Know Thy Headshot

The film business serves up some harsh lessons from time to time. One of the harshest lessons is for actors. As Richard Walter once said, if a script has flaws, the writers can tear up that script and start completely from scratch, while an actor can never change into something they're not. If a director wants a particular look, and you don't got it, hit the skids, kiddo and don't forget to leave your sides with the lady by the door.

A worse lesson than that is the deep self-knowledge which fosters a niggling doubt that you don't have something special. For example, a long time ago, I could see my own career in acting would be fruitless because I had a Come to Jesus moment with myself: I can read sides cold and make the words come alive, and I can carry that intuitive reading into a performance. However, I don't have an especially attractive look, my voice isn't that enthralling, and I could never live with that frustrating emotional roller coaster ride of 1,000 failed auditions to (maybe) get my big break. The odds were simply too small to make it all worth the effort.

Not that I won't act if someone hands me a script. I love to act, but I'm simply unwilling to tread an arbitrary masochistic path to get past the gatekeepers. That's not a judgment -- I have immeasurable respect for actors thick-skinned enough to go that route. For me, though, it was never a good fit.

This hit home for me on two occasions. The first was in 1988 when I went to NYU film school. Our NYU teachers told us to go down to SAG to dig through the SAG headshots for actors who might be willing to act in a short student film, kind of like a $5.99 DVD Wall Mart bin, but for actors. So I'm sitting there with one of the other students and we come across a headshot... a headshot which hit me like a bucket of cold water -- it was my headshot! The photo had been taken years before, when I was only 16, and it was painfully out of date. I could run down a large inventory of feelings I experienced about that headshot but my most lasting thought was, "Wow, that whole acting thing was such a waste of my time." Of course, it wasn't -- all my acting experience has helped me view film from an actor's perspective and that's something you never forget as a director, but still... finding and hiring a photographer, hiring and pestering an agent, running around on auditions hoping you nailed an audition but never really knowing for days thereafter... it got old. At some point, I must have racked it all up to a sunk cost and moved on.

Years later, in 2000, I was looking at resumes for a three minute short I was directing. All the actors who replied to my Craigslist ad were already well vetted; they knew they'd be working for no pay on a short film. And still the headshots came flooding in. Jena, my confidante in crime, really helped me winnow the stack down because, at times, I'm embarrassed to say I was totally log jammed. There were so many actors and it was difficult to say no to any of them, especially when many had spent so much time and money making their headshots, and even had notable experience on their CV. Jena pulled me back down to Earth.

She held up a headshot. It was one of my Undecideds. "I'll make this easy for you," she said. "Would you want to watch this guy for three minutes of screen time?" That was a harsh question to ask, but the right one because the answer was no. The actor in question wasn't terribly attractive and I couldn't see myself honestly wanting to watch this dude for half a minute, much less three minutes. The headshots were easy to narrow down after that.

Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. There will always be a Steve Buscemi out there, but decisions like mine are made every day by casting directors in the entertainment industry. Sometimes actors got "it", but almost all the time, they don't. The best advice I heard about being a professional actor came from the actress I ended up casting in my short film (unsurprisingly, she later moved to L.A. to pursue acting): "Audition like crazy. Do as many auditions as you can and always do your best in them. When the audition is over, forget all about it. The chances are you didn't get the part, so why worry about it? Instead, use your auditions to perfect your acting. And try to get a flexible day job that pays well. I'm a mobile notary."

When Matt Damon was asked about what he'd tell people getting into acting, he said, "Don't. You get too much rejection." Interesting that his response was a rejection... was he surreptitiously trying to discourage thin-skinned newbie actors to save them years of tuition in the School of Hard Knocks?

Acting's a tough gig. Deal with it. But above all else, be honest with yourself about your headshot, your experience, your shtick. If you're not yielding any results from your auditions, is it really because you haven't knocked on enough doors, or is it because you really don't got it? Finally, if you'll never have what any casting director is looking for, at what point is it time to move on?

Memorize Your Lines

I'm about the biggest fan of Robert Downey, Jr. this side of the Atlantic. There's always something magical about his performances which rivet me. Barring his unfortunate dalliances with various narcotics five years ago, he is indisputably one of the finest actors of our generation. As they say, madness is the flip side of genius.

Finally, Downey seems to have set aside his substance distractions and landing roles displaying his whole spectrum of talent (this summer's comedy Tropic Thunder lets Downey portray the ultimate method actor who darkens his skin to play a black man!). While I was on holiday with the family this week, I found a good article in the L.A. Times covering some of Downey's meticulous preparation for his role in Iron Man.

Once you read the article, you start to see the real genius behind Downey's acting talent—he memorizes lines so completely that he doesn't even have to think about them. His lines become so infused with his subconscious that they form a solid foundation on which he can layer intriguing sub-text or riff a clever ad-lib not accessible to a less prepared actor.

Boldface is mine:

FULLY PREPARED

Given his spark-flying mind, it's easy to assume that Downey ad-libs what he does on screen, quipping, prancing, dancing with effortless humor. Ironically enough, however, when auditioning for "Iron Man," he prepared for the test of his life.

Not that he likes giving away his trade secrets. "I'm a little far out with my methods, but it works for me," he says, explaining he believes in energy, and "the feng shui of it all." Still all the mysticism appears grounded in basic hard work, memorizing lines so thoroughly that "literally if you woke me in the middle of the night I could tell them as quickly as I could tell you my driver's license. Then I write it out illegibly so as I think I'm knowing it, if I can read it in this kind of gobbledygook then I actually know it. Then I write it out in an acronym so that the first letter of every word is just a cue. And then I literally read that as fast as I can read it because I'm training my subconscious now to respond to it."

Then he checks himself, and annotates the script with notes about the action's subtext or alternate lines, which he hopes are funnier or more poignant. "You've got your wheels under you and you can start moving upstairs a bit," he says.

"His mind works so fast, and his thought process continues in such a unique way. He's able to make these brilliant connections -- metaphors spring out and he's able to stay right on scene," says Feige, who got to see Downey Downey-ize the character. "A lot of it was in the script, and it sounds like he's riffing. A lot of it was riffed. Most of it was 'branched out' " from what was written. The script had two bland robot helpers for Stark, which Downey transformed into twee British adjuncts in the John Gielgud mode. Link.

The PACBF

I missed this blog the first time around, but my Google Alerts just let me know that—apparently—I invented something called "PACBF":

Meaghan and I casted ourselves as the leads opposite each other [for short film In Dutch] and we were coached in numerous rehearsals by Ross. Ross was fantastic with both of us and was a true actor's dream. Both Meaghan and I started our rehearsals according to Ross at a number 2 in the scale of "Pruden's Acting Compass Believability Factor", otherwise known as "PACBF". Meaghan and I had to get past our humerous friendship and dig deep within each other to induce the PACBF. We rehearsed normally twice a week for two months. At the same time Meaghan and I funded our movie together and Co-Produced it. At the end of the rehearsals, we had passed the PACBF and Ross gave his stamp of approval with a number 10.... Our crew was assembled in the two months that we rehearsed and we were very fortunate to find very hard working and knowledgeable, outrageously, friendly, caring, and considerate people to help us.

PACBF t-shirts will be sold via Cafe Press.

Portman goes from "E" to "B"

I've always said so—if you really want control over your life, you have to start thinking and acting like a business owner, and not like an employee.

It's not enough to be a well-paid employee... since your career is still run by others' decisions, which can frequently become frustrating. Evidently, Natalie Portman has learned that lesson the hard way:

Impatient Portman Turns Producer
Actress Natalie Portman formed her own production company after growing tired of waiting around for movie offers to land in her mail box. The 26-year-old actress found the process frustrating and that scripts being offered to her were inconsistent—so she decided to take her career into her own hands and form HandsomeCharlie Films. Portman says, "It is proactive. It gives you more control over creating things, as opposed to having to get hired every single time. After you've worked for so long, it's kind of annoying to have to be dependent in that way. I've been working 15 years and I know some years I get everything first and some years I read only uninteresting parts. I didn't want to be at the mercy of whoever is making those decisions. Having your own company is a nice way to concentrate your ideas and make the kinds of movies you want to see."

Latina Lauds

It's not often I get a public "thank you"—when I do, I'm not bashful about saying so, especially when my advice appears to have made a qualitative difference. About two months ago, I did a story consultation on Pull, a short written by Gabriella Garcia, my Cuban sister. She's shooting Pull now and nestled this friendly quip in her blog today:

My main actor, Jane Vereen, plays the lead, Angela. She is amazing and I really should give props here to my good friend & film maker, Ross (www.myspace.com/rosspruden). After he read my script and tore it apart (out of love of course), Ross told me "Get the best fuckin actress you can find". I took my time finding her and I'm glad I did. Jane is very talented, professional, and has been beyond prepared.

Good call, Gabs. Your film should rock!

The Five Stages of an Actor

A well-taught film school grad had never heard this amusing fable, so it's worth putting in writing:

THE FIVE STAGES OF AN ACTOR

1. Who is Ricardo Montalban???


2. Get me Ricardo Montalban!


3. Get me a Ricardo Montalban type.


4. Get me a young Ricardo Montalban.


5. Who is Ricardo Montalban???

Acting Up (SoCal Film Group repost)

Indie actors & filmmakers, take heed:

Acting Up

Steve's post about emotional context got me thinking about something I've noticed a lot of ...

Performance.

More specifically, bad performance.

When you cast your film, please take the time to cast good actors.

Screw that—take the time to cast GREAT actors.

Pretty please? Your audience will thank you for it.

You've spent all this time creating the character, thinking up the backstory, writing the snappy dialogue... all of this is meaningless unless you have someone who can sell it.

Performance is everything. It's why this is a star-driven business: because these are the folks who take the time to FEEL all of these emotions that we put on the page. To paraphrase Quentin: "If you're not a great actor, you're a bad actor and bad acting is bullshit in this business."

As audience members, we're acutely aware of when someone is giving a non-genuine performance; we're human, so we know when someone is not behaving genuinely. And it doesn't matter how much production value you put into your film—if an actor is giving a bad performance, that's what will attract the most attention.

Acting is the natural recreation of human behavior. It's listening. It's reacting. It's behaving. It's FEELING in front of a camera (or on stage, or what-have-you). In short, it's NOT ACTING.

We want our audience to feel the emotions of the genre—we want them to laugh, to cry, to be scared, to be on the edge of their seats. If the actors aren't feeling it, neither will the audience. How can we become involved in the story if we're preoccupied with a crummy performance?

So please take the time to make sure your movie is cast well. Audition and re-audition and re-re-audition if necessary. Shyamalan spent FOREVER agonizing over Cole in Sixth Sense—he said he thought he wrote a part that COULDN'T be played by a child actor. And then Hayley Joel walked in and blew everyone away. On the extras for the special edition Superman DVD, watch and see all of the actors who AREN'T Superman... and then watch Christopher Reeve.

If you're shooting a five minute short or a full-length feature, make sure every part is filled with someone who will add life to your movie, not take away from it.

Pretty please? Your audience will thank you for it.

Great actors can turn even wooden prose into compelling poetry... so get the best actors you can afford. If you can't afford great actors, then rehearse with them until you feel yourself getting drawn into their performance.

My personal acid test is simple—during rehearsals, when you no longer feel like you're watching actors but feel like a voyeur peeking into a real moment between people... stop rehearsing. Let the actors end on a high note. Let their final memory of this magical moment resonate inside them before the cameras roll.

Of course, you could always hand actors sides an hour before you shoot and hope they nail it, but most indie filmmakers are probably not working with Pacino or Streep. As we say in the design world, "Garbage in, garbage out"—you can't hand a rough design sketch to a designer only 10 minutes before you need it designed and expect to get quality work everyone's happy with. Same goes for actors.

So ask yourself: if a film's acting is bad, would you bother watching it? Countless indie filmmakers focus their efforts on mastering the filmmaking's technical aspects but overlook the obvious truth: every technical aspect of filmmaking exists to support the one thing a paying audience expects to see: a moving performance. And you can't get that without great actors, or rehearsals, or both.

Filmmakers: Budget time with your actors until you feel their performance is almost ready to be filmed ("almost" because you're usually better off leaving some room for spontaneity on the day you roll cameras). Do not take an actor's fame as bona fide proof they'll nail the lines as you want them to be said. All actors worth their salt—no matter how fat their paycheck—are still actors, i.e., they flourish with the right feedback. Why do you think many big movie actors like to perform on the stage? No time in rehearsals is wasted time.

Actors: Take acting classes. Do theatre. Master a variety of monologues. Dig deep into your emotional treasure chest. Hone your ear for mimicry. Finally, demand a copy of the script well in advance of shooting and rehearse it until either your director is happy, or you are, and preferably both. If they don't give you a script, then ask yourself this career-deciding question: are you willing to have a potentially poor performance burned into film for all the world to see, forever? It's fine to take a job to network, but the play's the thing.

Breakthroughs in Acting

I love actors. I mean, honestly—actors have a lot of guts to get up in front of a group of strangers and pour out their most intimate of moments. Few know I'm a member of S.A.G. (Screen Actors Guild) because I'm not very interested in being in front of the camera anymore. Still, I've had some great learning experiences while working on stage and screen...

EMOTION
The play was Wrong Number and I'd landed the role of a Desk Sergeant who begrudgingly takes an emergency phone call from a panicked bedridden woman. Our director took me through my dialog over and over and could tell I simply wasn't getting it. Finally, she stopped. Thought a moment.

"I saw you doing a card trick earlier. Would you be able to teach it to us?"

Puzzled, I fetched my deck of cards.

Turning to the cast, our director said, "I want all of you to act like Kindergarten kids: you have almost no attention span." Turning to me, "Your job is to keep our attention. Go ahead."

After about five seconds, I knew I was in for a bad time. After 20 seconds, the "kids" were banging on the ground and crying in boredom. And at 30 seconds—I snapped.

Can't quite explain it, but something inside went a little berserk. I screamed at my director, furious with her for putting me in this situation, for humiliating me like this. I got up in her face, livid. Everyone in the room was wide-eyed and still. Out of my peripheral, someone even glanced at the nearest exit.

Silence.

"Now do your dialog," she said.

And I did. And it was awesome. That day I learned how to tap into my emotional side... without doing card trick for kids.

FREEFORM
To improve my onscreen acting, I also took acting classes at Weist Barron. If you're a theatrical actor, it's easy to forget that film is an intimate medium: instead of projecting to the top balcony, the actor must frequently play to a close camera. Weist Barron was good for teaching you that, but also useful for rehearsing videotaped monologues and sides.

One time, they gave everyone sides to memorize for the next day. When it was my turn, I still wasn't totally off-page and stumbled all over the place. Worse, my nervousness was compounded by my growing self-inflicted humiliation. I re-started my read. And then started again. And again. It was awful.

Then our coach did the best thing possible for my acting—she told me to forget the lines, to freeform, to act as if there were no lines and nothing I could say was wrong. Absentmindedly, I clicked into a conversational tone and all the "lines" came naturally. Using freeform was like a door had been opened inside me.

MIMICRY
My mother, an actress in her own right, used to drag me along to her acting classes, some of them held at the once famous A Night At The Improv and other classes with our agent. One poor actress from the Bronx said the word "saw" like "sore". Our agent, Gloria, stopped the class immediately—"Say that again."

"Sore."

"There's no R in saw. Say it again."

"Sore."

"Can't you hear that? You're saying sore, not saw. Try it again."

"Sore."

That's when it hit me—acting is like being a mirror. Life looks at you and your reflection should be indistinguishable from reality. When you can't reflect reality well enough, people become distracted by the "smudge" on the mirror. Your job as an actor, then, is to mimic reality with zero deviation. If you can't do that simple task, you're fighting a hard battle. I suppose you can learn to hear nuances you've never heard before, but you have to be somewhat talented to do it past the age of seven—most major learning slows down after that age, as I understand it.

CADENCE
Years later, I had the good fortune of getting accepted into LAMDA, the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art, which was a treasurehouse of acting tips and tricks. Because LAMDA specialized in Shakespeare, we performed the Bards' plays after learning all our new skills. One helpful acting tip was "translating" all our lines written by Shakespeare into modern lingo, into lines we would have said ourselves. If we wanted, we could even memorize those lines as well. The point was not only to understand the meaning of the words, and then feel that meaning, but to pay attention to our inflections, our cadences, our natural emphasis. After that, reciting Shakespeare was easy.

LINES
I'm not ashamed to say I'm a formalist when it comes to an actors knowing their lines for a film. As a writer, you write lines, you anguish over the number of syllables, over punctuation, over awkward dependent clauses... you get each word just right. And then, as a director, you do rehearsals and realize that the lines don't work perfectly so you go back and incorporate your actors' natural rhythms and expressions. And when you finally strike that balance, you finally lock down the script and insist the actors know every line in their sleep.

Some writers don't want their words mangled. Some directors don't want to diverge from the script. Some actors don't want to overrehearse. And none of those people are me—films are neither stage plays nor novels: they are organic and collaborative. And knowing lines doesn't quash creative choices, but liberates an actor from poor choices. When you learn anything new, you struggle to find the pattern that works, but once you do, your brain shifts into autopilot and you find the zen of the moment. Frankly speaking, acting is no different than golfing or typing: you learn the technique through massive repetition so you don't think about the technique while you're creating art. Of course, improvisation can get great results, too, but that's more a hope for a happy accident and I believe more happy accidents happen as a result of extensive preparation, rather than in spite of it.

Talia Shire falls down... hard

I'm watching John Frankenheimer's Prophesy as research for Arousal. It's similar in plot to Arousal—people threatened in the woods by infected animals.

There's a scene halfway through where Talia Shire's character and her character's husband are staying in the woods in a log cabin. They're being lovey-dovey when this animal makes a weird sound outside the cabin. At first, they ignore it. Then the husband gets up to see what it is.

Outside the front door is this raccoon, totally wigging out. You know when cats start running around the house, jumping on the furniture, then running away again? Imagine that, but for a raccoon—this little guy looks like he's either about to hurl or he's trying to drown out the sound in his head by screaming. Regardless, something is seriously fucking off with this raccoon.

Without warning, the raccoon attacks the husband. The husband struggles, the wife screams—and then somehow the raccoon has jumped over onto Talia Shire—

—Talia does what any person would do in this situation: she pulls back from the raccoon as fast as possible. I mean, this is a fucking rabid raccoon or some shit! She pulls back so hard that she backs up near a chair, which is placed about a foot away from the wall. She loses her balance and slides down into the foot-wide crevice, twisting face-first towards the wall. In the instant she falls, we see her terrified face, then her naked thigh... and then she's completely gone from view.

It's a miracle Talia Shire didn't break her neck.

The thing that impressed me most about this scene is that it's definitely Talia Shire who does this stunt. And because she does this stunt, and because everything happens so quickly (in retrospect, they might have sped up the film slightly), her fear and desperation look real. More importantly, it all feels real. So real I completely forgot I was watching a movie.

Prophesy is a not a bad horror film, given that it's as old as Star Wars. The beast in it is pretty lame, but there are tense moments in it with some unsettling story developments (foot-long tadpoles still give me the willies). Frankenheimer gave us the superb Ronin, among other films. He's a deft storyteller.

Anyway, now I know why actors doing their own stunts makes such a big difference. Seeing an actor in the action itself creates a visceral link between the story and the audience, which is the entire reason people go to the cinema. To sustain this link, to make it as vivid as possible for as long as possible...

So bad/good news for all my actors—you're all doing your own stunts! (If you're nice to me, I'll talk to the DP to see if I can speed up the film to make you look good.)