8 Staples

"8 staples?!" this douchebag says to me.

"Um... sorry, I... what?"

Last week I had a One on One session with a talent agent. For those of you in my presumably limited readership who don't know what One on One is, it's a networking organization that gives actors a chance to meet agents and casting directors and give them a glimpse of your work. Regular One on One sessions are 10 minutes long and involve a monologue or prepared sides, depending on the preference of the industry guest, followed by a brief interview. It's basically a $35 chance to say, "HI, INDUSTRY PERSON. HERE I AM." The core idea is similar to Actor's Connection, but generally considered slightly more legit because it's more exclusive. (You have to audition to become a member, etc.)

When Actor's Connection first came along I was immediately suspicious and dismissed it as simply another money-making scheme that preyed on young actors' eagerness and desperation. I had no real basis for this, but it was coming into prominence at a particularly shaky time in my career and I felt very comfortable in my baseless disdain for it. Then, a few years later, One on One came along.

Ultimately, after 10 years of kicking around town, I came to a reckoning. The truth was I had been clawing and scratching for my shot for a friggin' decade. Doing shows. Doing my mailings. Desperately trying to get someone, anyone in the industry to see my work. And I had gotten nowhere. N o w h e r e. I had become phenomenally discouraged and was seriously entertaining the notion of just throwing in the towel altogether. Finally, after a conversation with Sayra Player (an actor I respect and whose work I've long been a fan of) I decided to put my suspicions and pride aside and give One on One a further look. I mean, here was the deal... (layed out for me with undeniable clarity): I had been bitching for 10 years about not being able to get seen by agents and casting directors and here was a bought-and-paid-for, guaranteed opportunity to do just that. It became embarrasingly evident that to go any further in the journey without at least checking it out could only mean that I preferred bitching about my career to actually taking some solid steps toward improving it. Sobering stuff. So I bit the bullet, auditioned, became a member and started taking advantage of the sessions and intensives that I could, when I could afford them.

I've made some great casting contacts in my time at One on One and even booked my Law & Order gig after meeting Claire Traeger back in September. Getting my face in front of casting folks has been a HUGE boon, especially for someone focusing on trying to work in TV. Additionally, I do get the breakdowns and most of the CD's I've met gladly accept self-submissions, effectively cutting out the middle-man: The Talent Agent.

My feelings about (and dealings with) talent agents over the years have been a mixed bag, to say the least. It's hard to even consider my personal experiences with agents during the last 12 years without wanting to vomit heaping buckets of generalizations out into the blogosphere. Gnashing, foaming, cursing, holding two hyper-extended middle fingers aloft and moshing about in an uncontrollable jig of rage and self-righteousness all the while. The reasons for this are varied and too involved to fully explore here. (As if this post hasn't already gotten more involved than it was supposed to...)

Suffice to say, I've always targeted the casting directors and associates that visit One on One more than the agents. And I've made some great contacts. However, given the nature of the business, I'm limited as to how far I can get without representation. So, from time to time, I occasionally and grudgingly sign up to meet with an agent.

Fast forward to last week...

I'd signed up for a slot with with a newish agent who's just started his own boutique agency and (according to the blurb on the schedule) was actively looking to meet folks to add to their roster. Worth a shot, I thought. Now, I'm rebellious but not completely daft so in the interest of professionalism, I'm not going to use this agent's name. I'll simply say that his initials are D.K. And if I was forced to place a wager on what his middle initials were, I'd put my money on I. and C.

SO, I walk in - relaxed, good energy - introduce myself, shake hands, give him my headshot, turn to tell the reader which sides I've got and hear:

"8 staples?"

"Sorry, what...?"

"8 staples?!" this douchebag says to me.

"Um... sorry, I... what?"

What the fuck is this guy talking about?

"You stapled your headshot 8 times??"

Oh. That.

So, here was the deal. No, I didn't staple my headshot 8 times. What I did was remove an old resume from a headshot I'd already prepared a few weeks earlier and stapled a newly updated resume to it. But since I didn't remove the staples I'd used on the previous resume from my picture, it appeared from the front that I had stapled it 8 times.

With as much charm, wit and sitcom marketability as I could muster, I explained this to this guy. All the while wanting to gut him like a trout for starting off our now-9-minute session by hassling me about friggin' staples.

"Oh. I... I see what you did there..." he concedes, with a look on his face that suggests I'd also wiped my crap-caked ass with it before handing it to him.

"That a big deal?" I ask, also with levity and appeal.

"Well, no... It's just kinda... I dunno... tacky, or something."

Now, let me just fucking tell you all something right now. Over the years, I've been a reader for countless casting sessions and gotten headshot feedback from about a bazillion different casting folks here in the City and let me say this... They don't. Give a fuck. About staples. What they care is that you have a great picture that looks like you. And they care what's ON your resume. What you've DONE. Not how you fucking fasten it to the goddamn picture. I spent a week in a session with Woody Allen and all the big-wigs at Telsey where they weren't even looking at actual PICTURES but friggin' PHOTOCOPIES. With the resumes stapled ONE TIME. In the upper left hand CORNER.

"...Okay..." I say, not knowing where he wants to go with this.

"Well, let's just see what you brought in..." he says.

And I do the sides. And he chuckles several times throughout. And then I turn my attention back to him when I'm finished and he's got his nose buried in my resume again.

"Why do you have this little picture on the back here...?"

Oh, CRIPES. You can't be... I'm gonna freak out...

"Why do I... on the... well, it shows a different side of me than the picture on the front. Just gives you another reference point. Fairly common practice. I've talked to a lot of casting directors and they actually like having - "
He cuts me off.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah... I guess it's a personal taste thing or whatever, but I'm right and they're wrong."

No. There's no way he's serious. I just couldn't imagine he'd actually be saying that seriously and with seriousness. I paused to see if he was going to chuckle or somehow otherwise indicate that he was not being serious, but he didn't. He was serious.

So, the remaining 5 of my 10 minutes went sort of the same way. No questions about past projects, no discussion of type or what casting directors knew me, no inquiry about what kind of stuff I thought I was right for... nothing. He just spent his time picking apart the various facets of my headshot/resume presentation. And then adding incredulously that he found it odd that I would have been cast as a doctor on Law & Order because he thought I read mid-20's, tops. Well I'm 33, douche. And I was. And apparently the fucking casting director, director and producer of the show thought I read my age, but YES, YES, YES, I KNOW.... You're right and they're wrong. What the fuck do they know, right? They're only the ones who HIRE THE FUCKING ACTORS WHOSE CHECKS PAY YOUR FUCKING RENT.

Jagoff.

Anyway, he then ends the session by saying, "You know, you should really pay more attention to all that stuff because you're really good!"

I'm... wh?

Oh, that's brilliant.

I'm really good.

That's helpful, thanks.

I'm so good you don't want to find out anything about me or my work in the limited time we have. That makes total sense.

Here's the scoop... To an extent, elements of that conversation would have been completely valid. In his office. Once he'd called me in. Because I'm really good. THEN we can talk about marketing and headshot presentation and whether or not to have my picture on the back and making sure it all looks pretty in a way that appeals to you but that most everyone else in the industry could give fuckall about. Figure if I was someone who made my entire living off of other people's talent, I'd probably want to find out more about someone who I thought was "really good". But, no, no. You're right. ...Staples.

I dunno, guys. Sometimes I feel like this business is all some sort of twisted practical joke and that at any moment Alan Funt is going to jump out of a broom closet with a hearty burst of cigarette-stained laughter and put his arm around my shoulder and tell me to "SMILE..."

But, hey. That's the business. And I've spent 12 years in the kitchen, so deep down I must like the heat.

And, no. Don't let me misrepresent myself. I don't hate talent agents. I know there are some really amazing human beings out there in the business who really have an interest in developing artists' careers.

I just haven't met one yet.

In the meantime, I'm going to continue with the sessions, expanding my contacts list and keeping my face out there. I'm going to get color headshots done this summer and within the next couple months have a pretty decent reel together with the L&O and the two movies.

I'm going to keep on keeping on, man.

And from now on...


I'm gonna use a fucking glue stick.





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