The archives

Jane Romero: All the World a Stage

Jane needs a job. She has a job. She works as a waitress at a local diner. She needs another kind of job. A role. A part. Something. Anything to let her know she's on the right path. Anything to let her know she deserves more than a school variety show. Acting is a fool's pursuit! One in a billion her father says. Her grandfather agrees but adds: "Those who have the courage to follow their dreams have a ninety nine percent chance at being that one in a billion. Have courage. Courage will put the odds in your favour." Jane loves her grandfather and wants to make him proud. Wants to show him he's right. I'll be that one in a billion.Mexican waitress speaks in Mexican and English with a Mexican accent. Who wrote this? Mexican isn't a language. Doesn't matter. You get the gist. Her face grows warm with frustration. The accent isn't necessary. Why? Why the accent? Why can't it just be Waitress? Waitress who speaks English. Why does the script need the waitress to be Mexican? Why is this important to the scene? Jane stares at the director, trying to understand his needs. It brings flavour. What does that mean? It doesn't bring flavour. It perpetuates a stereotype. Yet... Jane says nothing. She says nothing because she doesn't want to be blacklisted as a social justice warrior. Doesn't want to be called a complaining minority. With a slight Spanish accent, she finishes the audition.Jane shares a beer with her friend Dwayne. Dwayne tells her how a creative executive hired him to be the co-writer of his terrible script. To be the spokesperson of his terrible idea. To validate his insensitive cultural appropriation of an African American story. The creative executive wants to make a minority film because it's a fad. The quickest way to be recognised. The fast track to fame for a hack. Many writers told the hack his script was wrong on so many levels. Poorly written. Disrespectful. Boring. Insensitive. Dwayne refused to accept a script that was disrespectful to his cultural heritage. Refused to attach his name to a project so the executive could avoid accusations of cultural appropriation. Refused to validate an entitled interpretation of a minority story. The executive discredited Dwayne by calling him a social justice warrior. Fired him. Jane sighs sadly for her friend. At least the script won't get produced. Dwayne raises a sceptical eyebrow. The hack has a friend with money. Lots of money. He'll write. Direct. And produce. Entitled hacks with friends in high places. It's how bad movies get made. They toast bad movies. Jane laughs. Not because it's funny. But because it's true.It's been months she hasn't worked. No calls. No auditions. Nothing. Jane stares at the blank television screen. As a child she used to imagine herself on television. She doesn't see herself on television anymore. Something is happening. She can't see herself succeeding anymore. She wishes for her shot. Her one shot. Her one in a billion shot. But scripts for her are few and far between. Nothing beyond the stereotype. Her agent shouldn't care. He should put her forward for all the female roles in her age range. She can play any female role, lead or support and yet she only gets auditions for the Spicy Latina or the funny immigrant or the waitress with the accent, never just... woman... American. That's all she wants. She stares at the snowy television. Tries to visualise herself as the star of a show but can't. The phone rings. Her agent. An audition. A major part in a play and it pays well. For a moment, just a moment, she feels like one in a billion.Jane's cell phone rings. She freezes on the sidewalk. This is it and she doesn't know if she wants to answer or not. She can't take another rejection. Not for this part. This part is too important. She brings the cell phone to her ear. Answers. She hears a voice she recognises. Her agent. He tells her how everyone enjoyed her audition. How everyone thought she was just fantastic. He goes on about something else. She waits for the but... the proverbial but... a thousand compliments negated by one single, all-destroying... but... It doesn't come. She listens to trivial notes and waits for the polite rejection. Instead... You got the part... she's not sure she heard right... You got the part... She mumbles to herself. I got the part. Her face grows numb with disbelief. She screams. Strangers turn to face her. Sorry.Dwayne helps Jane rehearse at a café. They take a break and he tells her the hack is now doing a Chinese story and is desperately searching for a Chinese writer to validate his most recent abomination. Jane laughs. Hacks with money. It's how bad movies get made. She tells Dwayne things are going well with the play. She doesn't have to do an accent. Doesn't have to wear a mini skirt or perpetuate a ridiculous stereotype. Doesn't have to do all the stupidities she had to do in the past. This is a real gig. A meaningful gig. A gig she can share with her family. She knocks on the table. Dwayne laughs and says it isn't wood. She shrugs. He says he's happy for her and hands her a cut-out from a magazine. Open audition for Quick Talk. He says he put in a good word for her. She'd make a perfect host. She thanks him but the play takes all her time. Too bad. You're the most real person I know and that's what the show needs. Authenticity.Last rehearsal before opening night and she's nailed her role despite some last-minute changes to the script. She feels the adrenaline and a great sense of flow unlike anything she's ever experienced before. The director claps after the last line is delivered. He approaches her. Tells her he's amazed. Impressed. Inspired. But... he feels her character would work better with an accent. A what? The request undermines her. Shatters her. Why? I don't understand. For giggles. It would be fun. The character doesn't need an accent. The character is fine without an accent. But it would add comic relief. Comic relief? That's what she is to this director. To the producers. To this industry. Comic relief.

She stares at him. Waits for him to burst out laughing. Waits for him to say he's joking. Waits for an apology that never comes. She sighs and feels the strength of her ancestors coursing through her veins. A strength that won't allow her to sell-out. A strength that won't allow her to perpetuate a hurtful image of what it means to be an American. She shakes her head at the director. Find a comedian, asshole. She storms off stage. Those who follow their path beat the odds even if the odds are a billion to one. Bullshit.