the booth for me to adjust my script. They didn’t know that inside my head we were all praying that Betty Jane would do it. She smiled and adjusted her hair instead.
“Someone get Holly’s script set up. I don’t want her turning pages during the recording.”
Finally, the voice actor next to me reached over and spread out the papers while Betty Jane stood and watched.This was not how I wanted to start out my new life. Sarge brought a barf bucket over. Sometimes having your thoughts immediately known wasn’t so bad.
“ The Neighborhood , scene one, take two,” said the engineer through the talkback.
“Action,” said Mike.
We did twelve takes of that scene before Mike was happy.
When Betty Jane finally got her turn, she nailed her lines on the first try.We still had to do four more takes to get exactly what Mike wanted from the other actors.
“This is the last take for the day; make it a good one,” said Mike. I looked at my watch. Four hours had passed.
When I first saw the schedule, I thought, Four hours, a breeze . I was used to being on my feet for a lot longer than that. At the end of the four hours, we’d done at least a hundred takes. My back hurt and my legs ached, and I wondered if this was all I’d ever remember about working as a voice-over artist, since I’d always be on the Committee’s couch while Betty Jane stood in front of the microphone.
As I packed my stuff, one actor said begrudgingly, “Good work today.” The others just whispered to one another, and one actually pointed at me when I exited the booth.
“Let’s use one through ten from the second take and thirty through fifty from take six, but I want to edit in the pickup of line thirty from take four,” said Mike.
“Got it,” said the engineer.
Mike turned and walked me out the door.
“Not bad for your first day.We got through about six hours of work in four hours, thanks to you.”
“How much did we actually do?” I said.
“Fifteen minutes’ worth of dialogue, I’d say.”
“That’s all?”
Mike laughed. “You’ll get used to the pace.”
What pace? After my first day, it felt like an exhausting crawl.
“Hey, sorry about the script. I mean, uh, I knew, but, uh—”
“Rookie mistake.” Mike held up his hand to stop my rambling apology.
My cell phone rang. I opened my bag, exposing my rolls of Charmin. We both looked down and then at each other. Mike knitted his brow.The ringing stopped.Then it started again.
“Someone wants to talk to you,” he said.
“Probably Brenda.”
I smiled. Mike winked at me. The chemistry between us buzzed. He pointed at my bag. I fished out my phone. Peter. It stopped ringing.
“I have to go.”
His smile dropped. “Okay, see you tomorrow.”
I watched Mike return to the control room. My phone started ringing again. I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned.Walter stood in front of me. “Listen, Little Waitress, you’d better learn how to fix your script yourself or you won’t last long.”
He turned and walked away.When he was halfway down the hall, he yelled, “And answer your goddamn phone.”
Later, when I was safely behind the rolled-up glass in the Town Car, I said, “What the hell were you doing today?”
Betty Jane’s answer? “Why, Holly.” She paused. “I was just exercising my rights.”
One episode of The Neighborhood took six to eight months from start to finish. This included writing, rewriting, voice recording, storyboards, animatics, coloring, music scoring, and postproduction. Since the show was on the fall calendar, we juggled several episodes at the same time to meet the schedule.This meant we would be doing voice recording for one show, while one or two were in storyboards, another one or two in black-and-white animation, and others already in the coloring, scoring, or post-production phase.
The schedule for the taping was intense. Betty Jane added fuel to the fire by finding numerous little ways to remind everyone
in the
“Someone get Holly’s script set up. I don’t want her turning pages during the recording.”
Finally, the voice actor next to me reached over and spread out the papers while Betty Jane stood and watched.This was not how I wanted to start out my new life. Sarge brought a barf bucket over. Sometimes having your thoughts immediately known wasn’t so bad.
“ The Neighborhood , scene one, take two,” said the engineer through the talkback.
“Action,” said Mike.
We did twelve takes of that scene before Mike was happy.
When Betty Jane finally got her turn, she nailed her lines on the first try.We still had to do four more takes to get exactly what Mike wanted from the other actors.
“This is the last take for the day; make it a good one,” said Mike. I looked at my watch. Four hours had passed.
When I first saw the schedule, I thought, Four hours, a breeze . I was used to being on my feet for a lot longer than that. At the end of the four hours, we’d done at least a hundred takes. My back hurt and my legs ached, and I wondered if this was all I’d ever remember about working as a voice-over artist, since I’d always be on the Committee’s couch while Betty Jane stood in front of the microphone.
As I packed my stuff, one actor said begrudgingly, “Good work today.” The others just whispered to one another, and one actually pointed at me when I exited the booth.
“Let’s use one through ten from the second take and thirty through fifty from take six, but I want to edit in the pickup of line thirty from take four,” said Mike.
“Got it,” said the engineer.
Mike turned and walked me out the door.
“Not bad for your first day.We got through about six hours of work in four hours, thanks to you.”
“How much did we actually do?” I said.
“Fifteen minutes’ worth of dialogue, I’d say.”
“That’s all?”
Mike laughed. “You’ll get used to the pace.”
What pace? After my first day, it felt like an exhausting crawl.
“Hey, sorry about the script. I mean, uh, I knew, but, uh—”
“Rookie mistake.” Mike held up his hand to stop my rambling apology.
My cell phone rang. I opened my bag, exposing my rolls of Charmin. We both looked down and then at each other. Mike knitted his brow.The ringing stopped.Then it started again.
“Someone wants to talk to you,” he said.
“Probably Brenda.”
I smiled. Mike winked at me. The chemistry between us buzzed. He pointed at my bag. I fished out my phone. Peter. It stopped ringing.
“I have to go.”
His smile dropped. “Okay, see you tomorrow.”
I watched Mike return to the control room. My phone started ringing again. I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned.Walter stood in front of me. “Listen, Little Waitress, you’d better learn how to fix your script yourself or you won’t last long.”
He turned and walked away.When he was halfway down the hall, he yelled, “And answer your goddamn phone.”
Later, when I was safely behind the rolled-up glass in the Town Car, I said, “What the hell were you doing today?”
Betty Jane’s answer? “Why, Holly.” She paused. “I was just exercising my rights.”
One episode of The Neighborhood took six to eight months from start to finish. This included writing, rewriting, voice recording, storyboards, animatics, coloring, music scoring, and postproduction. Since the show was on the fall calendar, we juggled several episodes at the same time to meet the schedule.This meant we would be doing voice recording for one show, while one or two were in storyboards, another one or two in black-and-white animation, and others already in the coloring, scoring, or post-production phase.
The schedule for the taping was intense. Betty Jane added fuel to the fire by finding numerous little ways to remind everyone
in the
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