Yesterday was exciting – or rather, much more exciting than you would predict eight hours of waiting to be. The Utah Shakespeare Festival, one of the most prestigious and successful Shakespeare festivals in America, was holding two days of auditions in L.A., and I decided to show up. The first day was focused on gauging musical talent (one of the non-Shakespeare shows they will stage in 2014 is Into the Woods), while yesterday’s focus was dramatic ability. I have performed in musicals before, but it has been a long time and I know they’re not where my best abilities reside.

Utah Shakespeare won’t draw its entire company from L.A. With organizations like these, the majority of the cast is often veterans from the previous year re-upping – it’s a paid gig performing Shakespeare full-time, pretty much a dream job. And for the remaing slots, they will hold auditions in several major cities. Last year, they fielded a company of 67 actors; which makes a sensible benchmark for how many they are likely to need next year. Over the course of 5-ish months they will present a season of eight plays and three staged readings of new works. Four of the plays will be Shakespeare – Comedy of Errors, Measure for Measure, Henry IV Part I, and Twelfth Night.

I have yet to perform in any of those plays. Add to it the healthy salary (relative to what actors are used to) and you’ve got a pretty irresistible opportunity. But not a simple one to pursue.

Utah Shakespeare is an Equity company, meaning they work with Union talent. I am not in any of the acting unions (just the Writers Guild, which is of no help here). This means that the auditions are heavily, HEAVILY tilted towards allowing Union members the best chance to secure the role. So how does one get in the Union in order to get these sweet advantages? Most often, it means convincing someone to offer you a Union contract instead of an actual Union member. Which means winning on a playing field heavily-tilted against you.

I don’t know if I’m good enough for Utah Shakespeare – that would be difficult to step outside of myself and gauge. I know I’ve received incredible encouragement and support from my peers, and that my track record when it comes to Shakespeare in particular has been pretty strong; not to mention I love doing it. I’ve made a serious study of American Shakespeare Festivals this year in preparation for this time (when seasons are announced and auditions start to post), and Utah won’t be the only one I chase. But it is the most lucrative and prestigious one for which I’ve managed to find a legitimate path of pursuit (I have submitted my headshot and resume to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival for the last two years, but that’s really like throwing a bottle into the ocean.) I don’t think Shakespeare is any longer something I just hope I get to do – I’m going to do it. It’s just a question of the venue, the play, and the circumstances.

So here’s how yesterday worked. I woke up at about 6:30am, showered, breakfasted, packed a survival bag for the day, and was out the door before 8. My survival bag had my laptop, phone charger, Kindle, my script for the play I’m still performing in Glendale (I knew it was likely I wouldn’t get to come home between the audition and last night’s performance), and a bag of raisins for snacking.

Equity auditions have an official time where sign-ins begin, and an official time where Auditions begin. However, unofficially, non-union actors know that the line to be on top of the sign-in sheet starts well before. For this one, auditions were to start at 10, sign-ins at 9. The first non-union actor was already waiting outside the door at 6am.

Equity Members don’t have to do this. They make their appointments for time slots in advance, and only need to show up by ten minutes before their slot. The day was divided into 20-minute blocks, with room for 6 actors in each block (we were to have 3 minutes of material prepared, preferably two contrasting monologues). IF not enough Equity actors booked slots in that block, or IF any of them didn’t show up in time for their slot, then the Audition Monitor would go to the list and fill the block with names. Priority was given to the EMCs – Equity Membership Candidates. They are enrolled in a program where they can accumulate points towards membership by working hours with participating theaters.

And if the block STILL isn’t filled by Equity members, and the entire list of EMCs is exhausted and no more show up, THEN the Audition Monitor goes to the Non-Equity list.

I had hoped to arrive before 8:30, but an accident on the freeway held me up. I arrived by 8:50. There were 12 EMCs already checked in, and I was #16 on the Non-Equity list.

I snagged the last open chair in the lobby (chivalry kind of doesn’t happen in these scenarios) and settled in to wait. Once in awhile I’d get up, do some stretches, some quiet diction exercises (always been fond of this one), just to keep myself loose. The way the day was organized, you weren’t going to be thrown in there on a moment’s notice, but you didn’t want to ever drift too far away from performance mode.

Different actors coped in different ways. There was nervous chatter, a little playful showing off. One older actor stood in the men’s restroom and boomed his voice off the walls. There was a lot of networking, a lot of stretching and contorting and rehearsing monologues to one’s self. You could be forgiven for confusing the scene with the common room of an asylum.

I read a book, kept friends updated on Facebook, and I got a significant chunk of a short story written. We’ve got the raw audio back from the Habitat recording session and I listened to some of that. By my standards, it was a productive day.

Around 11, the Monitor announced that, even if NO other Equity players made their slots before lunch, the furthest they could conceivably get on the Non-Equity list was three spots. And if the rest of us wanted to take the opportunity to leave and return after lunch, we wouldn’t lose our place on the list. This was very generous of the Monitor, and I was happy to take her up on it. I walked around Burbank, had lunch, spent some time writing at a coffee shop and catching up with a friend by phone.

I went back in promptly at 1:30. Just In Case. A lot of actor behavior is determined by Just In Case – so much of what we do is an absurd gamble that it is very easy to convince yourself that one more absurd gamble couldn’t hurt, and Might Just Help. Auditions were scheduled to end at 6pm, and sometimes the casting people will, by their good graces, voluntarily stay a little longer, but there’s no predicting this. Many people witll stay Just In Case.

The further on it stretches into the afternoon, the more fatigued the directors will be, the more performers, through no fault of their own, will begin to blur together. That’s human nature – studies have shown that a criminal who catches a judge after lunch will get more leniency. Late in the afternoon you get the book thrown at you.

A bit after 3, I started to see actors from the Non-Equity list losing hope. They talked about other things they needed to get done that day, snuck looks at the list, tried to do the math, sounded each other out to see if maybe enough OTHER people were thinking about leaving that maybe they should actually stick around.

Me, I just stayed comfy in my chair. An actress who has also worked with Shakespeare Orange County recognized me and introduced herself. We hadn’t worked together, and when I saw her in Twelfth Night, she was in drag, so I felt okay about not having recognized her.

Around 4, EMCs were getting in pretty regularly, and then that Non-Equity actress who had shown up at 6am got her name called. It felt like a victory for all of us. In the next batch, two non-Equity names were called that hadn’t stayed. That scratched them from the list, and I started to think I might have a chance before 6pm if this pace kept up.

And then, at 4:50, exactly 8 hours after I had arrived, I was placed in the 5pm group.

Non-Equities like myself were instructed that due to time constraints, we would have only one minute to do one monologue, and it had to be Shakespeare. Eight hours of waiting in order to have one minute to show off what I can do. But I wouldn’t have even got that if I hadn’t done the hardest thing of all, which was dare to show up.

After drowning in adrenaline out in the hallway, I finally got in the room. The two artistic directors of Utah Shakespeare were there with my headshot and resume. Strip away all the details of an audition and this is what you nearly always end up with – a couple of people at a table, watching, waiting to be wowed.

I introduced myself and did my monologue. I had chosen a speech by Mowbray in Richard II. It has a great ramp-up in intensity for a minute-long piece, and is good for showing off facility with the language. I also gambled that it would be something the directors wouldn’t be sick of hearing yet – I had heard a few renditions of “If music be the food of love…” from the lobby.

Right before I finished, one of the directors held a pen over my resume and made a quick stroke mark, then slid it over to show his colleague. Who knows if that stroke mark was good or bad; but you can bet I’ll never forget it. I thanked them and walked out.

Honestly, I feel like I acquitted myself well. I had kept myself loose, and managed to use the surge of energy without panicking or losing focus. I haven’t performed that monologue often, but I think that was the best I’ve delivered it. And the last time I used it, I ended up in Shakespeare O.C., so that’s encouraging.

And that was it. As I was leaving, the Monitor was telling the 15-20 non-Equities remaining that the directors had agreed to see them all. Even though I personally didn’t need their graciousness, I was glad they gave it. After a full day behind that table, I wouldn’t blame them at all for wanting to get out of there.

I thanked the Monitor, gathered my things, and drove off to get dinner and perform a play. A whole day of build up to deliver a speech, and then hope.

Honestly, the odds are long and I know this. Over two days they would have seen 250-300 L.A. actors, most of them Equity professionals with more experience and/or training, and better audition circumstances, than I had. I can tell myself that, as a man in his 30’s who has a track record of playing either up or down in age as needed, I’m in a demographic sweet spot for a Shakespeare company, especially one doing a man-crowded history like Henry IV, Part I. A lot of men my age might not have the mobility in life to consider pulling up the stakes and spending 4-6 months in Utah. And among those auditioning it was about 60-40 in favor of women, which means that as long as my odds are, it’s not nearly as long as it would be for them.

But that’s small comfort, mathematically. My guess is that, at the absolute most, 6-10 contracts could be offered to this group. It’s a gargantuan assumption to think I might be good enough, and even if I am it might not matter, because who knows what they need?

Really, though, I see it as an accomplishment that I did this at all. For one minute, those two artistic directors were my audience, and I got to do Shakespeare. And any opportunity to do Shakespeare is pretty good.

Earning your time and making it count
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