Monster 👹

or Lana's on Netflick

Cat’s out of the bag. Or rather, monster’s out of the closet.

Charlie Hunnam aka the sweetest (via Variety)

I’ve been wanting to spill this tea for months now.

Here’s the story of my time playing trans icon, Christine Jorgensen, on Ryan Murphy’s Monster: The Ed Gein Story.

First Audition

I don’t know if I was submitted for this or if the Telsey Office reached out to all the dolls they could find, but I got an email from my manager that they wanted a tape for this show. I’d auditioned for a play version of Christine’s, so I was somewhat familiar with her story before.

The first American trans woman to undergo gender confirmation surgery, Christine Jorgensen unwittingly became a pioneer. As she stepped off the plane in New York after living in Denmark and undergoing her surgeries she was met with a flood of paparazzi hounding her for her story. She gave a brief press conference and overnight became a star, supposedly she pushed Queen Elizabeth’s coronation off the front page for a spell. She went on to do talk shows, night club acts, and became a leader of trans activism.

I wrangled my roommate to come read with me. My first scene was Christine’s press conference with attached video footage to try to match. My OCD got on me to hit the beats as she did. Then after my third take my roomie said, “can I give you a note? Wouldn’t she be nervous about these cameras flashing at her?” To which I said, “you’re so right.” And that ended up being the take I sent.

This is the scene! (via NBC)

Me as Christine Jorgensen (via Heather Koontz)

The second scene was, I assumed, fake sides of a random horror scene. Girl walks in to guy’s house, sees scary things, gets scared, runs out. It was fun. Only now watching the show did I learn that it was probably a veeery early draft of a scene between Ed and Adeline in episode 302.

The next day my roomie said, “I looked up Christine Jorgensen. You know, you kinda look like her.”

Callback

A few weeks later I was in New York to see Gypsy with Audra McDonald (I am, at heart a theatre girl). My first night there I got last minute tickets to see Death Becomes Her. I walked up from the subway to receive a text from my manager saying I got a callback and asking my availability in the next few days for a virtual work session with the casting director. I gasped. Told her my times. I was ecstatic. “This is so cool!”

Then I panicked.

I didn’t bring audition clothes. Fuck. I didn’t even bring makeup on this trip. I was staying in my friend, Lipica’s, guest room while she and her husband were out of town, I guess I could finagle her self-tape set up.

Wait! I’m on 42^nd Street, there has to be a Sephora nearby. Quickly checks phone. There’s one two blocks away. Huzzah! I ran to the overstimulating hellscape that is a makeup store in the devil’s butthole of capitalism that is Time Square.

I grabbed what products/shades I could remember, a couple pricier items like the foundation I rarely wear, a cheap eyeliner, cheap setting powder, and a lil blush and lipstick set. Sweat dripped down my oversized men’s shirt my friend gave me (it’s cunt if I wear a men’s shirt, okay!?). I checked out at, a hundred and fifty bucks poorer and my credit card company rubbing their metaphorical palms together. But at least I have something to use, I’m sure if I explain my situation casting will understand. Right?

As soon as I walk out into the brisk cold of New York in November, combined with my stress sweat and a minor cold I was nursing (not Covid), I got a text from my manager.

She told me they were pausing work sessions. They needed to let the writers come up with the scripts. But she’d be in touch with us shortly.

“Sounds good!!!” I texted back.

I walked around the block to cool myself down. I had forty-five minutes until my show. Hmm… I walked back to Sephora and returned over a hundred dollars worth of product, just shy of ten minutes after buying it.

I came up with an elaborate story to tell the beautiful gay sales clerk about why I’m back in here. His Long Island bravado shone through and he couldn’t give fewer fucks. Money was refunded no questions asked.

The Call

After a virtual work session and a tape of me singing “I Enjoy Being a Girl” (Christine’s signature song), I started seeing other trans friends posting self-tape bloopers and “big callback coming up, send good vibes” posts.

That was it. I knew I didn’t get it. They went with someone younger. Or older. Or more credits than me. More passable than me. Prettier than me. That was my narrative. Thanks mental illness 👉🏻👈🏻.

Then on a Thursday in December my manager called me before my office holiday lunch.

“You got it.”

“WHAT?!” I yelped and ran outside.

“I’m at Disneyland with my sister, but babe, you got it!!!”

Costume and Make-up Tests

Once January hit I started getting texts to get my wig fitted and begin trying on costumes. I didn’t even have my script yeah. At this point I thought I was in two scenes, that’s it.

I remembered how complicated television production is, it’s a scheduling nightmare and how anything gets made is nothing short of miraculous.

This was made even more complicated by the fact that I live in San Francisco and would need to fly down and find somewhere to stay. My roommate from college, Mark Jacobson, and his incredible family were more than hospitable to me. I had plenty of airline miles so I could get down there and it wouldn’t break the bank.

Then the LA fires happened.

Everything got pushed. Crew members lost their homes. It was awful. It felt strange to be excited about something amidst such devastation. But production came back, and we kept moving.

On the flight down to LA I was listening to “Diet Pepsi.” I had the thought “I love this song, who sings this? I can’t see her face on Spotify.” And then forgot about it afterwards.

The next day during my makeup and wig test, I heard crew members saying someone named Addison was on set that day. A common enough name, I learned she was playing “the babysitter.” We heard a knock on the trailer door, then, the most beautiful and bubbly young lady I’ve ever seen pranced up the stairs. “Hi, I’m Addison!” she said with a thousand-watt smile.

“Hi, I’m Lana.” I reply, shaking this stranger’s hand.

“Lana! Oooo, sexy.” To which we both giggled.

I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but the second she left the trailer I looked at Heather, my make-up designer, and said “that was Addison Rae, wasn’t it?” To which Heather said, “yeah, didn’t know you know?!”

First Day of Filming

After another setback because of more wildfires (again, miraculous anything in Hollywood gets finished) I finally made it to set. I was ecstatic. I’d lived like a nun to make sure I stayed healthy, I wasn’t risking COVID and delaying production (or worse, getting recast). One of the AD’s was incredibly kind when I told her I didn’t have a car to get to the Simi Valley set (about thirty miles west of LA). She had one of the transportation drivers pick me up and drive me there and back. This is not typical, and I was extremely grateful.

Then I’m there, in my costume, wig, makeup, fed and extremely tired having woken up at 3:30 am. I meet the writer, Ian Brennan (who created Glee, what the actual fuck is my life?). I’m standing on the top of a movable set of passenger stairs and a fifty-foot tall green screen behind me which would eventually be my airplane. Thirty extras flutter below me in eerie Hollywood silence as they take photos of the illustrious Christine Jorgensen.

Kori on the left and Josh (costume designer) on the right (courtesy of Heather Koontz)

Christine Jorgensen waves as she boards an airplane at Copenhagen, Denmark, 1953. The Everett Collection.

I’m also terrified because Christine didn’t touch the handrails in any of the footage I saw and everyone kept reminding me how authentic they wanted to make the shot. How the hell did that woman walk down the gangway with her luggage, and still serve cunt?

Somehow, through divine intervention surely, I didn’t fall. I walk through the small crowd of people. An odd feeling to be the center of attention on my first day. The flash bulbs of the old-timey cameras are going off.

BANG!

“Jesus Christ!!!” I scream and lean over to my left side.

One of the flashbulbs had exploded right next to me.

Everyone stopped moving. The background actors terrified of getting yelled at, frozen to the ground.

The first people I see are hair and makeup making sure no glass got in my face.

I check in with the extra whose flashbulb exploded to see if he’s okay. (Jesus, am I that much of a pick-me that something scary happens to me and I check in on other people first?)

He’s fine. I’m fine. Everyone’s… shaken… but fine.

The props designer looked horrified. Had I been a foot closer that could have been very bad.

We went back to one. Ran the scene a few more times. And pish-posh-applesauce we were done and moving on.

My Big Scene

I got my pages for a new scene they wrote about a week beforehand. Charlie Hunnam, our star, and I got to rehearse twice and record our lines for each other. After the director, Max Winkler (Henry Winkler’s son, which I learned a few days later), gave a few notes and we went on our merry way. Charlie had to film another scene when I was filming, for which he was incredibly apologetic, and I was like, “babe, you’re the star of a tv show, I’m not mad at all, I’m just happy to be here.” He was wearing a robe while we recorded the lines for each other. Only when we had a second to chat and I heard how filming had been going well so far, did he say, “do you wanna see the skin suit?” and he opened his robe to reveal a pair of sagging breast sewn together on him. Up close it looked like plastic, but with movie magic I could see how horrifying it would appear. All to have a mild mannered tv star with a British accent giggling while wearing it.

I suddenly understood how cults worked. I would follow that man anywhere, even wearing a fake skin suit.

We get to my filming day. I’m excited and nervous. I take a beta blocker to be safe.

The scene is about ten pages long. I’m used to having six lines and maybe a character name if I’m lucky on a set. Suddenly I have a stand in and PA’s getting me water, and make-up people making sure I don’t glisten on camera.

While sitting with the actor playing a bellhop, a tall and handsome leading man walked towards me, extended his hand, and said “hi, Alanna, I’m Jon Beavers, I’m gonna be reading lines with you off screen today. If you want to rehearse or be alone right now, whatever your process, I’m here to help.”

Dearest reader, always rehearse if someone offers to rehearse. Don’t be a fool like I was, who thought I didn’t need it.

Because the scene was so long, with a handful of cutaways to other shots and scenes, I figured we would stop and start. Max would call cut. I would go over my next chunk of lines. It would all be low stress.

Oh, how wrong I was.

“All right, we’re going straight through. Take one.” Max said to make sure the crew heard.

I turned and said “we’re not doing it in chunks?”

“No.”

Thank god I took that beta blocker.

I’m ashamed to say this, but I had to call for line way more times than I’m proud of. I’d never had that many cameras on me. That many people waiting on me. And all the while not having a scene partner to work off, only the handsome dulcet tones of a Hulu leading man out of my sight (Jon Beavers is on Paradise).

And you know what? No one cared. Everyone I asked with my insecurities showing said “darling, this is television, we can do as many takes as we need.” Coming from the theater and MFA industrial complex, you have to know your lines cold otherwise you’re not doing your job. I thought I could skate by.

I know I’m over thinking it, but lessons were learned. Be off book as much as you can be. And if you’re not, don’t beat yourself up over it (on a tv set at least).

Later that day I met the fabulous Suzanna Son, the leading lady of the show. She was incredibly kind, truly demure, and a beauty to behold. She handed me a pin that said MONSTER on it as a small crew gift. She’s remarkably cool, and a subscriber to this Substack. Every listen to her album coming out soon!

Today

There’s more stories to tell, but I shan’t bore you with the minor details.

All I’ll say is this. This job was a dream come true. Everyone on set treated me with dignity, kindness, and respect. I was never misgendered or made to feel small or less then. I got to meet Laurie Metcalf, Charlie Hunnam, Addison Rae, and Emmy winning wig designer Barry Lee Moe.

TV is fun. And it’s fleeting. I’m gonna soak up this moment.

In my trailer before my big scene