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PAID CASTING CALL — $100/day (10 days) Filming in Ithaca, NY — Late Spring/Summer 2026 (Exact dates flexible depending on actor availability) I am casting two actors in their 20s for a dark comedic short film titled "Who's Your Mama." The film follows two chaotic, codependent friends who return to a lake house one year after the death of one of their mothers. What begins as funny, drunk roommate energy slowly unravels into emotional chaos. This is a character-heavy, dialogue-driven short with a blend of sharp humor, psychological tension, and raw emotional beats. Below is the script of three scenes I would like to see for the video audition. Please send your self-tapes to kat424rina@gmail.com . ROLES BLAKE Fast-talking, reactive, sarcastic. Uses caretaking as a coping mechanism until she burns out emotionally. Needs strong comedic instincts and the ability to shift suddenly into vulnerability. TUDOR Dramatic, wild, messy, Romanian energy. Weaponizes humor, avoids feelings until they explode out of him. Requires a fearless actor who can play both chaos and emotional depth. No previous film experience required. Here is the script: Short Synopsis of Whole Film: One year after the death of Alyssa—an erratic, magnetic, mentally unstable woman—her son Tudor and his best friend Blake return to her old lake house to prepare for a memorial. The film opens with three chaotic, darkly comedic scenes that reestablish Blake and Tudor's dysfunctional bond. On the surface, they're just bickering, drinking, and spiraling in their usual feral, codependent way. But underneath, we begin to see the cracks: Tudor weaponizes humor to avoid grief, and Blake compulsively parents him to avoid her own loneliness. Their drunk fight is not random—it is the first rupture in a relationship built entirely on avoidance. This blow-up becomes the fault line for the rest of the film. After the fight, their grief resurfaces in dramatically different—and increasingly incompatible—ways. Blake immediately tries to re-domesticate the lake house, restoring Alyssa's belongings and reenacting her rituals, unconsciously stepping into Alyssa's maternal role. Tudor, meanwhile, spirals into self-destruction: drinking heavily, masturbating to a woman's scrunchie, bringing girls over, and fetishizing Alyssa's old trinkets. Their once-shared humor becomes volatile; Blake's caregiving mirrors Alyssa's instability, while Tudor's resentment curdles into sexual confusion and emotional cruelty. — CHARACTER BREAKDOWNS — BLAKE Age: 20 Personality: Sharp, witty, chronically overstimulated. Uses humor and sarcasm to deflect feelings. Fiercely loyal but deeply insecure. Energy: Fast-talking, reactive, volatile. Always trying to manage Tudor, even when she shouldn't. Emotional Range Needed: Comedy → panic → heartbreak. Needs ability to shift tone suddenly. Audition Focus: Comic timing Playing exhaustion + affection simultaneously A slow emotional collapse across scenes The devastating stillness before she spits in his face TUDOR Age: 20 Personality: Chaotic Romanian man-child with a genius for emotional warfare. Dramatic, absurd, narcissistically hilarious, secretly grieving. Energy: feral. Oscillates between toddler, philosopher, and demon. Emotional Range Needed: Comedy → mania → cruelty → genuine pain → blackout rage. Audition Focus: Unpredictability Dark comedic instincts Ability to switch from playful to vicious instantly Emotional monologue rants delivered through drunkenness SCENE 1 – "TOUCH GRASS" INT. Living room – Dusk BLAKE paces, wired. TUDOR is collapsed on the couch, pale, eyes half-closed. Blake No, we're going to the cemetery. That is the other thing. You are going outside. —She's trying to sound firm but is clearly exasperated; almost parental. TUDOR NO —Childish refusal; dramatic for no reason. BLAKE Your crashing out —She's half nagging, half genuinely worried. TUDOR Where is the speaker? —Completely ignoring everything she just said. TUDOR Fuck you. Where is the speaker? —Back to mission mode. BLAKE You were the last one who touched the speaker. —Logical, but logic doesn't work on him. TUDOR WHERE IS THE SPEAKER —Full meltdown over an object he probably hid himself. Blake Why do I feel like I am about to get blamed for something? —She senses the storm building. TUDOR Tell me where it is. —Interrogation energy. Tudor wrestles Blake. —Chaotic physical comedy, but Blake is genuinely annoyed. Blake You were the last one to use it! WHY ARE YOU PULLING MY HAIR —If she sounded worried before, she's pissed now. TUDOR I wanted to see what happens —He's bored and experimenting like a feral cat. Tudor puts his shirt over Blake. —Random, chaotic, drunk-toddler behavior. Blake goes quiet. —This surprises him AND her; weird pause. Tudor stops. —He thought it would be funny; instead he feels bad or confused. Blake gets up. —She resets herself emotionally. BLAKE Do you want tea —Her way of stabilizing the room and herself. TUDOR Yea sure —Instant calm; mood swing into compliance. Tudor starts walking away. —Mission: tea? No. Mission: something else. He comes back with the speaker. —He had it the whole time, obviously. Blake Lemon or chamomile —Accepting the chaos and moving on. TUDOR Lemme cum on ur mile long dick Blake —Sexual insult as a coping mechanism. Blake Okay we're leaving in 30 min —She steamrolls over the comment; used to this. Tudor I cant im gay —Non-sequitur; means "I don't want to go outside." TUDOR If I see another forest in my life, I will kill myself. There are so many bears. I hate bears. —Trauma monologue out of nowhere; overdramatic, Romanian energy. BLAKE Only in Romania —Matter-of-fact correction, like she's said this before. TUDOR- (checks his pocket) Holy shit I GOT 100 bucks —Sudden dopamine hit interrupts everything. BLAKE From where —She already knows he has no answer. Tudor I GOT 100 bucks —He's not listening; $100 is the only thing that matters now. BLAKE Where are you going —She knows this is bad. Tudor 100 bucks! —More chanting; absolutely manic. Tudor is putting on shoes. —Pure impulsive behavior. Blake TUdor —She knows exactly where this is heading. Im getting drunk —Final declaration; nothing can stop him now. SCENE 2 – "BARTON vs. MEZCAL" EXT. DRIVEWAY – NIGHT A Barton bottle in Tudor's hand, a mezcal bottle in Blake's. They're already tipsy — that loose, giggly, slightly dangerous kind of drunk. Blake Thats literally the most disgusting thing you could do —She says it like she's scolding a raccoon eating trash. Tudor Im not gonna drink the entire fucking thing —Defensive, offended she'd even accuse him. Blake I would never do bartons. I tried it and realised thats not for people. —She says "people" like Tudor is not one. Tudor proceeds to shove it down her mouth. —Chaotic, playful-assault energy; he thinks this is hilarious. Blake Fuck you im leaving you —Half storming off, half laughing, fully pissed. Tudor It doesnt matter if its cheap or expensive vodka its all the same, you just prefer tequila to vodka —His logic is drunk logic: loud, wrong, confident. Blake Cause im an adult —She is deeply proud of this fact in this moment. Over talking and stuff. —They're interrupting each other, stumbling, bickering like siblings. Blake Im an adult, an adult…. —She repeats it like a mantra; needs him to acknowledge it. Tudor we can agree to disagree —He's doing fake diplomacy; smug. blake No your just a child —She hits him where it hurts. tudor No i just dont have the genes like cilantro, it taste like soap the way mezcal taste like poopy butt face —Drunk synapse firing; an insane analogy he believes is profound. blake Ya you have no nuance because you're a child —She's taking his nonsense argument seriously, which infuriates him. tudor Yeah well yeah im a child —He admits it but in a bratty way, proud of it. blake Yeah your a little eastern european mousy child —She leans into the insult with lyrical precision. Blake tries pouring mezcal down his throat; he shoves her. —Not violent, but jolting — two drunk idiots escalating play into danger. SCENE 3 – "LOOK MOM NO HANDS" INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT Phone screen glows in the dark room. Empty beer cans, clothes, a lamp with no shade. Tudor sits in the middle, clutching his phone with HINGE open. Blake leans over his shoulder like a chaotic consultant. Blake Exactly. So we lean into your brand: zesty Eastern European, emotionally unavailable, maybe gay but only on Tuesdays. —She's half-serious, half-mocking; trying to lighten him up. They both laugh. —Relief, shared dysfunction, a rare moment of peace. TUDOR Fine. If this works and I get matches, I will buy you beers for a month. —He's braggy but weirdly earnest; wants her approval. Blake With what money. I've been buying everything —She doesn't even look up; the banter is practiced. Tudor With my moms money —He delivers it too casually, setting up the spiral. Beat Tudor Oh fuckkkkk she dieeeddddddddddddd. —The reality hits him ironically mid-sentence; it's messy, slurred. Tudor Oh fuckkkkkkkkkk, where the fucks my mom —Sarcastically Tudor goes to he's knees to Blake in a kneeling position. —Childlike regression; he's slipping fast. Tudor Will you be my mommy Blake —A plea from somewhere deep, not a joke anymore. He starts climbing on her and whimpering. —Uncomfortable, unhinged, a boundary crossed. BLAKE Mimicking auuuuh my little tudsie poo —She tries to joke her way out, but it backfires instantly. Tudor stands up abruptly. —Triggered, defensive, rage-flash. TUDOR Dont fucking call me that —His voice drops; the threat is real now. BLAKE Why —She wasn't expecting the turn. Tudor Thats fucked, u sound like her —This is raw grief; he can't separate Blake from his mom. Blake Yeah cause we were joking —She tries grounding him, but he won't go. TUDOR I'm allowed to joke. Dead mom privileges. You wouldn't understand the culture. —Deflection as ego protection. BLAKE I get to participate in "dead mom joke hour," too —She's matching his tone, escalating without meaning to. TUDOR No you don't. Your not her real daughter, you do not have the emotional clearance. —His rules, his world; he's spiraling into cruelty. Blake If she was alive she would slap the shit outta you. —Trying to shock him out of it. Tudor is munching on pretzels. —Comfort behavior; drunk, avoidant. TUDOR That's not true. She'd be like "Tudor, sweetie, Blake is small and pathetic, arms weak like pretzel" —Mockery mixed with subconscious self-hate. Tudor snaps a pretzel in half. —Symbolic; he enjoys the power. BLAKE She would not call me pathetic! —Her first real sting; she needs the mom to like her. TUDOR I said small AND pathetic AND pretzel, don't cherry-pick. —He's riffing maliciously now. BLAKE Why am I pretzel? —Genuinely confused, hurt but still engaging. TUDOR Long. Confused. Crumbs everywhere. —Nonsense insult; he's spiraling. Blake What? —She's losing patience. Tudor Like if you had a dick, it would be this pretzel —Sexualized, weird, boundary-pushing. Tudor bites the pretzel. —Making it performative. Tudor And i would bite it off and spit it back out into your mouth until you swallow it then you shit it out and i take it in my mouth and spit it back- —He's trying to shock her; grossness as dominance. Blake Stop stop thats the worst image- —Repulsed, trying to shut it down. Tudor Oh sorry i thought u would be familiar with the concept especially since your mouth was like surgically attached to my moms asshole —His first deliberately cruel personal attack. BLake STOP, I WANT YOU TO STOP TALKING —Her boundary slams down. Tudor IT BUILDS CHARACTER —Mocking her pain. BLake WHAT DOES? —She's trying to understand but shouldn't. Tudor Visual stimuli, you'll probably jack off to her asshole later anyways, —He's escalating sexually and emotionally to provoke. Blake puts her hands over her ears. —Shes actually grossed out Tudor You would moan all the time when eating her food —He weaponizes memories. Blake starts "LALALALA". —trying to drown out tudors voice Tudor YOU WERE A FUCKING LEECH! —The venom surfaces fully. Tudor LEECH LEECH LEACH —Chanting to dehumanize her. TUDOR Everything about you is need. You suck people dry. You make every room about you. My mom didn't like you — she pitied you. —He's projecting his deepest fear onto her. Blake What the FUCK did you just say? —This hits her core wound. Tudor And you loved it. You loved having an older woman baby you. You loved pretending she was yours. You replaced the idea of a mother with mine because you're too pathetic to build real relationships. —Every sentence is meant to stab. Blake is still. —Frozen; dissociation begins. TUDOR You're not her kid, Blake. You were NEVER her kid. She didn't want you. She barely tolerated you. And you clung to her like a leech because nobody else ever stays. —He's dissecting her attachment issues with surgical cruelty. BEAT. Blake Your mom liked me more. —Her last weapon, small and shaky. Tudor starts laughing hysterically. —Unhinged, vicious. Tudor You think she LIKED you? She thought you were… (struggles to find words) …QUIETLY STICKY. You had sticky energy. She said that! —He invents insults because reality isn't cruel enough. Blake starts walking away —She knows that's the only way to deal with him Tudor You know what im sorry, im sorry please do it, do the stripping, its your turn, strip me emotionally till im a little tiny fetus —Mocking vulnerability, begging for chaos. Blake Your fucking pathetic —She's done. This is final. Blake starts walking away again. —Self-preservation. TUDOR GET THE FUCK BACK IN HERE AND TELL ME SOME BULLSHIT ABOUT YOUR LOVE FOR HER. —He needs fuel for his rage. Blake She told me you were intense. Too angry. Hard to reach. You don't listen. You don't care how you make people feel. Your mom liked me more. She told me things. Real things. She trusted me. —Her one truth-bomb; his greatest insecurity. TUDOR You think she trusted you? She trusted that you would EAT ANYTHING. —He twists it to regain power. Tudor Ur like a leach with tiny little pretzel arms and legs and you eat and eat and suck like a fucking slut who cant even fucking give the right handjob cause ur arms are pretzels —He has fully regressed; pure cruelty. Blake still looking at him condescendingly. —She sees the child in him now, and the monster. BLake YOUR JUST MAKING NOISE NOW —Dismissal that enrages him. TUdor YOU WERE HER CHARITY PROJECT —Vicious; intended to destroy. BLake And you were her emotional hemorrhoid —She fights back with humor because she's breaking. Tudor gasps sarcastically and does a whole scene. —Over-the-top dramatics masking despair. Tudor Oh my stars I cant take an insult. Im so weak and so fragile i want mommys embrace i need all the help in the world and only you can give it to me blake only- —Mocking her softness. Tudor looks up. Blake is walking away. —For him, abandonment = panic → rage. Tudor DON'T WALK AWAY WHILE I'M MONOLOGUING. I HAVE MORE MATERIAL. —Desperate to keep her engaged. TUDOR (SHOUTING AFTER) YOU WERE A LEECH! A LITTLE PRETZEL-LIMBED LEECH WITH A FACE THAT SAYS "PLEASE LOVE ME I CAN PROVIDE NOTHING BUT THIS CRUMBLY ENERGY!" —He's improvising violence. Blake walks back. —A dangerous choice; she wants closure. Blake Okay so that's what you want, you just want a punching bag, okay, whatever, say what you need to say —Resigned. Hollow. Tudor She never loved you —Knife to the heart. Tudors laughing —Sadistic; he enjoys the hurt. Tudor She actually never did, its actually hilarious you thought she loved you —He's obliterating her last emotional anchor. Blake SPITS HER DRINK IN TUDORS FACE —A primal act; survival instinct. Blake runs into her room and locks the door —Full panic. Tudor runs after her —Predatory urgency. Blake SLAMS the door, locks it, collapses behind it. —Her world caves in. Tudor STORMS after her, pounding the door. —He's out of control. TUDOR OPEN THE DOOR. OPEN IT. BLAKE. —Commands fueled by abandonment terror. She curls tighter, shaking. —Silent panic attack. TUDOR (CONT'D) She told me she never loved you you fucking bitch —He thinks more cruelty = control. Blake covers her ears. —She cannot take one more word. Tudor And you knew it, you knew you could never get her love so you kept fucking being there, you were just there all the time —He's describing himself without realizing. TUDOR (CONT'D) You were NOTHING to her! Raising me was like raising me but she had a fucking sticky pretzel leech on her ass —His grief is turning into projection. Blake lets out a tiny sob. —This is the moment he senses he has power. Tudor hears it. He goes for the jugular. —He wants to break her to avoid facing his own grief. TUDOR (CONT'D) Ru you fucking crying? Well you should YOU WEREN'T HER CHILD. YOU WEREN'T EVEN CLOSE. You lost her a while ago You know what, you never had her You were alone ur whole life —He's cutting into her origin wound. Blake cries silently. —Beyond words. TUDOR (CONT'D) You were REPLACEABLE. She could've swapped you out for a spiky annoying cactus and felt the SAME AMOUNT OF CONNECTION. —He's inventing metaphors to distance himself from guilt. Blake curls into a ball. —She's collapsing inward. TUDOR (CONT'D) She didn't choose you. SHE PITIED YOU. That's all you EVER get — pity and leftovers. —His worldview weaponized. Blake cannot breathe. —Hyperventilating, trauma response. Tudor And you know what, everyones so fucking confused about how she died, when its so obvious, YOU made her kill herself. You drove her fucking insane, you were some fucking sticky cactus leach pretzel looking motherfucking unlovable bitch who drove her to kill herself. She went out for a swim to try and get a way from you, your energy your disgusting aura still lingering in our house, she couldn't stand it, so she kept swimming and then realised she'll never get rid of the stain that you are so she killed herself so she would never have to think of you again —This is his absolute lowest; he's rewriting her death into a weapon. TUDOR (CONT'D) And you KNOW I'M RIGHT. —His voice cracks under the rage; he's hurting himself too. Silence. Just her muffled sobs. —The damage is done. Tudor finally steps back, breathing heavily, face twisted with drunk rage and grief he cannot hold, he chugs the bottle of bartons. —He collapses inward; the aftermath begins.

Dec 5, 2025 $100.00

Location: New York, NY

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