Casting call- line dropped

A major fail. It's the only way I can describe my first casting. I'm not actually sure if it was really that bad, but sometimes the aftertaste is all that matters. The worst part is I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t have any of the signs of being nervous. There were no butterflies, my mouth wasn’t dry, and I felt filled more with curiosity than apprehension. 

I love behind the scenes adventures and so I was looking forward to finding out what a casting call for a TV series in Abidjan would be like. The studio was small but professional. It was tucked in and around and behind, but the actors and actresses who’d hoped to audition seemed to find it well enough.  Aside from one woman who was dressed in a leopard print pantsuit and 4 in. high heels, most of them appeared to be everyday people. There was even one young girl, about 12, accompanied by her dad or uncle.

The sign- up sheet is the first step and requires your name, age and phone number.  According to the sheet, I was the oldest one there.  I reminded myself that age in Africa has a fluid quality and tried not to think too much of that. My neighbor stepped into her professional role and took to getting things organized inside. We, the hopefuls, sat outside in a long narrow atrium. There were white benches and potted plants and a wall of sliding glass doors in front of us that permitted a slight view of the actors as they read their parts. 

One of the stagehands read off the names from the list, gave a measured glance at whoever said “me” and then handed them a script. He told them which part they would read and sent them off to practice their parts in groups of 2 and 3. 

I waited and observed the new arrivals. My neighbor checked in with me and whispered in my ear an offer of coffee and cake that the directors were serving up. I declined figuring I stood out enough as it was. We’d come with another neighbor of ours,  a singer in her church choir but not a professional actress, so I felt good about my situation. I wasn’t the only novice even if I was the only white person. 

Abidjan has a healthy French population, not to mention other European countries. I'm not sure why I keep finding myself in places where I am so obviously the other. I tried not to focus on this and waited for someone to come along who would be perfect for a part to read with me. 

I spent some time (over) analyzing the role in my mind. I was supposed to be the wife of an African who had spent time abroad (due to war and conflict, perhaps) and was just moving back to his country. He wasn't particularly happy about it, due to some conflicts he'd had with his community before leaving (the details are a bit fuzzy and I never did get a copy of the entire script.) I was also mother of a son who gets a girl pregnant.

The  part of the script I'd been given revolved around our first days in the neighborhood. I wasn't very nice to the people around me (the driver, the house workers, the neighbors) as in- I didn't offer greetings (later it becomes clear this is the husband's directive.) One line I was supposed to read actually said, "Am I obligated to say hello to you?" I practiced my snooty voice in my head even as I wondered why the role had to be so cliche. Eventually, I aka Madame Kone, make friends with a woman neighbor who helps me figure out market shopping. I grudgingly admit there is probably more truth than stereotype in this scenario. But the longer I sat there, the more my moral sensibilities started to kick in and I wondered if I shouldn't make some kind of a stand for white women everywhere (or for those who live in Africa, at least.) Need we always be portrayed as bumbling fools who can't manage to buy some fruits and say good morning to our neighbors? Really.

Before I let myself wander too far down this road, I did realize that I probably needed to make a name for myself in African TV before I could sway any opinions and start changing cliches. Luckily, my real neighbor also decided it was time for me to read and assigned one of the actors to play the part of my son, Freddy. We practiced the (very few) lines a bit until I felt comfortable. The lines were so few in fact that it seemed a bit ridiculous to say them more than 6 or 7 times to each other. 

We were able to sit inside the taping room just before our turn. This gave us a chance to see the group in front of us. They were 3. The way the audition works is that one person is identified as the principle. This person takes a place on the small stage while the others are just off camera. Only the principle is filmed, though the other voices can be heard. This helps with identifying the actors. 

The principle stands first facing the camera, gives their name, and phone number, and maybe answers a few questions. Then the profile shot is taken. Finally, the reading begins. This process means I watched the group in front of me read their short scene 3 times so that each of the actors would have a chance in the center. Fascinating stuff. 

My turn came quickly enough and I took the center spot. In the scene, I was just arriving home and called out to my son a few times. He doesn't answer until I tap him on the shoulder, which startles him. Of course, he is busy keeping out of camera range so I can't actually tap him. All I have to say is, "Freddy.....Freddy... Oh Fred. There you are."  He responds finally by saying how I startled him. And then I say, "I've been calling you forever." He asks me what it is I wanted and I respond, " Nothing. But...are you sure you're all right?"  The scene ends kind of abruptly there- those were all the pages I had. 

I'd practiced this in French with my partner enough to feel I'd had it memorized. The camera didn't bother me and I am pretty good at imagining- yup, I could see the house all around and the kid on the sofa ignoring me. No big stretch there. But while I was speaking, I kept seeing the printed words on the page and the tu (you) and tout (all) were getting mixed up in my head. I couldn't seem to understand what I was really supposed to say (or rather, I wanted to say it my way in my possibly bad French. Oh the undoing of my learning!) In any case, I fumbled a bit at the end and looked apologetically at my neighbor. 

I'm sure it didn't happen this way, but in my memory the camera man and my neighbor rushed up to me (which they really did) and started patting me and fixing my hair (which I don't think they did. I can't quite remember what they were doing up so close to me.) I guess maybe they were just offering reassurances. They told me I could even speak in English (which seemed an absurd way to audition for a role in French.) They just needed to see how I expressed myself.  I 'read' it again, but when it came to that part, Tu est sure tout va bien....or was it c'est sure tu va bien? I got tangled up. Comprehension was getting in the way of my ability to emphasize the parts I wanted to. In the end it was the same idea and surely the exact words were less important than the overall message. 

I felt like I let my neighbor down- and I definitely let myself down. It appeared like an easy challenge, but in the end, I'm not satisfied with the results. I don't really know what it means for the future (my neighbor had assured me - when I asked about this very thing beforehand- that they would spend some time training me if needed.) I could respond well to that and I do love a good challenge. In truth, I'm not sure how bad it was I just know it wasn't good enough for me. Unfortunately, with things like this, the only solution seems to be practice and I'm not sure how many more Ivorian television series I will be able to try out for. Maybe there is something to that bumbling white woman in Africa cliche after all.

Tales from the hood

The knock on my door is not unexpected. I am waiting for the French tutor who will be giving Nabih lessons to get him confident enough to go to school in French. Mohamed has already started an Ivorian school and seems to like it well enough.

When I open the door, however, it's not the man but a woman. A neighbor. She doesn't say anything in way of greeting or announcing herself and I am not sure how to proceed. It's an awkward moment while I try to figure out the protocol. I raise my eyebrows as I gesture her inside. It's more of a question than an invitation.

We've established a ritual of greeting guests on our small porch, and so I offer her a chair outside. Eventually I determine she is Assita, the woman we met recently on the walk to the main road. She is a screen writer and is developing a TV series. She approached Christian and I because she thought we might be good actors for a part in her show. Apparently there is a section featuring a mixed couple and we fit the image. Christian's sap heritage probably doesn't hurt.  I don't think he goes to the extreme but he does care about his clothing.

As we walked to the main road, she explained her project in more detail. It was a fascinating story and she promised to stop by our house and talk again. The woman at the door did not resemble a screen writer, or any other type of writer. She wore a large African print housedress and had a weary air about her. It was too easy to imagine her fanning the flames of an outdoor cookstove. Traces of the smartly dressed woman hurrying off to work were barely visible.

I tried to merge the two images of her as we talked about character development and how major themes in her work reflected life in Africa. I had read the synopsis she'd dropped off earlier and was impressed. It was a good story.

The main character is Agape, an orphan in search of a good education. Typically, she has a brush with prostitution, which she just manages to avoid, homelessness, and is thrown out by several who agree to take her in, due to jealousy, illness or other misfortune. But the story doesn't begin with Agape.

It starts with her parents, Marc and Maria, two school kids in the throes of amour. Maria is pressured by Marc to give in to his lust, despite good advice from a friend that studies are more important. Not only is Maria's family scandalized by her pregnancy, war breaks out causing both families to flee, in different directions.

Maria finds herself without family, unaware if her mother is alive or dead. She gives birth to Agape and 8 years later dies of illness.  Marc's family fares slightly better in that they are together and even search for Maria, to no avail.

Agape's story begins and the viewer follows her through a series of highs and lows. At one point, she befriends a schoolmate and is adopted by her family, a mixed couple. This seems to be the beginning of a good life, until her adopted father succumbs to sickness. The family is left without funds and Agape beings to feel she is a burden. She leaves her studies and returns to her country to search for relatives. It is here, at the age of 15 that she has a brush with prostitution and homelessness, which she successfully averts. She does get a position as a nanny, but there is jealousy over her beauty and intelligence. The woman of the house throws her out.

Finally she secures a job in a bar.  She captures any moment she can to sneak away and read in hopes of keeping up with her studies. It is there she meets a man who takes an interest in her and offers to help. Typically, again, they end up in a hotel room. The conversation continues, however, and before they take things too far Agape reveals just enough of her story to give the man pause. She shows him a picture of her mother and lo, the man, Marc, recognizes his sweetheart Maria. Father and daughter reunited. Wow.

Sure would love to see this on the screen. Assita tackles everything from teenage sexual pressure to refugee family separation and access to education.  She works in themes about tolerance and justice, forgiveness and peace. The proposal she left me is only the first in the series but after reading, I was eagerly waiting for the next episode. She assured me my scene would be in episode 34, presumably the mom of Agape's friend who adopts her. While I am not necessarily counting on that, it would be a treat to see this project become a success. It is set in Abidjan but could easily take place anywhere on the continent. A timeless tale with just enough of a twist to make for a jaw dropping end.

I am inspired by my neighbor and vow to continue working on my own tales from the hood. In the meantime, funding connections welcome.