Over the years, I’ve written several columns about my experience being an industry guest on the workshop scene. I usually go on and on about the horrors I had to endure, sounding a great deal like Brando at the end of “Apocalypse Now.”
Well, this column shall be no different.
I attended a workshop last night and the dreadfulness on display left a deep scar on my soul. But I’m not going to waste my word count trashing the level of acting I witnessed. That would be trite and you wouldn’t get much out of it. So instead, I’m going to focus on the blunders I saw that could easily be corrected.
I’m doing this for two reasons. First, I want to help you have a more positive workshop experience. And second, to help me have a more positive workshop experience.
So let’s have at it:
There were three agents at the workshop I attended last night. The actors sat behind us. As they stepped up, each actor handed each agent a picture and résumé. Almost every single actor asked, “How are you?” In response, each of the agents said, “Fine. How are you?” I have no problem being pleasant, but I can feel the life draining out of my body every time I have one of these superficial exchanges, so please stop. Just say hello and move on.
If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a trillion times. Make sure the picture and résumé you hand me are stapled together—it’s amateur hour if they aren’t.
Here’s one of the things clueless actors say right before their performance: “This is a scene from a play called ‘Reflected Image,’ written by Jeffrey Newbauer.” And this is what I hear: “This is a scene from a play you’ve never heard of written by someone you’ve never heard of.”
And while we’re on this point, slates aren’t really necessary. There’s no reason to announce your name when you just handed me your picture and résumé. It feels very artificial and something about it takes me out of the moment. The only possible exception is if you have something important to share, like you live in London but you’re moving to Los Angeles in the fall.
Last night, an actor’s cellphone went off during a scene. I won’t go off on a rant about the dehumanizing effects of living in a society where everyone carries a phone. Let’s just agree that you need to turn those damn things off when you’re performing or watching others perform. (Scratch that if you’re my client and I’m trying to reach you. Then you should keep your phone on at all times, especially during weddings and Holy Communion ceremonies….)
There’s just no good reason for an actor to take off their clothes during a scene. I guess I could let it slide if women decided to do this, but it’s always a guy who has no business taking off his shirt. And please don’t tell me the scene calls for it. Stripping down doesn’t work in a brightly lit space where there are three agents sitting a few feet away from you.
I think the worst thing an actor can do at the end of a scene is break character by turning to the audience and saying, “Scene.”
And there you go. That’s the ugly truth about last night. But hey, it doesn’t have to be that way. If you’re going to try your luck on the workshop scene, just follow my advice and do the best work that you can do.
And turn off your damn phones!
Like this advice? Check out more from Secret Agent Man!
