(In case you're not a film aficionado, I'm trying to give you the idea that I am able to take unflinching, unbiased, hyperactive direction to the tune of doing each scene at least 25 times before it's perfect, and then once more just in case. We're talking days of takes just for a 10 second piece of film.)
I've been studying acting under a relatively unknown director, Kid O. Numba-Won. Numba-Won is just about to break onto the mainstream scene, too, and I think like Johnny Depp and Tim Burton the two of us could really become an acting/directing duo and take next year's Sundance and Cannes film festivals.
Tonight alone, we spent roughly two hours just rehearsing dialogue for her new film, Eating Chocolate For Second Snack Is Ok. Numba-Won, wrote, directed and stars in the play; I am simply a secondary character.
She is the reason for my amazing journey into International Superstar-dom. And as such, I feel like I should document this whole process from start to finish, for posterity. Or, to read on the bonus features part of the Blu-Ray disc. Or, at the Oscars when they do a tribute of Numba-Won when she dies or after she's inducted into the Oscar Hall of Fame or whatever it's called. Like I said, I'm always prepared to board that rocket-to-the-moon.
Things started out well enough. After dinner a few days ago, we went into the living room and decided to run lines (which is industry speak for: practice dialogue for the next day in the hopes you will memorize the lines with the correct intonation and perfect wording).
Numba-Won said, "Ok. I'm the Mom and you're the Kid. And you want to go to school on the bus but I'm the Mom and you're not going fast enough, so I'm gonna tell you no. Okay?"
"Okay." I replied, eager to show my director that I'm totally worth my Million Dollar price tag.
(Never, ever give yourself away for free. If they want you for free, tell them to suck a lemon or ask Oprah. She doesn't answer her phone without someone signing a cheque over, so they'll get the point. And if they bring up 'exposure' or 'charity' and that's why they want you to work for free, tell them you're exposing your middle finger to their charity and to call Oprah. Then hang up because they're too stupid to live.)
"Ready? Go!"
Act 1, Scene 1: Take 1
"Hi Mom! I want to ride the bus today. To school. Let's go!"
"No. That's not how it goes. You have to say, "Mom! I can't wait to ride the bus!" and then I say, "Well, you can't because you aren't ready." Ok?"
Shit. I've already messed up my lines. No bueno.
"Ok. Sorry. Can we do that again?" I ask-- I'm still excited to show her all I've got.
"Yes." When Numba-Won calls you out on your general incompetence, she is forgiving, at first.
"Ready? Go!"
Act 1, Scene 1: Take 2
"Mom! I can't wait to ride on the bus today!"
"That's not the line."
I look down and realize that, like Joey Tribiani and his epic fail at the noodle soup audition with Ben, I'm adding words that aren't in the script. Mmm, noodle soup.
"Mom! I can't wait to ride the bus!"
"Kid, you can't. You're not ready. Your tights."
"I don't understand that line, Numba-Won. What do the tights have to do with riding the bus?"
Numba-Won slaps her forehead and says, with exasperation, "You can't go outside without your tights. It's cold. You'll catch The Amonia. And when you get The Amonia, you get very sick in your chest and you go to the hospital. So wear your tights!"
"Got it. Ok. Can we start again?"
"Yes. Ready? Go!"
Act 1, Scene 1: Take 3
"Mom! I can't wait to ride the bus!"
"Kid, you can't. You're not ready. Your tights."
"Oh! Well it's still warm out. I don't need them."
"Go stand outside and eat your breakfast without your shoes. You will see it's cold."
(I pretend to go outside and eat breakfast on the patio without my shoes. I make 'Brrr' sounds and rub my hands together to make it seem really, really cold from my side of the living room.)
"KID! You have to go outside. You can't know how cold it really is unless you go outside. Plus, you're too cold. It's not THAT cold. Just wear-your-tights cold." I get it. I have a tendency to over-act. I'm actually fortunate she's willing to work with me to get just the right amount of reaction to the cold. I'm a very lucky woman. Not many directors would care so much. I'm talkin' to YOU, Speilberg.
"I'm not going outside. It's raining."
"Well, then I guess you can pretend. But try to make it better."
"Ok. Can we take it from "You will see it's cold?""
"Hmm. Ok. Hold on. Yes. You will see it's cold." (she is such an amazing director/actor that she can fritter to and fro in her roles without missing a beat. It's outstanding.)
"Ok Mother. Thanks. I guess I'll get my tights on so I can catch the bus."
"Ok. But, now it's too late."
"What? Nooooo!" I throw myself down like Maria at the almost-end of West Side Story (Natalie Woods is an acting genius. Genius.)
"Uh, Kid. Why are you crying like that? You missed the bus. Take responsibility for your actions and get in the car. I will drive you."
"Numba-Two, I have some problems with your dialogue. I mean, I can't see a four-year old talking like this."
"Mom! I mean Kid! Just do your part."
That's about all I can actually type down here for your perusal without violating any sort of copyright laws, but you can see where this is going. Amazing stuff.
After Numba-Won went to bed (she's crashing here while her trailer is being renovated) I decided it was time to update My Look.
I, critically, examined myself in the mirror. Even with my most critical eye, it was clear I had little to change if I want to make it in Hollywood. Frankly, I've got the smile, the wiggle when I walk, the flirty-throaty laugh that Marilyn Monroe made famous. I've got it all. But, my eyes did rest a little too long on the top of my head. I suppose I could use a wee update on my Mom hair.
After walking the children to the bus the next day, I arranged for Kiddo #2 to be watched by a friend of mine while I went to Hip 'N' Trendy Salon. That's really what it's called-- I figured if the words 'hip' and 'trendy' were both in the title, surely they'd have something magnificent for me. And I was so right!
I walked into the shop and a woman that looked like she could be Betsey Johnson's small-town cousin walked over. Her hair was a very unnatural shade of blonde, considering her age (which was easily 50), her hips were very tiny, and her heels were very tall and her tan very ... non-existent. And, despite her 8-inch heels, she barely came to my shoulders, which isn't that weird, I guess.
(In Hollywood, everyone is under 5 feet tall, so, as a 6 foot tall person I know I will get a bunch of great roles that the shorties won't be able to do. Plus they won't have to build miniature sets for me so that I look 'normal' sized. Oh yes, I've thought this whole thing through. All in all, Rhonda and Hip 'N' Trendy Salon seemed like a natural beginning to my new life as a starlet; I took it as an omen of plastic and good fortune.)
The only thing that wasn't completely fake, in fact, was her mouth; there were no collagen injections there. Instead, she lined her lips as though she put her lipstick on a Nascar and told it to start racing. She didn't want to have fake-actually-full lips, she wanted fake-thin-lips-masquerading-as-clown-lips. Hey, any good actor has a nudity clause in her contract, so I understand her need to keep it real.
I sat down and Rhonda assessed the situation.
So, I went in with Mom Hair, and left with Ah-Mazing Mom Hair! I'm telling you, I've never looked so cool, hip and trendy as I did when I left. Jennifer Aniston and those other famous girl-next-door type actors had better watch their steps! I'm on my way and the only thing stopping me is laundry.
...
Frick.
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