This Fucking Business

submitted by Joe Holt

The business of acting is just that...and it's not easy but it's necessary...

This Fucking Business
By: Joe Holt

I was recently in my agent’s office when I overheard the following
“Can we just get her into the callbacks? Yeah, she’s great! Blond, big boobs, the whole deal! Sure…okay, thanks a lot!”
This was spoken by a female agent.

Now, I don’t give much truck to the whole “exploitation of women” nonsense in the first place (since exploitation is a term which should be reserved for people who don’t have the ability to earn thousands of dollars a day), but I was, nonetheless, infuriated. And it occurred to me that, to the average, fair-minded, intelligent biped, this fucking business presents a daily cocktail of frustration.

We read Backstage and we attend industry functions where we hear tales of the value of training, and the importance of preparation and persistence, and we must reconcile these seemingly legitimate truisms with a profession that routinely rewards hype, nepotism, roguish behavior, and the one thing we have no control over, genetics.

So what are we to do? There is an entire generation of us who came up studying the films of the 1970’s and the stars who came to prominence during that time. Our imagination was hijacked at an early age by the work of Duvall, Pacino, Streep, Hoffman, and DeNiro. We launched ourselves headlong into this pursuit hoping to one day find ourselves sitting in a beat-up car on a cold New York city street waiting for the deal to go down, or trapped in a claustrophobic lower east side apartment engaged in, what was surely, a life or death struggle with the one who we loved so much that it hurt (the latter ended up happening to many of us but, unfortunately, the cameras weren’t rolling, and our conflict wasn’t resolved 40 minutes later…)

To be certain, this was not a simple, idealistic time where the little man always won the day. There were huge studios, huge egos, and huge dollars in that day too, but there was also a movement in that day to remove the cover from the machine and expose some it’s hidden flaws.

There was a bullshit war that had claimed our children, an administration that had lied to us, and a newly enfranchised citizenry that had stories to tell (sound familiar..?) And, as physics teaches us, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. The questionable conflict was repeatedly attacked (Coming Home, The Deer Hunter, Apocalypse Now,) our government’s recklessness and corruption were exposed (All The President’s Men, Three Days of the Condor,) and blacks and women continued their movement from the periphery inward (The Exorcist, Foxy Brown.) Things at least appeared to be, in some way, motivated by a sense of societal integrity. Those days, my friends, are gone.

I’d blame the almighty dollar, but I feel that we err when we blame abstract things like “the dollar,” or “capitalism,” or “liberalism.” The common denominator when shit goes bad—is us; good old Homo erectus. We are guilty of seven deadly sins, and when things break down it has less to do with ideological constructs, and more to do with someone wanting something shiny and new, or that clawing beast that snarls up from a man’s belly when he knows a blowjob is within reach (pardon the pun, but “at hand” would have been even worse.)

In other words, bitch all you want about the pathetic state of the business, but don’t forget that you are a part of the machine. When you watch that reality T.V. show (yes, even THAT one), you’re feeding the beast. That shit movie you go to because Colin Farrell is hot, chalk one more up for the bad guys. That national network commercial you shot with the shit writing and the bad punch line? Guilty, motherfucker. And if you’re sitting back taking shots at everybody that has the job that you can’t get, I suggest that you ask yourself why someone would hire you. And your answer should be something that you would walk into an agent’s office and say to their face, without shaking in your shoes, because that, dear reader, is the kind of temerity you need to have if you want to work today.

Get as mad as you want about Paris and Nicole. Malign every rapper who you think is taking your job. Bitch and moan that Freddie Prinze Jr. will stumble into more movies that you’ll ever make. Call your friends, rant and rave, taunt the birds and the beasts and all manner of life less developed than you! And then…suck it up, and be honest with yourself. Because if you haven’t asked yourself what you have to offer, then you haven’t begun to take yourself seriously.

And keep asking yourself until you have an answer other than “I’m a good actor” or “I care about the work,” because everybody thinks both of those things, and it simply isn’t enough anymore. If you can’t come up with more than that, start looking for a temp job. The stakes are high for your potential employer. They have investors and producers and a financial mark to hit. And the definition of talent has crept more toward having a direct relationship with box office revenue than acting ability.
Of course, there will always be exceptions to the rule.

There are people who will truly luck into situations, and others whose excellence may never find an audience. But, for the most part, the working actor has a level of confidence and/or a willingness to NOT be liked which allows them to walk into a room full of strangers, do their work, and walk out without the need of affirmation, and that should be the goal of every actor. You have to learn to be self-possessed, controlling the one thing that you can; your talent. And then, leave the rest up to them. Don’t seek approval. Don’t beg. Don’t need. Just do.
That’s your job, after all.

And hopefully, we can start our own new movement where we work from a need to express and not purely to showcase our talent for an agent or director. For that is the only way to truly realize our potential. It’s difficult, and it’s intimidating; but I’d like to go on thinking that it’s worth it.

Comments (1) email article → Posted on February 11, 2007