August 9, 2006, was a wonderfully poignant night for me. At that time, I was in an Off-Broadway production. Seven times a week, at the end of the evening, I said goodnight to my fellow cast and crew, walked out the front doors of the theatre, down the hall and out the front doors of the building. I paused where I stood at the corner of 43rd Street and 8th Avenue facing east. Across the street stood the various Broadway theatres with their shiny marquees lighting up the night – one block away from where I performed seven times per week. I smile when I think back to the adolescent version of myself who sat in his bedroom and day-dreamed of something like that happening. Then I turned south on 8th Avenue and began my walk home.
When I graduated from my master's degree program the year before, I created what I called an “Audition Tracker.” It's simply a spreadsheet that I use to document every audition I go on. In the 15 months after graduation, I submitted myself for 550 auditions (for both stage and screen projects). Those 550 submissions resulted in roughly 8 to 16 auditions per month, give or take an audition. Now out of those 8 to 16 auditions per month, I received around 28 callbacks. From those callbacks, I was cast 10 times in either a film or stage project; I accepted 7 of them. So in those 15 months post grad school, I worked on 7 acting projects: 4 plays and 3 short films, all non-union.
That particular August night, as I walked, I thought back over those 15 months. I laughed out loud as I remembered a tragically comic audition I had for a musical. Minutes before I was set to audition, I spilled an entire venti iced coffee all over me. I was drenched in coffee but had no time to change so I sucked it up and went to the audition. You can imagine what the auditioners' faces looked like when I walked into the room looking like I had just wet myself. As if that wasn't enough, the accompanist must have been overwhelmed by the coffee fumes wafting off my body because he played my audition song in a completely different key than was written, which made me sound ridiculously tone deaf as I struggled to pretend nothing was wrong with me.
I smirked as I walked on thinking of the performance I did during which my pants split down the backside requiring me to hold them up with one hand until I could finish the show and exit the stage. And the callback I had during which I lost my place in the script and unintentionally uttered a certain four-letter word quite loudly – in front of the producer and director – of a Christian theatre company. Oh, yes, and let's not forget the rehearsal process for another show during which the director had a mental breakdown of sorts and decided he would lie on the floor of the hall just outside the rehearsal room we were in, passing his directorial feedback to the actors through the crack at the bottom of the door.
My reminiscence lasted almost the whole way home. As I added it all up in my head, I found myself both proud of and humbled by all that I had been blessed to experience that year. And then the year got even better. Shortly before August 9th, the producer of the play I was in held a meeting with the cast. He explained that the production was going to become an Equity production. Changing its status from being non-Equity to Equity was a big deal for a non-Equity actor like me. It meant that I was eligible to join the union, to become an Equity actor. Hello! A huge, exciting and totally unexpected opportunity landed in my lap that night.
An Equity actor gets paid a weekly salary, has health insurance and a pension plan. Being an Equity actor opens doors of opportunity previously not available to you as a non-union actor; Broadway and regional theatre gigs, better representation by agents to name a few. While there may be more non-Equity work available, a non-Equity actor is not guaranteed any compensation or benefits, and should something go wrong, there is no one “watching your back.” This is fine and dandy for people just off the bus or out of school needing to gain experience. But, eventually, if you want to have a professional career as an actor, you must join the union. “It makes you much more employable in productions that can actually do something to enhance your future as an actor. It is the difference between being an amateur and a professional,” said a trusted friend of mine in the industry.
A few short weeks before I received word that the show was becoming an Equity production, I sat in front of my laptop and stared at my Audition Tracker. As I counted up the previous 15 months of auditions, callbacks and projects, I said to myself, “I want to move to the next level. I'm going to put it out there that the next step in my professional development is to start getting paid and to join Equity.” Flash forward to August 9, 2006. Before I put on my costume and readied myself for the performance, I signed my first bonafide Off-Broadway Equity contract and filled out my application to become a member of Actors’ Equity Association. I felt such an immense sense of pride as I handed in the paperwork, signifying the next exciting chapter in my journey as a professional actor. So as I walked home that night, I smiled a lot.
Fifteen months, 550 submissions for auditions, 8 to 16 auditions per month, approximately 28 callbacks, 4 plays and 3 short films. Hi, my name is Joel Peterson, professional actor – and I now have the card to prove it.
