Positive Rejection

From the moment we learn to express our feelings vocally, we are taught by mothers, teachers, mentors to think positive. Keep our chins up. Yet for some strange reason, it seems that we are conversely taught to think negatively so that life doesn't disappoint us. Let us down.

What is the right mindset for life? For theatre? For today?

I got called back to all three shows. For 5 characters. My confidence was high, I felt good about my second auditions, and I wasn't really nervous about getting cast. "Think positive," they said.

This morning, my name wasn't on a single list.

If there is something I know a lot about, it's rejection. I came from a high school where the lead roles went to the booster club president's daughter and all the other skinny chorus girls. I was never one of them. But I never gave up. I kept coming back, year after year, hoping that one day my terribly flighty, hardly talented director who never directed would see that I had talent.

One day she did. And it felt fantastic.

Something people keep telling us is that rejection is the common denominator in this industry. That we should let it roll off our backs, without giving it a single thought and moving on to the next audition. Without pain. Without feeling. Like rocks. Yet the moment we get onstage they want raw emotion, passion, love, anger, terror, sadness, soul ripping anguish. But not offstage. Turn it on. Turn it off. Control your emotions.

I can't do it. I took a few deep breaths and started bawling. The type of crying where you can't breathe right, and your eyes puff up, and you can't stop it no matter how hard you try.

People also keep telling me that it'll get easier. It doesn't.

It Feels Nice to Breathe

After a stressful, heartpounding, and absolutely terrifying three minutes of my life, auditions are finally over. Of course, things never work out exactly as we would like them to, so my audition wasn't perfect. I muffed up the introduction of my second piece out of sheer nerves, but the monologues themselves went off without a hitch. In fact, they went a little bit better than I had originally hoped. I was concerned that my comedic monologue wasn't actually funny. I was terrified that it would fall flat on the judges' ears without even a chuckle or a smile. But to my complete surprise, they laughed! I got to a line that no one had ever laughed at before (it being a fairly elevated literary joke) and one of the judges just lost it. It is such a fantastic feeling to evoke laughter from an audience. At the end of my 3 minutes, I said, "Thank you very much, have a nice day," walked out the door, and breathed for the first time in a week.

Don't let my happy tale fool you. The terror isn't over. In fact, it has only begun. The next step is considered by many the most frightening of all: walking up to the callback list and trying desperately to find your name. If your name is listed under any of the shows, that means they liked you and they want to see you back to read from the script. Congratulations! If not...it's a blow to the self esteem, that's for sure. Because even though walking up to the actual cast list seems just as daunting, it's really not. If you don't get a part, it is disappointing. But at least you can say that you made it to the second round of casting. But if you don't make the callback list...they really didn't like you. So clearly, I'm desperately hoping to see my name on that list tomorrow night. And if so, then the real fun begins.

Call backs.

Easier Said Than Done

I finally picked my two monologues. One is from Sugarbaby by Frank Cwiklik, and the other is from Erratica by Reina Hardy. I have been stressing all day over these auditions. You get one chance. ONE. For the entire semester. If you screw it up...too bad. And since (as always) I have chosen to procrastinate, my level of preparedness is extraordinarily low.

As I learn more about theatre and the audition process, instead of things getting easier, they get harder. Before, you just had to pick a monologue you liked, memorize it, look over it a couple of times, and read it in a semiconvincing way with very minimal thought. If you were decent at acting, you'd get a part. Now things get complicated. Your monologue must be within your age range. Your monologue cannot tell a story. Your monologue must have an arc. Your monologue must show change. Your monologue must show variety. Your monologue must have levels. Your monologues must contrast. Your monolgue must be UTTERLY IMPOSSIBLE TO FIND.

Then you have to actually think. You have to research the play the monologue comes from, think about who your character is, how you would move, how you would talk. You must consider the subtext of each line and effectively convey the hidden meaning. But you can only do this after you have completely memorized the entire piece. Fantastic.

My audition is Thursday at 7:16. I have 1 day, 20 hours, and 26 minutes.

Monologue-ing

I currently find myself freaking out about the fact that auditions for the University Theatre season are in 3 days. And I have one monologue that is way too long and only partially memorized. And I need one more. There's something utterly terrifying about auditions. Much more so than actual performances. You put yourself out there for exactly 3 minutes and just beg for them to judge you. I don't like to be judged. But for some strange reason the theatrical community insists that they are necessary. So my fellow actors and I continue to submit ourselves to their scrutiny. Let's hope Thursday's audition is actually worth the effort. Rehearsal here I come....