My First Wednesday in FL

I went to a movie audition for a “Christian” movie, despite my misgivings about acting for people’s imaginary friends. I had set the audition for an hour before I had to to work because the community center I was told it was being held at was 10 minutes from the office where I worked. I arrived at the community center in the email, surveying the park it was in, only to see no film crew, and no one waiting outside as advertised except a portly, balding African American gentleman talking to himself in gym shorts and a blue Carolina Tar Heels hoodie in the distance while he did karate and a hunched over homeless looking man wearing all red with his head cast downward sitting on a park bench near the entrance. Could this be the site of the crips and bloods finally making peace in the Tampa area? I did not want to stick around to find out, but I swallowed my visions of gang shootouts and gatherings of street thugs and chains and went inside the Community Center where I was immediately greeted by the sweat soaked humidity laden air of a fitness center, because that’s how they build community down here, the middle class divorced overweight people come to sweat out their pre-alcoholic aggressions on treadmills and stair masters, instead of their children.

I approached the front desk feeling extremely overdressed and much too happy with my own life to be in such a place, but I swallowed my pride and asked the desk attendant if she knew the location of the audition, to which, much to my “surprise” she told me there was no such event happening there, just a jazzercise class, further reinforcing my mental picture of Debbie getting home from work at an office building and instead of beating Billy, leaving immediately to go to class with her young, viral Pilates instructor who would soon replace Robert as the man Billy and Charlotte referred to as their father. Because let’s face it, Robert is a raging alcoholic with diabetes and he wouldn’t be around much longer anyways.

I turned and exited, confused and embarrassed that I had most likely waste my morning traveling across the bridge from Clearwater this early before work. I hopped back in my car, and peoceeded to drive around the park until I spotted a group of people with what looked like camera equipment gathered at a rest area. I approached them, and what had previously appeared to be cameras took shape into strange pell mell possessions and it become evident that nearly all of them were homeless, and jobless and I had stumbled upon a traveling homeless encampment.

I looked down and kept walking, trying to appear as if I was still looking for something. Then, against my better judgement, I emailed the director of the Christian film I was supposed to be auditioning for, as that was my only means to contact this elusive person. And he told me he was right outside the community center, which if you’ll remember I had already surveyed Debbie’s sweat stained abode, with no director appearing. I again, got in my car and drove back to the community center, where I immediately called the number he sent me in his email, and watched in disbelief as the hunched over man in red raised his head and answered his phone. I waved cheerfully, masking my eye roll and approached him.

Thus began the process of me learning about the man, his inexperience in film and strained budget, and him grilling me on my experience as an actor and stage combatant. We talked for probably 20 minutes while waiting for the man who was supposed to meet us to read opposite of me. While we talked I was handed the side I was to read.

Immediately it became apparent that this role wasn’t probably going to be for me. My girlfriend, Kristi is African American, and one of the rival cartels in the plot of the movie was labeled “negro cinco” I was immersed in studying the side, when the man in red tapped me.

“There he is.” Pointing and waving at a distant figure who was approaching. Much to my chagrin a large, probably 6’6” African American man, built like a brick shit house was the figure he was indicating. My mind reeled at possible escape avenues. I was NOT going to act opposite to that man, and say “negro cinco” under any stretch of the imagination. I didn’t know if I was being setup to get my ass pummeled in a public park by this hulking behemoth

Then as if god was actually involved in this project, and on my side, the towering monolith of a man continued on his way and the man in red (who’s name I STILL don’t know) continued to point. “He’s just getting out of his car now.”

I looked at the character he was referring to exiting a beat up 90s suburban with a spray paint job, and rust pock marking the quarter panels. The man saw the red man and I, him waving vigorously, and me waving hesitantly, he nodded expectantly, closing his car door, clumsily dropping several of the wooden swords he had brought to the park.

“Was I going to fight this rotund looking elf with wooden sticks today?” I pondered and rose to shake the man’s hand when he got to us. I sat down and again and the red man proceeded to inform me about the storyline of the film, which it turns out is set in Mexico, where the phrase “negro cinco” literally translates to “black five” and the weight of all my worries cleared up and I was finally able to notice the aggressive unibrow of the new, sweat covered man who would be acting opposite of me.

We proceeded to begin reading the sides and it was immediately apparent that my “costar” was dead set on his poor Marlon Brando impersonation taking center focus for this piece, so much focus in fact, that the stout unibrow crested fellow could not read words in English.

Neither could he repeat them, because red sweatshirt mans response to my costars illiteracy was to feed sweaty unibrow man his dialogue, line by line, incorrectly, despite that he, was the villain who wrote the ghastly fusion of action and religion that this zealous production was destined to be. So in a sick game of telephone, the lines were fed already incorrectly, by the author of the script, to a portly Marlin Brando wannabe, who was probably about as literate as our president.

In summary, I am not sure this audition will produce the intended effect I had hoped for, allowing me to get the foot in the door in the indie film community down here. I don’t know how many religious people will be fanboys of an action film and purchase the merchandise that red sweatshirt was so keen on believing would make the success of his abomination of a movie.