Unscripted - A Blog for Actors - Backstage

The Bane of My Existence.

Mr. Owl, how many licks does it take to get to the center of Ashley's slightly warped, post-night-at-a-rockclub noggin?  Mushroom fettucini, a Trader Joe's super-soy Chorizo, and sixteen popsicles.  Paired with a Canon GL2, and a Sunday morning hangover.

Enjoy the madness.

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".

A Non-Ode to My General Detest for Headshots.

Ah, the sweet smell of new headshots... or not, really.  I've been battling the love/hate relationship with headshots since I began doddering around this blissfully inane industry, and haven't really gotten over my repulsion for the standard... mundane... well, headshot.  I thought The Business had it right when we were throwing about black-and-whites.  So much more class, character, and beauty in bicolor!  Sometimes-inspired remeniscings of The Pictures... old Hollywood... method! 

I'd guess I have approximately fifteen...thousand Generally Boring Headshots on my current hard drive... but I finally had a bit of fun this weekend shooting with a photographer buddy of mine. And we got some pretty freakin' cool stuff... if, naturally, lacking a The Boring - Standard usable headshot.  If curious, feel free to take a 'peek'.

New tidbits and such... by Paolo Mascatelli.

-- Ashley Avis

Not Advised: Flashing the Head of Network Casting

General meetings.  I've just completed my first LA "general" meeting, and have two more lined up this week.  Now... the concept of this whole general thing baffles me just a tiny, tiny bit.  I had a conversation with my manager the other day as she gave me the lowdown on an upcoming meeting with the Head of Casting over at CBS:

"So, Ashley, I wanted to give you the lowdown on your meeting with Bethany* tomorrow."

"Awesome, Fabulous Manager, praytell The Lowdown."

"Ha, Ashley, not only are you a brilliant Method actor who can cross over from bizarre, if inspired theatre to the television medium -- but you are overwhelmingly witty and silvertonged, to boot!"

Trade : Childbearing for a Meeting with ICM?

So whattaya do when your only link to a by-the-thread agency meeting with ICM suddenly decides he doesn't want you to be an actor... but rather pack a bag, take a vessel of highly accelerated liquid estrogen hormones, and bear his children  on a desert island somewhere?

Ingest copious amounts of chocolate while wallowing [with or without Merlot] in a bubble bath, that's what.

Damn men and their sudden desire to Tribble-bear offspring!

Facebook OCD : Canon, Final Draft, Bad Boyfriend

Mind-boggler of the day:  can you eat three week old Tomato Pesto hummus without getting food poisoning?

I guess we're about to find out.

In between running around to agent meetings and laying siege to the refrigerator (which is now in dangerous proximity to my bedroom), I'm going through an obsessive spell with my Canon, learning Final Cut, and Facebook nose-wrinkling the newest selection my Manhattan ex has made.  Here's the I-got-accidentally-sloshed-yesterday-afternoon result.

-- Heh heh hehhh, Ashley Avis

Back on Representation Track : Agency Meeting Tomorrow

For some reason the thought of attempting to balance a near-full wine glass -- swirling about with three dollar Rosé -- on my futon mattress wouldn't be a poor idea.  The resulting cracked glassware has proven me blissfully imprecise.

As of yesterday evening, I've moved into "The Nook", as my Los Angeles roommates and I have taken to calling it.  It's exactly that -- the nook off the kitchen -- which I will soon be fung shui-ing to an absurd extent.  The actual room is tiny, but my flatmates are incredible (previous bedroom I was was only available for five weeks) and thus -- into the Nook I shall, and have! gone.

Fabulous Manager and I have decided to officially part with Elusive Agent -- and tomorrow lends itself for my first big agency meeting out here.  At noon I'll be sitting down with both the commercial and film departments, and I'm nearly warbling with excitement.

Warped Noggin Breeds Audition Tape

Throughout the past week, I've gone from being utterly and absurdly content, terribly ill due to being eaten by a Titanic-mongering wave during a shoot in Malibu, and wanting to get up in the middle of the night to run around West Hollywood.  And no, I haven't been toying with any Absinthe recently, for those who saw my dissertation on the non-magic of Poe's favorite indulgence.

I'm finally wrapping my warped little (reverted-to-brunette, again) noggin back around normalcy.  Big agent meeting this Thursday, awesome audition tomorrow, and tossing something on tape every few days.  Since I'm still in sprint-down-Sunset-Boulevard mode, here's some recent explorations in inappropriately desaturated audition taping.

-- Ashley Avis

Film Pitches Over Fish Tacos

A delightful thing occurred a few days ago -- a director I recently worked with, Nelson George (Sundance/HBO's Life Support, Variety's Top 10 Directors to Watch), sent me a brief message stating he'd be in Los Angeles for a day, and wanted to nab a touch of lunch.  Nab a touch of lunch with Big Sundance Director Who I'd Love to Work With Again?  Why, but of course!  Ensue MobileMe clearing of the schedule for the day.

Seventy-two hours later, we're consuming fish tacos at a little spot on Sunset Boulevard.

"Ashely," he begins, after we've done all the over-Fiji-water-sipping customary catchings-up, "there's a project I'd like to talk to you about."

Channeling Cindy Lauper : Red Carpet

If someone asked me what outfit I wouldn't be caught dead wearing when attempting to court a new agent, I would likely mutter one of a few things.  An Oopma Loompa costume.  The all-leather catsuit I utilize for climbing the William Morris building.  A puffy sparkle dress reminiscent of dancing on a club-box in the 80s.

Ensue email conversation with agent I've been courting for, er, years.

"Welcome to town, Ashley -- care to tag along to a party tomorrow evening?"

"Absolutely [Fabulous Bulldog Agent*]."  Let me know when and where."

"Tomorrow, eight o'clock, [insert address].  It's an 80s party, make sure to dress the part."