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PAID CASTING CALL — $200/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 . 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 – DRYWALL INT. LAKE HOUSE LIVING ROOM – LATE AFTERNOON The house is uncomfortably Airbnb-ified. Sterling-gray walls, generic lamp, personality vacuum. TUDOR sits on the couch reading his memorial speech, restless and sweating. —He's been spiraling alone for hours The DOORBELL rings. Then KNOCKING. BLAKE (O.S.) Hello?? Anyone in there?? —her voice is bright but strained; she's bracing for emotional whiplash. TUDOR Come in! —He doesn't actually want to get up, and he also expects BLAKE to "just know" how he operates. More knocking. BLAKE (O.S.) Hello?? TUDOR I SAID come in! —Annoyed she's not telepathic. No one comes in. TUDOR groans, gets up, shuffles to the door. —He's resentful he has to move, but also excited and terrified to see her. He opens the door. BLAKE stands there, breathless, holding bags, posture guarded. —A year of silence collapses into one charged breath.Their nervous systems recognize each other instantly. TUDOR Hey. —Trying to sound normal. Failing. BLAKE Yeah. Uh— I gotta pee —Avoidance as self-defense. Eye contact is too dangerous. TUDOR Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah. —He mirrors her avoidance; neither wants to be the first to feel something. She pushes past him inside. INT. LAKE HOUSE – CONTINUOUS She looks around at the Airbnb decor. BLAKE Uhhhh —The house feels wrong, like someone scrubbed their childhood out with bleach. BLAKE Am I staying upstairs, in my room or the room, or whats the vibe. —She's checking for safety without asking outright if she still belongs here. TUDOR Uh— yeah. You're upstairs. You're still… yeah. BLAKE Cool. Okay. Uh... how are you doing, are you ready for the memorial? Do you have your speech? I was gonna message you asking if you needed help but I didn't want to— —She spills words to cover the silence. Control feels like care. TUDOR It's fine. It's fine. It's fine. BLAKE Sorry, I should've— —She apologizes for the air existing. TUDOR Look, I… I don't want this to be— (he chokes on the emotion) I'm sorry. About what I said, you know, last year. I don't want things to be fucking weird. So if you're still mad at me just punch me in the fucking face or whatever. —He cracks open for a second but immediately slaps a joke over the wound. BLAKE "I'm not punching you, TUDOR. Just… don't make this a thing." —She diffuses the apology gently because real intimacy scares her. TUDOR Yeah okay uh so- —Retreating from vulnerability as fast as he approached it. BLAKE Okay. Are you good? Like emotionally are you fine or, like whats the speech- —She resumes the manager role; it's easier than feeling things. TUDOR Yeah I have it. It's ready. I just need to— —He is absolutely not ready. BLAKE Okay come on, let's just go though— —She pushes, without realizing she's pushing. TUDOR OKAY OKAY STOP FUCKING RUSHING ME… (starts chuckling) Jesus Christ. I feel like I'm about to have a fucking stroke and you've been here for five seconds. —hes frustrated but also glad to have her chaotic energy back BLAKE smiles —The first shared breath of safety in a year. BLAKE Honestly I feel like im about to have a stroke (gesturing to the house) —The house looks totally different TUDOR Oh, yeah, Uncle Perry's turning it into an Airbnb. So it looks like this now. All drywall… and idk cement… its like for like a fucking lizard or some shit. BLAKE (smirking) Lizard? —She loves when he makes no sense. TUDOR I don't know, like because everything's like dry and bleh and drywall. —he realizes it made no sense. BLAKE There's always been drywall —Teasing him TUDOR Yeah but like its like DRYWALL drywall now —He's settling back into his own skin. BLAKE DRYWALL drywall? —She encourages his spiral. TUDOR Like, I don't know, everything's...just... like... dry. —Laughing at himself now. BLAKE Okay okay valid, it is very dry...wall —Their old language reactivates effortlessly. Beat. BLAKE Okay lets read the fucking- —she hates silence TUDOR OKay okay okay —He loves the structure she imposes and resents it simultaneously. They sit at the dining table. TUDOR picks up the speech. —He feels like a little boy showing a crayon drawing to his mom. TUDOR (reading) "Hi, everyone—" BLAKE SNORTS laughing. —This is the intimacy she missed: bullying as affection. TUDOR What? —He loves being the reason she laughs, even when it's at him. BLAKE Why "Hi everyone"? Why are you saying that?? TUDOR Okay fine. FINE. —He's trying not to smile. He resets. TUDOR "So hi every—" BLAKE loses it again. —Spiraling into giggles BLAKE Why are you saying it again? —She missed his stupidity TUDOR I actually hate you. —Meaning: please don't stop laughing. BLAKE Dude i dont know how you're gonna do this —She's teasing him but also half-serious. TUDOR I dont fucking know either, like i just- TUDOR blows a raspberry (flutters his lips), then leans back in the chair, trying to avoid going on. BLAKE Okay just go on TUDOR (reading) "OKAY… Thank you for being here, everyone. It's been a year since my mom died. I've grown a lot since then. I think I've developed a lot of skills to cope—" —He's still laughing nervously, desperate for this to not feel vulnerable. BLAKE Skills to cope? —She calls out the lie instantly; she cannot help interrupting his narrative. TUDOR JUST— let me— —Embarrassment spikes into irritability; he feels exposed. TUDOR (reading) "—and maybe we can create a garden of trust and some kind of safe space—" —He knows this sounds insane but pushes through. BLAKE (laughing) What does that even mean? —She has zero awareness that he's struggling; she thinks teasing = helping. TUDOR I don't know what to say. —He's cracking; frustration mixing with shame. BLAKE SNATCHES the paper. —She crosses a boundary she doesn't realize exists. BLAKE What the fuck is this. You cannot read this. —totally unaware of how mean she's being. TUDOR I have to read something —He's shutting down, swallowing anger so he doesn't lash out. BLAKE no you don't, no ones expecting you to- —She genuinely believes she's helping by taking over TUDOR im her son, so people are expecting me to- —His anxiety spikes into identity panic BLAKE its totally valid to say you're uncomfortable- —She doesn't realize she's steamrolling him TUDOR STOP TAKING OVER! I'M GONNA READ A SPEECH, AND THAT'S MY DECISION! —First crack in the reunion. BLAKE shifts tone. BLAKE Okay. Yeah, sorry, we have a couple days anyways, so we can workshop- —She tries to repair without actually apologizing. TUDOR Yeah, I'll figure it out, I'll just idk pull some bullshit outta my ass —he's trynna lighten the mood again BLAKE chuckles —she missed his vulgar language Silence BLAKE So you wanna, do we hang out or- —she hates silence TUDOR Lets just get drunk. BLAKE hesitates, then BLAKE Yeah… yeah, okay. (then, a flicker of concern) I mean— is that even good for you right now, or— TUDOR I don't fucking care. My mom's dead. —He reduces the entire situation to a nihilistic shrug. BLAKE Okay. Bet. —She joins him because she also wants the numbness. She also hates that she's saying yes. 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. —He will Blake It's not for people. —She says "people" like Tudor is not one. Tudor proceeds to shove it down her mouth. —He turns her boundaries into a joke so he never has to respect them. Blake Oh my god (spits it out) —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. Blake Im an adult, an adult!- TUDOR No you just need to- BLAKE! you're a child They're interrupting each other, stumbling, bickering like siblings. Tudor we can agree to disagree —His "calm" voice is actually condescending. Blake No your just a child —She's punishing him for making her feel childish. 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 Tudor Yeah well yeah im a child —He admits it but in a bratty way, proud of it. Blake Yeah you're a little mousy man child —She enjoys "naming" him more than she realizes. Blake tries pouring mezcal down his throat; he shoves her. —Not violent, but jolting — This is the first physical edge that could tip into something darker. 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. They're WASTED BLAKE Exactly. So we lean into your brand: zesty mousy boy, emotionally unavailable, maybe gay but only on Tuesdays. —She's half-serious, half-mocking; trying to lighten him up. They both laugh. TUDOR Fine. If this works and I get matches, I will buy you the biggest bottle of mezcal. BLAKE With what money? —She doesn't even look up; the banter is natural. TUDOR With my moms money —He delivers it too casually, setting up the spiral. Beat —This is where the night silently chooses its direction: downward. TUDOR Oh fuckkkkk she dieeeddddddddddddd. —Humor fails him for the first time, it's getting awkward TUDOR Oh fuckkkkkkkkkk, where the fucks my mom —He's trying to make grief ridiculous so he never has to feel it. TUDOR goes to he's knees to BLAKE in a kneeling position. TUDOR Will you be my mama BLAKE He starts climbing on her and whimpering. —Uncomfortable, unhinged, a boundary crossed. BLAKE Mimicking auuuuh my little tudsie poo TUDOR stands up abruptly. —Her imitation hits the exact nerve he never lets anyone touch. 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 BLAKE Yeah cause we were joking TUDOR I'm allowed to joke. Dead mom privileges. You wouldn't understand the culture. BLAKE I get to participate in "dead mom joke hour," too TUDOR No you don't. Your not her real daughter, you do not have the emotional clearance. BLAKE If she was alive she would slap the shit outta you. —Trying to lighten the mood, and avoid any conflict Tudor is munching on pretzels. TUDOR That's not true. She'd be like "Tudor, sweetie, Blake is small and pathetic, arms weak like pretzel" —He wants anger, trying to provoke her Tudor snaps a pretzel in half. BLAKE She would not call me pathetic —Still casual, trying not to break 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 trying to mock him. TUDOR Long. Confused, week, needy, crumbs everywhere —Nonsense insults; he's spiraling. BLAKE What? TUDOR Like if you had a dick, it would be this pretzel TUDOR bites the pretzel. 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'd 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- Tudor Oh sorry I thought u would be familiar with the concept especially since your mouth was like surgically attached to my moms asshole —He crosses a moral line and knows it — which excites him. BLake STOP, I WANT YOU TO STOP TALKING Tudor IT BUILDS CHARACTER —Mocking her pain. BLake WHAT DOES? 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 Blake starts "LALALALA". —trying to drown out tudors voice Tudor YOU WERE A FUCKING LEECH! Tudor LEECH LEECH LEACH —He just wants to hear himself yell 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. 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. 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! 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. TUDOR You think she trusted you? She trusted that you would EAT ANYTHING. 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 BLAKE YOUR JUST MAKING NOISE NOW TUDOR YOU WERE HER CHARITY PROJECT BLAKE And you were her emotional hemorrhoid 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 mama's embrace i need all the help in the world and only you can give it to me BLAKE only- —overly dramatic TUDOR looks up. BLAKE is walking away. 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!" BLAKE walks back. BLAKE What do you want. —Resigned. Hollow. TUDOR She never loved you —Knife to the heart. Blake eyes go glassy. TUDOR'S laughing —Sadistic; he enjoys the hurt. TUDOR She actually never did, it's actually hilarious you thought she loved you BLAKE SPITS HER DRINK IN TUDORS FACE —A primal act 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. 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 BLAKE covers her ears. TUDOR (CONT'D) 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 BLAKE lets out a tiny sob. TUDOR (CONT'D) Ru you fucking crying? Well you shouldn't 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 BLAKE cries silently. TUDOR (CONT'D) You were REPLACEABLE. She could've swapped you out for a spiky annoying cactus and felt the SAME AMOUNT OF CONNECTION. TUDOR (CONT'D) She didn't choose you. SHE PITIED YOU. That's all you EVER get — pity and leftovers. 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. TUDOR finally steps back, breathing heavily, face twisted with drunk rage and grief he cannot hold, he chugs the bottle of bartons.

Dec 7, 2025 $200.00

Location: New York, NY

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