May 2009, New York City, USA
"Ladies and gentlemen, Troy Armitage!"
I walked out through the studio doors with a bright smile on my face. The in-house band sat to my left, just by the edge of the stage. Beyond them was the sea of faces that made up my audience for the night. The moment my name was announced, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause that echoed across the studio.
I waved as I stepped to the center of the stage. "Thank you," I said, though my voice was almost lost beneath the cheers. I waited a few moments for the noise to settle, basking in the warmth of the moment, before beginning my monologue.
"Thank you so much for this warm welcome!" I said once more.
"You're the best!" a girl shouted from somewhere near the front row.
"That I am," I replied with a grin, earning a ripple of laughter. "This is my first time hosting [Saturday Night Live], and I couldn't be happier to do it, because very recently, I completed ten years in the film industry."
The crowd burst into applause again at the reminder, some even rising to their feet.
"So now," I continued, pretending to think deeply, "I can be considered a veteran actor." I scratched my chin thoughtfully. "Just imagine, by the time I'm twenty-two, I'll be getting lifetime achievement awards left, right, and center. And by twenty-five, producers will be lining up to buy the rights to my biopic."
The audience chuckled, but before I could continue, someone barged onto the stage holding a stack of papers.
"Dad?" I asked, feigning confusion. "What are you doing here?"
"I heard you were selling away your life rights for a biopic, so I thought I'd buy them before anyone else does." He held up the papers and a pen, his grin wide and mischievous. "You'll give me a discount, right?"
Laughter rippled through the audience as I did my best to keep a straight face.
"Dad," I said slowly, fighting the urge to grin at his perfect timing, "this is my monologue, which means only one person gets to do it. We can talk about this afterwards. Now go." I made a shooing gesture at him before waving at the cameraman and pointing at myself. Following my cue, the camera zoomed in on me to cut Dad out of the frame, as the audience laughed again.
Turning back to them, I continued, "So, as I was saying, most people know me for playing one particular geeky, magical character for a good part of my life, a character whose story comes to an end next year. I won't say the name here, because I am not getting paid to promote it this year."
The crowd laughed at that, but someone behind me gasped dramatically.
"Hey!" Dad called, walking back into frame. "I'll remind you that I'm a producer on that. So, it would be nice if you promoted your old man's film."
"My stingy old man who won't even fork a billion dollars, like I asked, for promoting it," I shot back.
The audience lost it at the absurdity of the exchange. Or maybe they were just trained to laugh at everything. You could never really tell with a studio audience.
"A billion dollars? That's too much!" Dad exclaimed, throwing up his hands as the laughter grew louder.
I closed my eyes in exaggerated tiredness before sighing, "Fine! How much can you do?"
"Is my love not enough for you?" Dad asked in a dramatically wounded tone.
I gave him a deadpan look, narrowing my eyes as the audience chuckled. "Just this once," I said finally, then turned back toward them. "Alright. [Harry Potter]!"
The second I said it, the crowd exploded with cheers and applause that surpassed anything I had said before it.
"Oof," I said, waiting for the noise to die down. "Evidently, a lot of Potter fans here. Unfortunately, I don't see many kids around." I exaggeratedly scanned the front rows before adding, "So, to the adult Harry Potter fans, I'd just like to say: those books and movies are for kids. Grow up."
I kept my expression stone-cold, but a grown man in the front row stood up and yelled in mock agony, "Nooooo!"
That broke me. I couldn't help but chuckle. "Just kidding. Those films are for everyone. Just like all of my works, except maybe [Superbad], if you're young. Maybe you can also add [Billy Elliot], [The Perks of Being a Wallflower], [Little Miss Sunshine], [The Sixth Sense], and [The Dark Knight] to that list. Did I forget anything, Dad?"
The more titles I listed with a straight face, the louder the laughter grew. The audience seemed to love that I was roasting my own résumé.
"[Disturbia]," Dad shouted from behind me. "That film wasn't for anyone. Unless you want a good nap while watching it."
The crowd roared, and though the joke landed well, I didn't particularly like it. [Disturbia] had always been one of the films I liked in both my lifetimes. I had specifically told the SNL writers to give me a comeback for that line.
"Hey! I love that film!" I shot back, feigning outrage. "In fact, the worst film of my career would be [Sex Education]. I don't even know why I agreed to do it. Only a maniac could write or direct something that depraved."
The audience went quiet for a beat. Then Dad added, "I wrote and directed that film."
"I know."
Laughter thundered through the studio, and even I had to hold back a grin as Dad slipped discreetly offstage, waving to the crowd as he exited.
I turned back to the audience, regaining my composure. "So, as I was saying… Oh, we have questions already." I pointed toward the front row, where an actress I immediately recognized was standing.
Amy Poehler rose to her feet with a teasing, mischievous grin. "Hi, Troy," she purred.
I smiled back. "Hi, Amy. What's your question?"
She twirled a strand of her blonde hair around her finger, feigning innocence. "So, I first noticed you in your Crocs commercial, you know, the one where you took off your shirt… and most of your clothes."
"I was 15 in that," I pointed out, giving her a look.
"And then," she continued, completely ignoring me, "you took off your shirt again in [Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire]."
"I did," I admitted. "Same age."
"Then again in [Superbad], and you were 18 in it. I checked."
"Yes," I muttered reluctantly.
"[Brick], [The Perks of Being a Wallflower], [Echoes of You], [Little Miss Sunshine]… you took off your shirt a lot." She listed them off on her fingers before giving me a smirk. "So that brings me to my question…"
"No," I interrupted firmly. "I will not take off my shirt tonight."
Amy snapped her mouth shut in mock disappointment. "Oh. Thank you for your time."
The audience howled with laughter as she sat down, and I could feel the grin tugging at the corners of my mouth again. It was all thanks to Amy's impeccable comic timing.
Another hand went up in the air, this time belonging to Kristen Wiig.
"Yes, Kristen," I said, pointing at her with mock seriousness. "Your question?"
"Not even a little bit?" she asked, her tone playful. "I mean, you weren't born wearing that shirt, were you?"
I tugged lightly at my collar, just enough to reveal my collarbone, and said, "That's all you're getting tonight. Next question."
Abby Elliott stood up next, her lips parting as if to speak. Before she could get a single word out, I raised a hand and said, "Please don't ask anything about me taking off my shirt. Ask anything else."
She visibly pouted and sat back down with an exaggerated huff, folding her arms like a sulking child.
"Any more questions before we begin the show?" I asked, scanning the audience.
Andy Samberg stood up from his seat. "I do! When are you taking off your shirt?" he called out, holding up a bottle of lube in one hand. He squeezed some into the other, rubbing his fingers together with an overly suggestive grin.
I groaned, closing my eyes. "I'm not, you perv! Why don't you people get it?"
"Hey, handsome!"
The camera panned across the audience to reveal the new speaker, and the studio erupted into deafening screams. The reason became clear in an instant: it was the love of my life, Scarlett Johansson.
The cheers went on for a solid 15 seconds before Scarlett smirked and said into the mic, "So, I was thinking… take off your shirt." Her voice was seductive yet commanding, her gaze fixed on me like she was issuing an order rather than making a request.
When the camera cut back to me, I was standing shirtless on stage, my jacket and shirt whisked away by the crew when the camera was strategically focused on Scarlett.
The crowd, especially the girls went wild at the scene, screaming my name, and all sorts of weird and inappropriate things, that I readily ignored.
I made an exaggeratedly nervous face. "As you s-s-say, Scar," I stammered, pretending to tremble while the audience was having too much fun at my expense.
When the SNL writers first pitched the bit, I had been hesitant, but eventually agreed. I was in good shape and not exactly shy about showing a little skin.
I turned back to the audience, unbothered by my lack of a shirt. "We have a great show for you tonight. Troy Armitage is in the house as our musical guest; wait, that's me. Stick around, we'll be right back!"
The crowd cheered again as the lights dimmed and the cameras cut away.
(Break)
The backstage of SNL was absolute chaos in the best way. The pace was unreal. One moment, I was standing shirtless under blinding lights; the next, two crew members rushed over to drag me toward the wardrobe station for my first sketch of the night.
Watching from home, SNL always looked seamless. But actually doing it meant taking part in organized madness.
"You both suck at acting," Kenan Thompson was saying to two cast members nearby, gesturing wildly as a makeup artist darted around me with a brush to make me ready to go on stage within moments. "You look like rich white folks who've spent too much money on an overpriced acting class instead of a pimp and a hoe you're supposed to play."
"Thank you," one of the guys replied brightly, completely missing the insult. "I know I'm rich."
Kenan sighed, rubbing his forehead. "You all have obstacles to overcome on your road to success. For Randall, it's his unappealing body. For Laura, it's a lack of talent. And for Julia, it's that she looks strikingly like Rachel McAdams."
That last line got a few laughs, especially since Rachel McAdams herself was sitting right there among the sketch group, still in character.
"Well," Rachel said, placing a hand on her chest with mock grace, "I think there's room in Hollywood for both Rachel McAdams and Julia Robards."
"You might consider changing your name to something that doesn't sound like Julia Roberts," Kenan added dryly before turning toward me. "And now, we have a special surprise for you all. Since you all want to be working actors, who better to give you advice than Troy Armitage!"
The small group of actors erupted with excitement as I walked into the mock classroom.
"Troy will tell you all how difficult it is for actors to make it through Hollywood and achieve success," Kenan said, gesturing for me to join him. "Please, take a seat, Troy."
I turned a chair around and straddled it backwards, resting my arms across the backrest like a motivational speaker who'd been doing this all his life.
"Thank you so much for having me here," I said warmly, giving a humble smile.
"Alright, questions," Kenan said, pointing to a man in the front row.
The guy straightened up eagerly. "First of all, you're awesome."
"Thank you, man," I said with a grin. "That means a lot."
He nodded seriously. "So, I'm three years into the whole acting thing, and I still haven't landed a good role. How long did it take you to get your first big break?"
"Hmm." I made an exaggerated thinking sound, as if recalling some long-forgotten struggle.
"Well, I flew to LA because my parents had moved for work. The moment I stepped out of the airport to grab a taxi, a director saw me, thought I looked cute, and offered me a part in my first film. And that's how it all started."
The man blinked, confused. "So… you got your first break the moment you arrived in LA?"
"Yeah, pretty much," I replied casually.
"Okay," he said flatly, clearly regretting the question. The camera panned to the next student.
"Hi!" A woman raised her hand eagerly. "I've been auditioning for five years, and I still haven't booked anything. My agent says it's time to do porn. How do you deal with rejection?"
"Oh," I said, feigning panic. "I feel so dumb right now because I don't know that word. I'm not on Facebook or any social media; is it a new concept?"
The woman frowned. "Rejection is when someone doesn't pick you for a part. They choose someone else."
"Oh no," I said, widening my eyes in horror. "That's terrible. I've never experienced that. They just… give me the part."
The audience burst into laughter as another woman jumped in. "Wouldn't that be nice? So, do you have any audition hacks?"
I looked troubled. "You guys keep saying that word—'awe-dee-shun.' What does that mean again?"
"It's when you try out for a role," a man clarified.
I gasped dramatically. "Oh my God, they make you do that? As far as I know, you just get asked to be in a movie by the director. Isn't that how it works?"
"Now I'm depressed. Thank you for that," the woman raised her hands in defeat.
"Did you have any training?" another asked.
"Nope," I said proudly. "I just did it, and I was really good at it." I nodded sagely, as if I had just dropped a profound truth.
The camera then cut to Rachel McAdams, well, sort of. She was part of the sketch, sitting among the "students."
"Oh my God, Troy, I'm such a huge fan," she said.
"What are you saying?" I replied with a grin. "I'm your huge fan. [The Notebook]. Such a great movie."
"I'm not Rachel McAdams," she corrected quickly. "I'm Julia Robards. But I did get sued by Rachel once because she thought I was impersonating her in my porn debut. So, any advice for me?"
I leaned forward thoughtfully. "Are you better than Rachel McAdams at acting?"
"She's not," Kenan deadpanned from the side without missing a beat. His delivery was so perfect I couldn't help but snort mid-line, breaking character completely.
The audience roared with laughter as I hid my face for a moment, laughing at my own inability to stay composed on live television.
"Well, then stop pursuing a film career," I added after regaining my composure.
"Only TV, got it," Rachel winked at me. "I wouldn't mind working with you on the next series I'm doing. It may have a few artistically shot sex scenes, but you're not exactly shy."
"Err, yeah, nope." I stood up from my seat. "Thank you guys, but that's all the time I have today. I hope you all recover from whatever illness makes your life so short. Peace." I thumped my chest before taking my leave.
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