Giving a Crap

Well, it seems it’s still a lean period for me. I must be too Anglo / Irish / white / whatever for today’s multi-ethnic market-place, at least in the eyes of advertising people. 

Anyway, I’ve only had three auditions so far this year and it’s nearly August. One I botched, two I did well. No work out of them but the third audition was only a couple of days ago so digits crossed. I will keep the door of hope open for as long as possible, defying both reason and reality. (Is it optimism or desperation?)

Things haven’t been too bad, though. Despite my takes-one-to-tango disaster last year (Strictly Balls-up), I actually got a call back for the lead! Didn’t get the job but I did score a TVC later in the year for the same company (Chemist Warehouse)—different product. That was my poo ad, as I affectionately call it. (At least it wasn’t incontinence pads)

So the not-so-great audition was for a radio program. Took me several takes to get the lines right, even though I knew them, and the poor guy playing my husband and I didn't really get a rhythm going until our last try. Oh well. I did do a lovely version of a primary school teacher for a car ad audition, if I do say so myself, but of course they cast a much younger person. And my latest audition was for a mum. Chemist Warehouse again. (They must be doing well.)

As usual, when I get into my car after each audition, I look in the rear view mirror, repeat the line or expression and think, ‘I should have done it differently.’ I do the same thing in the bathroom mirror at home. This time, I do it after the call back as well. I do it after I shoot the ad. I even do it after I see myself on TV. Especially after I see myself on TV.

So. The poo ad. 

The role involves reacting to my husband’s comically euphemistic announcement that he’s off to have a bowel movement. Lovely. There are four different scenarios but mine is the only one where the onscreen actor doesn’t have a line. I don’t mind. The fee’s the same. I tell myself to go for it in the audition and it seems to pay off as I get a call back. It’s with the director, same guy as the dancing commercial. Nice to know he likes me. This time I do a variety of reactions from mild amusement to disgust (doing a Stanislavski and drawing on real life experiences for the latter) then I get a chance to do a few different lines about heading to the loo for a number two. I tell the director that I love the script (oh, what a try-hard) and even mention a line from work: I’m off to log a job. When I tell my daughter that I’ve got the poo commercial, she says, ‘I always knew you had it in you.’

Anyway, it’s a reasonably relaxed shoot in an inner suburban house. Again, I film the reaction and then do a range of lines. After each group of takes the director heads off to confer with the client. It’s a little unnerving knowing they are analysing my performance via a link up in the next room, but I try not to think about it too much. My scene will only be on air for about 5 seconds but it’s amazing how many different combinations of expressions and head turns are required to get it perfect. After all that though, when I see the TVC, the timing isn’t quite right. 

Damn. I should have done it differently.

Strictly Balls-up

I used to joke that one day I’d be doing TV commercials for incontinence pads but I didn’t expect to get the offer quite so soon.

Fortunately, this was one audition I was able to turn down without my agent disowning me. The money was very tempting but not enough to outweigh the humiliation of announcing my bladder problem on national television.

It was my first offer in ten months. I was beginning to wonder whether last year’s Coles Car Insurance ad and my face being plastered all over supermarkets across the country had ruined my career but happily I didn’t have to wait as long for the next call.

This audition is also for a chemist product, but nothing quite so embarrassing. In fact, it’s a fun scenario about a dancing competition. The audition involves some improvisation, lots of facial expressions and dashing out of shot. I’ve finally taught myself to make it snappy and strong; there is no time for subtlety or lingering looks in 30 second TV commercials. The brief tells me I’m up for one of three non-dancing, featured roles but I think to myself, I could do the lead. So when it’s over, I tell the casting director I can dance. The audition has gone well, she seems to like me, so what have I got to lose? She says she’ll make a note of it. I'm feeling pretty good. Then, after a quick visit to the Ladies, she catches me on the way out, and asks me to audition for the other role.  Another casting director, a dancer apparently, joins us. I do it all again, with some extra direction and then have to improvise a dance… to slow tango music. What have I got myself into? I think back to my ballroom days, trying to come up with some moves that will look good, but how do you tango on your own? How do you tango, full-stop? I can barely remember the steps. If only it was a rumba!

‘Just have fun with it,’ she says. ‘And maybe you could finish with a turn and a pose.’  I do my best to ham it up but my first turn is clumsy. In my second attempt, the sole of my shoe catches on the thick carpet. I try again but I know my grand finale looks like an amateur anti-climax. On the fourth take I finish with an ungraceful flourish and a huge smile. The room is silent. They are both looking at the screen. I know what they’re thinking. This woman said she can dance. Who is she trying to kid?

My anticipation of success evaporates on the drive back to work. An optimistic prognosis has become a regretful post mortem. I should have quit while I was ahead. Now their last impression of me is of a desperado with delusions of dancing grandeur. I’m pathetic. I’m an idiot. They probably won’t even consider me for the first role now.

Fingers crossed, though. Call backs next week.  

Seeing Red

I've just been recycled in a supermarket TV commercial. Three years ago, I had a big red hand. This time it’s a little red car.

Around March I get shortlisted for a role as a Mum in an Easter campaign by the supermarket. Don’t get the gig. Then a month or so later I am one of just a few select actors asked to audition for what seems to be the same ad. I say, ‘No, I don’t have any food allergies’ and promise to eat anything they give me—except mushrooms. Don’t get the gig (the mushrooms?). Then I get a call saying I’ve been shortlisted for another ad (same company) and don’t have to audition. Nice. Then I get a call saying they don’t want to cast me in that ad, they want to cast me in a different ad (same company). No eating, a bit more money. Nice. Then they ask me to audition. That day. So at 3.30 pm I shoo my Year 8s out the door, jump in the car and drive for 75 minutes to a five minute audition where I am told they have asked for me especially. Nice. But still no guarantee.

However, the job is confirmed and it’s good to get one of those rare-to-the-point-of-extinction ‘You’ve been cast!’ calls from my agent.

A few days later I spend eleven hours on a rooftop car park. At 6.15 am I’m in wardrobe and make-up and after about thirty minutes of meticulous hair-doing I end up with… a pony-tail! And some eye drops. Apparently they don’t want my five-hour-sleep eyes to match the cars in the ad.

The day consists of standing next to little red cars, sitting in little red cars and singing about ‘little red quotes’. (Two of the guys get to drive little red cars, but not me.) My four fellow cast members (an assortment of friendly blokes) can’t quite manage to sing and gesture in time. What we need is a conductor. And someone to say ‘cut’, as we never know when to stop miming our riotous conversations about car insurance. The director is quite a character but most of his attention is on the lead. She has a heap of lines, lots of smiling to do, two wardrobe people keeping her warm between takes, waterbottles on her feet and a much nicer ponytail than mine. Meanwhile, I’m in flimsy little shoes which barely cover my feet and no socks. In the middle of winter. I jog between takes to stay warm. We mime with joy and deliver our ‘testimonies’ with joy and have literally hundreds of stills done. More joy. They are really getting their money’s worth out of us.

Then as the light fades and the stunt drivers steer their little red cars in joyful synchronisation into the sunset, I steer my medium sized white sedan out of the car park and off home.

Dial M for Marlene

December 2016

Well it’s been another year of auditions, of low paid hits and high paid misses. One memorable flop was my audition for a painkiller ad.

The brief I receive is for a mother-in-law who is ‘colourful’ in both personality and appearance, down to her purple lipstick. I dress accordingly and on the drive there psyche myself into a loud and energetic character. However, the woman running the audition wants me to tone it down and tells me my improvised dialogue is too fast. Her direction actually has me wondering whether she’s got the same brief as me, but of course I go with what she says.

Sometime later I see the ad. It’s as per the brief I was given, purple lipstick and all. However, the woman in 'my' role has the added advantage of a big pair of groovy, red glasses, so I probably never stood a chance. Oh well.

I also have a callback for an air show TVC. In the initial audition I know I’ve nailed it but in the callback I know I’ve sort of... screwed it up. (Not an entirely consistent metaphor but you get the idea.)

It’s the end of a work day, at the end of the school year, at the end of a long drive. I’m pretty stuffed but I go in feeling positive. From my eavesdropping on the opposition I know what I have to do but for some reason I’m in my head instead of ‘in the moment’. I do okay with the line but the tape would have shown me listening to the other ‘character’, with a dumb look on my face. It’s not just that I don’t do my best that gets me, it’s that I already know my four hours of driving is a waste of time. I can’t even hope for a congratulatory phone call from my agent. Ah, those phone calls.

These two jobs are reasonably well paid but the two jobs that I do get are at the lower end of the scale. Of course, I’m in it for the love of the art but…

Actually I do wonder why I'm in it sometimes. Still trying to fulfil that childhood dream probably.

Anyway, I do have the thrill of playing the wife of a murder victim in one of those true crime stories for TV. No scripted lines, just improvised dialogue that will probably, at most, provide a background to the voice over. It’s a low budget affair and there’s a few hundred dollars at the end, rather than a few thousand. However, it’s dramatically challenging and I love it. The director is both handsome and lovely, which is an added bonus.

I get the next job via my showreel, unlike the previous one that required two Skype auditions in a dodgy studio in St Kilda and lots of improvisation with different ‘husbands’—I even threw in some tears. (Take that, red glasses lady)

For this one I play an Uberdriver. No lines, just interaction, in a scene that will only last a few seconds. It’s for a video and it must be even more low budget than the last gig ‘cause I don’t even get a cup of tea! But the young actors are fun to work with and the AD, who is the director because the director is the cameraman (I think) is so sweet and cool and lovely, and her direction is so clear, she is a joy to work with. After hours of waiting around the night scene takes about 45 minutes to shoot and then I’m off home again, pleased that at least I’ve got two things to put in my bio for the year. So thank-you. And good-bye 2016.

Desperate Housewife

Yeah, I got dumped by Neighbours. (See 31/10/15) Needless to say, I didn't see it coming.

There I was, thinking my dreams had come true, that I'd found The One and out of the blue I get a phone call.

‘It’s not you, it’s the character,’ they said. At least it wasn’t a text message.

But. Fame is a fickle thing and there’s no point wallowing in self-pity. I’ve got another suburban gig ready to embrace me with open arms: an online video for The Good Guys.

So, precariously balancing my teaching job with a campaign for stardom, I'm off to a house in downtown Wantirna where I am playing a housewife and mum of a talentless young woman who wants to be a performer. The whole thing is improvised, which is challenging, but it’s one of the most relaxed shoots I’ve ever done.

Highlights? Cracking up. Talking mothers, writing and the meaning of life with the makeup guy. The stuffed toddler huddled in the corner of the dining room. (A Peek a Boo Doll) Cracking up again.

Embarrassing moments? Hm.

Ooh, I have one.

When I meet my second onscreen daughter we shake hands and she tentatively goes in for a… hug? Kiss? Nose rub? I’m not sure what it was. But we end up doing a sort of air cheek smack. It’s one of the most awkward greetings I’ve ever been part of and I’ve been part of quite a few.

Anyway, both my daughters are funny and gorgeous (must take after their mother) and everyone is lovely and the shoot goes well but I still drive home doing a gloomy self post mortem. Why am I feeling so morbid?

Must be still getting over the break up.

These things take time.

Of droughts and flooding rains

Since that last audition I've had another four, including one I had the privilege of paying for.

It's called a self-test and it's for a small role as a board member in an ABC drama starring Guy Pearce. My agent wants it done professionally so I dutifully book myself in for a $60 session to film a three line audition, then it all gets moved forward and it's a mad scramble to find someone else who can do it at short notice. I don my suit and rush from a holiday rehearsal with my students all the way across town to a little joint in Footscray. I've only got $45 cash on me but luckily it doesn't take long so the guy's happy with that. Later, a message from my agent comes up on my phone. 'We got your audition upload and it's terri--' Terrible?! Oh crap. Then I read the whole message. 'it's terrific' Relief. But after all that I don't get the role. I try out for another TVC a week later but the dry spell continues.

Then I have two auditions in one week. First I am invited, via the Starnow casting website, to audition for a rare paid role: a mum in an online video for a retail store in the style of The Office.

So on Tuesday after work I jump in the car and head into Richmond. I have to do a short scene that I've learnt and also improvise some dialogue. It goes down well. In fact the guy is laughing so much the camera--read iPhone-- is shaking. A good sign. He says he'll let me know by Friday. There's no guarantee but I’m feeling so good I settle into peak hour traffic believing I’m gonna get both roles and I haven’t even done the second audition yet.

The next day I rush off to South Melbourne for another Neighbours audition. It's mid-morning but it's raining and it's like peak hour again. I am consequently a bit late and the lovely but no-nonsense casting agent rushes me into her little studio. There's a beanied, bearded man with a Scottish accent (I know I've seen him in something before) who turns out to be reading for me. He's doing three roles. Thankfully I'm only doing one. I have to look at him and then across to two other imaginary characters while he says their lines. I'm not exactly composed but I put my best professional foot forward and get a blank on a line in my first take. Second take goes well but the casting woman wants another. I unintentionally do a look in the wrong direction but she's happy (or maybe she just wants me out of there) so off I go. I accidentally drive over a traffic island up the street (put it down to poor visibility) but manage to arrive back at work on time and in one piece. Then it's back to my day job--rehearsing my Drama students for their performance the next evening.

Friday comes and I’m checking my phone all day. Nothing. I spend the weekend down in the dumps, wondering whether I should chuck it all in. By the end of Monday the last little remnants of hope have gone. Then on Tuesday after work I get an email to say I have the mum role after all. The client liked me the best. Me! My first credit for 2015. Now I don’t look like a total BLA (Big Loser Actor)!

But wait. There's more!

On Thursday there’s a missed call from my agent. I have given up on the Neighbours role by now. It's probably an audition for some lineless, lime-lightless, payless role. But the young woman on the phone tells me I’ve got the part! She waits for me to stop screaming like I’ve just won tattslotto then gives me some details that I hardly hear I am so delirious. I hang up and look around the staffroom eager to justify my joyous outburst to my colleagues but their bemused heads are down.

I don’t care.

The drought is over.

FOOTNOTE:

Yesterday I got a call from Neighbours to discuss wardrobe. An hour later I get a call from my agent to say they've cut my role.

I know life has its up and downs but lately I've had more downs than a Coles ad.

Uneducation

You’d think by now I would have something new to tell you about my acting exploits. But no. The drought continues. Not the auditions. I’ve had quite a few. But the ‘You got the part!’ calls. They’ve been very scarce. Non-existent to be exact.

So for want of an embarrassing slash hilarious anecdote of my on-set shenanigans, I’ll tell you about my latest auditions.

I keep getting called up for mum roles. Most of them I’m too old for. Do I look like a primary school mum? No. Do I look like a mum of teenagers? Not when they usually cast twenty somethings. But I go along and give it my best. So far this year I’ve also auditioned for a supermarket shopping mum (again) and the mum of a hipster. Playing against type, I've tried out for a corporate manager and today I auditioned for a bit part as a radio show caller.

I memorise my line and practise it numerous times and ways, both at home and on the drive in. But the result of a quick initial read-through (how hard can one line be?) is that I've accidentally learnt a word wrong and can't get it out of my head.

When I arrive the waiting room is filled with men and I joke that I must be in the wrong place. I am such a card. Anyway, it breaks the ice which I always think is a good thing, except in this case it triggers one chap’s highly engaging monologue about trains, train-lines and the cost of parking.

Gradually the males are replaced by an interesting assortment of ladies.

‘It makes a nice change from competing with women who look like models,’ I remark.

To which one replies, ‘What are you trying to say?’

Oops.

A moment later I am summoned and realise I’m not very focussed. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so chatty. In the first take I say not one but three words wrong. In one sentence. It takes a few goes before I actually get the whole line right. Brilliant. It’s all over in a few minutes and I walk down the hall past the stunned faces of the other auditionees who have obviously heard my dismal execution (pun intended). Then I drive the 60 Ks home trying to figure out how I could have stuffed up so badly.

I said ‘guy’ instead of ‘bloke’ and ‘total narkisist’ instead of ‘textbook narkisist’, the last word being an intentional mispronunciation of ‘narcissist’.

‘It’s narkisist-sic,’ the casting guy corrected. ‘She’s supposed to be uneducated.’ So I did it like he said, wondering how I could have got that wrong too.

Funny thing is, I recheck the script later. It says: ‘narkisist. (sic)’

Ha.

Who’s the uneducated one now?

So I feel exactly one third less stupid than I did earlier. Not such a bad day after all.

Reject Shop

I fling open the door and throw myself onto my bed, weeping inconsolably into my medium density latex pillow. “Why me?’ I cry. ‘Why me?’ Actually I should be crying, ‘Why not me?’ for I am once again an audition reject.

If only it were that decisive. The thing is, no-one ever calls to say, ‘Thanks for trying, but we chose someone else.’ You leave the casting office doing a mental post mortem on your audition, then you try to put it out of your mind. But you’ve cleared a spot in your diary and you find yourself holding onto that fragile little bit of hope even when you know it’s gone past the practical deadline for your agent to contact you in time for the shoot. It’s like there’s no ending, the film just goes out of focus.

I can’t even get a lowly paid online one liner. It’s a video audition, which I film at home on my laptop. The role is a newsreader. I do my hair and make up, put on a professional looking shirt and do my best Tracy Grimshaw / Curo voice but it’s all to no avail. Might as well have done it in my pjs with morning hair.

After my spectacular three line debut on Neighbours last year, I am rejected at my next two auditions (yes they do recycle their actors!). Mind you, one was for the mother of a regular character who happens to be tall, blond, thin, tanned and Nordic looking, so it was no surprise. But like I said, the optimist in me fools the realist into retaining some desperate hope.

Am I not pretty enough? Is it my over active Jim Carrey eyebrows? Do my anglo looks not appeal to the multicultural target audience? Did I not convince them that the pav really was delicious? Why did they tell me to come single to the audition for an over 50s insurance ad if they were always going to cast a real life couple? And what hope is there for me when I, a teacher with thirty years' experience, can't even win the role of a wordless university lecturer?

Alas, I will never know. And so I return to my tear sodden pillow, vowing never to believe the casting person who says. ‘That was great.’

Merry Christmas.

Ups and Downs

A cast of thousands and an even bigger film crew has invaded a suburban supermarket and a singing, dancing, giant hand waving extravaganza is in progress. Yes, it’s a big supermarket TVC, and for better or worse, I’m in it!

Since my Neighbours gig last year there has been nothing except for a handful of TVC auditions, including one for a Target underwear ad, which I declined. For this supermarket audition (my third or fourth for this company) I have to learn some ’choreography’ (think Chuck Berry and Angus Young). I take a while to warm up in the audition but the fourth take of my singing and dancing is obviously a winner as I get the role of the Uncle Toby’s Mum. I’m pleased to be cast in another ad but not sure that I want to be known for acting like an idiot on TV. But, then, I wouldn’t be the first.

I arrive at the unit base at 6 am on the shoot day and am sent to wardrobe. Usually I needlessly lug a suitcase of wardrobe choices and they tell me to wear what I’ve got on, but the one time I don’t, my outfit isn’t right. They give me a top and a necklace, find some shoes and make them fit with insoles, and after make-up I’m ready to go. To breakfast. Then sit around until I am called. Luckily they have real coffee and I wait patiently to order a latte but the guy gives priority to an attractive female cast member, kissing her hand and chatting her up. Just a coffee for me, thanks.

I am paired with a lovely teenage red-head who plays my daughter. It’s her first TVC so I, being the old pro, (that’s what I tell her anyway) show her the ropes. Once the cast is called to take their places at the checkouts, it’s all go. There are two cameras and the crew swarm around us. It’s the first shot of the day and the first day of a four day shoot and people are already stressed. What will probably last about three seconds onscreen, takes about an hour and a half to shoot. I get about fifty different directions from about twenty different directors, or at least that’s how it seems. ‘Start there, look at docket, turn docket around, point at docket, smile crazily at camera, look at docket again and back to camera.’ At the same time I must push a full trolley with one hand. ‘Start here, move to there, now start from there and move to here, no, not so far, now don’t move at all, now move again, now yell ‘ta-da’ after you’ve moved, now forget the movement, just yell ‘ta-da’. Meanwhile the others thrust those giant red hands with the giant pointing fingers ‘down, down’. Their arms are aching and they are trying to keep in time with the music, which is non-existent once ‘action’ is called, and hit a precise spot on a tiny docket. After several takes they decide to remove all the kids (the shot is too crowded) and I am now a childless mum. Wardrobe and make-up make adjustments in between takes. One of the directors says, ‘Haven’t you been shopping before’ as I attempt to hang my handbag on the trolley according to his directions. Yes I have and I carry my bag on my shoulder, if you must know. Which is what I end up doing. (What is it with men telling me how to carry a handbag?) In a later shot when it’s my turn to thrust that big hand up and down, he tells me off for waving it all around the place. Like I can help it. They give me another ‘hand’ with a smaller handle which works better but my knuckles are so sore and swollen at the next day’s shoot my giant hand thrusting days are over. (What a shame) The same director also tells me off when my up-downs are out of time with the others. I’m trying, but I can’t see the rest of the cast and the absence of music makes it tricky. I try harder. I do cheesy grins for the stills (happy, happy faces... now laugh, ha, ha, ha), call out crazy lines and bop up and down the supermarket aisle with my trolley.

I have a half day shoot the next day. This time the location is a nice house in Sandringham (memories of that boat show ad) and after a wait of four hours in the heat (a prop problem apparently), my ‘daughter’ and I are eating porridge, singing, smiling and smiling some more. The man directing us is more relaxed today, which is good. A crew member thrusts the big hand towards my bowl, while I, thankfully, only have to thrust my spoon.

It’s all rather silly, but everyone takes it very seriously. This is advertising and it’s big business. I am a miniature cog in a giant wheel. With a giant red hand.

PS: A week later I do a medical training video, where I counsel people on dementia. There are an awful lot of lines (mostly on auto cue) and the pay's not as good but, thankfully, there's not a giant hand in sight.

In the Neighbours Hood

I'm only with my new agent a couple of weeks when I get an audition for a popular TV soapie. She emails me the script and I set about practising my lines in the bathroom mirror in between teeth cleaning and face washing.

Two days later I’m at an audition in the suburban Melbourne studios. The building looks decidedly unglamorous but I know I'm in the right place when a Neighbours tour bus drives in through the boom gates and rolls slowly past the foyer, the occupants undoubtedly seeking a glimpse of a soapie star. Alas, tis only I.

The audition is over in a flash and I'm on my way home again, wishing I had said my lines differently. No need though, because a few days later my agent calls me to tell me I have the part!

First up is a wardrobe call. My man swans around me, saying he can ‘do magic’. He gives me a handbag and tells me to ‘own it’ then demonstrates how to carry it on my arm. I drink it all in because without question, he does it better than I do. In an effort to find an outfit suitable for my character, a ‘stylish and sophisticated semi retired naturopath with a penchant for diamonds', they bring me a skirt and some shoes that belong to the longest running female character in the show’s history!

On the shoot day I arrive early and after donning my ensemble, I’m taken to hair and make-up only to find the actress who plays the longest running female character in the show’s history having her hair done. I slink into the chair, hoping she doesn’t notice that I am wearing her clothes!

Back in the green room I act like I’m part of the furniture. Okay, maybe that’s not such a good idea as the couches have seen better days. But I almost manage to work the coffee machine (lukewarm's fine-really) and I mingle with the cast like I'm a regular and a couple of them even talk to me!

As I’m escorted by one of the ADs to the location next door I pass by some forlorn looking extras. I glance at them with sympathy. They gaze at me with envy. Ah, it does not seem that long ago that I was one of them. But now I am an actor in Australia's longest running TV soap.

With three lines.

I have made it.

PS
Seriously, though, it was a great experience. There wasn't any direction to speak of, apart from blocking but they clearly assume you know what you are doing (I sort of did!) and the crew was highly professional. Pretty impressive really when you consider how much pressure they are under to produce five episodes every week.
Anyway, I had fun and my episode screens 9th August! (UK 6th September) Yay!
Next up, an audition for a Coles ad!

Murder and Management Mayhem

February 2013

My first two acting jobs this year are worlds apart. It's lucky I'm so versatile. In the first gig I do a scene that involves running screaming across a vacant lot to my 'son' who is lying dead on the ground, the victim of an out of control drug dealer. This comes quite naturally to me.

For the second, I must centre myself and find my character's motivation, summoning my naturalistic acting skills—the result of much study of Stanislavksi's method—to play a senior manager delivering advice about employee 'development plans' and 'potential matrixes' via an autocue, for a corporate video.

And not only am I a versatile actor. I’ve got a wardrobe to match. A cardi for the ‘mum’, a suit for the ‘manager’. Perfect.

The truth is, both jobs are great experience but the first is a lot more fun, even though there's no pay! I get to work with a bunch of very switched on VCA students on an independent feature film (This Little Piggy) and the role is small, but I love the dramatic challenge. The corporate video requires me to do literally pages of a script, mainly to camera, and to make management jargon sound conversational! My task is not aided by the fact that I get the script less than two days before the shoot (agent's bungle) and barely get through the dialogues I have to learn by heart. It's a paid gig so I feel bad I'm not as prepared as I should be, but on the other hand, they're not paying me enough to feel really, really bad! (And it’s not like the job gave me anything I could use for my showreel, you know.)

Incidentally, the film role came about through one of the lead guys from Monster Pies (which just won Audience Choice Award for Best Feature Film in the recent Melbourne Queer Film Festival). Who knows what's next? But hopefully my new agent and new headshots will be a step in the right direction on my journey from anonymity to stardom!

Princess of Tides

Location: Sandringham & South Melbourne
Date: December 2012

Not being what you'd call a 'boat person' I don't expect to do a TV commercial on a sea going vessel. But here I am on a luxury cabin cruiser, just off Sandringham, filming an ad for a boat show. And although the shoot is what you might call 'Economy Class' compared with the 'A Deck' Slater & Gordon TVC (my one minute audition is filmed on an i-phone, I’m met by a crew of three on location and lunch is a salad roll at the kiosk), it's a day's paid acting work and I'm not complaining! Plus, I get to spend a lovely afternoon in the sunshine!

Being directed by three people at once is probably not what I’d call ideal but my new onscreen spouse and I go with the flow (like that little pun, do you?) and do numerous takes, including a whole new script written on board the cruiser. I start out saying my line a particular way, change it several times to suit the 'directors' and then when I go back to doing it the way I did the first time, the agency guy says 'Perfect!' (Hubby and I have a little chuckle about it later.)

This outdoor adventure is followed by the decidedly indoor enterprise of recording two radio commercials for the same campaign in the coolest (in both senses of the word!) studio I have ever seen. Even the toilets at this place are funky. And it's great experience! (The radio ad I mean, not using the toilets.)

Anyway, the boat show commercials will air in a few weeks, not too far behind my previous effort, which finally made it onto the small screen a few weeks ago, or so I’m told. (I haven’t actually seen it.) It might look I've been busy but in reality the period between shoots is over six months. Hopefully it will also look like I have sea legs. Ah, the world of TV is but an illusion…

The Owling

Location: Eastern suburbs
Date: September 2012

It's not too often that you get to work with someone who is calmly juggling breastfeeding and directing. But with the director's family all involved in the film, (daughter has a role, husband is producing, parents' house is used for several locations, mother and friends play bit parts) it seems to be perfectly natural.

This nice little paid role comes my way thanks to my showreel, on a casting website. Don't even have to audition, which is a bonus! Instead of playing yet another 'mum', in this film I am the daughter of a woman who's drinking too much. My character has her own problems too, though. Anyway, I get a bit typsy, see a real doctor (I'm tempted to say between takes, 'by the way, I've got this nasty...'), have 'counselling' and get 'picked up' at a gym.

The film was commissioned by a health organisation to promote the 'Owl' Program (Older, Wiser Lifestyles ) and it's all about older people and medication and alcohol. Of course, that meant significant amounts of aging make-up. Significant amounts.

On location there are planes and barking dogs to deal with, a chiming clock and a little girl who plonks herself right next to me when we are just about to shoot a scene in a busy hospital!

Around the same time I do an audition for a 'corporate ad' for a home renovations firm, (they tell me I 'nail it'--pun not intended--but I don't get the part, which just goes to show) and have my scene in another short film rescheduled due to the lead role having to be recast (an injured actress!) Looking forward to that one as I get to play an irate patient! I plan on channelling the frustration I am currently feeling as I wait for my pay to arrive for the ad that I did over three months ago! Grh!

Anyway, that's two professional acting roles this year and it's only September. Oh my. If this keeps up, I'll have to change the name of my blog.

Commercial Law

One thing about the film & TV industry is the way one adapts to intimacy with strangers. As I wait to shoot my one line in a TV commercial for a law firm, the sound guy fiddles around my torso attaching a mic, the wardrobe lady stylishly arranges a silk scarf around my neck and the make-up assistant touches up my lipstick. The huge crew hustle about me and I'm just hoping I can avoid tripping over these big fat white hospital style booties that I'm wearing over my shoes (to protect the white studio floor!) and say my one line convincingly (they are paying me a lot of money, after all!).

It all starts with an audition (my third this year) and after initially trying not to get my hopes up too much when I hear I'm on a 'very tight short list', I'm pretty pleased to get the part. Then it all becomes a little chaotic with last minute emails and text messages and a call sheet that never comes, and as a result I get my call time wrong and turn up extremely late, which is mortifying. Thankfully, they are relieved that I'm not dead and the show can go on, therefore they don't go nuts at me, even though I sort of deserve it.

I have to say my line about 30 times. The director takes the pressure off by saying it doesn't matter how many takes we do, bless his home-made mohawk. But it's still tricky at times and I realise when I watch one of the other actors that it's much easier to 'get' what the director is wanting when you're not the one standing in front of the camera! Two days later, when I'm trying to get to sleep, I think, 'Oh, that's how I should have done it!' I do the line again later in close up, and I also get shot from the back, gazing up at some light. Then at the end of the day when all of the other actors are wrapped, I have to wave my hand through a beam of light. I have no idea what I'm doing. It's a bit arty farty for a law firm ad, but WTH? But it's still not over. I come back a few days later for 'stills'. The photographer takes about 50 shots. Surely one will do? Nope. Another 50 shots. I feel like Miranda Kerr without the dimple. And the incredible good looks. And Orlando. But I'm sure she doesn't run out of things to do with her hands like I do.

Anyway, the commercial should hit the small screen pretty soon and the fact that I have a line might suggest that I've actually gotten somewhere in the three years that I've been doing this. But as my very first 'gig' was a speaking role, it's more likely that I've just been going around in circles!

3DME

March 2012

Yes, it's been a while. But don't blame me.

Despite my standout performance as a 'featured extra' in the CUB internet ad, which gave me wide exposure on TV during the footy one night (a friend actually recognised me! Fame at last!), it has been a long time between drinks.

Eight months after my last sip (a call-back for a weight loss product ad), I finally get another call from my agent and the next morning I'm at a casting agents' office, exclaiming 'Still down!' as part of a two minute audition for a supermarket commercial. I don't get the part. Obviously not ecstatic enough. I'll work on it.

I did play a small role in an independent feature film called Monster Pies late last year, though.

It's a non-speaking speaking role. I mean, I would talk if I could. I play a 'brain injured mum'. 'You'd be good at that,' says my daughter. My audition for the incommunicative mother of a gay young man, I mean, young gay man, takes place in the tiny kitchen of the director / writer / producer / make-up artist / costume designer / props person. (No, the crew aren't flatmates; it's all one person). Then it's a one day shoot in a nursing home in Altona which I actually really enjoy. It's dramatically challenging and I don't have to learn any lines!

Anyway, my new agent doesn't normally handle extra work (excuse me, but 'featured extra' work is a different thing altogether) so I've been missing it, to tell the truth. But she eventually informs me of a 'Go-See' for an ABC mini series about Kerry Packer. And cricket. My favourite game. Yep. (Am I un-Australian if I don't know the rules?) Anyway, I go along, hoping it's not a replay of that Phryne Fisher debacle. You remember. Two hours standing in line to do what could have been done online. I mean everything's there on the casting website: photos, measurements, biography. So I don't really see the point of going to a Go-See, see. Unless it's about seeing us all in 3D. (I hear it's the latest thing) Fortunately this is most efficiently run and a comparatively exhilerating experience. No queue. In and out in a matter of minutes. Lovely. The series is set in the 1970s (been there both in real life and on film) so I wear a skivvy and some beads and do the page boy thing with my hair. Can't hurt. If I was a man I would have stuck on some sidies. Now it's just a matter of waiting to see if the Go-See is a goer.

Husbands and Heifers

Location: Pub in Prahran / Kmart, Eastland
Date: July 2011

One week after I sign up with my new agent she tells me I've got an audition for a TV commercial! They want a real 'mum'. Full of anticipation, I arrive at an office in South Melbourne only to find a herd of yummy mummies crowded into a small room. Is a female cattle call a 'heifer call'? Not that these women are what you'd call 'heifers'. They're all slim and attractive, most are blond and some look like former models. What am I doing here? After a short wait I head off to do a 'chat to camera'. (I've been practising in the car!) I don't get a call back (the audition is for featured roles) but three weeks later I get asked to be 'background' in what turns out to be a Kmart ad involving 1000 real mums!

In between, I do an audition for a CUB commercial. Three of us 'over fifty types' improvise a scene that ends in a toast. This time I don't feel like livestock, which is nice. Anyway, I do okay. In fact, I get the part!

The shoot day starts at 6.30 am and involves several rehearsals and takes of a single shot following a young man walking through a pub. I am partnered with yet another on-screen husband (how many does that make?) to form a group of two couples discussing travel plans over a drink. But that one shot takes hours and hours. And hours. The four of us manage to maintain a level of jocularity both on and off the camera (which, combined with fatigue, occasionally turns to lunacy) but when we are 'wrapped' at 5 pm I am relieved that the trip is fictional! The good thing is, being 'featured extras' our faces will actually be in shot, albeit for only a second or two, and we get paid more than a regular extra. The bad thing is, the commercial is for corporate and internet use, rather than TV. Or is that a good thing?

Two days later I join a heap of 'mums' for the Kmart ad. It's an evening, and the last of a three day shoot. This is the shortest of the three days by far, but we all get paid the same amount ($100 cash, a $100 Kmart voucher and a Kmart goody bag.), which may be why they end up with fifty more mums than anticipated! I befriend another aspiring actor. We are both amused by the women who are excited at the prospect of seeing themselves on TV. Ah, the optimism of the inexperienced. Do they really believe that they will be recognisable within a herd of one hundred and fifty women hoofing it to a Kmart store through a darkly lit shopping centre?

I have no such illusions. Anymore. At the end of the shoot I push my way into the queue like a mad cow, grab my money and my goody bag and head for home, smug in the knowledge that my face will be seen for a whole two seconds on an internet ad.

Amendment 6/8/11: See the ad on http://cub.com.au/
(Not sure for how long!)

Short Bread and Long Queues

Date: May 2011
Job: Shortbread (short film)
Location: Frankston

OMGollygosh. After waiting for six months to get some extra work, I eagerly attended a cattle call, I mean casting call, the other day for a new series set in the 1920s, called Phryne Fisher. Oh dear ABC! Not only did they ask casting agents to send along 'talent' but they also advertised for extras on their website and on facebook. They won't be doing that again in a hurry. We stood in a queue for an hour and a half just to fill out a form, get measured and have a photo taken. But we were the lucky ones. Others gave up after being told they had a two and a half hour wait! One wonders how many of those who turned up will actually get a 'gig'. Hopefully my self produced 'bob' haircut will guarantee me a spot!

In the meantime it's shooting shorts for me. 'Shortbread' in fact. I'm playing a mum (again) but the central character is my mentally disabled son who is trying to get his driver's licence. Highlights so far include pulling out the front of my son's trackie pants to check his jocks (about 95 takes of that), standing in the street in my dressing gown for about an hour (a big 'hello' to the residents of Fleetwood Crescent) and shooting a big family argument scene with yelling and head banging and stuff.

Fortunately I've had lots of experience (with arguments, not checking people's jocks) so that scene was a piece of shortcake.

Eat My Short

Date: February 2011
Job: Short Film
Location: Oakleigh

So here I am, sitting in a parked car with my dress hitched up, while a man I barely know fiddles with my undergarment and a motley crew of strangers with a video camera loiters nearby. Lesser beings would be fazed, but not I, for I am a short film pro and it's all part of the job.

Now, before you think my acting career has taken a rather seedy turn, let me explain. By 'pro' I mean professional (not prostitute) and what's actually happening is that the director of a one week film course is changing the batteries in the thingy which is connected to the tiny mic in my bra and reattaching the thingy to my back with gaffa tape, underneath my leggings. (Got a bonus back wax when I took it off later that day.) I'm in downtown Oakleigh filming 'Grapefruit' in which I play a crazed old lady who happens to be a drug dealer and cop killer. I'm wearing a floral dress from the op shop, teale leggings, red shoes with clashing red socks and a daggy cardigan which belongs to the one of the crew! There are some tense and mad moments on set because, unlike a student film where the student director is in control and has spent weeks or months developing a script, this crew has created the film in a couple of days and the production roles, including director, rotate throughout the two day shoot. But it's also lots of fun working under pressure with a new bunch of people from all walks of life and making a film about cops and surveillance and guns and drugs! I get to wield a double barrel shotgun, get splattered with fake blood and throw a little hissy fit about grapefruits in a real suburban fruit and vegie shop busy with real customers on a Saturday afternoon. Right up my alley.

And so, once again, with no extra work looming on any horizon in any galaxy in my vicinity, I have found myself in another short film. Actually, another two, potentially. The day after Grapefruit, I'm off to another audition on the other side of town. I run through the scene twice, struggling to get a sense of character and authenticity, and then I'm back in the car for an eighty minute journey home in afternoon traffic, wondering why I'm doing this. It's certainly not for the money (there is none-I use the term 'professional' loosely!). But I thought the same thing when I auditioned for Grapefruit, and it turned out to be a pretty good acting experience, so, it doesn't hurt to give it a try.

Unless, of course, there's gaffa tape involved.

Back in White

Date: December 2010
Job: Outland
Location: St Kilda

Amazing! Barely a week has passed and I’m back on the job! This time I’m a pharmacist in a new series about gay sci-fi fans. They dress me in a white coat, a scarf and some reading glasses on a chain. I chat to a handsome young man while waiting to be taken to the location, but after two hours of sharing our ‘acting’ experiences, movie critiques and innermost secrets we just about run out of things to say. I invite a second young man over to join us. We are eventually taken to the location. The two young men seem to hit it off and it’s a case of two’s company. Given the premise of the production we’re working on, it’s not surprising, I suppose. The second guy has only been with an agent a short time but has already made some TV commercials (very well paid incidentally). His very good looks must have something to do with it! I’m a little green, I have to admit. They are both with agents who charge nothing to have you on the books, unlike mine. However, the fee is much less than others I’ve heard of and it does cover your headshot. Must do some more investigating. (Sorry to bore you non actor/extras with these details but for the rest of you it might be helpful.)

The extras have to walk down the street as 'Fab' (Adam Richard) talks on his mobile outside a pharmacy. I wait patiently as the others are given their directions, assuming there will be an interior shot involving me, but in the back of my mind is the memory of extras who were on set for hours and never used. Eventually the AD asks, ‘Are you one of us?’ and tells me to walk into the shop. It doesn’t really make a lot of sense, the pharmacist walking into the pharmacy. But, hey, I’m glad they didn’t forget me altogether. Wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to glimpse myself on screen. I recognise the director from City Homicide. He actually chats to the extras (a rarity) and shakes my hand, which is quite a change from before, when he didn’t even acknowledge me despite there being only three actors and myself in a relatively intimate set. I don’t get it, but I smile enthusiastically and hope he remembers my face. For next time.

Holy Hairspray

Date: November 2010
Job: Judith Lucy's Spiritual Journey
Location: Richmond

So there I am, thinking that my agent has wiped me from the database, when I get a call for a four hour job as a 1980s church goer. Another small step in my journey of stardom. (Talking of stardom, I’ve just heard that a former drama student of mine-Brett Tucker- has won a role on CSI. Not bad for an Aussie kid from the Yarra Valley! Of course, I taught him everything he knows.)

Anyway, when the wardrobe person calls I happily tell her, yes, I do have a 1980’s outfit, complete with padded shoulders. Actually, it doesn’t seem that long ago that I bought it. However, when I arrive I find out I am a ‘featured extra’ and have to wear one of their outfits. Apparently it might end up covered in grape juice! I don a coral pink / orange jacket (yes, it has padded shoulders) and squeeze into a tiny matching skirt, then toddle off to the next tent to get my 80s hair and make-up done. Half a can of hairspray later I join the other extras in a communion line in the Catholic church. We ‘featured ones’ get to stand at the top of the line. We watch comedienne Judith Lucy collapse in a drunken heap then stagger up the aisle and grab the chalice from the priest. While waiting in line with us, she strikes up a conversation. ‘Do you get much of this sort of work?’ she asks. The young man in front of me says ‘Yeah’. I say, ‘And what about you?’ She laughs. I’m chuffed. I’ve made a comic laugh. I think I also made a priest sin.

My short skirt is even shorter when I’m sitting cross-legged in the front pew and as the actor playing the assistant priest is about to be filmed, he is momentarily distracted by my legs! They’re not anything special, let me tell you, but there is no mistaking the direction of his gaze, and the change in his expression from one of slightly perverted shock to priestly solemnity is obvious. I’m not sure whether to be embarrassed or flattered!

As usual, we extras chat between takes about the jobs we’ve had. Actually, we whisper. I'm not sure whether that's because the crew is so quiet or because we're in a church. Two new bits of advice: in big films, don't aim for the front; you're more likely to get used again if you haven't been seen. Secondly, in TV series, check the clapperboard to see what episode you're in. It also seems that your willingness to say 'yes' when offered work is of less value than your availability. In other words, if you're not in regular employment you'll get more offers. We notice a fellow extra, a woman, who is clearly out of it, struggle to stay conscious in her seat. Seems they’ll take anyone in this line of work (me included!). I’m there for over three hours for what will probably be a ten second scene. I’ve heard the ABC caters well but there’s barely a cup of water to be found so I’m a bit parched by the time I head off to find my car in the maze of inner suburban streets, hoping I haven't got a parking ticket.

I do a spot of shopping on the way home, expecting people to turn their heads at my coiffure and preparing to explain to sales assistants why I look like a cast member of 'Dynasty', but I don’t even get a second glance. What's happening to the world? Is it possible that, with regard to hair fashion, anything goes nowadays? Heaven forbid. I am almost disappointed. As I sit perched on a stool in the food court, sipping my latte, I realise that I got more attention from that priest.