#2. Boston Casting for ABC

This was not an audition. This was a casting call for an unknown ABC television program. Casting calls are different from auditions in that they are even less pleasant for everyone involved.

I had never been to a Boston Casting call before, though I had seen announcements for them, some even asking for actors with acting experience. This is no sleight against Boston Casting. They perform a duty that needs to be performed. It just happens to be a duty that fits the business of acting into a really depressing perspective.

My first mistake was entering the opposite side of the building that I was presumably expected to enter. I squeezed through a narrow hallway past actors who were attending a callback for Body of Proof. I came to a new hallway were I found Dana, an Emerson alumni of the film and video persuasion. She asked if I was here for the open call, already knowing the answer.

My second mistake was signing in as "Terence Torres" as opposed to "Terry Torres" - on the whole, I sign most official-looking documentation with my full name. My name is a weird problem. You'd be surprised how many people refuse to believe that "Terry" is a derivative of "Terence", especially since "Terence" has only one "r". I use "Terry" because it flows better, that's how everyone knows me, and it's my name. Also, that's what it says on my resume.

It was a little after then that Joe walked in, excited and bewildered. He was pointed toward the sign-in table. He looked around at all of the fresh-faced actors and wannabe-actors, stepped towards me, held my shirt and asked very pointedly, smiling, "What are we DOING here?"

What sucks about acting is that it is an art and a business. It has specific needs, but the things that fill the needs are fluid. Despite the constant demand for good talent, a casting director can't turn away three dozen schmucks with resumes that are all blank except for a single sentence reading, "Well, all of my friends agree that I'm good-looking," because, gosh darn it, YOU NEVER KNOW! Talent and ability helps an actor stand out to be sure - not because that ability is treasured intrinsically so much as it makes the director's job easier - but in a bit part for a television show those qualities are far less important than appearance. Not just in terms of comeliness, but type, whether or not an actor is recognizable as the kind of character they're playing.

In casting calls with a huge number of people in attendance, a casting director would be stupid not to immediately lighten the workload by dismissing all that don't look, sound or "feel" the part. As such, rather than hating the casting director, many actors will just choose to hate everyone around them. I at least tried to wait until it was all over before I let my bile bleed into my attitude.

Having been lined up in a group of 15, each of us were handed scripts by an intern (interns and actors; I can't think two creatures more committed to doing stupid things for intangible reasons). She looked at us and, seemingly using skills gleaned from her time at Boston Casting, handed us sides for the most appropriate character. The popular tough guy, the weirdo and the girl - all teenagers. You can guess which I read for.

On line I met Emerson alumni Dan Cohen on his way out, and a girl I interned with at Speak Easy Stage Company. There were a lot of girls there, and at least two of you had similar names. I'm really sorry for not remembering your name. But then I don't think you remembered mine, either.

The Woman In Charge told us all to come into one of the studios and stand shoulder-to-shoulder by the far wall. Looking at her, I considered everyone I had seen so far - the calm but green Dana, the more stressed girl handing out sides, the Woman In Charge - and realized that if I stood them in a row and rearranged them, I would be witness to all of the evolutionary phases of a new, Boston Casting-themed Pokemon.

"This is real acting," she said, seeing us lined up. "You're going to need thick skins in this business. I'm going to read with each of you now. I'm going to ask some of you to stay, and I'm going to ask the rest of you to go. That doesn't mean that it was a waste of time, and it certainly isn't a waste of time to read with me. You know, you were here last week," she said, pointing to a guy to my right. (Joe said she pointed someone out in his group, too. Wonder if she just picked someone at random? That would be funny) "My mind is a Rolodex. I remember everyone."

Part of me wanted to roll my eyes at the initial chest-thumping super-professionalism in her spiel, but I quickly saw the value in it, hoping that some of the non-actors would lose their nerve and slip up in their readings.

She went to the first girl at one end of the line, took her resume and asked her who she was reading for. She did this with every girl, despite there being only one female role. She read a few lines with her, and then stepped to the next girl when she felt she had heard enough. The rest of us stood and listened.

This is a devious method of auditioning for two reasons. For the non-actors, it's because of the added anxiety of reading in front of many others vying for the same role. For the actors, it would be hearing others' performances and fighting the urge to alter their own readings in response to theirs, resulting in an unnatural performance. At least that was my concern.

She got to a guy who was reading for the same part as me. He was pale, big-eyed, like me, but also... something else: he looked like a creep. Not to say he wasn't a a handsome fellow, he just was a little creepy on top of that. His voice quivered with a combination of fear and anger, masking some deeper regret. I couldn't tell if he spoke this way because he actually was a vengeful misfit, or because he was a really good actor. The moment I asked that question in my head, I realized I was fucked.

She stepped to the guy directly before me, who was reading for the tough guy. At the end of the side, the jock completely jilts the girl he's talking to. There were some chuckles. She stepped to me, took my resume, and then immediately turned out to everyone else. "Y'know, when I was younger, I used to be beautiful - like you, and you - and I got tons of marriage proposals in those days."

She turned back to me. "David," I said, the name of my character. She already had the appropriate side in front of her - of course I wasn't reading for the jock. I waited for her to give me my cue and did my reading, not deviating from the somewhat rebellious tone I had decided on utilizing as soon as I looked at the side. She stopped before the end of the first page.

"How old are you?" she asked me. She did not ask anyone else this question. "23," I said. I had shaved, for the first time in a while, just before leaving my house - I guess I didn't realize how youthful I looked without facial hair. Then, remembering the wisp of chest hair barely visible at the top of my shirt, I realized that's probably not why she was asking.

It went on like that. She asked one girl to stop, bring it down a few levels because "this isn't theatre," and start again. Aloud, she cursed the lack of staples in some actors' paperwork, mourning the time wasted flipping through the resumes and amateur headshots individually. There were lots of cute girls with nice dresses and no apparent ability.

Four people were called back, including the only other guy who read for the same part as I did.

I bet he felt great about that.



8 headshots remain.

#1. Bad Habit: Book of Days

Let's play some basketball. I mean, let's audition. It's a new round of headshots, and we're starting at a new audition location, a rehearsal room at the Huntington's Boston University Theatre for Bad Habit's production of Book of Days.

I gotta tell ya, nothing exacerbates audition anxiety like a tiny communal space with a bunch of actors crammed in. Not that it was COMPLETELY inhospitable, just that it was a long hallway on the second floor with no place to be alone. Everyone seemed to crack cute or nonsensical jokes to liven the mood, including myself, and we all regretted saying/hearing them.

All males in attendance were studying the same side as me - a man in love with cheese and the process that goes into making it. Sounds awesome right? The tough thing about working with it, though, is that it contains a list.

A "list" is how actors refer to a piece of text that includes a sequence of numbered descriptions or actions - "First we did this, and then we did that, and it was tingly, sour and purple." The trouble with these as that human beings innately increase the urgency and intensity of their speech during a list until it peaks at the last item in the list. This sort of delivery is usually expected, and deviating too far from that style just makes your character seem like someone whose first language isn't English. It makes it much more difficult for each actor to find their own unique beats, the things that make actors stand out from each other. From there, it's not far from the sinking feeling that the only thing separating you from everyone else is how "right" you look for the part.

I ran into Grant MacDermott, ol' Emerson buddy and fellow Jersey native, who's in Nicholas Nickleby right now. He had the same side, which was referred to as Side B. Presumably Side A was reserved for older gents.

I auditioned for the director/producers, a very plain performance. I was asked about With These Hands, and if I had experience with a Southern Accent. I said, Only when I'm making fun of other people on the train.



9 headshots remain.

#10. Ringling Bros. Clown College

Ever since my professor of movement at Emerson College Sarah Hickler made me be a fish getting caught and flopping to death out of water, I've wanted to be a clown. But opportunities for clowning don't present themselves like other performance opportunities. Very specific kinds of people hire clowns. Also, most people hate clowns, and I never had the nerve or know-how to seek out those roles.

And then, while looking for jobs on Craigslist two days ago, I found an entry for clown college auditions with Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey's Greatest Show on Earth.

Well, shut the front door.



It was at TD Banknorth Garden, home of the Celtics and the Bruins and some other guys. I'd never been there before. I imagined a stadium full of jugglers and tumblers. Nope. It was a conference room with 17 people.

One girl came up from New York. One guy came from Vermont. Another guy came from Kansas City. I was almost intimidated. Stakes were pretty high. But then there was a guy from Jamaica Plains, and I felt better.

Most of them had bags, briefcases, and other obvious props suggesting that they had well-practiced routines. All I had was the prop I had most often used throughout my career at Emerson: a wooden, spouted ladle that I was forced to buy from a crafts store in Cape Cod because I nudged it off of a shelf.



We all started stretching and mingling. Then we watched a shtick featuring clown college alumni Bucky and Mike. Mostly they spun plates and were jerks at each other, which was awesome. Then we were given a crash course in basic clown body language from Karen Hoyer, a specialist in mime and moving. I learned the science of looking SHOCKED and walking around like a doofus.

After a while, I realized that I was getting a clown workshop for free, and that it was awesome, and really encouraging. I can't do a cartwheel, but I can invest tremendous importance in imaginary situations and smile as bright as daylight.



After a break we all were granted the option to perform a routine or just watch. There were some really great performances; not just skilled, but clever, and fun. We all just wanted each other to have a great time. As for me, I certainly had an IDEA for a routine, but I wasn't that sure of how far I could take it.

I had hoped to do some research the day before while on the Mega Bus back up from New York, Marx Brothers or Three Stooges bits, but the wi-fi wasn't working. All I could do for that four and a half hour trip, aside from play Secret of Evermore, was meditate. Did I have to search for a routine that someone else had perfected? Or is the routine already within me?



Wielding the ladle, I took my position in front of everyone, saluted, and stood en garde. I went through all the drills of footwork and defensive positions. Then, suddenly, the spoon is knocked away - an invisible attacker! I fake left, dodge right, somersault over my weapon and immediately stand at the ready, only to find out that I forgot to grab the spoon during my roll. I do the "Look! Over there!" gag, go for the spoon and, after a flourish of parries, deal the fatal thrust to my opponent, which immediately grosses me out. I withdraw, smell the contents of the ladle, presumably the attacker's innards, and hesitantly take a sip.

And that was it, only with bigger, clownish strides and more double takes.

I was among those asked to be spoken to after the auditions. I sat across a table from Bucky, Mike, Karen, and the director of talent, who told me that I had a good energy throughout the process, and that

"You've got a great body. You've got a great body for clowning."

That felt good.

He then told me that any positions that they were looking to fill were for a touring production at the beginning of 2012 that would start rehearsal at the end of 2011. Would I be comfortable with audition again in New York come spring or summer? I said that I would.

Well, one way or the other, I still have to solve the problem of what to do between now and then. But at least I had some fun and met some cool dudes. I'd like to think that I would've had a good time even if I didn't have a clown body.

A woman with Boston.com was doing a piece on the audition. She asked me what I thought a clown was. I thought of advice that Chelsea had given me the night before while I was formulating a routine.

"A clown does simple things in an impossible way."

Clowns are putting themselves out there all of the time. That's why people think they're obnoxious and/or scary. But they're always honest. They're the pure essence of performance.



Well this one's a little scary though



No headshots remain.

UPDATE

I'm on Boston.com

#9.5 IDS: Glengarry Glen Ross

At first I wasn't crazy about the sides (a monologue and a two-person scene) I had to use for this audition. I thought they were weak. I mean, sides for Glengarry Glen Ross that didn't involve being outright furious at someone? But then I thought,

"Fucking sides are weak? You're weak."

My roommates God damn love Glengarry Glen Ross. My class' acting studio produced a whole array of scenes from it. It's practically in their blood now.

As the auditions drew closer though, it dawned on Joe and I that Boston isn't Emerson College, and I've come to this realization time and time again. If someone needs an old grumpy man, they are not going to need a young grumpy man, and certainly not a young disagreeable boy-man. At that point the audition was nearly over in my mind. I didn't have the gusto to work on the sides.

But that wouldn't stop me from trying. I would have to make the most of these sides. Wit. Resourcefulness. That's what separates the men from the old men.

When I got to the audition, I recognized a few faces from the small theatre circuit. I suddenly felt way better because 1) familiar faces do that and 2) they were fresh, unwrinkled faces. This meant that I wouldn't be the biggest outlier in terms of age next to them.

I was set to go in by myself, but a fellow named Michael dropped in and asked if he could still audition even if he hadn't signed up in advance. He was asked if "now" worked for him, and he said Yes.

We strolled in together. The director asked how Rough Week's show went. I said, "Very well." He then asked us what we would like to do - that is, which of the provided materials we felt most comfortable with. I had worked mostly on Roma's monologue rather than the Moss/Aaronow scene, because I thought I had the best chance with Roma in terms of age requirements. (The character I would most like to have tried out is Williamson, but there was no material for him) Michael said he was ready for whichever.

The director had Michael step out and let me to Roma's monologue. He asked me if I had any questions. I was taken aback - I thought asking questions in an audition meant your were stupid! Maybe it was a trick. I just verified whether or not Roma was talk to/near Lingk. He reminded me, above all, that this was a pitch. I appreciated the direction. I don't know if it helped. I felt resolute, but not very deep.

Then Michael came back and read for Moss, while I was Aaronow. The Moss-heavy scene was mostly for his sake.

Everyone was nice.

Not like anyone in a Mamet play.



1 headshot remains.

#9. Holland Productions: Mistakes Madeline Made

Joe gave me a ride on the vespa, making this the second audition I've gone to by vespa. We were both wearing nice shirts. Me, not because I wanted to looked nice, but because I was too lazy to change out of my interview clothes.

The Factory was full of familiar faces. Kenny Fuentes from CoLab, Rory Kulz who played some weirdos in Family (de) Values, Mel Garber who artistically associates with 11:11, and some other dudes.

Joe printed out the sides we'd be auditioning with. I looked at sides for all the male roles. Joe pointed out Wilson to me, because I'm pretty good at playing socially deficient weirdos. I was like, "NO, I'm gonna read for the sexy, stupid artist."

So I did. There was a bevy of ladies in the audition room, including the director Krista, also from Family (de) Values. I was reading and everyone was laughing - man, auditioning for comedies is great when everyone actually has a sense of humor. I read it a few times. And then I was told to read for Wilson.

I came out and told Joe, "They asked me to read for Wilson."

He was like, "You saw that comin'."

And I was like, "Yes."

And then I forgot to give 'em my headshot.



2 headshots still remain.

#8. Bad Habit: Durang/Durang

Chelsea and I motored over to the audition on Jeff Goldblum, her vespa. The audition was at the Cambridge YMCA in Central Square. The Awesome 80s Prom has rehearsed there in the children's room several times.

They threw some name tags on us and we chilled, played Dissidia and looked at all of the children's drawings hung up on the wall.

When the stage manager came to get me, I stood up and realized that I hadn't gone over my monologue even once, not even in my head. I decided to just breathe and let the lines come to me. I'd done it enough times.

The stage was set for Quills, which I'm told is great. Three dudes were sitting there, I heard their names, and I didn't have to introduce myself or my monologue because I had written those things down for them already. I did Andrew's monologue again. I played the ending a bit - I was already angry, so I had no choice but to get even angrier before the end of it.

I didn't expect to be called back the next night at the same location. So was Chelsea, and our companion Silas. Chelsea read one part and was offered the role immediately.

I stayed for nearly three hours and didn't feel that great about any of the three parts I read for. I had a lot of fun with the first role, a monologue for this fellow with a split personality, but I read the next two sides with other actors and as time went on I was just getting more and more tired and couldn't really give them the attention they deserved.

Also, I didn't realize the one guy was Southern when I read for him, I thought he was just dumb.



2 headshots remain.

Family (de)Values opens tonight!

Happy Medium Theatre's Family (de)Values opens tonight at The Factory Theatre, featuring Steve Martin's WASP and the Boston premiere of Jessica Goldberg's REFUGE.

Refuge is more important because that's the one I'm in! I feel like it's been no time at all since I started rehearsing, but all that time that I barely remember has been completely worth it. These guys are more than A-okay, they're great, smart and classy. Well, they're great anyway.

Get your tickets, stupid!