It's only Rock Rivals

Well, aren't I busy? Audition yesterday for an ITV thing called Rock Rivals, auspicious for the fact that it's by the same people as Footballers' Wives, a show which was both the big break and final testimony of a friend of mine a few years back. Now, I thought I remembered Robin auditioning for this a good long time ago, and I was right. I did what any curious person with too much time and an internet connection would do, and googled the shit out of it.

Now, as it turns out, it's been filming for about seven weeks and suddenly the guy who was playing the part I was auditioning for dropped out. Something funny going on there. Oh, and the other thing: The last guy they picked for this part is about as different from me as, say, Nelson Mandela is from a cartoon shoe.

So, it was with no real expectations I arrived at Shed Productions near King's Cross, waaaay too early for my audition. I inherited the early gene from my mum. Even just thinking about arriving on time makes me feel late. So I inevitably end up wandering round the block, or up the road and down again so as not to appear pathetically desperate. This is a great opportunity for me to focus and relax, and for my brain to try and sabotage my career by pretending not to remember the way back (see previous post).

Shed productions is not in a shed at all. It's in one of those semi-industrial-turned-media-offices estates, with a buzzer on the door that it looks like you'll get in trouble for pressing. Back to the Crystal Maze, but very much in Future Zone now. There's a tiny little reception area a bit like a youth centre with TV Quick awards on the wall. There's a nice receptionist with an impressive collection of speech impediments considering his main job is answering the phone and swingy chairs in brown suade. All this to lull you into the false idea that this is a cosy little place, before you go into the meeting room with the glass wall looking down onto the shop floor, where about fifty people look like they should be holding their collective breath to see if Hanks can pull Apollo 13 through on manual. Or at least shouting 'sell,sell,sell.'

Margaret Crawford is casting, and she's fairly abrupt. Not that she's trying to be unkind, I think she's just like that. Read through the part with her and did it fairly well. Something tells me I won't get it though. Possibly the camcorder on the tripod that she singularly failed to point at me, or even turn on. But she casts a lot of things and there's a lot to be said for just being seen by these people.

Back downstairs, with the door refusing to perform it's egressive duties, the receptionist said "Jutht click the button on the wight there and it'll let you thtraight through." If only there were a similar button for casting directors at auditions...