Guest Character Energy
be our guest, be our guest...🎵
Last Friday I received a last-minute invitation. The proposition manifested through a flurry of text messages, voice notes and decorative emojis from friends requesting my presence in New York’s Fire Island that very weekend. It was not F.O.M.O. that enticed me to accept as I had visited the island a few weeks prior and was set to go again before the end of summer. Further, as I was a late addition, I would likely inhabit a less desirable sleeping arrangement in the rental property. Finally, and most importantly, I had tickets to see Barbie the following evening and was more invested in witnessing the opening weekend theatrics over the island’s weekend activities. At this point, a twelve-ish hour stay on an island that would take nearly two and a half hours to reach did not seem worth it. But, as it was summer and summer is fleeting, I found myself seated with friends on the Fire Island boardwalk to catch the sunset that evening.
As I was the last to arrive and had not participated in any of the planning, I didn’t know a handful of the folks in the house. And so naturally, as I rode up on the Long Island Rail Road, I did some due diligence and consulted a few close friends already there to assess the vibe of the house.
I joked with a friend that I’d be the ‘guest character’ of the house, prominent enough to drive the plot of a single episode night but not significant enough to be top billing or have any real responsibilities. This declaration contained the buoyancy of a beach wave, gleeful with possibility as the tide rose followed by the crush of reality when my toes revisited the sand. I was so accustomed to being ‘main cast’ on the trips I helped plan that I felt miscast in this new role. I wondered if I would still have fun. If I would still feel included.
But then I remembered other prominent guest actors. Murray Bartlett in The Last of Us. Cecily Tyson in How To Get Away With Murder. Cherry Jones in Succession. Gwyneth Paltrow in Glee. Katt Williams in Atlanta. Maya Rudolph and Eddie Murphy on Saturday Night Live. It was clear that the guest actor slot was a place for legends! And: there are no small parts, only small actors, right?
This year, I have witnessed more than a few online petitions championing the importance of adopting ‘main character energy.’ This is a new-ish mantra that suggests living your life as though you are the lead character in a movie, enraptured in a delusion where the world revolves around you. This state is beneficial as it allows you to center your happiness in an effort to put what feels most authentic to you first.
I admire this mantra as it posits that life will inevitably work out for you as they do for most main characters. Whenever I have a tough day, I can tell myself: it’s okay, this is just the sad part of your movie before things get really good. The most mundane activities like grabbing an iced chai tea latte, riding the subway to work or walking home in the rain, seem cinematic with the right song purring in your earbuds. Longtime LOOSEY readers will know that music makes a movie and I will be the first to admit that I have had many walks home where I’ve envisioned an A24 title card blooming into focus as I scampered down the avenue listening to The Cranberries.
As entertaining and romantic as it is to occupy this mindset, it can be exhausting to consistently position yourself as central to the narrative you and your community operate in. At a minimum, this belief system is deluded, and, at most, it is narcissistic. Despite how extroverted I may present, I still enjoy quiet moments where I can watch the world move in front of me without having to participate in it. Could there be a happy medium?
Enter: The Guest Character. The Emmys have historically qualified the ‘guest actor’ as a recurring actor with a showstopping performance in a single episode (think Uzo Aduba in Orange is The New Black). Today, the television academy has tightened the guardrails to actors who appear in less than 50% of the episode. Or, to reframe, less than 50% of the weekend…
This qualification is fine by me when it comes to group trips and other aspects of real life. This means: huge impact, half the work! This means: fewer, bigger, better! The guest actor gets to slide in, have some fun and leave before shit gets real. They get to experience the thrills and the highlights that the main characters inhabit but never stick around for the hangover. The guest character is added to the group chat but gets to keep it on mute. The guest character is the star of the night but never gets added to the Splitwise. The guest character is your cool aunt who consistently arrives late to the cookout with nothing to contribute other than a cloak of expensive perfume that trails her from room to room and an envelope with a cheque made out to you. “Don’t tell your mom,” she winks as she stuffs the envelope in your hands, nailing her line read. The guest character is that best friend you made in high school who shows up unannounced at your doorstep a day after hearing about your breakup and orchestrates the best weekend of your life, only to disappear by Monday morning. The guest character is that substitute teacher who plays movies all class (they are obsessed with Leo so it’s always Titanic or Romeo + Juliet) and never takes attendance. The guest character is the rowdy singles table at a wedding. The guest character is Hari Nef yelling “FLAT FEET!!!!” in Barbie. The guest character is your vape pen. The guest character is Nicki Minaj’s rap feature on Justin Bieber’s Beauty and The Beat. The guest character is LOOSEY in your inbox every other Sunday. The guest character gets to be brilliant, brief and then be gone. They are built for the summer: chill, non-committal and gone before you know it. This is the future that Lo Bosworth envisioned for all of us.
To expand on the significance of guest actors in film, I connected with filmmaker and past Vanity Fair staff writer, Yohana Desta who shared her thoughts and favourites:
“I think the function of a cinematic guest character is sometimes as simple as a fun, flashy casting choice that’s done to draw in more eyeballs. (Keanu Reeves getting deeply silly in Always Be My Maybe, for example!) But my personal favorite is when an actress sweeps into a scene to deliver an all-time performance in a high-stakes moment that changes the very fabric of the film; i.e. Viola Davis in Doubt, the role that made her a star. When it comes to more established stars, my mind goes to Winona Ryder descending into Black Swan like a gorgeous wraith, or Michelle Pfeiffer smirking her way through Mother! Two older actresses making grand comebacks, elevating their respective (Aronofsky) films without having to carry them from start to finish.”
With Desta’s reinforcement, I’m primed to believe that the guest character is more titillating than the main. Expertly poised to punctuate the narrative, bridge audience demographics and steal scenes. Typically, the guest character is reserved for the last billing in the credits, a position akin to the final garment revealed in a fashion show with the intention to summate the body of work.
Quentin Tarantino is an acclaimed film director that is known for his reoccurring patterns. His filmography is littered with consistencies such as his infamous trunk shot, close-ups of women’s feet, the unnecessary and abundant use of the n-word and, most importantly, his reliance on a handful of stellar actors and actresses to bring his world to life. To honour his most beloved acting collaborators, he reserves the last spot in the credits to express appreciation. Samuel L. Jackson has received six last billings from Tarantino across his films. Michael Madsen, five. Uma Thurman, three. In a way, instead of ‘guests’ they are regarded as something more permanent. Family.
My appearance on Fire Island came and went like the tide. The rays from the Saturday morning sun broke through the blinds to wake me ahead of my alarm. Half asleep, I bought my train ticket from bed and gingerly collected my scattered clothes from the linoleum floor. While the rest of the house slept, I slinked off for a quick run and, when I returned, I rinsed off and quietly packed my duffle. Back on the boardwalk, just as the ferry crept in, I grabbed an overpriced breakfast sandwich.
As I embarked on my voyage home, I smiled, reliving the memories of the past few hours, and then, I began to cackle when I realized that I didn’t clean a single dish during my stay. A Cocteau Twins' song hummed in my ear as I peeled off set and toward reality. Just as the ferry sailed off into the bay, becoming a small, inscrutable speck in the distance, a final title card appeared in the theatres of my mind: “with Brendon Holder.” Until
