Sunday, June 26, 2011
I've been going back and forth on the phone with a strange gig offer the last couple of days. Friday I got a call (I didn't answer so they left a message) about doing a quick scene in a film. The shoot was scheduled for Monday. At least I think it was for Monday. The girl who left the initial message (I have no idea how she got my personal cell number) seemed very nice but had an almost indecipherable Asian accent. I literally had to listen to it five or six times in order to make out what she was asking. In fact, I finally gave the phone to my wife and asked her opinion, too. She listened a few times and we eventually surmised I was being asked to shoot a scene in a film. Hm. Okay. So I called her back. Usually this sort of thing goes through my agency. It was a struggle, considering the language barrier, but I finally understood she wanted me to shoot a short, (page and a half) scene. I asked her what the pay was (nothing to write home about, as it turns out...it was either five hundred grand or five acres of land or five hundred clams...hard to say, really) and, I suppose as added incentive, she said I could 'have all the pretzels I wanted.' Excuse me? "You eat, free eat, all free eat, and on set, all pretzels you want. Eat free, pretzels free."
Well, how could I turn that down? So I said fine. I tried to ask her how she'd gotten my personal cell number but the question and the answer were impossibly convoluted, so I just let it go.
Okay. So a couple hours go by and she calls back. After endless conversation filled with me saying 'what' and 'could you say that again, please' I gathered she wanted me to send some 'redshots' to her. Ah! I got it. HEADSHOTS. She wanted headshots. So I sent her my website.
I asked, "Are you offering this gig or asking me to read for it?"
"I no...free eat all day. What is 'gig'?"
"Never mind. I'll send my site."
Late last night I got this text: "You too young. We need old, very old. You too young. Old is best. Young is bad. Sorry. See you in next movie."
I have no idea, but I sincerely hope she's not Steven Spielberg's go-to gal. I never did get the name of the director. I tried, but it was just too garbled. After a few more 'excuse me's' I just said, "Okay, let's move on. Where is the shoot?" This was a trial, too, but I finally got it. Somewhere in Pasadena. I think. Might have been El Paso, Texas, but I went with Pasadena.
Of course, in the end it was all moot because 'I too young, old is best.' I had tried to give her the number to my agent but she kept saying, "No, that not your number."
"No, it's not my number. It's the number to my agent. He negotiates contracts for me."
"No, that not the number. I call the number. That not it."
I have to admit, though, I'm a little sorry to miss the free pretzels. And also, I'm delighted to be called 'too young.' But after putting so much effort into the actual communication part of all this, I'm a little sorry it didn't pan out.
Another Pleasant Valley Sunday here in SoCal. It's so great to wake up, have some strong Kenyan coffee, step out in the backyard and talk to the horses (we have a new one, by the way, a young beauty named 'Simon'), the mountains surrounding me, a universe away from the dreary, inhospitable world of Chicago, reveling in the idea of being 'too young.' I'm going to the store today and buy a ton of pretzels. Two can play that game. I can get my own damn pretzels.
See you tomorrow.