He lives in the South, working a typical nine-to-five job. He's a true fan of a famous actress. He even sent her a dozen roses once, when she won an Academy Award.
While he is talented and enjoys acting in community theatre, he has no plans to pursue a career as a professional actor. He's a rather shy person, reticent around strangers, so his interview technique needs some work. His cold reading technique, moreover, is nonexistent. He'll admit if he doesn't get the script long enough to memorize it, he doesn't have a chance.
He is non-union. He doesn't have any resume shots or resumes - after all, what does he need them for? He never goes to L.A. or New York seeking work...
... And, on top of all that, he's partially handicapped.
One day, a local director asks him if he'd like to appear in a show being produced in that southern city...
Cut to: Manhattan. He's appeared on stage in a hit show for two years. His face has appeared on the front page of The New York Times' theatre section, and he's gotten excellent reviews.
He's been on a European tour, including performing for and meeting the Prince of Wales.
And, one night, his favorite actress happens to be in the audience. After the show, she goes backstage, tells him how much she enjoyed his performance...
... And then she gives him a kiss.
Sound like the script for a B movie?
It's all true. We know; it happened to a friend. Call it Fate, the Karmic Kosmos, or more things than are dreamt of by us Horatios. The point is, this business is just plain magically nutsy.
You can stand at a corner with a comic book in your hand, turn left, and bump into a guy with his shirt open to his navel who says, "You! You're perfect!" And zoooom.
Or you can be at the same corner with this book under your arm, turn right, and wind up struggling for 20 years.
Well, that's the job-getting business. At least you know the game a little better, which will cut the odds a bit.
In any case, whether you like that unlikely instant luck or the usual period of struggle, we hope you wiII never forget the sheer joy of: a mustard-slavered hot dog at the ballpark; kissing your loved one for no good reason whatsoever; or just plain having a good laugh.
We also hope your acting coach never asks you why you secretly hate your little brother. We hope your agent calls you once a month desperate for more pictures. We hope t le receptionists you run up against don't give you terminal frostbite. We hope casting directors sensitively understand why your hands are so clammy. We hope producers pay you all your meal penalties and directors only shoot you in close-up.
And, finally, we hope that blowhard who told you you will "never make it" is backstage when your favorite actress walks up to you, tells you how wonderful you were . . .
. . . And gives you a kiss.
Some More Special Advice to New Yorkers to Note Down
What I have learned is that there are several different definitions of the word "actor."In New York theatre it's what will make the literature work; in Hollywood, it's what sells. - Commercial Casting Director
"Culture shock" is about to take on a new meaning.
Strike: bumping into people, "studio" apartments, insanely ridiculous rents, subways, hangouts for actors, galoshes, cattle calls, "youse guys," theatre/ theatre/theatre, walking, Nedicks hot dogs, the Russian Tea Room, Goldenberg's Peanut Chews, Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, and pretzel vendors.
Superimpose: bumping into cars, "single" apartments, sanely ridiculous rents, buses that come every other vernal equinox, skateboards, movies/ movies/movies, driving 30 miles to everything, "take a meeting," Pink's hot dogs, Spagp, sushi, the Rose parade and sheepskin seat cover vendors.
Most important, as to your career, you will get on the plane and, somewhere over Tucumcari or between the third and fourth peanut, somebody will change the rules.
No longer will you be able to indulge in the "starving artist" look so often worn as a badge of distinction in New York; you'll have to clean up your act. You will have to lose that "edge" so typical of New York actors - it will not play in L.A. You won't be able to make the rounds as openly. You will be permitted only one agent to rep you for each endeavor (TV, commercials, etc.). You will be encouraged when your Big Apple credits and training are very well received, and exasperated when you constantly hear, "But do you have any film on yourself?" You may be respected by your New York peers, but, unless you're a name, it's back to work proving yourself all over again to the boys in the Universal Tower. Your cold reading technique probably will have to change from theatre-expansive to office-intimate. Those stints as an extra you're so used to doing will now have to be done almost on the sly - if at all. You will need to drop that theatrical composite and get yourself a good single headshot. The New York sneer at those "non-acting" film actors will have to be replaced by training in, and respect for, acting for the camera. And you'll find even more emphasis on your looks.
Almost everything in this article is as valid for you as any other actor coming from Seattle, Chicago, or West Nowhere. The difference is in the training and experience you may have, not in what you will need to do. It is not only the Dodgers who have gotten into a whole new ballgame.
