Reporter’s Notebook

Danette Goulet

I was surrounded by the strangest and most interesting mix of people I

had ever encountered -- in Orange County.

There were skinny, tan blonds in tight sweaters and little Capri pants

and stooped grandmother-types with their puffy caps of white hair and

flowered dresses.

There were fresh-faced, buff young men with slicked-back hair and bent

old gents with thick eyebrows and hair growing out of their ears.

Each was nothing out of the ordinary. But to put them all together,

sitting stiffly in rows of uncomfortable hotel banquet chairs, many

clutching photos of their airbrushed faces, was odd.

As I looked around, I wondered what brought them to this open casting

call -- what their stories were.

I did know what brought Bill Dance and his casting crew to the Holiday

Inn in Costa Mesa. They were looking for fresh faces with a conservative

look for two new movies.

The first, an HBO production called “61,” is a flick about the New York

Yankees and the relationship between Mickey Mantle. It stars Billy

Crystal. The second is a TNT movie, “James Dean,” set in 1954 and 1955.

It tells the story of the rebellious star who died in an accident in the

prime of his life.

If you’re looking for conservative, Orange County is your place. But what

of these aspiring actors and actresses?

Were they looking for a break? A little extra cash? Or perhaps just a

reprieve from their everyday lives?

Many had the big black-and-white portraits of themselves that only actors

and actresses carry.

Each was painstakingly filling out either a card -- blue for men, purple

for women.

Gripping dull miniature golf pencils, they gave their names, addresses

and phone numbers. I did the same.

Height -- OK. Weight, bust, hips, waist -- if I must. Pet, car, would you

do nudity? Well now, haven’t been asked these on an application card

before.

As I sat looking around and waiting for Dance to begin, I thought, “These

poor people look so nervous.”

There must have been between 120 and 150 hopefuls in that tiny ballroom

at the back of the Holiday Inn. The requirements for the casting were

supposedly 18 years and older and natural hair color. Everyone looked

older than 18, but -- well, let’s leave it at that.

Dance stood and introduced himself and said what would be expected of

people if cast: Show up two hours ahead of time with minimal makeup and

be sure to wear proper underwear. “It’s a state law -- it’s a whole

hygiene thing,” Dance told them apologetically.

In an theatrical, emotional monologue he explained the two movies and

what they were looking for.

Then Dance began the two-fingered point.

You, you and you, come up here. And you. And you.

First the young men, then the old men followed by the older women and the

younger women. I was left sitting with the odds and end of each category.

It was like getting picked for teams in gym class -- I didn’t really care

what team I was on as long as I didn’t get picked last.

People around me were so tense that I started to get butterflies in my

stomach. For what, I didn’t know.

Phew, I was up next. We were paired up and shuffled outside, where they

shot a Polaroid and sent us on our way.

And that was that. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.

I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting a call, but for $46 for eight hours’

time and time-and-a-half and double time after that, I hope I do.