Friday, February 22, 2013

Don't Polish The Turd

I was at a casting workshop taught by Marisa Ross a few hours ago. (She's the casting director for How I Met Your Mother.) She paired us up, gave us scripts, and told us to go rehearse for awhile.

Technically, the point of these things is to "learn valuable lessons." But come on. Everybody in that room was just trying to get cast as Barney's new girlfriend, Ted's secretary, Robin's co-anchor, whatever. So of course I'm excited. Time to show her what I can do!

Until...

I'm rehearsing the scene with my acting partner and... well... what's a nice way to put this?

He sucked.

Me: Hi Bob, how are you?
Him: (PAUSE.) Hi Jack. I'm doing... well... (Pause. Pats my shoulder for some reason.) pretty good. 

It'd be easier to suck bone marrow out of this guy than acting energy. I start to panic. This scene is terrible. I have to jazz it up! I MUST SHOW HER HOW FUNNY I AM!

Him: How are... (Pause. Touches my face.) you doing?
Me: I'M GREAT, WAKKA WAKKA WAKKA!
Him: That's............. (Pppppppppppaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuussssssssseeeeeee) good.
ME: IT SURE IS!!!!!!!!!! (Random cartwheel) I'M HAPPY TO BE ALIVE. (Unnecessary ad libbing)

And that's the story of how I paid a casting director fifty bucks to watch me drown.

Spoiler alert: I won't be cast as The Mother in the next season.

Thank God she let us do it again, and she complemented me for mostly fixing the problem the second time around. The other guy still got most of the heat (and she was pretty blunt), but no matter what I managed to fix, I was only as good as my partner. Which is true for pretty much every audition, I've found.

While perhaps I won't be called in to audition for HIMYM anytime soon, I did, ironically enough, learn a valuable lesson. Particularly about just playing things honestly even in dismal acting conditions. It's not my job as an actor to be funny. Or even interesting. I just have to react to what I'm given and leave the rest to the audience. The arts are not the place to be in complete control.

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