Recently, I've been dabbling behind the scenes in the chaotic and often arbitrary world of commercial casting.
And, let me tell you--I've never seen sooooo much time wasted on such complete meaninglessness. I mean, just...utter, absolute, gravity-defying, soul-devouring, inconsequential poppycock.
That being said, this new job of mine has been keeping me out of the food stamps line, and I appreciate the irony of a job that thrives on insignificance providing me with something of utmost significance: grub-a-dub-dub and a consistent place to crash.
Some might term this type of lifestyle, wherein one works for a cause only to cast wicked spells upon it once home, "hypocrisy," or, "whoring oneself out."
I like to call it, "survival," because, let's face it, most of us aren't fortunate enough to be loving what we do for a living. (Excepting porn stars and food critics, of course).
Here's how it all works. A company, let's call it, Diana's ReLaxatives, wants to make a commercial advertising their superior products. So, they hire a casting director to do their bidding. The casting director (henceforth referred to as, 'the CD') will search high and low to find a perfect match to meet the company's meticulous specifications regarding the actors they want for their commercial. In this case, a "real" woman (which only means 'slightly less attractive than a Victoria's Secret model'), between the ages of 30-40, with at least three years of improv comedy training, who is having serious trouble with constipation and irregular bowel movements--no fakers! Oh, and also, must know how to do parkour.
The CD will post this role description up on a number of websites and receive hundreds (if not thousands) of submissions from agents and actors themselves. After sorting through the masses, the CD will narrow down his/her selections and send these lucky ducks a casting notice inviting them to audition for the part.
The first round of auditions is generally grueling. The CD will pack in as many actors as possible in order to maximize the number of people the client can see in one day. As a lobby assistant (the person who signs everyone in and gets them situated) or a camera operator (the person who records each audition and uploads them to a link for client viewing), a dream schedule would be seeing one actor every ten minutes. Usually, it's one actor every five minutes. Or, if you're going to be seeing multiple actors at a time, there could be up to five people scheduled for every five minutes.
Of the lot who show up, more than half will have lied about their age/appearance, improv training, parkour abilities and/or bowel movement schedule. A great majority will disregard their scheduled appointment and just show up whenever they please, causing build-up in the lobby which commences a chain reaction of grumbles from actors who have somewhere else to be and must now go add coins to the meter, which puts massive stress on the lobby assistant, who must now skillfully avoid eye contact with an overflowing room full of impatient onlookers itching to start an uprising, which in turn causes the camera operator to have a silent panic attack upon the realization that after four hours straight of being stuck in a small room with hot lights, s/he must...hold it...a little...longer....as there will be no bathroom break in sight.
During these types of auditions, actors have to show 'em what they've got in 60 seconds or less. It's in and out, and that's about as much time as it takes for the client to decide whether they like you or not. It's either love or disinterest at first sight. After sorting through hundreds of auditions, they'll trim the fat and let the CD know whom they've chosen to see again for a callback.
And the callback is a most interesting experience indeed. At the very least, the director of the commercial will be there to spend a little more time with each actor and guide them this way and that. At the very most, the room will be packed like sardines with the director, producers, important people from the ad agency and production company hired to make this commercial happen, representatives from the product's company itself, and numerous assistants thereof.
Nervous 30-40 year old "real" women will enter the room and perform their hilarious constipation testimonials whilst jumping off blocks and flipping off walls, trying desperately to ignore the fact that not one of these seemingly very important people is paying her any attention; they're too busy typing away on their laptops or laughing quietly at the most viewed YouTube video of the day.
Then, the actress is done and goes about her day as the very people who barely noticed her when she was in the room proceed to critique, analyze and rip to shreds every single detail of her existence. They'll pick on everything from her skill level ("Her jumps are precise but she looks a bit monkey-ish when she does them"), to her likeability factor ("Eh"), to the validity of her stories ("I'm not sure if I believe her when she says she used to pray for explosive diarrhea"), to her looks ("I'm a bit confused about the shape of her nose"), to unimaginably minute elements such as the way she picks up the product ("I wish she'd grip it with more oomph"), to the way she turns her head with her mouth slightly agape ("Reminds me of a drooling infant").
The clients will spend hours upon hours deliberating until they until decide on the actress they want for the job. But they won't have chosen her for any obvious or logical reason, such as attractiveness, humor, or qualifications. Nope. It was the fact that she just really had this...this...chocolatey, marshmallowy, strawberry-y feel to her. They can't put their noses on it, but they really like her above alllllll the rest for this vague and inexplicable reason. And everyone knows that chocolate, marshmallows, and strawberries sell (alone or in various combinations)--so ba-zing! She's booked.
A month later, you're surfing through channels and happen upon the 30-second spot you helped become a reality. You experience a fleeting rush of pride and accomplishment as you see all the hours, hard work and effort you poured into this project on the casting end culminate in something so...disappointing. Not that the commercial isn't awesome--which it is.
It opens on a bustling, big city street. Ms. Choco-Marsh-Berry walks amidst an endless crowd of people trying to get to work, then stops suddenly in her tracks, causing major pedestrian traffic build-up. "Hey! What's the big deal?" people groan in the background as we focus on our heroine, clutching her stomach is despair.
"Constipation used to really slow things down for me," she explains. Then, she looks to the sky as what seems to be a shooting star zooms by overhead. She throws down her coat and chases after it, jumping over cement blocks, sliding down railings, rolling through car-filled streets and flipping off buildings to make a spectacular catch.
As it turns out, it wasn't a shooting star after all, but an extra large bottle of constipation-aid. She gazes at the bottle lovingly, then turns her head and looks to camera. "But now, I use Diana's ReLaxatives to keep it flowing." She winks and flashes a brief smile before the next commercial comes on. (It's for heartburn medication. I must have landed on the Food Network...)
So, what's so disappointing about this highly entertaining piece of advertisement? Well, it's mainly my problem with commercial casting in general. The high-flying parkour action? Stunt woman. The one-liner about how the product improved her life on the john? Scripted. Her brilliant smile that's supposed to get viewers off their couches and into the store to buy Diana's ReLaxatives? Lasted for one measly second--if that.
Why is sooooo much weight placed on finding an actor with such specific qualifications if they're barely even going to be in the spot, and if they're hardly even going to put any of those qualifications to use? Why all the countless hours of searching and debating over the perfect person? Would we as viewers really notice the difference between Choco-Marsh-Berry Delight and any other woman that they might have chosen? Would we have been any less likely to aid our constipation with Diana's brand if they'd bypassed the casting process altogether, closed their eyes and pointed to a random woman in the street? Or if they had used a robot, for that matter? (One with irregular robotic bowel movements, of course).
Don't get me wrong--there are definitely commercials out there that put an actor's charm in the spotlight (ie: Old Spice guy, hahaha). However, a lot of commercials these days are similar to the hypothetical spot mentioned above. In which case, I believe a lot of time and hassle could be saved by not being so unbelievably picky, flipping through the phone book and voila!
But who am I kidding? That would put a whhhooolllleeeee lotta people out of a job, (including me!). So, for as long as companies continue to infuse meaning into such silliness, I'll continue to gather valuable lessons that can be applied to my own acting [non-]career while dulling my senses and sensitivity in the wonderful world of casting.
Top Five Most Interesting Commercial Casting Experiences...(So Far)
5. At a callback, clients watched as adorable little boy after adorable little boy filed in the room and did adorable little things. At first, the clients "awwwed" excessively at the displays of cuteness. But gradually, as the day wore on, they became immune to such charm, staring at each little boy as if he were a history textbook. At the end of the day, even if a singing kitty wearing a baby bonnet had jumped in and snuggled their faces, they wouldn't have cracked a smile. It's inevitable; after seeing hundreds of people a day, your eyes begin to suffer from pulchritudinous overload and even the cutest kids or most appealing adults of the bunch simply blend in with all the rest.
4. After auditioning a tall, beautiful woman, the director I was working with turned to me as soon as she'd left asking if I, too, thought she was a transvestite. The woman he'd selected as his number one choice? Nowhere near as "attractive" in the commercial sense of the word as the supposed shemale, and even a bit, dare I say, frumpy. (Score one for us normal people!) Later, he auditioned a woman who was just as non-model-like as his #1 and could not stop making rude comments about her weight--an example of just how objective this field can be.
3. On a busy day booking extras for a shoot, an overworked member of the production company we were working with decided to relinquish all selective control over to yours truly, stating that he trusted my judgment. (I wonder if he'd still have said that if he'd known my room was once a Hanson shrine or that I used to think old, dirty sneakers went well with fancy dress shirts...). So, there I sat, sorting through pictures, trying to choose who'd be the best matches for the job. Granted, it was for extra work, but I still had the undeserved power of determining who would earn money and who wouldn't. As a result, I no longer feel as dreadfully deflated each time I don't book a job--after all, a mere assistant with questionable taste could've been in charge (or at least I keep telling myself that).
2. One job involved pairing a guy and girl together who had never previously met and, without any prior warning, asking them to make out in the audition room (this was a non-union job, of course). To say the least, I was surprised at this audition's nature and at the casualness with which those working with me handled it all. Once in the room, the camera operator explained to the actors quite calmly, "Okay, so you two are making out on a park bench. Ready?" as if this were a completely commonplace and unawkward situation. But that wasn't the most surprising element--that award goes to the fact that most of the actors did what they were told without protest. If you ask me, the camera operator might as well have been saying, "Good day! I know we didn't mention this before, but now that you're here, would you kindly let me film you exchanging saliva with this gentleman you've just met, who might've been eating earwax before he got here for all we know? Lick it all up!" Uh...no thanks.
1. By far, the weirdest thing I've had to do in the field of casting is take strapping young men to the back room, ask them to remove their shirts, and snap pictures of them. This has happened more than once, and each time, neither I nor the actors knew that this was going to be part of the audition process that day. Surprise! At least they were adults. Oh wait...there was that one time I had to ask little boys to take off their shirts and film them while they pretended to shower (it was for a soap commercial--I swear!). I never wanted to add "sleazy pervert" to my sad little resume, but I suppose it beefs it up a little, at any rate.
That's it for now, though I'm sure there'll be plenty more casting adventures to come my way in the near future.
*gulp*
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