New York Auditions: A True Story

If this were a movie, you would go to a Broadway audition and would be alone on a giant, bare stage. The director and producers would be invisible voices in the auditorium, the house lights would be off and you would be alone, in the spotlight. You would take a deep breath, feel the warmth of the light and begin your monologue. Stage hands in the wings would be silenced by your depth of skill. You would finish and really feel it. You owned it and the moment was yours. It was magic. It was also completely fiction!

The truth is, renting a theatre for a New York audition would cost a fortune. You're never going to get stage lights for an audition (do you know how many watts those things use?). And you're lucky if anyone is quiet during your speech, let alone while you're recovering from your moment.

There are basically two types of NY theatre auditions: the open call - where anyone and everyone shows up - and an audition you've been invited to attend directly from someone involved in the production or through a casting director or agent.

Personally, I love auditions that I am called in for. It means they've received my headshot or seen me in a showcase, and something about me or my photo strikes the powers-that-be the right way.

Once I was called in to audition for an off-off Broadway play being produced by a few recent Juilliard grads. The character was my age and the play's action took place in my home state. I'm pretty sure I found the audition notice in one of the trade publications and sent along a tailored cover letter and headshot. Note: In casting notices it's common to see "h/r." That means an 8X10 with the resume stapled or printed directly on the photo.

They left me a message on my cell phone. A lot of actors have given up on answering services and beepers since cell phones are always with you. I was told to never put my home number on a headshot because you never know where your photos will end up (i.e. the trash can in the alley behind the casting office).

So I'm getting ready for the audition. I pop in my contacts and perfect my mascara. Of course I spend about two hours picking something to wear. Note: Have a generic audition outfit ready at all times: less stress.

I get to the audition address about 20 minutes early. I need some time to breath and relax. Since I was called in, I was given an actual time slot. If I wasn't, there would have been a sign-in sheet. Here's a little trick. If there are sides (a script) at the audition that you will be asked to read, and a sign in sheet that the auditioners are using to call you in, don't sign in the minute you get there. They use the sign in sheet to make sure people are seen in the order they arrived. If you have time and there's a constant flow of people, not signing in right away will buy you more time with the script. But this doesn't work for every audition, and the power should be used wisely.

My call time was for 2:15. I had a monologue prepared and there were sides (surprise!) at the audition. The only thing I was told to prepare was one monologue. But, I'd been to enough auditions to know that: 1. Never have only one monologue. 2. Always expect to be given something to read, even if told you won't be.

So I grab the script. So much for my 15 minutes to relax. Turns out it's a poem. Actually, it's a sonnet. It's Shakespeare! And at the top is typed an instruction which goes something like this: "Your character is Appalachian and is the victim of domestic violence." What? Does that mean I should timidly do an accent? I'm starting to get nervous. Breathe!

The holding area for the actors is basically a 14x3 hallway with metal folding chairs and a water cooler. I grab some water and plop into a chair. Script in hand, I'm thinking of how being abused and southern would affect me and how I should read the script.

Just then, a door opens and I hear my name. It hasn't been 15 minutes. They're running quick. So I'm up. I grab my picture and resume even though I know they have one. The rule is to always, always bring one with you.

I enter the room smiling at the guy holding a clipboard with my name on it. The room is literally a mid-sized white box with a card table at one end. There's no camera. Around the table, holding little piles of headshots, are three guys. They're pretty young - early twenties. I'm not sure if this should make me less nervous or not. I mean they're Juilliard drama grads. They should know a bad actor when they see one. Nervous again.

I see there's a chair set up for the actor. It's probably 20 feet from them. The distance seems too far for the space. So I sit, but in my head I think I should stay standing.

Audition talk ensues. Hello. How are you. Do you have a headshot? Great, I'll take it. Tell me about your background. Where did you study? Do you have a monologue? Did you pick up the script? Do you have any questions?

Whenever you're ready.

That's my cue for the monologue. I stand up. I want to feel connected to the floor through my feet - call me crazy, but it comforts me. I pick a focus, which is hard, because in a plain, white room there is nothing on the wall to look at - not even a recognizable dent.

That was great. Do you want to read the script now?

Oh, here it goes. What followed was a blur, but I'm pretty sure I reached a beautiful place of truth and vulnerability.

That was beautiful! Would you like to do it again? This time really bring out the inner Appalachian in you. You're desperate but you don't know it.

Bring out the inner Appalachian? I wasn't sure what that meant and probably should have asked for more direction (they don't mind questions if they're legit). Instead, I just turned my accent up a little.

Nice! That's exactly the quality we're looking for. Really great work. Thank you for coming by. Please leave the script on the chair outside, we didn't make extra copies.

That's it? I have no clue if I did okay. I know I was truthful, but is it what they wanted? On my way to the door I hear one last question.

Oh, what is your schedule? We want to know if you have any conflicts.

They wanted to make sure I wasn't going out of town or had to work during scheduled rehearsals.

So that's a basic New York audition. You show up. Do you your thing. You're given some feedback (hopefully), then you're thanked and left waiting for a callback or an offer for the role.

The moral of the story is: be in a constant state of preparedness.

• Have your monologues ready at all times (two classical, two contemporary - one comedic and one dramatic of each.)
• Have your headshot with you.
• Show up a little early.
• Make sure everything beforehand runs smoothly (and yes, that includes going to acting class & studying.)
• Be ready for anything.

You never know when you'll have to be an abused Appalachian who likes Shakespeare.

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