Paul Fields owned a large, industrial studio five minutes from my apartment.
Paul, forty-eight, photographer, grey ponytail, tall, lanky, with a Salvador Dali mustache.
Paul taught me a few tricks to achieve a good headshot and being photographed in general. He instructed that I look into the lights before facing back at the camera to make the color of my eyes show up better in the film.
"The blue will really pop!" he said. We tried a few shots and then he showed me the difference. My eyes looked unnaturally blue. "Sexy alien eyes."
"Now clench down on your jaw."
Paul took another set of pictures shouting lots of direction, "Yes! Great! Oh, these are perfect!!" He waved me over again, showing me the shots. Strong jawline. I looked masculine and brooding. He shot hundreds of pictures and I changed into different shirts. Three hours and three looks: Eight Hundred dollars.
After we finished, Paul, more than Lynn, seemed impressed and asked about my representation.
"Who is your agent?"
"I don't have one."
Paul suggested I meet with his friend who was recently back on the scene after a medical hiatus.
"If you're interested I will set it up."
"Yes, thank you."
Paul forwarded the entire shoot to the agent and I drove home to do research.
Michael Dell. This guy worked with big names and launched the careers of notable actors.
Tom Hughes
Alex Baldwin
Ethan Hugo
Sessily Weaver
Kathryn Turner
Mac King.
Michael called me the following day and I scheduled a meeting.
Driving my busted Ford pick-up to a beautiful neighborhood near Beverly Hills, I felt like a con man. My character could steal from the rich and party with the poor. Robin was from the hood, right?
YOU ARE READING
BAD ACTING
General FictionAn aspiring actor detailing his first year in Los Angeles as he attempts to break into the Entertainment Industry. Eighteen-year-old Ryan Ash molds himself into an eclectic assortment of odd characters to survive while using these personalities to...
