Actor beware! Indie film auditions aren't always what they seem: The Informers Part I

So last year my agent sends me on an audition for a low budget comic horror movie set in the 80s (yawn). However, the script is smart and literate, which is frankly a rarity. As part of my usual prep I IMDb  everyone concerned and find that they have respectable, though not hugely recognizable credits. The role is small but fun—the mother of a teenager who gets killed by vampires. At his funeral, the mother has a big, emotionally over-the-top speech, which is also actually nicely comedic. The breakdown says “Overdressed, over made up, spoiled, very Beverly Hills.” Adding shoulder pads as a nod to the 80s, I choose my most BH-appropriate Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. (I have five – the more the merrier. My motto: you can NEVER have enough DvFs.) Plus slightly bigger than normal hair, and I was ready.

Just a quick note to neophytes about dressing for the part. When I first got to Hollywood from New York I was bemused to see that people occasionally arrived at auditions decked out in full costumes. Honest to God! If the part was a nurse, they showed up in the whole get-up: white dress, starched hat, crepe shoes and, as often as not, a stethoscope. My theory is that the phenomenon was a holdover from the days when Central Casting would send over a contract player just because she owned the right wardrobe. This practice has now pretty much disappeared, except in the commercial world, which is a whole other planet. But for film and television, these days genuine working actors wear just a suggestion of the part—a dress or suit for a business person, slacks and a sweater for a housewife, etc. Obviously for the role of a homeless person you’re going to dress down a bit; I would sport my second-best Jimmy Choos. But seriously, even though it’s tempting to “become” the character with a more elaborate get up, you should resist. They’ll smell amateur a mile away. Wear something that gives it the right feeling without screaming for attention. Same with props. NEVER bring props to an audition, period. Gawd, squirm. But I digress.

Anyway, I go to the audition and have fun. After all, it's no big deal and I'm relaxed. I camp it up, giving it my best sincere faux-method emotional intensity, complete with vocal quaverings and crocodile tears. They laugh a lot. The casting director is gracious; the director is quietly watchful. I leave thinking, “Nice one.” But there’s no heart-pounding, near-fainting with joyous relief in the parking lot. For a low budget horror flick? Please.

A week later I’m called back. Wearing the same thing (which is imperative at a callback – ask Michael Shurtleff), I camp it up again. Again, they laugh. I think maybe I’ve booked it.

A month goes by. I’ve completely forgotten about it. Then I get called back AGAIN, and my agent says to check out the new script. Surprise! They’ve added another two paragraphs to my speech. Nice.

This time, the director works with me a bit; we do it three times—each time with just a couple of well-chosen words he elicits a whole new flavor for the scene. I think, “This guy is pretty good considering it’s a low budget horror flick.” When I leave he and the casting director wave goodbye, nodding and smiling. Nobody says anything like “You are such a good actor,” or “Thank you SO much for coming in again.” Both of which are the kiss of death.

Two months go by during which I have, once again, totally forgotten the whole thing.

Then out of the blue my agent calls and says I’ve booked it. It’s shooting in two weeks. Well, cool. I’m mildly pleased and wonder idly if I’ll have to provide my own wardrobe.

Little do I know (cue: suspenseful film noir segue) what shocking revelations would be in store.

Stay tuned for Part Deux.