No, I Had Pizza
This is a continuation of "Pretending to Be a Mouse" — part of an ongoing series about finding my way as an artist.
Remember the film actor I took private lessons with before LA? He was lovely, very kind, and I felt not only relaxed but was learning something as well. So I booked a demo with him, which meant the whole production of it. I felt I needed something professional, whatever that means. At that point I was still playing with the idea of making it in film.
I was excited for the shoot and looking forward to it, until I wasn't anymore.
I still remember the whole thing vividly. For one scene I had to open a door, playing a woman whose lover was a criminal, with an inspector at the door asking whether he was there and what she had eaten. Her lines were only three simple, stupid words: "No, I had pizza." He made me repeat this sentence endlessly, emphasising a different one of the three words each time. It felt like torture. I was close to tears, thinking,
"What am I doing here, if I can't even get that one sentence right?"
In the break he told me he had wondered whether I would have the strength to stay or whether I would leave. I stayed, and the whole shoot felt like a disaster. I left with a very bad feeling in my stomach, telling me that something wasn't quite right, though I couldn't name it at the time.
When I got the demo, I never used it. I didn't like it at all.
I was so tense and not at my best. What's the point of spending an insane amount of money on a demo, only to end up with a product that doesn't show my capabilities? Instead you see someone all tensed up, trying to survive the day. At least, that's what I saw. It was infuriating, and I didn't understand how this person could be so two-faced: first lovely and calming, then cruel.
Later I made my own demo. It had a scene from the 48-hour project, another from a short film I had devised with a friend, and one tiny extract from the original that I felt was usable. It was imperfect and strong at the same time, and I came to prefer that over one that looks the part but does nothing else.