It's been a busy week at the Leahy/Wilson household! Brian flew to New York over the weekend for the 10th anniversary party for his company. I've heard it was a wet and wild night, full of mani's and pedi's (for the menfolk, of course) and night swimming into the wee hours. I know Brian had a good time, though lack of details have made me a little suspicious...
On my end, I had a nail-biting weekend waiting for a phone call that never came. You see, last week I had an audition for a feature-length film. The production company was a pretty well-put-together team that makes 15-20 films a year -- "B movies", if you will. The audition went way better than expected, and I was extremely excited because -- get this -- it films for 2 weeks in SOUTH AFRICA! Most of you know that S. Africa is one of my favorites places in the world, having spent 10 days there in 2006. I feel such a connection to the country and the people... Needless to say, I've been dying to go back. So to have the opportunity to go for FREE, and actually be PAID to go?! I was beside myself, though I tried not to get my hopes up.
Thursday morning I got a call for a very last minute callback. The director wanted me to read with another guy, to see how we fit together. I rearranged my afternoon to make myself available. Despite waiting for 45 minutes in the production office, the other actor never showed up. They eventually told me to go home, excusing him by saying "well, he's British..." But the casting assistant asked me if I had my passport handy, and to stay by the phone that night. "The director really likes you, its just a matter of getting the producer's approval". I was ecstatic! So I waited...and waited...and waited. I suppose you can see where this is going.
Despite everything he told me, no one from that office ever called me. I've emailed and called them -- nothing. Who knows what happened. Maybe that other actor blew my shot at the role. I don't know. I wished they at least had the nerve to tell me "no" so I didn't have to wait it out. But I guess that's LA for ya!
On the brighter side, I had an audition last week that I had totally forgotten about. It was for Hasbro (the toy company), for a CSI-type interactive video/game. Not a video game, but a game involving a video...I guess. Okay, I suppose I'm not entirely sure what it is. In any case, there is a murder mystery and I auditioned for one of the witnesses of the murder.
When I got to the audition, it turned out the director was the dad of this baby I started taking care of out here! The audition went really well, with great feedback. And on Monday, his wife informed me that I got the job!! It was so cute...she couldn't wait to tell me.
So I have officially booked my first job in LA. The pay isn't much to speak of (a modest day rate) but it is two days of work and a GREAT opportunity. The director is really fabulous, and he used to be one of the biggest casting directors in LA. I'm very excited to work with him.
The project shoots tomorrow and Saturday, so I'll definitely let you all know how it goes. And once I figure out WHAT the game is and the name of it, I'll be sure to pass it along. That way you can all buy the game for Christmas next year and watch my mad interview skills. I didn't do it, I promise!!
Until next time...
JB&S
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
The Acting Biz 101 (and our tributes to Heath Ledger)
Muchos thanks are due to the folks out there who stick with us each week and tolerate our reckless behavior on this so-called blog. Scooter is thankful, too. High-five!
Now back to us:
Jo and I are teaming up this week for a little thing we'd like to call Acting Biz 101. We've been getting great responses from our little blurbs; most of them come from curious parties, eager to learn about ACTING and what makes it tick. For example:
Crucial Questions We Received This Afternoon via Text Message:
1. Like, is the writer's strike like totally bumming you guys out or what?
2. Can I be an actor?
3. What's Brian's shower gel of choice?
Answers:
1. Yes!
2. Sure!
3. Axe Vice!
But rather than fielding all of those pressing questions uno-a-uno, we thought we'd hit them all at once (or at least over several posts). Fellow thespians, feel free to pass on this one. Here goes:
ACTORS
There are two kind of actors: union and non-union. These are not synonymous with "good and bad," but there are good and bad actors out there, too. More bad than good.
UNIONS
There are three unions to know: SAG (Screen Actors' Guild, i.e. film), AFTRA (American Federation of TV and Radio Artists) and Actors' Equity (which pertains to theater).
SAG
Even if a person is really nice, he/she cannot hop off their couch and join SAG. To become a member, an actor must do one of two things: (a) earn 3 SAG vouchers, which can be earned on movie sets (but are not easy to acquire, by any means); or (b) be "tafted." The Taft Hartley labor law insists that if a non-union actor is given a speaking role in a film (even a one-liner), he/she is eligible to join SAG. There's a fee to join (this fee may spike to nearly $3K by the summer, whoopee!) in addition to annual dues.
ACTORS' EQUITY
AE works similarly - actors must earn points and/or be inducted in. For instance, if Jo was to be cast in Legally Blonde, she would (99% of the time) become eligible on the spot.
AFTRA
...we know much less about, so we're gonna skip this one, don't be offended.
CASTING DIRECTORS (CDs)
CDs are assigned to projects, i.e. Ellen Chenoweth was the CD for Michael Clayton. CDs work on a case-by-case basis.
AGENTS (i.e. Ari Gold on Entourage)
Agents are buddy-buddy with the CDs, assisting them with casting. All actors want a good agent to represent them (but there are a bunch of mediocre agents out there, and there are a handful of scam artists posing as agencies). You hope to build a relationship with an agent - he/she will put their actors' names and faces into the world to help them score auditions and gigs. Agents are also privy to information that actors themselves are not.
A MAJOR MISCONCEPTION:
Getting an agent's a walk in the park.
You've heard the stories on Dateline: an actress - fresh off the bus from Tulsa - goes to Rodeo Drive for the first time. Out of the blue, an agent appears! "I really want to represent you," he tells the starlet. "Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away..."
It isn't the case. Sad but true. Getting an agent is a grueling process and in general a huge pain in the butt. Joanna's freelanced with a couple of them, but there was no interest in "signing" her. An agent won't sign with an actor until he/she is certain that the actor has potential to sell.
WAYS TO BOOK AN AGENT
1. Do a showcase!
Jo and I have done two showcases, both in NY. None of the agents showed a real interest in either of us. But why, you ask? Well, agents see 10-20 showcases a month. Ari Gold and his cronies are looking for the fresh, the new, the sell-able, never settling for less. Most importantly, we don't take it to heart - in most cases, it's not about us, it's about THEM.
2. Ask friends for help.
SO, you got an agent? That's great! Congrats! Anyway you can drop my name, say I'm really well-proportioned and seeking representation? Awesome! Thanks! Oddly enough, this works. Sometimes.
3. PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE.
Keep auditioning, keep attending networking events, keep meeting people, keep a blog.
WAYS NOT TO BOOK AN AGENT
1. Reality TV shows.
2. Knock on their door.
3. Voodoo.
MANAGERS
Managers are great, too - they help keep their actors organized and in shape and offer smart advice. Very simply, they manage their client's career.
ME AND JO AND NON-UNION PEOPLE LIKE US...
Jo and I get our notices about auditions from two online services: LA Casting and Actor's Access - both of which are reliable sources. However, 9 out of 10 notices (because these are Non-Union jobs) are unpaid student films or TV shows like Deal or No Deal seeking enthusiastic audience members. The good work to be had (Domino's pizza commercials, soap operas and feature film auditions) are in the agents' hands. And while Jo and I would have loved to participate (or even audition for) Superbad or Cloverfield or whatever other hit teen action movie comes out next, there's no means of telling where or when those auditions will be held. We sign on to do these "lesser" projects because (a) it's good experience and because (b) we can use the film footage on our reel...
...but that's for a later date. We'll leave it there for Acting Biz 101. We hope this has been enlightening and entertaining.
TEXT MESSAGED COMMENTS WE'VE RECEIVED SINCE WRITING THIS BLOG
1. Brian, get off the couch! Write a screenplay and put Joanna in it and that's it, for chrissake!
2. You two should get on Grey's Anatomy. That show is cute-cute-cute.
Will do. Will do.
love,
b&j&s
BRIAN's TRIBUTE TO HEATH
Yesterday's news struck a chord not only with the film and theater community but with the whole world. I believe Mel Gibson said it best:
"He was just taking off and to lose his life at such a young age is a tragic loss...''
Heath was at the peak of his career, taking on mature roles and standing apart from his peers, working at a level that is un-heard for an actor in his mid-20s. His work alongside Jake Gyllenhaal in Brokeback Mountain (earning an Oscar nod at the age of 26) was remarkable. His skill, professionalism and talent were well beyond his years, as we will surely see in his sure-to-be-stunning portrayal of the Joker in the upcoming Batman film, The Dark Knight. He will be missed.
JOANNA'S TRIBUTE TO HEATH
Waiting for an audition yesterday, I overheard the casting intern chatting on the phone about Heath Ledger's tragic passing. My stomach dropped. No way. Not the Heath Ledger who lived in my neighborhood, who I used to see playing with his daughter at the park, carrying her on his shoulders, unassuming in his shorts and t-shirt. I suppose it's for this reason (and more) that I have taken his death very personally. I must admit, I'm still in complete denial that he's gone. I am mostly baffled by how someone so genuinely talented and sincere, a devoted father and just 28 years old, could be taken from us -- for what seems to be no reason at all.
But Heath will grace us with his talent again this summer, and I look forward to his work. It just goes to show the amazing power of film -- and one of the reasons why I strive to make it my life's work. Heath will be immortalized not only in his loved ones' memories, but in the roles he has created and breathed life into, from one character to the next.
Now back to us:
Jo and I are teaming up this week for a little thing we'd like to call Acting Biz 101. We've been getting great responses from our little blurbs; most of them come from curious parties, eager to learn about ACTING and what makes it tick. For example:
Crucial Questions We Received This Afternoon via Text Message:
1. Like, is the writer's strike like totally bumming you guys out or what?
2. Can I be an actor?
3. What's Brian's shower gel of choice?
Answers:
1. Yes!
2. Sure!
3. Axe Vice!
But rather than fielding all of those pressing questions uno-a-uno, we thought we'd hit them all at once (or at least over several posts). Fellow thespians, feel free to pass on this one. Here goes:
ACTORS
There are two kind of actors: union and non-union. These are not synonymous with "good and bad," but there are good and bad actors out there, too. More bad than good.
UNIONS
There are three unions to know: SAG (Screen Actors' Guild, i.e. film), AFTRA (American Federation of TV and Radio Artists) and Actors' Equity (which pertains to theater).
SAG
Even if a person is really nice, he/she cannot hop off their couch and join SAG. To become a member, an actor must do one of two things: (a) earn 3 SAG vouchers, which can be earned on movie sets (but are not easy to acquire, by any means); or (b) be "tafted." The Taft Hartley labor law insists that if a non-union actor is given a speaking role in a film (even a one-liner), he/she is eligible to join SAG. There's a fee to join (this fee may spike to nearly $3K by the summer, whoopee!) in addition to annual dues.
ACTORS' EQUITY
AE works similarly - actors must earn points and/or be inducted in. For instance, if Jo was to be cast in Legally Blonde, she would (99% of the time) become eligible on the spot.
AFTRA
...we know much less about, so we're gonna skip this one, don't be offended.
CASTING DIRECTORS (CDs)
CDs are assigned to projects, i.e. Ellen Chenoweth was the CD for Michael Clayton. CDs work on a case-by-case basis.
AGENTS (i.e. Ari Gold on Entourage)
Agents are buddy-buddy with the CDs, assisting them with casting. All actors want a good agent to represent them (but there are a bunch of mediocre agents out there, and there are a handful of scam artists posing as agencies). You hope to build a relationship with an agent - he/she will put their actors' names and faces into the world to help them score auditions and gigs. Agents are also privy to information that actors themselves are not.
A MAJOR MISCONCEPTION:
Getting an agent's a walk in the park.
You've heard the stories on Dateline: an actress - fresh off the bus from Tulsa - goes to Rodeo Drive for the first time. Out of the blue, an agent appears! "I really want to represent you," he tells the starlet. "Come fly with me, let's fly, let's fly away..."
It isn't the case. Sad but true. Getting an agent is a grueling process and in general a huge pain in the butt. Joanna's freelanced with a couple of them, but there was no interest in "signing" her. An agent won't sign with an actor until he/she is certain that the actor has potential to sell.
WAYS TO BOOK AN AGENT
1. Do a showcase!
Jo and I have done two showcases, both in NY. None of the agents showed a real interest in either of us. But why, you ask? Well, agents see 10-20 showcases a month. Ari Gold and his cronies are looking for the fresh, the new, the sell-able, never settling for less. Most importantly, we don't take it to heart - in most cases, it's not about us, it's about THEM.
2. Ask friends for help.
SO, you got an agent? That's great! Congrats! Anyway you can drop my name, say I'm really well-proportioned and seeking representation? Awesome! Thanks! Oddly enough, this works. Sometimes.
3. PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE.
Keep auditioning, keep attending networking events, keep meeting people, keep a blog.
WAYS NOT TO BOOK AN AGENT
1. Reality TV shows.
2. Knock on their door.
3. Voodoo.
MANAGERS
Managers are great, too - they help keep their actors organized and in shape and offer smart advice. Very simply, they manage their client's career.
ME AND JO AND NON-UNION PEOPLE LIKE US...
Jo and I get our notices about auditions from two online services: LA Casting and Actor's Access - both of which are reliable sources. However, 9 out of 10 notices (because these are Non-Union jobs) are unpaid student films or TV shows like Deal or No Deal seeking enthusiastic audience members. The good work to be had (Domino's pizza commercials, soap operas and feature film auditions) are in the agents' hands. And while Jo and I would have loved to participate (or even audition for) Superbad or Cloverfield or whatever other hit teen action movie comes out next, there's no means of telling where or when those auditions will be held. We sign on to do these "lesser" projects because (a) it's good experience and because (b) we can use the film footage on our reel...
...but that's for a later date. We'll leave it there for Acting Biz 101. We hope this has been enlightening and entertaining.
TEXT MESSAGED COMMENTS WE'VE RECEIVED SINCE WRITING THIS BLOG
1. Brian, get off the couch! Write a screenplay and put Joanna in it and that's it, for chrissake!
2. You two should get on Grey's Anatomy. That show is cute-cute-cute.
Will do. Will do.
love,
b&j&s
BRIAN's TRIBUTE TO HEATH
Yesterday's news struck a chord not only with the film and theater community but with the whole world. I believe Mel Gibson said it best:
"He was just taking off and to lose his life at such a young age is a tragic loss...''
Heath was at the peak of his career, taking on mature roles and standing apart from his peers, working at a level that is un-heard for an actor in his mid-20s. His work alongside Jake Gyllenhaal in Brokeback Mountain (earning an Oscar nod at the age of 26) was remarkable. His skill, professionalism and talent were well beyond his years, as we will surely see in his sure-to-be-stunning portrayal of the Joker in the upcoming Batman film, The Dark Knight. He will be missed.
JOANNA'S TRIBUTE TO HEATH
Waiting for an audition yesterday, I overheard the casting intern chatting on the phone about Heath Ledger's tragic passing. My stomach dropped. No way. Not the Heath Ledger who lived in my neighborhood, who I used to see playing with his daughter at the park, carrying her on his shoulders, unassuming in his shorts and t-shirt. I suppose it's for this reason (and more) that I have taken his death very personally. I must admit, I'm still in complete denial that he's gone. I am mostly baffled by how someone so genuinely talented and sincere, a devoted father and just 28 years old, could be taken from us -- for what seems to be no reason at all.
But Heath will grace us with his talent again this summer, and I look forward to his work. It just goes to show the amazing power of film -- and one of the reasons why I strive to make it my life's work. Heath will be immortalized not only in his loved ones' memories, but in the roles he has created and breathed life into, from one character to the next.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Shouldn't L.A. be more like Entourage?
Hello blog enthusiasts!After watching Vince, E, Turtle and Drama scope out the hunnies for the last hour or so, I've decided to put Entourage to rest (educational as it may be) and publish a new post. Jo's out meeting a new headshot client and hitting up two auditions (Go Jo!) while I hold down the fort, working on a couple websites we're designing and picking up some cash wherever I can get it.
Seems to us there's a lot of people here - not just actors, and not just because of the WGA strike, by the by - who feel like they're merely scraping by, check by check, day by day. It's almost as if we're all weathering a storm that won't quit. I won't get into the politics of it - after all, in the global perspective, we're all blessed - but Jo and I have both made the observation. Something we'll keep exploring as we get more acquainted with this still-unfamiliar town...
This week we hit up the ultra-hip monster mash flick, Cloverfield, which I highly recommend (children and women who are expecting might opt for the less chaotic 27 Dresses or perhaps Ratatouille on DVD).
Your MLK festivities may have distracted you from yesterday's Oscar nominations, but be sure to check them out here: http://www.oscar.com. There Will Be Blood, No Country..., Michael Clayton and Juno - all amazing films - earn the most nods.
Last week's blog featured a haunting description of some of Los Angeles' most promising student directors and their bizarre audition techniques (Jo has stopped referring to herself as Lisa now and is feeling much better in general, thank god). Well, this week is MY turn to step up to the podium, adjust the microphone ("can you lower this like six inches maybe?") and tell some not-so-harrowing but no-less interesting audition tales from the West Coast.
SATURDAY A.M.
Jo and I were off to a good start - driving over to the gym at 8AM, ellipticalizing, protein shakes snug in our respective cup holders - and basked in our general optimism. Audition #1 was at 10:15AM, downtown, held in a fenced-in studio rental compound that looked like at times like an overgrown parking lot and at others like an abandoned warehouse depot.
I was running a bit behind, so I floored it down 3rd Street, neglecting the GPS's robotic commands (reminiscent of Josh Brolin's Texan drawl in No Country for Old Men) and going on instinct alone. I pulled up to the building highlighted in the directions, hopped out and paid the meter; the building that served as the primary entryway appeared to be deserted. I ventured past some architectural shrubbery to a second set of glass double doors. Nothing. The building was vacant...
...but ho, a sign! Not from God himself but a sign nonetheless. In chicken-scratched fading blue magic marker, it advised:
"We Closed. Head to Other Side."
Darn! What did it mean? Was "Other Side" a metaphor? Or a clue in a twisted scavenger hunt as on TV's The Amazing Race? Or might it be the other side of this building?
It was 10:14, and I was toasting in this blue button-up shirt/dark blue sweatshirt ensemble from Banana Republic. A jog around the building and I'd be there in four, five minutes tops. But wait, I thought, this is LA. I can drive to the other side of the building! I hopped back into the Chrysler - one quarter lost to the meter maid - and made two quick right turns. The GPS laughed and ridiculed for the extent of our 30-second pilgrimage:
"I knew that buildin' was closed. How 'bout them instincts now, partner."
"Not now, Brolin, I have to focus."
"Focus schmocus. Go back to New York, yankee."
I shoved Brolin into the glove compartment, grabbed the headshot and made a dash for the entrance. I headed down a paved road, ignoring several signs that read, NO PEDESTRIANS - CARS ONLY, concocting a lame excuse about a rare case of choosy dyslexia. The security guard on duty scratched her head and pointed to a large grey building towering overhead, instructing me to veer here, go there, up there and I'm there.
Ten minutes later I had found an elevator and was nearing the 3rd floor. I checked my reflection in the polished silver handrail; I was a mess. Even the headshot was sweating. It was now 10:30.
The doors opened onto a long, hotel-like corridor a la The Shining. A door was ajar near the end of the hall; a speck of fluorescent light seeped out and onto the beige carpeting. Outside the room, a 20-something-year-old guy with a goatee named Hank (we'll call him Hank) set a clump of pencils beside a stack of clipboards and blank forms. This must be the place.
"Hank? I'm Brian, I'm auditioning for - "
"Great! First one here! Go ahead and fill out these forms - skip the medical stuff, we don't need to know that - and we'll get started. Coolio?"
I settled down a bit, eavesdropping on their Kevin Smith conversation and using the sign-up sheet to wipe my face and my armpits. In seconds I was in the room, shaking hands with more 20-something gentlemen who looked like me - except cooler and a bit hungover. Hank, the director, told me about the character I was reading for:
Hank: Scott is hilarious!
Brian: Yeah, he's alright.
Hank: I mean, the other characters are kinda whatever, but we're looking for someone who can make Scott really hilarious. Coolio?
Not coolio at all. On-the-spot doesn't begin to describe how I felt. I delivered the four or five lines a few times with the apathetic reader, never hearing a peep from the hip film schoolers in attendance. I said Thanks a bunch, shook hands with Hank and walked out, bidding farewell to the guard and feeling a bit defeated. Josh Brolin and I didn't exchange one word the whole ride home.
SATURDAY P.M.
The afternoon audition was on Sunset Boulevard in a small, depressing theater. I was reading for a med student who had developed a serum that acts as Cupid's arrow, joining couples not through fate but through a flu shot (a romantic spin to the date rape drug). The script was not without its problems, but the project appeared promising; as part of the audition sides, the casting director had included a note asking actors to "be honest," to "tell the truth," to relax and "have a real conversation" with the reader. How refreshing!
Once I arrived, the director - I forget his name - rushed me down a set of stairs and into a darkened space with 40 or so red velvet seats and a stage with minimal lights. He cut the house lights, leaving me alone onstage, seated in a stark metal chair, a single blinding light bearing down on me from above. He tells me he'll be reading with me himself. He also warns me that he'll be looking down at the script and won't be watching me - that's what the camera's for.
Great. So much for personal interaction. So much for connecting and "being honest."
As promised, the unnamed director didn't glance up from the paper, not for a second. I took a huge pause at one point, testing him, hoping he'd lift his gaze (even for a moment) to see how well I'm connecting, to see how well I'm selling this no-good date rape script - but no such luck. The zombie and I shook hands, and he walked me up the stairs and to the door.
"Good work," he said.
"Sure, how would you know?"
- - -
Jo and I aren't new to acting. We're not fresh fish, in the traditional sense. We love to share these discomforting experiences cause, well, they're entertaining; but we walk out of those studio compounds and darkened theaters with a fresh perspective and a broadened sense of what we do and how well we do it. LA isn't like Entourage, and NY isn't like Sex & the City; but we're learning to take what we can get. For instance - for all of her rough luck last week, Jo thrived in an independent film audition this afternoon, reading and talking with the director for over 30 minutes, which is unheard of....
There's a silver lining out there somewhere, hiding behind those bright stage lights and that dense cloud of California smog. And until we find it, we keep going, we keep auditioning, keep writing, keep sweating through our sweatshirts and hoping that Brolin can get us there in one piece.
love,
b
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
"no no I can't talk right now, my friggin' house is on fire"
It's been one heck of a week here at Ann Marie's apartment. Scooter is exploring the building's corridors without his parents' permission, and his dad has built him a perch out of a storage box and a misshapen chair so that he can witness all the action out on Detroit Street, i.e. dogs, parked cars, and smoke billowing from a 2-story house engulfed in flames...
It was noon-ish. Joanna was off gallivanting - or maybe she was babysitting, I'm not sure, it's all a blur really - and Mr. Justin and I were out doing what hip LA guys do every Tuesday at noon-ish: grocery shopping. A quick stop at Trader Joe's for bread and cheese; then on to Ralph's for deli meat and frozen not-quite-chicken nuggets. And it was right then, as we self-checked out and headed out the automatic double doors, that we saw it: a plume of smoke rising into the clear sky, maybe a quarter-mile from where we stood, right where I'd imagine our apartment is.
Brian: Yo, check out that fire.
Justin: Woah.
Brian: Where is that?
Justin: Isn't that where your apartment is?
Brian: Holy s&*t, that's our apartment. Oh my god our apartment's on fire.
(At this point, I hand my groceries over to Justin, make this awesome hero face like "Dude, I gotta do this," and take off running down the street.)
Justin: Okay. I guess I'll meet you at the fire.
Needless to say, it wasn't our apartment that was ablaze (if it was, I imagine some of you parents and relatives out there would have been contacted by now), but it was close enough. Neighborhood peoples crowded the sidewalk across from the old Tudor-style house - standing amongst the LAFD's best and brightest - glad it wasn't their house, their apartment, their insurance policy that was up in flames.
Just then, a mid-20s woman with long, unkempt black hair - standing beside me in pajama bottoms, gazing up in awe at the tragic spectacle before us - snarls into a cell phone,
"Because I can't talk right now. No no I can't talk right now, my friggin' house is on fire."
(Pause.)
"Yeah, like the house I live in."
Justin and I opted for a safer distance and a better view, so we pried open some neglected fold-out beach chairs and ate lunch on our seldom-used fire escape, watching with admiration and terror as one of the firemen took an axe to the neighbors' roof. The grey pillars of smoke soon became fog, and the fog drifted north, toward the hills, imposing an early dusk on the city.
"Well," Justin says, "there goes our clear day."
Aside from the block party inferno, Joanna has been actively pursuing babysitting jobs throughout the city while I continue to manage the photographs and the website for my employer in NY (for those of you who aren't up-to-date, I work part time for a high-end wedding designer). We've hit up the cinema several times, knocking out "Gone Baby Gone" (Ben Affleck directorial debut) and "Michael Clayton" (highly recommended, especially to you Grisham fans out there). We stumbled upon a classic LA music joint (Amoeba Music), where the clearance racks offer a special deal: BUY FOUR, GET THE CHEAPEST ONE FREE. Thirteen dollars later and we're rockin' out to old-school REM and Tears for Fears.
Oh! Jo and I have also upgraded to TimeWarner internet! It was growing tiresome, sneaking my laptop into the bathroom (where the signal was strongest) and hoping that 2385NETGEAR77 was home and web surfing. Go TimeWarner!
But the highlight of our week was without a doubt a certain audition at a certain New York Film Academy, Los Angeles Chapter. For the most part, the NYFA in Manhattan is hit or miss (more miss than hit), so Jo was hesitant about even going to meet this aspiring new filmmaker; but the guy was persistent, very eager to sit down with her, so she went.
Morris (we'll call him Morris) is about 30, Indian, with a thick accent and an intense Daniel Day Lewis-type personality. He begins by giving Jo a 15-minute play-by-play of the film, which essentially involves a girl (Lisa) who's haunted by her boyfriend's untimely death.
Joanna's inner dialogue: "Originality rules!"
Morris is insistent that he find an actress who can capture the heart of the piece, someone who can meet the demanding, emotional needs of the role.
Morris: Can you become Lisa?
Joanna: Yeah, sure, whatever. No problemo.
Morris: No. I need to know. Can you really BE Lisa?
Joanna: Uh ... (mildly freaked out) ... I think so. sure.
Morris: OK, Lisa. Let's begin.
He pulls out his HandyCam and tells Lisa/Jo that's he's going to look at her face, see how she looks on film. Then he explains - in his muddy, mystifying Eastern dialect - that he'll throw out a few directions, to "go with it," to "see what happens..."
Morris: Happiness.
Joanna: What?
Morris: Happiness, Lisa. HAPPINESS!
Joanna: (smiles)
Morris: Great. SADNESS!
Joanna: (frowns, wants to run out the door screaming)
Morris: POTHER!
Joanna: What?
Morris: HARRANGEMENT!
Joanna: That's not a word!
Morris: Now I want you to cry.
Joanna: But I'm -
Morris: CRY CRY CRY!
Joanna: (breaks down out of utter harrangement)
Morris: Great Lisa. Now pretend your boyfriend has been run over by a car. GO!
Joanna: (super frown, tears up, puts her hand over her mouth in awe)
Morris: NO! Don't put your hand over your mouth. You can't cover your mouth. The audience needs to see your mouth. The audience lives in your face!
Of course, Joanna got the part.
Of course, Joanna turned down the role.
And that was our week, or at least the parts worth mentioning. We're both feeling a bit homesick today (SADNESS! REFLECTION! LUGUBRIOSITY!), so we're on a mission to find a free wi-fi coffee shop, a place where LA-ers meet to sit and chat and work on their laptops and write make-believe novels and sip their lattes.... Ah, home.
Love, love, love
B, J, S
It was noon-ish. Joanna was off gallivanting - or maybe she was babysitting, I'm not sure, it's all a blur really - and Mr. Justin and I were out doing what hip LA guys do every Tuesday at noon-ish: grocery shopping. A quick stop at Trader Joe's for bread and cheese; then on to Ralph's for deli meat and frozen not-quite-chicken nuggets. And it was right then, as we self-checked out and headed out the automatic double doors, that we saw it: a plume of smoke rising into the clear sky, maybe a quarter-mile from where we stood, right where I'd imagine our apartment is.
Brian: Yo, check out that fire.
Justin: Woah.
Brian: Where is that?
Justin: Isn't that where your apartment is?
Brian: Holy s&*t, that's our apartment. Oh my god our apartment's on fire.
(At this point, I hand my groceries over to Justin, make this awesome hero face like "Dude, I gotta do this," and take off running down the street.)
Justin: Okay. I guess I'll meet you at the fire.
Needless to say, it wasn't our apartment that was ablaze (if it was, I imagine some of you parents and relatives out there would have been contacted by now), but it was close enough. Neighborhood peoples crowded the sidewalk across from the old Tudor-style house - standing amongst the LAFD's best and brightest - glad it wasn't their house, their apartment, their insurance policy that was up in flames.
Just then, a mid-20s woman with long, unkempt black hair - standing beside me in pajama bottoms, gazing up in awe at the tragic spectacle before us - snarls into a cell phone,
"Because I can't talk right now. No no I can't talk right now, my friggin' house is on fire."
(Pause.)
"Yeah, like the house I live in."
Justin and I opted for a safer distance and a better view, so we pried open some neglected fold-out beach chairs and ate lunch on our seldom-used fire escape, watching with admiration and terror as one of the firemen took an axe to the neighbors' roof. The grey pillars of smoke soon became fog, and the fog drifted north, toward the hills, imposing an early dusk on the city.
"Well," Justin says, "there goes our clear day."
Aside from the block party inferno, Joanna has been actively pursuing babysitting jobs throughout the city while I continue to manage the photographs and the website for my employer in NY (for those of you who aren't up-to-date, I work part time for a high-end wedding designer). We've hit up the cinema several times, knocking out "Gone Baby Gone" (Ben Affleck directorial debut) and "Michael Clayton" (highly recommended, especially to you Grisham fans out there). We stumbled upon a classic LA music joint (Amoeba Music), where the clearance racks offer a special deal: BUY FOUR, GET THE CHEAPEST ONE FREE. Thirteen dollars later and we're rockin' out to old-school REM and Tears for Fears.
Oh! Jo and I have also upgraded to TimeWarner internet! It was growing tiresome, sneaking my laptop into the bathroom (where the signal was strongest) and hoping that 2385NETGEAR77 was home and web surfing. Go TimeWarner!
But the highlight of our week was without a doubt a certain audition at a certain New York Film Academy, Los Angeles Chapter. For the most part, the NYFA in Manhattan is hit or miss (more miss than hit), so Jo was hesitant about even going to meet this aspiring new filmmaker; but the guy was persistent, very eager to sit down with her, so she went.
Morris (we'll call him Morris) is about 30, Indian, with a thick accent and an intense Daniel Day Lewis-type personality. He begins by giving Jo a 15-minute play-by-play of the film, which essentially involves a girl (Lisa) who's haunted by her boyfriend's untimely death.
Joanna's inner dialogue: "Originality rules!"
Morris is insistent that he find an actress who can capture the heart of the piece, someone who can meet the demanding, emotional needs of the role.
Morris: Can you become Lisa?
Joanna: Yeah, sure, whatever. No problemo.
Morris: No. I need to know. Can you really BE Lisa?
Joanna: Uh ... (mildly freaked out) ... I think so. sure.
Morris: OK, Lisa. Let's begin.
He pulls out his HandyCam and tells Lisa/Jo that's he's going to look at her face, see how she looks on film. Then he explains - in his muddy, mystifying Eastern dialect - that he'll throw out a few directions, to "go with it," to "see what happens..."
Morris: Happiness.
Joanna: What?
Morris: Happiness, Lisa. HAPPINESS!
Joanna: (smiles)
Morris: Great. SADNESS!
Joanna: (frowns, wants to run out the door screaming)
Morris: POTHER!
Joanna: What?
Morris: HARRANGEMENT!
Joanna: That's not a word!
Morris: Now I want you to cry.
Joanna: But I'm -
Morris: CRY CRY CRY!
Joanna: (breaks down out of utter harrangement)
Morris: Great Lisa. Now pretend your boyfriend has been run over by a car. GO!
Joanna: (super frown, tears up, puts her hand over her mouth in awe)
Morris: NO! Don't put your hand over your mouth. You can't cover your mouth. The audience needs to see your mouth. The audience lives in your face!
Of course, Joanna got the part.
Of course, Joanna turned down the role.
And that was our week, or at least the parts worth mentioning. We're both feeling a bit homesick today (SADNESS! REFLECTION! LUGUBRIOSITY!), so we're on a mission to find a free wi-fi coffee shop, a place where LA-ers meet to sit and chat and work on their laptops and write make-believe novels and sip their lattes.... Ah, home.
Love, love, love
B, J, S
Friday, January 11, 2008
Feelin' EXTRA Special...
3 days. 350 tan sweaters. Roughly $500 and over 5,000 calories. Let's begin.
TUESDAY
On Monday, Joanna and I each received a text message alerting us that we were needed on the set of Four Christmases, a Holiday 2008 romantic comedy starring Walk the Line superhottie Reese Witherspoon and Swingers bad boy Vince Vaughn. Awesome, we said, time to make the big bucks ($8/hr, $64/day).
So we borrowed some pale-toned sweaters and sweatshirts from our pals Justin and Odin in Santa Monica (per the request of the casting lords) and drove out to Hawthorne, California - about a half-hour drive in moderate traffic. We abandoned our car in a cold school parking lot and jumped aboard a shuttle bus headed to "set."
"Set" was divided into two locations: (1) a small, ramshackle church which served as Extras Holding, and (2) an over-sized eyesore, a.k.a. the New Life Community Center, where the actual shoot was taking place. The NLCC comes complete with a grand vestibule with floor-to-ceiling glass windows and a stage wide enough to accommodate a three-person band and Vince Vaughn's personality.
We were the first bus to arrive, so we checked in and passed through Wardrobe, where we were asked to flaunt our chartreuse, corn and cream-colored clothing choices, at which point the Wardrobe Mistress grimaced and hesitantly pointed to a beige pair of slacks and their corresponding sweater vest. "And ... I guess keep on that pink shirt ... I don't know ... I'm not a magician, for chrissake."
On to Hair&Make-up, where they spray down the girls with CVS brand hair products and wave on the boys, uninterested in grooming our uneven sideburns, hiding acne and hard-to-ignore birthmarks, and attending to cowlicks that have become unruly.
"I'm done? That's it?"
"Well, there's really nothing else we can do for y0u, sir."
And at this point, once you've found a seat in one of the NON-UNION tents and set your belongings down and made a pit stop at the designated port-o-potty, you begin WAITING. And WAITING. It's sort of like being the passenger on a cross-country road trip (deja vu, anyone?), except that you're on the clock. While we wait, we:
1. Submit for OTHER background work on our handy dandy iPhones (J&B)
2. Read "No Country For Old Men" (B)
3. Read a book on how-to-become-famous without being obnoxious (J)
4. Making small talk with others (B, then J, then B, B again, B bringing J over, then J)
5. Eat (primarily B)
Joanna and I strolled up to the Craft Services table, prepared to stock up on hummus and carrots, protein bars and other highfalutin foods prepared fresh this morning. You can imagine our surprise when the chef (a bearded man with lumberjack apparel and a passenger van loaded-up Costco-style) bestowed upon us a luscious feast of mini-croissants, mini-bagels and mini-muffins in three mini-flavors along with the finest selection of mini-cereals. Our buffet lunch featured spaghetti with both meaty and vegetarian sauces (pretty impressive, considering), veggie assemble and various sheet cakes. By the afternoon, Craft Services had devolved into Red Vines (stale, flavorless Twizzlers) in wholesale buckets and metal tins filled to the brim with Gummi Bears, Gummi Worms and party mix.
By five o'clock we hadn't done an ounce of work. The day was nearly over, and we were headed home with pay but without any satisfaction. They only needed 7 or 8 people out of the 350 present to stay "for safety," and Joanna - in her pink and cornflower blue top glistening in the high-watt production bulbs - scored us spots almost instantaneously.
Unfortunately, hanging out for two extra hours didn't get us into Reese's trailer. After cleaning up everyone else's mess, we got a turn at the stars' Craft Services table - a delicately placed spread with everything from shrimp to ravioli, with an abundant soda selection and and an espresso/latte machine out of some sci-fi novel. Of course, we'd already stuffed ourselves with licorice and wheat thins, so we clocked out, hopped the shuttle to the parking lot, drove to the gym, worked out for as long as our bodies could sustain us and headed home, burnt.
WEDNESDAY
Los Angeles' professional background actors are a tighter and more intimate community than your local nudists' colony. Everybody knows everybody who knows everybody else. Jo and I blended in well enough on Day 1, but now the folks around us were forming cliques and hugging and reminiscing about the 90s. And, for some reason, we suddenly felt like we were trespassing, like strangers in a strange land...
By noon we were shuffling into the church, and because Joanna and I offered to stay late the previous night, we were some of the first to be strategically placed in the pews. In a matter of minutes, we found ourselves seated behind the stars. Unbelievable! Maybe we'd get a line!! We sat there in our assigned seats like the best lil churchgoers, saying faux prayers and fixing our gaze on Reese's stand-in, who was eerily identical in just about every way.
"Sir?"
"Who me?" I asked, thinking back to my baptism, my communion, my years in Youth Group.
"Yes, sir, can you come with me?"
"No, I'm fine, thanks."
"Come with me. It's alright. It's not personal." I stood, side-stepping towards the aisle, approaching the man in the baseball cap. "There's just a little too much beige going on here."
Great. Thanks Wardrobe Mistress. The tan-on-tan has turned against me.
The man escorted me to a seat on the aisle, about five rows back from where I was. Not an awful position by any means. After all, if Vince - for whatever reason - decides to strut down the aisle, I'll be sure to reach out and grab him and give him a handshake or a high five, depending on the moment. Yes, this will do just fine, thanks.
"Hey, you, can you stand up for a second?"
"Who, me? No no no - I just moved here. I'm new to the neighborhood."
"It's alright. Come with me."
Gosh darnit, what did I do now? Who did I spit on? I stayed late last night and picked up soiled napkins and lipstick-stained Dixie cups. I deserve better!
"Why don't you sit there?"
"Where?"
"There."
"Where, at the end of that pew over there, totally out of sight?"
"Precisely."
If the seats behind Reese and Vince were prime-time real estate, I was now across the tracks in a hut made from mud and sticks. If Joanna's section was New York, I was now in rural Jersey. I was twice-rejected, and it stung.
And there we stayed. I now felt utterly worthless, watching from afar while my co-workers (and Jo) interacted with Reese and Vince and Kristen and got some face time in the Panavision cameras hovering only yards away. On the upside, I had a few hours to befriend some of the other folks in the reject section, particularly a nice girl named Cimcie who - oddly enough - went to Killian High School (only blocks from my childhood home) and is now taking on odd jobs while en route to law school. Cimcie was into horoscopes, and she read me my Virgo predictions from her iPhone between shots. Perhaps the stars would align and I'd be re-seated tomorrow, up in front with the big shots. Perhaps I too would get some face time, a line, a small role. But no. Instead, it read something like,
"Spend some time at home with your kids today. Your Gemini moon is in high spirits."
THURSDAY
Today we were slated to shoot the same scenes we shot yesterday but from behind, meaning the cameras would be seeing the backs of our heads. Whoopee.
We sat around most of the day, reading like it was our job and meeting some new, interesting people. We met a woman named Joyce who works regularly as a background actor and, with all due respect, told us that this is not the line of work for aspiring actors; and we spent a good hour or two talking to a guy named Gary - a Dirty South DJ from New Orleans - who told us his Hurricane Katrina escape story. We were finally beginning to integrate...
Lunch - not too different from yesterday's chicken burritos - consisted of enchiladas, garlic bread and salad. And more sheet cake. Extras love sheet cake.
Wrapping up our last day onset, we realized that Joyce's advice was right on the money. Even if this is the only thing paying these days, background work is no way to make it as an actor. Our time is better spent working on indie and student films; and if we're not doing that, we're marketing ourselves and sending out headshots; and if we're not doing that, we're exercising and coming home to write sprawling blogs about our experiences. And it was nice to think that we could walk away from three days of work with this knowledge, having learned this very valuable lesson.
We clocked out after a full 8-hour day, saying farewell to those we had met and chatted with, not sure whether we'd see them again. Most of them would be back on Friday to complete the scene, but we declined. Instead, we're babysitting (J) and blogging (B) and making the most with what we have to give (J&B).
Much Love,
B
TUESDAY
On Monday, Joanna and I each received a text message alerting us that we were needed on the set of Four Christmases, a Holiday 2008 romantic comedy starring Walk the Line superhottie Reese Witherspoon and Swingers bad boy Vince Vaughn. Awesome, we said, time to make the big bucks ($8/hr, $64/day).
So we borrowed some pale-toned sweaters and sweatshirts from our pals Justin and Odin in Santa Monica (per the request of the casting lords) and drove out to Hawthorne, California - about a half-hour drive in moderate traffic. We abandoned our car in a cold school parking lot and jumped aboard a shuttle bus headed to "set."
"Set" was divided into two locations: (1) a small, ramshackle church which served as Extras Holding, and (2) an over-sized eyesore, a.k.a. the New Life Community Center, where the actual shoot was taking place. The NLCC comes complete with a grand vestibule with floor-to-ceiling glass windows and a stage wide enough to accommodate a three-person band and Vince Vaughn's personality.
We were the first bus to arrive, so we checked in and passed through Wardrobe, where we were asked to flaunt our chartreuse, corn and cream-colored clothing choices, at which point the Wardrobe Mistress grimaced and hesitantly pointed to a beige pair of slacks and their corresponding sweater vest. "And ... I guess keep on that pink shirt ... I don't know ... I'm not a magician, for chrissake."
On to Hair&Make-up, where they spray down the girls with CVS brand hair products and wave on the boys, uninterested in grooming our uneven sideburns, hiding acne and hard-to-ignore birthmarks, and attending to cowlicks that have become unruly.
"I'm done? That's it?"
"Well, there's really nothing else we can do for y0u, sir."
And at this point, once you've found a seat in one of the NON-UNION tents and set your belongings down and made a pit stop at the designated port-o-potty, you begin WAITING. And WAITING. It's sort of like being the passenger on a cross-country road trip (deja vu, anyone?), except that you're on the clock. While we wait, we:
1. Submit for OTHER background work on our handy dandy iPhones (J&B)
2. Read "No Country For Old Men" (B)
3. Read a book on how-to-become-famous without being obnoxious (J)
4. Making small talk with others (B, then J, then B, B again, B bringing J over, then J)
5. Eat (primarily B)
Joanna and I strolled up to the Craft Services table, prepared to stock up on hummus and carrots, protein bars and other highfalutin foods prepared fresh this morning. You can imagine our surprise when the chef (a bearded man with lumberjack apparel and a passenger van loaded-up Costco-style) bestowed upon us a luscious feast of mini-croissants, mini-bagels and mini-muffins in three mini-flavors along with the finest selection of mini-cereals. Our buffet lunch featured spaghetti with both meaty and vegetarian sauces (pretty impressive, considering), veggie assemble and various sheet cakes. By the afternoon, Craft Services had devolved into Red Vines (stale, flavorless Twizzlers) in wholesale buckets and metal tins filled to the brim with Gummi Bears, Gummi Worms and party mix.
By five o'clock we hadn't done an ounce of work. The day was nearly over, and we were headed home with pay but without any satisfaction. They only needed 7 or 8 people out of the 350 present to stay "for safety," and Joanna - in her pink and cornflower blue top glistening in the high-watt production bulbs - scored us spots almost instantaneously.
Unfortunately, hanging out for two extra hours didn't get us into Reese's trailer. After cleaning up everyone else's mess, we got a turn at the stars' Craft Services table - a delicately placed spread with everything from shrimp to ravioli, with an abundant soda selection and and an espresso/latte machine out of some sci-fi novel. Of course, we'd already stuffed ourselves with licorice and wheat thins, so we clocked out, hopped the shuttle to the parking lot, drove to the gym, worked out for as long as our bodies could sustain us and headed home, burnt.
WEDNESDAY
Los Angeles' professional background actors are a tighter and more intimate community than your local nudists' colony. Everybody knows everybody who knows everybody else. Jo and I blended in well enough on Day 1, but now the folks around us were forming cliques and hugging and reminiscing about the 90s. And, for some reason, we suddenly felt like we were trespassing, like strangers in a strange land...
By noon we were shuffling into the church, and because Joanna and I offered to stay late the previous night, we were some of the first to be strategically placed in the pews. In a matter of minutes, we found ourselves seated behind the stars. Unbelievable! Maybe we'd get a line!! We sat there in our assigned seats like the best lil churchgoers, saying faux prayers and fixing our gaze on Reese's stand-in, who was eerily identical in just about every way.
"Sir?"
"Who me?" I asked, thinking back to my baptism, my communion, my years in Youth Group.
"Yes, sir, can you come with me?"
"No, I'm fine, thanks."
"Come with me. It's alright. It's not personal." I stood, side-stepping towards the aisle, approaching the man in the baseball cap. "There's just a little too much beige going on here."
Great. Thanks Wardrobe Mistress. The tan-on-tan has turned against me.
The man escorted me to a seat on the aisle, about five rows back from where I was. Not an awful position by any means. After all, if Vince - for whatever reason - decides to strut down the aisle, I'll be sure to reach out and grab him and give him a handshake or a high five, depending on the moment. Yes, this will do just fine, thanks.
"Hey, you, can you stand up for a second?"
"Who, me? No no no - I just moved here. I'm new to the neighborhood."
"It's alright. Come with me."
Gosh darnit, what did I do now? Who did I spit on? I stayed late last night and picked up soiled napkins and lipstick-stained Dixie cups. I deserve better!
"Why don't you sit there?"
"Where?"
"There."
"Where, at the end of that pew over there, totally out of sight?"
"Precisely."
If the seats behind Reese and Vince were prime-time real estate, I was now across the tracks in a hut made from mud and sticks. If Joanna's section was New York, I was now in rural Jersey. I was twice-rejected, and it stung.
And there we stayed. I now felt utterly worthless, watching from afar while my co-workers (and Jo) interacted with Reese and Vince and Kristen and got some face time in the Panavision cameras hovering only yards away. On the upside, I had a few hours to befriend some of the other folks in the reject section, particularly a nice girl named Cimcie who - oddly enough - went to Killian High School (only blocks from my childhood home) and is now taking on odd jobs while en route to law school. Cimcie was into horoscopes, and she read me my Virgo predictions from her iPhone between shots. Perhaps the stars would align and I'd be re-seated tomorrow, up in front with the big shots. Perhaps I too would get some face time, a line, a small role. But no. Instead, it read something like,
"Spend some time at home with your kids today. Your Gemini moon is in high spirits."
THURSDAY
Today we were slated to shoot the same scenes we shot yesterday but from behind, meaning the cameras would be seeing the backs of our heads. Whoopee.
We sat around most of the day, reading like it was our job and meeting some new, interesting people. We met a woman named Joyce who works regularly as a background actor and, with all due respect, told us that this is not the line of work for aspiring actors; and we spent a good hour or two talking to a guy named Gary - a Dirty South DJ from New Orleans - who told us his Hurricane Katrina escape story. We were finally beginning to integrate...
Lunch - not too different from yesterday's chicken burritos - consisted of enchiladas, garlic bread and salad. And more sheet cake. Extras love sheet cake.
Wrapping up our last day onset, we realized that Joyce's advice was right on the money. Even if this is the only thing paying these days, background work is no way to make it as an actor. Our time is better spent working on indie and student films; and if we're not doing that, we're marketing ourselves and sending out headshots; and if we're not doing that, we're exercising and coming home to write sprawling blogs about our experiences. And it was nice to think that we could walk away from three days of work with this knowledge, having learned this very valuable lesson.
We clocked out after a full 8-hour day, saying farewell to those we had met and chatted with, not sure whether we'd see them again. Most of them would be back on Friday to complete the scene, but we declined. Instead, we're babysitting (J) and blogging (B) and making the most with what we have to give (J&B).
Much Love,
B
Monday, January 7, 2008
what I do best
Happy Monday! Joanna here -- so yes, I've changed the name of our blog from MY name to OUR names. Shouldn't I have done that to begin with? Well -- yes. But I originally didn't know Brian would have any interest in blogging, so I didn't include him. My mistake! Clearly, there is one person in this couple that was meant to be a writer... So I will gladly sit back and let him entertain you all with his words.
In the meantime, I will "stick to the photos" as my mother put it (thanks, mom!). So here are the photos from our trip. A special shout-out to my uncle Joel for shooting our send-off. Holla!
www.joannawilsonphoto.com/roadtrip08
I will leave you with one story for the day. I had my first LA audition today, and it was definitely...an "experience" (I've been told I'll have a lot of these). I read the scintillating dialogue for the vengeful superhero named Karma, in front of not just the director/producer/whatever-he-was but also about 8 other actors who were waiting in the SAME ROOM and watching me audition (for those of you not in the business, this is UNHEARD OF). After what I'm sure was a brilliant performance (barf!), the director said -- and I quote -- "Mmmmm...Tell 'em, girl!"
Uh--yeah. That's the reaction I was hoping for.
So I left, just praying that I never get THAT call.
On a more positive note, Brian and I both were called in for background work on a new movie called Four Christmases, starring Reese Witherspoon and Vince Vaughn. It also features Robert Duvall, John Favreau, Mary Steenburgen, Sissy Spacek, Kristin Chenoweth, and Tim McGraw! We're so excited to be actually doing something considered "work" despite the mere beans that it pays. It shoots the next two days, so I'm sure we'll have plenty more stories in the days to come!
For now, that's all. Enjoy the photos and I'll send Brian to do the writing next time :)
Jo
In the meantime, I will "stick to the photos" as my mother put it (thanks, mom!). So here are the photos from our trip. A special shout-out to my uncle Joel for shooting our send-off. Holla!
www.joannawilsonphoto.com/roadtrip08
I will leave you with one story for the day. I had my first LA audition today, and it was definitely...an "experience" (I've been told I'll have a lot of these). I read the scintillating dialogue for the vengeful superhero named Karma, in front of not just the director/producer/whatever-he-was but also about 8 other actors who were waiting in the SAME ROOM and watching me audition (for those of you not in the business, this is UNHEARD OF). After what I'm sure was a brilliant performance (barf!), the director said -- and I quote -- "Mmmmm...Tell 'em, girl!"
Uh--yeah. That's the reaction I was hoping for.
So I left, just praying that I never get THAT call.
On a more positive note, Brian and I both were called in for background work on a new movie called Four Christmases, starring Reese Witherspoon and Vince Vaughn. It also features Robert Duvall, John Favreau, Mary Steenburgen, Sissy Spacek, Kristin Chenoweth, and Tim McGraw! We're so excited to be actually doing something considered "work" despite the mere beans that it pays. It shoots the next two days, so I'm sure we'll have plenty more stories in the days to come!
For now, that's all. Enjoy the photos and I'll send Brian to do the writing next time :)
Jo
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Forecast is rain. Welcome to LA.
It's our fourth day here in our new abode. Los Angeles has welcomed us with open arms and a pretty consistent overcast. Light showers and flooded streets dampen the mood of the city ("You can't turn left there, jerk!"), but we're still chugging along.
Joanna and I are settling into our new place, adjusting nicely to our sublet-er's tastes and decor. Anne Marie (we'll call her Anne Marie) is a heavy reader and collector of antique-like furniture. She may not be an out-and-out wild child, but the photograph of Mick Jagger's buttocks dangling limply from the ceiling may say otherwise. Joanna is hoping to cram the last of her wardrobe into the closet space provided, but fifth grade math tells us it might not happen...
Aside from the occasional downpours and the lack of income, we are truly living the High Life. We roll out of bed at roughly 8am each morning, slip on our hoodies and sunglasses and drive to the gym, protein bars in hand. Sure, we've only been here for a few days now, but we stroll into that joint like we own the place, occupying elliptical equipment for at least an hour, sometimes more for the "cooldown." They're revamping the place at the moment; in other words, there's only three TVs to accommodate the entire facility, and the heave-ho of the stairmaster is often accompanied by the sound of jackhammers. Other than that, it's heaven.
As for the acting biz, Joanna and I are both submitting for indie films and rap videos left and right. Jo has scored two auditions thus far: a cosmic super-heroine webisode and a pre-coital make-out session gone terribly wrong. As for me, I was contacted by a Beverly Hills modeling agency with the jankiest website I've ever seen. Besides, me as a model?
Hmmm.
No.
Today, after a delicious midday meal of microwaved enchiladas (J) and Ramen noodles (B), we promised ourselves that we'd get out of the house despite the rainy afternoon. So, we went to the mall. Gift cards from Anthropologie, Banana Republic, Starbucks and Bed Bath & Beyond have now been wiped clean. Thank you to the respective gift-giving parties.
And now we're off, to prep our new, cobalt-colored Brita water filter and watch cars struggle to find parking out our window. A guy in a Mini Coop just asked a guy in a Honda what kind of man he is. He's getting out of the car now. He's got something in his left hand...
Scooter says hello. Joanna does too. Me three.
All our love,
Us
Joanna and I are settling into our new place, adjusting nicely to our sublet-er's tastes and decor. Anne Marie (we'll call her Anne Marie) is a heavy reader and collector of antique-like furniture. She may not be an out-and-out wild child, but the photograph of Mick Jagger's buttocks dangling limply from the ceiling may say otherwise. Joanna is hoping to cram the last of her wardrobe into the closet space provided, but fifth grade math tells us it might not happen...
Aside from the occasional downpours and the lack of income, we are truly living the High Life. We roll out of bed at roughly 8am each morning, slip on our hoodies and sunglasses and drive to the gym, protein bars in hand. Sure, we've only been here for a few days now, but we stroll into that joint like we own the place, occupying elliptical equipment for at least an hour, sometimes more for the "cooldown." They're revamping the place at the moment; in other words, there's only three TVs to accommodate the entire facility, and the heave-ho of the stairmaster is often accompanied by the sound of jackhammers. Other than that, it's heaven.
As for the acting biz, Joanna and I are both submitting for indie films and rap videos left and right. Jo has scored two auditions thus far: a cosmic super-heroine webisode and a pre-coital make-out session gone terribly wrong. As for me, I was contacted by a Beverly Hills modeling agency with the jankiest website I've ever seen. Besides, me as a model?
Hmmm.
No.
Today, after a delicious midday meal of microwaved enchiladas (J) and Ramen noodles (B), we promised ourselves that we'd get out of the house despite the rainy afternoon. So, we went to the mall. Gift cards from Anthropologie, Banana Republic, Starbucks and Bed Bath & Beyond have now been wiped clean. Thank you to the respective gift-giving parties.
And now we're off, to prep our new, cobalt-colored Brita water filter and watch cars struggle to find parking out our window. A guy in a Mini Coop just asked a guy in a Honda what kind of man he is. He's getting out of the car now. He's got something in his left hand...
Scooter says hello. Joanna does too. Me three.
All our love,
Us
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Day 5: Arrival and Aftermath
It may have been a late start, but we were still on the road relatively early with sliced raisin bread and prepared sandwiches in hand, eager to get home before nightfall.
The last leg of our journey took us through three states of rocky terrain, riding along the Mexican border throughout the majority of the drive. In fact, we had "run-ins" with the law on several occasions, but racial profiling saved us from any delays. Turns out, if you're not Mexican (Mexican-looking?), you can go on ahead. Thank goodness my Cuban half takes a backseat to my Irish pastiness.
The sights were uneventful but altogether stunning: mountains made of thick, uneven rocks; corn/wheat/"we can't tell what crop that is" fields; and thousands of cows corralled together, awaiting slaughter or salvation. Joanna hooked up the laptop to get started on our RoadTrip2007-08 photo album while Brian found comfort once again in his Ultimate Word Find quest. We made a pit stop in Yuma, met a few more wind turbines, listened to Eminem (sorry Mom) and completely missed a photo opportunity at the California state line.
The skies were by far the most gorgeous we'd seen all week. Shades of colors you'd never seen paint the world just above the tips of the mountains, swirling and twisting about in unimaginable ways. Instinctively, we both craved the outdoors; we wanted to pull the Chrysler Sebring over to the shoulder, jump out and scale the mountains. But we thought better of it, especially since we'd both seen No Country for Old Men only weeks ago and were still traumatized by that large air gun. However, that isn't to say that we won't be scheduling a day or week-long trip to the mountains sometime in the near future...
After 6 hours or so we were in Los Angeles. You knew it was Los Angeles because the cars around you were suddenly more expensive ... and there were a lot more cars, too. The traffic was unbearable. Eventually, though, after holding our pee and barreling through the HOV lane, we made it Detroit Street. And that's where we're writing you from, here in our living room, stealing wireless internet from someone named DetroitHarry0097.
Of course, being us, we threw all of our junk into the apartment - leaving Scooter to settle into his new pad - and ran right out again to catch an 8pm showing of "There Will Be Blood" (highly recommended) with our good friend Justin.
So I guess the journey ends here. But not the blog. So for those of you who have found these narratives entertaining or sad, stick around. It'll get much more entertaining (and a lot more sad) (just kidding) as Joanna and I try our hands at ... Acting in LA. God help us.
Much love,
the new LA crew
P.S. Soon to come: a whole slew of photos!
The last leg of our journey took us through three states of rocky terrain, riding along the Mexican border throughout the majority of the drive. In fact, we had "run-ins" with the law on several occasions, but racial profiling saved us from any delays. Turns out, if you're not Mexican (Mexican-looking?), you can go on ahead. Thank goodness my Cuban half takes a backseat to my Irish pastiness.
The sights were uneventful but altogether stunning: mountains made of thick, uneven rocks; corn/wheat/"we can't tell what crop that is" fields; and thousands of cows corralled together, awaiting slaughter or salvation. Joanna hooked up the laptop to get started on our RoadTrip2007-08 photo album while Brian found comfort once again in his Ultimate Word Find quest. We made a pit stop in Yuma, met a few more wind turbines, listened to Eminem (sorry Mom) and completely missed a photo opportunity at the California state line.
The skies were by far the most gorgeous we'd seen all week. Shades of colors you'd never seen paint the world just above the tips of the mountains, swirling and twisting about in unimaginable ways. Instinctively, we both craved the outdoors; we wanted to pull the Chrysler Sebring over to the shoulder, jump out and scale the mountains. But we thought better of it, especially since we'd both seen No Country for Old Men only weeks ago and were still traumatized by that large air gun. However, that isn't to say that we won't be scheduling a day or week-long trip to the mountains sometime in the near future...
After 6 hours or so we were in Los Angeles. You knew it was Los Angeles because the cars around you were suddenly more expensive ... and there were a lot more cars, too. The traffic was unbearable. Eventually, though, after holding our pee and barreling through the HOV lane, we made it Detroit Street. And that's where we're writing you from, here in our living room, stealing wireless internet from someone named DetroitHarry0097.
Of course, being us, we threw all of our junk into the apartment - leaving Scooter to settle into his new pad - and ran right out again to catch an 8pm showing of "There Will Be Blood" (highly recommended) with our good friend Justin.
So I guess the journey ends here. But not the blog. So for those of you who have found these narratives entertaining or sad, stick around. It'll get much more entertaining (and a lot more sad) (just kidding) as Joanna and I try our hands at ... Acting in LA. God help us.
Much love,
the new LA crew
P.S. Soon to come: a whole slew of photos!
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Days 3 & 4: Austin for New Year's and Onward to Tucson
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The last time we met, Joanna was sweating off Road Trip calories in the DoubleTree gym while I worked diligently on our Day Two installment. And now here we are - 900 miles closer to our new home, Joanna in the shower, Scooter bathing himself, and me in bed - groggy-eyed in my makeshift jammies - composing yet another entry. I'm sensing a trend here...
CitySearch tells us that there are a few options to choose from when considering spending New Year's Eve in Downtown Austin: (1) bar-hopping on Colorado and West 6th Streets; (2) spending heaps of money for a decent table at a half-decent restaurant; or (3) First Night Austin. Out of sheer curiosity (and severe lack of funding), we chose the third. You may have heard of First Night; in fact, there may be a First Night in your hometown.
FN reminded me of Doc Hollywood in a way (if you haven't seen it, it stars Michael J. Fox, a doctor who's come from CA to practice big league medicine in a small, po-dunk town and it's hilarious, rent it, I'm serious). A parade down Colorado featured flame throwers, dancers, a hip-hop ensemble, the local Little League baseball team and even a float asking Austinians to conserve water. Once it dissolved, we found ourselves at Jo's Coffee Shop (she couldn't resist...), where we bought a mint green travel mug in Jo's honor. We ate and ate and ate at a nice Mexican joint, enjoyed the sounds of bucket drummers and some Mexican jazz (whaaaaat), and rounded off the evening taking photographs of each other with two-dimensional cardboard characters and aboard a large, bucking jackrabbit. Back at our hotel with a bottle of Perrier Jouet and a chocolate chip cookie sundae (thank you, room service), we watched Austin's meager but colorful fireworks display and felt right as rain, falling right to sleep, alarm set for 5:30AM.
The drive to Tucson is roughly 13 hours, so we started out MAD EARLY. I took the first leg, zipping through western Texas at 80 miles an hour (speed limits are great in the middle of nowhere). We were one of maybe two cars on the road, being that it was New Years day and every single person in Texas was either hungover or still drinkin'. The radio scanned through every possible channel without finding a single station, so we listened to some mellow mixes we'd put together, along with Matchbox 20, Gnarls Barkley, Phish and an old tape from Brian's collection - Spin Doctor's "Pocket Full of Kryptonite." Stopping for lunch at a Subway in Fort Stockton (ghost town!!!), we decided to take Scooter for a walk around the premises, at which point he stopped, dropped and rolled, twisting his body around in the grey Texas dirt. He was absolutely filthy but one hundred percent satisfied.
Highlights from the road included massive wind turbines set atop large hills and self-operated oil rigs pumping away only yards from their designated Chevron and Exxon stations. We kept ourselves occupied (and awake) with Find-the-Word puzzles and a pack of Slang Flashcards (did you know "janky" is a blend of junky and skanky? well, you do now).
We arrived in Tucson around 8pm Mountain Time, grabbing sushi and meeting up with Joanna's friend Matt at his parent's house - a gorgeous, sprawling place in pale Mojave tones. I'm looking out the window now; it's all cactus and palm trees, desert wind and a mountainous backdrop. Today, after a stop at a local bakery, we'll be driving westward to San Diego, then up the Pacific Coast Highway to our new home.
Day 5 to come. Don't lose sleep now...
all our love,
bri (& jo) (& scooter)
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