Here's the saga... I've been with Contemporary Artists for about six months now. In that time, I have gotten most of my auditions through people I know-- Victoria Burrows, Bruce Newberg, Gail Pillsbury. The kind folks at Contemporary Artists have rustled up, in that time, just about two total auditions. Not great numbers. Wonderfully friendly guys, but not movers and shakers.
There was always hope, however, that the big Zucker Brothers movie would come along and all would be saved. These agents are good friends with Jeff Wright, a Zucker Brothers producer, whom I met on the set of High School High. In fact, it was Jeff Wright who brought the Contemporary Artists gentlemen to see me in a showcase back in April and got the ball rolling on my signing with them. So I have this killer connection for getting a great role in the Zucker Brothers' movie, a sports spoof called BASEketball. For the past few months, Gary, one of the agents at Contemporary Artists, has been mentioning the movie and how excited Jeff is to have me in it and how they're just waiting for the auditioning process to kick in. And so I'm all psyched about how this could be a nice big, break for me if the movie is a hit and I have a good-sized part. And so all my concerns about Gary and Contemporary Artists could just be shelved for the time being because this major theatrical development lay looming on the horizon. And today, at long last, after all the agony and anxiety, I was finally put on tape for the movie. The audition of a lifetime finally happened.
One line.
I got the sides late last night while I was out tutoring so I didn't get a chance to look at them right away. There were four pages so I figured there had to be a decent scene in there somewhere. But upon further examination, I found that each page was for a different character. And each of those characters had exactly one line. Three were referees and one was a cabbie. I was told I would be reading for a ref, so I set to work on each of my three vastly different referee-based characters. Actually, the only semi-interesting thing I could come up with was for the line, "Ten yard penalty. Unoriginal choreography." for which I invented the physical gesture for making the call. It was a half kickline/half softshoe move that I felt looked pretty funny. Never got a chance to do it. That was not one of the refs I was officially reading for.
So yes, this is a low point. I've been waiting patiently for a nice big shot at some really great part and I thought BASEketball was going to provide it. No. I have been struggling away trying to escape the trap of playing 2 and 3 line parts for the rest of my career and I thought BASEketball would at least be that. No. I've been putting up with lame representation because I was told BASEketball was right around the corner and not to worry because that would make everything wonderful. Oh god no. (OK, so I've also been putting up with lame representation because I can't seem to do any better even when I try, but that's a topic for a different entry.)
So it's about as bad as it can get, right? Wrong. I still have to put myself through the audition. Because of my unknown rehearsal schedule for Men Behaving Badly, the people at Junie Lowry-Johnson's office said that I could come by at any time during the day. I got there at about 2:40pm. There was no waiting in the hall, where the sign-in sheet was. In fact, the last person to audition had done so over an hour ago. But still, I put my name on the waiting list and sat patiently outside a handful of bustling offices.
Not long after, two young women walked in. One was obviously an actor, the other involved in casting. Excellent. Some activity. The casting woman told the actor to look over the scenes and she would be right with her. As the aspiring beauty mulled over her lines, the casting woman went into her office and dealt with a few phone calls. At no time did she acknowledge my presence. She seemed pretty busy, though. Fine. Finally, the actor was called in and I was back sitting by myself.
Not long after, a gentleman named Jason came in and started rifling through the audition pieces in the nearby folders. As the casting woman, who I would now find out was named Justine, exited her office with the first actor, she gave Jason a very knowing, loving glance and thanked him for coming in. She explained what part to look at and told him it would be a few minutes. She again did not acknowledge my presence.
Jason sat down near me and struck up conversation. We sat and chatted. (Mostly Jason chatted.) After a good ten minutes, Justine re-emerged from her office. She checked to make sure Jason was ready. No look to me. I finally spoke and tried to be as friendly as possible, assuming that maybe she thought I was there for some other purpose. "Hi! I'm here to read for BASEketball," I offered. She quickly retorted, "That's why everyone's here." Justine then brushed past me and went over to the sign-in sheet. Of course, there sat my name clearly above Jason's. She was a little more polite, "You're John?" "Yes," I countered. "Well, let me just take Jason in and then I'll come back and get you." "That's fine," I responded, polite as can be. And she and Jason disappeared into the office.
Now this is not a condemnation of Justine. She was probably quite busy and had a lot of items on her plate. But it underlines how difficult it is to gain any sort of respect in L.A. when you call yourself an actor. It means nothing. If you're not known, you're not respected. Simple as that, across the board. People in this business have to assume someone they don't know is bad. By doing so, they'll be right most of the time. If one or two talented people slip through the cracks because of that assumption, that's an acceptable loss. It saves so much agony and wasted time.
Now that's just the attitude and this is just the kind of office that makes getting a break in Hollywood so hard and keeps working actors employed. They obviously always see the same people for all their projects and they are not at all receptive to new faces. Justine had nothing against me personally, but as an unknown actor, I was a likely stinker. So now, at this moment, we are at the very low point of the entire experience.
At long last, Justine returns and invites me into the office. Sitting there is Libby, my guardian angel, my savior with a red buzz-cut. Justine says, "This is John Ducey." Libby's immediate response is, "Oh, so you're John Ducey. I've heard a lot about you." Finally, some support for the new guy. "Yes, I'm glad you're here. What are you reading for? The referee and the paramedic?" I explain what I was faxed and tell her I know nothing of any paramedic. It is at this point that she denies me the "Unoriginal choreography" bit. That ref has to be short apparently.
And she finally pulls out a post-it with a line and my name on it. "Oh, this is the part that was added for you," she says, looking down at her handwriting. "You are a paramedic and I'll say, 'It's OK. I'm here. Everything's going to be fine.' and then you look at me and say, 'Are you kidding?'" (I don't know how long somebody stayed up writing this moment, but it was genius. I'm not sure the printed word does it justice.) So that was my Hollywood special.
First, however, I do a scripted referee line. It is the reply to "What's wrong with Coop tonight?" So I slate my name and deliver, "I don't know, but he smells like the inside of Ted Kennedy's car," and then walk off camera. Libby is not ecstatic. "That's fine, but let's try it again and David Zucker doesn't like when you play the comedy so just play it very real. You're really concerned." That sounds doable. So she gives me the cue and I respond without "playing the comedy." They love it. "That was so good. I know you think that anybody could do that, but they can't. That was really good and funny."
Next character: the paramedic. He is on the ground tending to a beautiful woman while someone is on the edge of death ten yards away. The cue comes, "Help, we need help over here." I know ahead of time now to not play the comedy. So I give a straight-forward, "Yeah, as soon as were done here." They love it. Can't say enough good things about it. Think I'm a comedic genius.
Last character, the meat-and-potatoes, the part "added for me": the other referee. You already have the set-up. Really hurt guy on the ground, someone runs in and says, 'It'll be OK.' I fold my arms and stand still with a look of grave concern on my face. She delivers the cue. I give her a small double-take and say the Line Most Likely to Get Cut from the Final Picture, "Are you kidding?" They LOVE it. Libby looks down at the stack of pictures in front of her. "Wow! You're very good. Do we have your picture here? Have you ever been in here for us before? You are really very good. Where's your picture? Great. Really glad to meet you." And off to the side, Justine nods and smiles in agreement.
So what does all that mean? For tonight... nothing. And quite possibly for ever... nothing. I have had people respond very warmly in the past and never heard from them again. So there's no guarantee I will even get the part that was "added for me." But it sure would be nice if instead, I do get the part and I go on their short list of actors that they call in for all their projects and whom they treat nicely when they see them in the hallway. Yeah, that would be nice.