For the past few weeks, I’ve been casting some really specialized stuff. In addition to the reality show in which actors will team up with celebrity mentors (à la The Voice), I’m casting a series of commercials for a motorcycle brand and a low-budget zombie movie for a very hot, young team.

One of the things I’m known for is supplying a ridiculously detailed breakdown. I get emails from actor friends saying they love my breakdowns because I always make them look up the actor references I use in my “Think: so-and-so” section of each character description. When I schedule auditions, I beg the agents and managers to forward the entire detail file to their clients, because I want everyone equally equipped.

I provide the entire script if it’s available. I invite self-taped reads. I post all the sides before the breakdown even goes out. I want every person who comes in for an audition to feel that they’ve been given every possible advantage to nail the whole experience. And something that always breaks my heart is the actor in the waiting room who realizes others have an edge.

Sadly, that edge was theirs to have, too. It was all out there, before the appointment was even set. And, for anyone who shows up early and reads everything posted all around the sign-in sheet, it’s all there too.

Except for one thing: Knowing your stuff. No matter how much detail I provide, I can’t help make that happen.

All during auditions for the zombie movie, the director (who was there for every single preread and all the callbacks, of course) would redirect every read. He was super hands-on and loved to provide references for the type of “infected” characteristics that would exist for each of these characters, once they “turned.” He’d say things like, “For our creatures, think 28 Days Later, not The Walking Dead.”

Here’s where it got interesting: We’d have actors at callbacks who could nail that reference. They’d bring brilliance to their “creature” improv. Others? They clearly had seen none of the films or TV series the director brought up, so not only could they not visualize what the director wanted to see; they couldn’t figure out what he *didn’t* want to see either.

It was crystal clear, the difference between someone who had that knowledge and someone who did not. Whether that knowledge came about years before the audition or just hours before the audition was irrelevant. Actors who knew, “Hey, I’m auditioning for a zombie movie. I’d better beef up on my zombie 101 stuff” had the edge.

Same for the motorcycle commercials. I brought a couple dozen actors and models in front of the creatives for this brand’s next round of commercials and print ads, and motorcycle riding was a prerequisite for two of the roles. There were no lines to read at these auditions, just chitchat about what you ride, how long you’ve been riding, what commercials you’ve shot in the past for other bike brands, and stuff like that.

There are apparently three types of people: Those who know bikes, those who know a wee bit about bikes, and those who know they know nothing about bikes. I fall into that last category. Everything I’ve learned about motorcycles has happened in casting the past few years of commercials for this particular brand. I got to see one of those commercials running during the NFL draft and I was really excited! It turned out great and looked really badass. Hooray! But I know nothing about bikes. Especially compared to some of these amazing people who came in for us last week.

As folks walked in and talked about bikes either as though bikes were their very oxygen *or* as though bikes were something cool they enjoyed riding now and then, it became clear who knew their stuff. Hobbyists and pros never look the same, once you get past their headshots and resumés.

On paper, they may say everything right, and we may believe they’re pros. But in the room, talking with other pros, the hobbyists can’t hang. They’ve not put in the time. So, they do their best — and as actors, that’s fine! Because sometimes all we need is someone who can convince us they *could be* this person, not someone who *is* this person — and we note whether they’re right or exactly right during the audition process.

But when one of the things you are given the opportunity to do before your audition is beef up on the vocab, to be able to discuss references that are relevant to the genre, or to read the entire script, by all means, do it. Because someone else will be doing it, and it could make all the difference.

Bonnie Gillespie is living her dreams by helping others figure out how to live theirs. Wanna work with Bon? Start here. Thanks!

Originally published by Actors Access at http://more.showfax.com/columns/avoice/archives/001817.html. Please support the many wonderful resources provided by the Breakdown Services family. This posting is the author’s personal archive.