#X. StageSource

A number of producers from many companies in the Boston area attend StageSource's auditions. A few actors are contacted for roles immediately, some are considered much later down the line. Many others are cast aside. For a young actor in Boston, it's the biggest opportunity of the year to appear in a stage production. I had registered for my position in the auditions months before.

Only the night before - while taping resumes to the back of the 50 headshots I would be submitting to StageSource, and also while getting ready for the Rough Week fundraiser which would also be the next day - I decided to look up specifics on what the audition required.

They requested two contrasting pieces. I figured that much. What I didn't quite realize was that each actor only got two minutes to audition.

Two pieces in two minutes. An average of a minute per piece.

This was mind-boggling to me. It's hard enough to find two monologues that are 1) good, 2) appropriate for your type and 3) representative of your acting range in combination with other monologues, but they had to be under a minute as well? That's no time at all to get into and out of a character!

I'm not saying it's impossible, but it's certainly God damn bothersome, especially for someone like me who doesn't like to be rushed. I simply didn't have any monologues that short, and cutting my longer material was out of the question - I had already cut them all with great exactitude and taste. Starting a sentence late or ending a sentence early would disrupt the emotional rhythm.

What I finally decided to do on the train ride over was to simply remove any and all pauses or instances of hesitation and internalize every new objective as I arrived at it. Basically, I talked real fast. It was quite an exercise in itself. I had to be deft and deliberate in my delivery.

I timed myself by my watch. Each monologue (I chose Red Light Winter and Candy Factory) ran about 2 minutes at the start, but I was able to get them down to about 1 minutes and 15 seconds each at their best. I'd be sure to take advantage of whatever leeway the stage manager would give me.

Only once I sat down in the hallway outside of Boston Playwrights' Theatre listening to the other actors audition through the wall did I accept that fact: I was going to be timed out.

And I was, four sentences before the end of my Candy Factory monologue. I smiled, said Thank You and returned the chair I was sitting in to upstage right before taking my leave.

I had brought 50 headshots, and only 45 were requested. 5 more were returned to me, either by producers who already had my headshot or didn't want it.







5 headshots remain.



10 headshots in reserve.

#5. Boston Actors Theater Summer Play Festival

"Do you ever feel that people are like mannequins?" Glenn asked me. I wouldn't know his name was Glenn until he introduced himself to me two minutes later.

I smiled at him the same way I smile at someone who is complaining about a bus that's behind schedule.

Glenn was walking on the sidewalk in the direction I was coming from when an older, smaller woman mechanically stepped out of his way and resumed walking without acknowledging him as a living person with a destination at the end of his path.

"I did some paintings once," he said. "I painted people, portraits, and I combined them with mannequins. They weren't quite people, but they weren't quite mannequins. I thought that was interesting."

"Huh," I said.

"Does that make sense?" he asked me.

I could have concluded the conversation by telling him that I had someplace to be, which was true, but I didn't have to be there for a while yet. We had both come to a stop outside of Bruegger's Bagels on Harvard Street, which seemed to signify some kind of understanding between the two of us.

Actually, it would be a tenuous assertion to suggest that I understood anything about Glenn or my relationship to him. He could have stopped anyone on the street to talk to them about mannequins. As far as I know he had already done so six times since waking up.

But I couldn't discount the possibility that only at this moment did he summon up the gall to speak his mind about the inability of people in modern society to connect with each other and, by extension, their own selves. I felt it was my responsibility to meet him halfway.

We talked about how social mores, educational institutions and technology kept people from observing their environment or respecting each other. I told him about the transforming campus at Emerson College, that a certain percentage of pre-adolescent girls consider Facebook to be an integral factor in their life. I told him that, as an artist, I'd come to think many of the same thoughts that he had. For some reason I introduced myself as a writer rather than an actor, which surprised me after I had done it - it wasn't a lie, but it felt like one. I must have thought that there were too many stigmas attached.

Isolation and the impossibility of open communication haunted me throughout my school days. I'm mostly through with entertaining such ideas on a continuous basis, but Glenn, a gentleman some years my elder, spoke as though they would decide his actions for the rest of the day at the very least. I knew; Glenn was at a particular point in his life. I might have continued walking past him and left him with his thoughts if I hadn't fallen asleep wearing my contacts the night before, leaving my eyes scratched and watery and my vision slightly impaired. My defenses were down. Glenn and I both were being detached from our realities.

Still, I know the dangers of growing comfortable in discontent, having your dark thoughts validated. I looked at my watch and said "Oh!" and that I had an audition to get to. He bid me Good Luck, and thanked me for taking the time. I told him to take care.


I read one side for all the directors. I don't think they liked the look of my red, scratchy eyes, so that was all I read.




5 headshots remain.

Re: Zeitgeist Stage

Terry -

Recently ran across your blog entry about auditioning for FARRAGUT NORTH, and how you were surprised you weren't given a second side to read.

In the Information Sheet (yellow) you were handed to read, along with the audition form to complete, it states that due to the large volume of people auditioning everyone will receive only one reading. You were encouraged to "Make choices and take chances." We had over 130 people signed up to audition, which does not allow us time to offer multiple readings to those auditioning.

Sorry, you were disappointed that you didn't get a second reading, but we are up-front about that during the audition process.

Thanks
David Miller
Zeitgeist Stage Company


David,

Thanks a lot for reading. And thank you even more for your clarification.

What I personally like about my Farragut North post (it's not fantastic, but, well) is that it leads with the initial excitement over the material, but ends without even a reflection. I didn't mean to suggest that I was upset or that it wasn't at all worth my time. I just thought it would read funnier with that kind of brevity.

Though I hope to try and use my blog as a young professional's guide to the audition process, my 10 Headshots posts come very much from the gut. It's difficult for me to separate my working actor's mind from my writer's mind, as difficult as it is to recognize the results of my audition as being a reflection of my skill against expectations, or of my own karma against fortune. In these situations it's very easy to write from a "me vs. everyone else" perspective, and cynicism as a writing quality comes very naturally to me. I find that both children and actors have a hyper-developed sense of unfairness, and that theme tends to runs throughout the blog. It's fun, but I'm certain that it's not always helpful as a persisting mindset, to me or to any readers.

I did see Farragut North a few days ago, along with Andres' sister. I thought it was pretty terrific. And I'm not just saying that.

Keep reading, and I hope I see you around.

Terry



While I realize it is agonizing for actors putting themselves out there for the audition process, the producers are under an obligation - in my mind - to give everyone an equal opportunity and to be respectful of the actor's time. Since we had so many people come out for our last several auditions, we developed the 'one reading' rule as a way to try and do both. Communicating that to the actors beforehand is also important, I feel.

Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed Farragut North. Keep coming out, you never know when you'll be the right one for a role.

David

#4. Happy Medium *

Mikey DiLorento, executive director of the Happy Medium Theatre Company, messaged me on a Facebook, asking if I would be interested in auditioning for Family (de)Values: A One Act Festival including Steve Martin's WASP and the Boston premiere of Jessica Goldberg's Refuge.

While I wasn't sure if two plays counted as a festival, I was pretty excited, anyway. For the first time ever, I was made aware of an audition before it was announced on StageSource. I didn't think that I'd be offered an audition opportunity without asking for it for at least another year.

But I don't know Mikey. How does he know me?

Whatever! I went to the audition at BU. I thought that maybe Jeff's monologue was a bit alienating for some people, so I switched back to Andrew's monologue for this one.

When I walked in, I recognized Mikey immediately. He was the MC at SLAMBoston. I forget which one. Apparently that's where he saw me perform once before.

He asked me to read for Son in WASP and Nat in Refuge.

I was called back to the Factory Theatre to read for Nat. I recognized a buncha cats in attendance. I guess there's a bunch of companies that are on the level that us younger actors actually have a consistent chance with them.

Because Mikey knew everyone, he just handed out a bunch of sides to everyone, and they all split up to practice. I read twice, once with Rachel No-Last-Name-Given and once with Eric Rollins of the Rollins Estate.

Next day I got an email saying I was cast.





6 headshots remain.

#3. Company One

When I showed up at the Boston Center of the Arts Plaza Theatre for the audition for GRIMM, a collection of short plays by local playwrights inspired by the fairytales of the brothers with the same name, there were posters up for the Performance Laboratory's Le Cabaret Grimm: a punk cabaret fairy tale (sans fairies). I had to ask someone else if they were casting an encore production before I found out that they were different things.

I wonder if Company One was miffed at the timing.

Auditions at the Plaza Theatre manage to draw all sorts of actors, since everyone knows someone who's worked at the BCA on- or offstage, big shows or small, and I always manage to run into somebody I know. This time it was Zack, a friendly fellow with a bold jawline who was in Independent Drama Society's SLAMBoston with me. He played a guy who was trying to help another guy pee.

"This is gonna be a shitshow," he said. "I just started learning this monologue yesterday, and I don't think I have it yet."

"Just breathe and stare meaningfully at something between each line," I told him. "You'll look like you're processing."

The audition called for a modern comedic or dramatic monologue. In school, I was taught that modern monologues came from a different time period from contemporary monologues. Rather than asking for elucidation, I assumed the wanted to hear something written by someone who hadn't died yet. I chose Jeff's.

A trio of ladies were reading from what looked like a side from one of the plays. Presumably, this was a two part audition.

After waiting for a while, pretending I was busy so I didn't have to talk to anyone else, I was asked in by the friendly stage manager. I introduced myself to the two directors, who did not introduce themselves to me. In the middle of my monologue I realize that they had already decided to stop caring about what I was saying. When I was done, they said only the word, "Thanks." I received no side.

I stepped back into the lobby and looked around. The three women were still the only ones reading any sides. Despite the many people that went into audition, no one else had received anything to read from. Zack, who also got a lukewarm response from his audition, noticed this as well.

Well, I guess a good director knows what they don't want.



7 headshots remain.

#2. National Players

Some time ago, I found a post on my Facebook profile from my comrade Chelsea.


A LEAD! Fancy that! It was for touring productions of A Midsummer Night's Dream and The Scarlet Letter. I called those fellows right quick to schedule an audition.


Here's a secret about me, guys: I have no formal training in classical performance. I mean, I don't think most people would count when I attended the Shakespeare Summer Arts Institute of Closter, New Jersey - even if it was under the direction of the woman who would eventually become my acting mentor, who was kind of a combination of Mister Miyagi and The Major from Ghost in the Shell. We'll revisit that Some Other Time.

Still I try, even with nothing to guide me but the memories of the performances of others, which surprisingly doesn't reveal the whole story. So I've decided to just tackle Shakespeare the same way I tackle any other material - by walking around in public and reciting it over and over until it means something, stops meaning something, and then means something again.



The audition was at the ivy-covered Boston University College of Fine Arts. I had rehearsed here before, about 8 months ago for SLAMBoston.

I came in and found one or two other actors standing outside of a performance space, waiting to audition. They were stretching and doing vocal exercises. Students, I presumed, because only students do Alexander and Linklater exercises outside of their audition... Though it did look rather freeing. I decided to roll down my spine and touch my inner sound.

Suddenly, a tap on my lower back! It was comrade Joe, who had just come out of his audition. The director had him do two monologues from Much Ado About Nothing and Blue... Blue... Blue something, I forget. Shift? Gender? Velvet? Help me out, Joe.

Apparently Joe also talked up Rough Week. 'Atta boy.

I paced around a little more, psychin' up, then Linklater girl came out and told me to go ahead on in.

I did Launce from Two Gentlemen of Verona. Now, it's a sweet monologue, but it's a lot of effort to tell the story of a man talking the blame for a dog who pissed on the floor of the dining room. I don't think I ever even had the chops for a it, but each time I try it I think, "Maybe this time!"

The dude was a nice guy. He gave me a very solid direction, and I did what I could with it. But by then I had worked it over and over again all the way to the audition, and I was... just... stuck.

I only did the one monologue. I was in and out pretty quick.



8 headshots remain.

#1.5 Irrational Games

It came to me through one of my elaborate chains of communication that Irrational Games, creators of the Bioshock video games, were looking for voice actors for their upcoming project. Would my lifelong dream of helping to make a video game finally see fruition?

I trekked into the deepest jungles of Quincy, and on my way to their offices I ran into fellow actor Jon Ryan (the Marty to my Harry) who could not find their damn office. From afar, fellow actor Scarlett Redmond (the one who was cast in Stop Kiss) called out to us and said OVER HERE and pointed at the correct address.

She then told us that the audition was fun and that everyone at Irrational Games was very nice.

We went up to their office and rang their door bell, which was not a bell at all but actually the sound of a dog barking. "I like these guys more and more," said Jon.

We stepped in and were handed a release form and, since it was an under-wraps project, a nondisclosure form.

I've never signed a nondisclosure form before. I didn't think that I had learned anything that I even could disclose.

Which leads to believe that I am legally obligated to keep my mouth shut about what little I did see.

So, uh... I guess I could at least tell you that:

I shook hands with Ken Levine, writer-designer of Bioshock.

Part of the audition involved singing Happy Birthday.

And I got the guy at reception to take this picture for me!