Bear Hunting by Jeff Musillo

I auditioned for The Bear and didn’t get the role. It was a crushing defeat. I know it’s not helpful,

or even correct, to look at it like that. As a defeat. I understand that type of mindset is far from

helpful. I’ve watched interviews with established actors stating that doing a good job during the

audition is the actual job, and if you get the role, that’s the bonus. I suppose I somewhat agree.

It’s a useful and professional way to approach auditioning. It’s also easier said than done.

Sometimes you can’t help feeling heartbroken about jobs not booked. I’ve handled rejection

decently throughout the years, especially as more prospects have come about and, fortunately,

my success percentages have increased. And the victories have helped to smother the

unconstructive thoughts brought on by the losses. Unfortunately, this time was different.

When it came to acting, I never wanted something as badly as I wanted The Bear. It was

the most I ever pushed myself for an opportunity. This might sound like some arty or hippie

nonsense, but I knew The Bear would be special even before its premiere. I knew it when I laid

eyes on the show’s poster. I saw the key art on a film and television website. The image was

gritty and bold. Had an old film look to it. Jeremy Allen White’s character was the largest part,

his eyes piercing, his hand pushing his wild hair away from his forehead, his body language

looking like he carried the entire weight of the world. The image conveyed an unflinching

character piece and, no joke, as I looked at the poster, I said out loud to myself, “I’m going to be

on this show.”

      The first season premiered weeks after I saw the poster and I watched all eight episodes

in a single day. Then I watched them all again. The season exceeded my already high

expectations and further motivated me to speak out loud once more: “I’m getting on this show.”

Following the second the viewing, I pulled up The Bear’s IMDB page on my laptop and located

the Chicago-based casting team. I went to their website and located the email for their head of

casting. My message to her was genuine, perhaps a bit overly revealing, but I felt I had to take a

chance and go for it. I explained how I considered the show to be incredibly well-crafted, the

acting, writing, directing, everything, and how much I personally connected with the narrative. I

wrote about my father’s business as a deli owner and caterer and described how watching The

Bear stirred up memories and parallels to the time I spent at that shop prior to his passing. And

although The Bear had just premiered, and there was no news about a second season, I concluded

my email asking for an opportunity to audition and hopefully show the connection I felt to the

narrative, both in a professional and personal manner. It was a lot, but it was all from the heart.

I hovered the cursor over SEND for a while, afraid to make that final click. This was

tricky territory. Somewhat of a gamble. An actor contacting a casting director can be considered

improper, depending, of course, on the mood and outlook of the particular casting director. It’s

the view of many that the actor is to have their representation make these requests. But my agent

had recently dropped me and, with no other professional in my corner, I understood there was no

other way of attaining consideration. The only choice I had was to go at it alone. But I was still

scared to hit send. I didn’t want to come off as stupid or desperate in my email. More so than

that, I feared being ignored or rejected on this one. I’ve had concerns of rejection in the past with

other projects or submissions, but never this strong. Then I reminded myself: “I’m getting on this

show.” I took a breath and hit send.

A response came quickly. This surprised me. I figured, at best, if I were to get a response

at all, it wouldn’t be until days after sending my email. But there it was in my inbox less than

three hours after I hit send. Not only did the response arrive quickly, it came delivering

friendliness and professionalism. The head of casting was warm, appreciative of my words about

the show and of my personal backstory and, most significantly, open to having me audition. She

ended her response saying she hadn’t received word about a second season but, if that word did

come through, she hoped we could perhaps work together. Due to her busy schedule, she asked

for me to stay on top of everything and reach out back out down the line. I took this as a good

sign. These types of email often end with a statement of finality. An obvious end to the

conversation like, wish you the best with everything. Not this one. She seemed interested in

seeing if I was a proper fit. All I had to do was be patient and keep my eyes online for any news

about season two.

That’s all I had to do.

Or I could take another gamble.

I let a few weeks go by before I took that gamble and decided to record my own

monologue based on the show. It was either stupid or smart, I’m still unsure. I do know it felt

right in the moment. After reading interviews with The Bear’s creator, Christopher Storer, and

knowing the show well from yet another watch, I plucked lines from Storer’s interviews and

mixed those with some of my own character ideas. Once the writing was complete, I took a

couple hours to study, internalizing the lines without becoming too mechanical with it, then set

up my camera, lights, and microphone, and let it rip. I felt I had something solid by the third

take. I recorded a fourth just in case but wound up choosing the third. Then I sat with it. My

immediate thought was to send it right away to the casting director. I figured, best case she

would love it and feel motivated to get me on the second season. Worst case, she would think I

wasn’t a good fit but still appreciate the effort. Then the brain did what it regularly does and

continued down the rabbit hole. I wondered if I was going too far. Wondered if I was being

weird by recording my own monologue. Then I wondered if the monologue could be considered

offensive. I personally considered it a display of determination but, after it was recorded and

actually existed, I worried it could be viewed as an annoying actor taking advantage of kindness

and overstepping occupational boundaries.

I thought some more and realized I had two choices. I could not send the video, or I could

roll the dice. I rolled the dice. In the message with the video link, not wanting to add additional

pressure, I made a point in saying to the casting director she didn’t have to respond to this email.

I, of course, would’ve loved for her to do so. But I kept that to myself. I explained to her that I

did the monologue due to being motivated by the show and that perhaps, down the line, it could

be useful in having me read for an actual part. I thanked her again for her time and, following

another battle with the mouse cursor, hit send.

Three hours. Nothing. Three days. Nothing. Shit. I checked the video’s analytics on

Vimeo and saw the monologue had been played once with a view rate of 100%, meaning the

whole two-minute monologue had been watched straight through. This left me stuck. Depending

on how I looked at it, the casting director either liked the video enough to watch the whole thing,

or she hated it and only watched it once. This filled me with a mixture of feelings. Uncertainty,

hope, embarrassment, more hope, zero hope. And that right there is auditioning in a nutshell. I’ve

had auditions where I thought I did incredibly well only to not hear back from the casting people.

And I’ve had auditions where I felt like I completely sucked only to somehow get the call and be

offered the part. In the long run, it all goes back to doing everything you can to treat the audition

as the job and not worry about what comes after. I reminded myself to utilize that mindset,

especially as the days went on after sending the monologue. I kept my mind busy on other

projects and did my best to manage my nervous excitement when friends mentioned The Bear

and discussed their love for the show. They obviously weren’t the only ones. The whole country

showed incredible love for the show. This pushed FX to move fast. News was soon released that

The Bear had been renewed for a second season.

I wrote myself a note and popped it up on my fridge. The note read, Get season two.

Seeing those words every day helped me. Things tend to pop up in life, so I wanted to keep this

goal as one of my top priorities. The casting process for smaller roles could only begin following

the completion of new scripts and, since that usually takes months, the note also reminded me to

stay patient and give the necessary time before reaching back out. I waited five months. I did so

because five months following my last email, which was in August 2022, news came out

announcing production for season two would begin in February 2023. FX confirmed this

announcement. The scripts must’ve been completed. In fact, due to not wanting to be the

annoying actor and continuously checking in, I worried I might’ve waited too long. I had to

make a move.

I emailed the casting director as soon as I read the announcement. Just like her first

response, she got back to me in three hours. Fast and considerate. This response, though, wasn’t

as enthusiastic as her first email. Her first was a full paragraph. This one was two sentences. Shit.

She gave me the emails of her two casting assistants, telling me to reach out to them. Shit again.

She was still very kind in her email, but I couldn’t help wondering, Was I being passed off and

forgotten about? Honestly, receiving the other addresses was probably due to the casting director

being busy and wanting her staff involved on what had become a very successful show. But I

couldn’t stop thinking I had been a nuisance and had botched my shot. I worried my monologue

might’ve been the self-driven nail in the coffin. I sat motionless in front of my laptop for a while,

yet again battling those pounding waves of mixed feelings until, finally, I thought, one more shot

won’t make me any more of a goner. I fired off another email.

It was a shot worth taking.

Two weeks later, the casting assistants responded with a request for me to audition. It

was one of the best emails I’ve ever received. The subject line read: Self-tape for The Bear. The

body of the email started off with, “We’d like to invite you to audition for The Bear Season 2”

My energy-level jumped high. The email said the role would shoot in Chicago sometime

between 3/13-4/3 of 2023. Higher and higher. I read further and saw they wanted me to audition

for the role of Server #1. Oh. Obviously far from a substantial role. That made my energy drop

a little. I opened the email attachment and saw the role had one line. My energy dropped a bit

more. But only a little. And only momentarily. I hoped for something more significant. Hoped

for great dialogue and a character to really dive into, even for just the audition. But I then

realized I was being greedy and ungrateful. The opportunity to audition for The Bear, a show I

loved and respected, was the first step to my main goal, and this casting team was considerate

enough to offer me that chance. I shook off my ego, telling myself to make the most of the

situation, no matter if it was one line or a hundred.

The line had eight words. I worked the hell out of those eight words. Firstly, there was

one word in that sentence I had never seen before. Dungeness. I figured it sounded exactly as it

looked, but just in case, I searched YouTube for chefs using that ingredient so I could hear them

pronounce it. Once I had that down, I worked the line to myself throughout the day, knowing I

would tape at night, when everything in my Brooklyn apartment building was calm and quiet. I

also positioned my camera and lights during the day so when night arrived, and I felt I had a

good flow and feeling with the line, all I had to do was hit record and jump in without having to

set everything up. The casting team asked for two different takes of the line. Two different

interpretations. This allowed me to give a more straightforward reading of the line, then play

around a little for the second. Offer something looser. I don’t remember how many attempts I

made at both versions, probably too many given that a Dungeness crab can only be explained in

so many ways, but after about thirty minutes of recording, I felt had two useable takes. I watched

each attempt, picked what I considered were the best two, then sent those off to the casting team.

I felt confident in the performance. Confident that I would accomplish the goal still stuck to the

front of my fridge…Get Season Two.

Then the days came and went. Then the weeks. That changed everything.

The waiting is always the worst part. Well, no. Rejection is the worst. The waiting is a

close second. I didn’t hear back about my audition until about a month after I submitted, and

only then did I hear back after emailing once again. It was March 10 and, since the tentative

shoot day was approaching and I hadn’t heard anything, I figured I had not landed the part.

Actually, it was more than an assumption. Hearing nothing for a month had destroyed my

confidence and that destruction led to me knowing I had not gotten the part. It was a heavy

feeling in the gut. When you know, you know. I still had to email and find out for certain.

The casting director kept her response brief. Being a nice person, she probably hated

sending this type of message almost as much I as hated receiving it. But it was all part of the job.

She confirmed my fears, informing me that production had chosen another actor. Although I

knew it was coming, seeing it in writing did a number on me. She ended her email saying I had

done a good job. That was thoughtful of her. And normally, with other auditions, I would’ve

been happy hearing those words. This time was different. I had to eat some awful feelings with

this rejection. Feelings of immense defectiveness. I doubted my choices in life and there was

some depression. This might sound over-the-top, but I felt I had blown my big opportunity, my

chance to reach the next level and be a part of something special, and that loss made me question

the decisions that got me to that point. To the point of feeling like a failure.

. That feeling dissipated slightly by April but ramped back up about a month later when

commercials started airing to promote the show’s June release day. When June 22 arrived and

season two was released, I couldn’t watch it. Not right away. My spirit was too low, not only

from the rejection but also from letting that rejection taint the excitement I once possessed for the

show. It took me a couple weeks to finally submit, after my wife suggested we throw it on. I

hadn’t fully explained to her the sadness I felt from not getting the part and, since she loved the

show and was proud of me for simply getting the audition, she was excited to jump in. I caved.

I’m glad I did. Glad I got over myself to watch what proved to be an incredible second season. I

was admittedly out of sorts during episodes 1-3, unable to shake the feeling of not being invited

to a party I really wanted to attend, but I ignored my ego once again and fell into the show’s

rhythm and story. By the time I got to episode six – essentially a tremendous film called Fishes –

I once more became just a fan. Happily so.

I did hit a small bump during episode seven. The episode I auditioned for. The part I read

for lasted no more than a few seconds of screen time, but it was still tough to see what felt like an

opportunity lost.

“That was it.”

“Huh?” My wife responded. “What was it?”

“The waitress in that part. That’s what I read for.”

“Oh…The waitress? Does that make you feel better?”

“What’s that?”

“They picked someone that didn’t look like you.” My wife was being nice, trying to

soften the blow. “They probably had a specific type in mind and went with that. That must make

you little happy.”

Thing is, I actually did become happier, but not because someone totally different than

me got the part. And the happiness didn’t come right away. I had to first walk around my block

to get my mind right. It was on the walk that I became happy thinking about that actress

receiving the much-desired phone call. The call telling her she booked the gig. I thought about

the joy she must’ve felt and that made me happy. I’m not trying to be sentimental. And I’m not

bullshitting for the sake of this story. I’m being honest. Knowing the hours most actors put in

and how much hope and doubt and anxiety runs through their heads following an auditioning, I

can understand the elation that comes with booking a gig, especially on a major show like The

Bear. Actors can occasionally be a desperate bunch. The need for approval will do that to

anyone. And no matter how much we try to conceal the desperation, it’s deep in there, embedded

into the fabric of our hearts and minds and it expands with each rejection. So when a gig is

actually booked, not only do we get to momentarily escape feelings of insecurity, we also get the

chance to feel correct about our life-choices and, if lucky, share our hard work with others. It’s

the drive for success that keeps people moving forward. That want for success far outweighs the

bumpy road of the past, helps us push through the fear of rejection, and allows us to aim for

potential victory in the future.

With that in mind, no matter how much I might’ve felt crushingly defeated at not booking

The Bear, no matter the anxiety I currently feel about that defeat happening again, I can’t help

but to ask myself:

Why not take a shot at season three?