I didn't know what I was expecting when I drove over to Michelle's place, but it definitely wasn't the small, one-bedroom house with an adjoining studio. It was located just outside New York City, not too far from my place. The house was neat but could've used an upgrade.
The fact that a big-shot casting director like Vic Ramos recommended this place to actors made me realize one thing about the profession: acting fucking sucks. For most people, at least.
Unlike other coveted careers, acting doesn't guarantee financial stability, no matter how hard you work. You could become a millionaire overnight, or you might never see a dime of fame or fortune. That's why every actor needs a backup plan.
I didn't consider myself part of that struggling majority, though. Acting wasn't my endgame. At most, I'd be a professional swimmer or maybe a computer programmer. Definitely not an actor.
"Hello, Noah," Michelle said, shaking my hand enthusiastically before gesturing to the seat across from her. "Nice to meet you."
"You too," I replied, nodding as I sat down. I didn't waste time. "Have you figured out what I want to practice with you?"
"Yes," she said. "I read the script you gave me yesterday. The material isn't the best, but I'll do everything I can to help you land the role."
"If I get the role," I said, emphasizing each word, "I'll pay you a bonus of at least one grand. If my salary exceeds a hundred thousand, I'll double that amount. I promise."
Her eyes widened slightly, but she kept her composure.
Poseidon might've stripped me of my technical knowledge, but he left my business acumen intact. I'd built a startup from the ground up and run it successfully for years. My philosophy was simple: if you want the best from people, raise the stakes. In the corporate world, that meant stock options. Michelle wasn't my employee, but she was working for me, and I wanted her to give this her all. Just like I would.
Doesn't matter if acting is not my end goal. If I'm doing it, I'll do it right.
"Let's begin, then," Michelle said, her enthusiasm infectious. "Do you have any acting experience?"
"None," I admitted. There was no point in lying.
"Got it," she said with a nod. "First, have you thought about Richard's character? What makes him tick?"
I paused for a moment. "He's a kid who never got to grow up with others. All his maturity comes from observing one person, Emmeline, who's just a kid herself. He doesn't know basic things the rest of us take for granted. Everything he knows is based on a very limited understanding of the world."
Michelle nodded. "Good enough for now. Next, I'll read a random scene, and you'll deliver the lines. Whenever I feel something's off, we'll start over."
"Anything I should keep in mind while doing this?" I asked.
She thought for a moment. "Think from Richard's perspective. Imagine you're stranded on a remote island with a girl. You know nothing about the grown-up world, only what you learned as a kid."
It was surprisingly good advice, so I followed it. I pictured myself alone on an island with a beautiful girl, my best friend since childhood. We'd grown up together, and as the days passed, my feelings for her shifted from platonic to something more. The more I thought about it, the more the girl in my mind became Lola. With that image fixed, I began acting.
"Wake up, Em!" I said, my voice squeaky with excitement. "It's Christmas morning!"
"Christmas?" Michelle read Emmeline's line, her tone flat and questioning.
"Yesterday, I counted 52 big marks on the tree, and last night he came."
"What are you talking about?"
"Santa Claus!" I exclaimed, my voice brimming with childish enthusiasm. "I saw his reindeer prancing all over the beach. Come on, let's see if he brought us anything!"
"Okay, stop," Michelle said, breaking character. "First of all, good job learning the lines. I know that couldn't have been easy."
"Thanks," I said, grinning. I didn't want to brag, but I'd memorized the entire script from start to finish. It wasn't that hard for me because I'd always been good at rote memorization, even in my first life.
"Now, about your performance," she continued, her tone shifting. "What in God's name are you doing?"
"I'm sorry?" I asked, confused.
"I don't mince words. Your acting is no better than reading off a piece of paper. Where's the emotion? You're doing something selfless for the girl you love, to make her happy. So why are you acting so childishly?"
I felt like a kid again, being scolded by my parents for something I hadn't even done.
"Because Richard is mentally a kid?" I offered weakly.
"No," Michelle said firmly. "He's immature, not a child. He doesn't have a mental disorder that stunts his understanding. He just doesn't know better. If I were the one casting, I'd reject you on the spot."
Her words hit me like a slap.
"Let's try again," she said, giving me a look that bordered on hopeless. "You need a lot of work."
I felt a pang of discouragement. Would I ever be able to nail this role? The way Michelle was tearing into me made it seem impossible.
"What are you waiting for?" she snapped. "Get on with it."
I sighed audibly and started again, this time keeping my voice normal instead of forcing a childish tone.
"Better," Michelle said, though her expression didn't soften. "But not good enough. Again."
"I could do better than that when I was in diapers. Again!"
"My nan could do better, and she's six feet under!"
"You're improving, but you're not there yet. Again!"
As we repeated the scene over and over, I began to understand why Michelle lived in such a modest house. She was a relentless taskmaster. She critiqued every line, every nuance, every flicker of emotion. For every misstep, she pointed out exactly where I'd gone wrong and how to fix it. By the time our two-hour session ended, I knew almost every possible mistake in the first half of The Blue Lagoon script, and then some. I wouldn't go so far as to call her a heinous bitch, but I was sure others had.
As I gathered my things to leave, Michelle stopped me.
"I know I come off as a bitch," she said bluntly. I shook my head, but she cut me off with a grin. "Don't lie. I've taught many students over the years, and most don't come back for this exact reason. My problem is that I won't lower my standards for anyone's convenience. If I'm going to do something, I'll do it right. That's all. I'll understand if you don't want to continue, but if you do, I promise I'll make you at least a passable actor."
"In five days?" I asked, incredulous.
"Now, don't be ridiculous," she said, rolling her eyes. "No one becomes a good actor that quickly. Masters of the craft, actors who can adapt to any role, can take a decade or more to perfect their skills. That's why most great actors are older. They've spent years honing their craft. It's also why young actors rarely win awards like Oscars. Their performances lack the depth required for such roles. And, of course, you need some raw talent to work with, which you seem to have."
"I do?" I asked, confused. "But you just said…"
"If you didn't have talent, I'd have sent you packing already," she said seriously. "I don't waste my time on people who'll never make it. I have a reputation to maintain."
"Thank you, I guess?" I said, hesitating. "But… to be honest, I'm not sure if I'll continue after this week. Not because I doubt you, but because I don't even know if acting is for me."
Michelle smiled. "This film, if you get the role, will give you a good idea of what acting is all about. After all, acting is about getting naked."
"What?" I asked, baffled.
"Yes," she said, nodding. "Not always literally, like in this film, but metaphorically. You have to bare your innermost desires, fears, and psyche to the audience. The more vulnerable you are, whether on camera or on stage, the better actor you'll be. That's why great drama schools make students get naked in front of their peers during the first week. It's about shedding inhibitions and freeing yourself from the fear of judgment."
The more Michelle spoke, the more passion I heard in her voice. Throughout the day, she'd acted alongside me, and I could see she was a phenomenal actress.
"If you don't mind me asking," I said when she seemed to finish, "why did you stop acting?"
Her eyes took on a faraway look. "I ruffled some wrong feathers."
"You don't have to tell me," I said quickly.
"It's fine," she said, waving off my concern. "It's better you know this before diving into the industry. Back in the day, a big producer promised me a film. I was thrilled. Then one day, he called me to his office and asked me to undress. I refused. He exposed himself and started… pleasuring himself, right there. I was horrified and filed a police complaint against him. Guess what happened next."
I shook my head, though I had a pretty good idea. After all, I was from the 21st century and had seen the #MeToo movement unfold.
Michelle chuckled darkly. "Not only did they fire me from the film, but he walked away scot-free because I had no evidence. He claimed I filed the complaint because he fired me, not the other way around. It was his word against mine. He had power, money, and influence, all of which he used generously to make sure I'd never work in the industry again."
"I'm so sorry," I said, anger burning in my chest. That asshole.
"Let this be a lesson to you, young man," Michelle said softly. "This industry isn't as glamorous as it looks from the outside. You have to be careful not to make enemies as I did. I don't regret what I did, but most people who hear my story call me a fool for filing that complaint."
"Who was the producer?" I asked hesitantly.
"It doesn't matter. He's dead now."
I felt terrible for her, but I also knew there was nothing I could do to help. I was already paying her a significant sum, dipping into my rainy-day fund. I had no influence in the acting world to offer her roles or opportunities.
I left her place not long after. The day's lesson and Michelle's story weighed heavily on my mind. Acting wasn't as straightforward or simple as it seemed from the outside. It was an art that required endless practice and improvisation, yet there was no such thing as a perfect actor. An Oscar winner one year could star in a box-office disaster the next. Even legends like Jack Nicholson or Katharine Hepburn had to navigate the whims of producers. It was a political game, requiring you to tread carefully at every step.
I didn't know if I was cut out for an industry like that. I couldn't walk on eggshells around people. If I saw injustice happening to someone I cared about, I'd speak up. At that moment, I made a decision. No matter what happened with my acting career, or even my swimming career, I'd finish my degree at Harvard. If everything fell apart, at least I'd have a backup plan.
(Break)
The next few days were some of the most hectic I'd experienced. For the first time, I had to decline a job offer from Jordan, simply because I didn't have the time. Between swimming and acting training, my days were packed. Dad also assigned me chores around the house, unaware that I was preparing for a film audition.
I barely had an hour to myself each day, and photoshoots, which typically took three to four hours, were out of the question. I'd expected Jordan to be upset, but he surprised me by being supportive. He even pushed the shoot to the following week, after my audition, so I wouldn't have to worry about it.
On the acting front, Michelle was her usual ruthless self. She drilled me relentlessly on the basics, sticking to the scope of The Blue Lagoon script due to our limited time. Still, every now and then, she'd drop a nugget of wisdom that completely shifted my perspective on acting. As our final lesson approached, I found myself increasingly fascinated by her approach. I didn't want the lessons to end, but I had no choice. My audition was soon, and I couldn't justify paying her a thousand dollars a week for something I might not even pursue long-term.
"Before we part ways," Michelle said as our last lesson neared its end, "I want to share something that will help you with any script you encounter in the future. One of the most important aspects of acting is script analysis. For an inconsistent script like The Blue Lagoon, you can only ignore the loopholes. But with a good script, the writers will collaborate with you to fill in the gaps. Take this, for example."
She handed me a worn, yellowed script from her Broadway days: The Taming of the Shrew. I immediately understood her point. Every page was filled with what I assumed was Michelle's handwriting, notes crammed into the margins and between the lines. They weren't random scribbles but detailed annotations about each scene, outlining the emotional choices she'd made while preparing for the role.
"Now, here's your homework," Michelle said. "When you get home, analyze the script for all the scenes that you have to perform tomorrow. Write down the emotions you think should drive each scene. Some actors use unique markings that only they understand, which helps them memorize their lines. Though, given you've already memorized the entire script, I doubt you'll need that."
She glanced at the clock, signaling the end of our time. "I guess that's it, then."
"Do you think I'm ready?" I asked.
"For this thing?" She held up the script of The Blue Lagoon mockingly. "Kid, you were ready after the first day. No serious actor would touch this film. I get why you want to do it, but trust me, you won't have much competition, if any. Just pray there's no one prettier than you at the audition. Then again…" She paused, studying my face, "that shouldn't be a problem."
I felt a flush of embarrassment at her bluntness. True to form, Michelle never minced her words. She always said exactly what was on her mind, and over the past few days, I'd come to appreciate her tough-love approach.
"Thank you, ma'am," I said, my voice filled with genuine gratitude. "For everything these past few days."
"Oh, come on! Drop the 'ma'am' already," she joked. "I'm not that old."
"It's not about age," I said, shaking my head. "Even if you were my age, I'd still call you that. It's about respecting your teachers. At least, that's what my dad taught me."
"Your dad must be a great man," she remarked.
"He is," I agreed, glancing at my watch. "I'm afraid I have to pick up my siblings from school now."
"Go ahead," she said, shooing me toward the door. Just as I was about to leave, she called out, "Good luck at the audition. I know you'll get it. Don't stop believing that, because I won't."
I smiled as I stepped out. In just a few sessions, Michelle had left a lasting impression on me. Even if I didn't get the part, I knew I'd never forget her.
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