When NOT To Audition.

There aren't many instances when an actor, still in that kind-of-getting-there-but-still-aspirational stage -- should turn down an audition.  A few exceptions apply:

-- It's a surprisingly well-written Sci-Fi film that takes place on Mars.  The 45-year-old director, Bob, still wears a Star Force captain's medallion, and plans to shoot the whole thing in his basement using "conceptual editing techniques".

-- Undergraduate film, "lots of improv", nudity required for all female characters.

-- Undergraduate film, "lots of improv", only written scene takes place in girl's sorority shower, nudity required for all female characters.

-- A remake of Walter's Farley's The Black Stallion, fused with Shakespeare, and containing "strong gothic 'slash' political undertones".

Sadly... none of the above are far stretches from things I've recently flung into my inbox trash via [the fiscally-actor-screwing] LACasting.  A fine line between sad, laughable, and a product of our sometimes creatively stunted business.

As I truck down the road [Complete Poe and Pinot in hand, naturally] toward my own little Bob-the-Trekki-style adventure... I'm finding there are also hyper-select damn good auditions that are sometimes also wiser-than-not to turn down.  Even (and especailly!) if one hasn't met the casting director / gone out for the show / is working with a new agent.  

Last Friday was one of those.

"Ashley!"  chum-chimed my old [... er, didn't we part with her?] New York agent.  "I have an absolutely fabulous audition for you!"

And a fabulous audition it was.  Major guest star for a very-very-very advertised new show, the pilot of which I'd auditioned for last fall.  Even though I was brow-quirking this sudden audition-obtaining from the agent Fabulous Manager and I had decided to part ways with... my interest was piqued.

"One question, Ash -- can you ride a horse?"

Pah!  Could I ride a horse.  [Near dangerously] navigated grand prix courses were the greater purpose of my life pre-New York, up until my competition mare injured her back and I flew the coop from Florida, never to compete again.  A bit more melodramatic sounding than necessary -- but whatever.  Yes, I could freakin' ride a horse.  Shouldn't my agent know that?  

Agent's assistant was next on the line.  "Ashley, sending you the sides now.  She's a fifteen year-old girl with Dad issues who doesn't really belong East of Manhattan..."

His voice dipped out of my immediate consciousness as I eyeball-bulged my iPhone.    

"Er... Jason*, did you say fifteen?"

"Yes, Ashley... she's a fifteen-year-old girl with Dad issues..."

"Er, nope, got that second part... heh... fifteen... teen ... gotcha..."

I'm the early-twenty-year-old who goes out for late twenties, early thirties.  

This was going to be interesting.

Received the sides -- worked em -- mentally bemoaned the well-written for a fifteen year old penning of the young Equestrian character.  I longed to play this kind of role... a zealously ambitious show jumper with a [sordid or otherwise] past... but how in the world was I going to pull off playing a freshman in high school?  Not to mention I'm, er, five nine...!

The next day:  Did my best "younging it up" with wardrobe, threw my hair into a messy ponytail, and drove over to the Big Network CD Offices.  After a pit stop in the bathroom to further wipe off the previous evening's eyeliner and take another look at the dramatic monologue at the end of the eight-page sides... I stepped into the audition office.

A half-dozen children looked up upon my entry.

Now, I don't know if these kids were somehow legally 18 or not, but to me?  They all looked twelve and were somehow -- somehow -- fudging past the SAG rules and by Photoshop-devising fake birth certificates, skipping 8th grade homeroom, and hopping the metro to audition.

"Mary?"

One round-faced, sad-eyed youth stood up as I passed -- clutching her sides and mouthing lines to herself as she followed the harpy-call of the associate casting director.  I was in flats.  Her noggin threatened to breach my lower ribcage.

By the time I was called in to read, I was in a strange head-space, wondering what the hell I was doing there.  I know I know I know... the "special ability" thing had landed me this audition, but damnit!  I had never met these particular CDs before.  And, ideally, my first impression would have been something other than a breeches-and-braces wearing teenybopper.

I'd like to say that I was able to suck it up and Meisner my way into the mannerisms of a fifteen year old.  I'd like to say I blew them away by hunching my shoulders in the awareness of my too-tall-for-that-age state, and convince them that -- even though I play late twenties -- they should flippin' cast me anyway.  

Meisner or no Meisner, the method fates weren't having any of it.  I left the audition room with a nod to the young sad-eyed brunette, who had lingered behind.  I could more easily play the kid's Mom, and I knew it.

In a funny way, I didn't really lament the lack of brilliant audition... another learning experience, right?  Though in retrospect [and after a talk with my old New York coach] I realized that perhaps I should have simply, graciously, turned this particular audition down.  Maybe it's not entirely wise to hit absolutely everything -- especially things where you just aren't, at all, right for the role.  I'm finally getting in on plenty of stuff, so why risk a less than amazing impression if you can help it?

A few things they don't tell you in undergrad or your local Strasberg cult conservatory.  Learning, learning along the way...

And hey.  At least I got some practicing the "big eyed innocence" thing.  Twiggy pre-days-with-Warhol, here I come...

-- Ashley Avis

Comments

[Justine]

Hee! Too funny, Ashley!

I'm petite and have a young face, so for a long time people thought I was still teenage even when I was past the age. But now when I'm on the subway, I definitely recognize the "real" teenagers -- 'cause most of the time, they look like children!