Now that my cousin, a commander in the California Highway Patrol, friended me on Facebook, I think I’ll lay off blogging about cops, and their chickenshit tickets, and instead attack the advertising community once more. They deserve it – and they’re way less likely to bring a Glock 9mm to my Passover seder.I had an audition last week for a commercial for a cable company, playing a fast-talking expert that shows up in peoples’ homes. It was tricky – lots of dialogue, and they wanted some good improv as well.
When I walked into the casting room, seated on a couch was a guy from the commercial’s ad agency whom I’d had a bit of bad blood with in the past. He didn’t quite remember me at first, and started racking his brain, repeating my name. At this point I cut to the chase, and reminded him how we knew each other, and he looked at me and said, “You just ruined it,” before I’d even auditioned.
There’s a zen-like quality actors must possess to succeed in auditions. Everything is stacked against us, including accessing difficult emotions, maneuvering through odd stage direction or having a famous actor or director reading opposite us. And there I was, with a decision-maker telling me I didn’t have a chance before I even got started. Luckily for me, I happened to put on a pair of “Oops I Crapped My Pants” before I left the house.
Actually, what I chose to do was shake it off, dig in and do my thing. I powered through the difficult lines. I ad-libbed. I was asked to try it again with new ad-libbing, which I did. And when I finished, the advertising curmudgeon said, “That was by far the best take I’ve seen today.” How ‘bout that?
But….. I guess our past wasn’t just water under the bridge – he wouldn’t even give me a callback. It happens. All I can do is do my job, which I did, well. Anything else ain’t my baggage, Mr. Crankypants. Next.
