"Mr. Ducey, stop sending me postcards," was the first thing I heard as James Tarzia greeted me for my audition. And maybe he's right. Now with a new agent and improved resume, I can tone down the Ducey trademark barrage of postcards. That would be a significant step. I'll just pull back a little, maybe. It would be too odd if they were simply abandoned altogether.
With that said, this audition was for a low-budget film about struggling actors in Los Angeles, which is always a tough read for me because I spend so much time trying to get my stomach to stop turning that I really cannot appreciate it. My role, Bobby, would be the struggling writer. His friends are struggling actors and producers and performing artists, etc. You know the story. The jokes all seem so old to me but I guess that's because I live them.
My reading was fine. The sides were a little unusual. They were a collection of tiny scenes leading up to a meeting with some Spanish drug dealers. A few lines were in Spanish. One scene was in a truck. Just not the best three-page selection from the script. James apologized for them being such after the audition. I then strode out, drove home, and moved his name to the bottom of the mailing list. (Still kept him on for Christmas, though. He couldn't possibly want to get off that list. Right?!