Pilot Season in Hollywood: An actor’s reflections

Wallis Annenberg theatre in Beverly Hills.

At the start of this year I found myself in Los Angeles for a month at the beginning of pilot season. We were touring Stephen Daldry’s production of the classic British play ‘An Inspector Calls’ in which I was playing the upper class english cad Gerald Croft or ‘the personification of white make privilege’ as the Hollywood reporter would later put it. By the time we reached LA we had completed a tour of the UK and one month in Washington. As the reviews had been good in Washington and the production still renowned from its original West End and Broadway run almost twenty years previously, we had a lot of industry people come to see our run in LA. Unlike Chicago and New York which are centres of theatre production in the US, LA has a relatively small theatre scene. All of which meant the show received a lot more attention from the world of casting directors than any of our cast would have expected. And a lot more general meetings than my agent or I could have.

I caught my first glimpse of the Hollywood sign peering up a side street of Franklyn Avenue. Actually I could only see part of it as it was obscured by an apartment block and I didn’t have time to venture further up the hill for a better look. The Uber driver had left me off in the driveway of a uniquely Los Angeles landmark; the Church of Scientology Celebrity Centre. I’ll admit I was suprised that this was an actual place. A building, of some size, ring fenced and with more cctv than central London.

This was surely Hollywood! The one I had imagined; a place of big films and big business but where you couldn’t ever be sure what exactly was real or genuine, who was exploiter or exploited. A place filled with an army of actors waiting every table and behind every bar, all predatorily hunting down a moments eye contact with a casting director. Each with the tiny powerful ears of a bat that can locate the words ‘film’ or ‘audition' muttered from under the baseball cap of a director some twenty miles away.

I turned away from the Scientology building to face the cafe on the opposite side of the road, where I was to have the first of my meetings with an LA casting director. I wondered before crossing if she had picked this cafe for convenience and had just finished a class (service? Communal sacrifice?) inside the Celebrity Centre. The cafe was impossibly dark inside, I quite liked it. My instructions were to meet her out front which seemed thick with the aforementioned actors types. All sat at individual tables, each by themselves like lone sentinels, sipping coffee and monitoring movements.

A ‘general meeting’ is one where a casting director meets an actor without a specific project in mind. It’s an opportunity for them to meet new faces and build their mental library of actors from which to work from when casting future projects. A bit like a very relaxed interview, the job here is to leave a good impression of yourself and connect with the other person without embarrassing or offending anyone. Depending on the spot chosen, such a meeting can feel very different. In their office it can feel quite professional and like an audition. In an industry hotspot (i.e. any bar, cafe, front of house area at a major theatre or film society in any metropolis) it can feel very exposing. In a social environment outside of that it can feel anywhere between a great chat with a someone cool to an awkward sort of ‘first date’ vibe.

Thankfully, this casting director appeared from around a street corner and not from the celebrity centre. I got us some coffees and we started chatting about the area, tourist suggestions for seeing in LA etc. I kept conversation buzzing along with plenty of questions. She asked how long the play was and was quite frank in her admission that she wasn’t a fan of theatre in general. This was different from my experience of casting directors in London and Dublin where the majority appear to enjoy both screen and theatre. She’d seen a play with Jeremy Irons in the same theatre as ours a month earlier and while she enjoyed the post-show drinks with the cast she had felt the two hours in a dark room you couldn’t easily leave was an uncomfortable experience. I made no attempt to sway her mind on this; simply saying that our play ran at a lean 1:45 and that I would love to meet her after for a drink with the company.

Meeting One out of the way, I was a 20 minute walk away from my next: an audition! I’d gotten the details from my agent the morning before as I boarded the plane at Heathrow and had just enough time to download the scenes before take-off. I was up for two characters in a new tv show by one of the major studios and being cast by one of the biggest casting directors in LA. This was not my usual fare by any means.

I found the studio in what looked to be a run down area of LA. Palm trees and bungalows and those wire metal fences that are as ubiqutous to America as aluminium mailboxes or steam rising from manhole covers. It felt like I was wandering into a scene from Dead Man Walking. A handy Subway served as my toilet stop and gave me a few moments in relative quiet and welcome shade to run through my lines one final time.

Never easy to find a quiet spot to run lines before a meeting.

The casting rooms were upstairs in a wing of the studio. The waiting room was well appointed but compact to say the least, as it also housed two assistants and their desks. There was no music and little noise. I sat down quietly down and began to read on my phone to distract myself. I was unaware how serene the place actually was until a young British actor made his appearance. His voice entered the room before he did, his personality followed not far behind, quickly expanding to fill all available space. He greeted both assistants and asked about their days with an adopted American enthusiasm. Upon seeing a small office dog (I had somehow missed it) hidden in a tiny basket by one of their feet he launched himself at it and tried to make love to it vocally. I clung to whatever sense of focus I could until my name was called.

As I was walked down the hall, another actor spewing more heightened noise and energy approached the reception area, though he was quickly shut down by the assistant informing him filming was happening in the next room. The casting director greeted me with a pleasant majesty. I sat down in front of the camera. The room was large and spacious, a zen paradise lacking only a water feature or mini buddha to complete the look. Someone had made a clear effort to create a calm and quiet environment in here and I really liked it, I told her so. “Thanks,” she replied, “welcome to L.A. where everything is Feng Shui-ed to within an inch of its life”. We spoke briefly and then she asked if I had any questions before we began, to which I gave my usual reply. "Nope, happy to jump in".

I read twice and we were done, no redirection but I was happy with my efforts. We chatted for a bit longer about the play and she asked how long I was in town for, we shook hands and I left happy with my days work. A professional meeting in all respects.

My next meeting, a few days later and after we had opened, was at Warner Brothers Studios which I was very happy with because it also meant I’d get onto the Lot without having to pay in as a tourist. I’d tried to research the person I was meeting but couldn’t find a whole lot on them since the 90’s. My assumption at this point was that it must be a semi-retired elderly casting director, renting a small office on the Lot and whiling away his final years regaling young actors with his many colourful experiences gained over a lifetime in showbiz.

“Don’t be nervous…”

Approaching security I was greeted with the quality of ‘hello, how ya doing?’ you can only get in America. The kind of exuberance that would put people into a state of shock in Ireland. When I told him who I was there to meet his first piece of advice was the impossible; ‘don’t be nervous!’. With the addition of “He’s a great guy, really funny, you’ll have a ball”. I was suprised that the security guy even knew this semi-retired casting director.

As I walked through the miles of corridors lined with every television show you’ve ever seen and more besides. Finally I approached the office and was spotted by the assistant who showed me to the waiting area opposite and gave me more of the same impossible advice followed by directions to the nearest toilet (I assume in case the nerves became too much). I decided to quickly give another online search to see if I could find anything more about exactly who I was meeting. But there was no time left. A man came out of the office to greet me. Let’s call him Tim.

Tim extended his hand for a shake. I’m not a big believer in the handshake as a form of physical or mental strength test but on gripping his hand I could tell that something was instantly unusual. It was completely limp. Damaged maybe, or possibly disabled? I couldn’t be sure. Not a problem I thought, just don’t react oddly. I adapted as quickly as I could and tried not to let my surprise register in any way. After our shake he looked at his own hand and then back to me with quizzical surprise, as if the act of handshaking had failed somehow and he couldn’t figure out why. He outstretched the limb, offering it again. I looked at his hand more clearly this time, taking it in fully. Undamaged in any obvious way but fully limp. Determined not to be embarrassed out of another attempt I went in for a second go. He looked down with confusion at our joined hands and then blankly up to me before suddenly breaking into a friendly smile.

"Only messing! I do that just to relax people, come in.”

Still wondering why I wasn’t as nervous as people assumed I’d be, I stepped into his spacious office and what followed was more akin to long form improv comedy than any general meeting I’d had before.

Tim: So you live in London. By the Queen?

Me: Yes... in fact that’s my actual address.

Him: Impressive. I was always under the impression the Queen dissagreed with the Irish.

Me: A common misconception. There’s a small island in St James’ Park that the Queen has reserved exclusively for Swans and the Irish.

Him: Yes, I hear she loves Swans. Ever made love to a Swan? or a squirrel? It’s a spectrum, I understand. Is that too personal?

Me: Not at all. A Swan. Once… but only with my eyes. We’re still in touch. She’s now a teacher in Swindon, with two children.

Him: Divorced?

Me: Sadly… yes.

Round and round the Monty Python-esque maypole of silliness we went for the best part of thirty minutes. Eventually he brought it to a close and explained that he liked to have a chat in this way just to see how sharp people are and their general sense of the humour and imagination. It was then that I discovered that Tim was indeed a bigwig. One of only three such ‘wigs at Warner Brothers TV that are responsible for the casting of all their tv productions around the world. I could see now all the fuss about nerves. I was glad he dropped this little titbit in at the end of our meeting. He’d seen our play for the first time when it premiered on Broadway twenty years ago and it had stayed with him, so he was interested in catching it again to see if it stood the test of time. He explained that my agent’s email had landed in his inbox and he thought it would be nice to meet one of the cast before going along.

There’s lots of things that can make an actor nervous, opening nights, first auditions (second and third auditions too), the first read-through, a random Wednesday matinee, or having anyone at all that you know coming to see the show. But knowing that such an influential person was going to be in the audience watching the performance ranks right up there with the worst of them. Thankfully I managed to keep my wits about me and pull off a good show. Tim hung around for a few rounds in the bar after and our chat fell back into the comic banter of our first meeting. I had the opportunity to introduce him to the rest of the company too.

It’s remained a constant for me that in the higher up you go, more often than not, the nicer, more chilled and respectful people are. This had been an enjoyable and human encounter. Not at all like the terror stories of ego’s and status games actors tell each other around campfires.

Over the coming weeks there were more visits to the theatre and more meetings in and around Hollywood. Some casting directors simply came to the show and left straight, after sending their compliments via email the next day. Other meetings were held in offices in a variety of locations and styles. Some nondescript office blocks in quiet areas of Burbank, North Hollywood where the main topic of conversation was where to get the best Cuban baked pastries in town (Porto’s Bakery was uniformly an industry favourite) others were in swish new buildings and studio conversions. In one, a two-tiered building with amazing views of the Hollywood sign and with a small workforce of student receptionists that reminded me in look and manner of the cast of Girls. I was introduced to a much more business-like and direct interview style:

Her: So you’re in a show, that’s great. You thinking of moving to LA?

Me: Not immediately. But I’m always happy to go where the work is.

Her: So what’s been your big break? What films have you done?

(I delicately tried my best here with my little bag of tv and short film credits, but I’m no Colin Farrell)

Her: So you’re theatre! I see

She then took out her phone, held it up to my face and snapped a picture .

Her: I’ll send this to a theatre casting director I know. I’m sure she’ll be in touch if she can use you.

Me: (not sure what to say) Thanks. That’s great.

Her: I won’t get to see your show. I’m really busy but I love the theatre. Get in touch if you come back to LA. Bye.

It was by now nearing the end of the month and our last week of the shows before moving on to the next city. I’d done some of the main sights of LA (The Observatory, Whale-watching, Santa Monica, The Hollywood Hills, The Getty Centre, Downtown) but I’d heard that the Walk of Fame was a combination of Temple Bar on a Saturday night and a dangerously overpacked Leicester Square. It was, I was told, of all that is to be hated in the world.

Despite this, I felt there was something iconic about it and that I should get there if I could, so I was very pleased that my final general meeting would be right on Hollywood Blvd. This casting director had some major films to her name but my attention was really drawn by the fact that she had trained with the famous American acting teacher Stella Adler in New York before switching from acting to casting and moving West. Stella Adler has an impressive list of acting students (Marlon Brando, Robert De Niro, Harvey Keitel among countless others) and was a very well read, passionate woman who was amongst the first school of actors in America to train in, and later teach, the Stanisalvski method of acting. Which later became synonymous with the ‘method’ style of film acting her students embraced and that revolutionised film acting. I’d read a lot of her work and watched a few of her classes online. She had the type of teaching style that might now be described as damaging but to my mind she had the kind of intellectual fierceness we don’t see too often these days. The result of a self taught polymathic education and an inextinguishable belief that people and society should hold themselves to a moral higher standard…

Here she is having a playful go at a student (2:00mins in “Don’t yawn darling!).

On the fourth floor of another nondescript office block I found a small studio set up for the taping of actors, where I had been told to take a seat and wait. Eventually the casting director entered and introduced herself. She’d been to see the show the night before and we used that as a starting point in our conversation. She noted how the play had a important socialist message that America could do with hearing but added that hearing it through a British company might not be the way. When I asked for her reason for this she replied “well how would you like the RSC coming to Ireland doing a play to remind the Irish how to care for each other? I’d guess your average Irish person, given your history with England, might find that a bit rich coming from their ex-colonial overlords?” She had a point.

We chatted for an hour in total. The average audition is 15 - 20mins. I was out of my intellectual depth almost instantly. She spoke of the Good Friday Agreement, the Cromwellian invasion, Scottish Independence, Brexit, race in America and the roots of Fascism. I did my best to keep up. Near the end of our chat she announced that she had somewhere to be and would have to bring our meeting to a close.

I felt a little sad to be leaving; I was learning stuff here, but I couldn’t leave without asking her about her time with Stella Adler. We spoke for another ten mins about the actors she worked with there and Stella’s unique way of teaching.

And then “You know, if you're really interested, I run a class teaching Adler technique just down the road. It’s day one with a new cohort of young actors today, if you’re really interested you should come along and check it out. It’s basic stuff on script analysis but you might find it interesting."

I had an hour to burn before the class and so took the time to take in the Walk of Fame. An odd juxtaposition to the meeting I’d just had; it was all neon lights and nonsensical shouting of people desperate to sell you things or get your attention any way they could.

I arrived at the acting studio. A second floor room made up with a stage and about sixty seats raked to look like a small theatre space. It was mostly full, predominantly new actors in their first year of a course. There were a few older actors in their late twenties who admitted to "falling off the wagon of taking class" and after a period in the wilderness had come back to "practice the craft”. The class, it seemed was divided up into two sections, the first hour was a lecture given by the casting director I’d met and the second was scene study. The lecture was passionate and criss-crossed some of our earlier discussion on Fascism in America and Race. It was a funny, powerful and an inspiring call to arms.

This was not the Hollywood Actor experience I had imagined. Not a place for the anyone looking for fame or fortune. This was a place where someone was doing her very best, after a long day, to brand the idea that acting has a meaning beyond fame into young minds. That there was serious work to be done and that an actor could and should be part of it.

Empty star on the Walk of Fame still up for grabs.

Not ‘Hollywood' at all, or was it?

I made my way down the stairs and back out onto the soiled and slippery Walk of Fame. Hollywood is a facade I thought, a dangerous and filthy one. But buried behind it is a small powerhouse of creativity and great artistry. That’s why people really come here. It’s a kind of mecca for storytelling that we all have a connection with and calling to. But I had a sense too from the actors that I had met over the month, some that were finding it hard, others that were leaving it behind, even from the new arrivals I met who were still high on its energy, that the struggle to be an actor there was immense and that you could easily be taken under by it.

The lesson being hammered home in that small acting studio was that respect for what you do is respect for yourself and that the true motivation behind being an actor is to make the world a little better by your work in it. That there is a deep nobility to that and if you could remember it and live up to it, you might just survive Hollywood.

Overwhelmed and bewildered after an exhausting month in LA, we were all looking forward to a week off before our next show in Chicago (which was by then experiencing a ‘polar vortex’). We’d each picked different parts of the country to explore during the time off; Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon, some chose to stay on in LA chilling with mixing with the natives.

I travelled across the country, east to west on an Amtrak Train. A beautiful ride exploring all America has to offer the eye. I chatted to strangers each meal time in the dining carriage; farmers, families, ex-military, programmers, students, Democrats and Republicans.

Three days carried on a magic carpet through all that’s truly great in America, before bringing our circus to Chicago, the heart of America’s theatre scene. Home of some of its greatest writers and theatre makers.