Think you’ve got thespian skillz?

Prove it.

Extras only, a local casting agency, will be holding auditions this Sunday from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. at the Lloyd Center Doubletree Hotel. The film, scheduled to begin production in Oregon next month, follows the life–after–diagnosis of John Crowley, a biotech executive, as he fights medical bureaucracy and raises the necessary capital to research and develop a treatment for a genetic condition killing his children.

Stars include: Keri Russell (Felicity, Noxzema, some other crap), Brendan Fraser (The Mummy, Encino Man, some other crap), and Junior himself, Harrison Ford. (Sidebar: did anyone else have high hopes for Fraser—especially after Encino Man—back in the 90s? WTF?)

Anyhoo. As the agency expects 5,000 willing participants to show up for 2,000 spots, we’ve decided to give you a leg–up. Here’s a cheat sheet so as to avoid a career–ending, theatrical faux pas:

DON’T:

1) Discreetly offer the casting director a "happy ending" after your audition.

2) Sing. This ain’t Broadway, Bette.

3) Talk about The Business with anyone who is even remotely associated with the picture. You’re not in The Business—you’re at an extras audition. Feel free to entertain these fantasies with your fellow hopefuls.

4) Brag about your role in your high school rendition of Oklahoma!. I saw it. It was soul–crushing.

5) Name–drop. The only name that’s going to push you to the top of the pile is "Van Sant." As in, "I’m Gus Van Sant." And you are not.

DO:

1) Show up early. Camp out, actually. Pretend you’re still following Phish circa–1995: bring the goo–balls (sans the sticky–icky), the sleeping bag, and the handmade artsy–fartsy junk. Who knows? If this acting gig doesn’t materialize, you may turn a profit in blown–glass "tobacco pipes."

2) Dress well. Leave the high–top Chucks and the skin–tight, zip–up hoodie at home. Clean and smart, that’s the idea.

3) Stick to the time limit. If you’re practicing the Glengarry Glen Ross rant, stop wasting your breath. You’ve got a better chance of landing the lead in Scorsese’s new picture than getting through that seven–minute diatribe.

4) Bring some cash to grease the harried, headset–clad rep wrangling the line of auditioners. (Just kidding. Sort of.)

5) Smile like an idiot. I’ve heard people respond to that.

Then again, it may just be first–come, first–served. (see #1 from the DO list.) Or they may be looking for someone who is "ethnically ambiguous." (Seriously. My friend in the biz told me.) But it’s more about the experience! C’mon!

Now go have fun! Oh, and make sure to punch Harrison Ford in the gut for me—the Indy trilogy was money before Crystal Crap. (oops. I mean Skull.)