Lately I’ve been feeling a little bit frustrated with myself as an actor. In my scenes, I’ve been feeling choreographed, predictable and uninspired. So when I got a call for an audition for a feature film, well… I made the “genius” decision not to prepare. I said to myself the one thing that I HATE to hear actors say: “I’m a good actor.” This will be no problem! I thought to myself: “I’m going to take this opportunity to experiment a little bit.” My audition story begins with a plan that went something like this: “I’m going to read through the script a few times, and then I’m just going to show up on the day and I’m going to wing it.”

I’m now haunted by Matthew McConaughey’s words in the actor’s roundtable discussion. He confessed:

“I go do to this film, Scorpion Spring (his third film), I have this idea. I’m not going to look at anything. I know what I am: drug lord on the Mexican border in Texas. I’m not going to look at anything. So I go down to set, take a look right before, [thinking I’m going to] stay fresh and loose…. It’s a page and a half monologue, in Spanish. And I felt this trickle of sweat go down my neck. And for whatever reason I looked down at it and I said… ‘Can you give me 12 minutes.’ Why I said 12 minutes I don’t know.”

His concluding words (and caution to actors): “You need to know your shit, AND THEN let it go.” Sometimes I conveniently forget things I should remember.

My Audition Story

So, I’m feeling all “fresh and loose” as I walk down the hill from my work toward this audition. I’ve looked at the script a total of “one” times. I don’t even look at it as I walk toward the audition space. Instead, I pop some earbuds into my ears and listen to some confidence boosting pop song. I smile cheerily to somebody walking by. It’s a sunny day. I’m feeling stupidly confident.

I get to the audition space 15 minutes early. As I’m walking up the steps, and start looking around, I begin to sense that something is wrong. This isn’t a cheap indie feature audition. I’ve made a HUGE mistake.

I run to the washroom and desperately pull my sides from my purse. I start mouthing them to myself, but in my state of panic absolutely nothing is sticking. I try to make some quick decisions, but I can feel my heart rate start to accelerate and my lips are starting to shake. I can’t stay in the washroom any longer. I need to go out to the waiting area and let them know I’m here.

I feel nervous… so I probably look like a nervous wreck as I (try to) pretend like I’m on my game. I make some sort of stupid joke to the casting assistant. I can’t remember what it was. I fill out the sheet with my measurements, and then sit down and stare stupidly at the sides. I’m not sure what I was hoping to accomplish.

There’s a young boy sitting beside me with his Dad. He’s probably around 8 or 9. He’s got wavy brown hair and seems to possess all the necessary ingredients of a child star. They call him in, and he checks his hair in the waiting room mirror before walking into “the room.” I scoff to myself. He looks like such a tool – I say as the actual tool who showed up without any preparation. While he’s in there I continue to stare stupidly at my sides. Less than five minutes later the kid walks out. Before he gets to the door, the director exits the room to shake the father’s hand: “You’re doing a great job with him. It’s really great to see an actor who is so prepared.”

I sink into my chair. There’s no one else in the waiting room. I’m next. I don’t have anymore time.

The casting assistant calls my name. I take one more look at my sides and walk toward “the room.” There are only two people there: the director and the reader. The director sits at the back on a couch. His arms are splayed across the entire width. He looks a little bit like Mark Walburg… or at least has what I’d imagine to be a similar energy. I can feel him sizing me up, but I’ve lost all connection with my sense of self. I am living in pure survival mode. I smile and my lips quiver – sexy or pathetic?

The reader is a nice looking older man. I’ve tied my hair up into a ponytail because the character I’m representing is a special agent. The director asks me to take it down so that it hangs luxuriously in waves over my shoulder… not. It’s been in a ponytail since the morning, so there’s a big ol’ dent that runs through the centre. It’s also laced with remnants of sweat from my run that morning… delicious.

They want me to start with a scene that mostly consists of listening. No problem. Somehow I manage to remember most of the dialogue and I survive two readings of the one page sides. The director asks me to say the first line again as smoothly as possible. Despite an initial burst of security, I feel like I’m being coddled. Not a good sign.

Next the director walks up to where I’m standing and places a sandbag at my feet. “This is your partner’s head. He’s just been stabbed. I want you to just let the emotion go. Don’t hold back. You’re in a safe space.” What follows is both humiliating and… yeah, it basically stops there. As instructed, I run, swivel, kneel in front of the sandbag while tucking my hair around my head so the director can see my face, and read from the page every line of dialogue as I attempt to feign distress and emotion.

After a “nod,” and some polite smiles I promptly leave the room, grab my coat and get out of the building as quickly as possible. On my way home, my mind becomes a gutter of self-defeat and self-pity.” It is the first audition that I have ever successfully bombed. I feel sick and disoriented.

The anger builds up further and further until I finally get home, and explode in a mix of swear words and grand gestures. My voice unlocks as I allow every thought that’s been living inside of me for the last 40 minutes to breathe. My fridge appears in my line of vision, and I punch it. Hard.

Immediately I feel better.

I bombed an audition. I was angry. I punched a fridge. And then I felt okay.

This week I fell on my ass, but this little audition story taught me an important lesson. You really can’t take anything for granted. You need to do the work, because you never know where an opportunity could lead. Discrediting your life and the people you meet is not a smart career move.

The experience also taught me that when angry, sometimes the best thing to do is to let it out. It felt amazing to just be angry. To verbalize everything that I was feeling, and to punch an inanimate object. Next time I’ll probably opt for a pillow instead of a fridge, but experiencing the cathartic release of anger was definitely an experience I needed to have.

I have another audition on Monday and, believe me, this time I’m going to be prepared. Good grief.

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*Photo by Steve Johnson, “Magnetic Fridge Poetry.” Used under the creative commons license on Flickr. No changes were made.