Scrappy Little Nobody(59)

Just before Ben presented his award, I slipped out and headed to the pickup point. I had to walk back through the red carpet, this time jarringly empty. I got in the car and headed straight to the airport. It didn’t matter if the dress got wrinkled now, so I could bend at the waist like a normal human and the ride was very comfortable.

We pulled up in front of a private plane on a deserted, pitch-black tarmac. I stepped out of my car and thought, This is the most unreal situation I’ve ever been in and I’m getting a damn picture of it. Still in the gown and the diamond necklace, I asked the pilot to take my photo on the steps of the plane. Does taking photos in these situations negate your ability to seem cool in them? You bet your ass it does. But COME ON. This was impossibly swanky and no one else was around. I gave the pilot my best sheepish, apologetic smile and got on the plane.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Ben and his assistant had beat me there. “You’re doing a photo shoot out there now? We’ve got places to be.”

They’d both already changed into jeans and T-shirts. How, I ask you, how?

I never posted my photo anywhere because it felt too douchey, but we’re friends now, so you guys know I’m super down to earth. Please ignore my previous comment about being a big deal.



Everyone got ready to take off and I grabbed my sweats and a hoodie and headed toward the bathroom. I pulled the flight attendant aside and produced a small nail file.

“Hi, I’m Anna, it’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry to do this to you when we’ve just met, but I’m going to need you to cut me out of this dress.”





my grandmother’s funeral


I think of my mom as a softie. She emotes more than anyone else in the family. She has a big, easy smile, and most of my friends describe her as “adorable” within three minutes of knowing her. She’s a people pleaser, but she doesn’t take shit from anybody.

When I was in the second week of filming Pitch Perfect in Baton Rouge, my mother called me around five a.m. to tell me that my grandmother had died. She was ninety-three. The woman had made miraculous recoveries from illness and injury, but she’d said for years that she was ready to die, and a few weeks after asking express permission from both of her daughters, she let go.

My mom didn’t cry. Sometimes I forget that when it comes to serious matters, she’s kind of stoic and dignified. If she didn’t object to violence, she would have made an impressive and beloved general.

I didn’t cry either. The funeral plans would be made soon; she needed to discuss them with the rest of the family. We said good-bye and I got ready for work. It was Monday, which meant an early call time, so I needed to be out the door soon anyway.

I stopped at base camp to tell Debbie, our makeup artist. Actors have weird interactions with the vanity departments. We tell them private things like “I think I’m getting a rash” or “I’m on my period,” the way a race car driver would tell his pit crew that the wheel’s pulling a little to the left. Sometimes, we have to tell them that a family member has died.

I stepped up into the trailer and very quickly said, “Hey, Debbie, I’m fine, but I wanted to let you know my grandmother passed this morning, so you may have to keep an eye on me.”

I’ve always appreciated when someone can sense that I am trying to keep it together and they don’t show too much sympathy.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. I’ll have you covered.” She put a tube of waterproof mascara on her station and gave me a nod.

Next, I had to go to set to tell Tommy, our second assistant director. When you start making movies, nobody tells you who to inform in the event of a death, but the second AD is an information hub, and I liked Tommy, so I decided on him. I rode to our shooting location in a van with a bunch of the cast. The small blessing of a five a.m. call time is that no one wants to talk. I did wonder if wearing my sunglasses pre-sunrise made me look more closed off than usual, but I also didn’t really care.

I found Tommy, and I don’t remember what I said, but I found myself crying hard almost immediately. I was caught off guard; I really thought I’d be able to tell him without breaking. I was choking through “Sorry, shit, I’m sorry, Jesus, I thought I could stay professional and just tell you and I’m really sorry.”

I felt like I was letting my mom down. I’d made it through that conversation with some dignity, and here I was crying in front of Tommy, making him embarrassed and uncomfortable. He was very kind of course, and he didn’t offer me water, which I respected. He told me he’d let “them” know and went off to speak to whoever “they” are.

The truth is, I didn’t know what happened in these situations. I’d never wanted to ask, because asking would acknowledge that something bad might happen during a shoot.

Luckily, later that day my mom told me the family could have the service on Saturday. When I updated Tommy he looked relieved. So I still don’t know what happens if your family can’t have a funeral on your day off, and I’ve still never asked.

When I walked away from Tommy after that first conversation, Jinhee Joung, the actress who played Kimmy Jin, my character’s apathetic roommate, introduced herself. It was her first day and she wanted to say hi. I still had my sunglasses on and I was acting incredibly distant. I’ve always wondered if she thought I was a bitch or if she could tell I’d been crying, but I never explained myself. Maybe she just thought I was tired. Either way, her dry humor made me think that perhaps, like me, she didn’t put a lot of stock in “nice” anyway.