As an actor, winning a role usually follows the same process whether the work is on stage or screen. Typically a casting director working with the production company sends out a brief for the characters they’re casting. These can vary in length and detail depending on the role, but mostly they will have at least an age range and a physical description of the character.
Agents then submit suggestions to the casting director from the actors they represent that they think would be appropriate for the roles. The casting director will narrow down the list of submissions to a manageable number of candidates that they will offer auditions to.
Material is sent out – either a monologue or a scene, or multiple pieces if the role is large enough to warrant seeing many sides of the character – and, to coin a phrase, an actor prepares. They arrive at an appointed time and place and do their best in a limited space of time with limited material to display the entirety of their skill and potential.
It often encourages me to remember that all along the chain – from writer to production company to director, casting director, agent and actor – every single person hopes that the when you walk into the audition room you are instantly recognisable as the perfect choice for the role.
Despite what we can learn from Entourage, and despite the voices in our heads that will sometimes whisper ‘They’re all against you...’, nobody in our industry wants you to fail. It makes everyone’s job much simpler when the choices are obvious and perfect and brilliant. This knowledge should make it easier to relax in an audition, and often does. If your audition is expected.
However.
If you happen to be sipping coffee in the middle of Melbourne on a mild winter afternoon, struggling to keep ahead of the hangover brought on by excessive enjoyment of the company of friends in theatre, and you get a phone call from a director who had forgotten to let you know about your audition slot two hours earlier but would still like you to come out to the suburbs, yes, now if possible...relaxing becomes a touch harder.
This was my Saturday, hangover and all, when my only thought had been to crawl home and catch up on DVDs I hadn’t watched since Christmas I found myself on a train to the suburbs desperately trying to appear as actorly as possible.
While waiting for the forgotten phone call that would have informed me of the audition I had read the script, but in the absence of a confirmed time had not done any specific preparation. As I swallowed mints and resisted the vomit-inducing sway of Melbourne’s trains I swam through my mind in search of a monologue.
My swag of Shakespeare* was inadvisable here – onc piece of the audition was a reading of Poe’s The Raven, so verse was already covered, and the nature of the text called for something contemporary.
It wasn’t until I met the director and producer at the station – an awkward, blind date type moment, but without the red carnation – that I remembered a monologue I discovered in my 3rd year of study and had last performed for an audition at the beginning of 2010.
It was a longish storytelling piece with a touch of darkness and inner turmoil, a story that always struck me as beautiful and simple. A decent choice when compared to the script I was auditioning for, but the last time I read through it was 8 months ago, and that was just to remember the words.
So what does an actor do in this situation? Get out of the way.
Even in the most difficult (or unexpected) of circumstances there is a certain amount of our craft that, practiced long enough, becomes innate, almost subconscious in its execution. Things like standing simply and breathing, focussing on the world that your words create, conveying the clear sense of the monologue without excessive adornment. Even remembering thoughts from 8 months ago.
And if you can stop your mind from spinning, from worrying about the pants you wore or what the director is thinking about your hairstyle (or possibly if the panel can smell lager on your breath), and get out of the way, the text will speak for itself.
That’s usually what it wants to do.
So how did I do? Honestly, I’m not sure. I got out of the way for the most part, remembered the words and felt the sense of the monologue, read the poetry piece well** and communicated as humanly as possible. The reception was friendly and positive, but possibly they were better actors than I?
Whatever the outcome of this episode, it’s always a comfort to know that when I’m on the ropes the training kicks in. The skills are there, even the material if I dig deep enough.
I just have to get out of my own way.
*Shakespeare is one of my greatest loves, I learn monologues in iambic pentameter for fun. Seriously. At last count I have 18 Shakespearean monologues that I could perform at a moment’s notice. And about a dozen sonnets.
**I’m damn good with verse
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