The First Time You (Don’t) Red Carpet

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Photo by Mick De Paola on Unsplash

The ink was barely dry on the contract with a fresh new agent in New York when I discovered that Flight would be premiering at the New York Film Festival. I had only worked for a day on the film, but the day was a pivotal scene with Denzel Washington. One of my excited new agents said “we’ve got to get you invited to that premiere!” Words I’d never heard before - and I agreed that we obviously did.

Red carpets - the universal symbol of “made it!”

I was planning on being in NYC around that time anyway for some theatre auditions, so a few weeks prior to the premiere, I asked that agent where we were at with an invite and he responded… “yeah, we couldn’t figure that one out after all.”

I was on my own.

So much of this business is opaque for those of us who don’t come from industry or otherwise very-well-connected-well-financed families. I didn’t even know at the time that for about 4 times what I had made on the film, I could be paying a publicist to get me on that carpet. All I had was a will… there had to be a way.

With the agent connection leading to a dead end, I facebook messaged the guy who played my husband but didn’t hear back before the screening because even in 2012… who wants to get on facebook? I emailed the festival telling them I was in the film (I had lines!) and was told that they weren’t in charge of invites for the red carpet premiere. I asked… who was? “You’re on your own kid,” wasn’t exactly what they said… but it is what they meant. So I finally did what any kid on their own in the big city would do… I spent over 10% of my take home pay from the film on a $75 ticket to see it.

My imagination went ahead of me! I’d get dressed up, but not too dressed up, take the 1 to Lincoln Center and strut straight to, well, as close to the red carpet as I could get. Someone - surely someone - maybe even “Bobby” Zemeckis himself would spot me and say “Hey! Bethany! Get over here you ol’ so and so!” And I’d look around and smile, like “meee??” He’d gesture like “come here pal!” and make a space to squeeze under his arm between he and Kelly Reilly, Don Cheadle high fiving me on the way in. All the trades the next day would exclaim: “Bethany Anne Lind stuns in cigarette pants from Ross Dress for Less and decade old kitten heels!”

The first part of my plan went flawlessly. The 1 train does go to Lincoln Center! However, it turns out there was an earlier, invite only screening, which meant I had already missed the red carpet. Probably for the best! I thought… It was advertised that the director and “some of the cast” was supposed to be at this screening as well. We would probably casually bump into each other and be photographed chatting.

I squeezed my way to the middle of a completely full Lincoln Center screening room, the smells of expensive perfume and bourbon closing me in like a cocoon.

The lights finally went down.

When I heard Denzel Washington knocking with his cane on a hospital door, I knew it was my time. My face was bigger than I’d ever seen it, which gave me the sudden urge to throw up. When the first “praise Jesus” came out of my on screen mouth, clutching my cross and staring daggers through Denzel, just as I had been directed to do… the audience gave a hearty chuckle. On the second “praise Jesus” they roared.

I did not know if this scene was supposed to be funny. Are they laughing at the scene? Or are they laughing at me? The scene? Or the actor, playing the scene incorrectly because she’s a stupid little nobody who will never amount to anything and why did she think she could act opposite this Giant and hold her own much less come to New York City and expect anyone to pay her any attention at all?

I could’ve sunk all the way into the ground and let it swallow me whole. But there were still 2 hours to go in the film. I looked around, just to see if anyone noticed that it was my giant face up there. No one did. This is a feeling I will get very used to, even when I eventually have much larger roles, even when I am live on stage in front of audiences. In the coming years I’ll notice people on Greyhounds and flights a mere aisle over, watching me in this very movie. There will be no recognition when we make eye contact later.

After the premiere, I make my way back to my friend’s house where I’m staying. He knew how this was probably going to go down but kindly asks if my plan worked and how is the movie. I get a hug because I need it. The kind of hug that says that stuff doesn’t really matter even though you can’t believe that in this moment.

Insecurities about my performance, career, life choices and pants are swirling in my brain for days after. So I do with this what any normal person would do… I write an email to get my money back. That’s right. I wrote an email to the festival and said I had purchased a ticket to the screening with the understanding that the director and “members of the cast” would be there but there were no members of the cast to be seen. Deep down I hope the response will be, “wait! You were in the cast! And you were there! So ha!” It will be worth the money to know I am seen. Instead, I actually receive an apology from someone at the festival and they send me a partial refund making up the difference between what a normal screening ticket would’ve cost. I was not seen, but the refund will be helpful with groceries anyway.

Fast foward about five years. I have two babies under the age of three and I get an email forwarded from my agent (because I still do not have a publicist) inviting me to the premiere of Ozark in New York City. They have not offered to pay for anything, but if I can make it, I’m invited. I’m on the list.

Since I’m in five episodes and my husband, Eric, guest starred in the pilot, we decide it’s worth it. I’m about to start working on a difficult play and it will be a nice getaway before I do. We buy flights to NYC out of North Carolina where we will drive to drop the babies off with their grandparents. On the way up I-85 we stop at the Tanger Outlet mall and I run into the BCBG outlet crossing my fingers. I find a navy, slightly off-the-shoulder dress that hugs my curves in a way that does not apologize for not being Hollywood skinny. It will go with the gold pumps I brought which I wore to the Suzi Awards (the Atlanta Tonys!) ten years ago. It makes me feel chic and sophisticated, and I know the last thing I will want to worry about is my clothes when I try to navigate whatever this is going to be.

We stay within walking distance of the Metrograph and I awake on the day of the premiere buzzing with nerves but also weirdly calm. I have been invited. They want me here. I swoop my hair into a low bun situation and do the “more is more” version of basically the only makeup I know how to put on. I pump breast milk and stash it in the hotel mini fridge. I realize I have not brought a strapless bra so I shmush the straps down into my sleeves and hope for the best.

Upon arrival, we see people we have worked with almost right away. I hug Lisa Emery and Peter Mullan. There is a step and repeat upstairs from the lobby of the theater with someone guarding the stairs. Despite being invited to the premiere, I am without a publicist and have not been invited to be photographed. I start catching up with Mike Mosely who played my husband in the series as well as Kevin Johnson and Michael Tourek. “What should I do about the red carpet?” I ask them. Unlike so many people earlier in my career who chose to say “you’re on your own kid” they tell me… “Go tell them your name. Confidently. Tell them you’re in the cast. You’re in half the episodes of the season.”

So I walk over. I do my best impression of a person who knows what she’s doing, who knows she’s where she’s supposed to be. They listen to me and unhook the barrier.

I had read: shoulders back, hips back, stand at angles, chin out, tongue on roof of mouth, hand on hip, fingers together - but still try to look human. So I do my best acting of a human trying to do all of those things.

Nothing on the internet prepares you for the red carpet. So many flashes. So many people saying your name “Bethany, look this way.” “Bethany, can you look here.” “Hi, Bethany, take a step this way. Keep looking here.” “Bethany, Bethany, over here.” Flash. Flash. Flash. I wonder if the full-time celebrities are used to this feeling. I make it to the end of the carpet blinking my eyes wondering if I should have passed through that gauntlet or not.

Hahahahaaaaa.

I just noticed that the carpet wasn’t actually red.

My character does not appear in the pilot but Eric’s does and he is great, so it’s super fun for me to watch without any nerves about myself on a screen. Without any thought as to whether the audience is laughing at me or with me. There is a party after and it is so loud and crowded but Laura Linney hugs me and Jason Bateman hugs me and Jason Butler Harner hugs me and tells me I am going to love my work and introduces me to his friend Amy Ryan who happens to be one of my favorite actors. And she and I just stand there and talk about theatre for a while. And, I realize, this evening isn’t proof that I have “made it” as things will certainly not all stay on this high. But it is a breath of rest, from all the climbing, the attempts at climbing and falling on my face, the disappointment of getting my money back from a premiere I was not invited to in the same city where I currently stand, invited and welcomed.

“Made it” is in the eye of the beholder. I don’t know that creators can ever make it as there is always so much left to make. But we should take moments to breathe and celebrate when we can.

Just don’t forget to keep your shoulders back, hips back, stand at angles, chin out, tongue on roof of mouth, hand on hip, fingers together - but still, you are human.

You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t know how human you were.

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And now, your weekly bonuses…

I apologize for my slowness in getting back into writing this year. I have been quite overwhelmed by the state of things in the U.S. and have been spending much of my brain power calling my representatives and doing what I can with organizations that are resisting. I realize talking about this may cost me some subscribers. But truthfully, I do not know how you could relate to the humanity of what I write and not see the inhumanity in so much of what has taken place these last 100 days. I stand with my recently fired CDC friends, whose knowledge and expertise we desperately need. I stand with immigrants and due process and people who need meals on wheels. I stand against the oligarchy that both major parties in this country have allowed to have too much power.

I will keep the focus of my writing on the life of a working, non-celebrity actor. But with so much ensuing chaos, there will be overlap. It is part of what it means to be human, living in these times.

I hope you will stay with me for it.

Quote of the Week

“We were talking about how the show wasn’t a huge success, even though it was critically acclaimed, and how hard it is to get jobs and how much rejection there is and Linda (Cardellini) said, “yeah. But we all hang on because it only takes one job to change your life. It only takes one.” I hadn’t thought of it in that way before, but hearing her say it made so much sense. It only takes one. So you keep going. Because if it’s not this one, maybe it’s the next one. Or the next one. Or the next one. And she’s right to a certain extent. But I certainly haven’t been in the one that changes everything. I haven’t even really been up for the one that changes everything. I’ve built a career slowly overtime, and I’ve been lucky enough to keep working and working and working. So it’s not always the one, but fuck if we don’t all wish it would be.”

~Busy Philipps