Star quality


Ssh, please. I’m concentrating, y’know, getting into character, ready for my close-up. Which might turn out to be a faraway, or indeed a not-in-the-frame-at-all. But I’m a fame whore now, and no-one’s going to get in my way. You hear me, World?

It all started at my current place of work, a magazine publisher which operates in a big new swanky building. Its newness and swankiness makes it popular with film companies, and of late I have been short-term freelancing on the almost-deserted floor that gets rented out for shoots. Last week it was an ad for Expedia, who cleared the whole space and then built an office set that looked remarkably like the desks they’d just dismantled. There were hordes of extras, so we were hoping that we’d be somewhere in the background, like that French & Saunders sketch – especially since we are naturals at the desk-monkey-computer-starey characterisation. No dice, sadly, though the lovely crew did give us a bucket of sweets for being quiet.

Have to say, being an actor doesn’t look that great. I keep reading interviews where a thesp marvels at their luck, being paid to do what they love. Love? It looks heap big dead bore to me. Unless you like the idea of adopting an Australian accent and saying ‘Hey! Check out this hot girl I met on holiday!’ then ‘Oh, er, hi Karen’ about 500 times in one morning, in which case, go for it. But I’d rather you weren’t allowed to vote, ’kay?

The week before I arrived it was Tena Lady, which is apparently currently being aired. The crew built a big fake lift so that a woman could step out of it, get her dress caught and ripped off, thereby demonstrating (presumably, though I haven’t seen it so can’t be sure of the full concept) that there are more embarrassing things than dribbling a little bit of wee when you laugh. Ah, acting. A noble profession indeed.


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