My Day as an Actor

Let’s face it, the age of cute little attention-grabbing-selfies missed my fellow quinquagenarians and me. The “fish face pose” is lost on our wrinkles and gray hairs. (Search the instructions if you want to give it a try - yes, “fish face” is a real thing). Frankly, mirrors are not on my VIP list either. By no means am I hideous physically but those reflections jar me back to the reality of my age and stage of life and frankly, I prefer hard-core denial. The best parts of life are largely those fleeting moments when a song comes on in the car and I can roll the windows down and belt out some dated song, instantly transporting back to a time when my life was full of open-ended options. Back then, I could entertain the delusion that I am still young enough to be a rock star instead of being old enough to have my granddaughter be one. That being clear, anything that captures my true self on video is avoided with ninja-like precision. 

On the other hand, my daughter, KJ, has the gifts of youth and energy, all perfectly presented in a truly gorgeous specimen of human life. In addition, she has a superpower of being able to get me to do anything, just short of breaking laws - well, at least major laws. In fairness to me, she can get just about anyone to do just about anything. She should be an actor, you say? That’s exactly what she is, or trying to be, amidst the myriad of heartbreak, inappropriateness, financial misery, and sometimes downright cruelty of an industry controlled by the egos of narcissists. But, I digress. 

It was a day just like all the other days. I was fighting traffic in Los Angeles leaving job number one on the way to job number two. Mind you, the car I was driving only had one working door and had more dents than my backside in a bikini. A text comes to my phone telling me to come to an unknown Los Angeles address for an audition. This made sense in my life at the time since I was staying in Los Angeles for a few years working night and day to help KJ stabilize a career path and retain her sanity. We shared this excuse for a car. I assumed she needed the car and headed to the address dutifully planning to uber to my next job. 

Upon arrival, KJ confidently walks to the car and starts giving me directions. I hear a medley of “mother/daughter, audition, real people not actors, heritage, recipes - easy stuff.” Practicing my most serious mom voice, I firmly said, “No.” KJ was undaunted. She grabbed my hand and walked me through a sea of perfect-looking mothers and daughters. They were wearing matching clothes - yes, matching freaking clothes. Grown women - who does this? I looked down at my worn clothes and one broken shoe. I could smell my own feet from walking to work in the Los Angeles heat. “They don’t want actors, Mom. They want a real mother and daughter with a great relationship and I know the casting director. When else will you get to be an actor and to see what I do? Besides, she said we are perfect. It will be fun. Look this way and smile.” Before I could rebut anything, I looked up and a picture snapped, my mouth still agape in an effort to stage my protest. KJ filled out forms and we moved into the sea of mother-daughter combos.  As usual, KJ read my mind. “It’s the only way I can make rent.” I looked at my phone. “I can stay just 15 minutes or I will be late to my night teaching job and neither one of us will make rent,” I explained, defeated as usual. Never derailed from her mission, KJ pulled up her phone and started recording a video of the two of us just in case I had to leave. 

Each of us was interviewed for about 10 seconds separately before the combined mother-daughter interview. When I looked up and saw that I was next, a huge wave of relief came over me. I could do this - be obviously terrible at it - and go to work, having done my maternal duty to KJ. I stepped up to the camera, babbled something about family and traditions, and moved away. KJ was next and as usual, the camera operator and the two casting agents just glowed listening to her, her magnetic superpower activated. When she walked away, I said goodbye and apologized as genuinely as I could for ruining our chances. I sprinted to the car and rushed to my job, assuming this was the last of my acting career. 

KJ stayed and did the mother-daughter with a random person she found wandering down the street.. She’s relentless. 

A day later KJ gets a call from casting. They want to hire her - and her mom. She sheepishly tells them that her mother was a fake woman on the street that she doesn’t actually know since I had to work. They STILL want to see me so we make a video and just like that I am hired. I call off for both jobs and stare at her in disbelief. This girl is something. How can we actually be related? I wonder if somewhere in the world is a demure girl whose parents are superstars, equally baffled. She startles me out of my daydream saying it’s bedtime. We need to be on set at 4:30 a.m. 

As we drive the same jalopy through the Los Angeles streets at 4 a.m., it is clear that the only other people out are the ones on their way back from a night way more exciting than ours. A funny place, Los Angeles - traffic jams are standard at 3 in the morning but on Sunday mornings at 9, the roads are empty. 

KJ is bubbling over with her usual set-level energy, graciously interacting with everyone from the makeup artist to the man making coffee in the trailer. She makes friends with crafty (they give snacks to actors) and then we walk away with two covert bags of extra food. As I said, she’s gifted. After being dressed and undressed for 45 minutes in clothes that smell stale and are stiff, with some kind of stiff nail-polish consistency paint on my face and sprayable cement in my hay- hair, we are transported to set. By the end of the .5 mile ride, KJ had made another new friend - our driver. Set is a suburban-looking house and inside is a staged Thanksgiving feast with a beautiful family of maybe 10 people around a massive table. Neighbors peek curiously out of their windows to see if we are “anybody.” We aren’t so they close the curtains. The actors at the table are laughing and truly enjoying themselves. Another tidal wave of relief comes over me. A big group and not having to talk is just easy money! What was I so worried about? I can do this…

We go to “holding” which is a bedroom in the house. We are told to remain quiet. This is the highlight of the day as now I am feeling quite grandiose in my painted face, glued hair, and fancy, stiff clothes. After a few hours - yes, hours - we are moved downstairs to the kitchen. There is a director, multiple cameras, assistants, KJ, and me. I frantically look around for the other actors. The director explains that I am making Thanksgiving dinner and KJ comes to the door - having come home from college. I nod intelligently, resisting the urge to get sick all over the perfectly sparkly countertops. His head is changing shape as he talks and I wonder if everyone sees this or I am about to pass out. 

The director then hands me a letter he had KJ write for me. It is a testimony to her love for me as a mother. He tells me to read it. I do, and I cry great big elephant tears. He cheers, and I am thrilled. “That’s what I want to see,” he explains. “Elation, tears of joy, unbridled emotion.” Then, he yells, “Rolling! Action!” KJ comes to the front door and I answer it, happy to see her. The director screams, “Cut! No! You’re supposed to cry! Why aren’t you crying like we just went over?” I reply, “Did she just come back from the war? Why am I sad? It’s Thanksgiving. She’s come home and she’s been gone for 2 months. Why aren’t I happy?” He roars at me, “Cry! That’s what you’re hired to do!” I look at him in total disbelief. “You want me to cry on every take? I am not an actor. The call was for a real mother and daughter.” He and I stare at each other, both wanting to quit right now. Well, this went on for two hours with me not crying one tear. The only saving grace was that a dog was also hired for this commercial and it was just someone’s random pet who was not trained at all. It kept jumping on me instead of KJ, even when we hid meat in her pockets. I think he and I bonded in our complete failure as actors. I snuck him some of our hoarded snacks. He cuddled at my side when the director yelled at us. 

After two hours, the director threw his little notepad on the ground and said I was the worst actor he had ever worked with and that the past two hours had been wasted. KJ started to defend me, explaining that his unprofessionalism was uncalled for, but I silenced them both with one question. “Am I still paid?” He stormed off and left us standing there. The assistant said we were paid for the day and also for residuals and licensing if our component was used. At this point, sheer joy overcame me and I did shed genuine tears of relief because I had not disappointed KJ or cost her the rent she so needed. We left - partially humiliated-  but with enough money to pay her next three months’ rent. We had enough extra to splurge on a moderate bottle of wine and we laughed until we cried. It was one of my fondest memories of those two hard years in Los Angeles. 

For the past  4 years, each September we both receive an email saying we will be getting a check for the reuse of the commercial. It’s still running! Then, a few days later, we each get a second email saying all of the other people get the check but we don’t since our component was never used. 

You’ll never know until you try. I know and I am so happy I tried - and failed. I would do it again in a heartbeat but shockingly, no one has offered to hire me.