Celebrity Gone Crazy

What is all this bullshit about? Why are the media so insistent on repeatedly telling us of the movements (bowel and otherwise) of so-called celebrities? And I use this term loosely. It seems that you only have to sneeze on some reality crap on TV to be called a Celeb these days - and here's my bag:

I DONT CARE!

I don't care who's lost weight/smoking whilst pregnant/broke up with Brad/took their top off/had a meltdown - I don't. I DONT CARE whether TomKat had painkillers or not whilst giving birth. Surely there are others who don't too? I can't be the only voice? Shouldn't we require to have more to base our adulation on from people we look up to, more than having slept with a footballer or posed naked on a car bonnet or married a squillionaire movie star?

Isn't it disgusting that this is now what we are teaching our children? How about we teach them to aspire to winning a gold medal or sailing single-handedly around the world or composing a piece of music that speaks to a million people? To make their own way in life and stand or fall by the decisions we make along the way.....

....ok, rant over...time to switch off the TV and go and do something less boring instead!

Corporate Boredom.

So you need the cash? Naturally - jobbing actors usually do. Along comes the Corporate video. Hey-ho....

Booked, directions in hand I set off in Reg TFP having glanced at the script (Autocue included in the package). When I arrived I met an old hat at the studio, who told me that this particular company were difficult to get the money out of. Great news at 7.30am before breakfast. A long day ensued finishing with voice over in a different studio.

However, my point is this: do our significant corporations really believe that this kind of script and approach towards customer services really works? You know the type: smiling presenter, bigging up the company whilst making the unfortunate employee absorb phrases such as: "The customer is the most important person and you must identify with them on an individual basis" (Paraphrased - actually said in 44 pages of script)

Wouldn't the world be a better place if these kind of videos were made tailored to the employee and without the corporate lingo? I've been considering this at length and feel sorry for the employee who's made to watch such editions. Wouldn't they love it if the presenter just told the truth? "The customer, usually a complete nut case, is important because we want them to spend their money with us - a pittance of which we will pay you, while we receive our faxes in the Bahamas?" or "Each customer is different but their money isn't!"

Unfortunatly this jobbing actor is too poor to make a stand- I took the money, smiled and ran!

An Evening to Remember

Went to see DaVinci Code last night with my Bro and decided (mistakenly) to have a KFC beforehand. Personally I'd rather eat my own arm but as that was unavailable it was junk food central straight ahead.

The squinting and stereotypically greasy bloke behind the counter took 20mins to get to us and then 25min to assemble the order (which actually didn't taste too bad although the Colonel took his revenge this morning) and they call it Fast Food? Brings new meaning to the term you pay peanuts, you get monkeys! Although I'm sure I wasn't the only customer to want to give him a brain transplant there and then!

As for DaVinci Code, let's just say a Danielle Steel novel is a better read and a conversion thereof into a mini-series is more exciting than this film - although, Paul Bettany was excellent as Silas I still managed to have a kip. Twice.

Was Venus A Blonde?

The previous post got me thinking - it's not just parts for men I attract but parts for the blonde goddesses amongst us (I'm extremely brunette and not sunkissed at all - there's no Scandinavian about me - apart from the Ikea furniture upon which I sit!)

Which beggars the question? Why do I get seen? The answer is....I've absolutely no bloody idea mate!

At string of recent auditions I've taken careful note of the ratio: brunette to blonde and found we're sadly not as frequent in the room containing the casting couch. Oh no... at the last one there were 2 of us brunettes to 12 blonde women. There can't be less of us per square mile than blondes can there? Or is it that the casting director uses me specifically as the token brunette? You know, the client really, in his heart of hearts, wants a blonde for his advert but in order to say that he has been given a good cross section, I'm invited along as the token brunette. Sophisticated, clever looking, all the brunette stereotypes fulfilled. And by the end of the casting, he knows he was right - blonde is definitely the way to go!

Or does it simply mean that the casting director or client can't make up their mind?

"Sorry that part was actually for a man..."

So you get to the audition, hope in your heart, confidence in your eyes and pleading from your wallet! Meet the casting director, chit chat, try not to talk yourself out of the job before you've even read from the script. He/she seems to like you and after a brief pause (with a long pointed look) you hear the friendly words: "Could you also read this part for me?" Hurrah! A double chance at getting a job with this director/producer/company! You read and know you've nailed it, whereupon you shake hands and stride out confidently awaiting the recall phonecall from your agent (who you know will be really cheerful!)

It comes the following day and you feel great -it's a quick turnaround, back in Reg The Flying Punto and back on the motorway. In the casting suite you meet the trendy director and experienced producer, sweaty handshakes all round and pleasantaries exchanged, then it's down to business. "Ah, yes.... that part was actually for a man - sorry love."

Damn! I feel that's a stretch too far for me! Even with a budget for prosthetics and a chest wig!

Beware Of The Morning Make-Up Lady.

Make-up ladies are a unique breed. There are several different types for you to spot: the 'too cool for the room' and aloof, the sincere relationship counsellor, the irrepressible chatty with a steam of constant early morning banter, the hungover (greenly sipping Berocca), the down-to-Earth/friendly type and the just plain brilliant!


The following is a personal encounter from a job I did:

I arrive at my designated tube station at 7.15am for pick up, having been up at 3.30am and left at 4am. Being 'hot-to-trot' at night, I must admit I'm not huge fan of the Après-Dark (morning) and although I'm wide awake; I look a little crumpled (who can be bothered to apply make up at such an ungodly hour?)

Fortunately, Man spotted the executive taxi hidden around the corner and I clambered in, excited about the scheduled days filming (the northerner in me dying to ask the driver "been busy then?") We were both whisked across London in the early morning rush hour (does it ever dissipate?) to the first location. The Production Assistant calls my phone with hope in his voice and is verbally relieved that I'm actually in London and not stuck on some foreign (northern) motorway frothing at the traffic.

We arrive on set and have the required complimentary tea as shooting is well underway. And so begin the introductions. There's the beautiful girl playing the other character in the scene - who has put make up on at an un-godly hour, the 2nd Assistant director - refreshingly not wearing a North Face jacket (extra points for him), the Production Manager - looking trendy and aloof and the Make-up Lady who, in due course, is introduced to me.

She strides over in fabulous boots, she shakes my hand and looks at my face carefully scanning the bags, the imperfections, the spot that always springs up on the day of a shoot and I sense an imperceptible tut forming. "I've seen the other girl, very pretty girl,” she says absently, "she won't need much work." Then realising how that might have sounded, she quickly reaches over to place a reassuring hand on my shoulder; "Not that I'm saying you do, you understand?" With that cleared up, she turned on her heel and walks back to the monitor.

And, once I'd picked my gob up off the floor, I discovered that she wasn't being a bitch. In fact we were remarkably similar - we'd both left things at home in our rush to make it to set on time that morning.

I'd left my make-up behind and she'd left the tact chip for her brain!

Let the train take the strain!

In recent weeks the Government and ITV news have been educating us lesser mortals about saving the planet, using public transport etc - which I absolutely agree with. However the ideal of this appears to be out of reach to skint, jobbing actors such as myself as I discovered.

My conscience was pricked - I had to be green. With a casting in London the following afternoon, the train was the place to start and I got on the net. After locating a site that sold tickets I filled in all my details (the site struggled more than Jensen Button's engine at the recent Australian Grand Prix) and, to my disbelief it quoted me an astounding £156.00! After I stopped laughing I thought: "Right - I'll try the phone!" - use the personal touch. (Has anyone else discovered that if you call a train company three times you get three different prices?)

After fighting my way through the usual mind numbing switchboard of press one for operator, press two for operator with brain, press three for man in India who won't understand you, it was down to business. Which station are you traveling from? Tempted to reply "second star on the right and straight on till morning" I thought that,perhaps, my sense of humour might not be well received and I'd better play it straight. After a barrage of quick fire questions that Anne Diamond would be proud of (and no my Boots Advantage Card is not accepted as railcard) I was quoted more than the online price!

"Oh?" says I in my best management style voice (patronising), "Aren't there any cheaper tickets left? I'm not, after all (smile), traveling during peak time?" There's a lightly confused silence and then an equally management style voice (patronising - I couldn't blame her as I started it) said "Oh yes, but only if you book 14 working days in advance." She was not swayed by my argument of securing the audition 1 hour previous to this strained conversation, or that I was positive the casting director wouldn't wait two weeks for me to get to London. Even my carefully rehearsed lecture entitled: 'What I've learned from New Labour about greenhouse gases and global warming' did not soften her corporate resolve. I had to admit defeat.

With my dreams of being 'enviromentally responsible' in tatters, it was back to sandwiches and cigarettes in Reg the flying Punto, who incidentally has now done the equivalent millage of 4 times around the Earth. He faithfully took me to London in under 3 hours at a bargin price of £43.50 - £7.00 of which was spent using the M6 Toll road but don't get me started on that!

Embracing The Pigeon Hole.

Ahh, the casting pigeon hole - just the sort of thing we're taught bravely to fight against at drama school. I was raised on a diet of playing mainly men and old ladies, which I embraced fully and enjoyed thoroughly. However did it fully prepare me for professional life?

For years I've struggled to find and then accept the pigeon hole I sit in and I suspect I'm not the only actor to do so. Years ago I was so upset with with the offers I was receiving (topless glamour and party girl piffle) that I cut all my hair off and dyed it red in a young attempt to be taken seriously in this show called Biz. Needless to say it was not the most successful of protests.

I've discovered that the older I get, the bigger and more fitting my pigeon hole becomes. In fact I've just decorated (with a little help from Ikea). My party girl has grown into bitch next door and topless glamour has morphed into sex kitten wearing comfortable shoes - of course growing my hair back made moving back in much easier.

Now, feeling finally settled in my own skin, I'm happy not to covert my neighbor's part. Recently I was asked to play Lorraine Chase to my audition partners Glenda Jackson (a bizarre coupling if ever there was one) and rather than being slightly miffed as I once would have been, I smiled to myself as I finally knew exactly what the casting director wanted from me. Even better than this, it was natural.

And so to summarise, until the acting world wakes up and realises that I too have undiscovered skills, I have a very comfortable Poång (catalogue page:114) to recline in!

"You Don't Live In London?????"

No I don't live in London, it's true, bring on the handcuffs or the self flagellation! I confess it - I am an actor and I live in the North of England. Does this really have to mean that I am cursed to a life of self blame and denial?

A few days ago I landed an advert with, shall we say, a well known mobile technology company. Ecstatic to be working (cheerful agent now even more so) I consult my little black book for friends, acquaintances, people I knew a lifetime ago or even complete strangers with whom I drunkenly chatted once. All to find a space to lay my head whilst filming this epic. Unfortunately no corner of London was available to me (best friend playing the spiritual side of herself in Frankfurt and her excellent accommodation/food/wine closed for foreseeable future).

What was a northern girl to do? "Sod it!" I thought and with the bit firmly between my teeth and Reg the flying Punto firmly under my ass, I cried "I'll drive!" It takes about 3 hours to navigate my way past the salesman's X5 and Audi cars with jackets swinging on hooks in the rear. Not a bad drive really especially with my Man for company, tuning the radio and passing out sandwiches or cigarettes.

So a bustling morning (having left at 5 am) finds me bright eyed and bushy tailed in the city of actors trying on clothes for my role. At which point there's a blind panic at the production company when I'm asked to write my address and phone number on a random piece of paper. A wide eyed (but very sweet) Production Assistant consults, behind closed doors, a terribly trendy Production Manager who strides across the office with an incredulous gaze. He looks again at the paper containing my address as if maybe, just maybe he's read it wrong and in a voice that implies I've just served him pigs trotters on a bed of black pudding he says: "You don't live in London?????"

Erm....actually....no.... but I've read loads of books on the subject of acting and I've never found one yet which instructs the actor first and foremost to live in London. Surely talent, ability, technique etc is more important than location? Certainly with Reg the flying Punto and Man as my M6 support team - I'm never late for London!

Just how many chairs do you think you can emergency stop?

So here I am, sitting somewhere in the North of England thinking to myself I just have to tell someone about this. Everyone, anyone, somebody or nobody? It really doesn't matter!

I spent four years training at drama school to do what I do, blood, sweat, tears and tea went into my degree - cheating, so sadly apparent in our universities if the discussion on 5 Live the other day was to be believed, was not an option for me!

Don't get me wrong - this blog is not a way to vent my angst at the world as to why I haven't been invited to collect my award at the BAFTAs yet, or even the TV Choice Favourite Soap Special Dinner. Quite simply life is funny!

How many of you can say that they went to a meeting today and were asked - in all seriousness - to emergency stop a perfectly ordinary chair?

This audition was my first in a while (I've changed my agent in the last few months and she's very cheerful). I proceeded up the stairs out of the rain, so glad that I'd spent time straightening my hair, and filled in the casting form: smiling all the time at the other candidates whilst trying both to look confident and smaller than my actual height (a difficult feat to master). Then there's the obligatory photo against the blandest wall in the room, which of course looks really bad. Why do casters still use Polaroids? Actors spend hundreds of pounds a year on quality pics only to dress up, go to a casting and be confronted with a blurred reproduction of how they look "at that moment". At this point I am usually bending my knees and normally blinking!

Well, after hanging around for an hour or so (castings always run late) it was my turn to win the caster and client over. I walk in the room, smiling, make eye contact - being direct only to be confronted with a plastic chair and a scenario on how to emergency stop it. I did not make it seem natural! I tried all the actor's process, the Stanislavski, even the Peter Brook but I just couldn't seem to make it serious enough - probably not helped by the giggles I was trying to suppress.

You see I might be £250.00 plus repeats poorer but no amount of money can buy the smile that stayed on my face for a whole day!