I Dreamed We Were Expecting A Full House...

... and then somebody realized he had counted some reservations twice, so there weren't as many people coming as expected. Aaiieee! Whew, what a scary dream. What's that? It really happened? Aaiieee! OK, calm down. There's still time for people to call 714-630-9870 and book the remaining seats.

NIGHTMARES final performance Oct. 31
House opens at 7:30 p.m., performance at 8, party follows
THE GALLERY THEATRE
3152 East La Palma, Suite G
Anaheim, CA

At only $6, you can hardly afford not to go!

Dancing Makes Me Hungry

I just got back from a salsa and merengue class. Do you know what would taste really good right now? Some chips and salsa and a slice of lemon meringue pie. But is there any salsa or pie in the house? Of course not.

Strictly Ballroom

Last night I took a dance lesson, proving I don't have to be around horses to get my feet stepped on. Fortunately, my partners this time were much, much lighter. I'll be polishing my waltz, swing and cha-cha skills in the coming weeks. One never knows when one might have to cha-cha, after all. Hey, if you want to see something even scarier than dance lessons, come to the final performance of Nightmares on Halloween night at the Gallery Theatre. It's only $6 and there's a party afterward. I'm told it's almost sold out, so call 714-630-9870.

More Nightmares!

You have two more chances to catch me (and some other people) in "Nightmares" at the Gallery Theatre for the absurdly low price of $6 (unless you're reading this after the fact, which is hardly my fault, is it?). I've had several people tell me I'm creepy and scary. And some of them have actually seen the show.

NIGHTMARES
Sunday Oct. 28 and Wednesday Oct. 31 (Halloween)
Show starts promptly at 8 p.m.
THE GALLERY THEATRE
3152 East La Palma - Suite G
Anaheim, CA 92807

Reservations and Information:
714.630.9870

Directions:
Take the 91 freeway to Kraemer. Turn right at the end of the ramp and right again at La Palma (first light). The Gallery Theatre is located in the Sterling Business Complex.

Mares & Nightmares

Monday: Auditioned for a role as a chef in a white jacket purchased specially for the occasion ($2 at a local thrift store) — two more auditions and wardrobe changes that day.
Tuesday: Traveled to Dude's Ranch for a riding lesson. Practiced steering, accelerating, reverse, and most importantly, braking. Had a great time, not realizing my thighs would still be sore five days later. Also managed to get my foot under a horse's hoof; glad I wore boots. Later, rehearsed for Nightmares, sore thighs and toes and all.
Wednesday: Went on audition or two. In the evening, performed reading of The Dybbuk — we made people cry, we got paid, and we were invited back to do another reading. A good night all-in-all.
Thursday: Had an audition wherein I was asked to pantomime running into an electric fence, do a bad robot imitation, fall over a chair and chase an imaginary monkey around the room. Bruised more than my dignity. Another Nightmares rehearsal
Friday: Another skating lesson. Last time I thought I lurched around like the Frankenstein monster. This time my coach said I wobbled like Winnie-the-Pooh. Is that better or worse?
Saturday: Saw a very enjoyable production of A Midsummer's Night Dream at the Next Stage. "Every man shall have his mare!"
Sunday: Off to a dress rehearsal of Nightmares. The show opens Thursday at the Gallery Theatre. I play two despicable characters. Come and show me some hate!

Don't Blink

Demons, Golems, and Me

One man has delved to deeply into hidden things and another has kept his mind willfully ignorant of what his heart knows to be true. A woman loved by both is caught between the truth and the lie, the light and the shadow, the living and the dead. “Demons, Golems, and Dybbuks: Monsters of the Jewish Imagination” is the theme of a series of discussions being held in Pasadena this fall. On October 17, the conversation will focus on The Dybbuk: Between Two Worlds, considered a seminal work of Jewish theater. I will take on the role of Khonon/The Dybbuk in a staged reading that will precede the discussion. Preparing for the event has been a fascinating journey into a time, place, and belief system I knew very little about, and I look forward to learning more. For details or to register, contact Joanne Kim, (626) 585-7837, jykim@pasadena.edu.

Cool World

I have been visiting the cartooniverse lately. First, I interviewed the delightful Ann-Margret in her Beverly Hills home. Ann-Margret herself is quite real, but I first knew her as Ann-Margrock on The Flintstones. Then I auditioned for a role on the DVD release of... well, I signed a confidentiality agreement, but it was highly popular anime back when we used to just call it Japanese animation. In noncartoon news, I had my first ice-skating lesson. Technically, I think I've been to the rink at least once as a child, but I don't remember much more than sitting down, hard, a lot. This time I managed to stay vertical for several stiff, lumbering turns around the rink. I must have looked like Boris Karloff in Frankenstein on Ice.

Two Kinds of Shoot

Yesterday I fired off several dozen rounds with a Springfield XD9 and got my handgun safety certificate. During the classroom session, I sometimes felt that the life-size cardboard cutout of John Wayne was staring at me like I didn't belong. But I passed the test and even managed to hit the center of the target a few times. Take that, Duke. It was only my second time firing a handgun and my first with a semiautomatic (as part of an acting gig, I fired a 1903 Colt 38 single-action revolver). I was worried that I'd be too nervous to shoot straight, but by the time we'd had all the safety instruction and gone through a few dry-firing sessions, I felt pretty comfortable. There seemed to be one instructor for every two or three students on the firing line, and they made darned sure the only time any students were holding a loaded firearm was when they were facing the target and preparing to fire. On the previous day, I worked on an instructional video project called Treasure Your Marriage, in which I got to complain about my wife's compulsive cleaning and organizing. If only I had a wife like that, my life would be so much easier. Well, maybe not easier, but probably cleaner and more organized.

Mob Rules

When I asked the attendant about parking for Deal Or No Deal, she gave me a quizzical look. Stupid parking attendant, I thought. She ought to know the name of the show. Certainly other contestants have already arrived. “The game show,” I prompted her, “at the studio.” “Oh,” she responded, a look of sudden realization on her face. “You want the next entrance over.” I thanked her and drove to the next entrance, marked by a yellow sign reading 1 vs. 100, the actual name of the show I was there to participate in. I'm really not prepared for this, I realized. In my defense, I did wake up at 4 a.m. in order to make it to the studio on time. How is anyone supposed to be smart after waking up while it's still dark out? Oh, sure, emergency room surgeons do it all the time, but they aren't dealing with the stress of being on a game show. And as I've already written, I'm not a regular viewer and it wasn't my idea to be on the show. As it turns out, it wasn't anyone's idea for me to be on the show that day. For this episode, they wanted two mobs, one all male and one all female. The men were all given name tags, some of which had blue dots on them. The blue dot people were made mob members right away. Then they asked for men over 6 feet tall (missed it by that much. Then, they took men whose tags had a 1 or a 2 as the last digit. Mine had a 4. There were no 5s. I'm not sure if the numbers were randoms, or the 4 meant they really thought I sucked. Maybe it related to the 3.5 I got at the audition? In any case, I was again sent home before the day was over. Before I left, someone explained that all the people with blue dots had been there once before and were called back, and that's why they got preference this time around, and the same thing could happen to us. So that blew our theory that the blue dot meant they blew the casting director.

Life and Death Concerns

I went to an American Red Cross CPR and first aid class today and as I was watching the demonstration videos, a couple of very important questions occured to me, namely, who are these people and how much did they get paid? Some of the performers may well have been ARC employees, while others almost had to be professional actors. Some of the vignettes were simple demonstrations that were done very straight and without emotion and some of them were staged to simulate real-life situations. Of the latter, some were performed a little lethargically, but that may well have been a directorial choice to keep theatrics to a minimum so as not to interfere with the instructional purpose of the videos. Still, others were very effective and even occasionally moving. I thought the heat exhaustion farm workers and hypothermia fishermen were particularly good. So, it had me wondering if the Red Cross had some sort of SAG waiver like the film schools that allows them to use a mixture of union and non-union actors, and if so, what if anything they pay them. Or if they produce some of the videos in-house as a non-signatory and contract out the rest to a company that has signed a SAG agreement. These are the things I think about now. (Lest anyone think that's all I thought about today, I got 100 percent on my written exam and am now certified in first aid and CPR).

No Rushin' This Literature

In preparation for a dramatic reading of The Dybbuk, I ordered an Ansky anthology from an online bookstore. I was about $5 short of the minimum to qualify for free shipping, so I searched for something to buy for $5 or less. In the mix with a bunch of questionable titles I'd never heard of was an acknowledged classic: The Brothers Karamazov. What the heck, I thought, I'm basically getting a free book. Upon delivery, I breezed through The Dybbuk in one sitting. Then, I turned with some apprehension to the heftier tome: 700+ pages of smallish print with narrow margins. Well, I told myself, it's a classic, so it must be worth the effort. Then I read the author's introduction, in which Dostoevsky basically apologizes for writing such a uninteresting story about such an unexceptional proagonist but assures the reader that it's a necessary prelude to the second part of the story, which will be much more interesting, honest. The problem with that is that he never got around to writing The Brothers Karamazov II: Alyosha Strikes Back, or whatever it was supposed to be. No, he took the easy way out and died, leaving me with 700+ pages of prologue.

Joining the Mob

A few weeks ago a certain female acquaintance convinced me to trying out for the game show 1 vs. 100 — “coerced” might be more accurate; I can still here the crack of the whip reverberating in my mind. She was positive I could not only make it on the show, but make big money doing it. Now, it's true that I did win a couple of times on Jeopardy!, but that was way back in the 20th century, when I was younger and smarter than I am now, and I had been watching that show since the Art Fleming days (so I must not have been that young), whereas I've never actually seen an entire episode of this one. By the time I finally caved in and drove down to Culver Studios, the auditions were almost over. I didn't even have time to complete the entry form, and when they whisked me in for the personal interview, questions such as “What was the funniest thing that ever happened to you?” and “What interesting thing about you should we know?” were still left blank. So I realized I had about 30 seconds to convince a stranger that I was actually an interesting person worthy of being on the show (kind of like a commercial audition, actually). After a few words back and forth, she wrote “3.5” on my application and turned to the next person on line. I'm a 3.5? Someone looked at me, talked to me, and summed me up as 3.5? Hopefully that's not out of 100. Then we walked on to the set of “Deal or No Deal.” Had I mixed up my game shows? No, turns out the same production company does both and for some reason they had at the DoND set. No models were present on the staircase, however. We took a written test, which seemed to me very heavy on pop culture. (Apparently, everyone but me knew Hannah Montana is Billy Ray Cyrus' daughter.) So I wasn't too surprised when I wasn't asked to stay for the next part of the audition, but my dark muse seemed rather disappointed when I notified her via cell phone. Anyway, yesterday I got a call on that very same cell phone. Although my incomplete application form, 3.5 rating and ignorance as to which reality show was produced by Heidi Klum may have disqualified from being the 1, I am apparently good enough to be one of the 100. So I guess I better watch the show this Friday, and study up on my recent Grammy winners.

Represented

I have a new commercial agent! I left the theater in June with the intention of booking commercials, TV shows and films. I've had a few successes in the past couple of months, and this week I feel like things have moved a big step forward. I had already done a mass mailing to casting directors with a cover letter and four brand new headshots in each envelope and was preparing to do the same for agencies when I got a call from my friend Dino, who is an assistant of this particular agent. He had recommended that she take me on as well to help out, and I jumped at the chance. Not only would it be an opportunity to learn about the business from a different perspective, but there was the possibility of making a little money at it. But when I met her, she immediately had me audition and ended up taking me on as a client. Now, I know having a great agent doesn't mean I get to stop working. Well, the whole point is for me to work more now, right? At least now I feel like I have more people on my side, and that's a very good thing. I don't know what I'm going to do with all those agency mailing labels I printed, though.

Why I Am a Bruins Fan

This morning I went to work on a student film in which I played a college teacher named Mr. Robertson. Two of my “students,” Rebecca and Jonathan, were exchanging glances throughout the class. Rebecca was supposed to arrive late and make an excuse, prompting me to say, “That's OK, Rebecca, just have a seat,” but someone in the crew pointed out that Mr. Robertson shouldn't know her name at that moment. I responded that I just assumed that we had a past. “Rebecca“ laughed and said she thought so too, and new darned well why she was late, which made a lot of people laugh. I'm glad she played along rather than reacting with shock and horror. Later on, when we were shooting Mr. Robertson introducing himself, I goofed and said “Robinson,” so I apologized and said I was thinking of The Graduate. I said it more for my own amusement than anything else; I’ve heard "I was born in XXXX" as an excuse so often I no longer expect anyone more than 10 years younger than me to get any of my pop-culture reference, but several people laughed. Of course there were a lot of film students in the room, but it was still encouraging. The rest of the shoot went very smoothly. Director Clint Chang was calm and collected and seemed to know exactly what he wanted. The crew was very welcoming and respectful. I left the set feeling pretty good, but unfortunately I had to deal with some personal stuff afterward that brought me down a little. Then, tonight, I got this e-mail:

“Thanks so much for coming and participating in my film. You really did an amazing job - I got several complements on your performance in particular. Multiple people asked me if you were a real teacher because they all felt you nailed the act. I look forward to doing the edit to see all your great work come together.”

Now, he didn't have to say any of that at all, but the fact that he did helped bring me back up. Go, UCLA!

Living on Video

So I'm having dinner with my wife, talking about my day at work and the dog and this funny noise the car's making, when all of sudden we're interrupted by.... well, you'll just have to see for yourself. It's what I worked on today and it's coming soon from the Coheed and Cambria, a hard-rock band whose records all have something to do with some kind of cosmic battle between good and evil in which we're all just hapless pawns, I think. It was a fun shoot. Director Ben Barnes always seemed to be cool and laid back and ready with a joke but somehow kept everything running smoothly, the crew as a whole seemed very genial yet professional, and they really treated the actors well. Last but not least, the food was good -- both the “prop” lasagna for the dinner scene and the catered Cuban lunch.

Feelin' Groovy

Today I went to a fitting for a movie set in the ’70s. After getting tricked out in blue/gray pinstriped three-piece suit, I went to the hair and make-up trailer. "Look at those sideburns!" the stylist exclaimed. "I love them! Did you grow those just for us?" Uhh.... yeeesss... yes I did.

Two Shoes

I had two auditions yesterday: one for the part of a college professor, another for the part of a priest. To suit the roles, I decided to dress a little more formally than usual: a gray wool suit, dress shirt, and black leather shoes. It wasn't until five minutes before the second audition that I noticed my left shoe was obviously from a different pair than my right. What did I learn from this? (a) Don't stay out to late the night before an audition. (b) Lay out your clothes, including footwear, ahead of time. (c) Don't get dressed in the dark. (d) Just don't be an idiot.

Location, Location, Location

I've learned a lot in the last few days, but this may be the most important lesson: If you decide to pick up a few extra bucks (and I do mean a few) by doing background work, make sure you find out where the shoot takes place before booking it. Otherwise, you might find yourself driving to freakin&slquo; Valencia like I did. Actually, it turned out not to be such a bad thing. The cast and crew were very nice, it was a fun scene, and a day in front of the camera beats a day in cubicle any day. But Valencia? That's a long, expensive drive. I also had my second commercial acting class with Daphne Kirby, and I'm amazed at how much ground we can cover in a couple of hours. The best part is that we each get to ”audition“ two or three times on camera with actual commercial copy and watch the results. It's enlightening to see what a difference a few adjustments can make.

Why I'm Not a Bruins Fan

Knowing that this is a public forum, even if only three people in the world actually read the damn thing, I've always tried to keep it positive, or at least neutral. But something's been bugging me lately and I've decided to break that self-imposed rule at the risk of alienating the students, faculty, and alumni of one of Southern California's largest and most prestigious film schools. I have had great experiences on projects at USC, Loyola-Marymount, Chapman, Cal Sate Long Beach, the Los Angeles Film School, and the New York Film Academy. It has been a pleasure to collaborate with talented, earnest young filmmakers. Even on auditions where I didn't get the role, I was treated with courtesy, respect, and even gratitude. ("Hey," you may be thinking, "I was promised negativity!" Hold your horses.) So when I submitted for a role in a project at another university film school and was invited to audition, I had every reason to expect the same. The character I submitted for had a name, an interesting back story, and a pivotal role in the plot. The role I submitted for was a named character who was described as a professor. When I met with one of the filmmakers, he had me read dialogue that was written for other characters which kind of surprised me, but it wasn't the first time. Sometimes a filmmaker may see you in a different role when they meet you in person; sometimes a screenplay is unfinished and your part may not even be fully written. The director responded enthusiastically to my reading, gave me some adjustments, thanked me profusely for coming in, and sent me on my way. The next day I was offered the role and I accepted. Then he sent me a script. I searched for my character's name, couldn't find it. No dialogue, no entrance, no action, nothing. I contacted the director and he told me I was going to be part of a crowd scene. Now, I've done nonspeaking roles, I've done crowd scenes, and I will do them again. But everything from the initial character description in the breakdown to the multiple readings during the audition seemed calculated to give the impression I was being considered for a principal role, a role which didn't really exist. That was some time ago. So why bring it up now? Because I recently responded to this notice: "Seven short films are being cast and shot this week, including '[title deleted]'! [name deleted] graduate directing students and TFT faculty will be involved! Come to the audition and you will have the chance to audition for several of the films, not just ours!" Do you see in there where it says these films will be directed by high school students, because I sure don't. I have actually recently worked with a director who was a high-school student at the time of filming. It was a great experience and I'd do it again, but let me know up front. Please don't make me think I'll be working with film school graduates when that's not the case. And please don't then usher me into a room full of high-school males and give me the task of finding one who is interested in talking to me and not the beautiful young women in the room. One student was openly derisive and rude. Another was obviously not going to cast me but seemed to want to try out his impression of a slick Hollywood mover a la Entourage.Despite the less than ideal circumstances, I did strike up a rapport with a young director, who called the next morning to offer me a leading role. I called back and accepted, and he called back and very apologetically retracted the offer, saying his writer and director of photography wanted someone else and outvoted him. At first I laughed it off, chalking it up to youthful indiscretion and poor impulse control. But then I stopped laughing, realizing that it fit into a pattern of behaving as if promises made, explicitly and implicitly, don't really matter where actors are concerned. This high-school students should have been taught that actors, like anybody, deserve respect and honesty. But who is there to teach them?