Tag Archives: unemployment

The Waiting Game

wanderer

Peaks and troughs. Highs and lows. The acting profession has always been one of extremes. An actor friend of mine told me she’d been drawn to the job because she was ‘an adrenaline junkie’, and I think most of us can relate to that. There’s no thrill to beat a first night – that intoxicating mix of fear and excitement – to show you that you’re truly alive.

As for the highs, an actor’s life is peppered with many moments of joy, big or small, the best of all usually being the phone call from your agent to tell you you’ve got the job. Way back at the start, I will never forget the call that told me I had won a place at LAMDA. And then there’s the thrill of a happy discovery in rehearsal, a perfect show or just the pure exhilaration that comes from playing with other actors.

telephone

In terms of lows, they tend to come from the frustration of not acting. We are all familiar with the agony of unemployment, feeling you have so much to offer and yet not being allowed to join in the game. But there is another, smaller agony, that can sometimes feel even sharper – namely that difficult post-audition period, when you just don’t know if you’ve got the job or not.

This is a period of the purest torture, particularly if you really want the job, and it begins the moment you leave the audition room. Of course, you’re supposed to brush it off immediately, as you trip off to a stylish downtown bar to resume your dizzying social life with not so much as a backwards glance, but it’s not always that easy. It’s rather more usual to begin the Great Calculation. Let’s say you audition on a Tuesday afternoon. You stagger onto the tube afterwards, your head spinning as you replay the details of the meeting. Did you seem interested enough as the director spelt out their vision for the production? How well did you play the scene? How about that one pivotal line – did you hit it just right? And did you manage to leave the room without shoving your foot in your gob, by saying ‘See you soon’, ‘Thanks you’ or ‘Lots of love’? Hopefully, you’ll feel you did the best you could. If so, you can actually relax for a bit now, and maybe enjoy one or two of those glamorous cocktails with your glamorous friends, for one night at least.

cocktails

But the next morning, the beast awakens. Hmm, Wednesday morning, you think. Well, I probably won’t hear anything today, as they’ll still be meeting people. Unless, of course, they really loved me, and want to snap me up as quickly as possible… But Wednesday drifts past, and you don’t worry too much – this is still the phoney war, after all. Shrödinger‘s Acting Job, both alive and dead at the same time.

The next day dawns and your thinking is beginning to change: Thursday, Thursday… they’ve probably finished auditions by now, so they’ll be starting to make decisions. This is where the clock/iPhone watching begins in earnest. Haven’t heard by lunchtime? That’s fine, it’ll probably be this afternoon. An hour’s grace for lunch between 1.00pm and 2.00pm, when you can actually focus on something else for a bit, then it starts again. 5.00pm approaches, 5.30… Well, maybe tomorrow. By this point, you’re starting to entertain the idea that it might not go your way, telling yourself that if you don’t hear on Friday, well then that’s it, you haven’t got it. And sure enough, Friday comes and goes and the phone doesn’t ring.

But then there’s Monday. Maybe they decided to take the weekend to make up their minds…

calendar

It can be absolute agony. Inevitably, some jobs are worse than others, i.e. the ones you really want. And the torture is amplified if it goes to recalls or beyond. I was recently working with two actors, both of whom were in the middle of this situation, and both of whom were throughly miserable about it. One of them said that he felt it was actually making him ill.

There’s nothing to be done, of course. It is simply one of those things about the profession. You leave the room, and you’ve done all you can. They can take as long as they want to make their decisions, and that’s that. All the hours spent speculating about what they must be thinking, attempting to read the runes or to gain some sort of insight into a director’s thought processes is a waste of time. There are many areas of our business in which change is really overdue, but opening up the decision making process is not one.

danny lee wynter

The only thing that can be done is to let every actor know how their audition went, and happily this is an idea that is really starting to gain traction, thanks in great part to the #YesOrNo initiative, spearheaded by the actor Danny Lee Wynter, which is asking for all actors who audition for a role to be told whether or not they have got the job. It has always been one of the most brutal aspects of the profession, the idea that an actor can put their all into preparing for a casting, but once they leave the room, they simply never hear a peep about it again. The #YesOrNo campaign addresses this head-on, and recently received a major boost when both the National Theatre and the Royal Shakespeare Company committed to giving every actor who auditions for them at least a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer:

rsc tweet yes or no

And gradually, many other theatre companies and casting directors are jumping aboard too.

It might not completely eradicate the post-audition collywobbles, but at least it ensures that an end is in sight.

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In Defence Of Actors

how d'ye like me

Actors are, as a breed, some of the most socially able, intelligent and inquisitive people you could hope to meet. They are engaged with the world, highly dedicated to their work and constantly testing themselves. Acting is a risky and expensive career choice that requires determination, persistence and a good deal of courage in many areas.

But there is an intriguing dichotomy at work in the way actors are viewed. On one side, those who become famous and rich are idolised, endlessly scrutinised and obsessed over. On the other, the vast majority of the profession who are attempting to maintain a career are often pitied, patronised, or simply disregarded.

But do actors need defending? If so, from whom?

I believe that actors frequently suffer from damaging attitudes both outside and inside the profession. I think that many people view acting with a mixture of amusement and disdain – often underscored with the belief that it is not a serious job. In fact, of course, it is a very serious job, and what’s more, a precarious one with a high probability of failure – very high levels of unemployment and drop-out, and very poor pay. In my opinion, however, it is also a noble and entirely essential profession.

‘Luvvy! Darling! Sweetie!’

So why are actors denigrated? The stereotypical negative attitudes to the profession can be summed up by that dread word: ‘luvvies’. Can there be a more patronising, dismissive term? It implies a sort of emotional incontinence; an indiscriminate spray of superficial sentimental self-indulgence, coupled with a good squirt of self-absorption – they call each other ‘luvvie’ and ‘darling’ because they’re so wrapped up in themselves they can’t even remember anyone’s name.

Actors are often treated like children, as unintellectual and over-emotional, people who don’t really work for a living but just play all day, pretending to be trees and animals and sleeping in until lunchtime. Many times I have told people what I do for a job, and have been met with the amused response, ‘Oh, you’re an ac-TORRR!’ There is a clear element of envy underlying these attitudes. People often say to me ‘you’re so lucky to be doing a job that you love,’ which is certainly true, although it is assumed along with this that, because we have job satisfaction, we don’t really need those things that the rest of society considers essential, such as mortgages, holidays, cars, money and so on.

I think that this attitude is surprisingly pervasive, to the extent that it begins to erode an actor’s self-respect. Even within the industry, we often suffer from discrimation. Actors are easily dismissed for a number of reasons, the principal one being that there are just so many of us and we all want jobs. So we become irritants – the small fly that buzzes around your face. The industry Gatekeepers – directors and casting directors, even our own agents – must dread phone calls from actors, because after the small talk there will always come The Question: ‘Is there anything happening at the moment?’ Here’s a fun game – find the casting director at a first-night party and watch the look of panic in their eyes as you approach. Inevitably they build walls around themselves to hold back the relentless onslaught of desperation.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

The result of all this is that people lose respect for actors. It makes perfect sense, really – when someone seems completely needy and vulnerable it’s hard to respect them. The consequence of this is that we can start to lose respect for ourselves. So an actor’s journey through their career becomes about trying to navigate a way through these hazards – trying to maintain a career while constantly questioning our worth and our choices, and feeling reluctant to approach the ‘gatekeepers’ because we know how unwanted our advances will be. The ultimate result is that many truly talented actors decide that the rewards are no longer worth the effort and step away from the profession.

Now, some actors are ridiculous. Of course they are. They take themselves far too seriously and seem to view the fact of their raised public profile as an invitation to make pronouncements on subjects which they are entirely unqualified to comment on. People are quite rightly scornful of this sort of person. But fundamentally, actors are essential. Most people might not visit the theatre regularly, but nearly everyone watches EastEnders, or Downton Abbey, or listens to The Archers. Millions watch the Harry Potter films, spend hours playing Grand Theft Auto or sitting in front of CBeebies with their children. None of these things could exist without actors. We have always needed stories, in the same way we need music – to help us escape from ourselves for a while, or to help us cope with life – and in order for these stories to be told, we must have storytellers.