120. Respectfully Decline | Past Tense Agent

When "Seeking Representation" becomes a meeting with an agent reliving his golden years, lamenting the way things used to be. Tiwana experiences compassion for an agent who has fallen from grace. Accepting the writing on the wall, she chooses not to accept the offer to sign with the Past Tense Agent.  

Actors operate in a perpetual state of seeking the right agent to make them successful. And like every fairytale known, there are many frogs to kiss before finding the perfect match. Some day, her ideal agent will come. Until then, Tiwana is unwilling to settle for an agent whose red flags are displayed as mementos. Like the tchotchkes in his office.

Acting Lessons Learned is Produced, Written, Recorded, Engineered and Edited by Tiwana Floyd
If you'd LIKE TO SUPPORT the show, here are 5 Simple ways to do so.

1. Follow/Subscribe
2. A ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Rating
3. Write a Kind Review
4. Share an Episode With Your Actor Friends
5. Buy Tiwana a Coffee: buymeacoffee.com/TiwanaF

Be sure to follow on Instagram as well.
@actinglessonslearned @LifebyTiwana

Learn more about Tiwana Floyd at https://www.tiwanafloyd.com

Music Pixababy "Mesmerized" 15617 & 11492_comamedia

Transcript

Hey there, welcome back to Acting Lessons Learned, the podcast. I'm Tiwana floyd. I share personal stories of the lessons I've learned growing my career as a working actor in Los Angeles. 

This episode is the second installment of a three-part sub-series called "Respectfully, Decline." I talk about the red flags that caused me to decline the offers of a few agents and manager's who wanted to represent me. I'll publish one more episode on this topic in two weeks, with possibly more to come in the future. Because as long as I continue to be an actor, taking meetings with agents and managers, there will be more representatives whose offers I will respectfully decline.

But, for now, I'll chat about the first time I handled an agent meeting like an FBI profiler. Because I'm an actor, I study behavior and psychology, and I watch a lot of TV so, I used my skills to gain insight into the motives of this agent—creating a behavioral profile based on the agent's business location, personality, and physical ticks. And by the end of the meeting, my observations informed me this agent wouldn't be a suitable fit.

It is often said that an actor should wait to work with an agent or a manager who seeks us out because then that rep will be more eager and enthusiastic about the opportunities they can get us, the actor. That makes a lot of sense to me. I can equate this idea to intimate relationships. When I like someone, I can think of all the great ways we will enjoy each other. I can consider all the things we would do together. There is an excitement brewing. As opposed to someone who is attracted to me, but they were not on my radar. Now, I've got to sell myself on the idea of why I should date them. If I should date them. And the same holds true for employment. I go after a project because I want to work with the director or because I appreciate the writing. But when I get approached by a project and don't know the producers, I have to research the players and ask why I should work on this project. How would it be mutually beneficial? Now, none of this is to say I would pass on dating someone I wasn't interested in or wouldn't work on a project where I don't know the players. I'm expressing how I have to find ways to get excited just as agents and managers have to find ways to get excited about actors who contact them cold. And if we all waited for someone to be excited about us, we'd be waiting alone for a long time. To infinity. So I don't suggest we wait to be courted. Find an ideal rep now, and the relationship will blossom into a beautiful, long-lived partnership, or it will terminate early.

From here on out, I'll refer to the agent I met as Daniel, Daniel... Marsh. I was thrilled that Daniel had reached out to me with interest. Now, it wasn't a cold contact. I had signed up for a service called Talent Link. A monthly service offered by Breakdown Services, where the actor's profile, headshot, resume, and reel are added to a private database for a fee. That database is sent to every agent and manager who holds an account with Breakdown Services. And there are 100s if not 1000s of agents and managers with accounts because Breakdown services have the majority of TV, film, and theatre castings. Some would argue Breakdown Services is a monopoly on casting because they cover the largest network of professional Actors, Agents & Managers in North America. All major markets, including NY, LA, Chicago, and the Southwest. 

Talent Link is the fastest, most direct, and secure way to connect Actors seeking representation to Agents and Managers looking for new talent. There are pros and cons to this service. It's a passive way for both parties to find each other. But, not all parties operate at a high level of professionalism or are even credible players. And that is why the meeting is so significant. 

When an agent or manager contacts me for a meeting, I first look them up online. What's their online presence? Do they have a current website? Cuz, an old website speaks volumes, telling me they may have old values. Or they may be aging out of the current landscape. Or don't see the importance of marketing themselves competitively. None of which are acceptable to me. I examine their roster on IMDbPro. I'm evaluating the energy from the images of the actors they represent. Are the photos giving me industry-standard vibrant energy, or do the pictures look flat and dull, like JC Penney portraits? No shade to JC Penney portraits. They just aren't; industry-standard in regards to the aesthetic. 

I'm perusing their roster to see if I recognize their clients from current TV shows or films? What percentage of their clients have recent credits? If they do, how many of them have managers? Suppose the client list indicates most have managers. In that case, the agent may not have the clout to get their actors opportunities, causing them to rely on managers, which costs the actors more money because we have to pay double commissions to someone whose not contributing. 

Are the current credits co-star no-name roles, like "bartender number 2" "laundry lady?" Because I have enough nameless co-star credits, I'm looking for guest star, recurring, and series regular roles? Then I research if the current credits are from shows shot in Los Angeles. Because that's where I am. If the credits are mostly Atlanta or NY or Canada and the actor has representatives in those regions, the agent may not be getting their actors opportunities in LA. 

This meeting with Daniel Marsh was pre-pandemic when a brick-and-mortar business's credibility relied heavily on the proximity to the Hollywood zone. aka The Studio Zone" sometimes referred to as the "Thirty Mile Zone" or "TMZ," which generally refers to the area within a 30-mile radius originated in the 1960s, when due to the growth of location shoots, studios established a "thirty mile zone" to monitor rules for filming in Hollywood. Based on that, I had to look up Daniel Marsh's office address. His office was in North Hollywood, short for NOHO, considered an arts district I don't know if it fit TMZ. But Noho was relatively close to NBC Universal lot. 

Finally, I scoured the web for bios and interviews. Positive or negative reviews from other actors—articles of litigation, owing actors money—predator behaviors, anything salacious. 

While researching Daniel, I found nothing dubious. He had a long history as a reputable theatrical agent in Hollywood for over thirty years. 

BUT there were some red flags 

• His website was ancient it was a late 90s interface.

• The energy of his roster was stagnant. The photos of his clients felt twenty years old. 

• Daniel contacted me using an SBC global email exchange. The equivalent of AOL or yahoo. This was 2017. And he used a nickname instead of his government name. 

• None of his clients had credits from the past five years. Notta ONE. There was only one actor I recognized. A peer from my improv community that was a hilarious stage actor, but he had no TV or film credits. And this is someone who should be working on TV and film. 

I could sense Daniel was an outdated baby boomer. Now, I acknowledge labeling someone an outdated boomer runs the risk of sounding ageist. But my discrimination towards Daniel was not the generation gap. It was an inability or resistance to present his agency as a competitive leader in the marketplace. 

Hollywood is all about smoke and mirrors. Appearances. A Fake it til you make it vibe. It's shallow, sure, but Hollywood predicates success on aesthetics, and it sniffs out prospects like a heat-seeking missile. Suppose Daniel Marsh didn't care about staying current. How can he expect Hollywood, meaning casting directors, writers, and producers, to view his roster of actors as a viable talent worthy of coveted audition time slots?

My initial instinct was to pass on meeting Daniel Marsh, but as I mentioned in ep 119, "respectfully decline manager duo," my mentor advised that I always take the meeting for learning purposes. And so, I scheduled an appointment with Daniel. The address said North Hollywood, NOHO, as I mentioned before. I know where the NOHO arts district is. It's a twenty-minute drive from my house. Daniel's office was almost an hour from my home because his office was located at the top of NOHO, which was not in the Hollywood, Studio, TMZ Zone.

I started observing and analyzing all the clues using my TV FBI profiler skills. The office was on a lengthy street of depreciating mom-and-pop shops. There was no Hollywood industry feel to it. It was sparse, with no hustle and bustle. There were no tall buildings or trees to make shade. The extreme sun beat down on my car, causing me to turn on the air conditioner the deeper I drove into North Hollywood. And then, on the top of my head, causing me to sweat as I exited my vehicle. I parked in the back lot with only one other car. As I looked for signs of other occupants, I was hesitant to enter the building. But I could hear voices coming from various doors as I walked down the cool adobe-style hallways. I pulled a writing pen from my bag and held it like a weapon just in case I needed to stab someone in the jugular to protect myself. I told you I watch a lot of TV.

I knocked on the door. A plain woman with a Fantastic Sam's haircut, wearing a navy floral dress and wire-rimmed glasses, answered and invited me inside. The office was decent, clean, well kept, with lots of tchotchkes everywhere. The interior was the color of clay—and had an old archaic appearance and odor. There was no air conditioner. It was cool because it lacked adequate insulation. Daniel came out from the back office and greeted me. He was a boomer. Tall in stature, wearing a dark suit jacket and grey pants. His hair was thin gray, and balding. He invited me into his office. More tchotchkes. The office was quiet, like a library. No phones were ringing. He didn't have a computer on his desk. I wondered how he kept the lights on if no one was calling to check on his clients. And who did the submissions when there was no computer on his desk? I already knew I wouldn't be signing with Daniel. It's kind of like when you're apartment hunting, and you know the moment you walk into an apartment, that you wouldn't be taking it. Instead of leaving right away, like I would a bad apartment. I stayed for the meeting I let Daniel do most of the talking. It was good practice at listening and not feeling the need to tap dance for an agent. 

I could sense Daniel was lonely. He kept reminiscing about the good old days when his one celebrity client that had died a few years prior was his claim to fame. Daniel shared how he discovered the middle-aged actress doing a play in the 80s at the Pasadena Playhouse. How he'd go to Studio Lots to meet with casting directors in-person and broker deals with producers. He resented that the studio lots now had security, making it impossible for him to walk the grounds making rounds and how all the casting directors had changed. I sat across from Daniel quietly, listening intently. He either felt safe with me or just needed to talk. I'd interject here and there. He asked me about my time in NY. If I ever worked on Broadway. He seemed irked when I said I moved to LA directly after training for a TV career. But I spoke about performing improv and sketch comedy at Second City, which led him to make a comparison to clown work and vaudeville. And out of nowhere, he picked up the landline receiver and began speaking as if someone important had called. But the phone never rang, and I could hear the woman who let me into the office, through the non-insulated walls, talking to him. I gather he wanted me to think he had important things going on. But it was sad to watch. On that note, we ended the meeting. He said he would look at my materials and get back to me regarding moving forward. I knew I wouldn't be moving forward. But I was gracious for the time—moreover, the experience. We hear about actors who are washed up, for lack of a better term. But this was the first time I encountered an agent who had fallen from grace and was still trying to hold on to his golden days. 

As I made my way home, I imagined Daniel's experiences from back in the day, charming the casting directors or quite possibly being annoying and one of the reasons studio lots now have security, so agents like him couldn't walk on set meandering through buildings. 

A few days later, I received an offer from Daniel. He wanted to sign me. I found it bizarre. I didn't say anything special that would warrant him wanting to work with me. Maybe I was easy to talk with, or perhaps he saw something in me that ignited his agent fire. But I wasn't going to change my mind. Everything about Daniel screamed that he remained in the past tense. An arrested development to a time when he had one superstar client. Lamenting the good old days, unwilling to be present enough to embrace the new world. And I wasn't willing to hang out in his memories. I sent him a lovely email declining the offer. In his response, he questioned why, and I told him I had chosen someone else. I didn't feel an obligation to wake him from his stupor. I thought how unfortunate it was for the actors he had on his roster. Did they not see what I saw? Were they complicit by staying? And why did they stay? Was it so they could say they had an agent? I'll never know why. I only know that for me, it's vital to partner with an agent who is enthusiastically examining present day while envisioning the future.  

I didn't pay much attention to Daniel Marsh's agency after that meeting in 2017. I looked him up before I wrote this episode to see if he was still an agent. He is not. I can't imagine him surviving the financial woes the pandemic caused. I hope he was able to get real with himself prior to the quarantine. I hope he's happy and thriving with present-day thoughts. 

Finding a good theatrical agent comes with challenges. It truly is a journey. I value my position to be choosy. I have had some decent theatrical agents but still haven't found the ideal match. But I know someday, I will. 

Thank you for listening. I hope you enjoyed this episode of Acting Lessons Learned and experienced some takeaways that will enrich your journey.

I am this podcast's producer, writer, host, engineer, and editor. If you'd like to support me in increasing my visibility and audibility, here are a few ways you can do so.

Rate this episode 5 stars.

Write a positive review 

Share with your friends and peers

Subscribe/Follow 

Buy me a coffee

 or Venmo me at Tee Floyd that TEE FLOYD

Your support gets Acting Lessons Learned to more ears which in turn helps me to monetize the program so that I can hire a staff to streamline production.

You can also

Follow Acting Lessons Learned on Instagram or TikTok.

All links are below.

And I'll see you back here in two weeks.

Until next time.