Knees Up!

As a dancer I have often been told to “work into my knees”, “bend the knees”, “watch your knee alignment” all in an effort to “protect your knees”. Phrases I have also told the dancers I’ve worked with and choreographed. As a dancer you know how important protecting your body is because it is your work. As dancers we watch our alignment, use our calf muscles, bend our knees when we land and work through our feet. Whenever we work in front of mirrors we are watching lines and placements, partly for beauty and partly for safety.

In all the years of battering my body has taken as a dancer and an acrobat I didn’t protect my knees enough somewhere;Well at least my right knee.  Or maybe it was inevitable? Which meant that despite performing and training in a knee guard for the last two years, somewhere between the kilometers I’ve run and the careful stair climbing my knee eventually started becoming very painful. As in I can’t walk around painful. My husband carrying me up the stairs painful.

A trip to a knee surgeon and an MRI scan confirmed that the damage to my cartilage two years ago had worsened. My meniscus, which is essentially the shock absorber in your knee, had also torn and would need to be repaired. Two years ago knee surgery scared the hell out of me. Now…I just wanted to be able to climb the stairs again. I was relieved when I was booked for surgery the week we got back from Europe. I was very optimistic, perhaps because my brother had had a similar surgery and had walked out of the hospital. If all went well I would still be able to make my 1 March musical audition three weeks later.

As I climbed onto the table the surgeon told the team that I was a dancer and they had to get me back on stage.

Before I could be discharged the surgeon came to check on my dressings and to give me feedback on the operation. My knee had been in a far worse condition than they had originally thought. He mercifully only told me about the cyst they had discovered and removed while poking around my knee once they had confirmed that it was benign. It also meant that my recovery would take between six and eight weeks.

“Luckily you’re at home. One of the times it helps to be a freelancer”, the physio said after my first session, referring to the fact that I didn’t need to put extra strain on my leg. I had time to elevate my knee and do my exercises.

My great “luckily” is the fact that I have an amazing husband who can keep me fed with a roof over my head while I spend six to eight weeks recovering unable to work. Not all actors are that lucky. The “luckily” is that I can take the time to allow my knee to recover properly before it has to start earning a living again. Tomorrow is the big '1 March' audition and I’m about as graceful as a T-Rex on the short stretches. I’m able to walk across a safe, level, non-slippery floor. I’m out for tomorrow’s audition, but I’ll be knee-guard free for the next one... for the first time in a long time.


Lastly, a big and public thank you to Melandi Kloppers for staying with me the whole day of my surgery, keeping me company and holding my hand. 

Knowing Things Are Possible

I’m not one for very religious posts. I feel that my convictions are my own, and in the sensationalized media of our times the content that I put out into the universe should bring people together on common grounds (which usually means laughing at me), not divide them further or spark debate. There's enough of that already. That being said, there will be a spiritual tone to my post this morning.

If you’ve followed me professional auditioning career the last year you will realise it wasn’t the best year for my career. Personally I’ve had a fantastic year and I’ve been very happy. My Masters Dissertation was submitted toward the end of the year and that saga still continues but I haven't had all that much acting work to do. The paid work I would like to do was on the light side last year. I’m blessed that I have great support systems. I’m blessed that I’m in the position that not earning a lot of money doesn’t mean that I don’t eat or pay my rent. But it doesn’t feel that great.

Then a glimmer of hope at the end of the year. A physical theatre audition that went really well and the director was willing to work around my scheduling. A call back for a big American advert. After suspending my life for three days to be ready for the call back I was cancelled via SMS the evening before the time as they decided to move in a different direction. Then I received bad news about my dissertation. Then in January I received an email from my agent “releasing” me from the physical theatre show. The last cherry on the cake was receiving an email for an audition and receiving another five minutes later stating that they didn’t want a white actress. My January had not started well. And this was only the first week of the year.

Still, all of this only hit me when I spoke to an actor friend on Saturday and he asked me what projects I had going for the year. Despite all the ideas in my head, the little plans I have, the things I want to do and projects I want to rekindle this year I was winded. There wasn’t much I felt capable of doing in that moment. I remembered saying to my mom at one point last year: “I feel like all I am right now is a housewife, and I’m not even particularly good at that”.

This morning I scrolled through my Instagram. I don’t follow anything specifically or particularly religious, but I have a lot of religious friends who post things from time to time. Between holiday photos, coffee pics and new beginnings I saw this verse on the account of a model I had worked with for 2 weeks some time ago:

It was the reminder that I needed. I entered this business on faith. Faith that God would take care of me, and provide me with what I needed. Faith that the choice to be an actress was more His choice than mine (I was planning on becoming a vet, not a performer). It was the reminder that no matter the punches I’m still here and there is a bigger plan for my life. Faith that there is still a lot I'm going to do. And that I can do it.

Some you win... some could have gone better.

It’s been a busy week. As things typically go I have no castings for a few weeks, and then everything happens all at once. Which meant that on Friday I had 2 auditions. Not 1 minute castings, but auditions with material that I needed to prepare. Music and monologues. It also meant that I got sick on Wednesday. On Thursday I had no voice, which made prepping for the vocal audition on Friday rather difficult.

Well, the first email said my audition would be a vocal audition that required me to prepare one song of my own choice. I received a later email with a time change for the audition on it while I was in a meeting. I checked the email on my phone and replied. I didn’t see that attachments. Which meant that when I arrived at my audition, still sick but well prepared with my song, I wasn’t entirely prepared. I saw the other girls practicing lines and a song.

Thankfully one of the girls lent me her sheet music and lines, and the auditions ran late. Which meant that as each girl before me auditioned I stood by the door and listened to the accompaniment learning the song. By the time I entered for my audition I knew everything I needed to know. But my nerves weren’t in check, and I didn't have the voice I needed despite the cold and flu medicine I had been using. 

They liked what I did with the character, and strangely the song I had prepared in the 30 minutes before my audition went better than my own song. But I didn’t have time to dwell. I had a physical theatre audition, and that is my forte.

The GPS took me straight from audition venue 1 to The Market Laboratory. I had never been there before, so I was thankful when I found the venue quickly and parking wasn't a problem. I had prepared the lengthy monologue and I got through it. And when they asked me to perform the piece differently I did.  I enjoyed it.

I still have a week to wait before I hear if I have the role. And as with all my auditions, I don’t expect anything. But walking out of an audition that went well means a lot. One where I had fun, and got to perform, albeit for 2 people who are judging me. Even if I don’t get the part I had fun.

Launching Lost In Chance

I am not famous. Not yet anyway. And I didn't go into acting to get famous. If you don’t believe me, check my twitter and Instagram following. Or check them out anyway: My twitter and instagram handles are both @ChandreBo 

I do, however, have friends that are doing really cool things. And one of my friends wrote a book.

Lize Jacobs and myself at the launch of her book Lost In Chance at Skoobs.

I met Lize Jacobs (click to link to her website) about three years ago when I auditioned for one of the short films she and her brother Henco J were making. I got to know her a bit better when I actually got to be in one of the short films a while later. During this time I’d heard that she had written a book. I'd heard how she’d phoned her friends at weird times asking advice on what clothes a character might wear. Then I heard that the editing and rewriting process would take some time. Later I heard that she was researching the routes she could take to publish her book. And that her book was about Paris.

Shortly after I got back from Paris earlier this year Lize asked if I would read her book for her. Another pair of eyes looking for any mistakes, or suggestions and to write a blurb for her book. I finally used three years of English literature studies practically as I read through the book. 

“Please give me your honest thoughts. Don’t hold back”

I am a rather straightforward person, and I believe that the truth might hurt now, but helps in the long run. Thankfully I was spared a rather awkward email as I really enjoyed the book. And then I was asked to attend the book launch, and to read an excerpt of her book at the book launch.

In the paperback. My blurb for Lost In Chance.

 Last week my husband and I attended the launch of Lost In Chance. A Paris-themed evening at Skoobs: Theater of Books in Monte Casino. And I did a reading of the book, as a ‘celebrity’. There were other people there who are actually well-known, and a beauty queen, but I won't go into that. I'll just have my moment.

As I joke about my status in the South African performance industry, a big part of what made the book launch so wonderful were all the people who got involved in the launch of the book. The sponsorship programs, and the mobile library all made possible by the people who attended the launch on Wednesday evening.

If you are interested in buying Lost In Chance, Click Here or take wonder to Skoobs book shop and pick up a paperback.

Playing Mommy Dearest

I’m not what you would call “maternal”.  Please don’t ask me to hold your baby, because I don’t really know how. In fact, the last time a child was put in my hands (at church no less) I was so startled that I stood awkwardly holding the child at arm's length. It was immediately removed from me as a women proclaimed:

“You need to practice with a doll first”.

As a recently married women my husband and I often get asked when we’re planning on a starting a family.

Not any time soon.

Which made last week particularly interesting. Upon arriving at a casting I was told to “pair up” with a seven year old girl. The casting director spoke to the group at large:

“Ladies, talk to your new daughter. Let them get comfortable with you so that you both give a good performance”. 

The role was for the mother of the little girl. Fortunately the kid I got paired up with was extremely chatty. Upon introducing herself to me she looked me square in the eye and asked quite seriously, as if I knew him personally:

“Do you know what’s happening with Justin Bieber?”

I professed that although I didn’t know him personally I had heard some of his new music.

“No” She was insistent that he was up to no good and was definitely not making new music. This was not up for debate.

“I hear that he’s either taking drugs or he’s in Mexico”

I wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to all of this. Fortunately I didn't need to.

"Do you see that girl there" she asked pointing across the room.

"She's in my school. Last week she had a sugar rush and went sort of loopy. Then she drank a whole one of those" she changed from pointing to the girl to a five liter water bottle. The conversation then changed to another topic. My contribution to the conversation wasn't much more than iterations of "Really", "Is that so" or "Why is that?"

My first fully formed sentence when I got home to my husband?

“I have no idea how to talk to children.”

My words were barely out before I received another email from my agent. I had a casting the very next morning. To play a pregnant woman.

That evening we had friends over. As I unlocked the front door to our home a weird scream traveled through the air of our complex. Not being aware of any kids close to us I was rather confused about the source of the sound.

“Was that a cat?”

“No Chandré. That was a baby. You are CLEARLY ready for motherhood.”

My lips are sealed.

I have been quite for a while, for three reasons: I’ve been working hard on academics and house hunting, it has been really quiet industry-wise of late and lastly, the contract I was working I’m not allowed to talk about. Or post about on social media.

When I did a two week shoot for a coke advert 2 years ago the first thing I did after collecting my luggage at the airport (well, I went to the wrong carousel and then had to find it by the baggage handlers) was sign a non-disclosure agreement. Threatening to be prosecuted by the State of Oregon if I posted (or my family and friends posted) anything about the shoot on any form of social media. And they were monitoring us. One of the stuntmen got into a lot of trouble when putting a photo on facebook. I had to sign a non-disclosure again two days into the shoot. Just in case. I’m not sure in case of what, but it had to be done. Coke was terrified Pepsi would catch wind of what was going on. And on my second shoot I wasn’t going to be arguing with anyone. What was different about that shoot to the work I’m doing now is that I could post about the advert once it had aired.

I’ve worked two contracts this year I can’t post about. It’s sort of like being a slightly less glamorous Disney princess. Maintaining the illusion is key. So no photos of yourself in half of your costume, no backstage pics. And if someone manages to photograph you mid costume change you got into trouble. During rehearsals a friend took a photo of me doing a handstand which I sent to my husband. Our director thought I had posted it online:

“My husband had such a good laugh at that photo of me”

“Did you post it on facebook?” He had gone suddenly pale as he hadn’t specifically briefed me on the company’s protocols.

“It’s not my first gig. I know how this works. Nothing online.”

His relief was palpable.

It would be really great to post about all the weird things and conversations we have about the show. About the strange service entrances we use for shows, the unlighted paths we’ve had to walk at night and sneezing in our costumes before performing. What I can talk about more is the amazing people I get to work with. Cast mates and directors. My wrangler who keeps my costume safe and looks after me when I’m in character and who has literally saved my life. She has kept me from falling down stairs and protected me from over-zealous kids and parents.

As a performer there are things I would love to be able to share. And there are things I just can’t. The performance is more important. As performers we have to believe in the illusion we are creating for people we are entertaining. If we can’t believe in that, we don’t belong on that stage. 

You expect me to what?

Castings and auditions are different. Fundamentally. There are models at castings (who sometimes make me inferior. Well. Maybe inferior isn’t the right word). They are short and based on what you look like more than anything else. You walk in, and start with your ID:

Name: Chandre Bo

Age: …..

Represented by: Leads Artist Management.

Are you available for the shoot dates: Yes.

A full body shot.

Right profile. Left Profile. Hands. Smile.

Then you do something related to the advert. Shiver, pretend to blow dry your hair. A few seconds of whatever is needed for the director to see if you will work for the 30 second advert. Usually you don’t know what’s coming when you walk into the audition.

An audition is entirely different. You have a character that you are auditioning for, you received material. You know the background of the play. You might have to sing. You’re prepared. And as an actor you generally wear black for theatre (you never wear black for a casting on camera).

Which made Wednesday weird.

I received the email late on Tuesday afternoon for the Wednesday lunch time casting. There were 2 lines, a description of what was required of me. And a rather specific character description which included a flowery dress. Strangely enough it was a casting company I had never done a casting for before.

As I arrived at the gate I received a paper with instructions for parking, finding my form in front of a photographic studio, filling it in, and then going to the first floor. The carpeted passageway along which the casting director’s offices were situated had two chairs. Which meant that we were sitting on the floor. A friend of mine from the same agency was sitting on the floor next to me, albeit she was in jeans while I was desperately trying not to flash my underwear while sitting on the floor in my flowery dress. She was in jeans as she was auditioning for a different character, a mother.  As we sat on the floor another women came around the corner to audition.

“She must also be auditioning for the mother” my friend claimed.

Two little boys followed the woman around the corner as she walked in.

“We were supposed to bring kids?”

I laughed

“Oops. Well, I forgot my prop”

Seconds later an irritated women covered in baby powered storms past us in the passageway. We knew we would be in for an interesting time.

The two casting directors walked out of the office shortly afterward. One a man wearing a white kaftan, the other a stunningly beautiful women. She was slightly older with jet black hair, an off the shoulder shirt and a floor length white skirt. I was given a number and called in.

A man who was also auditioning was already standing there. I was given a lilac bottle and told to spray him in the face.

“It barely hurts. I’ve been sprayed in the face like four times today already” the man in the kaftan informed me after I asked if I should spray the guy in the chest instead. The male actor gave me a pleading look.

“What have you workshopped for this part?”

I had to work hard to hide my surprise. They expected me to workshop for a casting for an advert when I was given a script to prepare.

“I prepared what was asked in the script we were given”

“Oh, you don’t have to do any of that. You can do whatever you want.”

I did what I had prepared, what the script had asked me to do. And walked out. They hadn't even asked for an ID. They had given no direction. Only a single take. No guidance for sight lines, if I was still in the camera's view. Nothing. And they wanted it to be funny. With someone I had never seen before. Who didn't know what was coming next either. In a single take.

“Well that was awkward” I said to my friend as I walked out.

“What was awkward?” the beautiful casting director had been standing next to me.

I fumbled slightly “I think I hurt that guy I auditioned with” a genuine concern considering the red welts on my wrists from the physical casting I had just survived.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. It’s part of acting”

As I walked down the stairs back to my car I happened upon the man who had auditioned with me.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you”

“Not at all. You actually managed to spray me right on the forehead”

Au natural: Pretty Faces

Natural hair. No makeup. No filter.

I have a dress I call my audition dress. Its blue, which is a good colour for auditions and camera and it makes me look thin. Its’s a plain dress that can represent many different things, but most importantly: I feel comfortable in it. I feel pretty in it. It’s my go-to dress for auditions. If I don’t get told anything specific it’s the dress that I wear. But the brief I received for a Friday afternoon audition called for something a tad more specific.

The character I was audition for was climbing out of the shower wearing only a towel. I decided that this called for a white shirt. Also in the brief and printed in bold was: THE GIRLS ARE TO WEAR NO MAKEUP. 

After last year’s slew of apparent “No makeup selfies” where ladies clearly wearing makeup were professing to be clean faced and posting about how difficult it was to put a photo of themselves au natural online I knew it would be interesting to see who would pull through. The brief also called for long curly hair, that isn’t too dark.

When I arrived for my audition another girl was also wearing light shirt, and aside from her mascara she was relatively clean-faced. What followed was more and more ladies, with more and more makeup and less and less hair. 

The audition required a comedic performance from the actors. It was, for once, a role where acting was more important than what a team could make you look like. As we were about to start the casting agent, who is usually without fail a laugh called us all into the studio for the casting:

"Ok ladies, this is a shower scene so tops and bras off"

It took me laughing before the suddenly pale girl next to me realised he was joking.

What was fun about the audition for me was seeing again that fresh-faced is beautiful too. We don’t need layers of mascara, base, blush, bronzer and all the other products and colours in my arsenal I call a professional makeup kit to look pretty. I was sitting in a room full of beautiful women, most of whom were wearing nothing to very little makeup, and who were all confident. It was fun to be part of that. And when auditions become work it was fun to be at an audition that required some comedy. And some heart.

If you enjoy the craziness of my life and enjoy the blog, follow me on twitter and instragram: @ChandreBo

Pencils at the ready: The adjudicator's decision is final

I might moan a lot before leaving to adjudicating eisteddfods. I’m away from home, by myself, working long hours and generally I have a headache most of the time from concentrating for long periods at a time. However, the pay is good and when I’m there I give it my all because I know the value of eisteddfods. I feel that eisteddfods are important for kids to learn. And not specifically for the kids who want to become actors or study drama. For those kids eisteddfods are a chance to learn new skills. Get different feedback, a fresh set of eyes, a new point of view on their work and how they can improve. Those kids are a lot of fun for me to watch and help them grow as performers. For me eisteddfods are important for the kids who struggle to get through a ten line poem because they are so nervous. The kids that rush, forget to breathe properly and have never been on a stage before. For those kids eisteddfods are important as they learn public speaking skills. They learn how to speak to audience one day when they are presenting projects, or pitches. Or how to speak in a job interview. Needless to stay, I take adjudication very seriously.

When I was the kid who competed in dance and drama eisteddfods the rules were very strict. The adjudicator’s decision was final, and no one was allowed to speak to or make contact with the adjudicator. If only the rules were still followed.

You grow a thick skin after an eisteddfod or two. Despite being asked to be there as an expert there will always be parents, teachers, and the odd high school student who doubts that you know your poetry from your dramatized prose. Although you get used to it, it is always surprising where someone’s anger comes from. What they think you did or didn’t do. What you saw, or didn’t see. I’m human, so sometimes I still get a bit angry, but mostly I find it amusing.

I had had a good week and a half. There had been no specific incidents, I been fed good food, it was my second year adjudicating at the same venue and I knew the ropes and the people working with me. On my second last day I walked into the school 15 minutes earlier than planned. I was accommodating students who couldn’t attend the eisteddfod at their designated time, so I was putting in extra time to help them out. As I readied myself with a cup of green tea one of my aids walked in with a photocopy of a report I had written the day before stapled to a poem and a letter from the drama teacher. When I had adjudicated the child the day before she had performed poetry in the dramatized monologue section. I had written in her report that she had done really well, but I had to be strict about the sections. I am always strict about the sections in which children are entered in whether I’m adjudicating drama or dance. I can’t compare beginner tap to advanced ballet and it helps the kids learn the different forms and what they entail. A part of me wasn’t surprised by the letter as I had seen the family congregate around my report after the section. According the letter:

“Although I respect the adjudicator’s decision I would like her to reconsider”

Apparently she had performed the piece before at some other eisteddfod, also in the monologue section and had done very well:

“She received a diploma for the same piece”

The url at the top of the page didn’t help their cause much as “www.poetry4kids.com” was emblazoned across the top of the page.

Thankfully the chairperson of the eisteddfod was on my side, especially as I refused to reconsider a mark I had already given. This incident was, however, just the first for day.

At this particular eisteddfod the setup is great for me. I have an aid next to me who not only does all the admin, she has each child’s poem with her and prompts them if they get stuck. She also marks where they forget words, so I can double check with her if I think a stanza or a line has been left out by a performer. Although, after hearing the same 2 poems about 40 times I knew them by heart too. The second performer of that section of Grade 7 girls dropped a whole stanza from the 5 stanza poem.  When I turned to my aid she had already marked on the page where the stanza had been left out, so I wrote my report, adding in that the mark was lower due to the fifth of the poem that had been omitted. Roughly 21 performances later a teacher in a beautiful blue shirt stormed down on me through the isle between the chairs which divided the hall in half:

“You made a mistake” she claimed.

I looked at her blankly. Without at least the child with her I had no idea of who or what she was talking about.

“You claimed that my student left out a stanza”

I considered starting by explaining what a stanza was but thought better of it.

“Let me see the report” which I thankfully recognised immediately.

“I didn’t make a mistake. Both my aid and myself noted the stanza which was left out” my aid showed the sheet of paper with the marked stanza.

“You made a mistake. I was following her performance”

“So was I. And she left out an entire stanza”

I returned to sharpening my pencils before the next section started.

“I’m not going to reconsider, I’m sure of what I heard and my aid agrees with me”

The teacher stormed back out of the hall flapping the certificate and report as she went and claiming loudly for all to hear:

“She made a mistake. The adjudicator is wrong. She made a mistake.”

But my fun afternoon didn’t stop there. As I mentioned before you get used to all kinds of things, but there’s always something that surprises you.

Roughly the second boy in my Grade 7 section started with the Grade 6 poem. He got about halfway through before saying the last rhyming couplet and walking triumphantly off the stage. When he started I paged back to the Grade 6 poem to follow what he was doing. I wrote out his report and the next Grade 7 boy walked on stage.  Who also started with the Grade 6 poem. A great many different scenarios started running though my head. Had the poem been labelled incorrectly, had teachers not been specific? And then the boy fumbled, and picked up again on the second stanza of the Grade 7 poem. When he finished and walked off the stage I looked at my aid without saying a word:

“You heard correctly. He started with the Grade 6 poem and finished with the Grade 7 poem.”

The calligrapher on the other side of the aid chimed in too.

“In all my years that’s the first time I’ve heard that happen. I couldn’t believe it”

Apparently neither could his mother. Who marched up to me after she had read the report. What ensued was a play ground round of “He did” “No he didn’t”. I wasn’t going to play that game.

“I’m really sorry, but three of us agree that that is what happened. I’m not making this up.”

“No he didn’t”

I shrugged my shoulders.

She tried the phrase again as if it would change something, and then walked out of the hall.

So I close with an open statement to parents:

I don’t know your children, or you. I adjudicate purely on what I see on stage, and I always try my best to be positive and uplifting with every sentence I write. I want your kids to do well. I want them to come back and perform again and to enjoy being on stage. Eisteddfods create audiences who appreciate theatre. And quite frankly I want to come back again next year. The pay is good.

Spring blooms growing in the guest house's gardens