Creepy Stalker Troll

It was obvious at the audition, when the monitor walked into the lobby of the theatre and saw me. Although there were other actors who had arrived before I did, he came straight over to me with his clipboard and sides and forms to fill out. He liked me. Perhaps I fit the character they were casting, or perhaps it was something else. The audition did not go particularly well, yet I was not surprised when I got the callback later that day, not when I learned this monitor was one of the producers of the show, and would be playing the part of my much older boyfriend.

It was the next day, the callback. I was late getting there, as I was dog sitting and it takes longer to get out the door when you have to crate two Pitt bulls before leaving. Not that I blame them, it was my fault for not allowing enough time. When I got there, the monitor/producer came over to me and, standing a bit too close, warned me they were angry that I was late. Speaking in conspiratorial tones, he began to give me feedback on my audition, and suggested what adjustments I should make in order to land the role.

When my displeasure at one of his suggestions showed on my face, he immediately asked what I was thinking, and began to apologize profusely for making a suggestion which I did not like. (He had suggested I read the role like Jack from Will & Grace, a character I had no desire to imitate.) His insider tips were a bit annoying, as was his need to apologize to me, which I found odd. It was clear this guy wanted very much for me to get the part. I was not so sure I wanted the part, and had half a mind to leave right then. This was non paying theatre, and it would force me to lose paying work, even if that paying work was only background. It was the only source of income I had, and could I really afford to give that up to do some play I already had questions about, and to work with this much older guy whose attention I was already finding unpleasant?

The callback went better than the initial audition, and I was told by the director that he would be calling to offer me the role. He did. Him, I liked. Also, it turned out I had a friend who was already in the cast. When I called him to ask about the play, he had nothing but good things to say, and so I accepted the role.

At the read through, there were refreshments offered. The much older monitor/producer noticed I was not eating anything, and assured me it was all vegetarian. Had I mentioned I was a vegetarian? I didn’t remember saying that, but I suppose I might have. Later on, while one of the actresses was talking about her Yoga class, the much older monitor/producer bragged that I was an expert at Yoga. Now, I knew I had never made such a claim, since it is not true. Yes, I’ve done some Yoga, but would never say I was an expert. Why would he? Strange.

At rehearsals, he would continue to say things like that. I slowly realized he had spent hours online reading everything he could find about me. Some things he must have picked up from my facebook page. Others from myspace. Still more from my youtube channel. He made one comment which bothered me more than a little. It was something that he could only have known had he read a very long questionnaire my efriend from Canada had composed and sent me. The questions were deep, about politics and religion, and some of my replies were a bit too personal, so I had taken them down. This comment made by the much older monitor/producer was based on one of the answers I had already removed! He must have wasted no time once I was cast, reading all my blog posts, looking through all my photos, gathering all available information on me. Okay, now that’s creepy.

More creepy. Early on in the rehearsal period, he pulled me aside and suggested we meet privately, to discuss our relationship in the play. Now, as an actor, this is something I never do. I dislike those sorts of conversations, and being a director myself, I do not think it is a good idea to meet without the director present. What is the point of deciding things about the play yourself, when the director may have very specific ideas? Aside from that, meeting alone with a potentially creepy much older guy who is also the producer and who has already expressed unwelcome interest in me is just not a good idea.

Besides, I am not being paid to rehearse, and there are union rules about call times. It was wrong to ask me to arrive an hour and a half before rehearsal to do something I neither needed nor wanted to do. Still, he is the producer, and I did not wish to be impolite, so I agreed to meet him at a public place. The café right outside the theatre. I made up my mind to be cordial and professional, but not to give him any sign of encouragement about anything, including a discussion of our roles in the play. I would listen politely, but contribute very little.

To my relief, one of the actresses was absurdly early and walked into the café. Before I could say more than hello, the potentially creepy much older monitor/producer turned to her and said that she could not join us, as we had to discuss our relationship. He seemed to be a bit peeved that things were not going the way he had imagined. I was not participating with any degree of enthusiasm, and now this girl showed up and interrupted his plans. We made it through an awkward hour and a half without accomplishing anything of any value whatsoever.

Next came his insistence that we develop a more affectionate way of relating to one another onstage. Something I disagreed with, as did the director. We were playing a couple who had been together for years, and the action was taking place at a party. No need to be clingy or affectionate. After trying a few times (without discussing it with me first) to establish physical contact, he gave up when I did not respond. He became pouty and even petulant, demanding in front of the director that our characters show more affection with each other. The director, mercifully, felt otherwise.

There were red flags waving high overhead. Flags that screamed “Stalker!” He would fawn all over me. Praise me excessively in front of the other actors. There was a cloying quality to the way he spoke to me, and looked at me. A neediness in the way he constantly referred to me. An invasiveness. He was creepy.

Then came the first of several soap opera scenes. He accosted me in the dressing room one night after the show opened. Wanting us to talk. His subtext was obvious; “Why don’t you like me?” More needy. More clingy. I was not interested in discussing anything of a personal nature with this creepy much older producer/stalker with red flags waving all about him. I did not appreciate being cornered in the dressing room after the others had gone. I resented the implied intimacy. The only relationship we had was professional. Nothing more. I said as much.

We are not in high school, I am not the leader of the cool click, and this manner of speaking was inappropriate and bordered on harassment. I made it clear that I wished to be left alone. He withdrew, but I could tell that it was only temporary. He would regroup and try again another time. Which he did, bursting into the dressing room forty-five minutes to curtain and closing the door behind him, saying we needed to talk. Same subtext. Same needy. Same clingy. Now more desperate. More cloying. More creepy. This man was fixated on me, and was behaving exactly like an obsessed stalker.

Most of the cast was on facebook, and I had accepted him as a friend along with the others. Now this was becoming a problem. Anytime I wrote anything at all, there was a reply from him. It was as if he was online constantly, and pounced at the chance to be included in my eworld. The thing was, his comments were irritating. Annoying. It was unclear whether or not they were jokes. If they were, there was something off in the manner. As if he was assuming a familiarity which was not there. If these comments were not jokes, what were they? Other than disturbing.

At first, I just erased his comments before anyone could read them. Then I decided to remove him from my friends list, sending him a brief note saying I was not comfortable revealing too much about myself to an industry contact. He replied with a long, pleading, desperate letter (“you have always treated me like a non-human”) which I deleted immediately, and promptly blocked him from all further contact.

By the way, the two Pitt bulls are non-humans and could easily attest to the fact that I am a good deal better with the four legged animals than I am with the two legged ones. If I had really been treating the creepy stalker as a non-human, he should have no cause for complaint!

At this point I was ready to quit the show. It was not worth having to deal with this nonsense. Had he caused another scene, or approached me in an unprofessional or inappropriate way, I would have walked. Perhaps sensing this, he backed off. He acted as if nothing had happened. As if he were the producer of a play that I was in, and that was the extent of our association. Which it was.

That lasted about a week. Next came the apologies, tinged with thinly veiled swipes and snide remarks. Desperate for attention, but at the same time having reached the point where a creepy stalker starts to lash out at the object of his fixation. Bitter that his attentions are being rebuffed. Please forgive me. It’s not my fault that you are so cruel and cold. To all of these apologies, I responded with civility and a professional disposition. Don’t mention it. Really. Don’t.

Then came an unbelievable scene. It was the final weekend of the run. I should have anticipated him being desperate at the thought that he would never see me again, but I have to say honestly that I did not. I truly thought the worst was over.

It was the last Friday show. Although I noticed him hovering outside the dressing room door, I did not think anything of that. It was not an uncommon action from him. However, once the performance began, and we only had about ten minutes until our entrance, he attacked. It was an ambush, something he had planned out over and over in his mind. He began by accusing me of having a form of autism, one that prevented the person from establishing eye contact. He had actually convinced himself that my puzzling rejection of him must mean I was autistic!

When I ignored this, he pulled out a laundry list of moments from rehearsals which he felt were slights against him, and which he wanted me to defend. He was talking crazy, as if he had imagined this conversation so many times that he was incapable of telling which of my responses were real and which had only taken place inside his mind. He was attributing things to me that I had never said. Personalizing things I did weeks ago. Working himself into a state. It was madness, and I chose not to react. I stayed calm and continued getting ready for the show, which had already begun!

When his laundry list failed to provoke the desired response from me, whatever that was, he moved on to my blocking him from facebook. He was now speaking as if it had already been agreed upon that I was unreasonable and unkind. There was bitterness and scorn tangled up with the cloying, clinging, creepy, neediness. It was disturbing, and outrageously unprofessional.

I whispered that this was an inappropriate conversation, taking place at an inappropriate time. He got angry, apologized in a nasty tone and stormed out. Then stormed right back in with a dramatic pronouncement that he only wished me well, and made an exit worthy of a Barrymore. Crossed by the dressing room door a few times, then entered once more to apologize yet again. I smiled politely and said please forget it. Really. Please. Forget it.

That night I left the theatre as quickly as I could, following the performance. The next night he kept his distance, and the final night he was drunk. Before the show. Drunk. Which means he performed that way. The producer of the play. Performing drunk. I am not kidding.

Just when I thought the whole ordeal was over and done with, I got an email from the director. He had heard the creepy stalker’s version of events and wished to hear mine. I had no desire to discuss this with anyone. I was proud that I kept it from becoming a backstage drama, was sure that no one in the cast was able to tell there was anything wrong, and most importantly, did not let this affect my performance onstage. I wanted this director to view me as professional, and did not know him well enough to confide in him.

Still, he was a straight shooter. He asked me bluntly. The show was over, I had nothing to lose, so I sent a carefully worded explanation of what, basically, had occurred. Within an hour, I got an email from the creepy stalker, which I deleted without opening. The apologies themselves were clingy and desperate. What I wanted was no further contact from him whatsoever. None. At all.

The director wrote again. He felt his producer friend had been misunderstood, was innocent, and was the victim of a simple case of crossed signals.

After thinking about this a bit, I decided to defend myself. I wrote a very long letter, providing details. Not so long as this, nor so detailed, but enough to let him see that no matter what the much older producer was trying to accomplish, I had made it clear that I viewed his attentions as unwelcome. That should have been reason enough for him to leave me alone. The fact that he did not proves that it was indeed harassment, and places him securely in the category of creepy stalker.

The director wrote back, acknowledging my perception of the situation, and the next day removed me from his friends list.

My character’s name was Billy. The whole time I was going through this nonsense, I kept thinking of the Billy Goats Gruff. Creepy troll under the bridge. Clever Billy has an older brother with some pretty fierce horns. Not sure which number goat I am, maybe all three?

All the while, I held my tongue, only revealing what had been going on after the fact. Director cut me off as a result? That’s fine with me. It was his producer who behaved badly. I did nothing wrong, and in fact, did quite a lot right. I protected the show.

There is nothing wrong with speaking the truth, only in waiting so long to do so. Goodbye, creepy stalker troll, and good riddance! The Billy Goats Gruff have safe passage at last.