Episode Four: Gym Actor Hours

If having a ripped body is next to godliness in Los Angeles, then the gym is our house of worship. Nowhere else on earth is the pursuit of physical fitness, or at least the act of appearing to partake in it, so enshrined. For some gymgoers, working out is their daily therapy. For others, the gym is a place to cruise. For the rest, it’s a place to cruise for a therapist. And I suppose for a select few, it’s a place to get in shape.

It’s no secret that in acting the superficial is often regarded with more reverence than talent. The profession, especially for its younger “employees,” is essentially like a big high school gym class, but the prettiest kids are picked first and the runts of the litter indefinitely ride the bench. In the case of Los Angeles, riding the bench means working the counter at Cheesecake Factory, occasionally booking roles with inane lines on shows no one watches in between shifts. These roles are characterless vessels that serve only to move the lead actor from point A to point B — sometimes literally — like playing the getaway driver in anything featuring Steven Seagal on USA or the abused housewife’s EMT when 911 arrives on the scene after her husband beats her in, well, almost any Lifetime movie. And this is the fate of the lucky ones, who actually get to call in sick to their waiting-tables job that day to go to the set. My goal is to shoot a little bit higher.