February 4, 2003
It happened. For the first time at any audition of this magnitude, it actually happened.
It is common practice, when I am auditioning for a role, to memorize the material. Admittedly, this happens to different degrees depending on complexity of the material, the number of auditions I have in a day, the flexibility of my schedule, and my battles with my own procrastination. But by the time I reach the Studio Test, most of the variables have gone out the window, and the preparation is complete. Having auditioned with the material a few times already and having had the material in possession for so many hours, the lines are always right there. The real danger, and this has happened before, is that the lines become "too memorized" and the scene loses a little of its natural feel. Today was the opposite.
I jumped into the first scene and it proceeded nicely, well, nicely mostly. There were a couple of bits that did not ring as true as I had hoped. But the energy was there and we pushed ahead. During the second scene, I reached a point in the scene where I had no idea what my next line was. None. Sure, the shape of the scene was there, and I guess I could have made something up, but I opted not to do that. Instead, I referred to the script in my hand to find the next line. Sounds simple enough, right? Well, maybe if I had been following along with the script it would be simple, because then the line would be sitting right in front of me, but since I was confidently off-book, I was merely holding the pages of the scene in my hand, as if some sort of prop.
What followed, then, was me sitting in front of the Warners Brothers studio executives, flipping through seven pages of material to first, find the page we were on, and then second, locate my next line. It seems like an eternity had gone by since one of us had uttered anything, but I remained calm. The flipping ceased and I scoured the page. Sure enough, my next line was right there, looking exactly like it always had, just waiting for me to say it, wondering probably, at this point, why I had neglected to utter it in this room. I looked back up at my scene partner and out came the most sought-after line of the audition. It wasn't ground-breaking, it was even a laugh line, but it was the biggest line in the scene.
Still, within another 3 seconds, it was over. We continued forward
with the scene, got a few more laughs, and proceeded back into the
hallway. A wave of something washed over me. I don't know exactly
what. It wasn't relief. There was no relief from leaving the room,
the relief I sought could only be accomplished in a time machine. It
wasn't dread. Even though it was an unfortunate occurrence, I felt
strangely comfortable that it would not make or break my shot at
getting this part. I guess it was mostly a wave of "Huh. So
that's what that feels like." I am sure I am not the first
person to ever have that problem in that situation. And while it
could happen to me again some day, I actually doubt that it will. I
just absorbed the experience as that: an experience. I would have
another chance to do the scene at the Network Test and all would be
fine there. For now, I just had to chuckle at the oddity of it.
Well, here's the scoop: The flub did not destroy me. I would invited to audition for the network the next day. What did end my run at this role was a monetary issue. I guess I have reached a point in my career where some jobs will be "below me," for lack of a better term. Not that the show is below me, or the role is below me, not at all. It's the lead in a potentially funny show. It was just the budget. The show was not willing to pay what we were asking for.
If I were to tell you the numbers, you would be surprised, I am sure.
It surprises me a little when I think about it. But, at the end of
the day, my people and I made a decision not to accept their offer.
It is back into the pool for me. Looks like I will not be getting the
early out of pilot season I had hoped for.