The Day After

Or, How Do You Recover When You Don’t Know What Is Ahead

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The orange barrel chair fabric had overlapping circles of purples, blues and greens. I swiveled back and forth in its enclosing softness. Back, forth, around, around, around, around and around in my little living room in the Edgewood neighborhood of Atlanta. A pretty, white bead board covered over half of the wall before it met the Shrek Green I’d painted the top.

I recall these details because this is where I sat - all day - the day after I spent with Denzel Washington on the set of ‘Flight’. It was my first time working with someone so recognizable - a number one on the call sheet with that much power and presence. I didn’t know what to do with myself the next day, so I swiveled.

I was almost shaking with nerves when he was escorted into the hospital room where we were filming. He shook my hand introducing himself as “Whit” - the name of his character; a laugh lodged itself in my throat. The butterflies in my stomach were fluttering so hard they were about to metamorphose into stupid giggles.

“UmmI’mmm Bethany. Nicetomeetyou, sir.” I responded shakily. Am I messing him up by using my real name? Did I just ruin Denzel Wash… Whit’s day? Am I about to be fired? They don’t teach you this stuff in drama school. Understandably, he was escorted to his own waiting area between shots, to focus on his work. I didn’t speak to him again outside of the scripted dialogue - which is probably a good thing, as I was clearly a few cards short of a deck in his presence. The lights were on, nobody was home. The wheel was spinning but the ol’ hamster was dead. You get the picture.

I spent the rest of the day Praising Jesus at Denzel Washington. A sentence which, I feel confident assuming, belongs solely to me.

The day was intense but I was able to keep it together while in character. It was only one small scene but a pivotal moment for “Whit”. Also, there was the Robert Zemeckis part. One of the coolest directors I could’ve ever imagined myself working with. “Bob” kept directing me to bore into Whit with my eyes. To say all the terrible things I was thinking about him with the words “Praise Jesus.” So, for about 12 hours, that’s what I did.

With Brian Geraghty and Denzel Washington in Flight

And that’s why the next day, I swiveled in the chair, processing what I had observed. What it meant to me, as an actor, to be in that room. What it might mean for my career. Did I suck. Did I praise Jesus too hard. Not hard enough. Did Denzel hate acting with me. Was this my big break. Or was this my peak. Is it all downhill after you act with Denzel.

You understand why I had to excuse myself from all the day jobs for a full 24 hours after, just to settle down.

At some point, I’ll write about the reactions to that one little scene. The things people say. The comments on the internet. The thickness of skin one must develop after Praising Jesus at Denzel Washington.

I had not yet learned to trust the truth I bring to a character, to trust my practiced craft, and to forget about it when I was in the room doing the thing. I had not yet learned to ignore or laugh at People With Opinions On the Internet.

But that’s for another time.

Today is about the Day After.

Because today, as I am writing this, is a different Day After.

Thirteen years later, I’m experiencing another Day After.

Things change and things stay the same.

Photo by Valerie Blanchett on Unsplash

I’m in a new living room, it has more plants but similar colors. There is evidence of children living here, of new priorities, littered everywhere. But the Coming Down Feelings - after several days of vulnerability with a couple of hugely recognizable actors on a big budget film - well, it feels very similar.

I still fight the feeling, every time, the feeling that this will be my last job. In my trailer yesterday, changing out of costume, back into pedestrian clothes, I kept tearing up. That’s it. That’s the last time I’ll get to act.

Thirteen years ago, every job felt like a Beginning. Like the possibility of being “discovered” was near, and everything after that would be smooth sailing. There have been feasts (regular recurring roles, leads in indies) and famines (strikes, pandemics, two years of not booking anything from a self tape), but I’ve yet to know the comfort of a smooth sail. I’ve been discovered, then forgotten - so many times.

I’m happy to discover that the butterflies I experience have changed over thirteen, fifteen, twenty years. I’m no longer afraid of being debilitated by them, they’re more like little bolts reminding me I get to do what I love, I get to do work that’s important to me. It still gives me butterflies.

It’s been slow out here, y’all. I hadn’t had a job in months before this booking. Going in, I feared I wouldn’t remember how to connect with other actors, that I wouldn’t remember how to use my body, voice and eyes to communicate the inner work I’d done. Afraid that my shyness would come across as being-stuck-up, or my attempts to speak through my shyness would result in saying something dumb.

These actors all used their real names when introducing themselves, which put me at ease. (Everyone has their own process, no shade meant to anyone who needs to stay “in it” of course.) We all waited in the same room together between shots, sometimes chatting and laughing, sometimes focusing, sometimes reading. It both affirmed and calmed my butterflies.

We had two days to shoot a three page scene with four actors. Glorious.

In the finished film, the scene of course will not be about me, but I did have some heavy lifting when it came to dialogue and keeping the train moving. On the first day, after several wide takes, we moved immediately to my coverage. Butterflies.

I could feel Imposter Syndrome creeping in. I almost let myself think I don’t remember how to do this. But I stopped. I recalled all the work I had done. All the questions I had asked of my character, some I answered, some I left unanswered to explore in the moment. I remembered all the years I have done this, the training, the on-the-job training, the other roles, the work, the life. I imagined all of those things coming together inside me, in that room with those actors in front of me.

Then I played.

I’d get little whispers from the director to try something slightly different between takes. All in the sense of options and play. I felt free to fly around within what made sense for that character in that context. I’d hear “okay, let’s go again!” and quickly decide what slight variation I might explore this time. The other actors sat off camera, generously giving me their focus.

Photo by Brands&People on Unsplash

Today, I process my growth. That I finally believe I belong here, acting opposite of people we watch on awards shows and red carpets. I knew, in that moment, we were all here in the same room, playing together. The opportunity for all those takes no longer puts me in the head space of “oh no, I must not be giving him what he wants. What am I doing wrong??” It’s just more chances to explore variations of the scene.

The next day in the makeup trailer, one of the stars looked me in the eye and said “I really loved what you were doing yesterday. Just lovely. I thought it was great.” I wrote it down verbatim. To remind myself later that this person spoke those words to me. To remind myself when imposter syndrome sneaks in, when I wonder if I’ll ever work again. To remind myself to always offer sincere compliments to other actors whenever possible.

On the final shot of the last day, I was feeling a bit weepy. I don’t know when I’ll be on a set like this with a scene like this again. I don’t know if I’ll ever have steady employment. I don’t know if smooth sailing even exists. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

We wrapped and the other star came up, giving me a long, tight hug. “You were magnificent”, she said. She is the kind of person to use words like this and you believe it’s just a normal part of her lexicon. “I love an actor who isn’t just trying to fill in the ‘right’ performance. You understand we’re painting with water colors - the lines blur, the colors blend.” She paused, her hands still on my shoulders. “It was inspiring.”

I could’ve cried, but I didn’t. Inspiring. Maybe she says that to everyone, it doesn’t matter. I wanted to tell her that work has been so slow for me that my child asked what my job is because she couldn’t remember. Instead, I thanked her sincerely. I hugged the other actors, director, thanked the crew and have had a lump in my throat ever since.

And so I sit here today. Processing, just like I did thirteen years ago. Only now I don’t believe in “big breaks.” This is not how I will be “discovered.” This was a few days of work, of play. This is a culmination of things I have already lived. A step in a series of steps. It may take time for the next step to appear. There’s no way to know. There is only knowing I did my work and in the moment, I played truthfully.

Later today, I will go and help my child’s first grade class with their costumes. Next week I’ll watch them play. I’ll see and hear their absolute thrill, their butterflies flying as high as any I’ve ever felt. I will remember again why I chose this life, why I keep showing up despite the overwhelming rejection and pitfalls and strikes and pandemics and People With Opinions On the Internet. Today I’ll process the Joy, the Fun, the Play, I’ll knead it in with all of those Other Things. They all belong. They all belong. I belong.

I donated that patterned chair back to a thrift store when we moved to the new house. It was just what I needed in my Shrek Green living room. But I needed something to fit the new space, the expanding life. Today I sit on the grey couch, with the cozy nook, where I can put my feet up, where I nursed my babies, where we play “tickle Simon Says”, where I study scripts and memorize plays and make grocery lists and cry in helplessness over global tragedies and met my baby niece on FaceTime. It’s all alive here.

E. L. Doctorow said something that must ring true for most artistic pursuits: “Writing… is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” Oh, the longing for a daylight drive, with miles of straight highway stretching out in the distance ahead. But deep down I know it’s the patience, faith and joy cultivated on this night drive - when imagining what might be just outside the beam of my headlights - that still gives me butterflies.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

And now, your weekly bonuses…

One Obsession Away

Wherein I share what I am obsessed with this week.

OOOOooooof. Did y’all watch Baby Reindeer yet? It certainly won’t be for everyone but for me, it’s the kind of vulnerably microscopic, self-examination that busts open pre-conceived thoughts and feelings about a subject. That type of unique, reflective storytelling reminds me why I’m an artist.

I think as a culture we’re a bit too obsessed with a certain kind of “true crime” storytelling. Feeding off of other people’s misfortunes and the satisfaction of having a very clear, un-nuanced Bad Guy is maybe not our finest intrigue? What Baby Reindeer does so well is interrogate his own victimhood, not in a victim-blaming sense, but in a way of claiming for himself what he has been through, its meaning at the time and its meaning to him now.

Anyway, shoot me a message if YOU TOO are obsessed. I need your thoughts.

Notable and Quotable

“E.L. Doctorow once said that 'Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.' You don't have to see where you're going, you don't have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you. This is right up there with the best advice on writing, or life, I have ever heard.”

~Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird