-Laureen Graham, Talking As Fast As I Can
Season One, Episode two - The long wait
“You can still jump off the wagon” was heard as a whisper in the back of my mind, as the success I aimed for was holding back after -what seemed like the thousandth audition tape, was declined. The response "you didn't fit with the other actors" seemed reasonable at the time, but the question "what about getting the other actors to fit me?" started buzzing in my brain like a summer hit you can't stop humming.
Different advice was shooting left and right; “take whatever shitty acting job you can” “pick only the quality jobs” “There are no small parts, only small actors” “do commercials” “don't do commercials”.
I felt trapped in a boxing ring fighting for my life, fearing the big knock out, game over - though I knew the biggest fight was going on inside my head. "just quit, find something else, you are not good enough"
The conflict of sometimes feeling good enough didn´t match reality as the results - or the lack of them told a different story. Maybe I was just a Chihuahua thinking it's a Great Dane barking in high pitch "pick me, pick me, pick me!". They must be smelling my desperation and oh boy does that stink.
Maybe I was just a Chihuahua thinking it's a Great Dane barking in high pitch “pick me, pick me, pick me!” They must be smelling my desperation and oh boy does that stink.
The feeling of being a mouse banging my head against the wall in a maze amazed me at times and frustrated me so much the next that I would scream out loud “If not this, then what?!”
The auditions for commercials were often awkward and humiliating. There was one for a telephone network where I was supposed to pretend to be sitting in a wagon from the previous century, waving a fan in a heavy costume with a corset so tight I could barely breathe while the producers were sitting at the table next to me eating lunch, checking their phones. After the audition they needed a girl to try out different costumes and I thought it would get me closer to the part so I stood there for an hour extra while they used me as a mannequin. I learnt that there is a right amount of availability and a wrong amount of availability. It was my birthday and I ended up eating dinner alone that evening feeling strangely used.
Then there was the toothpaste commercial, holding a block of paper board, smiling sheepishly while explaining how good this toothpaste was though I knew I'd never use the brand. There were the general “mum” commercials, holding a green cushion at the casting directors office, pretending it is the baby you just squeezed out of your body.
I auditioned for a shaman role in the next huge Scandinavian TV-series. “Can you pretend to be blind? By the way, you are also drumming a drum, and then you go into a trance. Do you know how to joik?”
"Ahum, yeah….Okay. Should I not look directly into my co-actors face while reading the lines and pretending to be blind? Do you have a drum, or should I just..knock on the table?"
“Just knock on the table. Are you ready?”
“Yeah, sure...”
I was awkwardly aware that the walls were thinner than paper and there I was, trying to be a convincing blind shaman, drumming an invisible drum, joiking the best I could while not looking my co-actor in the eye.
I was awkwardly aware that the walls were thinner than paper and there I was, trying to be a convincing blind shaman, drumming an invisible drum, joiking the best I could while not looking my co-actor in the eye.
I didn´t get the part.
One was not supposed to be too eager for the part, but then not too disinterested either, just the right amount of coolness like trying to catch the biggest playboy in town knowing if you fall for this guy, you will get your heart broken into a thousand pieces and still having to pursue the part, the goal, the guy with perfectly balanced coolness.
At the time it felt like my life depended on it. I auditioned for a huge film part with an international star and I called the casting agency to ask how I'd done. I had already pictured myself holding the Oscar in my hand, the speech was written in my mind, thinking of all the people I would thank for getting me there.
I had already pictured myself holding the Oscar in my hand, the speech was written in my mind, thinking of all the people I would thank for getting me there.
“The director has looked through the tapes and you are not among the favourites. I'm sorry, is that harsh to hear?” “Well..” I started, wondering whether I should just play cool; “No, it's alright, not harsh at all” , but the truth fell out of me before I managed to say “pffth..!”. Indeed it was harsh but no less true, I wasn't the "it" the director was looking for, or the "up-coming shooting star" and at this speed the only speech I was holding was the "10 reasons you should not become an actor" in my local community's cultural school two years later.
The truth unveiled uncomfortable questions I didn't know whether I wanted to hear the answers to. Why was I waiting for other people to give me a job? I was complaining about how I wasn't invited to the audition for a big TV-series production happening up north (I have the right dialect, goddamn it!), where I wrote a long e-mail of complaints to my management“why aren't I invited?” where they replied by letting me go. Not even they could bear the smell of desperation. No job, no management. Could it get any worse? Yes. I could lose my boyfriend.
I had reluctantly agreed to take a job as an extra in my desperate attempt for both an opportunity and money, persuading the casting director to give me the role as a bridesmaid in a wedding reception scene. Surly there must be some possibilities for a line or two or a bit of screen time I thought. I was told to bring a friend to play the other bridesmaid so I grabbed another struggling actor and off we went.
I was in awe at the size of the production and I hoped that this would be my opportunity to rise and shine while jealously gazing at the actors who actually had a part to play. In a moment of inattention, I saw my friend getting positioned next to one of the main characters in one of the main dinner scenes and I was placed behind the camera. They shared an amazing moment while my heart sunk below the table we were sitting at. I wanted to be happy for my friend, after all, she too was a struggling actor and I wanted her to succeed. But it was hard to feel happy for anyone in that moment. I dragged my hurt ego home like a heavy trashcan that evening as I hadn't utilised the opportunity I was given. “They treated me as if I was an extra!” I complained to my boyfriend. He replied “You were an extra!” . Once again I had to swallow my pride and admit that my snobbishness was getting the best of me. But I felt stuck.
I was waiting for permission to do my work in a time where the production could happen right in my own bedroom. Why was I not doing that? Where was my work? Where was my writing? Where were my films?
I was waiting for permission to do my work in a time where the production could happen right in my own bedroom. Why was I not doing that? Where was my work? Where was my writing? Where were my films?
The awkward answer of “nowhere” made my cheek go red, but the fraud police had pierced his long fingernails under my skin. What if I am not good enough? What if I don't have anything to show? What if I don't have anything worthy of bringing forward?
The fear of failure was bigger than the fear of being rejected for unoriginality. Fear of failure. The big skeleton in my closet. The critic in my head had risen to such high levels of obnoxiousness that I was blind to the fact that I am sitting outside the arena pointing in. It is easy to sit on the outside criticising. Pouring your soul out, putting your heart on the table, on the other hand, takes courage, takes a leap of faith. Do I have that? I don´t know. The only thing I know is that the pain of sitting still is growing greater than the pain to move forward. Move. Keep going. My time is yet to come.
Edited by Bilal Khan
