In a mild twist of fate, I auditioned for a role on an HBO series yesterday. This is no early Meryl Streep character that is going to require me hours of dialogue training to nail an East Prussian accent. I doubt I’ll have to insist that all crew members call me by my character’s name so that my precarious Method balance is maintained. If I get the role, and it is a real long shot that I will, I would basically be playing me.
I’m sure there are hundreds of actors out there who can play a middle-aged Ghey from the West Village, which is what this is. And I’m sure we all sound alike in the end; these are lines I would actually say. I really felt this dialogue was written with me in mind, which is why I keep my hopes up, even though as someone who habitually sits on the deciding side of the casting couch I know better.
What concerns me is the script describes my character as wearing a kimono. Maybe the writer is savvy enough to know that I would indeed wear a man’s antique shibori resist-dyed kimono in a heartbeat, but I think she might have something more flamboyant in mind. And therein lies the challenge.
I mentioned to my associate Tyler that I was concerned they probably wanted an old-school extravaganza Ghey, the kind who, as I’ve mentioned in a previous post, is coming back in vogue thanks to that little Nellie in Glee. Tyler encouragingly replied, “Nah, you’ll be like the transvestite Liev Schreiber played in Taking Woodstock. He looked totally out of place in a dress, but it was really funny.” I twisted my ankle the other day stepping out of Tyler’s Ford Explorer, so the thought of slipping into a dress and heels isn’t very appealing right now. But trying to convince the costume department to outfit me in an antique men’s shibori resist-dyed kimono rather than Haute Golden Girls Nightwear is an exciting challenge.