My old high school is now a Performing Arts Magnet School. Let’s just say that wasn’t the case back in the ’80s. In fact, when I arrived at North Springs High School as a sub-freshman (“subbie,” 8th grader, y’all), there was no drama club. It (along with other non-sports-related extra-curricular activities) had been cut. But there was chorus, if you were into performing. (No, I have no idea what the folks who couldn’t sing well were supposed to do. Debate team, maybe?) Anyway, by the time I graduated from North Springs, there was a thriving drama club with loads of young actors being tapped for the Governor’s Honors Program and headed off to top-ranked performing arts programs at kick-ass colleges. But that’s not what this column is about.

It’s about a girl named Suzanne (and, oh, for the life of me, I wish I remembered her last name) and a show we did in the spring of 1986 called “Music Through the Ages.” (Note: that may not be what the show was actually called. It was 21 years ago, for cryin’ out loud. I’m lucky I even remember that we did this show, which may have been called “Memories” or “Musical Memories” or “Timeless Music” or something similarly clichéd. Point is, it was a musical theatre piece wherein we each were cast in two or three “decades” of music, and a very non-musical trip to the attic with grandma was the story that wove together all of these decades of music, which those of us who could carry a tune presented between each “discovery” in the attic’s boxes.)

In case you are wondering, I was cast as one of the Andrews Sisters, Karen Carpenter, and Cyndi Lauper. Yeah. I had it pretty dang good. Suzanne — a lovely musician who could sing well but would only ever really be in the chorus — scored supporting roles in the backup singers’ area for the Beatles medley and the Beach Boys medley, as well as a nice little backup portion for the grand finale (“We Are the World”). As did the football players who signed up for “general chorus” to get an easy A. Suzanne, who took her music very seriously, was not amused by this casting. She was actually quite pissed off. “They don’t even CARE! Why are they doing this? Why is Ms. Simpson giving them these parts?!?”

It was hard to watch Suzanne get so upset about this whole thing. I mean, they were the football players. They ran the school. It’s a world in which the jocks will always out-cool the drama nerds and the fact that they wanted to participate in the show was something that made the chorus teacher delighted! It meant she’d perhaps reached a love of music somewhere in them… and, more importantly perhaps, it meant we’d have a full house every night.

And we did. People turned out in football-game-attendance-like crowds to see the football players singing “I Get Around” and “If I Fell” in their shades and boxer shorts. (I kid you not.) Audiences leapt to their feet and cheered when these guys came on stage. The guys got standing ovations at the curtain call (something which very few of the “non-leads” received, otherwise). Suzanne, on the other hand, felt that she got the same polite spattering of applause that came when any of the medley numbers ended. She hated being a part of a team on which other teammates seemed to have greater value.

I remember trying to console her one night back stage. She was crying in frustration over how much “this” meant to her and how little it meant to them. That she was hoping to go to college on a music scholarship and become a renowned recording artist someday. These guys, she figured, we’re hoping to join a fraternity, not get arrested for underage drinking, and meet the girl they’d marry before dropping out due to too much time spent on academic probation. Then they’d join their family business and hang out together every weekend at the country club. What did they care about music? Especially when compared to her!

“But, Suzanne,” I said, as I quieted her so she could hear the cheers coming from the audience, “Listen!” (She did.) “If the jocks weren’t in this show, we’d still be performing it in front of 50 people in the cafetorium. Instead, we’ve had to move to the gym due to overflowing attendance. We’ve got people packed in BLEACHERS to see a SHOWTUNES RETROSPECTIVE. That’s HUGE. People who would otherwise never spend $4 to support the chorus are turning out night after night because of these guys. Isn’t that, somehow, worth it?”

I don’t know if she ever thought it was worth it. Heck, I don’t know that I would’ve felt any differently from her if I’d had anything other than a starring role in this thing. It’s hard to be a supporting player among stars who might not ever fully appreciate how good they’ve got it.

And that’s why this week’s column is about Suzanne and the football players.

Often, I find myself having to explain to some wonderful actor (or her representative, usually) why she didn’t get cast. I have to share the bad news and, when asked, “Who’d you cast?” I have to respond sometimes with, “Oh… a name actor.” And no up-and-coming actor likes to hear that the “name value” of someone else outweighed his or her TALENT. But sometimes it comes down to that. Heck, forget “sometimes.” Almost always! Because producers are in this business to make money… and name actors provide a more likely return on investment than “non-names” might.

So, I guess all of this storytelling is to remind you of something, when you get upset that you’ve been asked to play a minor, supporting role in a film in which the lead role went to some seemingly undeserving, unappreciative, talentless “name” actor you could act circles around: That this actor’s mere presence in the project is guaranteed to bring more eyeballs to the screen than might ever turn out if you had been cast in that same role. So, yeah, you’re in the supporting cast, going unnoticed and unappreciated by the masses while some jerk gets all the love… but remember that among the masses might be a few dozen industry pros who absolutely see your worth and reward that with more offers in bigger roles in better projects down the line.

Yeah, it might feel better to be a star in front of a smaller audience, but if you chose “the big time,” you kind of have to respect the machine that Hollywood is. It really isn’t that different from high school sometimes.

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/000764.html. Please support the many wonderful resources provided by the Breakdown Services family. This posting is the author’s personal archive.