Home.

And I'm home. Two months was both a lifetime and no time at all. Long enough to have me confused about what side of the road I should be on, but not long enough to feel like I've really been away.

My final audition in the U.S was for a stonking great blockbuster. However, and I should've guessed really, it was just like any other audition. The Casting Director knew I was leaving town so slotted me in amongst all the child actors she was seeing that day nd their very determined mothers. Frightening. I nearly went for Chicken Mole Enchiladas at my favourite joint, Loteria in the farmers markets one last time but at the last minute decided beans before a 14hr flight might not be a great idea.

The last thing I did in Los Angeles was to meet up with my Australian agent who was in town, and as it turns out flying back to Sydney on the same flight as me. I sauntered into the Peninsula Hotel in Beverly Hills smiling at the bell hops in their little white suits, paused briefly to listen to the Harp Player in the foyer then took the golden elevator to the 10th floor and rooftop bar. Please God don't let him be poolside, I really don't want to have to weave my way through the breasts and margaritas to find him, no, there he is. Surrounded by a small clutch of his Aussie clients Mark Morrissey was doing it in style. One of his big names had a premiere last night and he was relaxed and jovial. It was good to hear from a bunch of Aussies a little further down the track than me. They all had the same thought, it just takes time. And money. In L.A those two things are often considered one and the same. Mark has been coming to L.A on and off for 15 years and in the process seen many actors succeed and fall by the wayside.  I had a chance to really pick his brains at the airport. He's a good man. Mark, Imogen in New Zealand and Lena in the U.S are all great people and I feel lucky to have them on my side.

That flight really is a killer. The few hours in Sydney airport aren't much fun and sleep for me is impossible. On the plus side I've finally caught up on all the Oscar winning films. If you do have to do this flight I recommend having an awesome girlfriend. Mine picked me up and took me to the Langham Hotel for a Chuan Spa tri-bathe/massage combo and a room for the night in absolute luxury. A bottle of champagne and a dozen oysters later I slept like a baby. The top story on the morning news was whether beer sold at rugby world cup matches should be sold in cans or cups. Ah yes, I'm home.

With two and a half months until rehearsals start for Romeo and Juliet (I'm playing Friar Lawrence) and no money I'll be off to the dole office this week. It's been a while and if memory serves the workstart 'how to get a job' seminar that bears absolutely no relation to my life or circumstances awaits me. 

Last night I went along to The Classic to watch Six-Dollar-Fifty Man. This is a short film made by my friend Louis Sutherland and his partner in crime Mark Albiston. I worked with Louis On The Insiders Guide to Love. He played Serena's lover. It's their second short film and has been enormously successful in New Zealand and around the world, picking up the equivalent of second place at Cannes. It's a great short. Louis and Mark spoke afterwards about their process and the genesis of the idea. It was inspiring to think that a moment, a shared memory from the childhood of these two men could travel the world as a short film and touch everyone who sees it. They are working on a feature together and I have no doubt they will produce something we will all be proud of one day. 

So that's it really. This blog is called Adventures in Los Angeles. Now I am home. I have no doubt learnt a lot, and over the next week I might even figure out what exactly. It's been an experience to remember. It hasn't killed me, so if the saying is right, it's made me stronger. Thanks for coming with me. I hope you got something useful from it, and next time I see you I won't have to tell you all about it!

G

Fear and Leaving Los Angeles

3 days left in Los Angeles.
The white car I hired is now grey with the soot I must be breathing when I go for a run through the streets. I'm looking forward to drinking from the tap and being able to walk places. It's been ... odd.

Pilot Season, the mad scramble to make new TV has all but wrapped up and Hollywood  refocuses its attention back on film. I've had my fill of police detectives for now thanks. I read an interesting statistic the other day. In this Pilot Season the big 4 studios ordered 22 pilots about law enforcement agencies, including the C.I.A, F.B.I, Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, U.S Marshalls, Bounty Hunters, Police Psychologists, Forensics and the Rank and File. This probably wasn't the best year for me then. Next year will most likely be lawyers, doctors and the like. Swings and roundabouts. There's a lot to be said for being in the right place at the right time.

I have my first audition for a ridiculous big budget blockbuster tomorrow. Nice to see Speilberg's name on your audition form from time to time. I'm polishing up my maniacal Wild West outlaws demented younger brother routine this afternoon. Be nice to leave some sort of impression before I go. I also have a full afternoon of A.D.R (additional dialogue recording) for Tracker tomorrow. Most of the film was shot exterior on West Auckland beaches and hillsides in Glenorchy so you can imagine the sound quality might be a bit sketchy. Usually it's a word here, a line there. I wasn't quite prepared for the amount of pages I got sent however. The entire final scene! ADR is a funny thing. Alone in a soundproof booth with a pair of headphones on you have to put yourself back where you were a year or so ago and match to your own mouth the same dialogue. Some times the opportunity to adjust or even improve on the original performance can be a blessing and certainly the paycheck is welcome. It can be damn tricky at times but for me the hardest thing is always seeing raw footage of your work and realising you don't look or sound nearly as cool as you thought you did. I can understand why some film actors never watch their own work, and given the chance I think I'd be the same.

I have learnt, through limited but interesting travels, that the best way to learn about a place and its culture is through its people. I have found that it certainly throws into relief my own peculiarities and cultural hang ups. Americans, Californians, the ones I've met are a handful to say the least. I've found myself thrust headlong into uncomfortable conversations regarding spirituality or conspiracy theory. People are also 'super-nice' however (super being adjective of choice, as in super-fun.) There seems to be a real outward-looking, heart on your sleeve mentality that highlights my own inward-looking, easy going with a dark streak kiwi way. Of course, this is L.A not America, and I'm hardly the cultural paradigm for Male New Zealand. I stumbled across a poet today. He's one of the most famous poets in the world and I'm glad to have finally found him. These were the words that caught my eye ...

The way we are living, timorous or bold, will have been our life.
-SEAMUS HEANEY

Yep, he's quite something. On further investigation I laughed when I read this ...

”The political implications of lyric art are quite reactionary,” Heaney says. ”You are saying to people, ‘Everything’s all right.’ And, in fact, one of the things America exposes you to quite radically is people’s hunger to be comforted. And it’s very moving, and it’s authentic, but somehow you get co-opted into a language of comfort that is quite bogus.”


I think I have come to understood a little of what he is saying.

As I write my neighbour is taking his pet Boa-Constrictor for a walk on the grass. No that's not right. A slither? My other neigbour sits in his usual afternoon sun spot in short-shorts chatting happily on his big chunky cordless phone in some sort of African dialect. Phillip the squirrel is crashed out on a power line snoozing and the crows rummage through the recycling. They'll have to be quick, it's about now the local homeless dude rummages through himself for the 5-10c returns he'll get from our glass and plastic. I have a nice cold root beer waiting for me in the fridge and I have half an ear out for the sound of the communal laundry to stop so I can get my last load in before I leave. The Hollywood map I kept from a 6 year old Empire magazine that is sellotaped to my wall is now covered in blue crosses and marks pinpointing studios and audition rooms. The LAPD Eye in the Sky is still circling a few blocks away, I still find it loud and annoying but that'd go after a while I assume. I live next to the motorway in Auckland and without it now, I usually have trouble sleeping at first. We are adaptable creatures. I think I could do okay here. To quote the Governor of California, Governor Schwarzenegger,  "I'll be back".

Got Up and Gone.

The blogs are few and far between at the moment I know.
I've tried to resist writing whilst feeling I have nothing good to write about to balance up the bad. Now I have decided that the bad is part of the experience and has to be worth writing about too. I'm just all too painfully aware that the troubles of an unemployed actor are just not that interesting, and being in Los Angeles doesn't change that. I'm boring myself already.

As usually is the case exercise and social interactions are keeping me afloat. It's been nearly two weeks without an audition. Pilot season is wrapping up and with only two weeks left here and a legal status that means I can't pick up small guest roles, I'm not much use to anyone. So I went to the basketball. College basketball. A uniquely American experience. The competing school bands, cheerleading teams straight out of Bring it On and a national anthem sung in reverence, hand over heart, hats off and facing the flag. All of us. I've never felt that before. That kind of deeply held nationalism. It was uncomfortable for me and went some way to making me understand why being called Un-American is such an insult. When the ice-cream vendor (Getcha Ice Creeeaaammss!) walked past selling New Zealand Natural I smiled and relaxed again. Naturally I rooted for the underdog and Washington State came through to beat California State right at the very end. It was an exciting game and great to see these tremendous athletes doing their thing live. And great to see it at the Staples Centre. The beating heart of L.A Basketball. I'm going to Jay Leno on thursday. I don't know why. Because I can.

It occurs to me that in the Ten years since I graduated from Drama School I haven't been unemployed much. A little travel and a soul-crushing stint tele-marketing aside, I have been in constant work. The majority of actors aren't and I have been very lucky. Now I know what it feels like. I've never been big on 'networking'. No one has ever given me a job from a conversation or thinking I'm cool at a party. But here in 'Actor City' no one is going to know who I am without me telling them. Armed with that knowledge I have responded by hiding in my room, waiting for the phone to ring, watching my favorite tv show and rewriting a famous play into the version I want to direct. I'm guessing this is what most unemployed New Zealand actors do when not telemarketing or suchlike. I haven't really made the adjustment to being an L.A actor. I hoped I could show in an audition room what I could do and let my previous work speak for itself. I bombed on both of those accounts. Realistically I shouldn't expect much, this being my first time here. However, with a lead role in a tv series the only thing providing me with the cash to try it, it may be some time before I can try it again. I need to learn these lessons faster and respond better.

A friend, upon hearing that I was coming to L.A asked me why. Why did I want to leave New Zealand where I was doing so well? Where we made such great work and where life is sweet?
Those questions rattle round in my head as the days blur into each other. I certainly remember Why a month ago. I always wanted to be a film actor. I watch movies constantly, I love them. I spent years in the theatre learning my craft, loving every minute but having no idea I could ever be in a movie. Now I have been in a few. Small, small parts in massive films and massive parts in small, small films. I realise now that if I stay in New Zealand my chances of making a Science Fiction Film, a Pirate Film, a War film, any film where I can have a shot at a good character in a film with the resources to achieve its vision, are slim. We make maybe 4 films a year. With the film commission funding them, they are somewhat duty bound to explore our national identity. I love my country, and I know we have great stories to tell and we have wonderful storytellers to tell them. I hope to be part of that process. But I also want to make a Pirate Film. And a Space Film, and a Western. I want to work with my heroes. America is where that happens. I want in.

I'm Not Harry Jenson has been accepted into the Indie Spirit Film Festival in Colorado Springs. I won't be here then, but hopefully the film will get some notice. Two upcoming big jobs in New Zealand aren't interested in using me. Rejection is par for the course in this line of work. But, ouch, it hurts more when you're far away without a beer at the local with your mates. I fear with The Cult being labelled "A Flop" I may have to wait a while for the smell to wear off. In the mean time I'm going to have to find another day job when I get back to NZ. I apologize in advance for your lousy coffee or lukewarm steak and chips.

Dark days in Los Angeles. My Get Up and Go has Got Up and Gone. I admit temporary defeat and will hereby devote myself to writing a small cast gritty emotional drama that explores our national identity to make into a film for $4. (And secretly concoct a Western Sci-Fi Pirate film for me Sam Rockwell, Helen Mirren, David Lynch and Christoph Waltz-Yes and you too Serena. I'm still dreaming big Dad. Promise.)

G

Random Shuffle

Having your iPod on random shuffle can be downright embarrassing sometimes. Songs turn up that I just hope someone else put on there. Then again, there must have been a point in history where we all spent hours transferring our mountain of C.D's onto our computers and some of those tunes may have slipped through the cracks of good taste. At other times though the random shuffle can provide for the odd epiphany or unexpected emotional experience. Case in point. I'm going for my daily run, well day 2 of what I hope will be my daily run, and One Tree Hill by U2 turns up. Now this album was written from a hotel in Joshua Tree and was heavily influenced by California/Nevada and it's Desert landscape. And of course this song is written to honor the memory of one of U2's roadies Greg Carrol. Greg was a Maori who became a good friend of Bono's and was tragically killed running an errand for him on Bono's motorcycle. The song describes his Tangi on One Tree Hill and the album, one of my favourites of all time is dedicated to his memory. The story goes Bono felt he could only perform the song once, and the one take he did in the studio is what you'll hear on the album. That got me thinking about home. The next song that popped up was a cover of Africa by our own Wellington Ukulele Orchestra. Now, I'll come right out and say I wasn't an instant fan of these guys. I went to a gig where I couldn't hear a damn thing and figured it was a bit of a gimmick. I've come round, they're quite magic. As well as some nice sentiments and surely the longest sentence in pop music history ... (The wild dogs cry out in the night as they grow restless longing for some solitary company I know that I must do what's right as sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti) it features a good mate of mine letting fly with his incredible pitch perfect tenor stylings. At Drama School I had a lovely old singing teacher who for what some people may have thought he lacked in technique more than made up for by literally being able to get anyone to sing and feel okay about it, myself included. However, when it came time to sing as a group all the guys in my class would edge subtly closer to surround my mate Nigel Collins and take our cue from him. Nige is a rare talent. A great actor, musician, writer and fine poet. To hear his voice soaring on my iPod as I ran round and around a little league practice session suddenly hit me in the gut. Homesickness. That really caught me by surprise. It reminded me a little of the way grief can do that. After I lost my father I found out the hard way how Grief can jump out from behind the couch without warning and knock you over. Homesickness. huh. Who woulda thought.

While I'm all melancholic and introspective, another thought occurs to me though that certainly brings comfort. Miserable as it can be at times, there are some real perks to growing up. Aside from being able to have ice cream whenever you damn well want and loving someone who loves you in return, having hit my thirties I am watching my friends begin to fulfill their potential. Sure, there are plenty of fears shared over a coffee "I'm 30 and have NOTHING to show for it," but I look around and I have friends at the forefront of the entertainment industry in New Zealand and around the world, new parents with beautiful children and the odd one or two even owning property. In the ten years since I've left Drama School I've gotten to know a lot of brilliant people who have done some quite brilliant things. In the next ten years it will be quite something to see what they come up with for us.

If you've read this far it will be clear I've had no auditions this week. (it's wednesday.) No news on the work front I'm afraid. I'll try to leave the house today however so I have something to write about. I scored my 5th parking ticket yesterday so I'm a little bitter about the car, but on the other hand I should put it to use and go exploring. The Pacific Coast Highway is supposedly worth a drive.
Hope you're all well.

And for those interested this is the Uke's performing Africa. Nige is the one with the tie round his head. Just see what happens to the crowd when he lets rip towards the end.
Click here to watch Africa.

G

Giving a Rats Arse

Ah monday. The start of a new week. Jump out of bed, breakfast, coffee, brush teeth, sit down to check emails ... nothing. Now what. Waiting, waiting, waiting. My manager had a few clients involved in that whole Oscar thing, so they'll be a few hangovers at the office this morning I'm sure.

My meeting with the Horror film director went well last week. I'm pretty much basing that on his first comment when I walked in the room."Hey, look at you. I could put you in my film right now, you look perfect!" Hmmm. Hopefully that means an audition at least. Americans are very good at smiling, being polite and appearing extremely passionate when they frankly couldn't give a rats arse. I guess in New Zealand we're more inclined towards grumpy, quiet and apathetic when we're not interested. I certainly can't recall a supermarket staff member asking me if I'm finding everything okay and whether I need any help at Foodtown Grey Lynn. So, hard for me to judge how it really went. However, it did serve the purpose of making me feel good enough to pitch my ideas for the character and it was a welcome relief to the pre-reads I've been on. The script is a good genre film with a twist. The character is a nasty piece of work that you end up rooting for, and the lead actors are fantastic. It would be a great gig. sigh.

I kept quiet over the weekend saving my fun points for an Oscar party. Foolishly tried to drive there through the actual Oscars. Roadblocks, limos, spotlights. Woops. Got there a little late but still managed to come in close to winning the sweepstake. (I blew it with Adapted Screenplay. However I would highly recommend In The Loop. Very clever and funny script.)

At the Football I met a Kiwi songstress Florence Hartigan. She's playing tonight just down the road, so that'll be me for monday thanks.

A good man gave me the entire series of BattleStar Galactica before I left NZ. Now, I watched the original when I was a kid, was never a big fan and this new version is synonymous with serious geekdom. I've been dubious about this show to say the least. However, critics have consistently put it above and beyond my favorites The Wire and Deadwood. While the jury is still out on that one, I have to say, I'm loving it. Halfway through series two and I'm a bona-fide fan. And a serious geek.

Go the Phoenix. And the Black Caps. Dammit.

G

Soccer, Palm Springs and The Big Bang.

(nb: Not one for taking photos, I have posted some Serena took while here in the appropriate blog. So have a scroll back through the earlier blogs and take a look. Also the Tracker link to your right has been updated and features some interesting 'behind the scenes' footage you might enjoy. G.)

Yes, it's been nearly a week. Having just dropped Serena off at the airport I find time opening up in front of me again. I'll miss her. There are some unexpected bonuses to saying goodbye to her however. My room looks really massive and I feel like I'm back to work again. I only have a few more weeks in L.A so I need to make the most of it. Boy we had some fun though and she was kind enough to leave me a good half a head of long blond hair everywhere.

Last Saturday was my HouseMates birthday. Ken, our driver rolled up in his black stretch limo and we all piled in for a Ventura winery tour. We were 6 and a half in all and only made it to two vineyards. The half was a 6 year old plied with sugar to keep her interested. Poor thing. 6 hours in a car, even if it is a limo is a long day. I was knackered at the end of it, and have had to explain knackered, buggered, shattered and shagged a few times. Interesting we have so many words for tired in New Zealand. Was very tempted when asked if we "mix with the aboriginals in New Zealand" to make up some bollocks about a slave trade but couldn't do it. Bless.

The following morning the girl and I were up early and on the road to Palm Springs. A two-three hour drive into the desert gateway towns is quite something. We took the Aerial Tramway (it's a Gondola) from the desert floor to the snow capped peak of Mount Whatsamacallit. ahem. Apparently it's like going from Mexico to Canada, temperature-wise, in 14 minutes. We threw snowballs, prayed for a mountain lion sighting (well I did) and threw more snowballs. Back to the desert, mexican for lunch in town and off into the desert to fart in solitude, 4 Mexican meals in a row was starting to take its toll. A quick look in town didn't inspire us. It's a kitsch retirement village with hints of rat-pack former glamour.

 We opted for the Indian Canyons and got a eyeful of why the place is called Palm Springs. Walking through canyons under the shade of date palms following the streams to their source, I loved it. So have centuries of other people too and the signs are everywhere. Serena got all excited about cacti and I finally figured out my keys jingling in my pocket wasn't a rattlesnake after all.

I've managed to accrue another couple of parking tickets. Yep. Two more, at $50 a piece. Read the signs buddy. And 4 minutes over is still over. Ouch. We've been eating lots of great food, and when I can drag Serena away from all things Mexican some good cafe's too. Though we found ourselves taking a lot of photos of food when it arrives. When a plate of food is bigger than my head I'm not quite sure what they expect me to do with it.

Tuesday night we were VIP guests to the live taping of an American comedy show The Big Bang Theory. Serena's good friend and now buddy of mine is a production assistant on the show. It was a fascinating and bum-numbing experience. We don't have anything like it back home. After surrendering our phones, camera etc to security we were allowed onto the Warner Brothers lot and oo'ed and ahh'ed at the lists of films shot in each building. Stage 1, Casablanca, Demolition Man, that kind of thing. Mad mix of everything. We were early so our man took us for a pin on a buggy to fetch Johhny Malecki his pre-show jamba juice. (And it's sentences like that that really make you feel like you're in L.A.) Mr Malecki was in Roseanne many years ago and is now playing Leonard in The Big Bang and slammed a door into my face by accident. He was in a hurry and I was standing in a really stupid place. When time came we are lead to our seats in a small theatre-like seating block. The four main sets are laid out side by side in front of us. Comic-book store, Hall-way, Penny's room, Boy's lounge. A big stage with impossible sightlines for us on all but two of those sets really. Also there are 4 large moving cameras with a crew of three each roaming between us and the action. Luckily we have Numb-Nuts the goofball crowd warmer-upper. God knows what his actual name and title is but he's been doing it for years and is paid a small fortune per show. He explains how it al works, cracks gags, makes us make noise, pulls out lame magic tricks and does every cliche buskers trick in the book to keep us chuckling along. We were over him pretty quick but the majority of the crowd was loving it. They plied us with pizza and candy and recorded our laughter all night. The actors were great, and under a lot of pressure. 1 take and 1 for safety, producers and directors and writers running in to change lines between takes if we didn't laugh hard enough. The actors do a curtain call and some of them are obviously affected by us more than others. It's a weird mix of tv and theatre and I'd love to have a go. Afterwards we stuck around for the final of the cast/crew table-tennis tournament that had been running all season and got to meet some nice people.

The gods heard me. The following morning I had my first comedy audition. Guys in their thirties dealing with girl troubles. Feeling pretty relaxed, enjoying the mad warm up routine in the waiting room by the girl who said I look like a young Anthony Hopkins, walk into The Room and Hello! 8 People? Producer, writer, creator, and others, I think. Cue nervous giggle, stupid gag and dry mouth. I did okay, but okay isn't really what anyone's after over here. Good comments on my accent and told my audition was 'hip'. Curious.

Got to really blow out the post audition blues by painting my face black and white, wrapping a New Zealand flag around my shoulders and joining 4 actors, 2 Air New Zealand Pilots and a honorary Kiwi mexican mother-daughter duo at the Mexico vs All Whites game at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena.

Kick off at 8pm and we really should have left at 4. 90,000 people all wanted to drive there too please. We we walking up to the stadium as our national anthem was playing. I swear, we were the ONLY Kiwis there. That's 6 Kiwis and approximately 91,800 Mexicans. Some people just stared confused, others would run over to shake our hands, call us brave, and run off to tell their mates some crazy New Zealanders were here. Serena and I never got to our seats. It was impossible. Security was overwhelmed, entrances were blocked, the noise was unbelievable. As we walked up to the gates I had just a small notion of what it must have felt like approaching Omaha Beach on D-Day. We saw some of the first half where we held Mexico to nil all, and most of the second half when the All Whites finally buckled and went down 2 nil. Not a bad result for them, and we made it out alive so not a bad result for us.

Serena's last day today spent at the Getty Center. Stunning building designed by, um, some amazing modernist genius to house Getty's beautiful collection of Art. The whole experience is a treat. You arrive to be whisked up to the summit aboard a space-age looking white monorail and wander around this architectural masterpiece looking at ancient, middle ages, renaissance, modern art works. Funny though, same reaction I had at the Louvre to massive middle Age and Renaissance paintings. Boring. And weighed down in Christian Guilt and fervor for me get interested. And photos of modern american urban landscapes didn't really do it for me. A gas station s a gas station mate. But amazing tapestries and 13th century books and the like made it all worth it. Actually the gardens, the views and the building itself were the highlight. So there.

Tomorrow I have a meeting with a director about a horror film. Exciting. A genre I'm not the most familiar with, but a character I am. I'll let you know. Well done for reading so far. That one was well overdue and I'll endeavor to keep it short and succinct from here on in. Well, I'll give it a go. I'm a good quarter Irish.

G

Parking tickets 3. Gareth 0.

3 auditions all over L.A and meeting with acting coach first thing in the morning. Belated Valentines Day dinner with girlfriend.
Yesterday was epic. Today after earning my third $50 parking violation the wheels finally fell off. I'm exhausted.

It was worth seeing Nikolai in the morning. Once again he was able to remind me that it's all out of my hands. Keep it simple, play one thing and commit to it in the scene. Then don't worry. Some guy has written this scene in Starbucks two days ago and the part has already been given to some TV Star or the next best thing. 50 other actors will go through this room today. Most will be terrible. I'm a good actor, if I'm right for the part I'll be called back. Problem is, so far, I hardly ever am.

Audition 1 saw me playing the cop with an anger management problem. You know the guy, he snaps and beats up a witness, saves the little girls life but gets a grilling from the chief. Not really me. And they know it as soon as I walk in. It would save everyone a lot of bother if they simply said "thanks, this isn't gonna work" at this point, but we go through the whole game. The best I think I can hope for is that they then see how great an actor I am and put my headshot and resume in the "hmmm ... interesting" pile.

Audition 2 was at Walt Disney Studios. Serena joined me on this one. It was a funny sight having Ms Cotton in a waiting room full of men in suits like me doing her NZ Listener crossword. We'd been for lunch at Big Boys Burger in Burbank. Finally a good American burger! The Big Boys Burger in Burbank is the oldest Big Boy in the U.S. It's an original 1950's drive in diner. On weekends people bring their classic muscle cars into the lot and car-hops bring their burgers out to them. It's like being on the set of Grease. I changed into my suit in the parking lot like a real L.A actor. Character is a lawyer, District Attorney with mayoral ambitions. Maybe more my style. Hoping they can see past the scruffy beard I'm sporting for the NZ audition I'm putting down on tape later. I get a similar reaction I'm getting at most auditions now. It seems to be a mixture of relief to see someone half decent, and confusion as to why I'm not quite right for this job. The sooner I figure out what kind of product I'm selling in this enormous marketplace, the sooner my potential customers will recognize it as something they want. I'm getting there. My manager is making time for me next week to run through my auditions, my approach, my look etc. and we will be reviewing the footage from a couple she has procured. Doesn't that sound like fun.

Always always always take I.D out with you in L.A. You have to be 21 to drink and with everyone suing everyone all the time no one will take a chance if you forget yours. We drove back home to get I.D debating whether it was worth it the whole way. It was. The Edison is an old power station converted into a bar. All the old fittings and machinery have been used to decorate the place and a live Jazz band plays. A Green Fairy with electric wings pushes round an Absinthe cart and the cocktails are sublime. We loved it. Though these Kiwis are still getting used to the idea of someone driving off in your car to park it for you.

My house-mates birthday tomorrow. Plan is to drive to vineyards in a limousine. Could be fun.
Pleased to report that Knotsberry Farm was nearly deserted and all the roller-coasters were cleaned up in a couple of hours.

Steel Panther were hilarious. One 15 minute guitar solo that included every famous rock guitar riff ever written, plus Flight of the Bumblebee for good measure and concluded with Guitarist exclaiming "How fucking Awesome am I!" Stage ended up filled with women going crazy and Serena bought a t-shirt. Have learnt that "Appetizer" in L.A means "Mains" for Gareth and that 5 minutes after your parking runs out you WILL be stung.

A reporter from Metro interviewed me over a cocktail on wednesday. Pretty sure I said some dumb-ass stuff so look out for that one folks. Serena has put down her Reeces Peanut-Buttercup Ice Cream and is doing bedroom yoga. I need a nana nap. Sorry for slacking off on the blogging. Hope it's still interesting.

G

Meeting Oscar

Apparently there are quite a few Oscars floating around Wellington but last night was the first chance I've had to get my hands on one. It was awarded for Visual Effects and if you've seen What Dreams May Come you'll know its owner fully deserved it. More on that later.

In between trying not to stress about my call-back and running round and around La Cienega park I've managed to turn in some good tourist time in L.A. Serena and I walked Runyon Canyon, dodging all manner of dog life and seeing our first snake! (about 30cm, no need for panic.) Runyon offers some pretty spectacular views over Los Angeles and is kinda like Mt Eden is to Aucklanders, if Aucklanders all wore basketball shorts and had dogs. We hit Hollywood Boulevard for a dose of tinsletown tackiness, with the Ripleys Believe it or Not Museum surely being the fake plastic jewel in Hollywoods 99c Tiara. Apparently Ripley was a bit of a dude who got around however so hats off to him, but I'd probably give it a miss if I was you. Favorite exhibit was a tie between the human hair lingerie and the two way mirror where you can watch suckers trying to see if they can curl their tongues.

Last night Serena and I headed an hour out of L.A into the Santa Monica mountains with her old friend from Uni to a Black and White Party. We took black figs and feta and I busted out my Chuck Taylors. The house belonged to said Oscar winner and was nestled in the mountains at the end of a long tree-lined cobblestone drive. Walk through the big oak gates, past the fire pit, spa, pool, pool house, cactus garden ... you get the idea. Beautiful place. We drank and nibbled, posed for photos with Oscar and sat down for a table banquet with 30 other people. It was a 32nd birthday. Having us two there made it 32 people. It was meant to be. Later we played the 'guess who I am without saying the actual name' game. Tough game for the out of towners. I'd certainly never heard of this guy The Situation who's named himself that after his own ab's. It was a fun night for all, including this sober driver. One of the lovely hosts is going to bring Serena's bag back into town tonight even. (Serena had quite a good time too.)

Call back audition today could have gone a lot better. Nothing like a second shot at something to really up the chances of cocking it up. The director was there this time. This being a small Indie film it was still pretty low key but his attempts to get me to lighten it up failed I fear in the face of my super-intense trying real hard acting. Great to blow it away after with a walk from Venice Beach to Santa Monica Pier and back with Serena afterwards. She'd been dozing in the car sleeping off all the fun from last night. Venice Beach put on a show to match my first visit, complete with man-in-rug self-blindfolded running around sidewalk like a, well, a nutter and some guy in a pool of blood surrounded by people with a pretty mean looking head wound. No idea how that one will turn out. Best of luck mate. Lunch-time entertainment included an amazing pianist on the sidewalk who got a tip from me for playing an amazing piano version of The Godfather theme. That's crazy rug man doing leg exercises beside him.

Preparations are under way for tonight's adventures. We will be continuing the theme of All things Tacky and dining at the Saddle Ranch Chop House on Sunset Boulevard where you get a free steak if you can stay on the mechanical bull for an alloted time. Rumor has it you get a free drink if you do it in your bra too, though I doubt Serena will be up for that one. After dinner we're heading over to The House of Blues to see Steel Panther. T.H.O.B is being torn down this year and is a real institution. It looks like a tornado has picked it up from a swamp in New Orleans and dropped its sorry corrugated iron ass on Sunset Boulevard. Steel Panther are a big, glam rock metal band in the tradition of Spinal Tap. They play every monday night. Chicks get their boobs out at these gigs. Though once I again I doubt if Serena ... well, one can only try.

Auditioning for my first vampire on wednesday. Surprised it's taken so long. Skinny, pale intense actor that I am. I'll keep you posted. Of course.

G

All hail Chipotle.

Is there anything better than waking up to the girl of your dreams next to you? I'm a happy man.
Oh, and I've just scored my first call back. The roller-coaster has just started its climb again.

I was very proud of myself getting to LAX on time to collect Serena curbside. Heading back home at 4pm was another matter. While we happily chatted and caught each other up the standstill traffic got the better of one delightful gentleman who proceeded to ram his huge urban tractor into another guys car. I never saw what started it, but after the dude leapt from his car shouting I thought he might have designs on finishing it. Serena and I both confessed to each other later we were both hoping like hell he didn't have a gun in his glove compartment, but also secretly were. However it did mean I could say "Welcome to L.A baby" and feel all cool.

That night I went for Mexican take-out. All hail Chipotle. Their Guacamole is made fresh 3 times a day, corn chips made fresh on-site and a meal that will provide enough for lunch the next day as well, all for under $10. Like most takeaways in L.A there is a full blow-by-blow calorie count on the menu too. It was while chowing down on Chipotle and watching American t.v (which as Serena pointed out is at once entirely familiar) my manager, her second and assistant all rang me for a congratulatory conference call. I have a call-back for the Indie Film. What this means is the Casting Director liked my tape enough to pass it on to the director who liked it enough to want to see me do it in person, meet me and work out whether I'm his guy. I proceeded to get all business about what I do now but Lena was adamant I take a moment to have a toast and enjoy getting my first call back "because it will never be as sweet as the first time." I like her style. I managed to feel great about it for at least 10 minutes or so before worrying again. The call back is Monday. I'll let you know.

Having Serena here means running again. Damn her fitness and self discipline. As always I feel a million times better for having done it though and it gets me out of my head. We managed a food shop at Wholefoods and a walk around the famous Farmers Markets and The Grove which was plenty for today thanks. Bought a bottle of Santa Barbara Pinot Noir and they'll have to do better than that one to come close to a Rabbit Ranch thankyou very much. Much sweeter. Like everything here.

I met a lawyer on the 25th floor of a skyscraper today. She had to take a call from her lawyer during the meeting. "Your lawyer? Must be a tough gig for him." "I'm in the middle of a divorce." "Oh. I'm sorry. Well, you two must be a formidable opposition." "My husbands a lawyer too." "Right." "Pretty L.A huh?"
On the ground floor they drove my car back to me and I gave them my validated parking ticket and went on my way a few steps closer to being able to legally work in America. It's costly, and going to take a bit of organization.

My housemate was going out tonight. Serena politely asked in her Nuw Zild accent if she "was off out?" "I'm all fat?" Asked my slightly incredulous housemate. What followed was a painfully funny scene that could have come right out of Flight of the Conchords as Serena attempted to ford the waters between our accents and cultures to some mutual understanding. I was still laughing at the idea of my girlfriend, upon seeing my new housemate dressed up and off out for the night say "you're all fat." Funny too, because it's the kind of thing Serena might actually think but never dare say.

G

Kick my Ass for a Dollar.

Is there any place on earth worse than an audition waiting room?
If you've never been in one, imagine a doctors waiting room. You've never met the doctor but she is in the next room holding the results of a VERY important test. You tell yourself it's really not that important, but it bloody is. There's other patients in the waiting room too. They're mostly your size, shape and look. In between mumbling to yourself and going over and over what you'll be saying in there (if you ever get in there, it's been 45mins since you arrived) you're all sneaking glances at each other, sizing each other up. Only one of you is going to get good news and you all know it. You're all acting cool but you're not. Even Wolfgang West and the guy from Home and Away are trying to wipe their hands dry on their trousers. Some cute girl comes in and tries to break the ice by cracking a lame gag and everyone tries too hard to make small talk whilst realizing all of a sudden how few of you are actually american. An assistant calls your name and you pass by sympathetic looks and mumbled good wishes into a neon lit cubicle where your casting director for today gives you her fake as shit smile and token small talk. But you'll take it happily and she knows it. There's no camera, it's just a pre-read. Or maybe her assistant is pressing record on what looks like an iPod. But probably it's just the C.D, on a chair, and you, on a chair. A small chair. She's watching you very closely but you just know you're wasting her time. As evidenced by the worst "thank you for coming in, that was great" goodbye and door held quickly open. You're the 58th she's seen today and she's desperately in need of a gin. You bail outside having no idea where you're going but are just happy to be out. And then you start thinking about it...

I was thinking today my two least favorite things to do are finding my way somewhere when being on time is really important, and doing an audition. I've come to Los Angeles to do my two least favorite things. A person could get really dark living here...

It's funny how something in New Zealand that feels so wrong can feel so right somewhere else. I'll always remember being snowed in in Bristol, England on Christmas Day and finally realizing why Roast Turkey and Vegetables were apparently the perfect Christmas food. A desperate late night drive-thru McDonalds Hamburger once every five years in New Zealand makes me feel dirty and ashamed. A late-nite drive-thru McD's Quarter Pounder on Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles makes me feel like all the pieces of the puzzle have finally come together and I am happy.

So I had a bit of a recce around my neighborhood, which for the record is Miracle Mile. (Pretty apt I feel. I'm gonna need one.)
Turns out I'm just around the corner from all the art museums and The La Brea Tar Pits. The what? I was hoping you'd ask.
The La Brea Tar Pits are a big grass area, which in L.A is unusual in itself. A relief for this Kiwi though. Till i noticed the odd mound of bubbling Tar leaking from the earth. There is a whole lake of the stuff, with methane bubbling up through it. Archaeologists are hard at work in a special area in the middle of the place where you can watch them at it. They've pulled massive chunks of earth out and are slowly whittling away at them finding the post-dinosaur mammalian remains of the animal life that were unlucky enough to wander into the tar and get stuck, and of course the bigger animals that wandered in after them thinking they were getting an easy lunch. There's a rather distressing fibre-glass model of a mother and baby mammoth watching as Dad sinks into the tar in the main lake. So a big Stinky Park of Death. But populated by living families and canoodling couples. Odd.

After doing my first Indie Film audition I had the chance to explore Venice Beach. Imagine the Newtown Cultural festival in Wellington after a hard night on drugs, throw in your mum's hippy friend, a sprinkle of skateboarders, a dash of surf-dude, top with ample hustle and serve to sound of bongos and madman mumble. It's a human zoo. And thoroughly enjoyable. Venice moves at a different pace to the inner city and folk there are damn proud of that. Great bookstores and good coffee. Just watch yourself, you don't quite know what's coming down the pavement at you. But chances are it will smell interesting.

Oscar season is heating up here. Of course. I should have guessed. It must be bigger here than anywhere. Not having an opinion is tantamount to leprosy here I believe. Best get out and see some films then.

Serena arrives tomorrow. I may have mentioned that. Looking forward to being a tourist. I know she is.

Funniest sight of the day: A very cheerful looking fellow on Hollywood Boulevard with a handwritten cardboard sign that read KICK MY ASS FOR $1. WEDNESDAY SPECIAL!!!
He was smiling. Either business is booming or he's nuts and doesn't care. I know what I think ...

G

Me, Meryl and Tricky Dick.

So, I have moved into a room I can officially call my own for the next month. I spent my first evening at home on the couch eating good fresh Mexican take-out and watching Julie and Julia with my new house mate. Well, she fell asleep. It was me and Meryl Streep in on a saturday night. Rock and roll I know.
Here is a clip of my house mate Elaina talking about her book. Excuse the commercial at the start of it ... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h3lCWeakO-0

It's Valentines Day tomorrow, but not for me. I'll be saving up my love for thursday when my better half arrives for a holiday. And on Monday it's presidents day. Abraham Lincoln and George Washington's birthday, which was actually today I think. I can't quite remember what the Nixon impersonator from the print shop told me now, I was too busy staring at his shiny pate loud hawaiian shirt and thinking Presidents Day must be a big day on the calendar for a Nixon impersonator. I was right. He also does the voices of Reagan, Clinton and Bush too, but his looks mean he sticks with Tricky Dick for appearances.

Pot of tea with ex-pat Kiwi, night out watching loud bands and drinks with a fantastic Kiwi actor whose going great guns here. That was my weekend. I learnt where I can find good coffee, how to tip, and that being in successful films with Oscar winning actors does not mean you're loaded. Acting is a nerve-wracking career fraught with insecurity and poverty occasionally upset by the briefest of periods when you're flush, working and on top of the world. Even if you're working with George Clooney.

I have been diligently following who has been picking up the parts I've been auditioning for and found that I am on the right track and only lacking a good haircut, biceps and some notable American work on my resume. I'll start with the haircut I think.
I have a couple of auditions after Presidents Day. One for a Scottish C.I.A agent. Thats right, Scottish. Just when I thought I was getting my American accent down pat and it's all There's a Moose running Loose in the Hoose. I'm counting on the popularity of James McAvoy and Ewan McGregor to help me sidestep the bicep problem, and channeling the spirit of New Zealand's own resident Scots actor Eddie Campbell who used to stand in the wings before a performance of Flipside:The Men of the Rose Noelle whispering "I am a white hot acting machine" in his rumbling, 2 pack a day, meat pie and coke accent. I've since been told he does this before any show he's ever in. I guess when you're a deserter from the Royal Marines it must pay to remind yourself what the hell you're doing there. Mind you, they'd never think to look in a theatre either I imagine.

I'm happy to report that Meryl Streep is pretty darn good as Julia Childs. Just when you think she's overcooking it (ha) she does something so profoundly real and heartfelt you forget you're watching a performance. Film's a bit trite though. Just a trifle. (ha.) (That's me laughing at my own cooking puns for those who don't know who Julia Childs is. I didn't either. She's America's Alison Holst. Kinda.)

An American asked me today why we have the Queen on all our currency. I couldn't really answer. Why do we? I mean, I know there's some official reason, like we're still part of the commonwealth as such, but is that just the rule is it?

And something that caught my ear and made me laugh. As I was having a drink with a friend, at the table next to us, someone said Kiwi so we both cocked our ears and overheard a table of locals arguing over what a Kiwi actually was. One was determined to prove it was a carnivorous parrot, and another swearing it was the fruit. "you know, KIWIfruit. They just call them Kiwis over there." I decided not to interfere. I figured they'd never believe shy wingless nocturnal bird with whiskers anyway.

G

Forward Momentum

Well it's been a quiet week. Too quiet.
After the initial flurry of excitement and activity in week 1, week 2 has ground to a halt. Not an audition in sight, manager not answering my calls and it rained for two days. And so it turns out being an unemployed actor in L.A turns is just like being an unemployed actor anywhere. Empty days stretching out in front of you, texting people for coffee and the inevitable psychological battle to remain positive in the face of downward spiraling hope. I have given myself the odd talking to and worked on my accent, done some exercise and even considered writing again. However none of that helps one feel like they have any kind of forward momentum. On the plus side I am catching up on a lot of films from the lap-top.
The monotony of the week was broken up yesterday by a photo shoot for some new headshots. (See new profile pic)
These were taken by Deidhre Fahey in Valley Village in the most amazing house where she lives and works. It smelt of maple syrup. Deidrhe has platinum blonde hair, is around 60 and a native californian. She ditched her boyfriend in her 30's because of one phone call from her high school sweetheart and 'soul-mate' Mike. That was him out the front raking leaves. They've been together ever since. She was telling me all this to try and get me to RELAX as I apparently looked mildly terrified in every shot. It's true. Most of them look like I'm either going to cry or I'm just looking forward to getting out of there. Both of which are also true. She was great though. And I did get some okay shots I can use. Spending your career learning to NOT look down the lens and pretending to be other people makes it difficult when asked to stare down the barrel and just 'be yourself'. But like she said, we can fix pimples, the odd hair, change the color of your clothes and skin tone in the lab but what we can't do is give you a personality. A good photographer can help a subject reveal theirs. I'm glad that's over. We'll see what the manager says...

The coffees and drinks with ex-pat Kiwis begin today. Looking forward to some company. I'm meeting a Kiwi actor who's done very well for herself over here on Friday so looking forward to hearing her war stories. Serena comes over next week giving me the perfect excuse to be a tourist. Look out Disneyland, The Lakers and Vegas! I have an audition for a small Indie film on monday, which given my FIlmography may be right up my alley. Though, surprise surprise, the character is a cop. I have at least three cops in my family that I can think of, so the potential should be in there somewhere. Somewhere ...

Righto off to trendy West Hollywood cafe Urth for coffee with a Kiwi.

G

Go Saints.

The start of a new week and hopefully a fresh round of auditions.

This past few days has been all about finding new digs as I have to leave my current situation this weekend.
It's been fascinating and tiring driving around L.A meeting potential house mates. They have been coming in all shapes and sizes.
I'm pretty sure I'm going with Elaina, a 32 yr old Noo Yawka who writes childrens books. She's been in her apartment 11 years and has seen housemates come and go. She's cool with my short term situation and having Serena for two weeks in the middle of it. I think it beats the Yoga-mad cat lady who had partitioned off half her kitchen and liked my aura.
It'll mean leaving the leafy vibrant West Hollywood for jumble-sale Little Ethiopia, but good to see another side of the city.

Last night I went to a SuperBowl house party and enjoyed "Noo Guy" privileges. This meant good viewing spot, beers and being told I had a cool/cute accent. The New Orleans Saints, who had never been to a Superbowl before cleaned up the favorites the Indianapolis Colts. Few too many Colts fans at this particular party to jump for joy, but I was stoked to see the underdogs, post-katrina and all that climbing the U.S Sports Mt Everest.

I'm in talks with T.Ryan about fixing up his 1967 Volvo. I've been enjoying the relative luxury of a brand new Toyota that talks to me and tells me where to go, but it's been costly. Better to have wheels. Non powered steering and Air-Conned or not. It was his birthday the other night and we went bowling with his brother and girlfriend. Just like bowling in N.Z except a two hour wait and guys high-fiving and pretending to root the ball-dispensing machine, and everything generally 15 decibels louder. Oh and everyone's drinking light beer. I guess when you have to drive miles to get anywhere and you need to be constantly watching your carb intake ... well, I had to just keep my kiwi bogan mouth shut about that one. This is L.A.

Getting new head shots done this week, L.A styles. Whatever that means. I'll let you know.

G

Yielding and the Crap Detector.

Another day, another couple of auditions. This is pilot season.
At some point a couple of years ago, I realised I was giving far better audition by not caring so much or trying so hard. I'm relearning that lesson again. Thankfully a bit quicker this time.

Looking at where I had to get to for this mornings audition last night, I caved and booked a hire car with GPS for a week. Bliss. A little voice pops up while I'm trying to remind myself what side of the road to stay on telling me I should think about turning in a minute. Bless its little computer socks. To arrive refreshed, on time and awake to an audition helps. I'm gonna stop calling them auditions. I don't know what they are. It's like a scan. Like being walked through a "crap" detector, except you can't hear the alarm going off, only they can. I could do hundreds of these and never hear anything. In fact, that's likely to be the scenario. I know this, but dammit if I just can't shake a habitual optimism that says somethings going to happen.

Dinner with Kiwis last night. Numbers are assembling for the All Whites vs Mexico game at the Rose Bowl next month. Excellent.
Good to feel part of a wide eyed clutch of Kiwis in the same boat. Stink to fill in audition sign in form and next to 'name' is 'are you currently legally entitled to work in the U.S.' A big NO in that column must really put you to the top of the list

I have nothing on tomorrow, so planning to take my car somewhere where I can go for a run without having to stop for lights every 5 minutes. Like Venice Beach or Griffith Park. A good friend suggested I find something other than acting to occupy myself "so I don't go all nutty." Hmmm gonna have to work on that one. Without my vege plot to tend ...

Hope everyone is well. It's always sunny here. I've kind of only just noticed. But no one has clothes lines. The washer takes 5 Quarters. So does the dryer. Everything takes quarters. Damn quarters. I boil the pot on the stove for my 'bagged tea' cos no one has a jug in California. Cos no one has tea. A double shot small latte from starbucks is the closest i can get to a flat white so far. And $40 filled the whole tank up in my car! Oil crisis? Sheesh, Try living in Auckland. The water level in the loo is really high and I keep bumping into people on the street because the drive on the right rule seems to apply off-road too. Figured that one out finally today. Yield means Give Way, and at a 4 way intersection, you yield in order of who got there first! ha.

Hey you actors, you'll love this. This is a blog from a tv writer telling us how impossible it is to get work in this town...

http://kenlevine.blogspot.com/2010/02/guys-are-not-going-to-want-to-fk-her.html

G

Nikolai Guzov and the Ups and Downs

4.10pm and enjoying the safe-haven of home after a big morning.

I haven't written for a few days because I haven't wanted to bore you with the negative ramblings of an out of work actor.
Suffice to say my confidence took a bit of a dip and that of course Serena did get some of those ramblings anyway.

Feedback from my first audition was that it was pretty average and that I seemed too concerned with my accent and offered no interesting choices about the character. Words every actor loves to hear. My enterprising agent rang to tell me and to set me up with a russian acting coach to help me find my mojo again. I rang Nikolai and the only time he had available was 8.15am the next morning over the hills and far away, with my next audition the opposite direction in the afternoon. Naturally. And when you're taking the bus, that's a 6am start ladies and gents. (Those who have lived with me, shut the hell up, I can see you smirking!)

Nikolai Guzov (http://guzovactingstudio.com/index_files/Page370.htm) is a busy man. He sees a lot of actors. He was brilliant.
He sized me up pretty quickly and told me he had nothing he could teach me about acting in 45 minutes. But he laid out for me how auditions work over here, what I was doing wrong, and how to approach them from here on in. What follows is Nikolai's advice in a nutshell. This will get a little boring for the non-actors, you may wanna skip a paragraph here ...

NIKOLAI SAYS ...
In New Zealand there are how many actors? In your city?
Gareth - "Ummmm... 300 registered Equity members. Probably 200 in Auckland, when I go for a role there's probably 30 submissions. The A-list maybe 10-15 actors. 5 recalled tops."
Okay. Listen to me now. There are 300-000 actors here. Maybe 15-000 have representation. 3000 actors seen per project.It's a cattle market. Do not expect to be treated with any kind of respect. There are 50 other guys who are as good as you, and look like you or better looking. Let it go. You have an advantage with a manager. In the horse race you have a jockey riding you, that;'s good. Casting directors are filters. Shit filters. They have no power, but think they have a lot. You are in their element, their office, you have to make it your element. Your space. You are trained and accomplished, but this is american t.v now. You have broken your script up into beats, no no no. There are no beats. No objectives. This is all to complicated. This script is all information to get across. Process on the lines, don't pause and think. It's not film. Verbs. What are you doing here? Reprimanding him? Good, Just do that. Nothing else. Engage the casting director. They're a weird bunch. They may be a 50 year old gay man, or a 26 year old hottie. Either way, bring them ito the scene, Reprimand them or whatever, and they will forget about your accent or what they're having for lunch. Simple simple simple. There is one turning point in the scene. That is your beat. You are thinking too much. Let it go. Most U.S actors are into their 'method' and bring pre-meditated performances. Don't fall into this trap. PLay verbs, strongly, and stay relaxed and open to surprise yourself. Make it real for yourself, it will feel real for them. A lot of Kiwi's and Aussies learn their lines. Fine. But hold onto the script, don't let them think this is your polished final perfromance. It's just a read. Don't look for any chemistry or anything from the Casting Director. They aren't actors. Play strong verbs, make them your scene partner. Most of all, this is just a pre-read. It's to see what you look like, whether your voice matches your look, whether you're complete rubbish or not. If you score in all those things and are even a little bit what they're looking for then you get a call-back to prove it wasn't a fluke. Then you give them acting. Let it go.

So, there's a stream of consciousness of what I have running round my head. Phew!
So the afternoon, sure enough, surrounded by guys mostly better looking and bigger built versions of me I took Nikolai's ideas into my pre-read and was 10 times better. Got told I was a lovely actor and had a great accent by weird casting directors. All I needed to bounce me back up to full confidence. well ... that a great pep talk/email from Serena. I'm taking her advice too and just knuckling down on my accent work and remembering what my first auditions out of drama school were like. Terrifying!

I remember when I first started working in front of the camera, how I enjoyed feeling like I was back at square one. All the theatre work stood me good stead but it was a whole new ball game. I'm reminded of that feeling now. I know I have the goods, the work I have done stands me in good stead. I'm just learning to play a whole new ball game. It's going to take a bit of mastering it before I can really apply my skills.

Right, I have to scripts to not overwork, a pilot to read socks to pull up and dinner with some kiwis in a few hours.
Sorry for boring the non actors and for the overly liberal use of the comma, I just can't help myself.
Thanks for staying with me.

G

Hollywood 5.0

It's gone 1 am and I'm back from Universal City. For the second time today.
Hell I wasn't gonna pass up dinner, and a ride in a car to see Avatar in 3d Imax at Universal.

This morning I took public transport. Contrary to the arched eyebrows of car loving locals it's not too bad. They laugh when I tell them i've been walking everywhere. Then they realise I'm serious. Yep, only me and the crazies walk in L.A. I've met a few.

I gave myself plenty of time to find my way. I'm SO glad I did. After the security guard at gate 2 of Universal realised I was, seriously, walking, he handed me a map and wished m luck shaking his head. Universal City is just that. A City where they make film and tv. I walked past the cast and crew of C.S.I having lunch, the 2nd A.D of Little Fockers flying around in a golf cart in a mad panic and Brian Grazer nearly run me over. I know it was Brian cos he was pulling into his carpark which had a big sign saying BRIAN GRAZER. I was standing in it reading a map avoiding golf carts. Someone also called him Brian. I thought about cracking some Bowfinger gag, but thought better of it.
The studios out at Henderson? They have hundreds of those here. I was walking through a city of aircraft hangers. Funny though, amongst the easy-ups, tatooed smoking grips, catering trucks, A.D's walking around I felt kinda at home. I know this world. It's just been supersized.
I finally found Desperate Housewives HQ and sat down for my first pre-read with an american casting director.
The pre-read is the way he gets to meet me, see what my qualities are, before he goes putting his own ass on the line and calling me in to audition for anything. He's a busy man. We read a scene from his companies new pilot, (which is an awesome script, and with far more famous people than me acting in it will be a great series) over his desk. I got up and moved around a bit, it was odd. He gave me bit of direction, I did it fine. He said thanks, I left.
I walked out of Universal City and a crazy lady screamed at me and chased me down the street 10 metres. My nerves were shot. I took the train and then headed down Hollywood Boulevard to get my bus. I was in a world of my own thinking about my audition when I saw a star with Groucho Marx written inside before I realised where I was. I looked up. There was Superman. And his mate Batman. And strippers, and Samuel L Jackson, no, wait, he's made from wax. Do I want a photo with it? No, she's right thanks mate.

Home in the avo and off walking the streets of West Hollywood again. When will I learn?
Looked at a couple of rooms to sublet. Both good options. Trying not to think too hard about how they both average 350$NZD a week more than what I pay in Auckland.

Lines to learn over the weekend. Audition on monday for remake of 70's cop show.
Book me Danno.

G

p.s - Latest cricket text update from Bracken. Opened the batting. Scored 41 and batted through to the 25th over. Bowling coming along nicely too. NCEA this year. Go get em sunshine!

The Dog and Pony Show.

Day 1. And I wake up wondering where the hell I am.
I am in West Hollywood. And if you've got the lingo down like me, you just abbreviate it to the nearest known intersection, like "oh yeah, west hollywood dude, like, Sunset and Crecent Heights?" It seems the upward inflection is on the rise, and not because of us antipodeans either.

T.Ryan is a school mate of Serena's who's got an absent Argentinian flatmate. For a week. I have the room, a share of leftover catering from The Big Bang Theory lunches, email access and a wicked host. I'm looking for a sub-let nearby cos this area is choice.

10.30am saw me sweating and just about on time at my managers office on Wilshire Blvd.
I did what's known as The Dog and Pony show. All the managers, who are a crack team pile into one office to look me up and down and go round seeing what I'd be right for. It was very Entourage, if Vincent Chase was a dick who just grinned. They're a great bunch who will be working hard for me. I had to go back a few hours later to meet one of them that couldn't be there in the morning. In a one on one and after a good think I was much more on my game. She gave me the best low down.
"It's all tv at the moment. No-one makes any money from films. Our goal is to get every client in a series right now. Round 1 they're looking for names, round two it loosens up a bit, and round three they might take suggestions. We'll try get you in round 2, but mostly it's round 3 for you. No guest roles because you'll never get the paperwork done in time. Doctors, lawyers, cops. That's what everyone's looking for at the moment. Can you do multi-cam comedy?"
Imagine that as onenonstopveryquicklyspokensentence.
Realistically I'm just getting in front of people that matter and hopefully knocking their socks off so they keep me in mind. But to hear my manager say to her staff "I like him. He's fantastic. I want him in a series so he never leaves," is encouraging.

Tomorrow morning I have a pre-read for a Casting Director at Universal Studios. I will be taking a bus and a train. I need a car. This place doesn't like pedestrians. I did nearly 5 hours walking today. Arse.

There is something kinda cool about a city full of film and tv people. Coming from a place where acting is still considered a bit of a hobby and Shorty St is the benchmark of success. There are printing shops advertising specials on Headshot/Resume packages. The directors guild, cinematographers guild buildings are down the road on Sunset and look like the ANZ building. At the airport there was a sign covering up the renovations being done saying "we know you're all actors, so just act like this isn't happening. sorry for the inconvenience." Mind you, they say the collective noun for actors is a Bitch of Actors. The novelty could wear off pretty fast.

I gotta learn lines and figure what in my wardrobe says Cop, Lawyer and Doctor.

G

Sunset Blvd.

Okay. I made it. Didn't get much sleep on the plane, but I can recommend UP and THE INFORMANT. Great to see our own Mel Lynskey footing it with Matt Damon. Will have to grill her about it when I catch up with her.

In 2003 I went outside LAX during a brief stopover and somehow a charming African-American guy with big teeth got me to hand over $10 to him. I was ready for him this time. Arriving at T.Ryan Brennan's address in West Hollywood, he was leaving for work. Brief handshake and he was off. Hope to catch him when he gets home tonight from his job being a production assisstant on The Big Bang Theory.

A Stroll down Sunset Boulevard to get a sim card. Open top hummer things doing celebrity house tours, designer dogs, vegan gluten-free restaurants and burgers everywhere. And the motorcycle cops look ace. The two people I spoke to today both asked me where I was from. Guess most people who haven't seen The Flight of the Conchords wouldn't have much heard it before. There's only 4 Million of us an all.

I swear I've heard more spanish spoken than english so far. The traffic is coming at me the wrong way and there's too much water in the toilet bowl. It's only gonna get weirder.

I'm happy with today's achievements. Walk, Food, Phone.
BED.

Tomorrow it begins. Meeting with Lena Roklin.

G

Brisbane Airport. Exciting Stuff.

And here potentially is the downfall of blogging.
I'm bored out of my mind in Brisbane airport and telling you about it. I'll keep it short. A 4am shuttle pick up and no sleep will help the matter too.

The loud and excitable members of some American Christian Youth Group on the plane. That's quite an accent. Piercing, dominating and not sleep inducive. It's right up there with the overly loud Brisbane Airport Announcer lady. I'm in a good mood.

About to saddle up for the numerous security/undie checks now required to fly into the U.S. Better drop the attitude now. Have picked up duty free Port Royal for my host (thanks for the tip-off Drew.) and am pretty set here thanks.

Cara (Cotton sister 2, shit hot designer of Cherry Cotton Candy and personal angel to Tanya Carlson) pointed me towards her boyfriend Greg (Shit hot Metal drummer and avid sneaker fan) for his L.A tips, having just got back himself.
Greg's 3 L.A Tips...

1. Fire a big gun. Go on. It's right next to LAX.
2. Go to In and Out Burger and get Animal Style. It comes with Onions.
3. Go. To. Las. Vegas.

Cheers Greg. Good man. And I'm onto the pastrami on rye too Matt. Cheers again.

I'm off. Some lucky bugger is getting 18 mins of free Internet at this dumb kiosk.

http://cherrycottoncandy.com/

G

I'm Not Harry Jenson in 5.1 surround sound. Or not.

It's nearing midnight. 2 days till I leave NZ.
Tonight was the Rialto Film Club Preview of I'm Not Harry Jenson, followed by a Q&A with Director James Napier, Producer Tom Herne and actors Cameron Rhodes and myself. I couldn't bear seeing myself on the big screen again so turned up an hour before the end of the film and sat in the bar. It was then that I saw the director tear out of the cinema and into the projection booth followed by one of our investors. Hmmmm...
To cut a long story short ... We are one of the first films in NZ to be distributed digitally. Meaning rather than Rialto sending 'prints' of our film to it's 23 cinemas, hard drives are sent instead. This includes a new 5.1 Surround sound mix. Somewhere in the transfer something went a bit, um, woopsy, and our brave sound designer took it upon himself to remix some things. James, not happy. When I caught up with him he looked like he'd just had a stillborn baby delivered. Panic stations as James and Tom went about finding the original stereo mix to play for the following session and for the national release on thursday. 2 speakers being better than the 'new version' in 5.1 they reckon.
My bloody legend teammates from the North Shore Raw 5th division ( now 4th Division!) football team were none the wiser, as I kept pointing out, and we went in for the Q&A.
Toa Fraser, genius playwright and accomplished filmmaker (No.2, Dean Spanley) ran the session. He was funny, articulate and downright good at it. It was fun remembering how it all came together two years ago, and how this whole L.A adventure is down to this film. I'm proud. And have a newfound sense of my coming adventure being part of the whole Harry Jenson experience.
James, who put in the good word with his L.A manager, (now also my manager) was invaluable over a few beers after with advice. He gave me a blow by blow account of a typical day during pilot season, and what traps to look out for. Sounds like i have my work cut out for me.

I am assembling every Kiwi I can find in L.A to go see the All Whites play Mexico in March. Though as my smarty-pants cousin Aaron points out there might be a few Mexican fans there too.

So, I leave the morning I'm Not Harry Jenson goes to cinema in New Zealand. A remarkable achievement for a film that cost the same as a Film Commission funded short. I'm very proud of the boys, and everyone involved. Go see it of you get a chance, it'll hook you in. A Song of Good, which won Best Film (Under 1-Million) at the screen awards never got this. You may find it at the DVD store next to lots of other fine NZ Films that weren't considered good business to release to cinema.

That's enough from me tonight. I have to pack and pick up my dry-cleaning tomorrow.
L.A. Here I come.

www.imnotharryjenson.com

G

The 39 Steps and 3 Days to Go.

Well, in an effort to keep all my friends, family and interested parties informed, I am now a Blogger!
I will give it my best to blog my way through the upcoming months in Los Angeles as I try to find my way in Hollywood.
(Thanks for the suggestion Aaron.)

I've spent the last few days in Wellington seeing Serena. I had finished everything I could do, was killing time, and realized I should be killing it with the hottest actress in New Zealand. Serena was pleased to see me. She's fantastic in her play The 39 Steps at Circa. It's a Hitchcock spoof and shows off her talents well. It's a return season after selling out last year, I enjoyed watching it from the lighting box too. Great to have a few days with Rene in Wellington again, where it all began. Had a great curry and catch up with cousin Aaron. Zac's growing up too fast. Big boys bed now. Blimey.

So... back in Auckland. I leave Wednesday morning, early for Los Angeles.
My manager Lena Roklin is very excited about having me, and I can't wait to get into it frankly.
I'm not expecting miracles, but I'm quietly hoping for one.
And I won't be letting my cute Kiwi humility stand in the way of selling myself either.

Thanks for tuning in. I'm boring myself already.
Hopefully I'll have some stories to tell over the coming few months.
Wish me luck!

G