Being an Actor Kinda Sucks
We spend a lot of time perfecting our instrument. We spend moneyâ€”hard to findâ€”taking classes to keep in tune when we’re not working. We spend timeâ€”hard to findâ€”training ourselves in new skills when we are working.
What do I mean by â€œour instrument?â€ Our collective voice. Actors are storytellers. We are mediums, if you will. We channel the human experience, the hopes, dreams, fears, thrills, struggles, loves, hates and discoveries of the human species; or, at least, of our community and our times. O tempora, o mores.
An actor brings a gift to a production: the gift of translating the words into real human emotions. It is our gift to bring deeper meaning. It is our gift to share our own talents with the writers, directors, gaffers and colorists so that we collectively allow the audience to sit in a dark room and share with other human beings their tears and laughter. This is a precious gift that we’ve been given and that we turn around and share.
A real story is about real people of all types; a real story is about the real world we live in, our real communitiesâ€¦or, at least, our real dreams.
So. Dreams. So, fantasies. Soâ€¦imagination.
An actor must represent real people in order to bring the gift of a believable and enjoyable StoryDreamFantasy. A believable and enjoyable connection between the real humans in the audience and their common experience. Okay, bla, bla you get it.
What I am saying here is: â€œTits are not the only thing.â€ Acting is an art and a craft. Full body, full mind, full soul. Tits are great. I love, love, love watching them. But breasts alone do not an actress make. So, it enflames me when I (pretty damn sexy myselfâ€¦when I’m in the MOOD, dammit,) who have spent years training myself to be a sensitive instrument for the portrayal of the human condition read audition notices that say:
â€œActress wanted. Large breasts. No experience necessary.â€
Aaaaaah. I could just shit. Or cry. I think I’ll go have a cry.