Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Last Two Days: Acting Summation
I like to think so, last two days have been a nice collection, a nice condensation of what acting is, or what acting is for me anyway. What makes me wise I suppose.
First up was yesterday, finishing off a four-day workshop on Harold Pinter with the legend that is Harry Burton, a real honour and it ended with a wee showing of our work. I was good, the scene was good, it was all good. Confidence, as always, high.
Then, after a few drinks with workshop comrades and the lovely mates that had turned out to support me, legged it to the excellent Roxy Bar and Screen in SE1, to do a Q&A with director Julian Kemp at a screening of "My Last Five Girlfriends", my feature film debut.
I sat there and watched my big face up on the big screen and marvelled, once again, at how far I've come and although I had arrived at the screening anonymous, as I made my way to the front with Julian to take questions, I became famous, an object, to one degree of another, of famousness, of celebrity, of the viewed. What's wonderful, at the place I am, is that I can then leave the screening and become anonymous again and slide out of SE1 on the Northern Line, Northbound, changing at Leicester Square.
And then came today...
I should probably precis this by saying that I am very good at auditioning and whether I get the job or not, I nearly always leave a casting feeling as if I did my very best.
Today I had a relatively important casting for the BBC, relatively important because anything for the BBC is important and because it was a casting director I'd not had the pleasure of meeting yet. I have had equally or more important castings this year. I prepared, as always, meticulously and tubed it to White City, Westbound, changing at Oxford Circus.
During the casting preamble I had little feeling of what was about to occur. I shall spare the details but I fucked up quite badly and although it was by no means a bad audition, it was not up to my usually high standard, which considering the importance of the casting made it all the worse.
To be very clear, I hate the part of me that fucked up, I want to kill it, smash it to pieces because life is all about opportunities and each and everyone has got to be taken, even if it, as is often the case, is all there is. The myth of things leading to other things is a destructive one, I believe in opportunity for opportunity's sake, each on it's own merits.
My anger is slowly subsiding at my error, it still burns but this sting of my perceived defeat will kill off any further failure for the foreseeable future. And by kill off I mean smashed to fucking bits.
However, no regrets, press on, better to be pretty wise then pretty fucking stupid.