Auditions
So much has been written about how horrible it is for actors to do auditions. They have to wait, nervously. They are vulnerable lambs in the hands of directors/casting directors/idiots who don’t recognise their talent/can’t tell that they are having a bad day/already know what they want and it isn’t them. Actors bemoan the lack of work/the kind of work/the dates. Actors do have it hard, and I know. There have been many disgusting audition experiences that I would love to erase off the hard drive of my memory.
But this post is about ‘holding’ auditions. Actors, just think about it from this angle for five minutes. It took me a week and a half to set up auditions. Here are just some of the things I had to do. Create an audition brief. Send it to 5 agents. Liase with agents around days, times, slots. Book an audition venue. Slot in and make allowances for independent actors who wanted to attend and who either didn’t have or weren’t sent by their agents. Send fifty emails. Refuse to answer ‘please call me’ SMSes from actors. Make an audition form. Make audition lists. Make audition numbers. Change the schedule 100 times. Fill in empty slots, rebook and switch times. Deal with irate actors whose SMSes I hadn’t returned. And this is all before auditions had even started.
So, yesterday was day 1 of 3. In the morning I had less than 50% turnout from the one agency. My 11h30 arrived at 09h30, there were three 10h20s, and in the space of a morning actors managed to assign themselves numbers completely randomly different from the order in which I saw them. All of this would have been ok if…
I had sent out a very clear and detailed brief around the characters in the work and asked actors to keep this in mind when choosing a short monologue. I would watch the prepared piece and then we would sightread from the script. Well, I never. Firstly, most of the independents had never seen the brief. I have no idea what they were thinking. They had no idea what they were auditioning for. I saw poems. I listened to sad letters written to sons in exile. I heard a massacre and slashing of a village, I witnessed a child do some weird thing in a new dress. Haibo! Really though, what were they doing there? I started getting cross. And here’s why. I had to sit there through it all. From 0900 to well after 1700.
I must be fair. Some auditionees were completely prepared and had given their material a bit of thought. Some of them had even written pieces themselves or found cool things on the internet. Bravo for those guys. That was really exciting. By the time my last person left yesterday my head was ringing. And I knew that today was going to be more of the same.
And it was; in reverse. I had a great morning, with tons of well prepared and talented performers, only two no shows, and young people with tons of commitment and enthusiasm. I had more than one 1st choice in my notes. Then this afternoon it went totally pear-shaped. Only two of the first six bookings came, and then some of them came late. Two people got the day wrong. One person didn’t know what I was auditioning for, and one person had not auditioned before. Surely not? One person did a Shakespearian monologue. For a piece of industrial theatre.
Now, I have been in that hired room for two days and there is still another to go. I have repeated myself so many times I can do this in my sleep. Yet I am not asleep. Each person gets my full attention, notes, appreciation, input and even my lectures about bad choices, arriving on time, making sure that people are available for dates, making allowances for sight reading, finding out where people live, you name it. Each person gets a full ten minutes or more of my time. Each person gets a good shot. What do wannabe actors think? that if I asked for a short prepared monologue I didn’t mean them? Why do actors sabotage any real possibility of actually landing the work? Do they really think that I will magically fall in love with them regardless of their total lack of preparation and thought?
Well, actors, I won’t. And I am seeing hundreds of you. I am going to choose somebody who looks like they are going to be good to work with; someone who is on time and prepared and does themselves justice by treating me with respect. And I know it’s just a piece of industrial theatre; but it is well paid, beautiful, amazing work!
The Soli Story
I’m sure it’s mostly old news by now that Soli Philander was dismissed from 567 Cape Talk a week or two ago. I realised something fishy was happening when Shado Twala seemed to inherit Soli’s slot indefinitely. Although I have read Soli’s heartfelt rhyming explanation for what happened on face book, I don’t profess to having the ins and outs and I certainly haven’t tried to find out the story in more detail or even call out that he was unjustly treated. I just have some thoughts on how corporates just get things so damn wrong sometimes.
Soli is a transformer. He is able to change the way people think, manipulate people’s ideas and encourage them to do things differently. He is exactly what you want in a public persona; someone who speaks their mind with humour and conviction, and gets people to come along for the ride. Which is exactly why his Taxi Timeout was a genius idea and why he and his show were so completely valuable, both for Cape Talk, and for Cape Town.
Now I am not suggesting that Primedia management and the bigwigs don’t have a case against Soli (although I have no real idea about this) but I am pretty convinced he didn’t do anything outright illegal, like steal or cheat or do stuff that our politicians are so comfortable doing with public funds. I am sure they have very good reasons for dismissing him. It just doesn’t make sense.
I really believe that they needed to make every effort to keep him. They needed to pay him more, bend or break the corporate rules, change how they do things, and negotiate a different scenario to make sure he stayed; because he is who we want on our radio. He does it for us. He was their pot of gold, their valuable asset, their secret weapon (not their only one, I concede, but one of them). And instead of trying to make him and us believe that he is dispensable and replaceable they just needed to eat humble pie, recognise his extraordinary value (which comes with all the difficulties of being a huge, popular, magnetic transformer) and make a plan. But no, they pulled that corporate, contractual, businessspeak bullshit and got rid of him.
I loved Shado as a South Africa’s Got Talent judge, but to fill Soli’s boots on the radio as a talk show host? Aikona sisi. So, during that time slot I’ll listen to one of the few really crap choices we have on FM in Cape Town, as I am sure many Cape Talk listeners will. And that just seems so pointless. Cultivate, support and grow what people value and talent you have 567 (and all other corporates), instead of big sticking them out of there.
SAA War declaration
I have just received an incompetent, uninformed and totally useless phone call from someone from SAA who is wanting to ‘investigate’ what happened yesterday. There should be absolutely no confusion in this regard; everyone knows exactly what went down. It’s their damn attitude that I am trying to rip them off that really gets to me. So, now it is full on war. You name it; whatever bad publicity I can muster up I am going to chuck their way; for as long as I have the energy. This is where it will start.
SAA nightmare
I am a South African so I know what to expect when it comes to SAA’s incompetence, greed, and total lack of accountability. I know what it’s like to try and get a refund, talk to a consultant, change a booking, report stolen baggage or just try to book a vegetarian meal. The thought of all these hundreds of thousands of tourists in South Africa having to tolerate this pathetic (lack of) service is just plain depressing.
I had a production with SAA yesterday that is too revolting to even go into, but it’s been on my mind so I thought I’d take a look at www.hellopeter.com and see what complaints there were. Can of worms, I tell ya. The first telling thing is that SAA does not give or receive feedback on hellopeter. I guess that’s to be expected from a para-statal. They don’t give a shit. But here are the SAA stats on hellopeter; 29 compliments, 484 complaints. I kid you not.
So, I will just put my money where my mouth is and never ever give them my money again. Sies.
World Cup skande
It has started. And I am shocked.
Let me start at the beginning. I went with a friend to have a coffee at a swanky/shabby/chic Cafe Neo in Mouille Point. It was my first time there and I struggled to keep my focus on our conversation because there is this huge double table in the middle of the space, with benches on either side and everyone hangs out on their Apple Macs! I have never seen that many of them squeezed into one space. I couldn’t believe that I too had one, but it was at home. This weekend I am going to buy a little sheath for my Mac a Tiny, so it can come everywhere with me. Anyway, I couldn’t decide what I wanted and just had a coke. Then I remembered that there was a little gelato shop down the road. I love ice-cream. And sorbet. Love. So I suggested that we pop on past when we were done.
So we hopped down the road to the teeny shop attached to Newport deli (not my fave place in Cape Town) and were met by the sweetest serving guy, who really struggled to tell me that one small cup, which takes one scoop of ice-cream costs R20. R20. For one scoop of ice-cream in a teeny cup. He told me it was world cup prices. I left empty handed and down hearted. This is so totally not ayoba. It is an outrageous, total rip-off. And people will get cross. In Rome, home of gelato, I paid two Euros for three scoops. So I really don’t know where Newport gets such a total bullshit idea from, but they cannot be supported. The world cup only starts in June. I am a local. And nobody should have to pay R20 for one teeny scoop of ice-cream. Sies.
Virgin Active Advantage taking
I haven’t had a big, fat moan for ages, even though there has been quite a lot to whinge about. My car and Reeds Delta, for starters, and then the Gallows Hill (not called that for Nothing) traffic department. Eish.
But today I saw something at gym that literally blew my hair almost totally off my head. Let me start by saying that it is a constant source of irritation to me that Virgin Active gyms have become so ‘child friendly’. I cannot go to the gym in the afternoons, when all of Cape Town momhood are there with their offspring who are in the various stages of learning to swim. They run around the changerooms like fleas. They wee on the shower floors. Their damn nappies fill the bins. They bounce on the scale. Their mothers lapse into exhausted whining. I hate it.
Then there is the special playroom, with child minders to watch over small kids while mommies and/or daddies train and get a bit of ‘me’ time. I have always been relieved by the glass doors, and special button that needs to be pressed before the doors open. Those kids are at least safely locked in, and I can’t see or hear them.
So, back to today. I had just finished training and was on my way to the changeroom when a sexy young girl, barely out of her twenties crawled under the turnstile to get in to the gym. I noticed her because of that ‘g-string sticking out of the top of the jeans’ look that I am too old to understand. She didn’t have a tog bag or anything with her and she made her way to the kids’ playroom. I heard the crying as the door opened and she went inside to fetch her child. This mom had not been at the gym. She had been somewhere else entirely! But conveniently, she had left her child at the gym’s facilities while she went to do other stuff, not at the gym! I. Kid. You. Not. No pun intended. Shocked and disgusted is what I was.
Weirdness, and not in a cool way
Every now and then I am shaken out of my generally positive approach to the world by something that disturbs me deeply. Sometimes it’s a needless and senseless crime. Sometimes it is violence to animals and children. Sometimes it’s the gross bullshit we are fed in the media, or our politicians, or drunk drivers, or racists who just assume I also am. Ok, the list is endless.
Today’s positive mood destroyer though, was this picture on News 24. When I first saw it I thought, interesting balaclava for a mugging. But no. It is a model, sporting the latest look on a fashion runway. I kid you not. Now, maybe I’ve got it completely wrong, but I really don’t like what this is saying. It is totally misogynistic, cruel, bizarre and disturbing; weird, but not in a cool way. Is this the way we want to look this winter? I mean, you’ve got to be shitting me! Crocheted ears?? WTF?
Vaudevi…wait a minute!
I was chatting to my friend today and he asked me what I thought about this new supper theatre thing that has opened up in Cape Town called Vaudeville, and my response was so clear that my brain said, remember everything and blog about it. So here I am.
I first became aware of it last week when I got back from my trip and I saw that a few of my friends had joined the Vaudeville facebook page, so I went to have a virtual look see.
And is it just me who thinks that the fabulous Richard’s Madame Zingara’s Theatre of Dreams has been ripped off and copied, even down to the emcee being the same Irit Noble?
I need to say at the outset that I am not a great fan of supper theatre. I hate having to perform while people eat, and I struggle to eat while people perform, but I loved Madame Zingara’s. I loved the spiegeltent, the costumes and even the circus acts, which had nothing to do with theatre and everything to to with theatricality. I loved the dressed up table staff, I loved the ‘other world’ that was created and I loved the detail of everything, including the menu.
I dunno. Seems like Vaudeville is pretty much a direct rip-off, with circus acts, a three course meal, and the same over the top styling, only in a building and not in a tent. Has anyone spent the R350 for a normal ticket (the VIP ones cost R395) and gone to check it out? I’d love to hear about it.
Spam Alert
I have learned to live with spam. I delete the stuff without reading it and get on with my life, but there is one piece of spam that is driving me so nuts at the moment that I can barely contain myself when I see it. So here goes spam spew purge.
Do you get this one? Get a diploma for a better job is its title. Then the first line, in caps, is, BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT! The cheek of it! The absolute nerve!
So, here I sit, with a pretty worthless BA and performer’s diploma that took me four years to complete with a united effort between parents, many part time jobs and the incredibly lucky award of a scholarship in my final year of study. But, however many set-works I didn’t read, skimmed or study aided, I still had to go. I still had to be there, write the exams, get the certificate. Which, the truth be told, I don’t even think I have anymore, it was all so long ago.
Now, just because you have an email address, you deserve a fake degree, with which you can go out and con your future employer, family and friends (who will wonder at your hidden genius, having been able to hide all that studying from them) and to join the ranks of some few of our own disgraced politicians with their own list of fake degrees. coughkarlcough.
It’s obvious why I find this one so offensive. I don’t mind the penis enlargements, cheap Viagra, fake Lottery winnings. They all play on the vanity and greed that make some people complete, blithering, gullible morons. But fake degrees! That you deserve! because without it nobody takes you seriously, you can’t get a decent job, you are not qualified! Isn’t that the whole damn point about degrees? You do them so you can get a better job (except for a BA and performer’s diploma) and be qualified (except for the performer’s diploma). Give me a break already! Wait, come to think of it (after rereading this) I think I deserve a medical degree. Because really, I just never did get one the real way around. I deserve it!
Consumer disobedience
I was in my final year of ‘varsity in 1986 (I know, by all calculations I should be dead!) and this was the height of political turmoil. South Africa was in a ’state of emergency’, things were burning, people were in detention without trial, Adrian Vlok was in charge of education and ‘the quota system’ for universities, the ANC was a banned “communist” organisation, and we students were angry and active. But, being drama students at UCT’s Michaelis, and sharing the space with art students, resulted in us coming up with some interesting and effective (or at least we thought so at the time) civil disobedience campaigns. My favourite one, which I remember so clearly, was dragging red tape over all the toilet seats at CAPAB (now Artscape), with posters on the back walls explaining why people were being prevented from sitting down.
I was remembering this yesterday while I was trying to control myself from launching my body as a missile through the plate glass windows of MTN SP (SP stands for service provider. What a joke.) at Century City. I was there to fetch my piece of junk phone that I was coerced into taking as an upgrade when I had to blah blah blah a new contract in March this year. My phone broke, and although it had been fixed and was ready to collect on Monday, I was still ‘in the queue’ to be contacted, since they had such a ‘high volume’ of customers to get hold of. This is after me phoning about six times to find out if my phone was actually there. I didn’t want to make the unnecessary trip because you can wait for half a day in their ‘waiting’ section, after getting your damn number ticket at the door.
Needless to say, I had all the time in the world to think up a million, totally ineffective, things to say and do to somebody at MTN. But you never get to say and do it to the right person. They just don’t give you access to anyone. They stonewall you. They block you out. I hate MTN. Really. I do.
I resent the money they spend on advertising and branding and sponsorship while ripping us all off. I hate the fact that they are able to get away with the worst service, the most useless call centres, total inefficiency, false promises, and fake ‘deals’. I hate that it would cost me a preventative amount of money to cancel my renewed contract, and so they don’t even have to treat me like a human being. They have me by the short and curlies.
Now, I don’t want to break the law, I really am too old for that, but I would like to indulge in a consumer disobedience campaign against MTN. It will start here, on meganshead, and I am looking for ideas. I will continue slagging them off, writing to Hello Peter (I don’t even get a response any more) and complaining bitterly all over the show, but if any of you have any good ideas, please let me know.
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Randomness
