GOOD TIMES
Do the hustle A man’s gotta know his limitations, Clint Eastwood once famously hissed. That’s true. But sometimes you gotta look past ‘em, said no Paul K andarian one famous (me). I’m an older actor trying to make a living at an insanely uncertain career, and as such, am always on the hunt for more work. Ask any consistently working actor – not an A-lister who doesn’t have to look for gigs – what the secret to getting jobs is, and they’ll invariably say “hustle.” I hustle every waking moment. I get up, go online, search for work on five different acting sites, through my agent, and word of mouth. There’s never down time, no nine-to-five, monday-to-friday existence for an actor. There’s just hustle, hustle, and hustle. And when you’re worn out from all that hustling, you hustle some more. I got an audition notice from my agent a couple months ago for a spot that called for an older person who can dance. In fact, it said pointedly, “dancing talent strongly preferred.” I saw that and shrugged and thought while it looked like a fun, really well-paying gig, why bother? Honestly, I’m the epitome of every old white guy you’ve seen dancing at weddings. Sober. Drunk, it’s even worse. As bad as Elaine Benes in Seinfeld? Put it this way: I make her look like Ginger Rogers. Two left feet? I’d settle for one. Trip the light fantastic? Yes I do, and there’s nothing fantastic about it. Dance like nobody’s watching? They can’t not watch like people can’t not watch a train wreck. Think I’m kidding? I did “Annie” several months ago playing Warbucks and our choreographer was working with the girls, and I had a dancing scene using a cane and wearing a top hat and told her I was bad at
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it. She scoffed and said with absolute confidence, “Don’t worry, I can teach anybody to dance.” She tried and said minutes later, “You know what? Just stand there and tap the cane while the girls dance.” Which I managed to do with the grace of a blind man taking a walk across a busy street. I think she went on to become a jewelry maker.
So when they asked if I’d audition, I thought long and hard about how pathetic and truly lousy I am as a dancer. And I said “sure!” So this audition notice I got called for someone to dance with a robot. No, really, it was this CGI thing and it looked really funny and clever, but I figured if I did it, I wouldn’t be dancing with the robot, I’d be the robot. I saw some test footage of it dancing and that robo-dude was smooooth, I tell ya, way better than me. So I told my agent I’d have to pass. Why bother, right? Why waste time? Why make a fool of myself. Why try? Next day, I got a call from the casting agency asking if I’d be interested in auditioning for it. I figure they must have found it hard to fill the job and asked me even though nowhere on my resume do I dare list “dance” as a skill. “Zamboni driver,” sure, because that I can do. So when they asked if I’d audition, I
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thought long and hard about how pathetic and truly lousy I am as a dancer. And I said “sure!” I won’t drag out the punchline: I did not get the job and dazzle everyone on set and am now a finalist on Dancing With the Stars. Nor was I expecting to. So why did I put my iPhone on a tripod, play a jazzy version of “It Had to Be You” on my laptop and film myself rumbling and bumbling across my living room with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, if not my feet? Why, for the love of Terpsichore, why did I try? Because as I tell everyone who gets nervous or shy or indecisive about auditions or performing, what’re they gonna do if you fail? Shoot you? No. They’ll say thanks but no thanks and you’ll shrug and move onto the next opportunity – because there will always be a next opportunity. I took my own advice and did exactly what the casting instructions said to do. Just not quite as “strongly” as they might prefer. But what the hell, no one shot me. It felt great to dance out of my comfort zone into something I never would have tried before. I didn’t get the job, but trust me: in acting, unlike baseball, you hit on two out of 10 jobs, you’re an MVP by batting just .200. Not getting the job wasn’t the point. The point was trying to get the job. And in this business, if you don’t try, you die. Me and Clint, we’re just full of pithy little expressions like that. If you see me, I’d be happy to lay some more words of wisdom on you. But don’t ask me to dance. This man knows his limitations. And how to dance right past ‘em when he has to.
Paul K andarian is a lifelong area resident and, since 1982, has been a profession writer, columnist, and contributor in national magazines, websites, and other publications.
