look up to the skies and see

Well, I never had time to write up the ApacheCon report . . . because I got a call late last night to audition for Alias at noon today.
Holy shit. Alias!
So I spent all last night, and most of this morning, preparing for the audition. I just got back from a fantastic What’s My Line? performance, and since I need to “unwind” right now, I’ll tell you all about my audition while it’s still in my mind.
In Just A Geek, I wrote about how there are a ton of factors that I can’t control when I go to an audition, and how important it is to work on the few factors that I can control. I love Alias almost as much as I love Jennifer Garner, so I ensured that everything I could control was absolutely perfect. The material was extremely well-written, so learning it was super easy. I made bold and clear character choices, and — most importantly — I decided that I was going to enjoy the opportunity to audition for one of the greatest shows on television.
The character was described as “early 30s, charmingly familiar.” I’d love to say more, but I don’t want to blow it for fans of the show, or piss off the writers . . . so that’s all you get. 🙂
“‘Familiar!’ Hey! That’s me!” I shouted across the living room to Anne, when I took the sides off the FAX machine last night.
“Yeah, you’re totally That Guy,” she said.
I was already excited about the audition, but when I saw the character described as “familiar”, I got +5 excited, because I can actually be That Guy. Until I sort of went into semi-forced-semi-retirement a year or so ago, just about every part I auditioned for was not exactly for my “everyman” type, and it was incredibly frustrating (and documented in Just A Geek) to keep hearing “you’re a great actor, but you’re not [tall, short, sexy, scary, famous] enough for the part.
In retrospect, it wasn’t surprising to hear those comments, because I kept auditioning for parts where no matter how skillful my performance was, I wasn’t going to book the job, because my essences were wrong for the character. See, one of the factors completely beyond my control when I go into an audition are my essences. By that, I mean those certain things that I have so deeply embedded into my soul, I take them with me everywhere I go, no matter what I’m doing. If I’m playing a hero, or a villain, a leading man (quit laughing) or a nerdy neighbor, I’m always going to have this “I can relate to that guy” quality. I’m going to be a little too smart for my own good, and there will always be this faint sense of sadness, too. There’s nothing I can do about that — it’s just part of who I am — so if I have to play a character who is, well, let’s just pick any random word . . . how about . . . edgy, for instance, I’m boned. I yam what I yam, as the wacky sailor used to say.
But while I worked on the scenes for today, I knew that I was already standing on a strong foundation, and that freed me up to develop an interesting character. I also got to do a whole lot of looking at Jennifer Garner on teh Intarweb . . . for, uhm . . . research, you know.
The call was at Disney, and I got there nice and early . . . but still waited almost 25 minutes to park my car. Apparently, today was “Bring your toddler to Disney for something” day, and the place was just swarming with happy families. A few years ago, it would have annoyed the crap out of me that I was delayed getting into my audition, but I instead thought to myself, “I bet this is slowing everyone down, so it won’t actually make me late at all, in a relative sense. Maybe I should just enjoy the infectious happiness of these little kids.” I took my own advice, and when I finally got to the writer’s building (23, if you’re scoring at home) I was in very high spirits. “I can’t believe that I get to audition for fucking Alias!” I kept thinking.
I signed in, and saw that my friend and frequent WWdN commenter Keith Coogan had come in earlier in the day. I always like it when I see people I know on the sign-in sheet, as if I needed another reason to smile.
I read over my scenes while I waited, and when they took in the actor ahead of me (Eddie Kaye Thomas, best known as “Finch” from the American Pie movies), I stepped outside and ran over the scenes. I must have looked like one of those crazy actors who’s outside acting to a tree or a bicycle (it was a folded up pingpong table for me, today) but I didn’t care. I was going to go in there and give a great audition. I timed it perfectly — when it was my turn to go into the room, I had read them over twice, and I was at the peak of readiness.
“I just want to warn you,” the casting assistant told me as we walked down the hallway, “that there are about fifteen people in the room. It’s like a pilot session in there.”
I laughed. “I’ll be sure to play to the back row,” I said.
“This is Wil Wheaton,” she said as we walked into the room.
The room was the same as ever: a huge conference table took up about 80% of the rectangular room, and about fifteen people sat across it, along its long edge They all nodded, or waved, or made some sort of friendly greeting. “Okay, this is totally not like a pilot session,” I thought, “These people are way too nice.”
There was a metal folding chair pushed against the table, presumably for the actors to sit in, but I had no intention of using it.
“Do you mind if I stand up for this?” I said.
“I think that would be appropriate,” the casting director said, not unkindly.
I slated my name, and started the first of two scenes . . . which I won’t describe, so I don’t get sued.
When I was done with the first scene, one of the producers (clearly a Very Important Producer, by the way everyone deferred to him) looked right at me and said, “That was really wonderful!”
The rest of the room nodded in agreement, and though I couldn’t tell if they were agreeing because of who he was, or because they actually agreed with his assessment of my performance, I have done this long enough to know when someone is full of shit or not, and this producer wasn’t full of shit. His compliment was genuine, and that just doesn’t happen very often anymore. It meant a lot to me.
“Thank you,” I said, as I started the second scene.
I was totally off-book for both scenes, and gave a very solid performance. When I was done, I actually wanted to do a lame little dance out in the hallway, because I felt so happy with the work I’d done. I even allowed myself a happy thought: “I think I may have just booked a job!”
When I got to my car, I called Anne before I pulled out of my parking space.
“Did you get it?” She said.
“I won’t know for a few hours . . . but I wouldn’t change a single thing. I am so happy with my audition, Anne. It was awesome.” I told her about the producer’s compliment, and how I went in after Finch.
“That’s so cool! Call me as soon as you know something.” She said.
“Okay. I love you.”
“You too.”
I hung up, and drove home, where I spent the next few hours trying to catch up on e-mail (I got down from 500 unreads to 309 unreads in about two hours. Not too shabby!)
Around 5pm, while I was getting ready to leave for ACME, I got the phone call from my manger.
“They loved you, Wil.” He said. “Everyone in that room responded to you very positively. . .”
We’ve had this conversation too many times. “But . . .” I said.
“But, you’re not physically large enough for the part. They want someone who’s much bigger than Jennifer Garner.”
To be entirely honest, I wasn’t surprised. I’ve had five auditions in the last six weeks, and for each part, I haven’t gotten the job because of the way I look (I was too short for one, they changed another part to female, I wasn’t “tough” enough for one, and I forget the other two, but it was pretty much the same thing.)
“Well,” I said. “I’m not going to try to act like I’m not bummed . . . but goddammit.”
“They’re definitely going to bring you back in the future,” he said.
“Did they say that?”
“No, but trust me.”
“Okay,” I said. I remembered how happy I felt when I walked out of the room. “I had a really good time, Chris.” I told him about the producer who complimented me.
“Was it genuine?” He said.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think it was. That was awesome!”
“Good. You’re doing the show tonight, right?” he said.
“Yeah. I’m actually about to leave right now.”
“Well, break a leg. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
And that is the story of how I almost got to spend eight days acting like I was smitten with Jennifer Garner.
. . . yeah, “acting.” That’s it.