A few years ago, as I was leaving the ingenue phase of my casting, I began searching for parts of the business that offered the chance to play “act-able” roles (ie, characters pursuing strong objectives rather than functioning as ornamentation or glorified set-dressing) to women of all ages, and I kept coming back to the horror genre. When Sarah and I began Brains, I knew I’d want to find a way to help our readers pursue this work with intelligence, dignity, fun & adventure.

Last fall, serendipity arrived in the form of a Facebook message from actor Kristina Klebe. Kristina and I met years ago in New York acting in a production of Caryl Churchill’s (ghoulish) play The Skriker. Kristina found Brains through Seth Michael May’s post on audition anxiety and offered her services as a contributor.  In the years since we met, Kristina has gone on to recurring and guest starring roles in several television shows (Criminal Minds, CSI: Miami, Rescue Me) and independent and studio films (She Hate Me, Peter and Vandy, and a recent comedic turn in the upcoming 6 Month Rule, opposite Martin Starr). Her career gained significant momentum when she was cast as Lynda in Rob Zombie’s remake of  Halloween. Kristina also plays the lead in the upcoming horror movie Zone of the Dead. Who better, I thought, to collaborate with on an exploration of working in horror? Two months ago, Kristina and I began working on a documentary short about acting in the genre. We’ll be excerpting  sections of it here in the upcoming months, and we are thrilled to kick things off with an interview with Grace director Paul Solet.

When I arrived in LA I met with manager who said to me, “You have to decide whether you want to be in a horror movie or go to Sundance.” I replied, “I want to be in a horror movie that goes to Sundance.” Mr. Manager laughed. Mr. Manager hadn’t met Mr. Solet. Paul is a wonderfully articulate director and has many great things to say about working in horror and acting and movie industry in general. Paul’s first feature Grace, starring Cabin Fever’s Jordan Ladd and Canadian actor Gabrielle Rose, screened at Sundance in 2009 and is currently available on DVD.

Video Intro by Ryan Kravetz

I’ve been auditioning for professional acting jobs for (cue scream of horror) thirty years. Auditioning is, indeed, a micro-art unto itself. It is an art within a presumably artistic business, an art fraught with frustration, futility, humiliation, anxiety, hidden crafts, and on very rare occasion, magic — magic that isn’t necessarily contingent upon getting the job. The magic happens when preparation and skill mix with the receptivity of the people for whom you’re auditioning — in spite of the pressures that would seem to preclude that possibility — and all within the room are transported, for a moment, beyond the rather unappealing business at hand.

A few of my general premises:

1) Show business is a mad, mad, mad, mad world.  Mediocrity is all too often the cream that rises; why does so much talent go nowhere, why does so much crap go everywhere? Don’t ask.  Literally.  To maintain a steady sanity, it is essential to accept, again and again, the fact of a systemic, smiling insanity and inanity. One must let go of finding a Why in so very many instances.  Particularly for the analytical amongst us, “But why?” leads to tortured madness.  Best to cultivate many warm, wise touchstones in your “real” life.  Best to learn to laugh.  Best to develop a philosophical, practical view of the landscape.

2) There is a greater, albeit hidden acting skill called forth in an audition equal to and often greater than importance of the actual acting skill required to make the given material shine: the subtle but impenetrable pretense that one has automatic respect for and takes delight in the talent, the taste, and the company of the people for whom one’s auditioning.  So often, we’re walking into rooms seething with invisible, toxic tension. I guess I always figured it was a rather masochistic, but necessary, part of the gig to appear grounded and spontaneous and happy and confident – and then start acting.

Back in New York, I was so used to being dissed that I could perform as if the folks auditioning me were paying full attention, even if they were talking throughout, at a desk six feet in front of me. The saving of my dignity, again, at such times, was to, say, directly stare at them while they were talking, as I vocally and physically pretended to be fully invested in what I was doing. Yet, I must say, I’m sad that I had no idea how not to stand for such unkindness and disrespect.  Perhaps that’s why I became so diligent at finding ways to recover my dignity after auditions, as it has been so often compromised.

3) My audition credo has been, “Give ‘em trouble.” In other words, make such a memorable, exciting impression, that when they can’t cast you, for whatever reason, they feel torn; they can’t cast the Name, the friend, the sister-in-law, or the prettier woman, with a completely clear conscience. That means go in prepared, looking swell, and reading fabulously. Leave them confused, at the very least, as to what to do about you. That aggression shouldn’t show (yes, one more layer of acting required), one embodies that dynamism in the preparation. It won’t remotely guarantee a job, but I’ve found that it bolsters my inner strength. Particularly when I’m going in for the ones I really, really want, it helps me to leave feeling myself to be a person of craft, whatever the result. I find it’s a far more powerful trajectory than to go in, hat in hand, hoping to be approved of.

4) The control/lack of control thing: As I have found to be true over and over and over and over again, from casting directors, actors, producers, directors, the grapevine — there are infinitely variable elements that result in a person getting cast.  All you can do is control your turf; you can’t begin to control anything else.

5) When I first started out in New York, whether I was up at three a.m. to wait in a line that wrapped twice around the block to hand in my picture, whether I walked 70 blocks in the transit strike, or sang some song for the hundredth time, I poured every molecule of concentration and energy and hope into every single audition. I realized, eventually, that if — on top of all that, on top of all the pay the rent gigs — every time I walked into one of these things, I said to myself, “Is this It? This could be It!”, and it wasn’t even remotely ever It, the cumulative disappointment would kill me.  I began to realize that the very lifestyle itself was the embodiment of hope, and that any more hope than that would break my heart and spirit. So, I began to develop a healthy cynicism to protect my optimism.  It helped me to make it a discipline to Let Go, to Move On, after each audition.  (See number 4.  Then,1.) Yes, much, much easier said than done, you bet.

6) The audition performance itself is not, I have found, contingent upon my acting choices alone. I only get to be as funny or as moving or as interesting as the audience at hand, the chemistry of the collective, is willing for me to be.

Out of the now, yes, yikes, thousands of auditions (including voiceovers), a few pop out in this moment as good, bad, and ugly.

Theatre auditions have always been my favorite.  The sweeping, very generalized truth of this being that the material is better, the directors are smarter, the atmosphere is more conducive to Art. I suppose, too, I enjoy them because much of the theatre for which I’ve auditioned has given me stylistic room to spread my wings, vocally and visually.

When I auditioned for La Bete on Broadway (which I subsequently got), I wore high-necked ruffles and buckled shoes and felt perfectly at home, and not the least over-dressed. The accent was English, the play was in highly literate rhyme, the style was delicious to play. I read the script into dust, though always held the book, so as not to give the impression that this was a complete, static performance.  The audition was in a theatre; this, in and of itself, can lend a potent dash of delight to the endeavor. Now, these folks were aiming to put on a great production; so things were planned expertly, the reader was a fine actor, the director was articulate and imaginative during the audition.
There was a Neil Simon play at the Taper: True, this audition was already an exercise in near pointlessness, as most of the characters were already cast with TV names. But Neil himself would be there, so I was seriously excited.  The play (in my opinion) was not good, actually, and very pretentious, meaning to be dark and faux French, with black, bleak, I-hate-marriage humor.

Sadly, the man himself was as dour a person as I’d ever seen behind an audition desk.  His eyes were dead, his energy was unfriendly and even unkind. The reader was pleasant enough, tried hard, but was an average, dull, dramatic TV actor, who had no sense of the sharpness required to make such material cut into the air, and anything that might’ve been funny, might’ve been theatrical, was just mushed into mediocrity.  I left, praying I wouldn’t have a chance (I’ve done that a lot, when the audition has been so full of oppression and unhappiness), and knowing full well that there was nothing I could’ve done to shift the energy in that room.

I sang and read for Bob Fosse, and he was (which I believe he was for every single person that walked onto that stage), absolutely rapt. He was leaning on the seat in front of him, with his face in his hands, looking up at me onstage, as if he were falling in love. He was divine, and it was a heavenly, moving experience.  Auditioning for a gentle genius who completely wants you to be wonderful — well, all you have to do is bring your best stuff, and show up.  The chemistry does the rest, and if the show’s yours, it’s yours, and if it ain’t, you’ve given and been given a golden little gift, and a sweet, eternal memory has been made. Makes my heart sing even now, remembering.

Now, film auditions vary wildly according to the director, of course.  Most, I have found, tend to like the feeling that you Are the character, and wouldn’t have to waste anybody’s time actually acting.  So, once again, the acting on top of the acting: in this case, acting like you’re not acting.  Also, the embracing of spontaneaity is key: it took some time for perfectionist me to understand the value of a flub-up; mistakes allow personality and vulnerability to come through, and, on a good day, wit.  And then there’s just plain pretending; I got cast once just having a long, rather dull conversation, never reading a line, acting like I was interested.

Carl Reiner’s audition for That Old Feeling was a rare joy.  I’d gone in to read for one role — one of the second leads for whom I was not remotely beautiful enough, but for which my agent had miraculously elbowed me in anyway.  Mr. Reiner had me read for three other roles, all with different accents, and was full of praise and fun. I had dressed (purposefully, knowing that I had zero chance at the lead) as someone sort of sexily eccentric and unique, and the choice worked in my favor; he loved my outfit, I made a few cracks, and the scene was set for the spirit of improvisation from the start, so that when he threw the other roles at me, and I read them cold, I was a happy fish in clear water.  But he set the tone — welcoming, encouraging, and fun-loving. I didn’t get cast, but I left feeling validated.  Again, though, I could only be as funny and clever and dexterous as he was willing for me to be.

I once auditioned for Woody Allen.  It was quite a moment.  I’d flown into New York especially, and it symbolized the closure of a very long road for me; I had visions of waking up at 3:00 A.M. twenty years prior, to camp out in line on the sidewalk for his cattle calls, only to stand for fifteen seconds — no kidding — in front of a camera, and be pushed out of frame by some PA.  The only possible preparation for this present audition was to get as calm as was humanly possible. I just hung out in the hotel room, ate, watched movies, and didn’t call any of my New York friends, whom I knew would get too excited for me, and I’d “catch” their well-meaning nerves.

The man himself was quite warm and very shy. He’d set up his office in such a way that the very comfortable chair the actor was to sit in was lit beautifully. This was so clever, because when you sat down, you immediately felt like you were actually being filmed, not by some horrible videotape, but by the real thing — thus that elusive sparkle would be that much more likely to spark. So smart, I thought.

At a Woody Allen audition, one gets handed a few pages of dialogue, having no clue as to character or context, a few minutes to study it, then you go in and have at it. I loved the challenge, and found it great fun. I also thought he did something very brilliant, which other actors, from what I’ve heard since, have hated; he hid himself almost entirely, peeking out from behind some partition, or pillar. It sounds odd, I know, but the effect, for me, was significant — freedom from watching Woody Allen watch you.

My only impediment during that audition was the casting director, who was obviously burned out and moving too fast. When a casting director reads with an actor, they always — with the exception of this one time — wait to see if the actor’s ready to start. Not her. The nano-second my ass hit that chair she was off and reading. I covered and caught up, the scene went well, but I wanted her dead.  Acting, though, like…I didn’t want to rip her head off and thought she was just a peach of a gal.

To Television. The most frustration I have experienced as an actor — by leaps, bounds, and light years — has been being caught in the wheels of the creation of the “fill” in between those car commercials.  The people have been generally more self-important, more insecure, more pressured, more panicked, less intelligent, less artistic.  Also, they tend to travel in great packs — rooms full of writer/producers, rooms full of executives, everyone terrified to act alone.

My first audition for a series television was a sampling of the feelings of, by no means all, but so very many others that were to follow.  I left feeling thoroughly humiliated, and wanting to bathe in Comet.

I was in Orange County touring with a revival of Stop the World, I Want To Get Off in 1988, playing the lead — four different lady loves — opposite Anthony Newley. A writer/producer had seen me and come backstage, asking me if I would like to audition for a Jim Henson live-action TV sitcom. Why, sure, who wouldn’t?! He tells me it’ll be such a “nice, relaxed room,” and we’ll all have “so much fun,” that it’s a “love project.” Ah, the smell of bullshit in the air.  Having never smelled it before, it smelled like roses to me.

I get the script in my hotel room. I am appalled. It is so wretched, so stupid and so completely unfunny.  I try to wrench this and that wooden line this way and that, but I can only just barely make it speakable.  I was used to auditioning with great material, how…did…this…work…?  Why…?  Wow…

I drive to wherever the audition is, I walk into my first TV audition room full of, say, ten to fifteen people, and there sits Jim Henson in the middle, looking miserable, absolutely miserable. He is furiously glaring out from under his eyebrows.  No one else looks happy either, but they’re smiling.  I’m sad that Jim Henson appears to hate me and I haven’t even spoken.

But I am not particularly cowed by all this misery, (though it was mystifying), as I’m onstage every night, getting a strong response, sometimes playing to barely filled matinees, so I just buck up and do the scenes.  They fall horribly flat. They should. They are horribly written.  But what happens next that sprains my brain is this:

The writer/producer who’d brought me in, who was so adoring of me backstage, looks at me, in front of everyone, as if he’s been betrayed, and says, “No, no, what are you doing — do what you did onstage the other night.” I’m, like, wh — ??? “Yeah, you know, you’re doing all the accents and all the mime schtick, and — “  I’m looking at the script and saying, “But where — there isn’t…” and he rather roughly shepherds me out of the room by the elbow, takes me outside and starts frantically telling me to do what I did on stage the other night, over and over, as if he says it enough times it will make sense, and I’m trying to explain to him that the script has nothing whatsoever to do what I was doing on st –”Forget the script!” he says, “Fuck the script! Fuck the script! Go in there and throw in all the accents wherever, and when you get to the song — “ “…the…song?” “yeah — oh, they crossed it out, yeah, well, you can see the words, just make up a melody!”

I go back in, a somnambulist.  I try, with conviction, to do what he says. I feel more idiotic than I’d ever felt in my life.  They thank me, they hate me, I hate them, we smile, I leave, wanting only to scrub the rotten egg off of me.  The show never got anywhere.  But from that day on, I Understood, viscerally and experientially, the dysfunctional idiocy that can reign supreme in television.

I auditioned for The West Wing twice — it was a favorite show of mine, and both times I was very edgy, and so excited. The first time was a pretty exquisite audition experience.  Ken Olin was directing and he was so gracious, so smart, so very, very nurturing. Loved it, left it feeling proud to be an actor.  Wow.

A year later, I get a call at nearly eight o’clock the night before, for an audition early the next morning.  The role is huge, and beyond fabulous; she is a sort of pleasantly disheveled poet laureate, and I am madly in love with it, ah, yes, dangerously in love with it.

The next morning, having spent the whole night perfecting, choosing clothes, hair, you name it — I am…wait,  – completely alone in the hallway lined with chairs. …Huh? No one else is auditioning for this?  Did someone get fired? But, wait, why me? Did they like me that much last time?  What’s happening?  It’s thrilling, it’s weird, it’s confusing. Red alert.  Houston, we’ve got a problem.

I walk in and, sure enough, I get the silent, but potent hit in the gut.  Three people — one writer, one casting director, and one Aaron Sorkin.  Something’s up, and though I can’t place what or why, I just know this is a crock of some kind, though I automatically pretended not to, because what would one say, “What’s…going on? Something’s going on, right?”  No, so — I’m acting as if everything’s…just fine.  And then I start acting.

The casting director was looking really guilty, sympathetic and apologetic, I could see it in his face, though who the hell knew what to make of it.  Aaron Sorkin was reading with me; an executive TV producer/writer reading with the actor?! What?!  A never-before, never-since event.  And a thoroughly deflating one; he never, and I mean never, not once, not even for a glance, looked up at me.  He read one scene, at breakneck speed; there were three scenes, the others wouldn’t get read, obviously, and he left no air at all for playing any of the moments, and the performance and character I’d worked on all night and all morning evaporated, just evaporated.  It had all meant nothing.  I left, sad, confused, embarrassed as hell, and you bet, pretty heartbroken.  But laughing.  That’s my thing.  “Suckerpunched again.” Intellectually, of course, I was absolutely certain it wasn’t about me, but yet, I’d just been so humiliated, lifted so high, dropped so hard, so it haunted me for weeks.

Well, I watched the episode, a few weeks later, and Laura Dern was playing the role (and she was swell, as usual).  Who knows, they’d probably just closed the deal with her when I walked in, but maybe thought they couldn’t the night before.  Who knows.  No one.  And this is true of the lion’s share of these things: your agent won’t know, no one will know, there will be no explanation.  See number 1, 2, 4, 5 and 6.

Then there are the roles that come out of the blue: my agent sent a tape to Mad About You for a strong recurring role (while I was a regular on another show, mind you), told them they had to cast me from the tape and that I wouldn’t audition?! — (sadly, he left the agency and went into real estate) — and, well, they did! Huh?! Years later, I auditioned for Redeye, so completely annoyed to be wasting my time going because I knew that no one would ever cast me as a stewardess, for God’s sake, and so I didn’t prepare, didn’t do my hair, didn’t care, and got the part.  No, I repeat, no — I would never in a million years recommend that as a habit; that’s what’s known as fate, or fluke.  Point is, there ain’t no explaining some things.

Maybe the toughest thing to accept, and to have to keep on accepting every time something happens that makes no sense, which is really quite often in this business, goes back to number 1: it’s a mad world where there are really no rules and often no sense or much justice.

I have found, upon horrible and wonderful, long and winding adventure, that no matter what I bring to the audition table preparation-wise, presence-wise, power-wise — the chemistry of the room, the collective, is what determines a fabulous audition or an I-hate-this-business audition or all the auditions in between.  The fact is that the audition is a team sport, not a solo show.  I may, as I’m auditioning, have the most focus in the room for the moment, but the least amount of control.  And, of course, having a great audition just isn’t, alas, necessarily about getting the job.  My measurement of a good audition is if I can leave feeling a little bit appreciated for what it is that I do well, having just done it well.

I like to think of my work as a music trainer with a monthly plan to get your ears in the best shape possible.

I am setting up a regimen for what you should be listening to each month.

You could even look at me as your music doctor.

This month, I’m prescribing soulful R&B, Alternative Country Folk, Trip Hop and some Dance/Electronica.

Our next appointment is in a month……

MY-POD: THE SOUNDTRACK

MASSIVE ATTACK: Electro-ancestors and Trip hop forefathers

Massive Attack, the collective known for pioneering a unique style of sound, a genre (and a legion of copy cats) returns with ‘Heligoland.’

As with Sade, Massive attack has also only released a handful of recordings in its 20 year career, the latest installment being their 5^th.

‘Heligoland’ (named after a German archipelago in the North Sea) clocks in at just under an hour.

And in true Massive Attack fashion, it boasts an impressive roster of innovative collaborations.

Tunde Adembimpe of TV on the Radio kicks the album off with ‘Pray for Rain’ a haunting funhouse of spook and ethereal production.

Martina Topley Bird follows “hallucinating, chasing, changing and racing” through the industrial groove ‘Babel.’

‘Paradise Circus’ is a seductive incantation cast by a spellbinding Mazzy Star front woman Hope Sandoval.

And ‘Girl I Love You’ is a hypnotic reggae dub trance.

But it’s the eerie trip through ‘Saturday Come Slow’ with Blur’s Damon Albarn (backed by Portishead guitarist Adrian Utley) that cements the hour’s haunting mood.

“Do you love me?” Albarn pines endlessly, with a brooding desperation to summon every little piece of your withholding heart.

SADE:  Soldier of Love, Veteran of music

Sade is a rare breed of artist, one who has been able to endure in the Music Industry for some 25 years.  Despite her notorious disdain for promotional tours/ the press, she continues to sustain an audience without the gimmickry and slick media packaging that most of her peers have come to rely on.

Sade always relies on the music. And the source, her muse: Love.

‘Soldier of Love,’ the follow up to 2000’s ‘Lover’s Rock,’ is a solid collection of reggae groove redemption tunes. These songs are, of course, sensual though laden with a deep sense of heartbreak and loneliness; not the recording you expect from the artist widely associated with being the universal soundtrack for lovemaking.

Marking the sixth studio recording with her band, Sade takes on a darker side of love: the life after the demise of love. Love IS a battlefield. And Sade is your samurai princess.

‘The Moon and The Sky’, the album’s opener, is a eulogy for the end of a relationship, with the possibility of what could have been lingering on. ‘Soldier of Love,’ the title track and first single off the album finds Sade, the warrior, picking up the pieces and “still looking for the light.”

‘Babyfather’ is a heart-felt dedication to the apple of daddy’s eye, a love that comes with a “lifetime guarantee.”

By the time ‘Long Hard Road’ appears, Sade the samurai princess rocks herself to stillness with the sage wisdom to persevere.

She’s her own Buddha on the mountain top, or the female incarnation of Bob Marley, and she’s telling herself that every little thing is going to be all right.

By album’s end, Sade is likening memory of the way Michael Jackson’s songs used to linger everywhere. She is ready for the spiritual shower, to peel you away and wash you from her ‘skin.’

It is the trademark sensual, slow burn kiss-off that you have been tuning in for all along.

And as always, Sade doesn’t disappoint.

HOT CHIP: Dance-hall days with the Dungeon and Dragon dorks

From the beginning of Hot Chip’s electrifying fourth studio LP, ‘One Life Stand’, a series of chords played on an organ slowly steals your attention, taking you away to a galaxy of synthesizers, drum beats and  surprising harmonies. You are even discretely warned about delineating needs from wants as you fall prey to the sounds of Hot Chip.

And just as you are about to write it off as mere dance-pop trifle, you hear lead singer Alexis Taylor calling to you, saying “Happiness is what we all want! May it be that we don’t always want!”

For the next 49 minutes, Hot Chip ARE the thieves they warn you about-yearning about their desires, creeping up into your stereo speakers and taking over the movie in your mind.

Spending the last decade creating emotional dance electronica has been Hot Chip’s mission and ‘One Life Stand’ continues that legacy.

The title track finds lead singer Alexis Taylor on a soulful inquisition desiring a lifelong unconditional love.

‘We have love’ is an electronic after-thought to Donna Summer ‘I feel Love,’ and ‘Brothers’ is a sweet ode to those devoted, protective siblings.

Best of all is ‘Take it in’, with the boys in signature harmony, driven by pulsating stereo phonics and crooning “my heart has flown to you just like a dove. It can fly, it can fly!”

BZZZZZZ: Sleeper hit

WATSON TWINS

Identical twin sisters by day and burgeoning Alt/Country folk act by night, Chandra and Leigh Watson’s, better known as The Watson Twins, latest album might be their most personal.

Titled ‘Talking To You, Talking To Me’ the 12 song set features solid musicianship from the sister act, and even some new, unexpected sounds.

This is their 4^TH album, one with more of the Indie Pop feeling, and includes some of the riskier instrumentation the girls are playing with.

‘Harpeth River’ will “wash over you,” recalling the unique sounds of artists such as Tricky or the Sneaker Pimps. Even ‘Calling Out’ some might mistake for a lush Carole King cover.

‘Forever Me’ is a private moment and second look at the vows you take together.

And ‘Midnight’, a whiskey bar witching hour torch song during last call.

Later along the way, the girls play with more styles, namely blending Blues and Rock with Pop, to great effect:

‘Devil in You’ the first single off the album is a blues rock jam, with sultry vocals and a  rollicking killer hook.

Best of all is the stellar ‘U-N-Me’ an ultimate raw pained love rock ballad , driven by Linda Perry-esque vocal stylings backed by a lush, angelic harmony that will surprises you most.

YOU TUBE: Under The Covers

The Eels “I Could Never take the Place of Your Man”

Eels perform a majestic rendition of the beloved Prince single.

Front man Mark Oliver Everett channels some surprisingly rugged, Springsteen-esque vocals.

This features a string quartet and an audience of random kooky fans that even Central Casting couldn’t create.

Temper Trap “Dancing In the Dark”

Speaking of The Boss…  It’s those Aussie rockers du jour Temper Trap giving a soulful, variation look at what may possibly be the most covered tune in Springsteen’s collection.

Their rustic folk sound fits the song nicely: Earthy. Light. Infectious.

Radiohead “Union City Blue”

Thom Yorke and Company’s version of a much covered and coveted Blondie original. And Radiohead can do no wrong.

Jason Mraz “Peg”

The Pop star’s jazzified voice and high range are showcased to perfection on the Steely Dan classic. Playing up those hard to reach Steely Dan notes, Mraz rocks his higher register with an air of complete ease and some real impressive guitar strumming swagger.

I come from a long line of list-makers.

I’m a list-maker, my mother is a list-maker, my grandmother and great-grandmother were list-makers… (we’re also a bunch of do-gooders, get-‘er-done-ers and eyebrow-cocking-know-it-alls, but that’s another post entirely.)

The nice thing about making a list is that I get the to-do chatter out of my head and on to a piece of paper.  But there’s no way to prioritize.  There’s no indication of how important anything is relative to anything else, how much time each task might take, and there’s no good way to determine the order in which I ought to attack the list.

And when one is an artist/entrepreneur like you and me, one usually has a bunch of pretty big projects going on at once, and so looking at that long, undifferentiated list of apparently urgent and/or important actions makes me feel tired.  Also overwhelmed and overworked – even before I’ve actually done anything.

“You Should Just Focus On One Thing” = Hooey

And I know there’s some conventional wisdom out there that says You Should Just Focus On One Thing.  I say: Hooey.  People who like to focus on one thing should focus on one thing, and those of us who like to have lots of things going on should have lots of things going on.  (Although I notice that “lots” like 3-5 projects rather than “lots” like 8-12 projects is often the better part of valor.)

Running Your Career From Your Heart

The ability to correctly prioritize your list can mean the difference between sending out another pointless mass mailing and creating a targeted campaign that yields real results.  It can mean the difference between the frustration of blindly submitting yourself for whatever projects show up on your favorite actor website and cultivating the relationships that can get you offers.  A good to-do list factors in time, budget, potential return on investment and most importantly, the truth about you.  Running your career from your heart is the only way out of the brambles of “should-do” and into the clear sunshine of “love-to-do.”

In short: a good to-do list can mean the difference between life as a frustrated, struggling artist and life as a happy, smiling, thriving artist.

A Freebie For You

Here is the story about a way to make lists that is both practical and heart-centered, and the positive effect this system has had on my life, and subsequently, on the lives of my clients.  (If you’d like the audio version of this story, plus some additional worksheets devised just for creative people like you, please join my mailing list and select the “Best-Life, Highest-Income Producing Decision-Making Audio and Worksheets” as your complimentary bonus gift.)

Vanity And Christmas Cards

One year, just before Christmas, I found myself with an extremely long to-do list (you know how the holidays are) and I was feeling that exhausted-before-I-even-begin feeling.

The number one item on my list was “Make and Send Christmas Cards” which was something I had proudly done for years.  Everybody I knew got a Christmas card with a personal hand-written note – always.  I loved the tradition of it, I loved letting people know that I was thinking of them and I loved the little feeling of superiority that I felt sneak up on me when I thought about how much time and care I always took at this busy time of year.  I’ll note that this superiority-thing is not my favorite thing about myself, but it’s important to realize how big a motivator one’s vanity can be.  And I was quite vain about my Christmas Cards.

Adding to the pressure was this:  that year I had gotten divorced.  So not only had I moved and changed address, but there were a number of people I felt I might “lose” in the divorce if I didn’t reach out to them.  Finally, I felt it was important to reassure people that even though I was no longer married to the man I had been with for nearly 15 years, I was still “me” and I could still be counted on to do all the things I had always done.  Even though I wasn’t entirely sure that was true.

And Christmas Cards were just one of the complicated things on my long, long, loooooong list of things that had to be done before December 25th.  Clearly, I needed to prioritize.

How To Prioritize The List

So I took a sheet of paper and with a big blue marker I made four columns with grid lines going across.  The first column I labeled “ITEM/TASK,” and under that heading I listed all the bits and pieces of things I felt I needed to do.  Every last little one I could think of.  The first one was “Christmas Cards” and the rest of the list filled two pages.

The next column I labeled “TIME,” so next to each item I estimated how much time each task might take.  “Call my sister” was 10 minutes.  “Finish baby gift” was about an hour.  “Pay bills” got 45 minutes.  If I didn’t know how long something might take, I just made a wild guess or I put a “?” next to it and moved on.  After all, this is just a worksheet, not a government form.  Perfection is not necessary here.

“Christmas Cards” got 12.5 hours.  Which seems impossible, I know, but I figured out that if I sent 150 cards and each card took five minutes to write a note, address, stamp and send, then that was 750 minutes, or, 12.5 hours.  And that was assuming that I only sent 150 cards.

The third column I labeled “EXPENSE,” and there I listed how much money, if any, was required to complete the item.  “Call my sister” got zero, since we’re on the same cell phone plan.  “Finish baby gift” was also a zero, because I’d already bought the supplies.  “Pay bills” got $1200, because as far as I could remember, that was about what was due.  “Christmas Cards” got…$130.  That’s 150 stamps at 33 cents each (this was some years ago) equals $49.50 and the cards themselves would probably cost $80 or so.  Most nice boxed holiday cards run about a dollar or so apiece, but I had a great little discount store near my house that sold beautiful cards for roughly half-price.  Now $130 isn’t a fortune, but at the time it represented a significant investment for me.

The final column I labeled “INCLINATION.”  That column wasn’t for facts like time or money: it was for feeling.  On a scale of 1-10, how much did I really feel like doing the project?  It was the gut-check that I often forgot to do.  And when I neglected that gut-check, I ended up with my plate piled high with obligations to other people that left me tired, stressed out and with very little time for the things in my life that were important to me.

So “Call my sister” got a 9 – I love talking to her.  “Finish baby gift” got a 7 – the little sock monkey I was making was really darling and I was excited to finish it.  “Pay bills” got a 10 – I’ve actually never minded paying bills, even when I’ve been broke, and I’d much rather get in there and know that they’re done and taken care of than have them floating around, possibly gathering late fees and causing trouble.  (I told you I was a get-‘er-done-r.)

“Christmas Cards.”  I took a deep breath.  How much did I really want to send cards?  Setting aside my guilt, my fear that I would lose friends, my concern that I would lose my standing as a “good girl,” my sense of tradition, my ever-lovin’ vanity…how much did I want to do it?

Zero.

That’s right – I had absolutely no inclination at all to send even one card.

And then, in what was possibly the single most radical act of my adult life, I crossed “Christmas Cards” off the list.

My little worksheet helped me determine that not only was sending cards time-consuming and pricey, I just plain didn’t want to.  So I crossed it off my list.  I felt strange and liberated and free and a bit like a “bad girl” and it made me laugh.  After all, any friends that I might lose because of a silly Christmas Card probably weren’t friends worth keeping anyway.  I had gotten the mandate from my deep inner self and it said, “NO CARDS, BABY”

But, Wait…

One final word about that Christmas season:  Eventually, I started to feel some twinges about a few of the people that I really did want to send cards to… my favorite aunt, a girlhood friend, an old neighbor of mine.  But I was so enraptured by my “No Christmas Cards” policy that I dared not break it.  See, I know me – I’d go to the store to buy just those few cards and my resolve would crumble and I’d end up doing the whole damn thing after all.  So six weeks later, I handmade some lovely Valentine’s Day cards and sent them off.  Why?  Because it wasn’t expensive, it was only a little time-consuming, and I really, really wanted to do it.

(I tell this story in my Get It Done Workshop, and last year one of my clients, a mid-twenties actress with a staunch spirit, got inspired and sent some heartfelt Valentine’s cards to some of the teachers, casting directors and producers she had come to know.  I believe she got three separate phone calls, thanking her.   Do you think those people will ever forget her now?  Nope.  Now that’s good marketing – straight from the heart.)

Good Prioritization Helps You Be The Person You Hope To Become – And Can Earn You A Thousand Dollars

In time, I added one more column to my list: “ROI” which stands for “Return On Investment.”  That’s a way of determining (and again, I just guess on a scale of 1-10) what, or how much, I might get back from completing that item.

For example, few months ago I had a to-do item that had been hanging around my desk for a few weeks – it was silly, really – I had found a product in a catalogue that I thought a client of mine might like.  I had thought that I would just slip the clipping in an envelope with a quick note, but I just hadn’t gotten around to it.

When I worked the list, it came up like this:

Wait.

So… this was something I really wanted to do, that I thought would really pay off in the future, that cost almost no time and no money.  Duh.  I did it right that second, got it in the mail that day and she called me three days later to book me for another ten sessions.  That little “to-do” item netted me over a thousand dollars, but more than that, it helped me be the person I want to be – the kind of person who sends thoughtful little notes to clients that I like.

Again – marketing straight from the heart.

This worksheet is not something I use every day, but I do use it when my list feels long, unwieldy and confusing.

Whenever I use it I discover something new, and I find it helps me remember why some things are important and some things, darling, just aren’t.

Samantha Bennett
The Organized Artist Company

THE “FEELING OVERWHELMED” PRIORITIZATION WORKSHEET

First, list everything on your “Could-Do” list under “Items/Tasks.” Any order is fine. Then, next to each item note approximately how much time you estimate the task will take (over-estimate by at least 10%), how much money completing this item will take (if any), your estimated Return On Investment (make a guess about how much you might benefit in the future from completing this task and score it on a scale from 1 -10) and then, finally, do a “gut check” and rank your level of inclination (how much do you really want to do this task right now?)

Use this information to prioritize, eliminate meaningless “shadow goals” and keep yourself on track.

Evangeline Lilly – Lost

Claire: Ohhh, I love the discourse between her and JJ Abrams at the top of the tape. Just that little bit, watching two people so invested in bringing the work to life, really inspires me. I take audition workshops with Jack Plotnick and students often ask about ‘miming’ in auditions. He always suggests students ask if they are inclined to do the physical action of the scene for themselves or for the audience. If it’s for you – ie, to help you feel grounded in the reality of the scene – he tells students to go for it. If it’s to help the audience ’see’ the scene, then it’s probably better off without. I think this audition (and Matthew Fox’s below) are a great opportunity to see actors taking on just enough of the physical life in the scene to make the circumstances real for themselves. Consequently, watching it, I feel the scene instead of ’seeing’ it.

Sarah: I was also totally taken by the conversation at the top of the tape.  How great to get such actable direction.  I also appreciated how simple and straightforward her performance was.  I felt she really trusted herself and didn’t push at all.  And I appreciated her arms.  Seriously.  I have to go do some push-ups.

Matthew Fox – Lost

Claire: The Jack clip is so simple and immediate. My heart started beating faster as he got to the climax of the story. And the reader in these auditions (it sounds like the same woman, no?) does a great job.

Sarah:  How cool to see him audition for both roles!  What I find really interesting, is that he just works as Jack in a way that he doesn’t in the Sawyer audition.  I certainly think we can all play a variety of roles, but there is something magical that happens when our own essence corresponds with that of the character.  He clearly does a good job with both roles, but there is just something sweet and open in Matthew Fox’s demeanor that makes the second role sing.

Rachel McAdams – The Notebook

Claire: When I first stumbled upon this, I had the sound turned off on my computer. Watching the first moments, I thought it must be footage of her talking to the director since her behavior seemed so spontaneous! By framing this with actual footage from the movie, the poster of this video reminded me how the shot scene and the audition tape are two totally different animals. I thought, Oh, audition = moments of life, scene = edited moments of story…I don’t know exactly where I’m going with this, but something along the lines of how it’s important not to edit the scene, in one’s acting, during the audition…

Sarah: OK, Claire’s gone all high-brow on me since we discussed this, so I’m just going to say it – I want Rachel McAdams to teach me how to put on eye shadow.  Oh yes, and I would like Ryan Gosling to be my reader at all my auditions.  I really think that would help me.

Russel Brand – Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Claire: I have had many a cd, agent, etc. tell me not to spend my time worrying about my hair and eyeliner for auditions. Mr. Brand knew better than to take this advice. Of course, a fantastic example of an improv audition, of pursuing an objective, etc. But I think my favorite moment was the look I interpreted as ‘Christ-this-is-what-i-have-to-do-get-a-part’ that he shot the auditors on his way out. In this interview Forgetting Sarah Marshall director Jason Segal discusses how he changed his perception of the part after Brand’s audition.

Sarah: This is the only one of the auditions that is my first introduction to an actor, as I never saw Forgetting Sarah Marshall or anything else that Russel Brand has been in. And what an introduction!  I love how he just listens without smiling while they describe what they want to him, comes completely alive throughout the scene, and then drops back to neutral at the end.  You don’t get the feeling that he’s trying to please anyone.  I think this is an example of an actor making it impossible for the director not to cast him.  Now I’m going to have to watch the movie.

Natalie Portman – The Professional

Claire: Look at how relaxed she is going down to the script and picking up her lines when she needs to. Totally in the scene, not judging herself for ‘forgetting.’

Sarah: “Dogs, all my life.”  Could there be a better reading of that line?  Lots going on behind those big pretty eyes.

Hugh Laurie – House

Claire: I have no idea if this is true, but I heard that Laurie auditioned for this (sending in a tape from location on a movie he was shooting) pretty late in the game. When casting saw the tape, they were thrilled that someone played the scene instead of the qualities of ‘evil’ Dr. House.

Sarah:  I’m a huge fan of Harold Guskin’s book, How to Stop Acting, and I have no idea if Hugh Laurie ever worked with Harold, but this audition seems like a perfect example of Howard’s audition technique.  He looks down, gets his line, looks up and delivers it in a way that feels totally fresh and spontaneous.  Then he looks down and starts the process over again.  He has clearly done his homework and made strong choices, but the script is there for him when he needs it.  That reminds us watching that this is an audition and not a finished performance, an important distinction.

Why do you think these auditions were successful? Do you have any others to add to the list? Leave your thoughts and links below.

Allison (not her real name) just explained to me how it came that she was dropped by her agent. After five years of representation, two of which were spent as a series regular on a network television show, her manager gave her the bad news. It came as does most bad news in this industry: as a fleeting aside while the real world, and its real rules, keep turning.

At a certain point in an actor’s career, one moves past the anxious, desperate question of “How can I find an agent?” to the new-found paranoia of “How can I keep my agent from dropping me?” This feeling, much like a heartbeat, thumps harder after a blown callback or, worse, weeks on end without an audition. But, in the experience of being dropped lies the greatest lesson of all in this business. Ready for it?

Be a human being.

Why is this business of ours a dirty business? It’s not the cliché of casting couch sessions that make some of us feel the need to take a Silkwood shower after a day of auditioning. It’s the subtext that runs through every “business” interaction we as actors have. You are a property, a stock on the Dow; your worth is determined in an ever-changing market. Many of the people who are judging your “acting” are not doing anything of the kind. Instead, they are judging your “type” or your “look” and your “naturalism” and placing a value on it. Even if they are convinced that they know what they are talking about, you have to remember (politely, please) that you know more about acting than most of the people you are dealing with on a day-to-day basis. Some of them will admit this, some of them will not.

This includes your agent, whose only notion of your ability and success as an actor is determined by the commissions he or she takes. Which translates to are you booking jobs, which comes full circle to whether or not you are meeting the current “tastes” of the industry.

One aspect of the “be a human being theory” is realizing that there are things outside of your control that you cannot do a thing about. Being dropped is one of those things. Instead, look back to those moments where you did have control and chose not to exercise it. You do have control in signing with an agent. You do have control of accepting or rejecting the material you go out for. Some of the most successful actors I know have declined auditions for material they didn’t care for and it has served them very well over time. Believe it or not, there are small parts, and it’s the better actors who decline them.

With my first agent, who later dropped me, our signing was the equivalent of a whirlwind tete-a-tete—the girl you bring home from a bar, sleep with, fall in love with at breakfast and have your heart broken by before lunch. In hindsight, was it really love? Was this the stuff of a relationship? No, it was two people getting what they needed, one getting fooled by the other, and me landing hard at the end.

Sure, I could have refused to sign with this agent, but I like doing things like auditioning during pilot season. I could, however, have had my antennae up a bit higher. I could have called them if I had concerns and spoken about them, like I would with other humans in my life. I could have done things to cement the relationship in some actuality (getting feedback, maintaining contact), and if I wasn’t met halfway, I would certainly have been more prepared for the dumping I was about to undergo. The point is, as is so often the case, the problem started well before it turned bad with the agency. The problem was there all along.

Now, I take a different tack with my agent. The other day, I was sent on a third call (2nd callback) for a commercial audition. I got a phone call at 3, saying get to Santa Monica ASAP. I was at my day job in Downtown LA. I left work, changed my shirt, and drove across town.  As I pulled into my parking space about an hour later I got a phone call. The audition was cancelled.

I was livid. Can casting do this? I just wasted my time, the time of those in my office, got myself all psyched up and now—cancelled? Earlier in my career I could have swallowed this whole, a bitter pill bound to pop up later. This time, I called my agent, told them exactly how I felt about the experience, and asked them to relay that to the casting director. When my agent did, I received an amazing response. Heartfelt apologies, huge kudos on my audition, a promise to bring me in for many more auditions, and an explanation about what had happened (the client wanted someone of a different race). There was nothing I could do, but I reacted like a human being, and lo and behold, I was treated like one. Also, I’ve had more auditions this past month than I have in a very long time.

I can’t advise you how not to get dropped by your agent anymore that I can tell you how to book a role, or have a huge film career. No one can. That’s the point. There’s no magic wand anyone can wave. There is, however, knowledge and empowerment. If you deal with everyone in this business like you would other human beings in your day-to-day life; if you try to discern who actually cares about you the person, not you the product; if you put the same values of compassion and integrity onto the people you audition for and meet with, then you actually have a chance at survival.

That’s the point of this blog, and it’s the point of any advice, if you can call it that, I would ever give to an actor.

Be a human being.

You can purchase Jason’s book, Acting is a Job: Real Life Lessons about the Acting Business, in the Minerva Shop. Broadway producer Roger Berlind calls the book “an indispensable guide to the business of acting. Pugatch pulls no punches in describing what it takes to succeed in this difficult, demanding profession. His book is a blast of reality for starry-eyed novices and seasoned pros alike.”

I was in a waiting room the other day and noticed a woman, seemingly mid- thirties, speaking with a man who looked about fifty.  In her hand was a book, titled, in big letters, “Having the RIGHT AGENT can mean the DIFFERENCE between SUCCESS and FAILURE as an actor.” I overheard the woman nervously ask the man how she should contact agencies.  She wondered what to tell them, if she should come in “in character,” and most importantly, what she should wear.  The man, surprised and flattered to be considered an authority, stammered to give her satisfaction.  Finally, after her fifth or sixth expectant question, he managed to comfort her with a very gentle “just be yourself.”

After I left the audition the title of the woman’s book stuck in my head, and I thought about what success and failure have meant for me, and how I’ve experienced them both- from winning awards to missing rent payments- sometimes in the same day.  That this book claimed to use these ciphers as some sort of yardstick seemed ridiculous.  Even more ridiculous was that this book claimed that the answer for the actor was something over which the actor had little control.  I wanted to go back to the room, rip her book in half, point at her heart and tell her that the only success or failure she will ever find is in there.  That her book was sucking her dry of her individuality and personal agency, keeping her a slave to forces she could never control, and would destroy her ability to be anything more than a meat puppet parroting back whatever she’s told.

As this seemed a bit intense for a commercial waiting room, I kept walking to my car.

Defining success is not easy, and we all want answers.  I still search fervently for answers to many things, often, like the woman, at the expense of what it is I hope to find.

Fortunately, my definition of success is not one of them.

I’ve found that creating my own definition of success based on a personal mission statement has been the key for checking my ego when times are good and lifting my spirits when times are bad, keeping me on a steady course no matter what chaos is happening around me.  By using my work as an actor to serve a mission larger than myself I’m able to make stronger artistic choices, lose myself in the moment, and keep my ego out of the scene.

Because it’s not about me anymore, I am free to do better work, becoming more attractive to the agents, directors, and casting directors whose decisions I rely on to continue my career.  And because I know why I do this work, material success can come and go freely without knocking me sideways.

I began in Chicago, where hundreds of small non-profit theater companies produce constantly in every storefront, community center, and church in the city.  A big source of pride for me is that I was able to be a part of the incredible community of artists that work in every nook and cranny of the city.  In this community being a successful actor isn’t about how much money you make, it’s about whether or not you’re doing interesting work that is valued by your peers.

These non-profit companies operate around a mission statement.  A good mission statement is driven by action, and defines what success looks like for each organization.  If a non-profit’s mission is to provide coats for homeless people, then as long as the non-profit provides the coats they are a success, no matter what their bottom line.  And many non-profits actually do make money, which is then distributed back into the organization to help further their mission.

I could write an entire essay on why I believe the non-profit corporate structure is the only way to save the soul of American capitalism.  A traditional corporation is run by a board, which represents the interests of its investors.  These investors have one mission: profit.  If anything (including common sense) interferes with the ability of the corporation to make a profit it is thrown out of the 32^nd floor boardroom window.  Their definition of success is singular, even if a company lowers a people’s quality of life or destroys the environment, as long as it posts profit it is “succeeding.”

This profit-driven model more closely resembles the accepted definition of success I’ve seen here in Los Angeles.  It doesn’t seem to matter what the actual substance of the work is, as long as an actor is paid, the job is a winning situation.  And there’s nothing wrong with that- I left Chicago to come here because LA seems to be the only city where actors can make much more than a decent living.  But in my first year here I found that without something concrete to stick to it was easy to get lost in this city, chasing opportunities not because I wanted them but simply because they felt attainable.

I needed something to help guide my actions that would let me continue to be diverse in my work opportunities but singular in my focus.

I remembered my time in Chicago, where I worked closely with several non-profit theater companies as they developed new mission statements. It occurred to me that a mission statement was a very powerful tool to adapt now that I was an actor in a city with hundreds of people who look exactly like me.

In creating a mission statement a non-profit not only sets out what its version of success looks like, it is able to clearly and specifically express what it is they do to both their employees and their benefactors.

A strong mission statement gives these organizations backbone.  And perhaps more importantly, it carves out a place for them in the cultural marketplace, identifying their brand to potential customers and setting them apart in a sea of competitors.

I took the lessons I had learned during many hours of meetings and applied them to crafting personal mission statements for artists.

The two most important aspects to any mission statement are:

1. The mission must be phrased as an action.  “My mission is to do something.”  It is not a list of ideals nor a list of desired achievements.
2. The mission must be something you already do naturally, so that you can wear it comfortably every day.  If you pick a mission statement that is foreign to you, you’ll simply have to work that much harder to fulfill it.  Your mission should provide clarity and ease, not another chore for your to-do list.

This is the exercise that I did:

1)    I wrote down a list of every part I had ever played, and next to it listed each character’s central action.  It was very important that I wrote actively, keeping the character alive and in motion.

2)    I looked at this list of actions, and picked the two most significant characters and the two most opposite characters.  For me the two most significant were Warren from This Is Our Youth (central action- to find someone who cares about him) and Jonathan from In Memoriam (central action- to find out how to make a genuine human connection).  The two most opposite were Gary from Cadillac (central action- to protect what is rightfully his) and Todd from The Intelligent Design of Jenny Chow (central action- to learn how to fit into the world).

I paired the actions accordingly to make two lists:

- to find someone who cares about me.

- to find out how to make a genuine human connection.

And,

- to protect what is rightfully mine.

- to learn how to fit into the world.

1)    For each pair, I came up with a sentence that described them both through a statement of what I wanted.

For the first pair I came up with a few before I settled on something- I want love, I want to feel cared for, I want a fresh start, and I want to not be alone.

I did the same with the second pair- I want a secure place in the world, I want to know where I stand, I want boundaries, I want to get what I deserve.

2)    For the last step, I took one “want” each from the lists, and found a new central action that encapsulated those wants.  So say I picked “I want to feel cared for” and “I want to know where I stand.”  My personal mission might read something like, “Ian Forester’s mission is to nurture personal connection in order to achieve a respectable and recognizable place in the world around him.”

Why didn’t I write, “Ian Forester’s mission is to find someone who cares for him and will let him know where he stands”?

While this statement bears a lot of truth (and would be helpful in a scene or audition), it’s the same as that awful book title, only in this case, the RIGHT AGENT who will make all my dreams come true is replaced by the elusive “someone.”

It’s very important in this last step that your mission statement stays strong, active, and is not dependent on anyone but yourself for success.  I can’t control whether “someone” will care for me and let me know where I stand.  I can, however, actively nurture personal connection among others and between others and myself, and through this allow myself to achieve standing in a community.

If you rely on someone else for success you give up your own agency and become co-dependent.  And while co-dependency can lead to incredible performances on stage, it is usually unnervingly heartbreaking and destructive in the wider world.

Maybe you don’t have enough credits to do this with the roles you’ve played, or you haven’t yet felt any personal connection to the parts you’ve been able to land.  If that’s the case, rather than making a list of characters and their central actions make a list of everything you do in a given day- from holding a door for someone to screaming at a stranger to move faster through a crosswalk to buying groceries to insulting your lover- and use this as your action list.  It’s important to incorporate everything you are as a person, even the parts you’re not proud of, because that’s where your individual power lies as an actor.

And if you try it one day and what you end up with doesn’t feel like a fit, try it tomorrow.  Try it with a list of everything anyone has ever said about you.  Hell, try it with a list of what’s in your purse or glove compartment.  What’s important is that you start from something truthful and personal that encompasses as much of your experience as possible.  Eventually you’ll find a fit.

Once I had a mission statement that felt right, I started using it as a dowsing rod when looking through the breakdowns.  I read the character descriptions to see which characters lined up with my mission.  Small businesses do this all the time when evaluating opportunities.  Certain choices are within the bounds and scope of the business, certain others are not.  Now that I had a brand that was more specific than the category of “late 20’s, Caucasian, male,” I could more easily pick and choose projects that would line up with what I already had to offer, rather than trying to change my product to fit each new opportunity.

Another advantage of building my brand around a personal mission statement as opposed to a category is that I can carry that mission through every decade of my life, thereby building a consistent and sustainable brand that is as recognizable in my late twenties as it is in my early fifties.  And because I’m building this brand from a strong sense of personal mission I’m making choices about my career that I’ll be able to live with the rest of my life, no matter what the outcome.

And living with your choices is what real success looks like.

Despite the almost year-round sunshine in Southern California, Angelinos can experience a little seasonal depression after spending so much time in our cars.  Los Angeles may be the most car-populated city in the world, but just a 10 to 20 minute drive can get you to a outdoor haven that will make you fall in love with La-La Land all over again.  Here are some great places where you can hike, run, or relax in the great outdoors- right here, in LA County.

Griffith Park Hiking Trails

There are many places to run and hike in Griffith Park, but my favorite, and a great way to show the city to out-of-towners, is to start at Fern Dell and hike up to the Griffith Observatory.  This is a great place to stop for some water and photo opportunities.  At the Observatory, continue onto the Mt. Hollywood Trail, which will take you about a mile further up for some great views of the city.  On a clear day, you can see straight to the ocean.  Come back down the same way you came up.  When you get back to Fern Dell, stop for lunch at The Trails Café.  This is a dog-friendly trail.  Directions: Griffith Park Los Angeles, CA 90068.  From Los Feliz Blvd., drive up Fern Dell until you see the Playground area on your right (The Trails Café is on the left).  The trailhead begins just past the playground.

Sam Merrill Trail to Echo Mountain

This mostly single-track trail in Altadena is full of switch-backs and inclines.  Some might describe it as rigorous, but reaching the top is worth your effort.  At Echo Mountain (3200 ft) is an historical site where you can find ruins of an old hotel and dance hall that were part of a resort established there when Eagle Rock was nothing but orange groves. This is a great spot to stop for a snack before you head back down. This trial also boasts beautiful views of Los Angeles and the San Gabriel Valley (the photo below was taken on a cold, cloudy day).  Plan to spend 2-3 hours, and watch out for mountain bikers. Some history of this area can be found here. Directions: E Loma Alta Dr Altadena, CA 91001.  From the 210, exit Lake Ave.  Drive north up Lake to Loma Alta Dr.  Parking on the right.

Lower Arroyo Seco Trails

This network of trails starts off as a residential street that borders Jet Propulsion Lab but quickly turns into a lush oasis with bridges, running water, and the perfect mix of shade and sunshine.  On weekends, you can often find a street vendor selling fresh fruit near the parking lot.  Directions:  From the 210, exit Arroyo and go north of Arroyo, less than 5 minutes.  See small parking lot on the left.  Run, walk, or ride north on paved road- JPL will be on your left, houses on your right.  Follow paved road about 1/4 mile until it turns into the main trail.  You can do a relatively flat out and back on the main trail, or get onto one of several smaller trails for a more challenging route.  This is a dog and bike-friendly trail.

Huntington Gardens

If you still haven’t seen this exquisite site in San Marino, run, don’t walk, to your car and drive there.  For most, the main attraction is the Botanical Gardens (see photo at top of post), where you will find an array of native plants, succulents, roses and camellias, and a Japanese Zen garden.  A walk though the gardens eventually leads you to the Huntington Library, which is one of the largest research libraries in the US.  The building and grounds are beautiful.  For architecture, art, or history enthusiasts, check out the Huntington Art Gallery, located in the historical home of Henry E. Huntington (1850–1927), an influential southern California businessman and art collector.  Plan to spend the day and have lunch at the Huntington café. Directions:  1151 Oxford Rd.  San Marino, CA  91108.

Pt. Magu and Big Sycamore Canyon

A great state park with beaches, camping, and on-site parking.  Big Sycamore Canyon Campground, which is part of the state park, is where you’ll find the trailhead of a network of paths through the Santa Monica Mountains.  Expect rolling hills and a lot of sunshine.  These trails can take you anywhere from 4 to 12+ miles.  For those interested in running the trails, a 20K that begins about ½ mile form the trialhead is held every December – this is a tough run!  Directions: 9000 W. Pacific Coast Highway,  Malibu, CA 90265

Cheeseboro Canyon

An out and back trail of up to 10 miles of rolling hills and a mix of sunshine and shade.  This is a popular mountain biking area, so watch out for cyclists.  Cheeseboro Canyon can get quite hot in the summer, so best to head out early. For runners, there is a fun and challenging half marathon every spring.  Directions:  From the 101 in Agoura Hills, exit Cheesebro and go north. Turn right stop sign and drive 3/4 mile and turn right into parking lot.

Hansen Dam Aquatic Center

An expansive city park with paddle boats, picnic sites, and a swimming “lake” that kids (and adults) would go nuts over.  Swimming facilities are open daily from mid-June through September.  Be aware that this facility can be very crowded on the weekends.   Directions: 1798 Foothill Blvd., Lake View Terrace, CA 91342.

Verdugo Park

This simple park offers everything you need for an easy, shady get-away: picnic tables, lush green grass, big trees, and a children’s playground.  Visit nearby Verdugo Skatepark to watch a little skateboarding, or even give it a go yourself if you’re not too rusty.  For cycling enthusiasts, check out the annual Turkey Trot Cyclocross Race held at Verdugo Park- FREE for observers!  Directions:  1621 Cañada Blvd., Glendale 91208.  Nearest Cross Street: Verdugo

Audubon Center at Debs Park

Founded as an environmental education center, this bird-watchers haven has a great network of trails for walking or running.  The park will host a 4-mile run on February 27, 2010.  Directions: From the 110, exit Avenue 52 and drive over the Arroyo.  Avenue 52 turns into Griffin Ave.  4700 North Griffin Los Angeles, CA 90031.   Open Tuesday through Saturday, 9 to 5.

Whether you are into running, hiking, biking, bird watching, sunbathing, or relaxing in the shade, Los Angeles has something to offer, almost in your backyard.  Don’t be afraid to leave your ‘hood- you just might experience a part of Los Angeles you didn’t know existed.

Marketing yourself as an actor can be a little tricky.  Many actors spend all of their time focusing on “me”.   What is my essence?  What roles am I right for?  How do others perceive me?

Well, a key element to successful marketing focuses on your target audience rather than on you.  By clearly defining who you’re speaking to when marketing, your message will become much more compelling and concise.

When I first began writing my book, I wanted to touch everyone who laid eyes on it.  I wanted my dad (who knows nothing about the business) to completely understand the business.  I wanted Clint Eastwood to learn something new.  I wanted everyone in between to gain insight, expertise and motivation from my book.

The trouble was that in trying to speak to the entire population of the world, my message became really watered down.  How can just one book effectively impact everybody?

Well, it can’t.  So, instead of writing a book for everyone, I defined my one, ideal reader.  I created a specific image of just one person whose career would be transformed after reading The Tao of Show Business.  This one reader became my Target Audience and she represented the type of actor I wanted to impact most with my book.  And here she is…

Allison French.  Allison is a 28 year old actress living in Los Angeles.  After graduating from USC with a minor in acting, she made the plunge and began pursuing acting wholeheartedly.  She has trained with some of the industry’s top acting teachers such as Lesly Kahn, Richard Seyd, and Ivanna Chubbuck.

Allison’s resume includes a lot of indie film, commercials, and webisode projects.  She has worked with a handful of sub-par agents who haven’t been very effective thus far.  She feels like she’s spinning her wheels a bit and wants to find simple solutions that break the mold of how an actor is supposed to break in.

Allison is single and loves to hang out with her friends.  She works part time as a waitress and lives in a secure and stylish two bedroom apartment in Studio City.  Her roommate, Vanessa is also an actress.  Vanessa works regularly on television thanks to her agent at Stone Manners Agency.

My student, Candace made huge strides with her marketing after she defined her Target Audience.  If Candace could work with only one person, that person would be Alan Ball, the creator of Six Feet Under and True Blood.

Now, when Candace makes marketing decisions, she speaks to Alan Ball.  Her website, her headshots, her one-sheet, and the rest of her marketing ships all reflect the sensibility of Alan Ball.  Marketing is a breeze now for Candace because she knows exactly who her Target Audience is and how to best communicate with him.

Who is Your Target Audience?

Think about the one person you’d like to work with most.  Who is it?  This person can be real or fictitious, but describe just one person who represents who you’d like to work with most.  You could also describe the one person who you perform for?  Who represents the demographic most drawn to your work?

After you have considered who your Target Audience might be, please describe him or her in detail.

Then, think about how well your marketing materials speak to this person.  What, if anything, do you need to change in order to deliver a more specific and dynamic message to your target audience?

Hello, my name is Scott and I’m a recovering Theatre Snob … you’re supposed to say “Hi, Scott.”

Thank you.

When I made the decision at twelve years of age that I wanted to become an actor there was no question in my mind what that meant: theatre. I grew up in New Haven, CT. Between the wonders of New York City and the great theatres near me (Long Wharf, Hartford Stage and Yale Rep), the performances I saw on those stages resonated with me more than film or television. My training at Connecticut College and at the O’Neill Theatre Center only cemented this feeling.

By the time I arrived in Chicago in 1987 (to rejoin some friends with whom I had helped start a theatre company) there was no doubt that the career I wanted was either one of a journeyman – - traveling the country and performing at all the great regional theatres – - or to be an ensemble member of an amazing company such as Steppenwolf (every Chicago actor’s dream whether they admit it or not). A life full of stability and creativity. I was fortunate to be nurtured by a creative community in Chicago unlike any I had known, and I grew not only as an actor but as a human and (by the nature of some of the pieces I worked on) a politically active soul. THIS was the power of working on stage and feeling the change come over not only yourself but your audience. THIS was the feeling I wanted always. When I worked on stage with actors who had found success in either TV or Film I was unimpressed. I felt that they could only maintain a character’s life for the moments leading up to their cue and a few moments after … then they just kind of … went away. THIS was not real acting, I told myself. The Theatre Snob in me had full reign. When I got my Actor’s Equity Card (by joining the cast of the original production of Steve Martin’s “Picasso at the Lapin Agile” at Steppenwolf) I took myself out to a dinner of Lobster and Oysters. I had made it.

As the years wore on, a glass ceiling of opportunity descended upon me as harshly as the gray skies of the endless Chicago winters. I began to feel restless. I began to feel unchallenged. I began to feel depressed. The roles I was offered fit into the subcategory of “utility actor” time and time again, and the span between the offers grew. I began delivering food wearing a bad polyester tuxedo in a car with no A/C in the middle of Chicago’s hottest, most humid summer. Where was that feeling of security that I desired? Where was that journeyman career? I discovered to my dismay that very few regional theatres actually cast out of Chicago at the time. I also felt that once the handful of casting directors in the city had made up their mind about who you were and what you could do as an actor it was very difficult to shake that opinion. I felt stuck.

A friend from college reappeared in my life. He had spent the years since we had seen each other working as an editor and writing screenplays on the side. He was going to shoot a short film that summer and he wanted me to be in it. Well, being Theatre Snob I had to pass as I was going to be running around in tights all summer and couldn’t possibly leave that opportunity. So I gave him the name of some friends of mine and they made the film … and they had an amazing time. This led to a year of conversation and planning about making another. Through this I began to see the challenges and new horizons that acting on film could offer. I discovered the great book by Patrick Tucker “Secrets of Screen Acting” which is written specifically for stage actors “transitioning” as well as Michael Caine’s “Acting in Film”. I really became intrigued.

Well, forces in my life collided. The Chicago winters were causing an intense Seasonal Affective Disorder in me, I needed to escape an unhealthy on-again/off-again relationship, and I found myself at best on the “B team” of actors in the city. I needed change, challenge and sunshine (and a woman who didn’t make me punch walls). The idea of moving to Los Angeles suddenly appealed to me and I started preparing myself.  I began doing commercials and industrial films, got my SAG and AFTRA card to join my AEA card and started building a “nest egg”. I spent a week in Los Angeles in November of ‘97 at the behest of friends of mine from Chicago who had already made the move. I was overwhelmed by the number of friends I had out there and the pockets of creativity they had formed.

During that trip, on a small side street in Hollywood I passed a few ordinary street lamps and electricity poles. They were plastered with posters and signs for headshot photographers and printing as well as classes. It struck me that the people who had placed these signs assumed that the majority of people walking down this little side street were going to be actors. The weight of that and the volume of actors I would be competing against out there really hit me. Paralysis set in. Then my friend let me know that, yes, it can seem like the majority of people in this city are actors, but you have to realize that most of them are people who were told by someone back home: “You know, you’re real good lookin’! You oughta be in the motion pictures!”  They have no training, no skills and no experience. By having all three of these things already, my friend told me, you instantly rise above 95% of the people out here. This calmed me down, and as I strolled the beaches of Malibu in my shorts and t-shirt in the middle of November (when I would be shivering and cursing life back in Chicago) I made my decision.

Upon returning back to Chicago I continued to build my “nest egg”. I had been told to bring enough to live off for at least six months as I settled in and searched for representation and work (this proved to be very true). I cobbled together a demo reel from student films, commercials and even a monologue that I wrote and then had a camera man at “The Jenny Jones Show” (where I did audience warm-up) shoot for me to look like it was a scene from a film.

I drove out to Los Angeles at the end of January 1998. What happened next is a bit of an anomaly. Through a friend I got a meeting with the commercial agents over at Abrams Artists (they have since left and formed AKA with whom I am now ensconced). Despite my worries that they might view my reel as amateurish due to the lack of clips from any significant projects, they decided to take a chance on me. They sent me out the next day and I booked it. It would be the first of 12 national spots I would do that first year. I can’t attribute this to any extraordinary thing I did, I just think the market shifted to “guy next door” when I moved out here and things just clicked. But what I can say is that it proved to be a great training ground for me. A lot of directors working in commercials are terrific film and TV directors who do commercials as their “day job” just like we do. So I learned a TON and had the bonus of getting paid for it. It’s a great way to get comfortable on a set and play around with what works and doesn’t work on camera. For example: my eyes. While I never had to worry or think about them on stage, these directors showed me that on camera (due to their larger than normal size) they “pop” in such a way that even the slightest movement of them becomes incredibly significant. They helped me learn to use this new-found power for good rather than evil.

Now, while I was lucky enough to work this way soon after arriving I was still a Theatre addict and I started jonesin’ to get back on stage. I spoke with friends of mine (you see how crucial having a strong network of support out here is) about which were the good Equity theaters and I sent a mailing out to them. Again, timing and fortune smiled upon me and I was cast at The Pasadena Playhouse – - one of the few theaters, I was told, agents and casting directors don’t mind going to – - and through that production an agent at Don Buchwald & Associates snatched me up and I met a few casting directors who have since become lifelines. {As a side note here, having had the pleasure of working twice now on productions at the Playhouse and having been witness to many, I can only hope, for the sake of all the good people who have toiled there behind the scenes, the extraordinary artists who have graced her stage, and most importantly for the future audience members whose lives will be the poorer for not experiencing a production in what is rightly the State Theatre of California, that her doors will reopen soon. If for no other reason, it should be saved for its Green Room – among the finest in the country!}

At first I was just hip-pocketed at DBA (represented by one agent but not fully signed … kind of like an internship) and it became my task not only to woo casting directors but to woo the other 7 agents as well. At the time (it seems so long ago now) I hit upon the idea of sending faxes. Few were using email regularly then, phone calls could be rebuffed and I had images of letters or postcards being tossed directly in the “circular filing cabinet.” So I sent personal (at times wacky) faxes of thanks after every audition. This came out of genuine appreciation of someone either submitting me or taking the time to see me, but it had the added effect of building relationships with the agents and casting directors and helping them to become fans.  Most of those who worked so hard to get me my first jobs in town back then are still my greatest cheerleaders today. I owe them all so much.

As I began to do guest spots on television shows I learned about different atmospheres on sets and how they affected the quality of shows. The best example was the set of “Frasier”. The actors on that show treated everyone as an equal. They never hid in their dressing rooms. They were out in the “green room” socializing and making everyone feel welcome. In one week of work on that show I felt as if I had done an entire run of a play with that cast. Theatre Snob started to think “Hmmm, maybe TV isn’t so bad after all. It’s kind of like … theatre!” It’s no wonder that show was as successful and beloved as it was.

One day in the late spring of 2000, as a notorious and disastrous commercial strike wore on, I received (late in the day, of course) two appointments with scripts to read and scenes to prepare for the following day. One was for a movie-of-the-week about firemen, the other was a 3-part pilot for a series about the lives of five gay men and two gay women in Pittsburgh. I started to read “Queer As Folk” and I was stunned. I couldn’t believe they were going to put this show on television. The character description of “Ted Schmidt”, the part I had been submitted for was “chubby and balding”. Now, while I didn’t exactly feel I matched the physical description, the more I read of this guy the more I felt like he was acting out scenes from my own life in LA. His very first scene had him trying to talk to guys in a bar who walk past him as if he were a ghost. He continues to mutter an imagined conversation with these hunks as they keep passing him by. I felt as if someone had spied on me at a number of parties in LA as women I tried to speak to looked right through me. I was hooked at the universal themes in the show buried in this bold, innovative exploration of gay life. I understood the psychology of this guy down to his toes. It was a no-brainer. The firemen movie was tossed aside and I focused entirely on QAF all the while thinking in the back of my brain “well you look nothing like the guy they’ve described so it’s probably not going to happen. ”

What did happen is that Theatre Snob ran into a bunch of Theatre People doing television and his life has never been the same. From the moment I met Linda Lowy, the casting director, and discovered that she was married to my favorite Steppenwolf actor from Chicago, Jeff Perry, I had a feeling things might be different. (Along with her amazing partner John Brace she also casts “Grey’s Anatomy” and “Friday Night Lights” among other projects.) I then met Ron Cowen and Dan Lipman, the Executive Producers and creators of the show (as well as “Sisters” and “An Early Frost”) and found out THEY were Theatre People as well. Their third Exec. Producer was Tony Jonas, the former head of Warner Bros. TV (’95 – ’99) who helped bring to fruition some of the greatest ensemble television ever (“E.R.”, “Friends”, “The West Wing”).

Still, I tempered my excitement with the fact that I was not “exactly right” for the show. I later found out from Dan and Ron that they really didn’t have a clear definition of the character in their minds … until they saw me. When I was brought in to test for the good folks at Showtime I looked around the waiting room and realized that I was the only one in there reading for “Ted”. I had learned from previous tests not to read the voluminous contract that they make you sign JUST before you go in the room (so as not to place in your mind just how much money you stand to lose if you blow this ONE audition) so I just signed by the “x’s” and passed it back and I waited for more “Ted’s” to come in. None did. I later learned that Jerry Offsay, the President of Showtime in 2000, was rather upset about this. Execs like options. They don’t like to be strong-armed into a decision. But as Jerry later told me: “then you walked into the room and I said to myself: ‘now there’s the PERFECT sad-sack!’” They say “Luck is when Opportunity meets Preparation.” Nothing sums up my situation better. An opportunity came along and I was ready for it.

Most of my fellow cast-mates on QAF turned out to be theatre people as well with as strong a belief in the strength of an ensemble as I had. Shooting in Toronto forced us to become a family as we knew no one else up there. We spoke together of what we wanted the atmosphere on our set to be like, and I told my story about my experience on “Frasier”.

While there wasn’t the time to have full rehearsals, it was an extraordinarily collaborative environment during that first year with Dan and Ron allowing us an incredible amount of input. We all cared deeply about making this the best show we could. It had the exact same energy, focus and commitment as any piece of theatre I had ever worked on. Due to the subject matter of the show it instantly politicized us all as well and as the show became a success and I saw how far reaching it’s impact could be I realized that good television could be like “Theatre Plus” — Plus the ability to reach far more people than any one play can. Plus a way to communicate and entertain people in a far more intimate way than one can from the stage. Plus a way to tell not just a two hour story but an 88 hour one!

The biggest struggle that I had was adjusting to telling that 88 hour story and how that affects your psyche. When you’re doing a run of a play, even the most psychologically taxing ones, you’re taking the same 2 – 3 hour journey every night. In making a television series it’s a new journey every week if not every day … and you’re spending sometimes 16 – 18 hours a day in that character’s skin. You really end up living more of his life than your own. I found myself becoming very depressed as we neared our first break in 6 months during that first season. It wasn’t until I got back to LA for a few weeks that I realized all this and saw what a toll playing this emotionally complex character was taking on me. The next five years were all about figuring out how to “leave Ted at the office”. Sometimes I succeeded and other times … well … let’s just say I apologize to certain folks. They know who they are.

As the success of the show allowed me access to new projects  I discovered that, while I still hold to the ideals that blossomed as a child (and that were fertilized by my mentors in college and came into bloom in my years in Chicago), with a good script and powerful ensemble of artists you really can help make positive change in the world even if that change is just to entertain for a few hours. I realized that the theatre isn’t the only place this can happen for an actor. An artist can create on many different canvases and in many different media.

So now I am just an Acting Snob, and the only way I feel fulfilled is by doing and exploring it all. I hope I am among the fortunate few who are allowed to do so as long as I am able.

Thank you.