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Hm, now where did that pie go…? Oh Ann!

Ever wonder about how people get cast as “incredibly ugly girl who accidentally makes out with a cat” or “giant fat person who farts at the party”? How is that presented in the character breakdown? How does the agent call the actor and tell them they are up for it? And how does the actor feel about it? Well, I’ll tell you what I know.

First of all, they don’t call, they email. As though it’s not that big a deal, your agent sends you an email listing all the parts, and then writes at the end “oh by the way, you’re being seen for ‘Fat Girl Who Sits in a Pie and Cries’, at 2pm.”

Now, all the other parts listed are things like “smart, quirky, devastatingly beautiful librarian” and “batshit insane SUPER SUPER HOT lady golf pro”. These part are ALWAYS listed like this - reading breakdowns is like shopping for Halloween costumes - they just take a job and put “sexy” and “gorgeous” around it. Well, almost every part for a girl is, except of course the funny ugly falling-down-in-your-own-poop parts. These parts - YOUR parts - start at the top of the ugly hill and careen down getting worse and worse until the last sentence is “hopefully the actor has experience with oozing sores and self-hatred. Racism a plus.” TV has only ones and zeros.

Does it sting? Yes. You, the actor, are initially stunned. Are you really that nasty? TV nasty? When did that happen? You consider crying a little, but instead you make a cup of tea and start trying to think of all the bright sides. First of all, obviously, it’s a chance for a job. That’s great! You need to buy Christmas presents and new lightbulbs, so that’d be fab. Plus if you actually got this part you’d get to go to LA, which has great hamburgers. (Shit! This is what they are talking about, fatty!) Through your cake-filled sobs, your friends remind you that any time any casting people are thinking of you, that’s good. Even if they are thinking of you as being “homely” “common as dirt” and “truly disgusting”.

Then as you scrape frosting and tears off your pants, and eat both, you realize that this ugly part is actually the funny part! You’re not only ok with the audition, you’re suddenly pretty amped for it.
I’d rather be funny than pretty, professionally. Sure, socially I want to be pretty, but not for work. Pretty comes and goes, and doesn’t eat lunch. Funny is real, and wears whatever she stepped on first getting out of bed. Pretty knows how to blow out her hair and pose for pictures. Funny will happily tell you the weirdest place she’s put her hand, and if necessary - will sit on a pie and cry. So I’m not pretty, I’m funny.

This entry was posted on Friday, December 15th, 2006 at 4:22 pm and is filed under Most Popular Posts, feminist ramblings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.