I told you all about Flashpoint, the new film school downtown. Apparently they got handed a last minute project, so I received two five-page scripts to consider. For those of you non-industry types, film time correlates to a minute a page generally.
One script was from Matt Arauz, the young director for whom I recently did a two-minute hit man picture (copy on the way). The other from a guy I won’t mention, because I’m about to destroy him. I’ll call him Dude B
Both scripts were great. Matt’s was about a crossing guard who fancies himself a noire detective – a single, straight Walter Mitty meets a Jules Dassin Dirty Harry – and fantastic. The other was about a mob guy who gets tired of getting his ass kicked by the mid-level bosses he works for and decides to do something about it, also fantastic.
Dude B contacts me first, Thursday night at 7 p.m. I mention a couple of schedule things, a Sunday evening and a Tuesday evening, and I tell him that, if necessary, I could move and rearrange almost anything in order to do his film. He told me we could make it happen and that he’d work with me on scheduling because they really want me for the part.
At noon on Friday, I speak with Matt, tell him, Sorry, Dude B spoke with me first, we’re going to make it happen. Matt was bummed, but had a casting session set up for the afternoon. I change a couple Monday auditions with my agency, the one who hates me right now, in order to facilitate shooting Dude B’s movie next week and await his call for final scheduling.
Seven o’clock rolls around and Dude B calls me to say that they decided to go with someone else because of my scheduling things, precisely the things I told him I could re-arrange. It’s clear to me he had someone else in mind, because he didn’t call during the day to ask me about changing anything. So, now I’m out this picture and I can’t call Matt and say Oh, just kidding, I’m doing yours.
If I weren’t so enlightened now, I would have told Dude B about a special place I have reserved for him… Down the back of my boxer briefs on four-alarm chili day. Dude B is an A-hole. I just missed out on both films because this guy didn’t want to work it out and didn’t want to tell me about it until too late. These are student directors, but this happens all the time in the real acting world as well.
Where in hell does such unabashed douchebaggery finds its due? Justice, like Santa Clause, is a fairy tale designed to bribe idiots and children into behaving. So much for informed ignorance, or whatever the hell I blathered on about last week. Yeah, yeah, it’s probably a good thing I didn’t get cast this week, for whatever reason - Marty’s going to call or something. I’m working on it, but, hey, I had a lot of inertia before I decided to change direction. It’s a good thing I’ve got this outlet now, otherwise I’d probably go Harvey on someone’s ass.
Happy Fourth. Don’t blow anything up.
Ciao,
Jake
PS - My latest print ad, one for Solo cups, appears in the Everyday with Rachel Ray magazine, June/July issue, on the page opposite the table of contents. It's also in Good Housekeeping and Redbook this month. I’m the bleached out guy wearing the tight cords on the right. Thanks to brilliant photo editing, you can’t tell that the pants I’m wearing are practically painted on. The sizes I wrote on the stylist’s size card before the shoot didn’t reflect the start of my Fat Elvis phase back in February. It just looks like I have fabulous junk, right?
PPS - This past Friday, I auditioned for the part of a bad cop in an independent feature in Lansing, Michigan. It went really well. If I get it, I’ll have to spend some time in Michigan so hopefully I’d get some money for the role. If the role is right, I will do a B-movie. Somebody’s zombie lab partner who dies before the end of act one… not a good role. Priest who rapes a nun and makes her get an abortion… not a good role; I turned that one down this morning.
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