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A Killer Audition

7/18/2013

3 Comments

 
The breakdown read as follows...looking for guy next door, with danger lurking beneath the surface, to play a photographer by day and serial killer by night.  No nudity but will perform killing scenes topless.  Good acting a plus.  There is pay.

The fact that I needed material to use on my acting reel forced me to set aside my moral hesitations to performing in some sort of creepy, homoerotic slasher film.  I had been told repeatedly by many casting directors and agents that I was the perfect type for the guy who looks like he can be trusted, but who turns out to be a psychopath who buried your family in his basement.  Never quite sure as how to receive that “compliment”, I would simply nod in agreement and keep my eyes peeled for such acting opportunities.  My time had come.

I parked my car in front of an apartment building that looked like numerous buildings I had seen on “Cops”.  Chipped paint, sun-burned grass, no numbers indicating the address, a deflated kiddie pool that looked like it was filled with some drunkard's urine.  While most people would have driven away, I was oddly intrigued by what lay before me.  My logic figured that if they had advertised publicly for this film,  then there couldn't be anything too outrageous to walk into.  I checked myself in the rearview mirror, took a deep breath, and approached the building.

As I neared Apartment 4B, the door opened and a handsome young man exited, quickly closing the door behind him.  I smiled, and he gave me a slight nod, reassuring me that nothing suspect had happened in there.  

Seconds later, the door opened again but this time a large man appeared and seemed to waft out like a hovercraft or Macy's Day parade float.  He looked like Dom DeLuise with frosted white hair and wore a Hawaiian shirt the size of a four-person tent.  His jet black eyebrows arched in suspicion as his eyes inspected me from head to toe.  “Are you here for the audition?”  I wondered if this question was rhetorical but decided to nod in confirmation.  “Sign in there, and then look over the sides for the cold reading.  Then take a number from the stack and knock on the door when you're ready.” 

“Sounds good!” I replied and with the look of a man smelling feces, he turned and slammed the door behind him.

On a small, plastic patio table I found the sign-in sheet and wrote my name down next to number 27.   Next to the sign-in sheet lay a small pile of numbers; the top number corresponded to my sign-in number.  Finally, there was a laminated sheet of paper that I discovered was the material for the cold reading.  

Now generally, when actors have to read something cold, it is typically something from either the script that you are auditioning for or a selection from some other piece of published work.  This laminated paper had five lines typed on it.  And they were numbered.  The sentence structure and the depth of word choice looked as though they could have been written by a third grader.  I read them once and knocked on the door.

Dom opened the door with a flourish.  “That was fast.  Are you sure you're ready?”

“Yeah, I'm good.”

I entered the shade-drawn apartment with a slight bit of hesitation.  The door closed behind me, and Dom reached out his hand.  His demeanor took a complete 180.  Suddenly, he was Doris Day.

“Thank you so much for coming today.  My name is Dom (no way!)and this is my business partner Steve.  He'll be running the camera.”

A wiry man with torn jeans and a sweat-stained white T-shirt who resembled Steve Buscemi, early Steve Buscemi, not the cleaned up, Boardwalk Empire Buscemi, reached out his hand.  “Pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve.”

I retracted my hand and it felt oddly moist.  Apparently Steve Buscemi had sweaty palms. At least I hoped it was sweat. 

“And this is Mickey.  He'll be performing the strangulation and stabbing scenes with you after you do the cold reading.”

I turned to see another young actor leaning against a leather recliner that sat in a shadowed corner of the room.  Mickey looked like he could've been a member of a white militia from the back woods of Missouri.

“Great.  Hi, Mickey.”

He nodded to me and continued to chew on the toothpick that danced across his coffee-stained teeth.

“Are you ready for the reading?”

“Sure thing.”

“Wonderful.  And here is a cell phone for you to use as a prop.”

“Oh, great.  Thanks!”

I took the cell phone and held it up to my ear.  Then I recited the five lines from the laminated page.

“Hey, Mom; it's me.”
 “College is great.”
 “Yes, Mom.  I'm keeping up with my homework.”
 “I'm calling because I need to borrow some money.”
 “You know what, Mom?!  You can be a real jerk sometimes!”

The room was eerily silent.  I wondered if I had offended Dom and sweaty Jerome because I had added some words and phrases to their script to try and create some form of unique character from the vacuous script they had written.  Dom stared deeply into my eyes and slowly rose to his feet.

“Noel...I just have to say, and I think I speak for both of us, that THAT was THE BEST cold reading I have EVER seen.  You are fantastic!”  With that, he began to clap his hands and oddly resembled a walrus doing a trick at SeaWorld.  Jerome followed suit. 

I thanked them for their praise and wondered to myself just how bad the other actors must have been.  I don't mean to diminish my talents, but they were talking to me as if I were Olivier himself.  Was it possible for anyone to read those lines poorly?

“Now, Noel.  We will move on to the second half of the audition which is the strangulation and stabbing scenes.   You will be working with Mickey.  One will be the assailant, and one will be the victim.  Now for this part, I must ask you both to please remove your shirts.”

I swallowed my dignity and removed my shirt.  The ickiness-factor of the situation skyrocketed as Mickey and I stood there bare-chested while Dom DeLuise and Steve Buscemi ogled us like two thirteen year old boys flipping through an issue of Hustler magazine.  I couldn't wait for this to be over.

"Okay!  Noel, why don't you be the assailant first and Mickey can be the victim.  Now, Noel, you can just improv this scene…think of a reason why you want to strangle Mickey.  And Mickey, when Noel is strangling you, remember the four steps of a good death by murder."

Let me quickly educate you on the four steps of "a good death by murder" as outlined by Dom and Steve.  These were revealed to me in the initial casting breakdown I had read online.  

Step 1:  SHOCK!  The victim is shocked to find himself being strangled.  Really?!  What kind of person would not be shocked to have someone's hands pressing on their throat?

Step 2:  SCARED!  The victim's shock turns to fright as he realizes his life is being threatened.   A logical progression.  

Step 3:  STRUGGLE!  Fighting for his life, the victim puts up a struggle.  I would certainly hope so.

And step 4:  SUBMISSION!  Realizing struggle is futile, the victim submits to the assailant as the breath leaves his body.  With perhaps a few bonus spasms… 

Dom and Steve wanted to see the victim go through all of these steps…with their shirt off.

"Are you ready, Noel?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Mickey?"

"Hell, yeah."

"And ACTION!"

Trying to take all of this seriously, I launched into the scene.  I slowly approached Mickey.

"Hey, man!  I heard you were talking to my sister yesterday."
 "Yeah…so what?"
 "Well, I gotta be honest…I don't like when anyone talks to my SISTER!"

I reached out, grabbed Mickey by the neck and started to strangle him.  Of course, I made sure to do a stage strangle, meaning I put my hands on his neck without squeezing, allowing him to control the action.  But the instant I grabbed his neck, Mickey let out a scream.

Dom bellowed, "STOP!  STOP!"

I released Mickey.

Dom looked pissed.  "Mickey!  The first step is SHOCK!  You WOULD NOT scream like that!"

Mickey fumbled, "I just reacted the way I thought-"

"Shock would not produce sound!  Shock is a look!  Shock is a GASP!  A slight inhale!"

I worked hard to contain my laughter.

"Now, let's try it again."

I started with a new line.

"Happy Birthday, buddy!"
 "Thanks, man!"
 "Yeah! It's a good day, man!  A good day to DIE!"

I started to strangle Mickey a second time and following direction, he didn't make a sound.  Just pure shock.

Dom erupted again "STOP!!!!  Mickey, it's SHOCK!"

Trying to defend himself, "I thought you said shock was a look."

"Well it is, but you would make some sort of sound.  A gasp, a slight inhale…or exhale. You know what?  Let's switch it up.  Mickey, why don't you strangle Noel?"

"Sure thing, Dom."

Now I assumed that Mickey was a professional.  And I assumed that if he was unfamiliar with how to strangle another actor safely, he would have learned from my example. 

After a horrible improvisation that is too offensive to repeat, Mickey started to actually strangle me.  For a second, I had a moment of panic and thought that this might be where my life was going to end.  And instead of feeling fear, I felt incredibly depressed.  To be murdered auditioning for a horrible D-movie with my shirt off, while Dom and Steven watched gleefully.  I snapped out of the pathetic visual, and my adrenaline kicked in.  I grabbed Mickey's hands and pulled them back from my neck.  He matched my force with equal force, and I started to get pissed.    "This is gonna get real!" I thought to myself.  I was just about to take Mickey down, but then the rational side of my brain kicked in.  I figured I should just die quicker so that this infuriating moment would end.  I quickly acted step 4, Submission, and collapsed to the floor.  

The room was silent.  And then, the slow clap began.  I opened my eyes to see Steve Buscemi clapping with such fervor that Dom had no other choice but to follow suit.  I rose to my feet, still fighting the urge to punch Mickey in the face, and drank in the unsolicited applause.

"That was a great death, Noel!  Absolutely great!"

"Thanks.  I uh, I studied those steps!  What can I say?"

Dom stood.  "Well, I don't even think we need to see the stabbing death, that was so good."

Mickey looked disappointed.  "Ah, man!  I even brought my own knife."

And with that, Mickey reached into his pocket and withdrew an actual switchblade.  With a flick of his wrist, he flipped the knife open for us all to see.

I thought two things in this moment.  One, Mickey was such a method actor that he had to bring a real knife to the audition.  Or two, Mickey was a psychopath.  His acting ability led me to embrace option two.

Dom and Steve also looked a bit shocked.

"That's wonderful, Mickey, but we're not going to need that today."

Like a child sent to his room, Mickey sadly retracted the blade and put it back in his pocket.

"Thanks for coming in, Mickey.  Noel, do you mind staying for a second?"

God help me.  "Not at all."

Mickey put his shirt back on and slinked out of the room without even saying goodbye.  I got over that quickly.

Dom and Steve perked up when just the three of us remained.

"Noel, Steve and I were just blown away by your work.  Blown away!"

Just hearing the word "blown" was making me very uncomfortable.  

"Thanks so much."

"Now, most of the actors that we work with are in their early to mid-20's.  I think you might be a little older than that, am I right?"

"You are!  I'm actually 31. But I'm like a fine wine…better with age."

Steve chimed in, "And definitely full-bodied."




I threw up in my mouth a little.  Swallowing my lunch, I managed to smile at the compliment.




"Thanks for being honest, Noel.  We just had to know for casting purposes.  Thanks again for taking the time to come in for us.  We'll be in touch."




I thanked them again and shook hands on my way out.  Rushing home, I bought a gallon of Purell at Walgreen's and, once safely in the comfort and privacy of my own apartment, turned the shower as hot as it would go and stayed in until my body and soul were sufficiently clean.  




Two weeks later, I got an email from Dom and Steve.  They again complimented my work and wanted to offer me a role in their upcoming film, "Boys Under My Blade". After getting my dry-heaves under control, I responded with a cordial "thank-you", and then respectfully declined the offer.  Some other actor would get the chance to strangle or stab some innocent male with their shirt off.  




Perhaps years from now, I will regret turning down this unique opportunity.  But today, I look back with relief in knowing that I made it out of that David Lynchian situation with my life and most of my dignity in tact.



















3 Comments

Mom was right...

7/1/2013

5 Comments

 
I had always dreamed of living in Los Angeles. And after an ass-kicking year in NYC, which included having my heart stomped on and a near-death experience with a schizophrenic drug dealer who also happened to be one of my roommates, I packed up my Saturn and headed west. My parents had sent me on my way with a plethora of calling cards and these words of warning, which, let's be honest, came from my Mom's mouth...
 “Just be careful out there, honey. Don't trust people too quickly, 'cause they'll screw you if they get the chance. You can always use us as your agents. We would protect your money.”
 Of course! Why hadn't I thought of that?! My parents could be my new agents! I could just pick up the phone, use my calling card, and check in daily to get the latest auditions! I could hear it now...
 “Hi, this is Noel Orput for Gail or Doug Orput.”
 “Hi, honey. It's me. Mom.”
 “What've you got for me, Mom?”
 “Well, I talked to a lovely woman at L.L. Bean and showed her that handsome picture of you that's in my wallet, and she said you could easily be a flannel shirt model in this year's winter catalogue.”
 “Anything else?”
 “They're having karaoke at Bruce's Lobster Shack on Tuesday night.”
 Click.
 Gotta love my mom. With a smile and a chuckle, I thanked her for her advice and reassured her that I wouldn't be screwed over by anyone in Tinseltown.

Cue thunder and lightening.

My first few weeks in LA were heaven. I never thought a hamburger could be prepared so many different ways, and I had never seen so many beautiful people per square foot. Without a job, I had sent out about 100 headshots and resumes to various managers and agencies. Then I waited for the phone to start ringing. And on one typically sunny day, while in the middle of sampling some amber beer my roommate had brewed (not schizophrenic and not a drug dealer), I got the call.
 “Hello?”
 “Hi, is this Noel?(like Christmas)
 “It's actually Noel.”(like Coward)
 “Oh, Noel. Sorry. This is Bruce from over at Agency 2000, or A2K.”
 The agency of the 21st century! Hellz yeah!
 “Are you there?”
 “Uh, yeah, sorry, I was just memorizing some Pinter.”
 “Great. Well, we really like your look and we'd love to start sending you out on commercial and modeling calls. If you start booking and you like working with us, then we'll sign a more formal contract.”
 “That sounds great, man.”
 “Why don't you swing by tomorrow at 2 so we can meet, and you can fill out some paperwork for accounting.”
 “Perfect. See you then, Bruce!”
 And like that, I had my first Hollywood agent! It didn't even happen this fast for Brando!
 I met with Bruce in a respectable office on Robertson Blvd and within 48 hours I had my first audition.
 “Noel, it's Bruce.”
 “Bruce, my man! What've you got for me?”(Hi, Bruce.)
 “You're going in for Brendan Fraser's body double. They're shooting a trailer for this new Looney Toons movie he made, and they want to see you in a tux 'cause he's sort of a James Bond type. You got a tux?”
 “How many awards shows have I gone to, Bruce?” (How many catering jobs have I worked?)
 “Great. Audition is tomorrow at 3:35pm. I'll email you the info.”
 “I'm gonna make you proud, Bruce.” (Thanks.)
 My adrenaline was pumping! First audition in LA and I was going in for the body double of the guy from “School Ties” who called Matt Damon a coward! And dressed as 007! I asked my roommate to pinch me, but he punched me instead.

I had homework to do. I finished my beer and slipped into my tux. Since we couldn't afford liquor, I had to improvise on the martini. I filled up a stolen Denny's coffee mug with some Brita filtered water and tossed in a grape. Orput...Noel Orput. With my James Bond swagger, I climbed the stairs of my apartment building to the rooftop. Kicking open the door, I walked with determination to the center of the roof and turned 360 degrees to take in the city around me. I rose my ghetto martini in the air and yelled at the top of my lungs, “COWARD!” I was Fraser and Bond rolled into one. Again, I yelled, “COWARD!” Within minutes, several LAPD choppers were circling overhead. I toasted them all and then quickly slinked off of the roof.

3:30PM the following day. I checked my hair for the 47th time in the rearview mirror and got ready for game time. I entered the small studio and found it swarming with penguins. There were at least 20 other guys who pretty much could've been me or my twin brother at least. I felt like I was in a fun house full of mirrors. But the words of “Highlander” echoed within me...”There can be only one!” I gathered my confidence and approached the monitor.
 “Hello!”
 “Hi. I'm Noel. I had a 3:35 time.”
 “Hi, Noel! Thanks for coming in!”
 “Thanks for having me.”
 “Of course. You look great.”
 “Thanks.”
 Two things were weird to me. One, this girl was being way too nice, and two, I knew this girl from somewhere. I started to run through the mental rolodex...did we work together? Did we have an awkward date? Is she the cute cashier from Trader Joe's? I was going crazy trying to figure this out, so I did as Bond would do...
 “I feel like we've met before.”
 She laughs.
 “I get that a lot. Especially from guys.”
 “Have we worked together?”
 “I don't think so. Did you ever watch “The Wonder Years”?”
 And instantly, my heart skipped a beat. Fifteen years dissolved from her face and I realized I was staring into the eyes of the girl I first fell in love with...well, me and every other 12 year-old in America. I was two feet away from Winnie Cooper. Suddenly Bond became a bumbling fool.
 “Oh my-oh my God...I like, loved you. I would like, watch that show in my parents room and I would dream of being with you.”
 “I know! I know...”
 “Wow. That's crazy. So now you're casting?”
 “I still act, but I'm helping a friend out with this.”
 “That's cool. Well, it's nice to meet you.”
 “You too. Actually, if you're ready, we can do you now.”
Do me? My mouth was instantly dry.
 “Sure! Let's do it.”
 I followed Winnie Cooper into a smaller room where she took my picture and then filmed me doing the classic James Bond walk that plays in the title sequence. Walk, walk, walk, and TURN and DRAW!
 “That was so good, Noel. I think they're really going to like you.”
 “Thanks, Winnie.”
 “So just hang out for a few. They're going to make their choice by four, so you'll know soon.”
 “Awesome.”
 I return to sit with the other hopefuls, but consider myself special since I know the monitor's secret. Winnie starts to let people go, and before I know it, I am sitting with two other guys. The final three. The door to the studio opens and a guy saunters in wearing a Stones t-Shirt, Diesel jeans, and a pair of burgundy Vans. His attire reeks of producer and he confirms my hunch with his introduction.
 “What's up, guys? I'm Nic, the producer.”
 We three nod hello.
 “So I just want to see you guys do the walk again for me, and then I'll make the final cut. Cool?”
 Cool, Nic. Time for a Bond-off!
 We all do our signature walks. I'm the last to go. Winnie gives me a smile before I begin, and I have to fight the urge to propose to her right then and there. I do my walk and, not to sound cocky, but I nailed it. Nic takes a second and whispers to Winnie. She nods in agreement as Nic turns back to us.
 “Noel, you can stay. Thanks for coming in, guys.”
 Booyah! Booked it! Brendan and Bond are in my blood!
 The next four hours were a dream. Winnie Cooper escorted me to a hair and make-up trailer. For the next 30 minutes, she hung out with me while a lovely girl named Heidi made me “camera-ready”. Winnie and I exchanged stories, laughed together, and even spilt a blueberry muffin from Craft services. I was falling in love.
 
The shoot was a breeze. I did my perfected Bond walk in front of a green screen and after about fifteen minutes, we were wrapped. Nic shook my hand and said how pleased he was with my work. I told him he could thank my four years of training. Not just anyone could replicate the walk of Brendan Frasier doing James Bond. Winnie Cooper came over with some paperwork.
 “We just need you to sign here saying that we can make payment to your agency, and then they'll cut you your check.”
 “Sounds good.”
 I looked at the paperwork and an astronomical number jumped out at me.
 “$1300? Is that Brendan's fee?”
 “No, that's for you.”
 “For who now?”
 “You. That's your fee.”
 I was frozen. $1300. For about 30 minutes of walking. I grew up cleaning pools and washing dishes for $6 an hour. And now I was getting paid $1300?! YEAH, BABY!!!! This was like getting 1.3 million!!! Think of the goods I could get at Target?! I'm livin' the dream, baby!!!
 “Wow! That's, uh, that's a lot of money.”
 Winnie laughed.
 “Well, you earned it.”
 “Did I?”
 “Yeah!”
 “I guess I did.”
 With a wink and a smile, I grabbed the pen and signed the paperwork. Winnie and I hugged goodbye. On the way out of the soundstage, I turned back to take one last look. This is the just the beginning, I thought to myself. You're on your way.

Two weeks later. I hadn't had any other auditions. And I hadn't been paid yet. I picked up the phone to call A2K.
 “Hi, this is Noel Orput for Bruce.”
 “Oh hi, Noel. Bruce actually stepped out for a minute. I'll tell him you called.”
 “Great, thanks.”
 One week later. Bruce never called me back, but I assumed he must've been super busy. I called again.
 “Hi, this is Noel for Bruce.”
 “Please hold.”
 Yes!
 “Hi, Noel!”
 “Hey, Bruce! I just wanted to check in to see the status of my check for the Bond gig.”
 “Yeah, right. I actually have the check here, but I just need accounting to sign so I can cut you your share. I'll get that done today.”
 “That would be awesome. I'm dying to get to Target.”
 “Love that place! You should have the check by the end of the week.”
 “Thanks, man!”
 The end of the week comes and goes without a check appearing in my mailbox. I was starting to get annoyed.
 Monday the following week, I called a third time.
 “Noel for Bruce.”
 “Bruce actually just ran out for lunch. Do you want his voicemail?”
 “No, I just want to get paid.”
 “Wish I could help you, but he'll be back later if you want to try back.”
 I hung up. What the hell is going on? My roommate was sampling his latest batch of Hefeweizen.
 “We should just go to the office and get the check.”
 “Yeah?”
 “Totally. He said it's there, so let's just go and get it.”
 “Yeah, you're right. Let's do it.”

We drove down to the office on Robertson. Four hours later we found parking and walked up to the office of Agency 2000. The doors were chained shut. Not locked, chained. Looking through the windows, I saw the office in shambles. Chairs were overturned, plants were out of their pots, and headshots were scattered across the floor. It looked like a serial killer had lived here, found out he was made and packed up in under two minutes. I stood as frozen as I had been when I had seen the money I had earned. But my money was gone. And it was never coming back. I grabbed the doors and shook them with the fury of Brendan Fraser.
“Nooooooo!!!! A2K!!!!!! Why??!!!!!!!”
 My roommate pulled me away from the crime scene. We went home. I thought of how I could retaliate. Maybe hire a bounty hunter to track down Bruce and make him pay...or call the Better Business Bureau. I went with the second idea.
 “Better Business Bureau.”
 “They screwed me!”
 “Calm down sir...what happened?”
 I told them my story. They were sympathetic. But there was nothing they could do. Apparently this happened all the time in LA.
Nooooooo! Don't tell me that! Don't tell me that...that my mom was right!
 I hung up the phone. I imagined Bruce spending my $1300 in Vegas. Or probably Reno. Bruce seemed like more of a Reno guy. That bastard.
 I picked up the phone to make one more call. As it rang, I swallowed my pride and called my new agent.
 “Hello?”
 “Hi, Mom. So what've you got for me?”











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    Noel Douglas Orput

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