Cry Me a River (about fictional characters only, please)

I don’t cry a lot in real life. I don’t know why this is. I get angry a lot. I swear and stomp around and yes, I’ve been known to throw things (not when people are around, I live alone so the throwing is a private affair, no one but myself and the object being hurled are injured in the throwing, and I make sure the cats aren’t in the area, so don’t worry, nervous Nellies) but crying is a few-and-far-between occurrence. If it gets to the point I’m about to cry, say, at work, or when I’m out and about, I try to go somewhere private to do it. I don’t like people seeing me cry. I’m embarrassed by it. Which is strange, because I’m not in the least bit embarrassed by my other very large and loud emotions. Crying seems very raw and personal, somehow, more so than laughing or being furious, and I don’t feel the need to share it with others. Also, it makes people act like you’re about to break and use the “I’m scared of you” voice which I hate. And I hate sympathy. Even when I know the person means it, I hate it. I like being strong and in charge of myself and when I’m crying, it’s like I’ve lost control.

All bets are off, however, when it comes to movies.

I am a wreck in the movie theater. I mean, I’m not wailing and screaming “Why God why” at the screen or anything, and other than the sniffling, I’m pretty quiet about it. But movies make me weep. TV shows, sometimes, too, to some extent, depending on how emotionally invested I am in the characters, how good the writing is, and how heart-wrenching the plotline, and those goddamned Hallmark commercials always get me (they know how tear-jerking they are, too, they’re totally mean about it and sneaky) as well as Folgers commercials where people come home and make coffee all unexpected-like for their relatives. And let’s not even talk about the incident freshman year of college where that commercial with the Hershey Kisses ringing like bells set me off into a bout of weeping. I chalk that one up to homesickness. Or possibly an out-of-control craving for chocolate, I don’t know.

I was thinking about this after watching One Day this weekend. Don’t worry, no spoilers, unless you count “it made me cry pretty much from the opening credits until the lights came up” as a spoiler. It wasn’t a perfect movie – the book was better – but it was very good. And as I’d read the book, I knew what was coming, which made me cry even harder.

I LOVE a good cry in a movie theater. It’s dark. No one can see you clearly. It’s very cathartic. I don’t recommend you do it on your first date with someone, though. Because you look like a crazy person unless they know you a little better. Not that I’d know that from first-hand experience or anything. Ha! Not me.

Although I’ve teared up in a lot of movies, from comedies to cartoons, the ones that stand out the most for me, for various reasons, are (and yes, plenty of spoilers ahead, but most of these are old-ish movies, so if you haven’t seen them yet, you should have by now; but if you want to stay spoiler-free, bye, see you tomorrow, I hope!):

Moulin Rouge

A huge group of my theater friends and I went to see this not long after it came out. Many of them had gone to see it the night before and wanted to see it again. They knew better than to spoil us for what was coming up (theater people are very good at not spoiling the end of things, among the other bazillion things they are good at.) I was (and remain) completely transfixed with this movie. The music. Nicole Kidman at the height of her beauty – still a redhead, still curvy (before she started to look brittle and translucent – she’s almost frightening-looking now, I think, like she’d break like a twig given the right pressure, and it’s sad because she was so luminous before!), Ewan McGregor so handsome, the sets – just a perfect, perfect movie. Then the ending. Ewan’s sob when he realizes Nicole has died in his arms is heartwrenching. I cried so hard I burst a blood vessel in my eye and my chest hurt the entire following day. I will always love Baz Luhrmann – for Moulin Rouge, but also for the insane, speed-addled beauty of Romeo & Juliet and the quirky fun of Simply Ballroom. The man knows how to put on a show.

Field of Dreams

Apparently, this is a guy’s movie. Well, tell that to my tear ducts. It’s one of my top five movies of all time, actually. I know, I know, Kevin Costner kind of got embarrassing for a while there and then dropped off the radar, and it’s not a flawless movie – there’s a lot of foolishness here and there – but it’s pretty damn close. It’s one of those things I can’t not watch when I’m flipping channels. You know what makes me cry in this movie? Yes, of course, the ending, because if you don’t at least mist up a little over, “Hey Dad? Do you want to have a catch?” and “Why don’t you introduce him to his granddaughter,” there might be something essential missing from you – but also the magic, and Costner’s wide-eyed acceptance of it, and the added magic of the people around him coming to accept it as well. The look on James Earl Jones’s face when the Volkswagen bus’s headlights hit him and he says “Go the distance,” and Costner realizes that he heard the voice too. Frank Whaley’s face when he realizes saving the little girl means he can’t go back again, but that it’s the right thing to do. “People will come, Ray.” If I’m watching this movie, I’m watching it with a box of tissues and I’m one happy woman. This movie also is the reason I admire baseball. I don’t watch it; I don’t go out of my way to catch games, or anything. But this movie makes me understand people that do love baseball, and it makes baseball seem noble and fine.

Tombstone

I know, right about now, you’ve got on your what the hell face. I can’t really explain this. I have no idea why this movie gets to me. But it does. Every single time. This is the number one “if it’s on, I can’t stop watching” movie in the world for me. Is it my favorite movie of all time? No. But I can’t look away. I love westerns, and western culture, I guess, ever since I was young (I don’t know where that came from, exactly, but I remember reading – for fun! – histories of Billy the Kid and Doc Holliday when I was in junior high) and this movie hits all of the right chords with me. Family drama – check. Romance – check. (Although the romance is a little lame. I really enjoy Dana Delaney but she kind of annoys me in this movie. Except when she’s being an actress. I like her tough actress persona. It’s her personal life persona that bugs.) But here’s what gets me every time – Val Kilmer’s performance. I know that now, Val Kilmer’s kind of embarrassing and pudgy and pale and I read an interview a while ago where he was rambling on about being the mayor of New Mexico or something, I don’t know. But watch this movie and you will (I hope) understand why I will always love Val Kilmer, in the way I could never, even when he got old and weird, dislike Marlon Brando. Val Kilmer just lights up the screen in this movie. He hits every single note. And his performance brings me to tears every single time. The one exchange that turns me into a sobbing mess? The very solitary, legendarily prickly Doc Holliday discussing with another man why he’s going to stand up for Wyatt Earp in a fight: “Wyatt Earp is my friend.” “Hell, I got a lot of friends.” “I don’t.” Also, Val Kilmer’s last scene? I had no idea what was happening until it was explained to me that he was laughing at the irony of the mighty Doc Holliday dying without his boots on, so now that scene makes me cry, too. I’ve tried to explain my irrational love for this movie to people before and they look at me like I’m insane, and that’s fine. More young Val Kilmer for me. And if you hear me quote “I’m your huckleberry” or “You’re a daisy if you do,” well, you know why, now, don’t you.

House of Sand and Fog

I didn’t know much about this film going into it, other than the trailers made it look excellent. (I’ve since read the book and the film is equally as good, which doesn’t happen often.) However, we all know that trailers lie, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I did not expect to cry until I almost vomited. Seriously. This movie wrecked me. If you haven’t seen this, and you like to cry in movies as much as I do, you owe it to yourself to immediately stop reading this and rent it. Shoreh Aghdashloo was heartbreaking and I’ll watch her in anything she stars in, ever again, just based on this one movie alone. But Ben Kingsley was the one that did it. The scene where he’s chasing after the ambulance, screaming “I want only my son.” The scene where he’s praying in the hospital that he’ll do anything if God saves his son, he’ll give back the house, he’ll give away all that he owns, just please, only his son. I can bring myself to tears just repeating that to myself – “I want only my son. Please, I want only for my son.” And the scene where he tenderly kills his mourning wife, then himself, with the dignity of the soldier that he was – and his life flashing before his eyes as he struggles against his own instinct to keep the plastic bag over his head – ugh. Ben Kingsley won me over that year. I cried so hard I couldn’t see the screen. Just a brilliant, brilliant movie. I haven’t seen it since. I don’t want to. I’m afraid it won’t be as affecting and I want it to live up to the model of it I have in my head.

Atonement

I couldn’t make it through this book. I own it and I keep telling myself, especially having seen the movie, that I’m going to try again, dammit, but I read the first chapter and the writing was just so dense that I couldn’t struggle through it. So I went into it knowing nothing more than the book was almost incomprehensible. This movie was just brilliant. The score, with the typing in the background. The lush colors. The romance. And then that ending. Oh, my, that ending. When you realize that Vanessa Redgrave is the little girl, and that she wrote a book to give her sister and the man both she and her sister loved the happy ending they deserved. I didn’t see that coming, and for once, I’m actually glad I didn’t read the book first, because you see Vanessa Redgrave, and her haircut, and that level gaze, and you realize who she is, and she starts talking, and you realize the typing in the soundtrack is because much of the movie is a fiction created as an atonement, and I cried. I UGLY cried. It was winter, and I cried into the hood of my jacket to muffle the noise. My jacket was wet when I left. It was like Alice, crying herself an actual river in Alice in Wonderland.

Brokeback Mountain

I actually went back to the theater to see this three times, I loved it so much. I’d read the novella it was based on and that was very affecting, and went in with high hopes, which were exceeded. I’m pretty sure everyone who watched this was equally affected. This is just a beautiful movie, through and through. The audiences clapped at the end of it – that doesn’t happen much in the movie theater anymore. Although my heart will always belong to Jake Gyllenhaal, the movie belonged to Heath Ledger. Ennis’s quiet suffering through the movie, his desperation, his pain – Heath Ledger deserved an award for this performance. It was so subtle and so nuanced that I think people may have missed some of it. That’s all I can fathom. It was a joy to watch. A bittersweet one, of course, but a joy nonetheless. And I cried from the first time they parted pretty much through the end of the movie, because it was just so real and so raw and there was just so much longing in it, and so much beauty and so much pain. It physically pains me to watch it now that Heath Ledger has died, seeing all of that wasted potential on screen.

Harry Potter, movies 3-7

I didn’t cry at first, but once movie three hit? I bawled all the way through. It was actually kind of embarrassing because there were a lot of kids in the theater who I’m pretty sure thought I was unhinged. I wasn’t crying because it was sad (well, there were sad parts, I suppose, and I did cry over those – the death of some characters, for example) but, especially as the series came to a close, because it was the end of an era, for both me and for the characters. I felt like I’d grown up with them and I’d never see them again, and that was enough to set me off. Add to that the entire Snape backstory in the final movie, which made me cry so hard the children in front of me stopped watching the movie and turned around to watch me, who apparently was more interesting to them than the action on the screen, and you have a series full of waterworks.

The World According to Garp

The book is a million times better. But the movie is quite good. I hadn’t read the book yet when I watched the movie as a college freshman, and it was actually the first time I can remember openly weeping in a movie and not being ashamed of it (as my friends were doing the same thing.) I dare you to watch the scene where Garp’s young son dies in a car crash without a tear in your eye. Or his mother dies. Or he himself is shot by a vengeful woman from his past, and as he dies, he realized he’s getting to do something he always wanted to do, and he tells his weeping wife, “Helen! I’m flying!” as his eyes close one last time. I don’t like much of Robin Williams now, but in dramas (I feel this way about a lot of comedians who have highly physical comedy, actually) he’s wonderful. This was the role of a lifetime for him. The book is better. Read the book. But watch the movie afterward. It’s worth it, I promise.

Armageddon

Shut up. Just shut up. That’s her FATHER up there. HER FATHER. That is sad. And I cry EVERY GODDAMN TIME. His last thoughts are of his daughter on a swing. That’s all he wants to think about as he dies. I have a father. Therefore, I cry and cry at that part. STOP JUDGING ME.

Comment if you have a movie that made you weep uncontrollably that you think I should see – I’m always up for a good cry!

Every Time You Speak to Me You Tell Me What to Do

About a week and a half ago, The Huffington Post featured a post in its culture section by Peg Aloi entitled "Tough Gals: Do They Still Exist?" This article was pointed out to me last night by one of my friends. Where was I on August 11th? How did this particular article escape me for 9 days? I know I worked that day, and I'm guessing I had rehearsal that night, because that's pretty much been my life for the past month or so. I do remember seeing mentions on Twitter over the past week, women saying that they were cupcake-baking, knitting, kick-ass women, but I didn't know it related to anything in particular. I just thought they were giving their own personal credo, or something. And they are kick-ass women, so I approved of that message.

Although I'd like to not give Ms. Aloi any additional traffic, I do encourage you to click above and read the article. If you'd rather not, for one reason or another, here's a brief summary:

Women who blog about cupcakes, Hello Kitty, gardening, knitting, and cats are girly. Not that there's anything wrong with the blogs...but there's something wrong with being girly. Because we're women! And we shouldn't be girly! We should be badass! Feminists who came before us fought hard for that right, and we're throwing it away with these girly pursuits! We've "lost sight of what it means to be a badass, tough, strong woman"! Women aren't having fun - instead, we like cooking, Jane Austen, and heirloom tomatoes! We've "become complacent"! "We're not tough anymore; we're soft"!

Oh, for the love of Sanrio.

Listen. LISTEN. We've talked about this, here, on my blog, in the past. Women telling us what to do and what to feel and who to be because the author knows the right way to do these things, under the guide of feminism. Because the author is the arbiter of womanhood. Because there's a mold, and women should fit that mold, and if they don't, they're lesser - lesser human beings, lesser women, lesser examples of shining femaleness than the author herself.

I AM SO GODDAMN TIRED OF BEING TOLD WHO TO BE.

Men, sorry to leave you out, here, and I'm sure you face societal pressure up the wazoo as well, but as I am not in possession of a Y chromosome, I don't know what those are, exactly. This is not meant to slight you. I'd be interested, actually, in reading a post about the type of societal pressures a young man faces; if someone wants to point me in the direction of a good one, it would be appreciated.

Women, from a young age, are told how to act in order to fit society's norms. There are exceptions, but overall, even in this day and age, there are toddlers in frilly dresses and bows scotch-taped onto the bald heads of baby girls for photo day and the moniker "tomboy" (usually said either with a sneer or a knowing nod.) As we get older, more expectations. Makeup. What to wear. How to act. At what age to start dating. What's appropriate and what's weird. The list goes on; I'm sure the women reading this can think of a million examples in their own life where they wanted to be doing one thing but were gently (or not-so-gently) nudged in another direction because it wasn't "cool" enough or "girly" enough or whatever enough to fit in the very strict lines that were drawn by whoever draws these things.

But as we grow up, we realize things, like being who we are is more fulfilling than making other people like us, and that there's nothing at all wrong with, say, watching Vh1 Celebreality all day rather than shopping or getting a mani-pedi or whatever it is the "cool" kids are doing. We're not here to please anyone but ourselves, when we get older. And that's a nice feeling, you know? It's a feeling I'd like to be able to go back and bestow upon the teenage me, who was always scrambling to keep up with what was expected of her and failing miserably and very unhappy in the bargain.

But then you get women like Julie Klausner telling us that we're too infantilized if we like Converse sneakers, cupcakes, Etsy jewelry, or birds, and Peg Aloi telling us that we're not tough if we like knitting, gardening, Hello Kitty, or, again, cupcakes. (Why so much cupcake hate? Do these women equally hate sheet cakes? Who hates cake? I feel like hating cake = hating America, honestly.)

These women are just grown-up versions of the bitches in high school who set the trends. The Plastics, really. The Wednesdays-We-Wear-Pink girls. The girls who arbitrarily decide "on this side of the line is what's cool, and on this side of the line is what's not, and I'll tell you how high you have to jump and how hard you have to beg to be on the right side of the line." And do you know how to tell they're bitches? Because they're telling you you're not good enough. They're making you feel less-than. They're telling you, "Listen, if you like this, this, and this? You don't measure up."

I don't want to be in your Special People Club.

It doesn't make you less tough if you knit, bake, or garden. The article actually contradicts itself all over the place - Aloi will make a blanket statement like "Tough girls don't knit because that's what our foremothers did!" and then couch it with "But man our foremothers, right? Whoo! They were certainly tough, you know, in their own way!" Why are the two mutually exclusive? Why can't you be a badass tough-as-nails mofo AND make a mean cupcake?

Because Aloi SAYS SO.

There are currently 326 comments under her article. I didn't read them all - I actually do have a life, sorry to disappoint! - but have read a large number of them, and the themes running through them are:

• Screw you, Peg Aloi, you judgmental hag.
• Why can't you kick-ass and knit?
• What the hell?
• This isn't the 1800's. We aren't *required* to knit now. It's a *choice* we make.
• I kind of want to stab you with my knitting needles.
• You know what's awesome? Feminist women telling others how to behave.

And do you know what's missing? Ms. Aloi. She hasn't made a PEEP. She is GONE. Just like Julie Klausner, who, to the best of my knowledge, dropped that load-of-shit article on us back in June and never commented on the fury it ignited, Ms. Aloi hasn't responded in the least.

Now, I'm not saying she has to. She has the right to her own opinion. It would be hypocritical of me to say I can't stand women telling me how to behave and then turn around and tell Ms. Aloi how to do so.  On some level, I almost, almost, think I get, in a tiny way, what she might have been trying to say. Because listen, girly-girl giggly shit sets my teeth on edge, too. Feigned helplessness. Doe-eyed false childishness. But that's never mentioned, so I assume that's not what she's referring to, and what I take objection to in these behaviors is that the women using them are pretending to be something they're not because they think that's how they have to act in order to get what they want - a man, a promotion, taken care of, etc. (And yes, I realize I'm being a little hypocritical - I tell people they're doing douchey things on here all the time, and even in judging these type of women, that's doing something I'm calling her out for. Thing is, I have a blog that doesn't have a fraction of the readership that The Huffington Post does, and I'd like to think that I wouldn't make a blanket statement like "knitters= weak women so go out and learn to shoot a gun instead" at all without my tongue planted firmly in my cheek. And "pretending you're helpless to 'catch' a man" is very different than "baking cupcakes = weak", no?) 

Here's what it all boils down to, for me. First, being tough is not measured by your leisure activities. Toughness is a state of mind and is reflected in how you react to situations, I think. Am I alone in this? Second, being a bully does not make you tough. Being a bully is actually one of the biggest signs of weakness a person can show. And what Ms. Aloi is doing in this article is bullying. She's bullying women into thinking they are not good enough, that their pasttimes are an affront to womanhood, that they are weak and small and unimportant and childlike because they like traditionally domestic activities.

Personally? I bake a mean cupcake (although my cookies are to die for - seriously, if you've had my Double Dark Chocolate Chunk Espresso Cookies, you know, I am the queen of cookies), I'm wearing a Hello Kitty band-aid RIGHT NOW (honestly, it's because there was this kickass sale a while back and I got a ton of boxes of kiddie band-aids for free so that's all there is in the house at the moment), I can't garden, I hate tomatoes (both heirloom and regular), I love my cats, I can cook enough to keep myself fed, I like Jane Austen but am not in love with her, and I can't knit. But I can crochet. Like a madwoman. And I'm a badass crocheter. I mean, I can make CLOTHES. I've made WHOLE BLANKETS. I'm very, very good at it.

I'm also tough. And no one telling me I'm not, based on my habits and activities, is able to take that away from me. I'm secure in the knowledge of my strength. Bigger bullies than you, Ms. Aloi, have worked me over, sorry to say. You're small-time.

If you're not secure in your own inner strength, Ms. Aloi, don't try to pass that off onto the rest of us. That's not very tough of you. And as for women who aren't having enough "fun" - well, I'm glad you're the fun police? What a nice title to have! But please let me be the judge of what's enjoyable in my own life.

Women - if you take anything away from this, please let it be this. You are good enough. You are amazing. You are just who you are meant to be; you love what you are meant to love; and anyone who tells you that you are not good enough, and that you don't measure up, and that your behaviors and the things you enjoy are not acceptable? IS AN ASSHOLE AND A BULLY. People like this should not be in your life. They are emotional vampires. They will take away your inner strength and use it to prop themselves up because they don't have any of their own. You are the only person who can stop this behavior; you are the only person who can say, "No, you know what? I don't accept this treatment, I deserve better than this" and get gone, either by removing them or removing yourself. 

I'm not telling you how to act; I'm not bullying you; I'm just saying your personal net worth is immeasurable, and you can't even imagine the weight that's lifted the moment you realize that.

(Side note - research on Peg Aloi tells me that she teaches at a college here in the town where I live. So, that's fun. And maybe when I'm buying groceries I'm rubbing elbows with her! Good gracious I hope I'm not buying heirloom tomatoes OH THE HUMANITY. Don't worry, I'm not. I hate tomatoes.)

(Title's from a Cranberries song - "A Fast One.")

Dear Adam: A Very Public Break-Up Letter

Dear Adam:

I'm sorry it's come to this, but I'm breaking up with you.


I would say "it's not you, it's me," in order to spare your feelings, but it's totally you.


It was the photo that did it. Don't act all innocent and "what photo, baby?" You know what photo. You're well-aware what photo. THIS GODDAMN PHOTO.

I actually choked on my dinner a little when I saw this in Entertainment Weekly, Adam.

Further investigation tells me that your most recent "movie" (yes, my darling, those are sarcastic quotes) Jack and Jill has you starring as both your character AND YOUR OWN TWIN SISTER. And that Joey Potter will be playing your wife.

That was when I knew I had to call this quits.

No, now, don't try to argue. We've had a good run, you and I. Do you remember when we met? I was in high school and you were on Saturday Night Live. Those were good days, Adam. You were young. I was young. You made me laugh. I've always been a sucker for a man who can make me laugh. I still am, Adam. Which is why we're breaking up, to be honest. The laughs, they've just stopped coming.

"Red Hooded Sweatshirt." "The Chanukah Song." "Canteen Boy." "Lunchlady Land." I loved you and your silly ways.

Then I got older, and we grew apart. I never forgot you, Adam. Please don't think that I did! I just got in with another crowd, the indie-film types, the musicians. There was a lot of eyeliner and angst.

Years later, I met another man who made me laugh, and one day it was very hot where we worked, and he said, "It's too damn hot for a penguin to be just walkin' around" and that was funny, so I asked him what it was from, and he looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Billy Madison?" he said. "You haven't seen Billy Madison?"

So I rented Billy Madison, and I remembered the good times we used to have, Adam, and how much you made me laugh. Then Happy Gilmore. Mixed Nuts. Airheads. And we were back together! The man who made me laugh was no longer in the picture, but you stayed. And we were very happy together.

Then The Wedding Singer. This was a new thing - you? In a romantic comedy? I decided to give it a go. I mean, there had been romance in the other films, but silly, jokey romance, and this was an actual date movie. And Adam! You were wonderful! As was the film! And even though I hated Drew Barrymore going into it (don't ask, she and I had some tough times, her "free spirit/stripping in front of David Letterman" schtick made me weary), I came out of it with new appreciation for her and new respect for you! And yes, I even forgave you for cheating on me with her in the movie. We could move past that! True love conquers all!

I bought your comedy albums - on cassette tape, because that's all I had in my car - and listened to them over and over. Your voice cheered me up after bad days at work. It was a good time for us, Adam. We were happy, weren't we?

Then Dirty Work - not your finest hour, but you were helping your old Saturday Night Live buddy Norm out, I get it - and then The Waterboy. Um. Well, we're all allowed a misstep now and then. I mean, I'm not perfect. No one is! No one at all. And the movie did well enough in the box office. And frat boys seemed to be quoting it a lot. So you had that going for you.

Big Daddy. Well, it wasn't the worst thing ever. You were maturing, as was I. You wanted to make something more family-friendly. I get it! It actually had some touching moments, and Jon Stewart was in it, so how can that be wrong? I stood by  you. That's what you do, when you're in love, right?

Oh, but then, Adam, you redeemed yourself. And so beautifully. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, because this was, I was sure, your crossover movie; this was what would launch you from comedy to drama; this was your Clooney-esque step from Facts of Life to ER. Punch Drunk Love. I loved it to distraction. I watched it in the theater the day it was released; I bought the DVD the day it came out. "I have a love in my life. It makes me stronger than anything you can imagine." Yes. YES. I knew I had backed the winning horse. This would go down in history as your defining moment.

And then you made Mr. Deeds.

This was bewildering, to say the least. This wasn't even a movie. This wasn't even a blip on the radar of Hollywood history. This was a remake that didn't need to be remade that you seemed to be sleepwalking through. What was going on? What exactly was going through your head? But I still saw it in the theater. I did. For you.

Then The Hot Chick. Eight Crazy Nights.

Listen, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, here, but let's put our cards on the table. This is when I started to pull away from you, emotionally. I didn't see either of these movies. And I still haven't, despite the fact they've been on cable ad infinitum since. Perhaps this is a betrayal of some sort; if so, I'm sorry. But Rob Schneider is a BAD INFLUENCE ON YOU. He is the most annoying little booger I have ever watched. I hated him on Saturday Night Live and I hate him in everything you deign to allow him to co-star in. No. Just, no. And then an oddly-animated comedy based on a song you sang eight years ago? I mean, it's a funny song, but really? This seems like poor timing, doesn't it?

I'll admit I saw Anger Management in the theater. I felt bad; I missed you. I felt worse when I left. I had nothing nice to say. Nothing at all.

Where did my Adam go? My sweet, dorky, funny Adam? What was going on?

50 First Dates - eh, it reeked of "we really had magic with The Wedding Singer so LET'S TRY AGAIN!" but didn't quite hit the mark. Spanglish - not bad, nice try, some nice moments, but I knew you could do better - you did, in Punch Drunk Love - so, again, it didn't quite hit the mark.

I didn't see The Longest Yard. I'm sure I had a reason. Or maybe I didn't. You know, I just don't think I cared enough to see it. There were sports in it, I think. And it was another remake. And the trailer bored me to tears. I'm not even apologizing for this.

Click was manipulative enough to make me cry but only because anything with a Christmas-Carol-esque "this is what could be" angle always gets to me. So that was mean. I see what you were trying to do - win me back by manipulating me with tears. Well, that's a shitty thing to do, Adam, after all we've been through! And also it kind of sucked big old donkey dick, to be quite frank. No amount of tears makes THAT go away.

I had high hopes for Reign Over Me. I really did. A 9/11 movie? Good. A serious drama? Good. Sorry. I really, really couldn't handle it. It wasn't well-done. I think you tried. I don't think it was all your fault. It wasn't the best script.

I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry. Bedtime Stories. You Don't Mess with the Zohan. At this point, it's like you're writing random script ideas on a dartboard and throwing darts while drunk and then making a movie of whatever the dart hits. Did you honestly think any of these were a good idea? NO, I didn't SEE them! That's not the POINT! Did anyone see them? They're EMBARRASSING! Your NAME is on these! Every time I go to the goddamn hair salon they're playing You Don't Mess with the Zohan on some sort of Satanic endless loop and I want to throw myself into the hot wax vat to get away from how AWFUL it looks! Please make it stop!

Also, were you trying to be pro-gay-rights with I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, or make fun of gay people? Because I found it really derogatory, in a childish "hee hee GAY PEOPLE they have GAY SEX" way, and I just wonder if that was on purpose? Because really? You were 41 when you made this. You work in the entertainment industry. Which, I'm assuming, if it's anything like the theater industry, is heavily populated with gay people. So you were just ok with being third-grade giggly about people you probably work with on a daily basis? Hmm.

The cracks in our relationship, Adam, are growing wider and wider. You see that, right?

I went to the theater for Funny People. But honestly, I went for Seth Rogen, and because it looked like it would be a drama. One moment got to me - the one near the beginning where your character was looking over videos of his career. Because there were actual videos of your actual career in there. When you were funny. Back before - well, whatever all of this is happened. So I cried, there. Because I missed you.

Otherwise, again? More donkey-dick suckage.

Just Go With It - no thanks, I don't think I will. The Zookeeper? Um. No. No, no. Talking animals? No.

Honestly, until today, I thought, Adam and I, we're cool. He'll keep making these generic, stupid movies and I'll go on ignoring them as well as I can and it will always be a sore spot, but I'll always love him.

Well, until today. Until I saw THE PICTURE.

Really? REALLY? This - this is heretofore unknown DEPTHS of suck. I can't even DESCRIBE how disturbing this is to me. WHO TOLD YOU THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA. This isn't even a Freaky Friday-like thing. Do you know what this is? This movie should be subtitled "A man! In a dress! Isn't that the FUNNIEST THING YOU'VE EVER HEARD OF? Right? Right? I mean, it's a MAN! In WOMEN'S CLOTHES! OMG, HA HA HA!"

Adam. ADAM! I'm sorry. I just can't. I can't anymore.

Don't you remember your own quote from Happy Gilmore? "Why you don't you just go HOME? That's your HOME! Are you too good for your HOME?" Your home is stupid but well-written and very quotable comedies, romantic comedies, and we KNOW you can pull off drama, if it's written and directed well. Go home, Adam.

Your home is not cross-dressing movies. Your home is also not the next two movies you have coming out, which IMDb tells me are something called I Hate You Dad where you're either playing Leighton Meester's dad or her boyfriend (please don't let it be her boyfriend, babe, you're 45 years old and she's barely out of Juicy sweatpants) and the voice of Dracula in Hotel Transylvania (I don't know and I don't want to know what's going on there.)

Adam. ADAM! I'm sorry. Stop begging. It's not becoming. IT IS OVER. I will cherish our time together. It will always mean so much to me. When one of your movies comes on, I will watch it and smile. (Unless it was made after 2002, then I'm changing the channel, sorry, nostalgia doesn't mean I have to sit through garbage.) 

Please know I will always love that young man who sang "Hoagies and grinders, hoagies and grinders, navy beans, navy beans, navy beans, navy beans." It's like he was singing into my soul.

Oh, and watch out for Cruise. I assume you had some lip-action with little Joey Potter in your upcoming movie; ask Matt Lauer, Cruise can be MEAN. He'll get ALL up in your grill. He's got the power of CRAZY on his side, dude. Best run if you see that train a'comin'.

All my best, but please stop calling me, because I totally mean it, we're through,

Amy.

Nothing Good Has Ever Come from Use of a Ouija Board, Dummy

There are a lot of commercials on television lately for a new movie. Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark. And it’s probably going to be stupid.  An actual quote from a summary I found online: “small goblin-like creatures…begin to torment Sally at night.” Now come on. This isn’t that scary. Goblin-like creatures? Really? That reminds me of the troll that tried to steal Drew Barrymore’s breath in Cat’s Eye, and even as a kid I knew that was lame.

 (This is not scary. It is foolish. Even children know this.)

Also, it stars Joey Potter. Joey Potter is not my go-to person when it comes to horror movie heroines. Because in real life, she was not able to save herself from the worst boogieman of all: Ol’ Crazy-Eyes Cruise.

 (Um. This is not a sexy kiss, TOM. You look like you're trying to eat her. Or are narcoleptic and having an episode.)

(Please note that I am well-aware that her name is not really Joey Potter. But everyone who ever starred on Dawson’s Creek will always and forever be known by their Dawson’s Creek name, and that’s just the way it is. If you don’t like it, that’s really too damn bad, and you obviously have NO SOUL.)

(I also just want to go on the record as saying when you Google “Tom Cruise crazy” for images, you get a lot of images of Tom Cruise? But also a lot of images of Charles Manson. COINCIDENCE?)

I just read the rest of the synopsis and it’s totally going to be lame, even though Guillermo del Toro co-wrote it.  However, the trailer is misleading and MAKES IT SEEM TERRIFYING. I can’t watch this trailer. Because there’s this horrible scary whispery raspy voice. What the hell, trailer. According to the synopsis, nothing scary happens at all. Well, unless you’re scared of goblins. Trailer? I AM SO SCARED OF THE DARK NOW BECAUSE OF YOU.

Amanda wrote about fear of the dark earlier this week, and she has a good point – fear of the dark is rational. Because you could run into things, or possibly be eaten by bears.  I’m really not scared of the dark. (Even though I said so above. Exaggerating!) Or even of running into things. I have this weird dark-radar thing. I run into every single thing in the world when there’s light out, including things that I’m fairly sure weren’t there and jumped up specifically just to smack me in the shins and/or be pointy-bruisy under my feet, but when it’s dark, I’m like a bat-ninja. I can make it to the bathroom and back at night without even brushing up against things. Sometimes I do it with my eyes closed so I can stay even more semi-asleep. This makes my mother crazy when I go home. “You’re going to bed! Take a flashlight,” she says. “I don’t need one, I’m fine, I lived here for years, I think I know where everything is,” I tell her. “No, but in case you have to get up in the middle of the night! You might fall,” she tells me. “No, seriously, I don’t need a flashlight. I’m good. Thanks.” “But when it’s dark! You could FALL.” She puts flashlights (no, seriously, MULTIPLE FLASHLIGHTS, I guess in case one of them happens to run out of batteries or a flashlight thief shows up or something, I don’t know) on my bedside table. She puts nightlights on. How are you supposed to stay asleep when you wake up at 3am having to piss like a racehorse and your house is lit up like an airport runway? Too jarring. I’m awake now, thanks, TOO MUCH LIGHT.

I mean, yes, I suppose being in the dark in a place you’re not comfortable with and you don’t know and there’s a psycho-murderer on the loose would be bad. Or in the woods. Because, sticks. You could step on a stick that would wham you in the face. You can’t predict sticks. Also, when you step on them they make snapping noises which alerts the killer to where you are, and then you get chopped up. But overall, I like the dark. I think this is because I’m a total insomniac and I’ve had a long, long time to get used to the dark. We’re buddies, the dark and I. And the sun and I don’t get along too well, because I burn after 5 minutes exposure, so I’m better in the dark.

This kind of went off the rails. A surprise to no one, I’m sure. ANYWAY. So, Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark (which Wikipedia tells me is based on an ABC television movie from the 70’s – THIS IS NOT GOING TO BE A GOOD MOVIE WHO THOUGHT IT WAS) is not going to be scary. I’m a connoisseur of horror films. Thing is, I don’t scare easily. Or hardly ever. Here are the things that scare me in horror films:

1.       The Devil

2.       Things that jump out at me unexpected-like

3.       How much I just paid for the ticket

4.       Strangers sitting too close to me

That’s it. Mostly, during horror films, I laugh. I had a friend in college (that sounds mean, I STILL have this friend, I just don’t see her often because she lives out of state and is married to a wonderful man who is totally worthy of her fantasticness, so sometimes good things happen to people who deserve them!) that appreciated a fine cheesy horror film, so we’d seek them out and rent them and watch them together and laugh until our stomachs ached. My favorites were Ice Cream Man (starring Clint Howard as the titular treat-slinger, who also killed people and stored their body parts among the ice cream; Olivia Hussey, so radiant in Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet, as his mother, and no, I don’t know how she ended up there, and it was off-putting; and Jan-Michael Vincent, yes, Airwolf himself!, as a cop, and Mr. Vincent seemed to KNOW how bad the movie was, because every once and a while he’d give a pained look toward the camera that would just set me and my friend off into further giggles) and Ticks (also starring Clint Howard, how did that happen?, and Seth Green, and Cousin Carlton from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, as summer campers who come afoul of mutated ticks caused by people growing marijuana in the woods with steroids or some such nonsense.) I also remember almost being kicked out of Dreamcatcher (yes, yes, not exactly horror, but horrible, does that count?) because I COULD NOT HANDLE IT. Donnie Wahlberg with his “Duddits!” and Morgan Freeman’s eyebrows ACTUALLY TRYING TO ESCAPE HIS FACE AND THE MOVIE. SHIT WEASELS I CAN’T EVEN. Giggles so hard my sides ached. The person I saw the movie with and I couldn’t look at each other because we’d just set each other off again once we got under control. We were naughty.

Things that are not scary, even though horror movie writers/directors think they are (feel free to forward this along to Hollywood, although I’d like a cut or something, I’m helpful but also poor):

1.       Torture porn (just gross, not scary)

2.       Ghosts (not all that scary, kind of dumb, mostly)

3.       Vampires, werewolves, supernatural beings (only scary if they jump

           out at you unexpectedly)

4.       Zombies (awesome! But not scary)

5.       Clowns (horrifying! But again, not SCARY scary. I mean, yes, of

           course, horrifying, and I have a phobia, but not scary-scary.)

6.       Psycho-killers (distressing! But not scary.)

7.       Poltergeists (stay out of the light, Carol Ann. The non-scary light.)

8.       Grainy “documentary-style” footage of something you barely saw

           (can be an interesting filmmaking style, but not inherently scary)

There are two movies that actually scared me so badly that I was too afraid to look at the screen or turn off the lights to sleep, and listen, I’ve watched probably hundreds of horror films. One of them will make you nod, because it’s probably on a lot of people’s lists; one of them will probably make you stop reading and walk away in disgust. Sorry in advance for my taste or lack thereof.

The Exorcist

I read this book when I was in fifth grade, just as some backstory. Well, no. I STARTED to read this book when I was in fifth grade. I got to the part where the Devil possessed Regan and I not only had to put it away because it scared me so badly I thought I was going to die, I put it in a box and surrounded it by other things and then put that box under a bunch of things and put it in the bottom of my closet, so the evil emanations from the book didn’t possess me while I slept. Then a couple of weeks later my cousins wanted to play with a Ouija board. NO NO NO. My family is very religious. I knew the Devil was BAD NEWS. (I may not be religious anymore, but I’m still not messing with the Devil. On the off-chance he exists, he gets a capital letter in front of his name. HE’S A SCARY MOFO. He’s not jocular like he’s portrayed in some films. HE IS THE MOST EVIL EVER.)

So when I was in college, my cheesy-movie-loving friend and I rented it, because hey, we were adults, and we loved horror movies, and, well, adults! Who can handle such things! We watched it at night, with only a candle burning for light.

OMFGGGGGGGGGG BAD IDEA.

First we were laughing a little at the cheesy 70s production quality, you know, as you do, but then we got quieter. And quieter. Then the blankets we had because it was night and we were curled up on the couch under blankets (separate blankets this is not that kind of story Pervy McDirtymind) started being lifted higher and higher and then over our eyes. And then we’d peek out once and a while and then whimper and put the blankets back over our eyes. But the blanket didn’t stop the sound. And we wanted to know what was happening, because we’re masochists? I don’t know. I guess we just wanted to say we’d seen it.

We didn’t even sleep that night. Every once and a while, I’d call out her name from my room, and she’d answer, wide-awake, from hers. This was not at all a good idea. And sometimes, this movie comes on cable, and I immediately turn it off. IT IS TOO SCARY. Ugh. That VOICE! That awful scary Devil-voice! NO NO NO!

The Blair Witch Project

This is where you start laughing.

No, but seriously, listen. This was marketed BRILLIANTLY. It was one of the first horror docu-dramas that really took advantage of the internet and my friends and I were all over it, reading the website, the chat boards, everything. We knew it wasn’t real. We actually went online and trolled chatrooms and pretended we’d seen the Blair Witch to scare teenagers, which cracked us up.

We drove a couple hours for a midnight show and I was just riveted to the movie. It doesn’t hold up to repeated viewings. I’ve seen it again and although the end is still pretty jarring, and how the group kind of loses it still well-done, and the little “gifts” left around the camp are distressing, it lost its power after that first magical midnight show where a sold-out house of people watched with bated breath.

We all screamed at the ending. Yes, yes, I know, it seems cheesy now. It was awesome then. It was like mass hypnotism, or something. It was great.

On the way home, we got lost, and ended up on a dead-end road, in the woods, next to what looked like an abandoned mental asylum. One friend was in the front seat with me; one was asleep in the back. The one in the front with me and I were stopped, trying to figure out what to do. The one in the back woke up, took one look around, and said, “No no no drive away now this is where the Blair Witch lives” and went back to sleep. This was hysterical. But also true. We got the hell out of there.

So nope, don’t think I’ll be seeing Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark. Unless it’s on DVD and I can watch it with a running Amy-commentary of “yeah. Goblin-like creatures. GOOD IDEA. Watch out they don’t STEAL your BREATH. Maybe you should GET A CAT.” Then I’m all over it.

Show Me a Great Actress, and You've Seen the Devil

Over the years, I estimate that I’ve participated in (in some way, shape, or form) approximately 43 billion theater auditions. What? You “doubt” that figure could be “accurate”? Well, I doubt your face is accurate. Ha! I guess I schooled you. 

Yes, yes, I’m exaggerating. But I’ve been to more than my fair share of auditions. First, when I used to act, as an auditioner; now that I’m working for a theater, as one of the scary people who sit in the audience and pass judgment on the people auditioning. And, as such, I have a few helpful tips for anyone planning to audition for a community theater production. 

Now, please note, these tips may or may not hold true for auditioning for film, as I know nothing about that, other than it seems people wait in really long lines when general casting calls come to town and I have to wonder if it’s worth it because I am the MOST IMPATIENT PERSON ALIVE. I can’t even wait five minutes in a grocery store line without starting to grumble under my breath. Some of those people wait OVERNIGHT. I don’t get that. I guess it’s exciting that you might see yourself on the big screen? And you can put it on a resume? And I suppose it has to have happened at least once or twice that a director sees some sort of spark in an extra and turns him or her into the next big thing (but probably that’s not going to happen to you, so I wouldn’t hitch my wagon to that particular star)? 

So here are some tips if you ever plan on auditioning at your local community theater. Helpful! I’m telling you. You come here for the funny, you leave A BETTER PERSON FOR IT. 

Be prepared.  First, read the audition notice. Not just when to show up and the address of the auditions, but the character descriptions and the ages. Are all of the women in the play under the age of 25 and you’re 50 (and you look 50)? You’re probably not going to get cast. It’s really best not to waste anyone’s time – ours or yours. We’re going to think you’re delusional and you’re taking time away from people who actually have a shot at the parts. Second, it doesn’t hurt at all to read the play you’re auditioning for. It’s not a prerequisite, no. I’m not saying don’t show up unless you’ve read it. But this is kind of a test, and wouldn’t you want to have done your homework before showing up with your number two pencils and scrap paper? Also, you might read the play and find out it sucks. I mean, the theater isn’t going to think it sucks, obviously. The theater chose the play for a reason. (In case you’re wondering, theaters don’t arbitrarily choose the plays they do every season, like, throw names in a hat or something. I’ve been on the play selection committee at my theater for years. It’s a lot of work. We read 30-40 submissions and we discuss the hell out of them and do lists of pros and cons and choose directors with care and put them in the order that works best. It’s not something we take lightly.) So anyway. Read the play. Maybe you fit the age range of the actors we’re looking for, but you have a deep issue taking your clothes off onstage and there are three nude scenes. You know not to audition. See? Aren’t you glad you did your homework? Gold star. 

Put your best face forward. Again, we’re not going to NOT cast you if you show up looking like you just rolled out of bed. We’ve cast people like that before, depending on our needs and who gave the strongest audition. But it doesn’t hurt at all to dress neatly and professionally. Am I telling you to wear a ball gown and opera gloves? No, looney tunes, I’m not. (Although, you’re a theater person, no one would even look at you twice if you did.) But even nice jeans and a dressy shirt will do. Also, be prepared to move. Women that show up in too-short skirts kill me, because listen, I’ve gotten too many beaver shots over the years from women who wore inappropriate skirts to auditions and then had to be active in their audition and oh! Hello! I see you wore a thong yikesaroonie! See, I sit in the front of the theater, because I’m usually the one calling out your name and telling you all when to come up and what scene you’ll be reading from. So if there’s crotch to be seen, I’m seeing it. And I can’t UN-see it, you know? Also, you’re not fooling anyone, short-skirt-and-cleavage-top. The days of the casting couch are over. Most of our directors are female, and the male ones, sorry to say, are mostly gay males. (It’s the theater. I don’t know if I’m blowing anyone’s mind, but there are a lot of gay men in theater. I know! Hide yo wife hide yo kids, right?) If you think your sexy-mama getup is going to get you a part, no, it’s not, and also, secret mental points against you for thinking you’d be getting a part with your jiggly bits and not your acting skills. 

Don’t be a douchebag. Don’t come in like you’re too cool to be at the audition. Maybe that works in New York City, I don’t know, because I DON’T LIVE THERE AND OBVIOUSLY NEITHER DO YOU. We’re a decent-sized city, but we’ve got a small-town vibe going for us, especially in the theater scene. Come in nicely, with a smile, be friendly, and do what you’re asked to do without argument. Now, I know, you might be nervous, and this might make you quieter than normal. That’s expected, and that’s fine. But entering in full-on bitch-on-wheels mode? Black mark on your permanent record. Actual examples of this: someone who refused to fill out audition paperwork because “I don’t have time for that,” (and then proceeded to talk on their cell phone for the next half-hour loudly while people were looking over the audition material); someone who went into the theater when we asked the actors not to do so because we were having a meeting in there about the order of auditioners and then refused to leave because the lobby was too crowded and it really wasn’t all that crowded; a person who looked over the audition material and then said “the scene I want to read isn’t here, do you have a script, I’m going to be reading a scene of my own choosing” (this is not an option, but nice that you’ve decided on your own that it is!); and the person who decided at the last minute they weren’t going to audition, but talked loudly to everyone around her all through everyone else’s auditions and distracted everyone. Also? If you’re new to the theater, you don’t know who anyone is, and what their relationship is to everyone else. So BE CAREFUL WITH YOUR TRASH-TALKING. We’re theater people. We gossip, we trash-talk, we bitch. Yes. Yes, that’s what we do. I know that. But if you’re new to a place, you have to watch who you’re doing it TO. I’ll never forget the woman who gave a brilliant audition, and then came back to her seat and started to run down the theater, the area, the other actors, the audition process, and the plays we were doing that season with the person sitting beside her. She did it quietly; she wasn’t distracting. Thing is, the person sitting beside her WAS THE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR OF THE SHOW AND A BOARD MEMBER. Needless to say, she wasn’t cast. 

Be honest. We ask the information we need on the audition sheet. If you leave something off – the age range you can play, dates you have a conflict and won’t be able to rehearse, a character you’re unwilling to play, that you’re unwilling to swear, kiss, or be nude onstage – this hinders us in our ability to cast you. See, here’s a backstage peek into the audition process, at least where I work. I assume it’s basically the same in other places. We watch everyone audition. Everyone who showed up and is interested in auditioning gets a chance. Auditions are open; no roles are precast. Then, once we’ve seen everything we want to see, we send everyone home, spread out the audition sheets and our notes, and talk about the roles and who is in contention for them. If you didn’t write that you’re unwilling to play Felicia, and you gave a kick-ass audition for Felicia, you might get cast in that role. Actual conversation I had once with someone we’d cast: “Hi, this is Amy, calling to let you know you’ve been cast as blah-blah role in blah-blah play! Congratulations!” (After a loooong pause) “Oh. I’m not at all interested in that part. I don’t accept. Thank you for calling me, though.” Hmm, let’s think how this could have been avoided. If you’d READ THE PLAY, you’d have known you weren’t interested in the part. Then you could have WRITTEN IT ON YOUR AUDITION SHEET. But even if you didn’t read the play, you sat through two nights of auditions, so you knew you didn’t want that part. Why didn’t you come up to one of us and TELL us, “I’d like to amend something on my audition sheet” and write “not willing to accept the part of Judy” or whatever on it? So THAT was a waste of time. On a happier note, the second person we called for the part – someone we’d decided on for another part and decided to switch to that part – gladly took the role and ROCKED it. She was the star of every review. And every time I read a review raving about her in that role, I hoped like hell the woman I’d called originally was reading it and weeping into her cornflakes. Because I am PETTY and MEAN. 

Don’t be delusional. This one’s tough. I mean, I have to appreciate anyone that shows up. Auditioning is hard, I know. I used to do it. I’m debating doing it again later this season, actually. (Cue nervous nailbiting…NOW.) But you know those people on American Idol that show up and audition and you turn to the person you’re watching it with (or your cat, I don’t know, I don’t judge and NEITHER SHOULD YOU) and say, “She can’t think she’s good. She doesn’t, right? The producers put her there so they’d have someone for the clip show, right? No one’s that delusional, right?” Well, I can’t speak for American Idol? But in real life? THOSE PEOPLE SHOW UP. I’m sorry, people. I really am. The only consolation I have is that you probably don’t know who you are, if you’re reading this – you probably wouldn’t even identify yourself with the “delusional” moniker. I would give examples but I really don’t want anyone reading this accidentally to identify themselves. I don’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings. I really don’t. I just find it very hard to believe you can’t see your limitations. Listen, I wouldn’t, for example, show up to audition for a chorus. BECAUSE I CAN’T CARRY A TUNE. Likewise, I would not show up to run a marathon, BECAUSE I AM FRIGHTFULLY OUT OF SHAPE. Is there something I’m not aware of that stops people from realizing they can’t act? I’ve been doing this – seriously, not even exaggerating this time – for almost 24 years, and this still surprises and kind of upsets me. It sometimes takes everything I have not to yell “Really? You aren’t pulling our legs? Where’s the hidden camera?” after one of the really heinous auditions. THEY’RE THAT BAD. Again, no hate mail, I appreciate you coming out, and it takes bravery to audition, it does. But how can you not know? And also, there are classes you can take to get better, maybe take one? I don’t know. 

Don’t take it personally. We get a lot of people auditioning for a few parts. Just playing the odds, you don’t have the best chance of getting a part. If you do – congratulations. It’s the best theater in the area, in my humble opinion; you’re going to love the people; I’m so, so excited to get to know you and to get to work with you. But if you weren’t cast, it isn’t anything personal. (Well, unless you trash-talked to the wrong person in auditions. Then maybe it is.) Casting is a tough thing. We take the following into consideration: your look, your audition, your availability for rehearsals, your onstage compatibility with the other people we’re considering casting, your reputation among other theater people in the area, your resume, how well you took direction (if we gave any), our gut feelings about you, and about 53 other tangible and intangible things that go into casting a show. Again, like choosing a season, we don’t cast a show arbitrarily. We have to work with you for a few months. We also are dependent on the money we make on the shows to stay afloat; if the show bombs, we don’t make a lot of money, and we need that money because, let’s face it, theater’s not that lucrative. So if you don’t turn in a top-notch performance, it’s not the best thing for us. Let me reiterate – IT IS NOT PERSONAL. Don’t go around telling people my theater “hates” you. We don’t, but we’re going to start if you keep bad-mouthing us. One of the things we also take into consideration – how well you take rejection, if you’ve been rejected before, and if you came back to audition after being rejected by us in the past. We do take into consideration past auditions, if they were excellent. It is in your best interest to be CLASSY. 

So there you go, potential auditioners. Is it scary? You bet your ass it is. It’s putting yourself out there and getting up in front of people voluntarily and letting them judge you. However, let me tell you from experience, the high you get after having auditioned, whether or not it was ultimately successful, is something everyone should experience at least once in their life. You feel like you can tackle anything, seriously. And if you are cast? You’re in for the ride of your life. Yes, sure, I’m biased and theater-crazed, I’ll take that criticism gladly. But if you’ve ever thought of doing it – do it. And if it’s my theater, tell me hi. Just keep your crazy eyes and beaver shots to yourself, because I don’t want anything to do with those.

(Title is from a W.C. Fields quote, because I don't want anyone to be all "thief, thief." "Show me a great actor, and I'll show you a lousy husband. Show me a great actress, and I'll show you the devil." I will not comment on the veracity of this quote.)