My Worst Audition (so far)
“…will give special consideration to people who are real soccer fans or players, but it’s not mandatory.”
I read every inch of email I receive from my agent, and those last four words gave me the little confidence I had left after reading the former thirteen a needed boost while driving to the audition for this Jeld-Wen Timbers commercial. There were no lines to prepare with, just reactions–which means improv.
I had asked a few people what basic knowledge I should have before the audition day but the facts simply flew through one ear and out the other. I meant to understand. I meant to know. I also am aware that I learn best by doing, and that just wasn’t going to happen in a day.
So, re-reading the email again and again I told myself “it’s not mandatory” and was on my way.
It was a new location for this audition. As simple as it is to show up and wait, adding in a new ‘unknown’ always throws off the balance I’ve built prior to arriving. The only thing I know how to do is to do my best–and even that isn’t definable. Everything is situational. A warehouse of offices, an elevator ride, sign-in at a front desk, a couple actors I’ve never seen before stew in their own heads. I’m starting to realize the work actors do is really before any shooting occurs. It’s a mental marathon before and after this leg of the race.
Two elderly actors are chatting about their love life history as we sit on a couch awaiting our names to be called. It’s a lovely conversation that I get lost in. After a bit they lend my own experiences a voice, though I’m quickly led into the audition room. The short conversation helped more than I could have imagined. Everything and anything normal helps ease the insecurities.
I’m sat in a spinny-chair and was told the flip camera on a tripod in front of me is the “television.” Two people, one the director, sit at a table to my left. Another one mans the camera. I’m to expressively react to the “game.”
“Do you know anything about soccer?”
The only answer I can fully and truthfully answer is:
“No. Not really!”
“…ohkaaay. Well, we’ll just tell you what’s going on and you can react to that.”
I feel a helpless sense of disappointment, but I chalk it up to over analyzation.
“Awesome!”
I hold the arms of the chair and lean towards the camera. The guy gives instructions as I go; they’re playing well, they missed a kick, the opposing team got the ball! My brain shuts off and a slur of “come on”s and “let’s go”s and “don’t do that”s and “I could kick that better”s run out my mouth like a leaky faucet. I have no idea what I’m saying. I’m too busy visualizing what this game could look like and pretending some friends are with me that I can’t focus on anything else. Suddenly the “game” gets more and more exciting and in my brain our team has the ball and they’re going for the goal! The guy stops talking and I decide they made the shot, and out of pure impulse and doing the only thing I know they do; I throw my arms into the air, spin myself in the chair to do a full 360 and yell “GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!”
The room is utterly silent.
“I know they do that.” I mention.
“……okay. Well, thanks for coming in.”
I smile the most geniune smile because I know I just embarrassed myself more-so than ever before and I’ll be able to laugh about it eventually, but only after I leave the room to help come to terms with the fact that I’ll never see these people again.
I call a few friends as I sit in my car. I tell them how ridiculous I felt and how red my face was. They laugh with me; they’re supportive. I blast music on my way home.
A couple days later I get a call telling me I landed the role.
Fact Reaffirmed: The world is ridiculous in ways I don’t understand.
I’m reminded again and again by situations like these to “do my best” and “don’t stress.” I’m in a field where I can make money from embarrassing myself, and if that’s what it takes then give me a spinny-chair and let me at it.
Turns out, the commercial is an awesome compilation of local actors and real Timbers fans in support of the new branding of the previous “PGE Park”–now “Jeld-Wen” field. Five hours of shooting later you can see me in the video below for less than a second (from :05-:06) in my lovely Hetterson sweater, but certainly watch the whole spot–some great moments were captured!
really it comes down to just being your unashamed and full-out version of yourself.
i relate a lot of it to DDR, actually; stepping on to a DDR pad means that you have to come to terms with the fact that you’re going to look ridiculous. even if you’re the best player in the world, you still look ridiculous. but the rewards for doing something like that and how that resonates with me was too great to allow any degree of self-consciousness about that ridiculousness to ever come into play.
you know more than i do that acting has that similar characteristic. you have to be prepared to make yourself look ridiculous and be proud that you made yourself look ridiculous. sure, there are some people that do that and are simultaneously awkward and people will snigger at them behind their back, but even that to me is preferable than just staying within your safety shell, and i’ll tell you right now that as far as i’m concerned, you’re not awkward, so you’re all good.
well, i’ll qualify that. you’re awkward when you think you’re being awkward. you can allow that shy-gamer-geeky-girl permeate your consciousness sometimes, but that’s fine too because it’s pretty damned adorable, so really there’s no way for you to lose. :) be ridiculous, be awkward, be yourself, exaggerate it, and let the embarrassing stuff slide by you because in the long run it’s worth it for the amount of reward that you’ve been getting from it all.