Confessions of a (Struggling) Actress

By Jo Bloggs

QUESTION: Jo, what advice do you have for my daughter who wants to pursue an acting career? ANSWER: She’ll need perseverance and determination, but if she’s got what it takes she’ll get there. Tell her to give me a buzz – I’d be happy to go for a coffee and give her all the advice she needs. *HONEST* ANSWER: I have no advice for her. I really don’t need even more competition, thank you very much... * * * Join Jo as she follows her dream and takes the first steps on the path that leads towards a (hopefully) glittering career as a professional actress. You’ll share the highs and lows of her turbulent first years in the business as she comes to realise that her chosen career is (much) harder than she’d ever thought. Frank, funny and insightful, Jo gives you a rare glimpse into the reality of this ‘glamorous’ industry, as she makes it through drama school unscathed (just), attends auditions (a lot!) and even tries out for reality TV... before finally getting a job and going on tour. (Yay!) INCLUDING: * How I got into drama school * Putting on a cabaret for cash * How I feel about dance recalls * Singing with a broken heart * All I know about auditions * Tales from on tour * The after-show blues * Going on as cover

• Language: English
• Publisher: Big Finish Productions
• Release date: Dec 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781781780350

Book preview

Thanks

Confessions Of A

(Struggling) Actress

Jo Bloggs

Big Finish

First published in September 2012

by Big Finish Productions Ltd,

PO Box 1127, Maidenhead, SL6 3LW

www.bigfinish.com

Managing Editor: Jason Haigh-Ellery

Editor: Xanna Eve Chown

With thanks to Matthew Griffiths

Cover art and illustrations © Andy Peters

Copyright © Jo Bloggs 2012

All rights reserved. The moral right of the author has been asserted.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any forms by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information retrieval system, without prior permission, in writing, from the publisher. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The views of the author are not necessarily those of the publisher.

All names have been changed throughout.

p60 Lyrics from ‘I Want It Now’ / ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’ (Bricusse, Newley)

p99 Lyrics from ‘We’re In The Money’ / 42nd Street (Warren, Dubin)

p127 Lyrics from ‘If They Could See Me Now’ / Sweet Charity (Simon, Coleman, Fields)

p223 Lyrics from ‘I’m Still Here’ / ‘Follies’ (Sondheim)

This work was published online as a blog on www.britishtheatre.com

For all of the fellow strugglers, striving for their own spotlight.

And for my parents, who continue to astound me with their unwavering support.

‘Is it hard, being on stage?’

Actual answer:

Of course, yes, it can be. When I’m in the midst of a big song and dance number and the house is full, I’m aware I want to give the best performance I can—so I really try to give it 100%. Doing that eight times a week is enough to stave off any gym session! It’s also hard when you’re ill, not in the mood or when you’re exhausted. But you know what they say… The show must go on!

Honest answer:

Being on the stage is great. It’s life off the stage that’s the challenging part.

1. Curtain Up / Who Am I?

I see it coming a mile away…

‘What do you do?’

‘I’m…an actress.’

I don’t know why, but I’ve always loathed admitting to strangers that I’m an actress. Probably because, most of the time, I’m not actually acting. I suppose that to admit you’re an actress without that essential acting job, to people who don’t understand the highs and lows of the profession, causes moderate confusion on their part. Not to mention severe embarrassment on mine. Parents’ dinner parties, family weddings, in fact any social event away from the industry, all lend themselves to a wearisome array of questions to do with my seemingly alien profession. I find myself answering the same questions, feigning the same excitement about my chosen path and faking the same wonderment at the glory of acting. And yet, the questions I ask myself are very different from the ones on other people’s minds. They may want to know if I have any famous friends, or if I’ve been in Casualty, but mine usually consist of at least one, or more likely a combination, of the below:

* How on earth did I end up not being in control of my own destiny?

* How did I end up earning a daily wage—yet for most of the time in a different profession from the one I trained for?

* How did I end up doing a hundred different part-time jobs that don’t give me any fulfilment at all?

* When did I make the decision to make my life as difficult as possible?

* When did I decide on the rollercoaster, not the merry-go-round?

* How did I end up sitting here at my desk trying to file away my day into a cabinet bursting with crappy auditions?

* One simple question to sum up all others: How did I end up here?

I’ve always tried to be an achiever. I’ve always tried to reach for the top, strained for that top, and put way too much pressure on myself to get there. But, in the throes of my life at university I never envisaged I would end up in a career rife with struggle, disappointment or frustration. I never did, because you don’t know about it until you arrive, enthusiastically knocking on that door behind which lies all of your ambitions. No-one tells you that the door is not only tough to open but that, once you’ve made it through, the room on the other side is not only overcrowded. It’s literally bursting with fellow competitors.

From this endlessly tiring profession, as I put myself through endless auditions, there are questions and evaluations that never end.

* How did I do?

* Will I get a recall?

* Will I get the part?

* What did they think?

* Was I good enough?

* Should I have picked a different song?

Out of all of these questions, one stands out:

* Why do I feel like the only way I’m ever going to achieve what I really want in this business, is to sneak in through the fire exit that someone left open by mistake? In other words, why don’t I feel worthy of entering through the big front gates of success?

Who am I?

You may have walked past me at 22, graduating from drama school full of hope and anticipation, excited at the possibilities for my future. At 23, you could have seen me gasping for fresh air as I left Pineapple Dance Studios, wondering why my technique was no better after weeks and weeks of classes. At the ripe old age of 24, you possibly passed me en route to an audition with my portfolio, water and a bag full of nerves.

You may well have spoken to me at 25, if you were booking theatre tickets. I was spending more time at my part-time job than acting, and wondering whether I was ever going to smell the sweet scent of success again. And at 26, if you’d asked me, I could have told you about the never-ending battle between my head and my heart, as I wondered what my next step in this world should be.

*

I got into acting pretty late. Ballet at three years old, jazz at five, singing lessons at seven, competitions at eight, awards at ten… That was not me.

I was fourteen when I was bitten by the bug, after winning a role in the school production of The Little Matchgirl. I only auditioned because my friend Lucie didn’t want to go alone. I stood up and sang along with the other hopefuls and didn’t think much of it…until my name appeared on the school noticeboard for a recall. Then, I learned that script as if my life depended on it and, when I got a part, truly gave it my all. The morning after the first performance, still on a high from the night before, I floated down the school corridor as Miss Barker emerged from the staffroom. She stopped me and said ‘Congratulations on last night, Jo. You know, you have real stage presence. Well done.’ Compliments indeed. Miss Barker was the Head of Music and one of the most senior, well thought of teachers in the school. My life was never the same. I suddenly wanted to have that feeling with me always. The feeling of acknowledgement, of achievement and of fulfilment.

If only Miss Barker knew the impact that one sentence has had on my life.

*

I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I just know I love performing. And I’m good at it. I know I need to be patient, but why isn’t it happening for me?

—Amy

*

‘What are you in at the moment?’

Actual answer:

I’m not actually in a contract right now but I’ve got a few irons in the fire. I’m working on a concert and I’m down to the finals for a big job, so fingers crossed. I should know next week.

Honest answer:

Nothing. I haven’t had an audition in weeks. My life is on pause. My career is at a standstill.

2. The Audition Files / Hell In A Public Toilet

2.50 pm

Like erupting lava, the adrenaline pumps its way around my body. It prickles every single nerve ending. My legs are shaking under my new Primark skirt and I hope desperately no-one has noticed. My hands, cold and clammy, clasp my portfolio of music tightly, as though it may slip away if I lose concentration, like a dream you don’t want to end. This portfolio of dreams. Filled with chosen songs, all of which have become my dearest allies. These songs—my best friends—sit quietly and obediently in their red plastic wings, waiting for their chance to shine.

The bottle of water, bought earlier from the newsagents down the road, tried its best to hydrate my hoarse throat, but only succeeds in taking me on endless trips to the nearest toilet. Yet, it’s this very toilet that has become my haven. The public toilet: grotty, with no toilet paper except for the copious amounts on the floor, and a tap that won’t turn off no matter how hard you try. There’s a questionable liquid on the floor of the cubicle and strange marks all over the empty tissue dispenser. Not really a place to hang out or spend any longer than strictly necessary. Most people use it as an emergency last option. You watch them run in and out as quickly as possible, as they see how long they can hold their breath without fainting.

But in a situation like I’m in now, this dank and dismal place is a godsend. My godsend. Within this cubicle, I can take stock, get a time-out, give myself the sort of pep talk you see in the movies—some motivational spiel along the lines of ‘I can do this’—with large amounts of deep, slow breathing.

2.55 pm

I think back to times in my life where I didn’t feel this wretchedly nervous and insecure. I remember running around my back garden as a child with my sister and brothers, playing on our bikes in the long, summer holidays. I remember Mum telling us we were allowed to get the sprinkler out, and setting it up in the middle of the burnt grass so we could jump through it all afternoon, feeling the cool water spray our overheated bodies. Nothing but the simple joy of growing up, an innocence that I can never fully recapture. Will I ever feel that carefree again? Endless days of summer filled with nothing but a priority to be untroubled. When I think back to those days I’m filled with such fevered warmth it’s almost enough to draw on in times like these. Almost.

I try to flush the toilet. It doesn’t work. This doesn’t surprise me. I look in the mirror and check my make-up. Perfect. Still, I add more in the vain hope that extra eyeliner will make me look that little bit more confident. I turn the hand dryer on. Its fervent growl is always a great way of muffling the sounds of my vocal warm-up. But the violent warmth filling the room makes me feel queasy. There’s nothing in my stomach—apart from my pounding heart—but the need for vocal perfection reigns supreme over nausea as I nervously continue with my warm-up. I can do this…

3.00 pm

A girl bursts in to my haven. She is beautiful, curvy, and showing off her assets to the max in a tight floral dress. She looks perfect. She looks like a human Barbie. And suddenly I feel like a Cabbage Patch Kid. I give her a knowing and anxious smile. ‘Hi…’ She’s my chance to transport myself away from the ever-nearing Trial by Song and I am eager to have a conversation with her, with anyone, really. I always like to talk to strangers but in this particular instance it’s a need.

‘Hi.’ Her greeting is friendly enough, but by no means inviting. She is clearly ‘in the zone’ and ready to play her best ball.

‘Here for the auditions?’ I say. I may as well wear a T-shirt with ‘Please talk to me!’ written on it in big, desperate letters.

‘Yeah. Do you know if they’re running on time?’ Her manner is brisk and sharp. She wants information from me, nothing more. I, on the other hand, have latched on to her in the hope that she will be the lifeline that rescues me from my demons and takes my mind off the tick-tick-ticking clock. Instead, her presence adds to my distress. She clearly has the upper hand in coolness, experience and self-belief. I wither at her general all-round greatness. There is something about her that is so captivating. I study her every feature, I analyse her every movement. I feel like Yentl on a quest towards understanding. I want to be her.

To cover my feelings, I launch into a rambling monologue but I’m nervous talking to her, she intimidates me beyond belief. I tell her that I was due in ten minutes ago, but there are at least two more of us waiting in the other room. I’m so friendly it’s embarrassing—I swear I hear flies on the wall sniggering.

I come to an abrupt stop and think. Hold on a minute. Here’s me talking to this stranger like she’s been in my life ten years, not ten minutes, while she is very obviously in work mode: ruthless, focused and determined to be the winner. Not friendly at all, but she doesn’t need to be. Hers is obviously an extremely effective method. She doesn’t know it but she has won already. She has psyched out my weaker confidence.

My haven has been ambushed by the enemy. I must retreat and surrender my beloved solace. I