Tales from the Trenches Part 4

Today is the final part of our series of guest blogs by actor/director Paul Birchard

Okay – I’ve got the callback. I’ve got the new script. But the characters and plot are now so poorly constructed, the dialogue so thin and overblown, the whole thing has become very tough to breathe any life into whatsoever.

So – How to prepare?

Maybe – to demonstrate my range – I could prepare both versions, in case they’re undecided how to make it!

Maybe the director has to mollify the producer, whose brother-in-law is one of the screenwriters ( Might be – you never know)! The director might really prefer the first re- write, but has to go along with the producer to some extent…Will the producer even be at the callback?

Another Conundrum: in the e-mail from the casting director, the page numbers for the Reverend’s scenes are from the first (good) script, but scene numbers are from the second!

Which version am I actually supposed to learn? Is this mystification a deliberate device in order to trip up a British-based actor so that the director will go with his original L.A.-based choice? Or just an honest clerical error?

Do I ask my agent to call the casting director? No – too many layers of possible misunderstanding there – and too many phone calls tying up a very busy casting director…

Finally I text the casting director’s mobile phone with my query. She responds quickly with the scene numbers – and…it’s the new script.

So – again – how to prepare?!

This is where you go back to your Basic Training from Actor’s Boot Camp. For most of you reading this, that means Practical Aesthetics. For me it is “The Actor’s Blueprint” – an emended Stanislavski system created – or at least transmitted – by my first Acting teacher, the late Rudy Solari, in Los Angeles.

I imagine and write out the “Critical Immediate Past” of the Reverend – what has happened just before the scenes I’m doing.

I contemplate his relation to the other characters. I think through – and practice – many different line readings and word emphases and timings. I make sure I’m expressing the vital underlying, unspoken meanings so necessary to make this story come alive – which the screenwriters have so thoughtfully failed to incorporate.

I set my eyelines. I get a costume! A cassock and a crucifix – so that when I walk into that room they will get a strong impression of how I might look in the role, and know that I take getting this job seriously.

They’re from Los Angeles. They appreciate that sort of thing.

And as I wait out in the corridor before the audition, I hear another actor in the room with the director, speaking the lines I’ve memorized.

Very badly.
I realize how much work is required to polish this particular turd, and that I’ve done my best. At the least I’ve done better than him. I hope it’s enough to get the job.

A young actress goes in next. I like her. She seems able, professional and pretty enough to make it, given the chances. I think she could probably do what’s required in this script and still exude dignity and self respect. When she comes out a few minutes later, the casting director whispers in her ear that she is still very close on another film role she recently auditioned for. Before she leaves I tell her I hope we get the opportunity to work togetether. It’s mutual.

One more actor goes in. Remember, I get there early! Finally it’s my turn.

The director isn’t there. The producer is. He’s a no-nonsense L.A. kind of guy. There’s also another man – a European from the same nation as the director (I’ve done my homework and I know who’s directing this movie). He seems kind and easygoing.

The casting director introduces us all. The producer’s hand extends toward me and I offer mine. His is clenched into a fist. We’re meant (I suddenly realize) to bump fists, like cool dudes. We sort of do.

The European considers for an instant and then offers his hand to meet mine instead. A reassuring handshake.

The video camera is on a tripod. I’m told to stand on a particluar mark about fifteen feet away from it . The casting director will read the others’ lines from behind the camera. We begin.

After the second scene the producer leans back, kind of nonplussed, and says: “That was good.” I guess he wasn’t expecting it to be.

I thank him, engage in some pertinent small talk, and the meeting is over.

I call my agent and tell him it all seemed to go very well. In my heart I feel pretty sure I nailed it.

A call comes through a few days later asking if I can come meet the director the following day, a Saturday. I can’t make it Saturday, but I can make it Monday (when I have an audition for another movie). The casting director understands and says it’s all right, they have enough video of me.

Then……silence.

A week. Two weeks. My agent makes a call. No, they haven’t decided – I’m still in the running!

Ten more days of – silence.

I call my agent. “I think it must be gone,” he says, “They were meant to start shooting this week.”

Well…

I did my best.

[Note From Mark Westbrook: “Is That The Best You Could Do?“]

Nope! When they asked if I could come to London on the Saturday to meet the director I should have replied: “Of course! I’d be delighted to! Can you arrange for the ticket?”

If they hemmed and hawed about stumping up the money for a ticket to London to meet the Director, I should have said:

“Never mind. I’ll be there!”

And I should have – by hook or crook, through the kindness of friends or the kindness of strangers, somehow made it to that meeting – despite the fact that – as ever – the offer of the meeting came through late on the day before…

“Onward!” as the great director (and friend) Lindsay Anderson used to sign off.