Flesh, Blood, and Binders: How Not to Get the Job

Sometimes having a sense of humor or being a little off-beat can help you stand out. Barbara Streisand lore says she was discovered the day she pretended to chew gum in an audition and “stuck it” under the bottom of her chair. But on the whole, being a bit of a whackjob doesn’t usually help you get an acting role. I’ve learned from audition mistakes. Some silly. Some sensible. Don’t do any of the following…

Heather Gault, actress and an Access to Agents student, I first met in 2009 online (No, no lewd digital exchange which would cause our pets hairball-despair. And shame on you for going there… wait I just did. Next!). She wrote to me in the spring of ’09 about a pair of producers in Florida whose business practices were as attractive as Everglades’ swamp gas. [Problem Producers]

Like myself, Heather is a contributor to Back Stage. I invited the talented actress-author to guest blog this week. And I’m glad I did… her guidance below made me laugh out loud while in the parking lot of Wendy’s in Newark, NJ.

Newark ain’t very funny.

Thank you Heather.

Onward…

Flesh, Blood, and Binders: How Not to Get the Job
Heather Gault

Sometimes leaving a weird first impression isn’t always a bad thing.

When I interviewed to intern in script development at 20th Century Fox back in college, I thought I blew it. I borrowed somebody’s car to drive to the interview (I had never driven in LA before), and of course totally underestimated the traffic. I was very late. Plus, it happened to be one of those rare days when Los Angeles experiences a torrential downpour, so that when I finally arrived at the Fox parking garage, the map of the lot that security gave me disintegrated in the rain. I got totally lost running around in my 4” heels, frantically trying to distinguish one semi-wide trailer from another. When I finally found the correct building for my interview, without realizing it I sliced open my hand as I closed my umbrella. Nobody noticed, in fact, until the handsome executive interviewing me extended his arm for a handshake— we realized I was dripping blood all over the office floor.

Needless to say the interview was crap. It’s not easy to focus on work-related questions while you’re clutching a bloody wad of tissues!

I tried to shake the whole experience off as a bad day. Except that evening the executive called. I couldn’t believe it! Had they really looked past all that insanity?

“Security found your driver’s license on the floor of the parking garage,” he said. “They asked me to get in touch with you so you can come retrieve it.” With my tail between my legs, I returned in the borrowed car to the parking garage, certain to never see the inside of a movie studio again.

A day later the executive called back. “When can you start?” he asked. I was stunned. There had to be some mistake. “You do know it’s me, right? The girl who was an hour late and bled all over your office?”  He laughed. “Yes, we know it’s you. You have a great sense of humor. We’d like to give you the job.”

So began one of the best non-acting job experiences of my life. And it’s true—sometimes having a sense of humor or being a little off-beat can help you stand out. Barbara Streisand lore says she was discovered the day she pretended to chew gum in an audition and “stuck it” under the bottom of her chair.

But on the whole, being a bit of a whackjob doesn’t usually help you get an acting role.

Here is a list of mistakes I’ve learned from in my own audition experience. Some silly, some sensible.  And yes, I have done each of these things, personally.

Please Don’t Do Any of The Following. Trust me.

-Don’t make lice jokes at a hair modeling call.

-Don’t explain to the producers of a tour that before you have coffee in the morning your roommate calls you “The Bunny that Got Hit by a Truck.”

-Don’t expect that just because you’re auditioning for two wildly different shows that the people behind the table will want to choose which one you sing for first.

-Even if you’re trying out for the role of a hooker, that small regional theater in Wisconsin doesn’t want you to show up to the audition looking like one.

-Winter brings static electricity to polyester. Don’t wear polyester to auditions unless you can deal with static electricity in a more graceful manner than, say, Lucille Ball.

-“Tuna” is a code word for “men in drag.” If you can’t pull off looking like a man in drag, don’t show up.

-Don’t wear flesh-colored fabrics (even pretty ones!) unless you’re okay with people telling you that you must have some kind of body fetish. (Okay, I may not have been the weird one in this instance, but why invite the commentary?)

-Don’t say that you can’t think of any questions about the project unless you really feel that way. You might end up missing something that could have helped you. Conversely, don’t ask a question that was plainly stated in the breakdown or script for the sake of asking a question.

-If you wear a strappy dress, don’t go anywhere without a sewing kit. Nobody wants to pull a Janet Jackson in the middle of Eliza Doolittle, trust me.

-There will always be Chipotle after you’ve danced.

-If you have multiple binders for sheet music, don’t make them all the same color. You will bring the wrong one with you.

-Similarly, don’t accidentally take someone else’s music binder home with you. It doesn’t make you look good when you have to bring it back to her at her callback.

-Sticking with the binder theme, don’t forget your music binder in the audition room when you leave. They won’t think it’s cute that you were so nervous.

-Don’t leave your binder on the train.

-Don’t leave your binder in the car before you get on the train.

-Don’t leave anywhere without your binder, ever.

-Don’t pursue a profession that requires you to hold on to a binder! (Okay, this one’s just for me.)

-Don’t wear a leotard you’ve never sweated in before . . . you don’t want to be surprised what suddenly becomes visible mid-audition.

-Don’t mistake porn for Shakespeare. Just don’t. (Those of you who read my Back Stage column last June know what I’m talking about. . .) [Sex, Lies and Shakespeare]

-If they ask you about something you’re good at (“How are you with modern dance?”), don’t tell them about something you aren’t (“Way better than I am a tap! Man do I suck at tap!”). Especially if tap wasn’t even in the equation.

-Don’t get into the “hey we know this person in common” game with someone you’re trying to impress if the only stories you can tell of this person are about how they dumped you.

-Conversely, if someone you’re trying to impress gets excited about a name on your resume and says “I love this person, how are they?” don’t stammer and say, “Oh, I don’t know I haven’t seen her for four years.”

-Don’t staple your resume upside-down to your headshot.

-Scientific studies show that only 3% of women going into an audition room do not have a wedgie. 3% of women going into an audition room aren’t wearing underwear. Don’t pick your wedgie!

-Don’t tell a pedophile joke when they ask you to tell a joke to camera, even if it’s the only joke you can think of at the time.

-And last but not least, don’t lose heart! We all do stupid things when we’re nervous. Each audition is a new chance. And luckily for screw-ups like me, this is the time of year with the most chances.

Sure, casting directors hire us not to be crazy people but to play crazy people. But if I can blunder my way into a career and I’ve made that many screw-ups?— I get the feeling that we’re all going to be okay. Take heed, that you may learn from my idiocy. Come to think of it, it’s a miracle anyone’s ever hired me at all. Thank you, former employers! Please. . . don’t tell your friends.

Heather Gault is an actress based out of New York City. When she’s not singing and dancing for her meal ticket, Heather enjoys dabbling in writing and producing. She currently writes a seasonal column for Back Stage about the ups and downs of being an actor. Her play, Stroller Wars, has been featured as part of the Strawberry One Act Festival and workshopped at the Surflight Theatre in Beach Haven, NJ. Next up, Heather will be appearing in the independent feature-length musical film In the Night. To learn more about Heather and her upcoming projects, check out www.HeatherGault.com.

Paul Russell’s career as a casting director, director, acting teacher and former actor has spanned nearly thirty years. He has worked on projects for major film studios, television networks, and Broadway. Paul has taught the business of acting and audition technique at NYU and has spoken at universities including Yale, Temple and the University of the Arts. He writes a column for Back Stage and is the author of ACTING: Make It Your Business – How to Avoid Mistakes and Achieve Success as a Working Actor. For more information, please visit www.PaulRussell.net.

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The Night I Found Arthur Laurents’ Wallet

There was composer Jule Styne pressed against an upper wall. Adolph Green and Betty Comden were emerging from Tyne Daly’s dressing room. Was that Sondheim sheepishly breezing past? Possibly, my eyes were focused above on the other Broadway luminaries…

Tyne Daly had gracefully dipped her final curtsy of the evening. The 1989 revival of Gypsy pushed past one more preview performance at The St. James Theater. My new boyfriend and I had a night off from the drudgery that was a labored production of La Cage Aux Folles at Bucks County Playhouse. Standing in the right rear orchestra of the St. James’ we turned to leave and strode up the outer aisle then shuffled with the crowd along the back of the orchestra’s last row. We came to the next aisle break. I peered down. A wallet lay under the last aisle seat.

I picked up the slender black leather billfold– searched for identification. A driver’s license? None. I pulled at one of the plastic credit cards; American Express. As fellow audience members brushed past me I looked at the name under the card’s brand. I was stunned by the raised, molded moniker pressed into the plastic; Arthur Laurents. I quickly pulled at the other credit cards in the wallet just to make certain I hadn’t imagined my discovery. Upon one piece of plastic after another was the name; Arthur Laurents, Arthur Laurents, Arthur Laurents.

I turned to my boyfriend. With shock I gibbered I’d just found Arthur Laurents’ wallet. He dully replied, “Who’s Arthur Laurents?”

Was I really dating an actor who was currently in an Arthur Laurents’ musical that limped weekly at a weary summer stock in New Hope, PA? And who had just witnessed for two hours a legendary musical co-written and directed by the same man? Yepper. And would this be the same boyfriend who would go on to become a talent agency owner and my partner? For better or worse…  yes. (Oh I should have recognized then what that spoken ignorance of “Who’s Arthur Laurents?” would lead to.)

Trembling I rushed backstage to return the wallet to its owner. The doorman seemed perplexed until I displayed the credit cards bearing Mr. Laurents’ name. I and the boyfriend were escorted into the privileged depths of the St. James. This was my first time ever venturing back stage at a Broadway house. We were told to wait at the bottom of a stairwell that led up to the dressing rooms. What would unknowingly become years later commonplace in my life, milling about the tight back stage passages of Broadway, felt at that moment like a fantasy realized only once. I was witnessing the elite behind-the-scenes world and participants of Broadway.

There was composer Jule Styne pressed against an upper wall. Adolph Green and Betty Comden were emerging from Tyne Daly’s dressing room. Was that Sondheim sheepishly breezing past? Possibly, my eyes were focused above on the other Broadway luminaries in the cramped stairwell. Jonathan Hadary, who played Herbie, ventured out from his dressing room to greet a perky, national, morning talk-show host. Surreal would be my response if at that moment I was informed that in the next decade I as a casting person would be chatting and calming Mr. Hadary as he readied to enter an 890 Broadway audition studio for the first national tour of Angels in America.

The doorman interrupted my reverie. Standing aside him was a short, compact man with a passionate fire in his eyes. He was introduced to me.

“Arthur,” the doorman grumbled, “this is the guy.”

Arthur Laurents asked for my name. He shook my hand repeatedly and expressed great gratitude. He then proposed a question I wasn’t expecting, “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” I gushed.

I wasn’t anticipating anything. This brief glimpse into a fanciful world I’d never witnessed before was more than reward enough. And why would I require a reward? I was just rightfully returning one man’s property. We chatted briefly. He again thanked me and instructed that I contact him if I needed anything.

Driving back to the dreariness of the dilapidated Bucks County Playhouse I was giddy. Upon return the boyfriend and I shared our experience with fellow cast mates. When informed about Arthur asking me if there was something he could do for me and I revealed that I replied ‘nothing’, many of the actors became bitter and angered.

“Why didn’t you ask to be in his show? Or for an audition?” came repeated admonishments.

I told the leverage-every-encounter thespians that requesting such didn’t seem proper. The only request I could foolishly think of, in retrospect, was to ask Mr. Laurents if he could arrange a dinner between me and Stephen Sondheim. (I don’t think that would have played very well.)

For the next twenty-four hours cast members castigated me for not seizing this ‘golden opportunity’. Young, confused and peer pressured I acquiesced and announced that I would drive back up to New York the next day and deliver my headshot and resume to the stage door of the St. James. The boyfriend insisted I deliver his P&R as well. I reluctantly accepted his headshot and stashed it under the front seat of my Honda where it would remain for months until the car’s next cleaning. I felt dirty enough delivering my headshot to Arthur Laurents. I didn’t fancy being a headshot mule for others.

When I met the doorman at the St. James he mentioned that Arthur had announced to the cast my name and wallet return during notes. Supposedly Arthur asked of the cast if anyone knew me. The doorman told me that several people responded ‘yes’. (They must have had me confused with some other Paul Russell. I was way under their level at the time.) With hesitance I handed the doorman the manila envelope holding my headshot to be given to Mr. Laurents. I can’t recall but I hope I wrote and included a kind and respectful letter.

For days after I felt like an exploitative dope.

Arthur responded within a week via a gracious note; ‘should the opportunity to audition ever come up…” and so on. Plus he offered return tickets to Gypsy which I happily utilized when Linda Lavin took over the role of Mama Rose.

In the years that followed Arthur and I wrote each other. His correspondence rests in one of my desk drawers alongside letters from two of his colleagues; Hal Prince and Stephen Sondheim. When I ventured into casting Arthur unknowingly became a champion of some of my work. I next encountered him when he personally brought Stephen Sondheim to see a play that I cast. They had an interest in musicalizing the hot property. I chatted with both gentlemen. Thanked them for coming. Reminded Arthur I was the guy who found his wallet. To which he cheered, “You’re the guy!” He turned to Sondheim and re-told the story of how we first met. I then profusely apologized for my headshot submission. Arthur was very kind in his return remarks.

We would encounter each other again over the years. One of those times was at the George Street Playhouse. My partner had a client in a new play written and directed by Arthur. (Arthur had seen the actress in one of my prior castings and insisted she be cast in his production without an audition. At first she declined— the tale of her initial short-sightedness is in ACTING: Make It Your Business.) When the partner and I bumped into Arthur at the opening night gala he immediately thanked me again for finding and returning his wallet many years prior. He’d always do that whenever we met.

I’m grateful to Arthur for his kindness. His compassion. His support of the works I played part in as casting director. I never witnessed Arthur’s infamous irascible behavior. If I had I would have told others as I do now; Arthur Laurents had a right to fight. The man, while having a great many successes, was also the same man our government unjustly black-listed as a communist during the McCarthy era. His journey, while often appearing to glide smoothly over pristine pavement, had its share of pot holes. Yet the man always ventured forward. He never relented.

Now that he has passed; I’ll miss bumping into him and hearing, “You’re that guy.” Our community has lost a champion.

My Best,
Paul

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Paul Russell’s career as a casting director, director, acting teacher and former actor has spanned nearly thirty years. He has worked on projects for major film studios, television networks, and Broadway. Paul has taught the business of acting and audition technique at NYU and has spoken at universities including Yale, Temple and the University of the Arts. He writes a column for Back Stage and is the author of ACTING: Make It Your Business – How to Avoid Mistakes and Achieve Success as a Working Actor. For more information, please visit www.PaulRussell.net.

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