Yesterday I wrote that I was losing my acting muscle. I was about to go to an audition and felt totally unprepared. I wasn't drowning in the depths of despair but I was shuffling through the shallows of .... fill in whatever synonym comes to mind of boredom, lack of interest, lack of confidence .... unshertainty. Then I took the 271 to Holloway Road and the 91 to Crouch End Broadway, walked up Park Road, into the bar / theatre and everything changed.
I had told myself to go in in character, so on with the mockney accent, the wide-eyed expression and the broad shoulders. A friendly conversation with writer / producers / directors / actohs Seth, James and Rochelle about the play-that-they-don't-want-to-tell-us-too-much-about-but-there's-a-strong-Tarantino-influence and then I was on stage giving my spiel to a dying woman. And I was in character. And there was laughter from the writer / director, followed immediately by the statement "I'm loving this characterisation" and all was well. I came to my final line "what's not to love?", bounced off the stage and down to adulation. Would I try another part? The mysterious Creator. Would I? Of course I would. Five minutes later... that was great, now can you do it differently. Of course I can. Not perfect, but it's a sight reading and producer James loves it, he loves it.
So, forty minutes after I drag my feet in to the audition, I leave walking on air. I'm aware that S, J and R are going to see other actors who may be better than me or give a characterisation that is even closer to what they are looking for, but no matter. Even if I don't get the one of the parts - and I really hope I do because this play looks fun - I know my acting career is not in a coma; it's just dozing.
No comments:
Post a Comment