Ed. Note: This is second part of a two-part series of excerpts from Joseph Lindsey’s new novel “Life to the Right of Hollywood.” Part one can be found here.
Take 4 – An Actor Sees no Limits
The odds against success or even a steady job for an actor are astronomical. My time consisted of actively looking for and or trying to weasel my way into any acting job I could.
For example, every Thursday I would purchase Backstage, the want ads for actors. I would then send my picture and resume out to every single ad in it, even the ones that were long shots. I would show up unannounced at every audition I saw advertised in it, no matter what the part called for. I once showed up to an open casting call that requested the following:
Dramatic Lead Wanted: Late 30s early 40s African-American female wanted to play the lead role of Jessie Jackson’s illegitimate daughter. A woman fighting for social justice in a world gone bad in post-apocalyptic Washington D.C. on the eve of Kwanzaa.
I was a bit intimidated while standing in line at this audition with the other actors, because it was clear to me that they had acquired the play beforehand, and I would have to go into the audition cold. However, as if I were re-taking my SAT’s, I did manage to cheat a few glimpses of the material off my fellow thespians to discover what I was up against. I took it in, prepared myself, and waited to be called.
Upon my entrance, I was greeted by four African-Americans, one male and three females. The three females sported haircuts that looked as if their next appointment would be a spot on Jerry Springer (I say this because shaping an afro into a mullet is a major feat.). The ladies’ heads also displayed many gold rings, some of which hung from their noses and others from their brows.
As I stepped into the stage light, gravity pulled the jaw of each of these theatrical judges to the floor as they took on the form of a cement wall slowly drying in the Serengeti sun. The male of the group, who was the writer and director of this production, asked flatly, as if I were a lost stagehand, “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’m here for the part of Sashera.”
The director thought for a moment and then took on a polite air of political correctness, “I’m sorry that character is forty years old.”
“I realize that, and I can play older.”
“Sashera is a woman’s part,” he shot back less democratically.
I was not needy, just firm on my ambition, and quick with my reply. “Correct, and if you were to look back at the history of the theatre you would see that at one time men and men only, played all the parts, including the female ones.”
Their blank stares became firm as the cementing of the moment set in. All political correctness was quickly forgotten as the director’s daggered words flew my way. “Are you fucking insane?”
“Well sir, it’s a fine line between genius and madness — Einstein, Derek Jeter, Napoleon, Rudolph Giuliani and Hillary Clinton to name a few, who may be teetering on the fence of either brilliant creation or madness. By no means do I assume to project myself into that group,” I announced in a very Shakespearean tone.
He took a deep breath, or it may have been a disgusted sigh. “This role calls for a forty-something woman who is also a black lesbian struggling to right the wrongs that a white society has inflicted upon her for whom she is.”
“Excellent! I’m up for it.” He then, in what I believe to have been a subconscious search for wax in reference to me, stuck his finger in his ear, gave it swipe and yelled, “Are you deaf? This part is for a black woman!” The last two words — black woman — were clearly shouted at me.
I paused and did my best to inflict a bit of soft bigotry upon myself in the hopes of winning him over “Yes,” I said, “and if my parents had not been so close-minded my genetic culture may have been more diverse. On the other hand, I am doing my best to right the wrongs of my parents. My girlfriend is half Filipino, and we’re planning on children someday. So, with the advancement of special effects and makeup, I feel I can overcome my unfortunate Nordic facial structure, the unsightly color of my skin, my colloquial speech and the disgusting privileged advancement that I have obviously received since birth in today’s society to go on and take the stage in this most challenging of roles.”
I’m not sure what else was said because at that point the three females began to scream and yell in what can only be described as a loud heavy bass, similar to that which comes bellowing from the rear of Cadillac SUV s in urban areas. I was exited stage left by two large black men that I believe also had rap CD’s out documenting the very struggles they’ve had to endure because of whitey.
As you can see, discrimination is pervasive, even in the theater.