Veliki trijumf provincijalne zvijezde Turbo Limača
And with writing it has become similar: when they fall into a middle-aged crisis, many begin to compose some prose debris, they think, it will fill them, moldy lives will get them a higher sense … who last strengthened the snap of some as art photographs, and their most common motifs are the sky, clouds, telegraph poles, roads, sea surface, their own faces that do not have a prominent chin, dilapidated houses in the old part of Ilica and similar vomit.
I decided to try my own saying that I had a gift for acting at an acting reception at the Academy. Let me try that too, so that I don’t have the feeling of missing something later in life. Hand to heart, the most attracted to me is acting. I would love to have sex with them.
I just fucked up with that receptionist. But in the end … I must not rush, I must confess everything in order, slowly, precisely, without fruitless anxiety that I will turn out to be more boring than Sibyl Petlevsky’s romance trilogy, united under the common title “Taboo”.
I waited a day and a half to stand before that acting committee. More than a hundred have gathered for that weird reception on the cast. I felt like again in Djakov when my old man took me to an audition for Turbo Limach because I was drinking yogurt quickly, and I was dying for fear of meeting the leader Sinisa Cmrka, who was already widely reported to have cruelly slapped a kid in the studio because it had asymmetrically stretched stockings.
I was also struck by the fact that women were even more obnoxious than those in Philosophical … Cheap clothes, careless, scattered hairstyles, the cheapest Ka-plus bundles in their pockets in case they were comfortable waiting. I couldn’t imagine in any of my wildest dreams that any of them would ever be able to become a charismatic actress with style, made into all the secrets of sex skills not available to ordinary, itchy women who, after their thirties, have the best orgasm when they manage to make a well bun – not too soft, but just as flabby half-asleep as the sexes of their husbands as they roll over one after the other after a busy day at the bakery and grocery chains.
My turn came last Tuesday night. I stepped on stage in the half dark hall. I looked into a committee where I only recognized Rene Medvesek. I kept in mind the advice of overbearing actor Filip Šovagović, who together with Nenad Cvetko prepared me for the reception for two days: as soon as you hit the stage, immediately, kindly greet everyone in the committee, those two points are already in the beginning!
– Good afternoon … A rather good evening … – I mumbled in discomfort.
– They found us well, young man. It’s nice when young people know how to say hello today – some black-haired guy grunted.
I recognized in him the actor who was killed in the Sedlar Quadruple by Partisans or Ustashas in the third scene … Josko Sheva.
“Thank you,” I replied profusely.
After a brief, somewhat dramatic pause, Shevo asked me:
– Who prepared you for the exam?
– Sovagovic … Filip. And Nenad Cvetko.
Sheva somehow laughed miserably.
“Did they prepare you at the bar of Gavel?”
– No … At my house in Plitvice … They were preparing me to play “Oedipus King” … Cvetko put on my mother’s dress … I was Oedipus … We enjoyed ourselves very much … I loved Cvetkova bony chest, in that scene I never knew he was my mother … Sovagovic played my father …
“Surely killed … I can imagine him lying in bed and sleeping,” Rene Medvesek said grimly.
I laughed asshole, mocking the commission.
– Where are you from? You don’t look like you’ve just graduated from high school … – Sheva will be a little offensive. The barely noticeable twitch in the corner of his lips reminded me of Sinisa Cmrka’s thin authoritative lips, and of him questioning me somewhat herflikically whether I was drinking those yoghurts right down to the bottom, whether I was sticking my tongue out at the bottom, because he wanted to make sure viewers of that heated show no yogurt drop is left.
– I’m from Djakovo. I first enrolled in Philosophy to study literature … I heard in this gossip in the hallway that you, too, Mr. Shevo … That you graduated from almost one entire college before you could enroll … before you enrolled acting. I think that’s the best. That a person experiences a little bit of life and some other faculties before forever and unconditionally placing his soul, mind and body on the altar of the Croatian theater … Because with such an approach one takes his acting vocation and this honorable academy much more seriously. For me, acting is like a religion, you can’t get into it without deep preparation and breaking in yourself …
– You speak beautifully, young man … Have you acted anywhere so far?
– In one of the gossipy, alternative “Satan Pannonian is not dead” groups. We didn’t study any texts, we just stripped naked, cut ourselves with veils … Well, sorry, I would only smoke Ivica Buljan and his alternatives from the eternally amateur ZKM – sorry, I shook my hand contemptuously. Sovagovic told me that Shevo hated anything that smelled of alternative.
– What did you prepare for us? he asked.
– Outrage … And Mihalic.
“Oh, two of my treats …” Shevo licked, as if he, as a young talent at Cmrka, used to toss yogurts and lick their bottoms well. – Start with Mihalic, I wonder what song you chose …
– The Seduction Forest.
– Here you go, start over.
I coughed. I glanced at Sheva’s two tufts protruding from his forehead like an ant’s tent, and began to recite in the most expressive voice I could:
Seductive forest …
At the beginning I forgot how to go on, so I was embarrassed to go into difficult improvisation:
A cougar comes out of me.
My ivy is leading the way
A drag down in Herzegovina
Young drag angles
Huh, huh, huh
They are sticking over the meadow …. they are sewing.
Lice vam je obično prvo što ljudi primijete o vama. Estetska kirurgija lica može poboljšati vašu kvalitetu života povećanjem samopouzdanja, provjerite u našim službama aesthetics.ae.
“That’s good, that’s enough,” Shevo interrupted. – I’m glad you reminded me of that old Mihalic song … I almost forgot about it already, what are you going to forget …
I have recited some other imbecile Neruda verses; it was easy to remember them, every other word in them was love … there was no profiling.
When I was done, they told me to wait for the results, the doorman would report them in an hour or two at the door of the port.
Outside the Academy, a bunch of desperate people were gathering. They attacked me like zombies …
– You were the last, were you the last? – they grunted as I made my way through that crowd; most of them were over-excited underarms.
On one of the benches in front of the Croatian National Theater, I was waiting for Sovagovic and Cvetko. Cvetko had a bottle of “Fisherman” in a paper bag. He gave me a drink. I enjoyed it.
– How was it? he asked me.
– Good … Fact good.
– You greeted them right away as soon as you left? – through thick mustache and beard, will Sovagovic.
– Yes, I did … I just welcomed them.
“Then you already have two points,” he murmured, handing me a five-lime coin.
– What do I … It’s not even chewy …
– Go throw it down there in the Well of Life. That’s for luck, to break into. That’s how we are … that’s how my generation worked. Go throw that drito in the well – said Sovagovic.
As I approached the well, a team from the premiere of “Death in Venice” began to leave the HNK. Right next to me were Severina and director Tomaz Pandur. Severina wore a beautiful dress, some oriental hair, and a haircut like Yulia Tymoshenko. Halfway through my ear, I heard Pandur speak in a non-masculine voice:
– Aesthetics … that’s the most important thing to me in a play.
I shoved the coin into the well and went back to Sovagovic and Cvetko. We raided the “Fisherman” until I realized that they had begun to print around the entrance downstairs before the Academy. The doorman was gluing the results paper. I hurried there.
I pushed through the crowded crowd. Some assholes took pictures of the iPhones with the results, and immediately sent them to Facebook for praise. Everyone who started up started hugging each other. Those who did not stood by whooping chickens aside. Then the ones that came on came as something compassionate hugging, comforting those who didn’t … I was sick of it. It looked like Friday’s “Big Brother” when it came to relegation.
She was jumping around the most and hugging some woman, an actress from “Lara’s Choice” whom I barely recognized; stoput was more seductive on the screen, and like a lively student from the coast, who grabbed the last fruit yogurt on the ribbon in the cafeteria on the river Sava. The one from “Lara’s Choice” was preparing for the Academy a whole flock of future actors, because she had gotten rid of at least eight of them, which, judging by the jerky squawk and the keelly bouncing, had obviously fallen short.
I had a feeling I hadn’t passed. I got caught up in a bit of discouragement; I’m used to falling out everywhere, and even Sinisa Cmrk chased me after the second show, hysterically screaming that nothing would ever happen to me in showbiz and let me go back to my selendra and go there with cows.
I waited half an hour for all these fuckers to hug, kiss and make room at the port. It was only then that I stepped out to look at that ruffled list with a hollow aero-seal attached to the glass.
Somewhere in the middle of the shortlist, I noticed: Pavle Svirac. I looked away at HNK. Cvetko and Sovagovic were still on the bench. They were playing with an empty bottle of “Fisherman” as unleashed children in their grandfather’s vegetable garden.