Here’s a quick update on I, Robot:
They put about 100 actors on tape last week. 20 of those tapes were sent to the director, including mine. He will pick a few he likes, and have meetings with them this week or next.
Wish I had more info, but that’s it. Strangely, I’m not sitting here, stomach in knots, agonizing over whether I’ll get it or not. While I would love to work with Alex Proyas (I am a HUGE Dark City weenie) and play a robot, I don’t have the life-or-death feeling that used to accompany auditions.
And as far as I know, they didn’t see anyone from Jimmy Kimmel’s family.

Over at boingboing there is a link about Coppola filming an adaptation of “On The Road.”
This project has been around for almost ten years. The first time around, sometime in 1992 or so, I auditioned to play Neil Cassidy. I read a scene straight out of Dharma Bums.
I was already familiar with most of the Beat Generation, and was a huge fan of Burroughs, but I’d never read Kerouac.
I furiously read “On the Road,” and skimmed through “Dharma Bums.” I wanted to have a good sense of his style, so I could bring his character to life faithfully.
I was already a jazz geek, but I took the opportunity to fill several gaps in my collection, so I could listen to Charlie Parker and Chet Baker while I learned my scenes.
I worked with a coach to develop body language, and dialect. I bought clothes from a thrift shop and went through lots of different hairstyles until I got the correct look.
A little over a week later the audition came. I drove myself to this old church on Highland where they have auditions from time to time, listening to Bird the whole way. I walked into a large empty courtyard, filled with fountains, birds, and a beautiful garden. Only the sign-in sheet betrayed the presence of Hollywood. I sat down, focused and ready to go get this job.
While I was waiting, Emilio Estevez arrived.
Wow, I thought, I’m at the same audition as Emilio Estevez, and I’m about to meet the man who is responsible for The Godfather and Apocalypse Now!
I totally forgot why I was there, and became a drooling fan boy.
Emilio Estevez said hi to me, one professional to another, and I said, “Hey.”
There was a pause, and I heard myself say, “I want to tell you how much I like your work. Repo Man is one of my favorite movies of all time, and Breakfast Club is a classic.”
He went one better:”Wil, Stand By Me is a classic, and I love your work too. It’s really nice to meet you.”
I hadn’t told him my name, yet.
The casting assistant came out, and looked at the two of us. Emilio was on the “A” list. I was on my way to the “C” list, having been off TNG for a few years. She said, “Emilio, would you like to come in now?”
He looked at her, and said, “Wil was here before me. It’s his turn.”
She told him that it wasn’t a problem. They were ready for him.
“Well, if you’re ready for me, you’re ready for Wil, and he was here first.” He crossed his legs, and looked at his script.
I was stunned. He didn’t need to stand up for me, and it really didn’t matter to me who went first, but I thanked him and went in.
The room was large and very dark. Like the rest of the church, it was mission-style, with high, open-beamed ceilings and terra cotta tiles on the floor. Coppola was sitting behind his massive beard, a flimsy card table between us.
I approached him, and extended my hand. He didn’t take it, so I sat down.
“You don’t mind if I film you, do you?” he asked rhetorically, showing a palm-sized video camera he was holding.
“No, of course not.”
He asked me to slate my name, and begin the scene.
I did, and proceeded to give the worst audition of my life.
I’d forgotten why I was there, and was a drooling fan boy. I didn’t want to read this scene, I just wanted to talk about Apocalypse Now, and Rumblefish. I wanted to ask him about Marlon Brando, Dennis Hopper, and James Caan.
All these thoughts flooded my head while I stumbled through the scene. My Inner Voice, that internal critic/director/coach that all actor’s have, was screaming at me that I was doing horribly. I didn’t listen, instead hearing Robert Duvall shout, “Charlie don’t surf!” It screamed louder, telling me to stop and start over, but I was too busy watching John Cazale get on that boat, knowing that he was going to get whacked.
Then I was done, and Coppola was thanking me for coming in. We both knew that I’d blown it. We both knew that I’d wasted everyone’s time. I walked out, head hung low.
I passed Emilio Estevez, who asked me how it went. I shrugged, and told him to break a leg.
I drove home in silence, Chet Baker wondering how deep is the ocean?

I called my manager this afternoon, to see if there was any news from my auditions.
“Hi, it’s Wil Wheaton for Chris,” I told the receptionist.
Chris immediately picked up the phone. “This is so weird. I just told Hank to put you on my list to call.”
Hearing this didn’t surprise me. Things like this happen all the time. If I could translate this amazing psychic ability that I have for phone calls into slot machines or dice, I could have myself a Rainman Suite.
I asked him if he’d heard anything about I, Robot
“Yes!” He told me, his normally calm and reassuring voice filled with excitement. “The casting director called me twice today, because he was so excited to give me feedback about you!”
My heart began to pound, and I felt my face flush.
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Wil was really, really, really, fucking incredible!’ He was very happy with what you did, and told me that he was very impressed.”
I let out a girlish squeal. “Really?!”
“Yes. He said that you were phenomenal, and he sent your tape this morning.”
Chris told me that we haven’t heard anything about the other audition, but I didn’t care. Getting feedback this quickly, and this positive, hardly ever happens. The director will look at the tapes of all the actors who read yesterday, and he will read notes that the casting director has prepared to go with each performance. If this casting director was so excited to tell my manager how happy he was, that he called twice, I am confident that he presented me to the director with similar confidence and praise.
A year ago, I wouldn’t have even had this audition, let alone a real chance at making it into the movie.

I just walked in from my I, Robot audition. I think I did well, and I really had a good time. The scene I read felt very familiar to me. I think the writer took it from one of Asimov’s robot books, but I couldn’t tell you which one. The scene had a robot being questioned by a detective, who accused the robot of placing his owner in danger, then allowing his owner to die. Sound familiar to anyone?
I prepared the audition perfectly: I knew my lines, so I didn’t need to refer to the sides (that’s what they call the part of the script they give us to read) at all, and I was able to make some bold character choices. I didn’t feel nervous, anxious, or uncertain at all when I went in. I felt excited! I couldn’t wait to play this robot.
After one reading, the casting director, who also knew his lines and had clear character choices — an extreme rarity in Hollywood — gave me some direction, and we did it again. The difference I felt between the two performances was striking, and gave me a jolt of excited euphoria when I left. I had that feeling I talked about back when I was working on Boise, that thing I call “Mine.” Whether I get the job or not, I got to have that feeling, so it was a successful call in my book.
It’s funny, the way the entertainment industry works. I haven’t had an audition in forever, and I’ve had two in two days. I, Robot today, and a call for a pilot called “All About The Andersons” yesterday. The best part of yesterday’s audition was this sign I saw on my way out. I passed by the production office for some new show called “Real Celebrity Look-Alikes Caught On Tape!”
WTF? I laughed out loud when I passed it.
Hollywood is out of ideas, indeed.
Though both of these jobs would bring in good pay checks and help raise my profile a little bit (well, a lot if I book the movie), I didn’t feel the tense, pinched, “oh my god I must get this job or I am a total failure” feeling that so overwhelmed me last year. I think this is because I stoppd defining myself by my acting success or failure, and turned my creative focus onto writing, and my emotional focus onto my wife and stepkids. Seems really obvious, I know, but I had to spend a lot of time trying to climb the mountain before I learned to sit at its base and just enjoy looking at it.
Updates have been sparse recently and haven’t said much. When I finish the rewrites on my book, I should have more good stories to tell. Thanks for sticking around.
I’ll update when I hear feedback on the auditions.
Thought for today:

“One sees great things from the valley, only small things from the peak.”
–G. K. Chesterson