you feedback after your first take – but most adverts do not rely on delicate, subtle performances. Particularly if you are pretending to be a giant chicken breast. As a bit of general advice: be bold, be big, and don’t take it too seriously.

After your casting I recommend having a stiff drink and forgetting about it. If you are lucky you may get a call the following day saying you have been ‘pencilled’. A pencil means you are in the running for the advert, and you will be asked to keep the shooting dates free. However, a ‘pencil’ actually means nothing at all, as everyone gets them these days. Followed by a heavy pencil. Which again, means absolutely nothing. The terms ‘pencil’ and ‘heavy pencil’
were invented by casting directors as a way of keeping actors on hold until the director makes their mind up. Always remember: you haven’t got the job until you’ve signed the contract, dear.

Actors – doing a workshop of a show doesn’t mean you’ll be in the final production. It just means you’ll be in another workshop, dear.

Workshops

Many plays and musicals are now developed during workshops. Workshops are a period – lasting from a couple of days to several weeks – when a group of people come together to work on and develop a show. Usually the show will only have recently been written, and actors will be required to say lines out loud and sing songs
in tune
– so that the writer and director can hear what the piece sounds like ‘off the page’.

These workshops are a way for directors and writers to play with actors for a few days whilst making them bring a new script to life. It is quite rare that workshops are actually paid – many are not and, like a lot of theatre these days, relies on the actors being prepared to share their talent for nothing. However, it’s surprising how easy it is to bribe actors to do this. And the variety and quality of actors who often get involved is marvellous. I have supported many workshops – and am always thrilled with the high calibre of people who give up their time. This is possibly as they believe we will use them in the actual production. But, of course, we rarely do – because by then we’ll be forced to replace them with someone off the telly.

When doing a workshop it is vital you are open and enthusiastic at all times. You will be told on day one that the writer and director welcome feedback – and that your input is
essential in ensuring the show will ‘work’. Of course, this is all rather lovely to hear, but in reality they only want to hear that you like their material. You should never make too many suggestions, and definitely never try and suggest changes to the plot or dialogue. Writers are very protective over their work, fearing any sort of criticism – particularly from the actors. It is far safer just to nod and congratulate them on the superb work they have created – and drop hints that you think they are the best playwright around. This increases your chance of appearing in the final show, and even them possibly writing you a part in their next project.

Recently it has become apparent that the trend in new musicals is to make them all very ‘real’ and ‘gritty’ – and they are either based on a farm or in an office. There tends to be at least one gay character, one person who is unsure about their sexuality, and one person who is contemplating suicide. But through the medium of close-harmony singing, everyone realises that life is not as bad as they thought, that people are entitled to be who they want to be, and that love is all around. And everyone lives happily ever after. How lovely, dear.

It is also common that young composers write the most complicated pieces of music possible – as though this is the secret to creating truly great songs.
It is not!
Marvellous show music does not have to be complicated musically – in fact, it is far more important that a musical has ‘catchy’ melodies. Just look at Andrew Lloyd Webber (if you can bear to). He knows exactly what he’s doing. His chord progressions and structures are some of the most basic around – but they work triumphantly (with the exception of
Love Never Dies
, of course). And this is because he has blessed them all with tunes that stick. His melodies haunt, captivate, and stay with you for a lifetime. It doesn’t have to be highbrow discordant chaos to have a lasting effect.

I am not insinuating that all songs written in a different key to C major are rubbish – of course not. Take Stephen Sondheim, for instance. A master of his craft. And his music is
often very technically challenging. But, again, his melodies and music stay with you. The problem comes when you have some absurd nonsense that is filled with constant key and time-signature changes, confused melodies that can’t make their mind up about what genre they are in, and chords that don’t even make sense to Benjamin Britten. It really is a waste of time for everyone involved. In my mind, composers should keep it simple and effective – after all, the songs are meant to tell the story, not confuse it.

In workshops it is very rare that you perform the whole show. Usually you will stand and just perform excerpts, with the story, stage directions and character descriptions being read out by the director or writer. The aim is obviously to ‘sell’ the show to potential investors, so the best songs will have been chosen. If the best songs are actually bloody awful you should just smile politely and think of England.

After the performance it is theatrical law that wine and nibbles are served. This is when the wisest actors get their ‘payment’. I suggest getting savagely sloshed by necking as much free wine as possible, stuffing whatever food and booze you can into your rucksack, and making a swift exit. I have known actors feeding themselves for years using this method, dear.