In Performance: Contemporary Monologues for Teens

Copyright © 2015 by JV Mercanti

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, without written permission, except by a newspaper or magazine reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review.

Published in 2015 by Applause Theatre & Cinema Books

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Printed in the United States of America

Book design by Mark Lerner

Composition by UB Communications

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

In performance : contemporary monologues for teens / [edited by] J V Mercanti.

pages cm

ISBN 978-1-4803-9661-6 (pbk.)

1. Monologues­—Juvenile literature. 2. Acting—Auditions—Juvenile literature. I. Mercanti, J. V., editor.

PN2080.I522525 2015

808.82'45—dc23

2015016073

www.applausebooks.com

Contents

Preface

Introduction: Approaching the Monologue

Etiquette for Scene Study, Rehearsal, and Beyond

MEN’S MONOLOGUES

A Hard Rain

by Jon Bradfield and Martin Hooper

Sondra

by Laura Cahill

The Day I Stood Still

by Kevin Elyot

Burnt Orange

by Lila Feinberg

Baby Girl

by Edith Freni

How We Got On

by Idris Goodwin

How We Got On

by Idris Goodwin

How We Got On

by Idris Goodwin

The Tutor

by Allan Havis

The Tutor

by Allan Havis

The Greatest Show on Earth

by Michael Kimmel

Henry’s Law

by Stacie Lents

Snow Angel

by David Lindsay-Abaire

Peddling

by Harry Melling

Apocalypse Apartments

by Allison Moore

Apocalypse Apartments

by Allison Moore

girl.

by Megan Mostyn-Brown

The Connector

by Tim Murray

Madame Melville

by Richard Nelson

Edith Can Shoot Things and Hit Them

by A. Rey Pamatmat

Edith Can Shoot Things and Hit Them

by A. Rey Pamatmat

Edith Can Shoot Things and Hit Them

by A. Rey Pamatmat

Edith Can Shoot Things and Hit Them

by A. Rey Pamatmat

Lessons from an Abandoned Work

by Mona Pirnot

3:59AM: a drag race for two actors

by Marco Ramirez

Four

by Christopher Shinn

Four

by Christopher Shinn

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

by Simon Stephens

Exit Exam

by Mara Wilson

WOMEN’S MONOLOGUES

Dig Dig Dig

by Nikole Beckwith

Untitled Matriarch Play (Or Seven Sisters)

by Nikole Beckwith

Great Falls

by Lee Blessing

Sondra

by Laura Cahill

Perched

by Lila Feinberg

Burnt Orange

by Lila Feinberg

Baby Girl

by Edith Freni

Cutting

by Kathleen Germann

How We Got On

by Idris Goodwin

Strike-Slip

by Naomi Iizuka

Appropriate

by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins

Don’t Talk, Don’t See

by Julie Jensen

Chronicles Simpkins Will Cut Your Ass

by Rolin Jones

Unlikely Jihadist

by Michael Kimmel

Henry’s Law

by Stacie Lents

All Hail Hurricane Gordo

by Carly Mensch

girl.

by Megan Mostyn-Brown

girl.

by Megan Mostyn-Brown

Franny’s Way

by Richard Nelson

Franny’s Way

by Richard Nelson

Edith Can Shoot Things and Hit Them

by A. Rey Pamatmat

Edith Can Shoot Things and Hit Them

by A. Rey Pamatmat

Playing with Grown Ups

by Hannah Patterson

Lessons from an Abandoned Work

by Mona Pirnot

Lessons from an Abandoned Work

by Mona Pirnot

A Numbers Game

by Tanya Saracho

Port

by Simon Stephens

Ancient Gods of the Backwoods

by Kathryn Walat

Exit Exam

by Mara Wilson

Acknowledgments

Play Sources and Acknowledgments

Preface

One of the best auditions I’ve ever seen was for Roundabout Theatre Company’s 2001 revival of Stephen Sondheim and James Goldman’s musical Follies. Jim Carnahan, the casting director, and I had called in Judith Ivey for the role of Sally Durant Plummer. If you don’t know who Judith Ivey is, please Google her immediately. You have most likely seen her in something on stage, in film, or on television. You might also have seen a production that she’s directed. She is a prolific artist.

The role of Sally Durant Plummer is fragile and complex. Sally has been married to Buddy for years, but all that time she has been pining for the love of Ben Stone, who is (unhappily) married to Sally’s former best friend, Phyllis. Sally is going crazy with love and desire that has been burning for over twenty years.

Ms. Ivey was asked to prepare a cut from Sally’s famous first-act song In Buddy’s Eyes, an aria through which she tries to convince Ben, in order to make him jealous, that she’s deliriously happy in her life with Buddy. She was also asked to prepare a short scene from the show. Present in the room for the audition were Stephen Sondheim, the composer and lyricist; Matthew Warchus, the director; Todd Haimes, artistic director; Jim Carnahan, casting director; Paul Ford, the accompanist; a reader; and myself.

Walking into the room as herself, Ms. Ivey conversed with Mr. Warchus and Mr. Sondheim about her career and, very briefly, about the character. She then took a moment with Paul Ford to discuss the music. Following that, she came to the center of the playing space, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared herself to begin acting. In that moment of preparation, which truly lasted no longer than a breath, her body changed, her physicality changed, the very air around her seemed to change. She took the character into her body. Ms. Ivey then opened her eyes, nodded at Mr. Ford, and began to sing.

Ms. Ivey executed the song with specificity, a rich but contained emotional connection to the material, a strong objective, carefully thought-out actions, and a deep understanding of this woman and her desire. She went directly from the song to the scene, completely off-book (lines memorized), and when she finished—the room was silent. Mr. Sondheim had tears in his eyes. Mr. Warchus didn’t have a word of direction to give her. It was not that Ms. Ivey had provided us with a complete performance. No, not at all. She had shown us the possibility of what she could create. She had shown us the potential of her Sally Durant Plummer. Her point of view was clear, consistent, and deeply, deeply affecting.

Thank you, Judith. That was wonderful, Matthew Warchus finally said.

I really love Sally, she responded, But I was wondering if you might also consider me for the role of Phyllis. I’ve prepared that material as well.

Of course I would. Would you like a few minutes to go outside and prepare? he asked.

No. No, that’s all right. I can do it right now, she responded.

And after saying this, Ms. Ivey closed her eyes. She very slowly turned away from us, put her hair up in a tight bun, and turned around to face the room. It took no longer than thirty seconds, but once again her body, her posture, the way she related to the air around her, had changed. The atmosphere of the room shifted with her. Once again, she nodded to Paul Ford at the piano, and she fearlessly launched into the Phyllis Stone material.

It was astonishing. Not a false note was sung or uttered. Ivey had such a deep understanding of the cold facade Phyllis wears in order to cover up her broken heart and broken dreams. Phyllis is the polar opposite of Sally: cool, controlled, calculating, and hard.

Ms. Ivey thanked us for the opportunity. We thanked her for her work. The room remained still and silent for a while after she left.

Without a doubt, Mr. Warchus knew he must cast her in the show. She landed the role of Sally Durant Plummer.

It was clear that Ms. Ivey did a very thorough study of the text in preparation for this audition. She understood who these characters were at their very core; how they thought; why they spoke the way they did, using language in their own individual and specific way. She understood how they moved, where they held their weight, how they related to the space around them. Most importantly, she understood the characters’ objectives (what they wanted) and how to use the other person in the scene to get what she wanted. Finally, Ivey was excited to show us how she could portray these women. She wasn’t concerned about getting it right. She managed to accomplish this while bringing herself to the character instead of the other way around.

More recently, I was casting the Broadway revival of Romeo and Juliet starring Orlando Bloom and Condola Rashād. The process of making this production happen is a book in and of itself. It was in development for over three years.

I flew to Los Angeles to work with Mr. Bloom in June 2012. We spent a week going through the text, talking about objectives, tactics, and actions. We discussed the relationships between Romeo and the other characters in the play in connection to his main objective, which we defined, simply, as to fly towards the sun.

Wait. Why isn’t his objective about Juliet, you ask? His super-objective cannot be about Juliet, because, upon Romeo’s first entrance in the play, he hasn’t even seen her yet. He can’t come on stage playing to win someone he doesn’t even know. But if you perform a careful analysis of the text, you will find a plethora of both sun and flying imagery. Once he finds Juliet, she becomes his sun. This is why it’s helpful as an actor to jot down the recurring themes or images you come across when reading a play you’re working on, even if you’re only focusing on a monologue from a larger text. This is also why it’s important to pay attention to the words the playwright uses.

Bloom is a physical actor, and we spent a lot of time playing on our feet, finding the scenes through physical action as well as language. Getting Romeo into his body helped get Bloom out of his head. Also, the very simple and stimulating objective—to fly toward the sun—gave him a place to start from that sparked his imagination, was very actable, and influenced his physical life. His heart was always open and reaching up.

I worked with Bloom again in NYC for a few days, and then he flew to London to audition for David Leveaux, our director. He landed the role. That was in July 2012.

We did an initial round of casting in July and August of that year, seeing actors for a variety of the supporting roles. As we were securing official dates (as well as a Juliet!), we could only audition actors and tell them we were interested in them. We couldn’t make offers. We couldn’t tell them actual production dates. We couldn’t tell them anything for certain, not even who our Romeo was. Many of these actors were not officially called back until January 2013, which is when Ms. Rashād (whose first audition was in August) landed the Juliet role after four auditions in New York and one in Los Angeles with Bloom.

Some actors never even had a callback. I was in constant contact with agents and managers from July 2012 to May 2013, letting them know we were still interested in their clients; that there might or might not be another round of callbacks; that they should let me know immediately if their client had another job offer, et cetera. And all the while, I was auditioning new people for parts we hadn’t seen earlier. The show required a cast of twenty-three on-stage actors and one off-stage standby for Bloom.

Putting the Capulet and Montague families together was like a puzzle: headshots spread out on a long folding table as we weighed the pros of each actor, their look, and their qualities. All of these factors influence the production as a whole. Official offers were not made until May 2013.

I tell you this to illustrate how you, the actor, never know what goes on behind the scenes. Ultimately, you have no power over it. The only power you have is how you present yourself to the room as a person and a performer.

With rehearsal quickly approaching in July 2013, we had one role left to cast: Sampson, a servant of the House of Capulet. The actor playing this part would also understudy Justin Guarini, who played Paris. By the time we were in final callbacks for this small role, I had prescreened (an audition with just the actor and casting director, preceding a director’s callback) or checked the availability of some four hundred actors for the part. Four hundred actors for a role that had approximately three lines of dialogue.

David Leveaux is attracted to actors who have strong personalities and who bring that into the room. The male casting for this production depended on virile, strong, playful men who also happened to be skilled in speaking verse, as David puts it, on the line. That means speaking the lines as written and not adding unnecessary pauses or breaks in between every thought or word, allowing the action of the line to take you to the poetry instead of vice versa.

Our Sampson, a young man by the name of Donte Bonner, was all of these things and more. He walked into the room calm, collected, and in control. He enjoyed the process of auditioning. Bonner was excited to show us what he could do with the role, not preoccupied with hoping we liked him. This attitude is immediately attractive in an actor. On top of this, Bonner brought his own unique point of view to the character he was reading for. He was simple, specific, and alive. He was also skilled at taking direction. Although he had a very strong idea of his own, he was able to adjust when David asked for something completely different.

You can achieve the same level of performance as Ms. Ivey or Mr. Bonner if you put the requisite amount of work into your monologue, ask yourself the right questions (and the questions I ask you to examine following each of the pieces in this book), and activate your imagination.

Introduction Approaching the Monologue

Actors are interpretive storytellers. We often forget that.

You take the words the writer has given you and process them through your own unique instrument (your mind, your body, your imagination, and, hopefully, your heart and your soul), and you turn those words into action—into doing. I’m sure you’ve been taught by this point in your career that acting is doing. As a teacher, acting coach, and director, I am constantly asking the questions What are you doing? and Why are you doing that? This doesn’t mean a physical action. It means how are you actively pursuing your objective?

I’m also always asking the question What does that mean?

Most beginning actors think that memorizing the lines is enough. Or that emoting is enough. As I tell my undergraduate students, acting is hard work, and it’s more than just memorizing lines and saying them out loud. It takes emotional connection, analytical skill, and an understanding of human behavior and relationships—as well as a relationship with language—to turn the written word into honest, believable action. Remember, any playwright worth his/her salt takes great care in choosing the language a character uses. In a well-written play, each character speaks differently. It is your job to find the key to unlocking the meaning of that language while giving it your own personal spin.

Rehearsing a monologue is tricky business, because you don’t physically have a partner in front of you to work off of, react to, and actually affect. Oftentimes you’ll find yourself staring at an empty chair, saying the lines out loud over and over. Hopefully, what follows will help you deepen your rehearsal process and activate your imagination. Imagination is one of the strongest abilities an actor can possess. If you can enter a room and create a specific, believable world in two minutes, we will trust that you can sustain that world for two-plus hours on a stage or in front of a camera.

You’re reading this book because you’re looking for an audition piece. It might be for a non-Equity or community-theater production, an undergraduate or graduate program, or a professional meeting with an agent or casting director. It may even be for an EPA.¹ Whatever the case, you’re looking for a piece that—I hope—you feel you connect with on some level; that expresses a particular essence of you; that shows off your sense of humor or sense of self; and that, above all, tells a story you want to tell.

Your monologue choice tells the person (or sometimes the numerous people) behind the table something about you. Certainly it lets us know that you can stand in front of an audience, comfortable in your own body, and perform. It tells us you can open your mouth and speak someone else’s words with meaning, confidence, and a sense of ease. It lets us know whether or not you have the ability to project or modify your voice depending on the requirements of the space.

More than that, your monologue choice tells us something about who you are as a person. Your monologue can tell us the type of things you respond to emotionally, intellectually, and humorously. After all, we’re going under the assumption that you put a lot of time and care into finding a piece that you wanted to perform. You took the time to commit that piece to memory and to heart. You’ve imbued it with your sense of humor, understanding, compassion, pain, and so on. More than just telling us whether or not you can act—and a monologue is by no means the only arbiter of this—the monologue helps us decide if we like you as a person, if you’re someone we want to work with, study with, teach, and hire.

The monologue is, then, a reflection of you. What do you want us to know about you? This is why not every monologue works for every actor. Choose carefully. If it doesn’t feel right, it most likely isn’t. If you think it’s a possibility, commit to the piece, do all of the work you can on it, and then perform it for people whose opinions you trust—not just people who tell you everything you do is wonderful (as nice as it is to have those people around). Ask someone who can be honest and helpfully critical.

Our first impulse is to ask, Did you like it? How was I?

Unfortunately, like is subjective. I can not like something yet still be affected by it. Instead, ask questions such as the following: What did you learn about me from that? What do you think it says about who I am? What was the story? Could you tell what my objective was? Who was I? Did I take you on a journey? Was it playing on different levels, or did it seem too one-note?

Then take it to a more businesslike level from there: "What am I selling? Does it play to my strengths? What weaknesses are on display in this piece? Does it seem ‘type’-appropriate? Did I display a sense of strength as well as