Should I follow my dream?
Dear Dale:
I want to be an actor but my family disapproves. They say it’s hopeless and I’ll end up a bitter old failure like you. What do you think?
Signed,
Aiming for the stars
Dear AFTS:
I’m going to ignore that crack about me being a bitter old failure because it’s partly true. Old, yes. Failure, sure. But bitter? Not at all.
As you may have noticed, I don’t judge people by their status: what they do for a living, how much money they make, what kind of car they drive.
No, for me, it’s all about the journey within: how many hits of acid can you do and still stay sane? That bum you see passed out in his piss. Loser, right?
Not to me. To me, he’s a psychic astronaut, boldly going where the faint of heart fear to tread.
You sound like such a soul. Yes, odds are, you’ll never succeed and instead, spend your life auditioning for parts others always get and working at dead-end jobs to pay for the privilege.
Or worse: having to teach drama to a bunch of bright-eyed bushy-tailed young people who are just as convinced of their talent as you are now — this as your enthusiasm for the art slowly evaporates like a lake in a drought.
Either way, you won’t be able to travel, eat in fancy restaurants or have a family.
(Guess there is a good side.)
All the things others take for granted will, for you, be a special treat, a struggle or an impossibility.
And, with every year that passes, it will become harder and harder to put a brave face on things and believe there is still time to succeed in an industry that is ruthlessly youth-oriented.
Eventually, unable to endure it any longer, you will either give up and settle into your career as a full-time Walmart greeter or hang yourself.
Either way, your dream will die and you will have nothing to show for it. Exit stage right.
But that’s all in the future. Right now, you’re full of piss and vinegar. So sure, go for it. What’s youth for, if not to make stupid mistakes that ruin your life?
Besides, what are the alternatives? Study accounting? Or law? Do you really want to spend the best years of your life with your nose in a book?
Like my landlord, Steve. Now there’s a lost soul. He’s never been arrested. Let alone convicted. Not even for drunken disorderly.
Imagine that. Someone goes to university for seven years and doesn’t spend a single night in the drunk tank. Talk about a wasted youth.
Fortunately, as an actor, you won’t make that mistake. On the contrary, you’ll probably spend the bulk of your time drunk.
Just like Bogart, Burton, O’Toole, Harris and Hasselhoff. Show me a sober actor and I’ll show you a hack.
As for drama itself… it has a long and distinguished history. Going all the way back to the ancient Greeks. When they weren’t busy buggering teenage boys, they were watching plays. It was mostly just fart jokes but still.
The Romans, being culture vultures, soon picked up on it: one needs a bit of comic relief after watching gladiators slaughter one another all day and nothing brings a smile to one’s face faster than a good fart joke.
The fall of the Roman Empire was a disaster for drama. After that, all people had was the Jesus story. Like a TV with only one channel. No wonder people were always praying. Please God, send us a new show.
Fortunately, the Italians rediscovered those fart jokes. And even added a few of their own. Ever seen the Sistine Chapel? That’s God saying, pull my finger.
And then there’s Shakespeare. The golden age of drama. Talky, yes. But with lots of sword fights. Blood and gore. The basis of all entertainment.
That and sex. People say his actors were prostitutes. It’s true. Often, when times were tough, whores had to degrade themselves by working as actors.
But the Puritans didn’t like that. For some reason, they objected to seeing whores and homos prancing about the stage. Probably got them excited.
(Some things never change.)
So they closed the theaters.
I got mixed feelings about that.
On the one hand, I’m all in favor of anything that forces actors to shut up. There’s nothing worse than going to a party, expecting to have a nice chat about chicks or sports, and getting sucked into an actor’s orbit.
(Hell is a party of unemployed actors.)
But, on the other, I don’t like killjoys. I’ve never understood people who don’t drink, fuck or laugh at fart jokes.
(I know some guys are masochists. Enjoy wallowing in pain and suffering. Actually want to get married and have kids. But, to their credit, they don’t inflict their perversion on others.)
Not the killjoys. Always walking around with a sour look on their faces.
(Like Steve, when I throw up on his steps.)
Their only pleasure comes from making sure the rest of us don’t have any. So, much as I hate to do it, I’m going have to side with the actors.
Unfortunately for the Puritans, monarchy is a hard thing to get rid of. You finally succeed in removing the royal noggin and someone else grabs the crown. So, just like a villain who can’t be killed, the king came back.
After that, theater was for rich folk. Snooty stuff where actors hammed it up and comedies about people who use the wrong fork. Real knee-slappers.
But then someone invented the camera. Next thing you know, we’ve got movies. Great for immigrants and people who don’t like listening to actors.
(Which is almost everyone.)
Problem is, a lot of actors lost their jobs.
Used to be, for hundreds of years, dreamers like you could squeak by going from town to town putting on plays, impregnating local chicks and running out on your debts. No more. Now you have to go to Hollywood to do that.
Unless you’re a student. In which case you can milk Shakespeare. There’s no city so small its summer isn’t ruined by a Shakespeare festival.
Sometimes even outdoors. You’ll be sitting in a park, calmly minding your own business, when some student in a tutu comes up and says:
“Hark there, good sir. Wherefore art thee drinking vodka in our rehearsal space this fine mid-summer’s afternoon?”
“Fuck you,” I reply. “Can’t you see I’m working?”
But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’ll be that one in a million who makes it. If so, I’ll see you up on the big screen.
(Like most people, I love movies but hate actors.)
If not… well, maybe I’ll see you in real life: bringing me my burger, serving me my sandwich or welcoming me to Walmart.
Hell, you might even end up being my bartender. But if so, don’t let on you once had dreams. You’ll be glad you didn’t. Because we, the losers you look down on, did too — as a kid, I wanted to be the Human Cannonball but was too fat to fit in the hole — and don’t want to be reminded of it. Neither, when the time comes, will you. Hope this helps.
Sincerely,
Dale
Hi. If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked the story. So why not check out some others at my Medium page? https://medium.com/dear-dale
