Greetings all! Happy friday 🙂 I woke up today with the grand intention of generating a new blog post to address some common misconceptions that folks have regarding this CAR-AZZZY industry. I’m still gonna do that, but I do feel the need to rant/snicker about an e-mail that I just received. Hang on to your hats…it’s brimming with ignorance.
Backstory: I have been exchanging e-mails with a “director” for a couple of weeks now regarding auditioning for a film. Ultimately, he provided a date for said audition that worked for me, so I agreed to attend and requested an address for the casting session. Instead, this “professional director” chose to inform me that I sucked. Well, what he actually said (and I quote) is this:
“I checked out your link and frankly, I would have preferred comments like: “you suck”, “if I had broken legs I’d strut better than you” etc. All the — “you’re the cat’s meow” international-model-world stuff” is a bit of a put-off for me. You’re more at home in your world than on a gritty film set, slugging away in the jungle or creeping through a muddy copper mine.”
This “link” he speaks of is automatically attached to every one of my e-mails and could have easily been checked out in the ten or so prior messages I had sent him, but hey, that’s 100% beside the point. The point is…
the point is…
where do you even start with this one?
The kicker: the last movie I co-wrote, directed and starred in took place in a dirty old mine. Yessir. It was dirty and old and there was moonshine, marshwiggles and tomfoolery involved, to say the least (and I am going to say the least, lest I give away the plot too much before I get a chance to post the completed edit!)
I am currently filming a movie that involves being covered head to toe in corn syrup, chocolate sauce and red food colo — erm, I mean blood. Yeah, blood. But you know what? I don’t need to defend myself or prove things to anyone. As any and all of my friends will readily admit: I’m kind of an oxymoron. People generally garner that information within thirty (30) seconds of meeting me. I thought that’s what castings were for?
Oh and the icing on this rather proverbial cake: last week I did have a “broken leg”. Ripped it open while out on my dirtbug. And yes, I can say with absolute certainty: “I would strut better than you, Mr. Awesome Director, even with blood pouring out of my knee at an alarming rate and the most oil-flecked, paint-covered clothes known to man adorning my beautiful, oft-photographed back”. Guess that confirms that I am just a snobby, holier-than-thou model after all.