“Learn to type.”
That’s what they told you, right? Or, “Get used to waiting tables.” Yeah, fuck that… The subtextual implication of the statement, “Learn to type,” is that in order to pursue your acting career, you have to scrape by with a low-wage, dead-end job. That, my friends, is a great big pile of horseshit.
Just about every Thursday night, the boys and I get together and play poker in my buddy’s basement. It is the quintessence of masculine bonding, with an occasional intellectual twist. We talk about sex. We boast about or explain away fights we’ve been in. Oprah-like, we discuss the books we’ve been reading. We make fun of each other’s taste in music. And we drink. Man, do we drink. Which would be fine, if we all didn’t have to get up for work in the morning.
You can’t effect whether or not someone likes the way you look. You can’t do a thing about it if your style of acting is not what someone else prefers. The shitstorm of a relationship your director is in the process of ending is completely outside of your ability to control. But you can be pleasant to be around. If you just make it a point to bring your best self to the show every time, you should be fine.
Too often, actors seem compelled (or are directed) to “fill in the gaps” or “take out the air”. To be fair, sometimes they’re right. “Move it along, already” is rarely a bad direction. The thing is, silence is only a “gap” when it’s devoid of anything useful. There are plenty of examples of completely riveting silence.