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!