Close, But No Representation

This is not the post where I ruminate on The Night Of A Thousand Judys, though that will likely come tonight.  At the moment, however, it takes the kind of thought and care that I simply cannot muster.  I've realized that when writing reviews I am often less than completely candid.  Not that I don't tell the truth as I see it, but, as I assume many critics do, I often feel the need to soften my negative thoughts on a theatrical experience, especially being a performer myself, and knowing what it is like to latch onto a pithy comment tossed off by a reviewer and letting it gnaw away at my mind like its the one bit of truth in a world I've built on delusions of my talent.  At this particular moment I just can't hack the pressure, dear reader, and would prefer to let my mind take me where it will.

Right now I'm thinking a lot about the Tony ceremony this Sunday and how it will totally fuck with my diet, as a few of us are getting together to view them, and there will be food and drinks galore.  Seeing as the ceremony itself isn't likely to be the most exciting (much as I respect the show, watching the people from Hamilton get up and thank everybody over and over is likely to get monotonous real quick) I'll likely spend half the night with my mouth wrapped around the spout of the margarita machine, and the other half spooning down mouthfuls of crab dip.  And yes, glory be, there will be a fucking margarita machine.


As far as my own actor's journey, I recently got some disappointing news.  While on the one hand, it's a move in the right direction--- agent takes notice--- when an agent hands you his card after an audition and asks you to call him the next day, what I am hoping for is not to hear the words "keep in touch and let me know the next time you are in something".  Yes, as he said, it is difficult to tell that much about a performer from 32 bars, but I can't help but think that if I'd really been good, 32 bars should have been enough.

I mean, people do get hired for jobs based on 32 bars.  And yes, I understand that part of it is who you know, and that 32 bars getting you a callback for lots more exposure, and so much is based on the randomness of how a particular performance hits a particular viewer at that moment, but Barbra Streisand, I have to imagine, would have been called in after thirty-two bars.  I know, I know, I am not Barbra Streisand.  This is not a newsflash.  But I do think I'm talented, and I do think, from some of the feedback I've received that I have enough talent to swim in this sea.  Am I fooling myself?  I honestly don't think so.  But then there is that thing they call "grit".  "Grit" is all the rage these days.  It's the new buzz word.  Grit.

The fucking grit factor.  Stick to-itedness.  Persistence.  Call it what you will, think of it as the self help trend of the moment, this shit seems to matter as much, if not more than talent.  I mean it's a cliche, all these talented people who never make it because they can't get seen, or can't even bring themselves to finish a piece of art.  As many have said, "half the battle is showing up".  So, I can't let this get me down.  I have to take this as a sign of good things to come, encouragement to keep honing my skills and cultivate this new connection along with others like it.  The only way to work here is to keep working at getting work.  This is something that seems at the moment like a daunting prospect, but, can be broken down into some smaller and mundane tasks.  Right?  "Keep coming back!!  It works if you work it!!"  Do I sound like I believe this yet?

I mean, I have made progress.  In the past 9 months I've gotten my Equity card, booked a couple of gigs, done about twenty auditions, met some people, begun compiling my book, worked with a coach... this is all part of it.  And in spite of the feeling that my journey is nearly over and I'm a dinosaur crawling toward a downward spiraling asteroid, it's possible that this is just the beginning of my journey.