You Gotta Have a Gimmick

Do something special
Anything that's fresh'll
Earn you a big fat cigar.
You're more than just a mimic
When you got a gimmick -
Take a look how different we are! *


We are all special.  Well, that's what the parents and teachers tell us in childhood (and therapists and self-help books in adulthood).  In Scotland, mostly you are told not to get ideas above your station and never to bum yer load (toot your own horn). And never to split an infinitive (I suspect that was just my parents).

I think most actors (working or resting) have daily/weekly/monthly (the regularity might depend on the regularity of jobs) doubts about themselves.  We go back and forth with that feeling of worthlessness, not knowing what to do, feeling inadequate and then that other side of what we really know, deep in our soul: we have something special.  If we did not believe that in some part of us (even if we hide it well), how could we survive?
So, here I am in America.  Land of the brave and free.  One of the reasons I chose to come to study here in the states was that self-belief that seemed to ensue.  I have a love/hate relationship with it.  Torn between never wanting to seem big-headed but dealing with the knowledge that I am fantastic.  I also like the idea of coming somewhere new.  Much as I love Cheers, I liked the idea of going somewhere where no one knew my name.  I had the freedom to try and fail.  Try and succeed. I am Polly McKie.  Not somebody's daughter.  Not somebody's wee sister.  Boy, I miss my family. But thanks to Skype and Metro PCS, I am still wee P.  The runt of the litter of a wonderful family.


We strive for the perfect headshot, perfect song, perfect monologue.  And what makes it perfect?  We hear in classes, in workshops, from casting directors, agents, at auditions, "bring YOU".  Sometimes I think I'd rather bring my mother to the audition than just ME.  She could sell me better.  It's always easier to have someone else sing one's praises.  

You can pull all the stops out
Till they call the cops out;
Grind your behind till you're banned.
But you gotta get a gimmick
If you wanna get a hand. *

They have not called the cops out for me yet.  But I do have to deal with immigration issues.  (details of all of that to follow in another blog, for fear that this entry may go on ad infinitum).  After approval here, I had to visit the U.S. Embassy in London.  After the first interview, I was ushered to another room and the nice lady asked me, "So, what makes you extraordinary?" Surely that is not my question to answer?  That is why I had all those letters from others. I was raised that it is not my place to say that I am great. So I stood there.  I hummed and hawed and said some things about what other people had said.  It's all a bit of a blur.  I remembered, though, what I said at the end of my awkward waffle, "People seem to think that I am funny.".  The nice lady behind the desk smiled and said "Yes, I can see that.  Your visa is approved."

Now I approach the difficulties of trying to get a green card.  I could extend my O1 visa but there are limitations  (that's another blog I'm not brave enough to write, but my mother is ready to write to Obama!).  My biggest breaks for auditions have been by word of mouth.  My favourite.  Someone else saying I can do the job.  So much easier than pushing ourselves forward.

Most days I think, "I messed that up. I do not know what I am doing. I have so much to learn." 

Today I choose to say that I am special.

I am Polly McKie.

I'm electrifying
And I ain't even trying. *


*You Gotta Have a Gimmick from Gypsy: Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim (as per)

www.pollymckie.com

Look at Me! Look at Me!

Look at me!  Look at me!  Look at me...*

That is my life.  Look at me.  Oh, and could you like me too?  And, even better, could you give me a job?

I go to E.P.A.s.  Sometimes I am seen, sometimes I am not. 
(Merrily We Roll Along) 
Sometimes there is just one person behind the table.
(With So Little to be Sure of)

We have all been at those auditions where the young intern behind the table seems to be examining her navel, rather than looking at us:

Lady, look at me, look at me miss, oh
Look at me, please, oh
Favor me, favor me with your glance.*

Or it could be a an important producer examining his navel:

Say, Mister producer,  
I'm talkin' to you, sir.^

That does not mean these auditions are a waste of time.  I hear so many actors complaining when they feel that the important people are not in the room.  Or feeling that the important people behind the table are not paying attention.  Of course, there are horror stories about the casting director texting, etc., etc.  BUT, we have to show up.  We have to keep going.  There are audience members who text during Broadway shows.  Stop being bitter and complaining and consider it part of your training.

Nowadays, though,it is not enough just to show up.  It is expected that actors have an online presence. A website, a reel (still a work in progress for me), Facebook, twitter and so on.  Now I know very successful actors who have none of this.  I was excited when I received my first IMDB credit (thanks to The Austin Pendleton Project) and then went to add my photo to the page.  I was told I needed to pay an annual fee for that privilege (same goes for adding bio, trivia, etc.) Meryl Streep does not have to pay to upload her headshot and resume on IMDB (I'm assuming!)  Not Miss Streep's fault, of course!  For the record, I love her.

And therein lies one of the major problems.  Emerging artists are the ones who really need the help: managers and agents to sell them because this is the point in the career where that stuff is harder.  I am guessing Judi Dench does not have a website and is not doing student films to get stuff for her reel.  She does not have to pay for an event at the Network or One on One to meet a casting director.  Nor should she have to!  She is Judi Dench.  Goddess.

But we do.  And I do.  

What do you, what do you see off 
There in those trees, oh
Won't you give, won't you give me a chance? *

Again, what's the use of complaining about the person behind the table looking out of the window?  There is little we can do.  And we also have to trust that they know.  Sit on the other side of the table if you ever have the chance.  It's a revelation.  We have to embrace the way the business is now and do what we can.  No one is going to discover us sitting in a small cafe in Greenwich village.  There are all these wonderful showbiz stories of being discovered on Youtube etc. (Telsey and Co. have even started a department especially for looking at YouTube videos).  I have not sent a video to Telsey yet.  Maybe I'll be satisfied with one of them in another 10 years or so.  We all know someone who got a big break.  Who got lucky (although for most, there is hard work in the background somewhere  -  I prefer not to focus on the ones who are pure luck and not talent).  And, of course, I dream of someone seeing my talent without me actually having to DO anything (certainly not the self-promotion stuff).

Say, Mr. Producer,
Some girls get the breaks.
Just give me my cue, sir.
I've got what it takes. ^
(lyric appears in music book "All Sondheim: Volume 1" (the yellow book), but I have yet to see or hear it anywhere else.  I like it!)

I have been told over and over again that I've got what it takes.  It is not enough.  I made some half-baked attempts at self-promotion.  Even posing for a headshot is painful for me.  And then I took a life-changing class with Heidi Marshall.  Not only is she a casting director and director, she is the most actor friendly teacher I have met.  She tweets, she posts casting notices, she has a facebook page for actor headshots and websites to help us be seen, she recommends actors to other casting directors, she understands the fragile egos we have, she blogs.

In many ways I have extra struggles being an immigrant.  I realise, though, how lucky I am that I was forced to delve into the world of self-promotion, like it or not.  I do not like it.


Say, Mister producer,  
I'm talkin' to you, sir.
I don't need a lot,
Only what I got,
Plus a tube of grease-paint and a follow spot! ^

...plus a twitter account, a facebook page, a profile on NY Castings, actors access, YouTube, a website, a reel (still waiting for more footage!), IMDB...

Paul Russell just wrote about the whole thing in this week's Backstage:


"How to Audition and Get Cast in Your Sleep"  Although I still got a lot of work to do and all the online media robs me of my sleep  -  I still love the article, Mr. Russell!)


So here I go on the self-promotion bandwagon.  Website, facebook actress page, postcards, twitter (which, as my brother - who has still to write my bio for IMDB because I think he'll do a better job than I can - points out, I'm not much cop at).  I've got work to do.  But I'm trying.

(See - crappy cell phone shot of new postcards from Twitter: my brother is right!)

I've been told I should have been born in a different era.  Born in another decade, I would be working more.  But I was born when I was born.  I am Polly McKie, runt of the litter and I've got what it takes:

Look at me.

www.pollymckie.com

* "Ah Miss" from "Sweeney Todd". Stephen Sondheim. 
^ "Broadway Baby" from "Follies". Stephen Sondheim.

Learn How to Laugh

When the winds are blowing.

That's the time to smile.

Learn how to laugh.

Learn how to love.

Learn how to live.

That's my style. *

Last weekend I saw a woman fall flat on her face as she entered the stage. It was clearly not on purpose (I know the play and the actors). Without skipping a beat, she picked herself up and carried on. Whatever was going on, it worked. She looked scared, flustered, frustrated but all as the character. One of the greatest pieces of advice I received from Austin Pendleton is to make your problem as an actor the character's problem. I have used that advice over and over again. And this actress did exactly that. On leaving the theatre, many people were discussing the fall and the consensus was that it was part of the play and that it was brilliant!

I believe in making mistakes. It seems trite to say that mistakes are how we learn. Of course we learn from mistakes, but there is more to it than that in acting. We know our lines and we know what is going to happen and what the other actors are going to say. But the trick is to keep that fresh. In real life we don't know what the other person is going to say or what we are going to say. And we want to be real in our acting. One of my favourite lines in “Friends” is when Phoebe acts as Joey's agent and gives him the honest feedback from his auditions: “They didn't believe you as a real human being”. We can critique acting with all sorts of fancy ideas and analysis, but the bottom line is that we want to see real people, real life. We want to feel something. And if the actors are not believable as real human beings, no matter how skilled they are, it will not work.


When the rent is owing,
What's the use of tears?
I'd rather laugh.
I'd rather love.
I'd rather live
In arrears. *

The whole special skill of being able to cry on cue is something I have never mastered. I do not wish to take away from the actors who can. Many directors ask for it. But I can't. And I would argue that it is not always what shows the truth. There is no right or wrong reaction. When my grandpa died, my mother came into the kitchen to tell us and my sister burst out laughing. As actors and as human beings, we should not be afraid of that. Of letting the natural reactions move in on us. Hearing the words and saying them for the first time. Otherwise, we are just robots saying lines. Anyone can learn lines. (Well, most people can.) We must be wary of saying “I always behave in this way when such and such happens.” There is no always. Every time is different and if we are not open to that, the acting becomes fake and stagnant. We cannot plan or predict our reactions in life so why should we on stage or on screen. Being able to cry on cue is a gift, but it does not magically mean good acting. Austin Pendleton (oh dear, I've mentioned him twice in this blog and I'm worried he'll get a big head!) often tells wonderful stories and one quotation that sticks with me he attributes to one of his acting teachers, Bobby Lewis:

“If crying were acting, my Aunt Rivka would be Duse”

Click on photo above to play the outtake clip

I have recently been working more and more on film and learning so many new things. But the reality is that the training is essentially the same. Focus on an objective and on the other person. And be willing to make mistakes! So often I see it (and have been guilty of it myself): trying to cry. As if that will be an impressive place. The reality is that trying not to cry is much more effective and true. The wonderful Heidi Marshall, another favourite teacher of mine, worked with me on this. So many times I have been in her class or chatting to her and she'll say something wonderful and I say “Oh, Austin says that too.” And vice versa. They both teach about what is real. And they both make me laugh. They've been known to make me cry too. But whatever the reaction is, it is real. If we are not taking in what the other actor is giving us, what are we doing? And that can never be the same. Nor should it be. Working with Heidi, I embraced my mistakes. It gives one a sense of freedom and being open and ready for anything. I make mistakes all the time. Sometimes I cry, but more often than not I laugh. And I'm learning all the while.


* "Live, Laugh, Love" from "Follies". Stephen Sondheim.

And Another Hundred People Just Got Off of the Train

First posted by Polly McKie on Monday, May 6, 2013

And came up through the ground,

While another hundred people

just got off of the bus

And are looking around *

I was one of the ones getting off a bus today at 42nd and 9th to head to Westway Diner (a favourite for so many show people) to meet my friend, Vanessa Spica. We had planned to grab a late lunch, gossip a little, read through a scene we were working on for class and I planned to moan to her because I’d had a crappy day (but that’s another story)And in this city of strangers, I bumped into four friends.  First, lovely Liz Reddick (stage manager I met while working at New Harmony Theatre), then in walked Claire Warden and Whitney Egbert: two wonderful actresses, often mistaken for sisters!  Hugs aplenty.  Already my crappy mood was lifting. Then I spotted David Holmes (hot from his appearance last week on Law and Order SVU) and was thrilled to chat to him about that and, of course, about our beloved Austin Pendleton and David’s exciting film “The Austin Pendleton Project”.

And every day,
the ones who stay
Can find each other in the crowded streets 
and the guarded parks,
By the rusty fountains and the dusty trees 
with the battered barks,
And they walk together past the postered walls 
with the crude remarks. *

I seem to meet people everywhere I go. Manhattan is a small island, after all. And the actor types congregate in the same places over and over again. Sometimes the people I meet are good friends, sometimes friends of friends, acquaintances, and then, the embarrassing cases where you know you’ve met the person before, but who knows where or when (I think digressing from Sondheim lyrics is acceptable when it’s Rodgers and Hart). Two such stories spring to mind:

First happened at Actors’ Equity. I had been waiting all day on the non-union wooden benches (this story is pre the swanky new 16th floor and pre my E.M.C card). I was taken through to the other side (the glorious haven where one can use the Equity bathroom and, even better, be seen at an audition) and I sat waiting and saw a face I recognised. We looked at each other awkwardly and eventually I said “I know you but I can’t think where from.” He (let’s call him Actor 1) had the same issue.  So we went through various options: opening night at The Pearl, a reading at Abingdon Theatre Company and various other actor-type scenarios. Neither of us could figure it out and went in to our separate auditions still none the wiser.

I left that audition and rushed to Pearl Studios to be seen at another call before it closed at 5.30p.m. I made it and booked that job (but that’s another story) and then headed home, weary and in need of a glass of wine. So I stopped by my favourite wine shop, Sussex Wines (they deliver if anyone wants to send me a gift) to pick up a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. I headed to the counter and there, waiting to serve me was Actor 1!

And another hundred people just got off of the train. *

Now, Actor 2.  I was booked to play a role in a reading of a new screenplay. I had convinced the Casting Director I could be all American (but that’s another story) and went in the room meeting new people and pretending to be American. Enter Actor 2. As with Actor 1, I knew I knew him but could not place him. I said “Oh, I think we met at The Network!” Unlike Actor 1, he was clear: “No, I work at Bar Thalia! I met you when you came to sing at Singers’Space.“

Let’s ignore the running theme of alcohol and focus on the joy of meeting people. Some, of course, we wish we’d never met (Actress 1 who recognised me from a callback and thought that gave her the right to sit next to me at another audition and talk at me, without pausing for breath – but that’s another story), but so many are a joy, a connection, a story, a smile, a lift in one’s spirit on a difficult day.

And another hundred people just got off of the train. *

"Another hundred People Just Got Off of the Train" from "Company". Stephen Sondheim.

I Like to Be in America! O.K. by me in America!

First posted by Polly McKie on Friday, April 26, 2013 

I woke up today and spoke in an American accent.

Not because I have forgotten my roots.  Not because I have turned into Sheena Easton. I chose to speak this way. And I booked a job.

My journey with my American voice has been long and interesting (well, I find it fascinating, but that’s because it’s all about me.) As with many actors, I thought I had a firm grasp on what an American accent was and I could do it without any trouble. Boy, was I wrong.  I now look back and think I was some kind of combination of Fran Drescher and Miss Adelaide. I admit a little of a snooty attitude to taking speech class at HB Studio.  As a foreign student, I had to take speech with the other foreign students who had English as a second language. (Glaswegian could be considered another language, but that’s a whole other blog.) I resented it. I was wrong again.  Enter Amanda Quaid! A class and teacher who changed everything for me. For the better (no offence to the great Fran and Adelaide).

Of course, I am happy to play the Scotch Irish (please enlighten me what Americans mean by that) drunk/mother/nanny etc. Heck, I’d even play the maid! I realised, though, that if I wanted to be cast in anything other than Irish plays (most Americans think I am Irish), I needed to master a passable American and not be a caricature (I’m enough of a caricature in real life without adding a funny voice to the equation). I had to learn that pool and pull do not rhyme in American.

That’s harder than it sounds.

I realized that I needed to work.  And I worked.  I took Amanda’s class and I studied with her privately and I practised (or, if I’m speaking in my American dialect, practiced).  Any chance I had, I used my American.  Chances for me were when I spoke to strangers (a cab, a deli, etc.).  If I had attempted to try it with my family or friends, I would have been ridiculed. There is a fine, fine line when trying to embrace American culture but maintaining one’s heritage.  And when we speak the same language (essentially), that seems to make it more complicated. I argued with some of the E.S.L. students that, in some ways, Amanda’s class was harder for me.  I had to “unlearn” how to say words I had been using all my life.  After hours, weeks, months of drilling and practice and working on the key to being believable (making it sound like ME) skip to today:

First there was a callback for a character from the midwest (I am from the midwest of Scotland, but this was for the midwest of America).  I have learned, after many mistakes, and much advice from Amanda, just to start in American from the very beginning.  So I speak to the bus driver in American.  I order a bagel in American. I chat to people in the lift (sorry, elevator) at Ripley Grier in American.  Trouble is when you bump into someone you know, but I am working on that.
Biggest compliment is that no one asks me where I am from.  If I go in for something American and am not asked, then I know I have convinced them.  Or even better at one audition: I performed my American monologue. Then the casting director chatted to me.  He looked at my C.V. (sorry, resume) and asked “So what took you to Scotland?”

When leaving that first audition this morning, there was a voicemail from a casting director about a reading for a new screenplay: Hi, I received your submission for the role and want to ask you about your accents.
So, I called back.
Me (in own voice): Do you want to hear me speak in an American accent now?
C.D. (in her own voice too, I assume!): Yes, please.  If you don’t mind.
Me (in American): No problem.  I’m not sure what to talk to you about!  You can also see clips on my website from Heidi Marshall’s class and I use my American for those.
C.D. Do you mind holding the line while I watch?
Me: Of course not.
3 minutes of being on hold (seemed like 3 hours).
C.D. Well, that’s impressive.  It’s very hard to be able to hide a Scottish accent. I’d like to book you now if you’re free next Friday.

Growing Up, Making Choices. Ignoring All Other Voices.

First posted by Polly McKie on Thursday, April 11, 2013

When I first started blogging (all of 3 weeks ago), I thought it might be a good idea to use a theme for the titles and categories. Sondheim seemed the obvious choice. Those of you who know me understand. Maybe this is just copying Marc Cherry’s idea for his Desperate Housewives episode titles.  Maybe it is because I do not have clever enough headings of my own.  Maybe it is just because he manages to say the right thing about everything!

I’ve found myself, over the last few days, singing my own little medley of songs from “Into the Woods” (so much good stuff about growing up) and both versions of “Growing Up” from Merrily We Roll Along (Frank’s and Gussie’s: I think Sondheim wrote the latter for Louise Gold in the brilliant Leicester Haymarket production – correct me if I’m wrong, Sondheim geeks).

Anyway…

I turned 38 this week.

And my brother (the last singleton in the family, apart from me) got married.

And I turned 38.

If someone had told me ten years ago (or even 5 years ago) that I would be alone and childless at this point in my life, I think I would have been ready to slit my wrists.  But I am here and I have never been happier.  That is a trite thing to say. Happiness is so difficult to quantify, but I am pleased about my choice to be here in New York and glad that I have taken the chance I have taken. And, in fact, I am not alone and childless.  I have 4 glorious nieces and  6 handsome nephews (the joy and love without the responsibilities) and I do not feel alone at all. I feel more loved and supported now than I ever did when I was in a relationship.

I knew as a teenager that I wanted to act.  My plan was to go to drama school in London after completing my degree in Theatre and Philosophy at Glasgow University. I did not follow through and spent much of my twenties regretting that decision. I performed in plays and musicals here and there over the years but it took me more than ten years to pluck up the courage to pursue it properly.  No half measures.  I quit my job (I was a high school drama teacher), remortgaged my flat and moved to New York to study acting full time. I became that obnoxious mature student who sits at the front and does extra homework. I realise now, that if I had gone to London in my early twenties, I wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. I would have been crushed by the rejection, the brutality of this business, the whole lifestyle. I can see that now. I am blessed and grateful.

And the best part is, I am just getting to the right age to play all those juicy roles I dreamed about when I was sixteen. I wanted to be the Nurse, not Juliet.  Mrs. Lovett, not Joanna.

I’m getting older. I’m growing up.

...roll along, following dreams.

First posted by Polly McKie on Friday, March 29, 2013 

Yesterday is done.

Now there isn’t much pretty countryside on the travels of an auditioning actor pounding the New York pavements.  But traveling’s the fun!  Isn’t it?

As promised in my previous post (Merrily We Roll Along), I returned for day 3 of the E.P.A.  (Equity Principal Audition). I rose earlier, I joined the bizarre snaking line of fellow actors.  Spotted some familiar faces and waited.  And waited. Signed my name. And waited.  I had to leave so, as ever, used the wonder of Audition Update to check how things were going. Now this monitor was on the ball. And friendly.  And helpful.  She managed to get through ten E.M.C.s (Equity Membership Candidates) before lunch. Already the chances of being seen were higher than the day before.  Hope was high.  Number 11 and 12 were smiling and laughing.  We reminisced about yesterday, discussed our odds as if there were any rhyme or reason to this crazy business.

The afternoon was lovely.  My friend, Rosie Cosch who had been at another E.P.A. joined me.  Time passed quickly and happily. But, here’s the problem.  The time was passing but no more E.M.C.s were being called.  The monitor remained efficient and positive but those Equity members were coming in in dribs and drabs and taking alternate slots and we were once again, losing hope as 5 o’clock rolled around. By 5.30p.m., the monitor called it.  ”I’m so sorry, E.M.C.s won’t be seen.” It feels like she is pronouncing the time of death.  One little non equity girl who has been sitting since 7a.m. dressed and ready to impress, smiles sweetly and changes into her leggings and  picks up her rolling suitcase and begins her trek back to New Jersey.  I curse and say to my friend “Let’s go for a drink!”.