Friday, February 7, 2014

Women in Film


Do you watch movies? Are you a human? Then this is important to look at.

Women comprise only 30% of speaking characters. And that's just actually dumb.

My vision is to be one of the people whose work can contribute to changing these statistics. Create, create, create! Not just because women are awesome and deserve fair treatment, but because art should tell the truth.

http://www.buzzfeed.com/samimain/the-truth-about-gender-inequality-in-film

Sunday, December 22, 2013

I Peace-Out New York City

Lots of reasons to love New York City today.

1) Conversation at work included, "So this is random and hilarious, but speaking of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ..." Also, I went to work with one purse and left with one purse and two giant bags of gifts. Church ladies are the nicest. Also, all Hershey's kisses are gone.

2) Witnessed TWO verbal altercations that almost became physical. The first was while looking at the Saks Fifth Avenue holiday window display, and two chicks were getting into it over a dude. Holiday cheer, people...HOLIDAY CHEER! The second was on the train, when a woman started shouting "Hey pervert, stop staring at my titties! I don't like it and you are making me uncomfortable." Her shouting "titties" made everyone else uncomfortable, especially the older gentleman I accidentally made sustained eye contact with - a mood only compounded when her boyfriend then proceeded to remove his rings, threatened to pummel the pervert, and whipped the headphones from his iphone so we could all hear the uptempo ditty that he presumably meant to be the soundtrack to the Pummeling of the Pervert. To be fair to the pervert, the lady with the titties did have a rather large, inscrutable word tattooed on her cleavage that I myself was tempted to spend an inordinate amount of time deciphering. Odestinated? Marikesh? Orelia? It is actually impossible to say. And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, lady. I just was really trying to read. I'm sorry literacy and intellectual curiosity offend you.

3) Speaking of reading, I got to be a reader for auditions tonight and there is NEVER a dull moment on either side of the table, that's for sure. Note: the right answer to "can I touch you?" is always yes. No exceptions.

4) Pretty sure the apocalypse happened and we all missed it because it's 70 degrees and the humidity/B.O. factor is at it's summer high. I always hoped I'd at least see Jesus riding by on his white horse when this happened, but I guess I'm left behind...ugh...sigh.

5) One of my best friends lives literally two blocks from me and I was able to swing by on the way home while she gave me tea and edamame while debating the ethics and morality of dating. Meanwhile, her horny cats made parrot noises as if to challenge everything we said. Somehow I left feeling as if they know something we don't.

6) I'm leaving tomorrow. Which makes everything about New York City better. Beautiful-er. Brighter. Tolerable. Endearing. Gross.

BOOM. I love my adopted home. Merry Christmas, crazies.

Friday, November 29, 2013

Black Friday Night, Starving Artist Style

You realize your already open bottle of wine won't keep during the coming week, (the week you had vaguely resolved to abstain from all alcohol - you know, to cleanse), but since you like to economize and hate to waste foodstuffs of any kind, you decide you can't just throw away that open bottle. That's disrespectful, you know, to the starving kids in those remote places in the world you hear so much about. Once it's gone, THEN you can cleanse. Yeah, you could offer it to your roommate...but...reasons not to...

So, you pour a glass of wine or two for yourself whilst cleaning your room. It's Friday, after all, and shenanigans are in order. You deserve it and that's how you roll because you're a young vigorous beast. You're gonna clean that room cleaner than clean has ever felt before. Brace yourself, world.

As things progressively get more wild and crazy with you and your room, you're filling up that bag for goodwill like a boss and rocking out to Christmas music like a LEGEND, you suddenly realize that all of your belongings have either holes, wine stains, or both holes and wine stains.

This isn't surprising, really. If you are honest with yourself, you sensed the truth deep in the core of your being and felt it coming. Somehow, though, halfway through the second mason jar of wine and elbow deep in your t-shirt drawer, it becomes distressing. My god, everyone in the world must know you're covered in holes and wine stains all the time. Why haven't your friends told you before? Do they secretly laugh at your holes and wine stains after you leave parties? Yes, your work uniform is all black, but SURELY they can all see the wine stains. How can you face them again? THEY KNOW.

You must fix this. You can't remove the stains because that requires practical homemaking skills and some serious hand-eye coordination.

There is only one way out. You must shop. Yes, shop.

But you can't. It's too late for you even though there are technically 15 minutes of Black Friday left, because even the online Black Friday deals don't change the fact that you already spent your potential shopping money on wine. You already spent two hours online canceling an order because you couldn't afford it. You already spent your day not trampling people to death in BestBuy because, let's face it, you don't know how to use an iPad yet.

You need another glass of wine.

Wine...wine...there was something you had decided about wine...to finish the bottle tonight? Right?

#starvingartistblackfriday

Saturday, November 23, 2013

Feeling All the Feelings


The Cherry Orchard at Horace Mann Theater
Oh boy, it's been a fall, y'all. Last time I remember knowing what day it was, it was definitely August 21st. Or 22nd? A Tuesday?

I am always thankful for the busy. Sure, I cry into my whiskey in the shower out of sheer exhaustion sometimes. I definitely drink whiskey in the shower, yes. I know because there's probably still a cup in there. And as the weeks go by and I sleep less and forget to eat, I end up having to wear children's shirts at work because I forgot my uniform, and I start making questionable decisions about who to bark back at on the subway...sure...but all in all, busy and sleep deprived are the bread and butter of any working actor. We like it when we can't feel our faces because we rehearsed until midnight and had to get up at 6 for our dayjob. We like it when we have to cram for an audition after our brunch shift and before tech. We'll be the first ones to tell you that, and simultaneously complain.
The Weirdest Tree I've ever climbed.

But really, I can't complain. I don't know if you remember this one day in August, but I do. I was such a mess that I had to blog about it, but the friendly fellow I auditioned for sans shoes or make-up made the surprising decision to go ahead and cast me in TWO of his plays anyway. So, I've been doing that. I got to work with wonderful, talented, insane people on The Weird Tree, a devised and very physical play based on an Eastern European fairy tale, as well as a notably non-traditional rendition of The Cherry Orchard. See the balloons? The snow drifts? It was pretty magical. And, while all that was happening, I also shot two short films and went to Los Angeles for a week. Because reasons.

It always happens at once, and you have to just go ahead and feel all the feelings and get it done.

Varya doesn't care anymore.
At the beginning of the year, my former roommate and I declared that 2013 would be the Year of Awesomeness. We had said 2012 was the Year of Men, so, 2013 definitely had to be something else. Various 20-something problems aside, I think our prophecy has come rather close to the truth. It was the first year I got very specific and clear with myself about what I wanted. I wrote a list of professional goals, all of which are neatly checked off even though it's only November. It's kind of amazing, actually, and humbling in the sense that many of the goals came about through channels other than my own pursuit. Some of my goals came and found me. After they roughed me up a little bit, we got along great.

Perhaps it was simply a matter of confessing that I wanted them, that I was willing to risk failure for the sake of saying their names out loud. LA, for example. I have been thinking of scouting out the town every since finishing acting school, but it was always a little scary to find the money or the time. So, finally, with a little help from my friends, I just went and did it. I forced myself to make some uncomfortable but right choices personally. I asked for what I needed, and mostly got it. But I had to ask. I had to own it. And now I grow less afraid with each whirlwind.  There will be valleys and peaks, and I now know better how to navigate myself in them. It's not so much navigating the changing landscape of my career, I am finding, but how to craft and navigate myself. 
You have to ask for what you want, Lopahkin!

And I can't skip any steps. It's all connected. I have tried so many times in the past to skip steps. I've so wanted to fast forward to the money days, the married days, the champagne in a slipper days. But you just can't. First you have to grow. You have to go through the whole process, from excitement to disappointment to joy to brutal teeth-gritting to drudgery to joy. The ending never comes first.

I am always in such a hurry to get to what I consider to be the good stuff. But how the heck do I know what the good stuff is? When I look back over the last few years, I realize that my perspective at the time was a little muddled, and I can only assume my perspective now is equally muddled. Only later can I really see how the decisions, work, and time were building up toward something new. Now we see through a glass darkly...And I really do think it will all come together when it most needs to, in the way that is best. Cheesy, but yeah. I am actually having this moment of realizing that something very cliche is true. Not in a tie-dye and crystal kind of way, but in a frustrating, painstaking, reality way. Blah blah blah.

So, with all of my latest projects winding down, I am feeling all the feelings. Pride, elation, thankfulness, and the inevitable post-show-slump. And I am not avoiding any of it, because I want to feel all the feelings. Preferably through a buffer of whiskey. Then, and only then, can I press onward and forward.
I got to wear my glasses onstage! It's the little things.


Friday, October 4, 2013

September When It Comes

And then, ten years later, you become an overnight success.

Your life can change in an instant.

This is something I often joke about with many friends and colleagues and family members - the myth of the lightning strike that turns you from a nobody to a contender.

Not to say there's no such thing as the bolt from the blue that flips your career. That absolutely happens, perhaps in showbiz more often than any other industry - but rarely does it come out of nowhere and strike a random target.

You work really hard preparing yourself, building your skills, simmering your passion, navigating a dynamic and deadly landscape of extremes, braving conditions that would discourage most egos and navigating tough choices. You do all of this every day, so that you're ready when it happens. You constantly fight to improve your changes, position and posture yourself to be the best possible conductor for the power jolts.
 You want to be hit. You will yourself to be hit. You pray. You submit. You study. You interview. You toil and earn and fight and create and never stop so you'll be ready when the universe aligns.

The secret of successful people is that the universe aligns not just once, not twice, but many times. And this alignment is partially in our control, and partially not.

It seems like I spend a lot of time not necessarily having the stereotypical "big breaks," but rather experiencing nearly constant small breaks. They add up. Down the road, if you stick with something long enough and maintain laser focus on your vision, all those small breaks put together will be the "big break." It's just that no one other than myself will know just how many tiny little breaks, threats of rain, thunder, and electrical storms preceded the lightning strike.

There's a calm before every storm, but the storm always comes. Like a hurricane, my acting career seems to be arced in a tempestuous parabola. It's a cycle of work, preparation, searching, work, preparation, searching, work...Calm, storm, eye...jobless, working, regrouping...

September was a month of little lightning strikes for me. After a few fallow months, I booked an amazingly creative original play and two film jobs all at once. Both film roles were in projects I didn't audition for, and were opportunities supplied by artists I've met over the years and stayed in touch with. And one of those films, to my surprise and delight, brought me my first Taft-Hartley and, once all the filing is complete, my SAG/AFTRA-eligibility.

We spend a lot of time as actors waiting for our big breaks. We sometimes forget to mark and celebrate the small ones. Becoming SAG/AFTRA-eligible was one of my goals for the year, and I was behind schedule in my plans to achieve it by producing my own new media project. Then, BANG, the universe brought me a role through a fellow Actors Studio Drama School alum, who reached out to me. And this school chum, a bolt from the blue, has changed the course of my year. What a gift! Lightning struck and a seemingly small break, one short film role, brought me a big milestone. Thanks, Chelese Belmont, for furnishing such a significant moment in my life (and producing an amazingly fun shoot, can't wait to see the finished film!).

What I am trying to say, dear reader, is that we must always be ready for September when it comes, whether it is a burst of work or an opportunity to use down time in a constructive way. When the small breaks begin that domino effect, you don't want to be caught napping. I want to be standing up, saying yes, and full of decisive action.

We are always building toward something.


Sunday, September 8, 2013

Sex Machine

Today I literally pulled a muscle and popped an ankle trying to be "sexy." The fact that it was in rehearsal as a prostitute character does not mitigate the shame or magnitude of this epic fail. But it does lead inevitably and conclusively to several indisputable truths about my life that settle once and for all certain doubts and knock certain people off their high horses - while simultaneously raising some interesting questions.

The facts are these: 1) never should I ever try to be sexy, it's obviously bad for my health; 2) strippers are to be envied and admired for their skill, control, and athletic prowess, and I should fall at their feet in reverence as so many other members of the human race are wont to do; and, finally, 3) I should just stop. I'm not a sex machine. I'm not a twerking goddess. Being on the Education For Life - i.e. abstinence - Team in high school has left it's permanent scar. Yes, that was a real thing that I did. This fact is also indisputable and epic. Fellow former EFL-ers (I know you're out there) know exactly what I mean.

The questions today's little incident raises, for me, are these - in this particular order: 1) SEX; 2) what is the line in acting between trying too hard and not daring enough; and, lastly, 3) how did I roll my ankle? I was barefoot.

I do not have answers for any of these questions, especially #1.

Anyway, embarrassing as it is to admit, "sexiness" onstage is rather an Achilles heel for me. The moment a director says, "Be sexy," I try to be sexy, and it's a disaster. I grow an extra left foot and begin to aspirate. Not sure why. Oh yes, that's right, because I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT MEANS AS AN ACTION. No doubt therapy is in order.

My take away from today, though, is actually a throw-back to graduate school. In voice class, which was usually my favorite subject throughout the years of training, our insightful guru Margaret Jansen was fond of saying "Trying is dying." (This always echoes in my head in Yoda's voice, no offense to Margaret..."Do or do not, there is no try...")

Anyway, trying is dying. Perhaps even literally. I'm lucky it was just my ankle this time.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

Let it Happen

Guys, I am a hot mess.

After I successfully complete a second interview for a dayjob in midtown east, I change out of my power heels and into my flip flops like any sensible Manhattanite with five addresses on her to-do list. Resolutely, I mosey my way uptown for an audition where I will be considered for two plays in one pop: one Chekhov, one experimental. Once it's my turn, things go alright - the guy behind the table is a personable bloke around my age, and chats with me about the two plays before asking me for a monologue. It is then I realize that I am still wearing my flip flops.

Guys, I auditioned for a Chekhov play in flip-flops.

I make it through my Shakespeare monologue, and am asked to sing. All the options I thought of a minute ago desert me. Briefly I consider busting out some My Fair Lady, but those high notes are always dodgy for me, and the only other song I can remember ever knowing in my entire life is a Gaelic lullaby. Well, actually, the first two words of the gaelic lullaby, so I sing them repeatedly. Which is kind of how I remember the first verse going...right? "Pretty," says the guy. He's very nice. We chat some more and I smile, inconspicuously slipping my flip-flops back on because they had fallen off. Again.

Afterward, I make a pit stop in the bathroom and realize I had forgotten to put on my mascara. GUYS, I forgot to put on mascara today. I put on everything else, including actual pink lipstick, but no mascara. I've been walking around New York City with full makeup and no mascara. How does one forget to put on mascara, one might wonder? I still don't know, but somehow this discovery is not surprising to me. Because I am a mess, a hot mess in fact.

On my way to my next audition, I am walked into by a woman on her cellphone as I stare at a window display. If I remember correctly, it was a display of children's clothing. Why??

Soon my mother texts to let me know that my birthday present to her has arrived at her house - two weeks late - and that it was addressed to me, c/o The Actors Studio Drama School. How??

During the next audition, in a sentence, I can't think of a word. (The word I couldn't think of, by the way, is "appliances." Why I was using "appliances" in a casual conversation during an audition, I cannot reasonably explain. Perhaps it is part of a misguided attempt to be quirky and charming, which lands somewhere between absentminded and baffling.) The rest of the audition happens, as time, loss, and entropy happen, with only moderate line jumbling and heartache.

I let it happen. It happened. It's happening.

I'm a mess.

Then, the easy part of the day. I join some girlfriends for a free concert. On the way in, my bag is searched and my three bottles of wine are confiscated. Yes, three. I was carrying three bottles of wine at this point, guys, and I am not ashamed - but apparently there's a law about smuggling them into concert venues. Who knew? I explain to the bouncers that these are my groceries, that they are cork bottles and I don't have an opener, that I had no intention of opening them at the concert because it's an AMY GRANT concert and that wouldn't make sense or be fun at all, but they are confiscated nonetheless.

As we make the way up the stairs to the venue, I see my ex standing in the doorway - because WHERE ELSE WOULD HE BE. Though I knew this was going to happen, I am still somehow unprepared. Luckily, he is a classy person and accepts my jittery hug with a smile. Whew. Later, in mid-conversation, a dear friend slams her fists in the table, stopping us all, and whispers urgently, "Guys, are we going to be okay?" None of us have a convincing response.

More dark adventures also happened that the world need not share, but to say the night ended in frozen custard and blank stares is an understatement.

This is a true New York story. It is my story. Today. Guys. I am a hot mess. Sometimes we are messes. For me, the mess is frequent and persistent, a happening, an endless beatnik parade with no beginning or end time. Sometimes I can't seem to get it together. Rather than bewail my self-made fortunes, though, I have decided to just...just...just...

Well, anyway, it happened. And by the way, I share this with all of you because I think it's quite hilarious and I want my fellow hot messes out there to know - you're not the only one. We'll figure this thing out. Happy Friday, everyone.

"Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final." Rilke, via my dear friend Suzette.