An Actor Prepares

On Grinding Away & The Work Behind The Work

I’m deep in a period of doing all the stuff you have to do before the real stuff begins. The inescapable stuff. The weeding and the buying of the seeds and the plotting and the planting to make the garden grow. It even exists in Minecraft, my kid says it’s called grinding, its the boring, thankless repetitive actions that need to be done to get to the highs and the rewards and the reaping.

When I open my laptop at the moment it’s like a box exploding, full of things that will be impossible to ever shove back in. Seventeen tabs open of work in progress. I’m researching, writing, reaching out, enquiring, gathering information, learning software, leaning in, setting things up, sending things off. Some of it is creative but mostly not. I am wild eyed and woolly. I am washing the dishes so I can cook the meal. I am preparing for the real thing. It feels like it’s taking a long time.

There’s always work behind the work. We all know it.

Today I thought I would show you something of the rarely seen work in preparing for an acting role. Actors do all kinds of things to find ways into being someone else; write copious notes, create scrapbooks or playlists, find new ways to walk and talk and think and find a different face reflected back in the mirror.

In the wayback time machine, I was cast in a film called ‘Tom White’. It’s the story of a family man who flips out and ends up living on the streets trying to find himself. I played a troubled character called Christine, who is working at Luna Park and living a very tough life and trying to lose herself and then comes to a very nasty end.

You can watch the film here on YouTube.

Bizarrely, the film description states: ‘A naive hairdresser is spurred by her vivacious friend into becoming a nude model, but soon discovers that everyone she knows wants a piece of her.’ Someone definitely didn’t do the work required behind the work there, because that is some other film entirely - actually the plotline for a 1979 Ozploitation film called ‘Snapshot’ starring Sigrid Thornton and Chantal Contouri by the director that would eventually go on to make Free Willy. I might have to check it out.

Anyway, I digress. As usual. This is Christine.

Still from ‘Tom White’

I hadn’t done any acting work for a long while before doing the film and was a bit anxious about how to create a believable full bodied character. I spent a lot of time just thinking about who she was and how she got there, and eventually, I sat down and wrote her story. That was my way of doing the work behind the work. By writing this, I felt like I knew her inside out and the rest came naturally. It’s long and rude so don’t read it if these kinds of things bother you.

Christine

Grew up in an outer suburb

Caught the train to town

After school

Not much happened at home

Not much happened anywhere

Nothin much that she could bear

No-one understood

There was nothing to understand

Nothing to say

Had to find another way

To bring the thrill, the rush of day

Boys at school

Awkward fumbles

Beer on breath

Hurtin tumbles

The thought of going on for years

Filled her with an unnamed fear

Found a place of elevation

Hangin by the old train station

A public phone

For public use

She shoulda called her mother

But she couldn’t move

So she cut her loose

Stealin bracelets

Smokin cigarettes

Rock’n’roll made her wanna confess

All she needed was a little thrill

A small and harmless little pill

So white and pure and full of promise

Lulled her mind

Her head a forest

Grew her hair

And found a power

In pouring beer

And been paid by the hour

And in her breaks

And after shut up

She liked kissing boys

Who couldn’t stand up

Hooded eyes and knowing smiles

Fooled her for a little while

Come with me

They’d beckon to her

Soon her nights

Could all see through her

Met a boy in tight black jeans

Seemed to know what her feelings mean

Helped her kill ‘em bit by bit

The lights too bright

And no lack of wit

She didn’t have to do a thing

‘Cept lie around and wait for him

In the playground

After hours

Never thought of takin’ showers

Felt so dirty

Felt so clean

He’d smile so sweet and treat her so mean

She couldn’t answer

When he called Christine

The park grew cold when the ice set in

But she felt so warm when she let him in

Woke one morning 

Blue and cold

He was dead and she was old

Got a job, selling papers

Murders, robberies and rapists

All the words were just a blur

Didn’t mean a thing to her

Nothing real

Nothing mattered

The paper helped 

When the rain did splatter

The coins she should’ve taken in

Helped her buy a little gin

Like something you’d drink on a holiday

Was what she thought

But could not say

Eyes too bright

And spirits lifted

She wondered if she was really gifted

She had the knack for lyin’ back

And sayin’ hi to Bob and Jack

Crawled out of a darkened room

Flowered sheets and heavy doom

Cancelled out the ache, the longing

Tired of all the to and fromming

Got a man

Gave her a needle

Couldn’t protest or whine or wheedle

Then everything was so alright

She’d sleep by day and fuck by night

Always in a a little cloud

Voices next door talkin’ loud

And once a week she’d put a form in

Walk into a place so foreign

Stand so regal

Head held high

Til she’d come alive

On some guy’s thigh

No better then and just the same

As blanker faces full of blame

And all at once she realised

And concluded, as she shut her eyes

She needed somethin’ more than sleep

And hangin’ out with stinkin’ creeps

Found a number for a hotline

They gave her juice instead of wine

And vitamins replaced the pills

The doctor said she was very ill

It’d take some time to heal, he said

Her mind went gold and she went to bed

Woke up a stranger

In a furnished room

Strange how same the pale gloom

Oh I’m better now, she said

And thankyou

For the soap, the bed, the shampoo

I’ll call my mother

Find work and be cool

So ancient now at 22

Her CV said 

She’d been to school

So she put on someone else’s jeans

And lied about where she had been

Indonesia was great, she sighed

Drove tour buses, worked as guide

Ate sticky rice and spoke some Thai

But her suitcase stolen

With all her cash

Nowhere to go

No little stash

But she still got the red kimono

From Vietnam, or maybe Kyoto

The lies mixed up and caught her out

Nothin left but another lout

To help her out

They’d help each other, he said

And in this way

She found another lover

Another stray 

He seemed so wise

And full of stories

And praise for her escape 

From whoring

And her reward

A little taste

A sweeter, neater little place

Where nothing seemed to hurt too much

She found peace in the gathering dust

He said, we need to eat

What have you got

So they stole some plants

And sold some pot

This is nice, thought sweet Christine

Just sit around at home and drink tea

Make some friends

Who don’t stay too long

Just long enough for a coupla bongs

She wore a place in the velvet couch

And never had to leave the house

A record player there she found

And found she dug a groovy sound

All alone she’d dance and sway

Sometimes in her head

She was on a stage

With flashing lights

And then at night

She’d take a bath 

With a cigarette

He’d burst in and demand the rent

A cranky cunt, a violent bore

Soon she had to find the door

Then there she was

Without a friend

And tired too

And at an end

She sat down on St. Kilda Pier

And wondered how to disappear

Then Phil strolled by

He had the answer

Girl you’re so pretty

You could be a dancer

Well yeah, she thought

You’re so perceptive

And soon she found she was receptive

To each suggestion, every prick

And then back in the thick of it

He called her Christie

It felt real nice

Like starting out a fresher life

I’ll protect you babe, he said

Those cunts out there’ll kill you dead

So put your little hand in mine

I’ll grind your powder

And buy you wine

And drop you off at 8 o’clock

And pick you up outside the shop

We’ll live the high life

You and me

You can dance all night

And we’ll be free

His face looked so kind

And cracked and tender

She set off on another bender

And soon she found she didn’t care

She moved through days and swum through air

Then the sickness set back in

Could never get away from him

He held her under

She held her breath

And longing for a sweeter death

She crawled away

All kicked and broken

And hoped another door would open

This time, she thought

I’ll get real clean

And saw the lights like in a dream

It didn’t cost to go inside

She didn’t even want to ride

This is it, she thought, I’m here

I’ll stand up straight, get off the gear

I’ll purify myself, pristine

And be addressed by my name

Christine

There’s something ‘bout a uniform

Even one that’s old and worn

So a job came up

And she put one on

Got a little flat

And tied one on

But she turned up every single day

Except Monday

When she tidied up

And thought that someday

Something would happen

To warm her up

Something better than her lonely cup

She liked the sound of the rifles firin’

And screaming kids and glances admiring

Rollercoaster aching by

Shoot to win, a fool to try

A certain kind of satisfaction

In knowing 

They won’t get no action

And all the prizes at her command

And money flowing, hand over hand

In quiet times, she could reminisce

About all the boys she’d never miss

No sweeter, safer place

Than behind the counter

With her uniform and no need to doubt her

Sellin’ dreams to stupid kids

Who should’ve known they’d lose the bid

And sipping now, to fortify

It looked like Coke but made her fly

But never did she ever ride

The Pirate Ship that sailed on by

And the rollercoaster reminded her of the trains

She’d watched go by in wind and rain

Then comforting, to get back home

And let her heart sink back to stone

Poor Christine

Thanks for reading and may your day be productive, if thats where you’re at, or peaceful or fun or action-packed… I better get back to the grindstone. Can’t wait to show you what I’m working on! x