In the depths of Hollywood’s everlasting award season, both the veterans and rookies of the silver screen continue to perfect the “if I lose” facial expression, a moment often filled with greater entertainment value than the winner’s acceptance speech. It’s an honor just to be nominated? We’re all winners just to have made it this far? Perhaps yes, but come now . . . the diva lobe of my brain would be throwing an imaginary glass across the room, cursing the wench who won what should have been mine. Fortunately shattering that one glass can cut through a wall that was keeping out a much-needed sense of relief. As the cursing subsided, slowly I’d gather up the broken pieces and then begin combing through new scripts.
The agonizing race in job market can lead to similarly impetuous flinging of imaginary glassware. In these, the years of ghastly Economigeddon, it turns out that we are genuinely tickled just to be “nominated,” or called in for an interview. Recently members of the film industry familiarized themselves with my range, background, and training before I charmed them with a memorable performance, highlighted with (trust me) an exquisite costume design. Predictable nail-biting seized the following day’s schedule, but sadly it turned out that the name enclosed in the dreaded golden envelope was not to be mine.
There was only one thing to do — slip into my fancy green sweatpants that are polka-dotted with the Grinch’s face, crack open a bottle of red (conveniently a line of Coppola’s called “Director’s Cut”), and watch the should-have-won-the-Oscar performance given by Miss Judy Garland in A Star Is Born (1954). The night was bitter; the stars had lost their glitter, but three hours later I was asleep . . . today it’s a new world, and yes, it was an honor just to be considered, let alone nominated. Despite any broken glass on the floor, I am confident that somewhere there’s a “some job” that’s a “some job” for me.