A Travelogue and Would-Have-Been Manifesto

Los Angeles car dealership, blinding mid-day sun. Claire, over-27and under-make-upped and overdressed in black pants, boots, and gray sweater, worriedly scans Corollas and Prius (es?) and their price tags. A young sweet-faced salesman accompanies her.

Claire voice over: My first week in LA. Hollywood Toyota. Car shopping. Scary! Expensive! Gonna get swindled!

Salesman: So what brings you to LA?

Claire: I wanted more opportunities in film and TV – I’m an actor.

Salesman: Me too!

Claire’s eyes widen with hope.

Voice over: Great, we can bond! Maybe we went to the same acting school, maybe we both love Pinter or the same headshot photographer! Maybe I won’t get swindled so badly!

Claire: What kind of work do you do?

Salesman: Next week I have an audition to be one of the dates on the new Tila Tequila reality show on VH1.

Claire winces, sighs, and dies a little.

***

By my second week in LA I had learned a thing or two. Playing the finance officers at Nissan and Honda off one another (now answeringWhat do You do? by recounting my achievements in office management), I drove my new Civic off the lot with some pretty sweet lease terms. Car shopping off the list, I could now focus on the facts that a) I only kind of knew how to drive, and b) I had no idea where I was going. And then there was that whole acting career thing.

To kill three birds with one stone, I jumped at every social meeting, appointment & chance to get in the car that came my way. Coffee in Venice right after rush hour? Sure! Eyebrow waxing in Canoga Park? Why not – I’ve always wondered what those post-Ventura 101 exits looked like!

As I dropped off agent packets, reconnected with old friends, and wondered why there are no turn signals in Weho, I also discovered how different it felt to introduce myself as an actor in LA than in New York.

Breakfast – Mani’s on Fairfax. Chatting with cute (if you’re into that Nordic football player thing) Cold Case writer. Strike talk! Why waffles are so good! The early films of Matthew Modine! What do you do? I’m an actor. Silence. The previously disregarded LA Times suddenly becomes a lot more interesting….Cocktail Hour – house party in Hollywood. Obama vs. Hillary with striking 60-something lady doctor. Eventually, What do you do? I’m an actor. Pause. Are you in the unions? I’m puzzled, I sigh, I say yes. Assured of my legitimacy, she’s happy to return to health care reform. I’m happy to go find the crudités… After dinner – my living room… Journalist roommate has invited journalist friend over for TV. I return email as they settle in for Animal Planet. Small talk about New York and taxes. What do you do? I’m an actor. Mild interest becomes mild contempt. Back to Animal Planet. I plug video camera into laptop, pop in an ear bud and start rewinding tape. Mild contempt becomes curiosity. What are you doing? I’m editing my students’ footage from the last acting class I taught in New York. Oh, so you’re like a serious actor! I’m no longer puzzled. I sigh. Yes.

I moved to LA because, after years in the business in New York, I wanted to experience life and work in a place where acting is so roundly bought and sold. To live in the city in which the craft I’ve dedicated a good chunk of my life to is a vital part of the economy! Where SAG negotiations actually take up whole episodes of local public radio programs! And this is certainly the case. But while having an acting career is a more practical affair in LA than in any other American city, it immediately seemed as though cultural forces were conspiring to make me feel less accomplished and relevant than ever before.

***

Week Three: I make a pilgrimage to Paul, whose wife Allison has been a friend since the early days in NY. Paul – smart, Broadway actor, prolific musician, well-represented screenwriter – “Paul, do you find that you get a much different response out here when you say you’re an actor than you did in New York?”

He cracks the smallest of smiles and, “Yes. There, being an artist seemed to mean something and now it’s, you know, Do you have a Lexus in the driveway? Usually I say I’m an actor but ‘am doing a lot more writing these days.’” His voice trails off as he looks out the window at his ancient Subaru.

In New York I often lied about my life in art to prospective landlords and loan officers, but not as a matter of social survival. How long until not saying what I do becomes not doing what I want?

***

Week Three-and-a-half: I am not taking this lying down! I will find an ally in my fight to save the misguided, actor-assumption-making Angelenos from themselves. Glynis! Yes – beautiful, erudite, Yale MFA Glynis will share my anger and incredulity and we will plot the revolution! I launch into the Doctor Party Debacle. “How dare she ask my credentials within 5 minutes of meeting me! I mean, I didn’t think to ask if she’s board certified!”

“Yes,” says Glynis, “but if you lived in a town where there were 17,000 people running around calling themselves doctors, many of whom had never been to medical school or passed a chemistry test, wouldn’t you be a bit skeptical…”

“But she had only asked what I do after we had been talking, after I had already established myself as an intelligent person. I mean, there may be a lot of idiots out here, but there are also a lot of incredibly accomplished actors. Why wouldn’t one give the benefit of the doubt?” Wait, why is she stirring her tea and not raising her fist in solidarity? “One could ask an open-ended question like ‘What media do you like to work in’! You’d get all that credential-ly stuff without putting whoever you’re talking to on the defensive!!”

Beautiful, erudite, never-at-a-loss for words Glynis is not puzzled. She sighs, inhales a thought, thinks the better of it, and offers of a tight, pained mini-smile before changing the subject.

Oh, wait. I recognize that mini-smile! It’s the “Oh, you’re so naive and cute, so misguidedly thinking changing the system would be a good use of your time” mini-smile! You know, like when your younger sister wonders why she can’t just ask the guy she likes to the prom.

I promised myself I wouldn’t be one of ‘those New York actors’ who plop down in LA expecting the town to bow at her theater-trained feet. I knew I’d have to learn how to (really) drive, how to (really) put on eyeliner – maybe there were a few other things on the list.

***

My high school boyfriend was too cool to go to prom. I put on my black suit and combat boots and went with my friends. It was fun. I knew better than to ask him. I didn’t move to LA to change the system. I hoped to find a way to make it work for me.

I’ve spent the last year-and-a-half learning the system. Now when I’m out and about, I know beforehand that I will likely have to endure an awkward silence, in which the air is thick with resentment and condescension, immediately following my Confession of Life as Actor. And, more often than not, my interlocutor and I will find our way once again and have an authentic and interesting conversation about our work lives. The system, in other words, rewards honesty, patience, and the ability to endure. Who knew Hollywood could be so Chekhovian.

The system changing is out of my system. However, after a certain age, let’s say 27, an actor wonders – since she is so close to death – how she might be able to add to the system.

Last spring I went to see Sarah in a play, and afterward she mentioned the idea of a website we might start that would offer perspective and advice to ambitious, early-career actors in LA. The several practical questions (How do I communicate with my agent? How do I go about making a voice over demo?) she received from younger cast members to which she actually had answers reminded her that, despite all our lamenting of our non-series-regular status (the horror!), we’ve actually gleaned a lot of valuable knowledge during our time in the trenches.

My first years in New York I diligently attended acting class, pursued agents, and attended open calls. Yet I think, deep down, I imagined a career as something that would ultimately be bestowed upon me (or not) by some omniscient force. Now I see it as the sum of many parts, built brick-by-brick through daily habits of developing talent and capacity for risk-taking, and of finding ways to let the world know my work exists. If brainsofminerva.com can point you towards a good brick seller or help you break down the steps of your next big project, that’d be great. Because despite Lana Turner at Schwabs and all that apocrypha, the best-kept secret in new-to-Hollywood-dom is that it’s the smart actors who survive here, and it’s the really smart actors who thrive here.

Photo by Jeff Sandquist