When I started this blog on January 1 of this year, it was not my intention to post once every three months. I had very lofty goals of publishing at least weekly. I was sure my life would be so full that there would be plenty to write about. And I was right, there was. There was so much going on that I was completely exhausted every day, and the weeks kept slipping away from me without an update. And now suddenly, almost a quarter of the year is gone.
Yesterday was the vernal equinox, the first day of spring, traditionally representing new growth and new beginnings. In ancient times the rite of spring would be celebrated with sacrifices (sometimes human) to ask for an abundant crop. In the spirit of those ancient rites, I'd like to celebrate the good things that have come my way since I last wrote, and to commit to the universe the hopes I have for the future.
My year got off to an excellent start. I met with the delightful Jessica Russell, head of BluBay Talent Management, on January 5th, and signed with her company for across-the-board management three days later. Although our relationship has yet to yield any work for me, she understands the strategic direction I want to move in. That is, toward network TV instead of re-enactment roles on cable (not that there is anything wrong with those roles, but they only pay $100 per day, and in the long run I want to be making more money than that. A lot more). I was also asked to join the Sky Pilot Theatre Company, a relatively small group that focuses exclusively on new plays. There, I was cast almost immediately in two of ten one-act plays called "REWIND: Netflix Killed the Video Store," my first attempt at late-night sketch comedy, and got rave reviews. I also landed a lead on "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant," and learned that the newborns used in filming are covered with a mixture of cream cheese and strawberry jam to look, well, newborn. Yuck. And now that I was SAG-eligible, I got five vouchers in two months by doing background work, and had to become a member of the Screen Actors Guild. Not that I minded - this had been my goal for years, and was a must if I want to get network roles.
So now that I am SAG/AFTRA, with nine years of acting experience and some significant credits behind me, I find that it's almost like starting all over again. So much of the work these days available to actors without an agent (I still don't have one, but I'm looking, just slowly) is non-union, which mean unless it is live or theatre, I can't do it. The SAG/AFTRA work that is posted on the Internet is mostly background work and student films (although at the best universities - Chapman, Loyola Marymount, UCLA, and USC). I don't mind doing these, and in fact have booked four jobs since joining SAG four weeks ago. But the number of jobs available for me to submit to has dropped dramatically. I used to have about 20 per day; now I'm lucky to get eight. Where I used to audition about ten times in a week, now I'm lucky if it is four. But thank goodness, with my theatre company I am working every week. I'm currently in rehearsals for an original play called "The Crossings," not associated with Sky Pilot; I play an English woman and get to send the lovely Irish air, "Gartan Mother's Lullaby."
I think being in a theatre company is one of the best things about actually living in LA. My company has an actors' workout every week where we can come and do cold readings or work on scenes and monologues. We will be starting an improv group as well which I hope to be accepted for. We do play readings about once a month; so far I've done one, all monologues for women, playing a Jewish grandmother whose husband has just left her for a younger woman, and it was a blast. Most of our works are comedies and they are a delight to do. In "Rewind," I even got to play the "femme fatale" in a film noir parody and make out with a hot young man who is about half my age. Nice work if you can get it.
Which brings me around to the age issue. I thought that I would find being an older actress very tough, but to tell you the truth I think I might even have it a little easier than the younger girls. I don't have the huge pressure to be skinny or even pretty - I can always be a "character" actor (those are the people who aren't the beautiful leading ladies). I've been lucky enough to play quite a few leads too, though, and I think one reason is because there just aren't as many actresses my age. The competition is much less intense than it is among the 20-something actresses. On the other hand, there are less roles, but there is a wide range that I can play. In addition to the obvious ones (mom, teacher, nurse, business woman), I have played prostitutes (three times), murderers (three times), aging hippies (twice), gypsies (twice), and of course, zombies (twice). In my next film, I'll be playing the sheriff of a border town in New Mexico caught up in the wars with the Mexican drug cartels. God, I love my job!
For me I guess the oddest thing about being an older actor is that quite frequently I am the oldest person in the cast. It's quite an adjustment from my business days, when I was used to being the youngest ever, the first ever, the only woman to....And I was also used to being the hot young thing that got hit on a lot. I still get hit on occasionally (I'm not THAT old), but now someone else is the hot young thing. And although I kind of miss the attention, I find that it's kind of a relief too. It's like I can...exhale, to borrow from Terry McMillan. Also, I find that I am enjoying being sort of a surrogate mom or big sister to the younger cast members. Since I don't have children of my own, it's a great outlet for my maternal instincts. So right now, I feel like being older is a good thing. I may feel differently by the next time I write.
So what do I hope for, as I stand on the cusp of springtime? Well, I hope I am ready to blossom like the trees and flowers already arehere in LA. I'm hoping to start getting at least auditions for guest parts on network TV series. And by network, I'm referring to the Big Four - ABC, CBS, Fox, and NBC. Everything else is considered cable. The type of parts I could expect to get would be "under-five" (as in less than five lines), featured, co-star and guest star, with each one being a little larger. Most guest star parts for women my age go to "name" (well-known) actresses these days, often former TV stars who will work for amazingly low wages. It's hard to quit when you've been acting all your life. My ultimate goal would be to have a recurring role on a network comedy or drama along the lines of "Castle," a police procedural with a lot of tongue-in-cheek humor. Universe, are you listening? In the meantime, I continue to pursue every role that is available to and suited for me, and work as much as I can. As long as I am having fun, and as long as my health holds up, I'm not giving up.
Moving on - I'm at the age where most women in Hollywood start having what is euphemistically known as "work done," i.e. plastic surgery, botox, liposuction, etc. I'm considering some of these options now and will try to write about that next time. Unless something more interesting happens between now and then. And if it does, it may take me a while to get around to writing about it. But that's a good thing.
Til next time - Jennie
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Acting as a Calling
I am in the awkward position of being a working, over-40 actress in Hollywood. WAY over 40, although not too many people in the business know just how old I really am. And I'm not a child actor who grew up working, or an ingenue who has "aged out." No, I put myself in this position. I used to be a big-shot executive in the telecom industry, back when companies like Nortel Networks (where I worked for ten years, now bankrupt) and AT&T (where I began my career, now swallowed up by one of its "Baby Bells") were places you could expect to work for 30 years and then retire with a comfortable pension. But then AT&T was broken up in 1982, and then the dot.com meltdown - well, the first one, anyway - came in 2002. In between I had a career-ending accident, severely injuring my back and forcing me to retire in 2000. And that is where my acting story really begins.
I have always been a performer. I don't really remember learning to sing; it was like learning to talk, I've just always done it. I do remember my father teaching me to sing his favorite song, "Summertime," when I was about three, and about the same time insisting to my Sunday School teacher that I DID know all the words to "Here Comes Peter Cottontail" and proved it by singing it, unprompted, in front of the whole class. My mother always called me her "little ham." I knew I loved to sing, and when I started tap and ballet lessons at six, I also learned to love dance. But it was when I saw my first musical, "Oklahoma," at a local high school, when I was around nine, that I turned to my mother and said, "That's what I want to do when I grow up." She laughed, and the idea was never discussed again. But I just didn't know that I could have actually pursued acting as a career. Because I was a very good student, kind of shy, and very serious, my parents just assumed that I would go to college, study business, and as my daddy always said, "grow up to be a Vice-President at AT&T." Well, I did go to college on a full scholarship and later got an MBA at Vanderbilt (the Harvard of the South), and did go to work for AT&T, only to have the government break up the company six months later. My timing in business was always bad. With just a little encouragement towards a career in the arts, my whole story might have turned out differently.
However, I did have a very successful career working in corporate America, but I was never happy. I had started singing in bands at 20 while I was still in college, and I was always torn between music and business. My heart was in my music but my money was in my job, and I could never figure out how to break away from the golden handcuffs that bound me so tightly to my work. So I kept marrying musicians and settling for watching them live their dreams, until finally I met a man who had both a computer science and a music degree, and we began to figure out a way to integrate both sides of my life. It was going pretty well, too - I was a wedding singer in New Jersey, living on the ocean and telecommuting - until we moved to Silicon Valley and got married. The work ethic there is killer - 70 to 80 hour weeks were the norm. I started having serious health problems as a result of my job stress, and although I changed companies, the stress never really lessened. I believe my fall was the universe's way of saying to me: "Enough!" I have never been able to return to a desk job, or a standing job, due to the pain involved to my back, neck, and shoulders, and various other symptoms. I went on disability in September of 2000, so although my income was drastically reduced I did still have some money coming in.
However, although I couldn't work a full-time job, I still had my brain, and I was criminally bored and lonely. I drove my friends nuts sending them jokes on e-mail, and detailed descriptions of my symptoms and various procedures I'd had to undergo. I tried to do other things: I was a successful mystery shopper for several years, but the money was terrible and it's pretty hard work for not much reward (although I did get two trips to South America to rate hotels out of it). I put together a jazz band and sang a few jobs with them, but I couldn't stand up for long and after a while it was clear that I lacked the back strength you need to be a strong singer. Then a friend suggested I look into musical theatre, as I lived close to a small community theatre that put on several musicals each year. I signed up for a class called "Acting for Singers," and my teacher insisted that I should audition for an upcoming show, even though I felt I was "too old." The show was "Little Shop of Horrors," and I got a part in the ensemble, as a hooker (the oldest stereotype in the acting book). And, pardon the pun, I was hooked.
I loved doing the show, which ran in September of 2001, right after 9/11; it seemed like we were doing something heroic by singing our hearts out to lift people's spirits. And then the director of the theatre's next show, the non-musical comedy "Lettice and Lovage," asked me to appear in her play without an audition! It was only my second show, and I began to feel like I must be called to do this. I have always prayed since then for the jobs to stop coming if this is not the right path for me, and although they haven't always been paying work, I've always worked steadily ever since I started acting back in 2001, and I still believe that acting is my true calling.
About the time I started acting, I guess it began to sink in to my husband that I was not going to return to my high-status, high-paying job. Ever. And that was not the deal he thought he got when we married in April of 1998. He began to be resentful of the time and money I spent on acting, especially when the only way I showed a profit was by doing products demonstrations at WalMart that absolutely killed my back. We might have been okay, though, if two things hadn't happened to convince me that I needed to go to LA to act: In October of 2002, when I was a contestant on "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" (I won $64,0000), Meredith Vierra said, "You have a really good look on film. You should try film acting." And early in 2003, when I started auditioning for student films at one of the local colleges in San Francisco, the head of the program came over to me after my first read and said, "You are absolutely a natural actress, and you have got to go to LA." Unasked, he gave me a template for an LA resume and told me to call him if I ever wanted coaching. I was amazed, and I began to feel strongly that I would forever regret it if I did not give acting in LA a shot.
So in January of 2005 I rented a small apartment in central LA for three months, intending just to see if I could get work, and to get LA "out of my system." Once again, I was surprised at the ease with which I was hired, from my very first day at a casting agency. And the other thing that I didn't count on was that I would fall in love with LA. The longer I lived there, the more I came to know and love its many quirky neighborhoods and shops, and to meet people from all over the world, including many Southerners like me (I grew up in Huntsville, Alabama). I was also happily surprised that there were many other disabled actors who mostly did extra work just for fun, as well as many over-40 actresses who had decided, like me, to give their childhood dreams "one last shot." And when the three months was up, I came home to San Francisco, but I left my heart in LA. Over the next five years, this would drive a huge wedge between my husband and me, both philosophically and financially. Ultimately, I realized that my health, both mentally and physically, was much better in LA due to its dry climate, and I asked him if he would move there with me. But as a computer scientist, his true home is in the Silicon Valley. His tribe is there; my tribe is here. We could find no way to resolve this dilemma, and sadly, separated in May of 2010 after a twelve-year marriage and a nearly 17-year relationship.
So I find myself here in LA, alone, old by Hollywood standards, yet still working steadily and happily. In 2010, I joined the Association of Film, TV & Radio Actors union, and became eligible (finally!) to join the prestigious Screen Actor's Guild (SAG) as of November 1. Also in 2010, I shot my first national commercial (for Wells Fargo; no residuals, though), joined a theatre company, played a lead in a primetime re-enactment series for Animal Planet, returned to musical theatre in "Willy Wonka," and did my first work in children's theatre as Tintag the Elf in Dancing Squirrel Productions' "The Adventures of Holly and Snowflake," which brings live theatre to at-risk and abused children around Los Angeles. I ended the year playing the rabbit in the wonderful children's story, "The Velveteen Rabbit," at the Children's Theatre of LA. I also have featured parts coming up in two feature films. I'm still praying, and the parts are still coming.
And I will keep doing this because I believe that the arts matter, and that acting is not a frivolous pursuit. I am fortunate to be able to do this because I have steady sources of income and don't need the money, but I would do it for free. Art is one of man's most primal and noble instincts, and it is as old as language. Man invented writing, and then began to write poetry and plays. We still perform the plays written by Euripides and others from ancient Greece. Art lasts. How many other human endeavors can we say that about? I feel privileged to be following in the footsteps of centuries of actors and performers who have done this before me, even, as I recently learned, my maternal great-great-grandfather, who was a famous concert violinist. I'm no longer apologetic about what I do. I am a proud actor.
What I will attempt to do in this blog is to write about the strangeness of being an older actor in Hollywood. I can't promise to write daily, or even weekly, but I'll write when I have something to say and I'll try not to bore you. Life here can be surreal, especially for a Southern girl like me, but it's not usually boring.
I have always been a performer. I don't really remember learning to sing; it was like learning to talk, I've just always done it. I do remember my father teaching me to sing his favorite song, "Summertime," when I was about three, and about the same time insisting to my Sunday School teacher that I DID know all the words to "Here Comes Peter Cottontail" and proved it by singing it, unprompted, in front of the whole class. My mother always called me her "little ham." I knew I loved to sing, and when I started tap and ballet lessons at six, I also learned to love dance. But it was when I saw my first musical, "Oklahoma," at a local high school, when I was around nine, that I turned to my mother and said, "That's what I want to do when I grow up." She laughed, and the idea was never discussed again. But I just didn't know that I could have actually pursued acting as a career. Because I was a very good student, kind of shy, and very serious, my parents just assumed that I would go to college, study business, and as my daddy always said, "grow up to be a Vice-President at AT&T." Well, I did go to college on a full scholarship and later got an MBA at Vanderbilt (the Harvard of the South), and did go to work for AT&T, only to have the government break up the company six months later. My timing in business was always bad. With just a little encouragement towards a career in the arts, my whole story might have turned out differently.
However, I did have a very successful career working in corporate America, but I was never happy. I had started singing in bands at 20 while I was still in college, and I was always torn between music and business. My heart was in my music but my money was in my job, and I could never figure out how to break away from the golden handcuffs that bound me so tightly to my work. So I kept marrying musicians and settling for watching them live their dreams, until finally I met a man who had both a computer science and a music degree, and we began to figure out a way to integrate both sides of my life. It was going pretty well, too - I was a wedding singer in New Jersey, living on the ocean and telecommuting - until we moved to Silicon Valley and got married. The work ethic there is killer - 70 to 80 hour weeks were the norm. I started having serious health problems as a result of my job stress, and although I changed companies, the stress never really lessened. I believe my fall was the universe's way of saying to me: "Enough!" I have never been able to return to a desk job, or a standing job, due to the pain involved to my back, neck, and shoulders, and various other symptoms. I went on disability in September of 2000, so although my income was drastically reduced I did still have some money coming in.
However, although I couldn't work a full-time job, I still had my brain, and I was criminally bored and lonely. I drove my friends nuts sending them jokes on e-mail, and detailed descriptions of my symptoms and various procedures I'd had to undergo. I tried to do other things: I was a successful mystery shopper for several years, but the money was terrible and it's pretty hard work for not much reward (although I did get two trips to South America to rate hotels out of it). I put together a jazz band and sang a few jobs with them, but I couldn't stand up for long and after a while it was clear that I lacked the back strength you need to be a strong singer. Then a friend suggested I look into musical theatre, as I lived close to a small community theatre that put on several musicals each year. I signed up for a class called "Acting for Singers," and my teacher insisted that I should audition for an upcoming show, even though I felt I was "too old." The show was "Little Shop of Horrors," and I got a part in the ensemble, as a hooker (the oldest stereotype in the acting book). And, pardon the pun, I was hooked.
I loved doing the show, which ran in September of 2001, right after 9/11; it seemed like we were doing something heroic by singing our hearts out to lift people's spirits. And then the director of the theatre's next show, the non-musical comedy "Lettice and Lovage," asked me to appear in her play without an audition! It was only my second show, and I began to feel like I must be called to do this. I have always prayed since then for the jobs to stop coming if this is not the right path for me, and although they haven't always been paying work, I've always worked steadily ever since I started acting back in 2001, and I still believe that acting is my true calling.
About the time I started acting, I guess it began to sink in to my husband that I was not going to return to my high-status, high-paying job. Ever. And that was not the deal he thought he got when we married in April of 1998. He began to be resentful of the time and money I spent on acting, especially when the only way I showed a profit was by doing products demonstrations at WalMart that absolutely killed my back. We might have been okay, though, if two things hadn't happened to convince me that I needed to go to LA to act: In October of 2002, when I was a contestant on "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" (I won $64,0000), Meredith Vierra said, "You have a really good look on film. You should try film acting." And early in 2003, when I started auditioning for student films at one of the local colleges in San Francisco, the head of the program came over to me after my first read and said, "You are absolutely a natural actress, and you have got to go to LA." Unasked, he gave me a template for an LA resume and told me to call him if I ever wanted coaching. I was amazed, and I began to feel strongly that I would forever regret it if I did not give acting in LA a shot.
So in January of 2005 I rented a small apartment in central LA for three months, intending just to see if I could get work, and to get LA "out of my system." Once again, I was surprised at the ease with which I was hired, from my very first day at a casting agency. And the other thing that I didn't count on was that I would fall in love with LA. The longer I lived there, the more I came to know and love its many quirky neighborhoods and shops, and to meet people from all over the world, including many Southerners like me (I grew up in Huntsville, Alabama). I was also happily surprised that there were many other disabled actors who mostly did extra work just for fun, as well as many over-40 actresses who had decided, like me, to give their childhood dreams "one last shot." And when the three months was up, I came home to San Francisco, but I left my heart in LA. Over the next five years, this would drive a huge wedge between my husband and me, both philosophically and financially. Ultimately, I realized that my health, both mentally and physically, was much better in LA due to its dry climate, and I asked him if he would move there with me. But as a computer scientist, his true home is in the Silicon Valley. His tribe is there; my tribe is here. We could find no way to resolve this dilemma, and sadly, separated in May of 2010 after a twelve-year marriage and a nearly 17-year relationship.
So I find myself here in LA, alone, old by Hollywood standards, yet still working steadily and happily. In 2010, I joined the Association of Film, TV & Radio Actors union, and became eligible (finally!) to join the prestigious Screen Actor's Guild (SAG) as of November 1. Also in 2010, I shot my first national commercial (for Wells Fargo; no residuals, though), joined a theatre company, played a lead in a primetime re-enactment series for Animal Planet, returned to musical theatre in "Willy Wonka," and did my first work in children's theatre as Tintag the Elf in Dancing Squirrel Productions' "The Adventures of Holly and Snowflake," which brings live theatre to at-risk and abused children around Los Angeles. I ended the year playing the rabbit in the wonderful children's story, "The Velveteen Rabbit," at the Children's Theatre of LA. I also have featured parts coming up in two feature films. I'm still praying, and the parts are still coming.
And I will keep doing this because I believe that the arts matter, and that acting is not a frivolous pursuit. I am fortunate to be able to do this because I have steady sources of income and don't need the money, but I would do it for free. Art is one of man's most primal and noble instincts, and it is as old as language. Man invented writing, and then began to write poetry and plays. We still perform the plays written by Euripides and others from ancient Greece. Art lasts. How many other human endeavors can we say that about? I feel privileged to be following in the footsteps of centuries of actors and performers who have done this before me, even, as I recently learned, my maternal great-great-grandfather, who was a famous concert violinist. I'm no longer apologetic about what I do. I am a proud actor.
What I will attempt to do in this blog is to write about the strangeness of being an older actor in Hollywood. I can't promise to write daily, or even weekly, but I'll write when I have something to say and I'll try not to bore you. Life here can be surreal, especially for a Southern girl like me, but it's not usually boring.
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