leaned over and whispered, “Hang in there…” as I slouched my entire body until I looked like a small hedgehog and scurried back to my seat. Truth be told, I was mad. I thought I was funny. If you are going to tell me I’m not funny, at least give me some solid reasons why you feel that way. There was nothing constructive about her telling me how she really felt, except, perhaps … could it be, she was telling me the truth ? I sat there for the rest of the performances, spinning her reaction over and over in my head. Why was I attracting such a negative response from this person?
At first I just thought, She’s an angry, jealous woman who was taking her own frustrations out on me. Ultimately I spent way too much time analyzing why she didn’t like me instead of being willing to learn what I could have done to improve my performance. I recently came across her critique sheet, and looking at it today, she was absolutely right and spot-on with her insight. I certainly could have worked harder on the scene and developed the character more so the audience cared about her. But I didn’t even care about her! That was the problem! What I did care about was what other people thought of me. I was just seeking validation, which of course I didn’t get. I certainly wasn’t getting the validation I was seeking from comedy, either. So I decided to shift my focus and prove that I could do something else, dramatic acting. I know … I’ll try out for Shakespeare! That will show everyone how talented and versatile I am!
Shakespeare classes!
England’s national poet became my main man. By the time I was in my senior year, I was the only person from UCLA to get not one but two of the lead roles in the all-women’s production of Shakespeare’s, Macbeth. I was cast as Malcolm and McDuff. I worked harder on that audition than I had ever worked on anything, and everyone was completely blown away. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. That’s what Shakespeare meant to me. No one expected me to audition for the roles, let alone get them. I must confess I enjoyed giving my critics the classical finger. But once I got the roles, I didn’t work as hard as I did in preparing my audition. As a result, I wasn’t able to deliver my best performance show after show. Looking back, I can now see that it wasn’t about my desire to actually act—it was all about being validated. It wasn’t about the work or the journey. It was about the destination—to be SEEN.
I was told this big chair would make me look perfect for a sitcom. (Photo Credit: Lori Dorn)
Unfortunately, most of my teachers at UCLA still saw me as a lifelong waitress in training. I was dumped in the it’s-never-gonna-happen heap, because my voice was annoying and I was too one-dimensional. Many years later, I read that Carol Burnett’s teachers told her something similar. That may be the only thing we have in common, but if her success was any indication of what was possible, there’s always hope!
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I have always grown from my problems and challenges when things don’t work out. That is when I’ve really learned.
—CAROL BURNETT
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After graduating, I did what a lot of struggling actors do—I tried to follow in the footsteps of the already famous. Pre-fame Michelle Pfeiffer worked as a bagger at Vons Supermarket and if she could do it, so could I! I visibly cringed when one of my former teachers from UCLA came into the grocery store I was working at in Beverly Hills and, of course, through my checkout line. When she recognized me she effortlessly avoided me and said under her breath, “Of course you’re here,” as she walked away.
It was awful. I spent my break crying my eyes out in the employee bathroom. I later blamed my puffy red eyes on “pesky allergies.” (Lying seemed to be always coming to my rescue.)
It was right around this time that I met my first husband, Chris Elwood. We were both struggling actors and had been set up on a blind date by our managers. They