The Airing of The Grievances

Last month I recorded the lead voice-over for a national radio spot, appeared in an industrial for Microsoft, started rehearsals for a show that opens this Friday, started conversations for a show that starts rehearsing in December, conversed about appearing in a TV series to air on the SciFi channel, and was confirmed to take Mrs. Man of God back on the road in February. So why does it feel like I’ve done nothing, I’m doing nothing, and I’m stuck in a glut of non-artistry?

1. I want blame the braces. Honestly. I haven’t sung since I got them, I haven’t written since I got them, I’ve done a big fat load of nothing that feels good since I got them. You see, the braces are accompanied by the constant feeling of having just been hit in the face with a baseball. This pisses me off. And since the pain is constant, the pissed-offedness is, too. Not good for Horton Happy Time.

2. During the gig at The Children’s Theatre, I felt like I had finally discovered my true self – my core – completely fulfilled, both vocationally and avocationally. I experienced pure balance, and I’ve never felt better. Weigh that with the contract work I’m now doing, and it feels like I’m right back where I was before the CTC – doing unfulfilling work to make some cash while I hope for the Next Big Gig, but really just floundering in a sea of wasted time and energy. On top of that, I totally blew my last audition at CTC – it was my one remaining chance to get cast before next fall, and I totally blew it. The director pushed me to “go bigger,” and I did so, but within the realm of realism. I later discovered that he wanted over-the-top caricature. Had I asked the right questions at the audition, I would have been able to provide that and therefore judged fairly, but I didn’t ask, so I couldn’t provide, and therefore didn’t even get called back. Three months later and I’m still kicking myself.

3. It’s difficult to watch some of my peers catch the Awesome Train after I did, yet continue on to success – it feels like my car got disconnected at the switching station and I didn’t get onto the correct car in time, and now I’m stuck in a car detached from an engine – meanwhile, the aforementioned peers are being taken further down the line on The Big Party-Time Success Car. One has three full-time paying performing gigs in a row, including a stint at the Guthrie, one is winning screenwriting awards all over Europe, one is making music for Oscar-winning films in LA. I couldn’t be happier for these people, but conversely my eyes couldn’t be greener, and I HATE IT when I’m jealous. It makes me feel more ashamed than I already feel for not achieving those same successes.

4. Of course, the jealousy catapults me down the whole “am I good enough?” actor’s spiral of self-pity. My friend Cooper said, “You’ll never get the answer to that question because it’s ART. It’s SUPPOSED to be subjective. Some people will love your work, others will hate it, others will be disaffected. Either way, you may as well stop asking the question unless you simply enjoy torturing yourself.” It kills me, KILLS ME, that I have a calling, yet that calling depends on other people to judge me and accept me. It’s like someone telling you, “yes, I know you went through medical school, and you have all the qualifications and some great experience, but we’re just not looking for brunette doctors right now. Sorry!” Or, “…we’re looking for doctors with a wackier bedside manner right now. Sorry!” Or, “…the head doctor is 6’4, and we really need a doctor that better suits his height. Sorry!”

5. Am I playing a ridiculous trick on myself? Am I not good enough? Am I supposed to be miserable so I’ll finally go back to school for broadcast journalism in radio (long-form documentaries)? Do I need to take a business/marketing class so I can figure out how to better play the system – to wheel and deal – to market myself as an indispensable product? That feels so…disingenuous. Yet I’m at a loss for what to do, other than creating my own show or movie or whatever – and that takes an immense amount of work that I’m not at all inspired to tackle right now.

So consider this my proverbial letter-nailed-to-the-door. Perhaps it will re-kindle the wide-eyed hope I once had. Perhaps a nice breeze will sweep through to fan the flame. The good news is that the only place to go from here is up.

Bring on the Corsets

Dear Ghost of Jane Austen, Oh, how I long to be in an 18th Century play or film (film is preferable to other ephemera), or Georgian, or Regency, or Victorian, or Renaissance. But let's start with your works, shall we? My imagination and romanticism long for it; my physique nearly demands it (do forgive the impropriety). Please accept my deepest gratitude for your consideration.

Always, The Eldest Miss Horton

Under Construction

Me. Not the web site. And no, I'm not talking about plastic surgery or physical, um, augmentation (lord, like I need MORE? – definitely NO); I'm talking about my pearly whites. I have finally taken the financial plunge into getting the braces that I should have gotten when I was a teenager. Yes, braces. As an adult. Whoa boy.

I somewhat liken it to road repair - the road is in questionable condition, but they have to make it worse before they can make it better. My worse? Well, in addition to the braces themselves, they had to do a little rearranging on my bottom row. Which involved removing a perfectly healthy tooth. IN THE FRONT. Jesus. Someone on YouTube said that I looked like a hick - well check me out NOW, sucker! YEE-HAW! C’MERE AND GIMME A KISS! GLAUGHLLLLALAGGLALAAaAaaa…

Gross.

I have to admit that I felt rather violated having a perfectly healthy tooth removed - I don't have a single cavity, and I don't drink coffee (ever) or soda (well, rarely), so these puppies are in primo condition. I talked my dentist into letting me keep the extracted tooth. I don’t know why I wanted it or what I intend to do with it, but I have it, and that makes me feel better. So here’s the plan – standard braces on the bottom teeth; the glory of Invisalign on top:

8/28/07 - I get separators installed between my lowers in addition to the Invisalign impressions for my upper teeth;

9/11/07 - The brackets go in, begin 18 months of metal-mouth torture;

10/8/07 – The Invisalign trays arrive and I start the oh-so-clear straightening process for my uppers;

11/13/07 – Roughly the date that the tooth they pulled will be fully replaced by the tooth waiting beneath it, thus quelling general feelings of hickness;

3/11/09 – ¡LIBERTAD!

And what have I learned from this experience thus far?

Acting Professionally : Vanity :: Vanity : Pain.

Therefore...acting professionally equals pain? Yep.

Technicolor Baby

After reading an interesting article on the ongoing Great Headshot Debate (color vs. black-and-white), I decided to expand my portfolio several months back with a color photo for on-camera auditions. I’ll still keep my black-and-white for stage, but want to mix things up a little.

This here is the result of a little in-studio visit to killer Twin Cities photographer Craig VanDerSchaegen. Dude is the master of natural lighting:

Is it wrong that I feel kind of obligated to write a novella now? This thing just screams dust jacket.

A Little Bit of This for a Little Bit of That

I have somehow gotten myself onto the mailing list for the Guthrie's press releases. And it's been really quite fascinating...I enjoy getting notice of the upcoming seasons, masterclasses/lectures and whatnot. But it's also a bit spammish, in that it's never provided me anything more than information about shows that I had desperately wanted to be in (*cough*Jane Eyre*cough*); until early this week. I was the lucky recipient of a complimentary ticket offer to check out Private Lives on the Guthrie's proscenium stage. Score!

When I arrived at will-call to claim my tickets, they were accompanied by a press folder and card. I suddenly felt dishonest...like those tickets weren't really meant for me unless I was intending to write publicly about the show. And I don't want this blog to become a place where I review other shows, because then that makes me a critic and people will treat me differently - they'll be interested in me not because they want to cast me in something, they'll be interested in me because they hope that I'll give their show some (good) exposure (lesson sadly learned firsthand from hosting the Minnesota Fringe Festival Podcast back in aught-five).

Alas, in the interest of easing my guilty conscience, I will give you my impression of the show Thursday night. Do with it what you will:

Overall, I thought the production was a good slice of pure entertainment. Total fluff, but mostly well-done fluff. The actress who played Amanda was fittingly cast and oozed divine languidity - and her comic timing was impeccable. Adversely, I was disappointed by the characterization of Cybil. I think that the actress in the role is exceptionally talented, but that she was poorly directed – it just didn’t appear that the director really knew what to do with the character. And granted, Cybil is supposed to be milquetoasty, but I think there's a way to do that without resorting to a paper-thin caricature. On the production front, the second of two sets heavily outweighed the first in its “wow” factor – quite beautiful – and despite one of my best friends being a professional lighting designer for some fancy-schmancy outfits, I still don’t know how to critique lighting. On the whole, it looked just fine to me. All in all, I had many, many good, strong, sincere laughs and thoroughly enjoyed my evening there. Recommended.

Okay. All better.

The Art of Negotiation

I just negotiated myself right out of a cool acting job.

Yes, it (just barely) paid enough to make ends meet; but it didn’t pay enough to honor the work that actors do as artists, and the value of one’s time.  The pay was reasonable for stage, but not for screen.  And certainly not for such an established company.  Not for something that will continue to generate strong revenue for them long after the actual performance is over.  Not for aspects of performance that they can re-use as stock footage for future projects, without paying royalties.  I just can’t sell out like that. 

It makes me sound like a jerk, right?  “She was offered a somewhat-decent paying gig and she turned it down – who the hell does she think she is?!” 

I’m still trying to figure myself out, but this much I know is true: I am an artist that just took one for the team.  I am an artist that took a stand for a reasonable wage.  Yeah, I did it for me, but I did it for everyone else in this town, too.  What had to be explained to me by a friend, many times, very clearly, is that if artists keep accepting mediocre-at-best wages for their work, it drives prices down.  Companies know that they can get other actors at a fraction of a reasonable wage, because there are actors out there desperate enough to do it; but what they don’t realize until after the fact is that the actors they get are less qualified.  In our economy, you get what you pay for.

And god, believe me, I wanted to do it.  Badly.  I had a great time at the audition – I thoroughly enjoyed everyone that was in the room – there was a great rapport.  But I had to respect myself enough not to accept their final offer.  And that was really, really hard.  It took the guidance and encouragement of a friend/fellow artist.  It took three (yes, three) books on negotiation techniques, one of them specifically aimed at artists, another specifically aimed at women.  It took time.  And in the end, it took a good cry in the privacy of my living room.

A couple of weeks later, and I still think about that job.  I still think about the what-ifs.  But in the end I still know, deep down, and sometimes after a lot of searching, that I did the right thing.

Integrity versus Gig: 15-love.  

In the Loop

A few weeks ago MPR’s monthly program, In the Loop, released a call for entries opining the topic of one’s relationship with work – they asked, “Do you live to work, or do you work to live?” My last greenroom entry, “The Faces In-Between,” was written in direct response to that call and an edited version was submitted for consideration. It ultimately didn’t make the cut for voicing and subsequent airing, but it did make the cut for a feature in their expanded text-version online.

I attended a live taping of the show in the UBS Forum at the MPR studios last Thursday night – a fascinating and enjoyable evening of live hosting, segue music, readings, “expert” panelists, and general audience discussion. I commented twice, and both comments were included in the final broadcasts (aired Friday and Sunday evenings last week – now available for download or streaming online) – apparently when I want my voice heard, I don’t take “no” for an answer.

The Faces In-Between

Since graduating high school I have worked a bare minimum of 30 hours per week (even during my four years at college), and it never really complemented my raging sense of entitlement. I was meant to be an actress; my cost of living claimed otherwise. Last December I left my day-job after five years of indentured servitude masquerading as an assistant position in the non-profit arts world. My liberation from desk-work was prompted by a full-time, yet temporary, role performing on stage at a prestigious local theater.

That gig ended nineteen days ago.

Aside from a voice-over session here; a staged reading there; and an over-arching theme of panic relating to the next source of income; I have been blissfully unemployed since then. I now know what my mailman looks like. I have discovered the artists and freelancers and stay-at-home parents at the local dog park, even though I don’t have a dog. My internal clock wakes me at 9:24 am every morning. When taking my time, I make a killer sandwich.

Yes, I have tasted retirement. And it tastes good.

Alas, I am 28 years old and my unemployment checks won’t cover rent, groceries, AND my internet connection – therefore, back to the grind I go. I’m taking some contract work starting Monday to keep my standard of living and my sense of self-worth adequately afloat. The good thing is that it’s flexible enough to allow leave for auditions and one- and two-day shoots here and there when needed. The bad thing is that I’m already longing for my San Diego vacation next month.

I still have all my corporate clothing, and I still clean up well enough to look respectable behind a desk. I just consider it another acting gig – act normal, act responsible, act like I’m interested in business. I have several upcoming auditions this week and next – hopefully something lucrative will come of it. After all, it’s far more entertaining to play roles “outside the box.”

Setting for One at the Panic Picnic

The Wednesday before last I went over to The Wehmann Agency to meet with the agents for voice, on-camera, and live trade…their office was positively humming (very busy agency = higher potential for gigs = happy Horton) and after about half an hour I walked out of there with new representation. Yep, I’m in. I AM IN! WOO-HOO! There is still plenty of self-promotion that I need to do in the interest of drumming up some business, but it’s a relief to finally be in a respected agency’s ranks again. And the cool part is that my agent for voice said she doesn’t have another voice like mine in her cadre….again, higher potential for gigs; again, happy Horton. Meanwhile, I was called back into Undertone Music to voice incomprehensible conversations for Pixar-style animated coffee cups, the dots on top of “i”s, and bouncy balls. There were three people observing and engineering the session, and at one point I actually had them in tears from laughter - they tweaked pitches for a few of the spots, so I threw in seemingly appropriate references to Baby Jessica and making out with a jar of mayonnaise. For some reason those didn’t make it into the final product. Curious.

And now for the gritty of all this nitty: I’ve been putting off writing about any of the good news for many, many days because I’ve been far too busy panicking. It’s hard to write anything more than “GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” when one is consumed with panic. I am, and for two weeks have been, in a perpetual state of sheer terror over where my next paycheck is coming from. My show at The Children’s Theatre closes this Sunday afternoon, and I don’t have any confirmed work coming down the pipeline. Up until now I have been a responsible girl with my ducks (oh, how I love ducks) neatly in a row. Now the ducks are hither and yon. Nothing is more disarming than a paddling of wayward ducks.

I signed up with a temp agency this week and had a meeting/paperwork-marathon with them today – hopefully that will generate some temporary income – I’m also filing for unemployment on Monday. Seriously, unemployment. Me. What the hell? Oy. The whole concept makes me feel sick to my stomach – not having a solidified plan to make sure my basic needs are met makes me feel irresponsible, careless, and immature. Granted, I could easily return to the full-time corporate/desk-jobby world that I once ruled, but I am not ready to do that just yet. I want to take a low-stress, no-obligation job that I can leave at any time to take stage, voice-over, or commercial gigs. I’m determined to remain available to opportunities because I’ve short-changed myself via benefits-paralysis for years now. It’s time to do things my way. Hey, ducks! You come here. RIGHT NOW!

The Minister of Fancy Noises

The following story is a story that’s been a long, LONG time coming. I have kept mum on the whole thing until now just because it seemed like the proper thing to do; and I’m not much if I’m not proper.

Well, okay, the part after the semicolon is a lie.

Yes, yes, I do have some sense of decency, I just don’t always honor it. Moving on.

Last December I resigned from Lipservice Talent Guild. I know, I know, I made a huge hairy deal of it when I signed on over a year ago, but it turned out that Lipservice was perfect if I was extremely well-established, which I was not. My on-camera and voice-over career is still in its infancy, and I need someone, in addition to me, to advocate for me. By its very nature as a Guild with no frontline staff, Lipservice, as wonderful as it was, wasn’t able to do that. So I gave them notice in October, and then went on my way attempting to gather everything I needed to make a compelling case to Wehmann Talent Agency.

Among these things needed were a re-vamped commercial voice-over demo and a narrative demo – the commercial one I was using was poorly recorded (by me) and had weak reads that I frankly couldn’t stand listening to. So, I spent a few hours last week in the studio at Undertone Music, owned and operated by the incomparably crazy-slash-whipsmart-slash-talented Minister of Fancy Noises, one Mr. Tom Hambleton (and yes, Minister of Fancy Noises is actually on his business card). He gave me an incredible amount of his time and attention despite a fresh and looming film deadline; the end-product is nothing if not luscious. The part after the semicolon is all truth, baby. Call me a convert - the man’s a saint.

The reason it took three and a half months to get this done is not important now; the important thing is that IT IS FINALLY DONE! Yes, I said it, I mean it, and I can prove it. The new commercial demo is up in the audio player and in the download section of the home page, and the narrative demo will make an appearance in the next few weeks or so (it’s done, I just need to make a spot for it). Take a listen – tell me how bad you want some ice cream.

The three and a half month wait left me ready and raring to go, so I submitted all my materials to Wehmann yesterday. I heard back from them today and have a meeting next week. Hopefully my fingers won’t cramp from keeping them crossed until then.

Suspended Animation

*Every performance involves a section wherein a majority of the cast, including me, stands frozen on stage for approximately eight and a half minutes. Over the course of 58 performances, this adds up to 8.22 hours. The following is an excerpt from last week’s thought process:

Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd FREEZE! Here we go. Helllllooooooo second-balcony EXIT sign. We’ve become chums, you and I – I bet never has anyone spent as much time staring at you as I have – the audience can see my eyes better this way - although I don’t know if anyone in the audience can see my eyes anyway because of these crazy glasses – it’s probably all reflection. Whoa boy - this is going to suck today - my feet are KILLING me. Son of a…OW! I hate these shoes. Hate them. Hate them. Hate them. Hate them. Seriously – three-inch heels on a raked stage along with huge gaps in the billboard platform which are perfectly great for falling into – whose bright idea was that? They’re awfully cute shoes, though. Wow – what a total “Sex and the City” viewpoint – ‘gee, I’m dying here, but the shoes are cute!’ I can’t believe I got my foot stuck in that billboard crack today – that was sure embarrassing. I wonder if anyone noticed. AUGH – HAND SPASM! Dang-it. I wonder if anyone noticed. Oh, and there goes the feeling from the toes – going, going, going, numb – DAMN. Tomorrow I’m freezing with my feet facing the other direction – maybe that will help – this is seriously going to kill once we unfreeze – I wonder if I’ll even be able to walk without falling over – whoa, what’s that kid doing up there? – don’t look, don’t look, don’t look – oh, he’s just jumping – WHY DID I LOOK? – relax, it was only a couple of feet over and it was so far back, I’m sure my eyes didn’t noticeably move – it’s not like they can see my eyes anyway – or can they? – ITCHY NOSE ITCHY NOSE ITCHY NOSE ITCHY NOSE itchyitchyitchyitchyitchyitchyitchyitchy STOP THINKING ABOUT IT itchyitchyitchyitchyitchyitchyitchyitchy UM, UM, UM, UM, UM, EDWARD NORTON IN THE ILLUSIONIST SUPER HOT MEXICAN FOOD FOR DINNER SOUNDS GOOD SHOULD STOP AT KOWALSKI’S NO WAIT UNTIL MORNING ‘CAUSE THAT’S WHEN THE CUTE PRODUCE GUY IS THERE okay, no more itching – god, I hate that. Holy Hannah if this damn scene was any longer I would just die – yes, this is the longest freeze known to mankind – maybe this is punishment – maybe this is a director’s way of passively telling us that he hates us – WHIT – WHY DO YOU HATE US? I bet onstage freezes are from some director’s ancient oral history – “if you dislike your actors, choreograph an obscenely long freeze in uncomfortable positions – that’ll show ‘em. And if you can put them in heels and have them on a rake, all the better.” Ohmygod girls, please don’t do any dramatic pausing here, for the LOVE OF GOD, DO NOT GET DRAMATIC AND PAUSEY. Oh. My. God. My. Feet. Are. Dying. It feels like daggers jammed straight up through the balls of my feet up toward my ankles. Dying. Thinkaboutsomethingelsethinkaboutsomethingelsethinkaboutsomethingelse – I should come up with a cool limerick for Rick for tomorrow’s mic-check – he’s gotta be so bored with me by now – “there was a sound guy named Rick” – oh, bad idea – only dirty things rhyme with Rick. No, wait - quick! That’s not dirty! “There was a sound guy named Rick, who needed a mic-check but-quick.” Oh, god, this is stupid. Rick, you’re not getting a limerick buddy – get your yuks from someone else, bucko. Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow - My feet feel like they’ve been plunged into a vat of boiling oil. Thinkaboutsomethingelse. Okay, uh, uh, uh, OW, uh-what’s on my to-do list these days? I need to continue getting in shape, maybe I should sign up at the Y again – I really can’t afford it right now, but on the other hand I could certainly take some of my savings and pre-pay for six months – oooh! that might be a good idea! – and I think that if I sign up in January they waive the joiner’s fee – I wonder if that works for people who have already been members – I hate the gym – yes, I love it when I’m there, but it’s the getting there that’s the problem – OH! LUVERNE IS COMING DOWN THE LADDER -WE’RE ALMOST DONE! – SWEET! Don’t look at Luverne don’t look at Luverne don’t look at Luverne don’t look at Luverne GAH! WHY DID I LOOK? I wonder if anyone noticed. Please hurry please hurry please hurry please hurry please hurry I can’t believe Whit made this freeze even longer right before we opened - we would have been unfrozen by now – we would have been unfrozen by now – we would have been unfrozen by now – I wonder if I’ll be able to start walking this time without hanging on to the billboard? OWWWW! I think not…damn. And, and, and, and, HERE IT IS GLORY TO THE HEAVENS WE CAN MOVE – OH MY GOD MY FEET OWWWWWWWWWWW!

MeTube

I’m in a spot for H&R Block on YouTube called “Plastic”…it’s only been up a week or so and has already been viewed over 60,000 times. I think it’s because people think I’m naked.

I will admit, however, that reading the comments has been a painful lesson in turning the other cheek – while most of them are pretty complimentary, there are a handful that are either clueless (they didn’t get the joke), or hateful (vicious remarks about my looks). On the other hand, it’s a relief to finally cross getting called a “screwed up hillbilly” off my list of Things-To-Do! HA!

Five Things You Didn't Know About Me

Craig tagged me, and now I must comply:

1. I once sprained an ankle, smashed a shin bone, and ended up with four bruises in the shape of a giant square on my torso after tripping on a platform and landing on an old audio speaker during a tech-rehearsal black-out at The Theater Garage. They got out the glow-tape after that.

2. I performed in one show that was so abysmal that I don’t list it on my resume, despite being called out in the press review as being one of the few saving graces.

3. I love my current headshot because it was taken when I was at the heaviest weight I have ever been (a whopping 153), but you can’t tell because of the angle. The Monster of Phantom Lake was shot during the same time frame – after having a good cry upon seeing my double-chin and squishy body onscreen, I was inspired to start my return to normalcy (17 pounds down, 15 more to go).

4. Despite outward appearances, I am one of the least artistically confident people I know. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t question my talent/ability.

5. I have yet to settle on monologues I’m comfortable using at auditions. I’m barely half as comfortable singing, yet I have four songs I could happily whip out at any given moment.

BONUS: 6. When I discover songs that I love, I spend an embarrassing amount of time imagining what they would look like if I staged them in a musical.

Your turn! I’m especially interested in seeing this topic addressed by Rik and Bill (and Foster and Cooper, but they’re both traveling and therefore have more worldly things to write about these days - lucky ducks).

My New Life: Day One

I’m at a bit of a loss on how to begin this post - the title is a bit dramatic, no? I guess I’ll just break it down by time and see where that gets me. Have patience:

YESTERDAY Yesterday was my last day of work in the Performing Arts department at the Walker Art Center, my last day in Deskjobville. I was a puppy when I started there five years ago, and now I’m a bitter, jaded, crone. Kidding. Mostly. I’m still friendly and fresh-faced, I just know a hell of a lot more now than I did then and I’ve gained some snarkiness, to boot. If I hadn’t been absolutely slammed with work yesterday, I might have gotten all choked up about it.

At the end of the day my department threw me an incredible going-away shindig backstage at the McGuire, Hollywood style - there were stars on the floor and there was champagne and chocolate and paparazzi and cake and wine and roses and sunglasses and a feather boa and bouncers and my headshot plastered everywhere and tons of people. And there were speeches, and there was a goodbye card in the form of a filmstrip with beautiful parting words from everyone. I was honored and deeply touched. And had I not been so surprised by the whole thing and overjoyed to see everyone, I might have gotten all choked up about it.

When I finally got home I was so overwhelmed that all I could do was read the good-bye messages, run myself a hot bath, sit in it and have a good cry. I'm going to miss my people.

TODAY After spending most of the night fitfully dreaming about work, I woke up with an e-mail to my department colleagues already crafted in my head (I gave them the official hand-made farewell cards yesterday…don’t want you to think I’d send that kind of message via e-mail – that's tacky). After sending it off (had to get those loose ends out of my brain), I fully realized that I am now a full-time artist.

I answered a couple of sweet congratulatory e-mails this morning welcoming me to my new life (thank you!), thought of different ways to write this particular post, did my dishes, cleaned my living room, arranged last night’s roses into a nice vase, and started packing for tomorrow’s mini-break.

The spirit of the day was formalized by two e-mail offers for gigs and an introductory call from CTC’s Stage Manager for the Pouch Play.

This feels good. And it feels right. Finally.

Getting Schooled

I was lurking around The Callboard, an online discussion forum for Twin Cities actors, the week before last and stumbled upon a conversation about auditioning techniques. Someone suggested that everyone should read Michael Shurtleff’s Audition. Then roughly 20 more people responded that they too had read it and found its advice invaluable.

This lead me to two questions, 1) where the hell did everyone hear about this; and 2) what rock have I been living under? This just reinforced that I received a phenomenal liberal arts education in college, yet a highly uninformative (on a practical, business-level) theater education. I can tell you all about plays by early American women, but I can’t tell you why you’re supposed to wear the exact same clothes to callbacks as you did to the initial audition. Here I am, many, many thousands of dollars later, learning practical, business-level stuff on chat boards. Great. Somewhere I hear someone’s mother singing a hollow, yet loving, “I told you so.”

Anyway, reading the conversation on The Callboard made me feel embarrassed and a little ashamed… if I am to take myself seriously as an actor, it is my responsibility to be not only professional, but informed. It had immediately become apparent that I was not as informed as I had previously thought. And it had immediately become apparent that I have some work to do. So I hit the pavement. Last Sunday I walked into Uptown to scout out Audition at some of our wonderful independent and second-hand bookshops and found a lightly-used copy for three dollars. I also discovered a copy of Robert Cohen’s Acting Professionally: Raw Facts About Careers in Acting (had it in college, didn’t find it immediately useful, got rid of it…or so I thought. I came home to discover the college copy on my top shelf - oops.), Richard Brestoff’s The Camera Smart Actor, and a reference book entitled The Independent Film Producer’s Survival Guide. All for under $25.

I immediately sat down when I got home and read the first 25 pages of Audition. Thankfully, there was plenty that I already knew or had learned (the hard way, of course) over the last several years; but I also learned a handful of new tips and tricks that I had never before encountered. Those three dollars were the best that I have ever spent. Not bad for reigniting my practical performing arts education.

Actors' Nightmare #9

Last week I dreamt that there were several productions going on simultaneously on the multitude of Children’s Theatre Company stages (in reality there are only two), which for some reason resembled Lincoln Center. The costume shop and the dressing rooms were flooded and therefore replaced by a huge registration table in a balcony lobby where hordes of actors, including myself, were trying to get their “costume assignments.” I had something like 12 elaborate costume changes, very Disney-on-ice in nature, and had to rush through racks of clothing to find something that would work for my character; then track down a costumer, get her extremely-divided attention to focus on me, and get permission to wear that costume on stage.

Annoying, right? It gets worse. Occurring at the same time as all of the above, I am desperately leafing through my script, which all of a sudden looks completely foreign. I have a huge role, and I know none of the lines. I knew I had done the show before, way in the past, and should have been able to remember the lines, but I hadn’t bothered to study them before opening night – I had incorrectly assumed that they would just come back to me. The depth of my panic was matched only by the breadth of my idiocy.

It shook me to the core, and I woke up the next morning completely rattled. All in all, I think this is a direct reflection of three things: a) my concern that I don’t yet have a script for The Pouch Play and I feel like I’m going to arrive at the first rehearsal totally unprepared – kind of like the first day of college, when I showed up and everyone already had their books and their first assignment read, and I had no idea how they even obtained that information; b) I read an article in the New York Times the night prior (that I’d been meaning to read for a week) about Stoppard’s latest triptych of plays that involves 40+ actors, six months of rehearsals, and the logistical nightmare of having the cast-members double as understudies for other roles in the same show; and c) fear of my upcoming foray into the structure-less life of a full-time actor.

I'm trying to be brave, but dreams like this don't help.

that's 'technician' for...

CTC called me last week to schedule a fitting; when I returned the call, the following conversation ensued:

ME: Hi, this is Leigha Horton from Tale of a West Texas Marsupial Girl returning your call.

COSTUMER: Whoa, you actually said the whole name of the thing.

ME: Yeah, um, well, uh… why, what do you call it?

COSTUMER: Oh, just “Marsupial,” (pause) or “The Pouch Play.”

The Pouch Play! I love all people behind the scenes for this very reason. It reminds me of a personal tour of the Old Globe’s set for How the Grinch Stole Christmas by my Lighting-Director-best-friend – there are a few scenes where you can see townspeople in windows and on the hills silhouetted in the distance, and up close it turns out they were plastic Simpsons and alien figurines. In plain view. Let's hear it for the folks that make theater magic!

Earth to Horton; come in, Horton.

I just realized the Ivey Awards are happening right now. And I’m at home. Ooopies.

I had a blast at last year’s Iveys playing Waldorf and Statler up in the balcony with my MoCW compatriots… alas, it just wasn’t on my radar this year; it got overshadowed by Elevator Repair Service’s masterpiece, GATZ.

Ah well; next year. Until then, I'll leave the Iveys with a topical quote from two of my favorite old men:

Statler: What's the name of that famous song Tony Bennett sings?
Waldorf: "I Left My Heart In San Francisco"
Statler:  Big deal! I left my teeth in Minneapolis!
Both:	Dooh ho ho ho ho!

Elevator Repair Service

Last night I attended part one (of two) of Elevator Repair Service’s GATZ – a wildly unconventional adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, in which every single word of the novel is spoken. In order. The entire performance lasts about six-and-a-half hours, and while I had the opportunity to see the show as a marathon this Saturday or Sunday, I decided to take the easy route and see it in two parts over two evenings. Most of the time I don’t feel a day over 24, but the idea of sitting in a theater seat for seven hours in one fell swoop makes me want to play the age card. Or the unadventurous card. Doesn’t really matter which because either way it’s a card. Moving on.

I arrived at the theater last night in unfashionable (read: purposefully comfortable) clothing, looking forward to nothing more than settling down in my chair and allowing the language of the work to enfold me. There’s a sweet nostalgic comfort that accompanies being read to, and it seemed the perfect fit to the end of a rather difficult week and to the beginning of a long rainy night. The performance was wonderful…set in a fantastically dingy industrial back-office with office-workers living their office-lives yet assuming the characters of Nick, Gatsby, Daisy, Tom Buchanan, Jordan Baker, and Myrtle Wilson (amongst others, including a hilarious moment with the eyes of Dr. TJ Eckleburg) on a sometimes-bustling parallel plane, the most beautiful moments are those when the set is quiet and dim and we are left with just our narrator, Scott Shepherd. You’ll have to forgive my sentimental foolishness, but it was honestly like being hugged by something far greater than myself, and being told that everything was going to be okay.

I was engaged. I was entertained. I was critical. I was inspired. Ever since I was first introduced to Elevator Repair Service in 2004 when the Walker brought Room Tone in as part of the Out There series (a dark, eerie piece that married the text of Henry James’ Turn of the Screw with his brother’s, William James, psychology writings) I have been a fan. But now, with my resolve to finally make a 'go' of it as a full-time actor, I want very much to be an active participant. I want to create the kind of theater they’re creating. I want to challenge and entertain with them, doing what I do best. Working with ERS as an actor is now officially on my list of goals. Expect a call, John Collins.

too legit to quit

Check-it: I’m on the Internet Movie Database. My filmography is teeny-tiny, but it’s a start. And a start ain’t half-bad.

In other news, I spent some time last weekend tweaking my commercial voiceover demo with a friend, the goals of which are to garner a richer, fuller tone and replace some of the weaker reads. The highly-contentious Morgan Stanley script stays. Yes, it’s a stodgy RP English accent and some of you hate it, some of you love it; but since everyone seems to feel strongly about it I figure it’s memorable and therefore it stays. You'll know when the new demo is up because you'll want to buy some ice cream. And that's all I'm going to say about that. *ahem*

In the next week or two I’ll also be recording narrative and accent demos…I can’t wait to get those done, especially since I've been wanting to do the former for months now. The narrative demo will include part of one of the ice-fishing stories I recorded for the Walker Art Center's Open Ended: The Art of Engagement exhibition, and another piece or two yet to be determined - probably pieces from Ken Burns' Jazz series, and Nova's The Elegant Universe. Fitting since I adore both jazz and quantum physics.

I’m also hoping to spend some quality time with my home-recording setup to get the recording levels set once and for all. I know this thing has the power to make some really nice recordings, I just haven’t been able to find the sweet spot yet. I’m working with a Digital Reference DR-CX1 mic with a Stedman Proscreen XL on a desk mount, patched into a M-Audio Mobilepre USB. The preamp runs directly into the computer, and I’m using Audacity (open-source software) to record. If any of you pros have any recommendations off-hand, I’m completely open to suggestions. For those of you who might suggest not using the brand name of the windscreen to help me avoid sounding like a novice; I'll work on that.