still from Little Miss Sunshine

Last Friday I sat on my bed before my roommates and our friend, Tara. My stomach constantly flip-flopped, replicating a hundred thousand butterflies. It was three o’clock and I had to consider, “Either I will wake up on Monday, and life will continue as usual…or it will completely change.” It was like buying a lottery ticket and finding out there were only three other people in the running. By the time Tanya and I sat in a fashion show around 8 o’clock, I knew I would have to wait an entire weekend to hear the news.

It all began last Monday. My agent called me for a Wednesday audition. “Dress 70’s, wear bootie shorts, and make your legs shimmer!” he demanded.

“I can do all of those things well,” I promised. He explained that the wonderful people of Nair were remaking the 1970’s version of the “we wear short shorts” commercial and my presence was requested.

I drug my darling friend Hayden to a dance studio in Silverlake and entered a lobby full of tall lovelies, legs glistening, in short shorts. As usual, this gig was anyone’s game. Up on the screens was the original 70’s commercial, on repeat. We hundred-plus girls were asked to watch and replicate it for the audition.

Dancing is not, at all, my number one area of confidence so, all I could do was pray that God would remind my legs to move the way they used to in all my days of musical theater. The audition took place in a large mirrored room and the choreographer split us like so: dancers on the right, models on the left. A fellow model whispered into my ear, “Do you realize who that is? The choreographer is Fatima Robinson! She’s done the dancing for every music video on the planet and Dreamgirls!”

I smiled, “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“I know, right!” she exclaimed nervously.

Fatima, a petite and freakin’ foxy black woman with amazing style, turned to the mirror. “OK, models. Do this,” she said, following with a little dance. I faked all the confidence that I could muster and she pointed at two girls, then at me, then at ten others. To the remaining ladies: “Thanks for your time. You can go.”

I sighed heavily; I made the first cut.

 In a different room, they put us each on tape doing the dance and sent us home. In the car I complained to Hayden, “I always mess up the last moment! I’m such a loser. I did great, then on tape I blew it.” Apparently I didn’t, however, as I received a callback (simply another audition with less girls up for the role).

I was surprised to arrive on Friday and realize there were only 6 or 7 girls of each “look” called back. Seven blondes, six brunettes, and six black girls arrived. Fatima showed us more of the dance and called the blondes up first. Right away she chose four of us and sent the remaining three home. I stifled my shock and joy as I stood against the wall watching the other girls dance. “You can do this, Bren. God, help me do this,” I whispered to myself.

Fatima ended up with a total of 11 girls she and the producers were interested in and sent us in the other room to be taped. I practicing the cute little moves as many times as I could before the camera rolled and I did the best I could.

I ran to my car, dialed my mom, and screamed all the news. One week earlier I’d sobbed my eyes out to her in frustration and sorrow that no matter how hard I work I only ever have forty dollars in my account and we’d prayed that needed to change. So, this time we cried again and begged God that His will be done but, that please-oh-please may this be His will! Haha.

My agent called me around three and said I was “on hold”, meaning another cut was made and I was still in the running for the Wednesday shoot. However, they hadn’t decided by Friday, so I was in for a potentially excruciating weekend of anticipation.

Thankfully, my best friend Tony, my brother, and my Drew acknowledged that God has me waiting for a reason and that maybe, just maybe this was a time to reflect on how far I’d come. So, that I did.

I recalled Mom and my road-trip from Jersey to CA, my time at USC, Courtney and I scrounging for change to buy Del Taco, all the complete jerk “industry” people I’d met these 4 years, all the broken promises, all the jobs I’ve taken to make ends meet, all the friends I’ve made, being homeless for a painful stint, all the journals I’ve filled, all the prayers I’ve prayed, all the mistakes I’ve made, all the times I’d believed despite the terrible situations, all the tears I’ve cried, and how much I’ve grown. I realized I wasn’t ready for money or acting during those times; it just wasn’t the timing and I wasn’t mature. I’m not perfect now, by any means, but I know more now than I did then. I felt ready.

Monday was terrible. I couldn’t sleep or eat. My stomach turned all day and I called my mom and Drew when I hadn’t heard by 3pm. “These people are evil,” I whined, “Pure, pure evil at its worst! This is torture! Total torture!”

4pm: my agent called. In total monotone voice, “Hey, Brenda.” I was silent. “So, you booked it.” I screamed in his poor ear. He gave me the details as I wrote them on a notepad with trembling hands. “Shave and sleep,” he ended. The former I could do, the latter I doubted. 

When I hung up I instantly collapsed on the floor in tears. I know it sounds silly to be so dramatic over a hair removal commercial, but it is so much more than that. It means financial freedom, greater opportunity, and exposure. It means being in the Screen Actors Guild. And, absolutely best of all, it means that my fabulous father and beautiful mother finally get a glimmer of all our sacrifice paid off. My mom cried, which was beautiful, but my dad, oh my dad. He teared up and laughed and laughed and laughed. “I told you, Brenny,” he said, “Didn’t I tell you that you are beautiful?” There are few things I’ve dreamt of more that but to make him proud, and to hear it in his voice made everything so worthwhile.

Now, I know that sex is the most terrifying, terrible thing we could portray in our films, my fellow uptight Americans. However, I dare to say that Black Snake Moan is the most effective Christian film I’ve seen since The Passion of the Christ.

I know. I know that this sounds nearly blasphemous. I am keenly aware that we, as Americans are more capable of stomaching the seemingly inconceivable physical torture that Jesus endured than we are of perceiving the constant sexual abuse we, or those we know endure.

Most Christians will be counting the number of “f*cks” in Black Snake, and then, oh no! the number of times that word is put into action. Then they will post the aforementioned statistics on their warning websites. Thankfully, they’re not exactly the target audience here. As a matter of fact, I was honored beyond belief when Drew noted, “That seemed like the kind of movie you would write.”

Black Snake Moan was a really precious glance into what ordinary people can accomplish, and become, when they go beyond themselves and beyond their own exceptional, well-earned pain to show others the love of Christ. In pain, nearly diseased and dismissed by their own mistakes, they could still overcome and see themselves worthy of true love, and of giving it.

I wouldn’t say that the in the end all the characters reached a pinnacle understanding of Christianity. It was more as though they each scratched the surface by the time those credits rolled. Still, the most beautiful thing was how each character reached a point where they knew they had to do what they we being led to do, regardless of how terribly misperceived their actions could be by the people around them. Perhaps even tying a chain around a girl and giving her everything a man could give…

still from Black Snake Moan

 All in all, go see it.

 Americans, and especially Christian Americans: I dare you.