what i learned on the other side of the table

So I sat in on EPAs yesterday for the theatre company where I am the literary manager (Boomerang Theatre Company) and I learned more in those three and a half hours than you could ever learn in a monologue class. I HIGHLY recommend that every actor do this at least once, if not many, MANY times.

Tips on Monologues:

We'll start with the overused monologues. Nothing really jumped out except for Saint Joan in Henry the VI part I (go here and search for "Joan"), Phoebe from As You Like It (think not I love him, though I ask for him... you already know it) and Portia in Julius Caesar (go here and search "ungently") Don't do these. And if you insist on doing them, do them well.

The popular plays among the men were Measure for Measure and Death of a Salesman. Which I can't really argue are overused. All in all, actually, there was a pretty wide variety of monologues.

In choosing a monologue, pick one that you can easily make sense out of. One that really speaks to you. Because, sure, you can go off on some diatribe, but if that light is off in your eyes, I know you don't know what you're saying, and I stop listening.

Pick one that is short. Let me say that again: pick one that is short. Or pick the first ending you can find in your piece. There was a woman who came in, and I thought she was done, and then she kept going. Then she was done again, and started up again. That happened three or four times, and, near the end, I began to wonder why she hadn't stopped the first time. Sure, the whole monologue packs a bigger wallop if you do the whole thing, but you're more likely to lose me the longer you go on. And you run the risk of being cut off at your first plausible stopping point. Leave them wanting more. Because if they want more, they'll ask, or they'll call you back.

Make choices with your monologue that make the piece go somewhere. One guy came in and told what started out as a horrifying story which turned into a bore-ifying story because he never changed modes. He ended exactly where he started. Only it was three minutes later, and I was already gone.

Avoid original work, unless it's been through a reading series or has been produced (i.e., edited or refined). There are plenty of good plays (& books & movies) out there. Pick one of those. Especially because if it's original to you, and it stinks, we'll think you stink, too.

When you announce your monologue, announce it clearly. We were writing down names of monologues to keep people clear in our minds, and someone came in with a monologue from (judging by our notes) "Something from the Something with Hats"

I found it useful when people announced the name of the playwright. Except when it was Death of a Salesman or Vanya. Because I know who wrote those.

I found it irritating when people asked what we'd prefer to hear (the season has Shakespeare and modern stuff in it). If you can communicate clearly with your Shakespeare, do that. Because if that makes sense, modern language is a piece of cake!

Tips in General:
Ok. The main thing I'd say is this: Own the space. Don't apologize, don't rush, don't ask permission. A few of the actors (including some I know personally) didn't take enough time to really be in the space before they started. Let the auditor either look you in the eye or tell you "whenever you're ready." Because they may be interested in your credits, but once you start your monologue they want to look you in the face.

If you don't feel like you deserve the time of the auditors, they won't feel it either. Be confident (but not retarded about it).

Clothes:
Don't wear pants that are too big and need to be ferociously belted in the front. That's distracting. I can't tell you the guy's name or his monologue, but his pants were too big.

Do wear a bra. Please, for the love of all that is holy, wear a bra.

Physicality:
Try not to be all mouth-sounding. If that means drinking water beforehand, do that. Nobody really likes the sound of a mouth.

Try to connect with your body. Don't do what I call "musical theatre body" which is having these cute poses or odd positions that you put your body into because that's how you did it in the show. It just looks awkward and detracts from what you're saying.

Know what you're doing with your arms. Don't let them flop alongside you and slap your thighs. That's irritating, and if you're not aware of it as a habit, watch yourself. It's really noisy and distracting!

Don't do what I always used to ride my ex-boyfriend for doing, which is Thinking With Your Mouth. If you have a thought in your head that's hard to get out, find another way to express it. (this may be a me-xclusive pet peeve, but it was really distracting -- and often led to mouth noises)

Props:
Just don't. (come on, you know better than that.) No, this is not a dagger you see before you. Oh, look, there is Proteus writ. A bloody napkin? I'd rather not even see it in performance, thanks. And if you INSIST on using props, don't use any that require you to clean them up afterwards (this means you, letter-shredder...)

Greetings:
Don't shake my hand. Especially if you walk towards the table, hand extended and nobody stands up or even looks like they want to shake your hand. Because now we just hate you.

Don't chatter. Don't tell me how great I am or how excited you are or what a great company we are or how much you love the play. It's all "blah blah blah" when you've been in there for hours.

Delivery:
Don't look at the floor. Let me repeat: DON'T LOOK AT THE FLOOR! You'd be shocked by the percentage of people who delivered their monologues to the floor -- almost 25'd say! We lose your eyes and your voice and your everything. Unless you mention how the person you're talking to is laying down on the floor... and even then... look up!

That said, don't look at the ceiling! Pick a spot between the heads of the auditors. Not too far above -- because then it feels like you're leaving us out. The best choice, I felt, was the one that was just on my eye level, but not looking at me.

That said, don't use the auditor exclusively. Connecting every now and then was ok with me, but using me? I felt bad looking at your resume, and then resented you for making me pay exclusive attention to you. (ooh, that sounds awful, doesn't it? But it's how I felt!)

Also, don't drop your focus. No matter where you've picked (ideally between the auditors), don't drop your intention and keep going back to the floor. Really distracting!

Voice/Projection:
We were in a tiny room. Please don't scream at me. Please don't hyperventilate, either. That makes me nervous. Please don't sigh. That makes me want to yawn and go to sleep. Please don't mumble. Please don't have monstrously heavy accents. Please commit to one accent. Please don't talk so fast that I can't follow you -- at least not right off the bat. Be aware of your space, and the surreality of an audition. It's not the same as being on stage. (unless, of course, you're auditioning on stage. duh.)

Other:
There was a woman who came in, and halfway through, forgot her monologue. And I remember her because she was playing this dippy character and never dropped it and just said "well, I guess that's what I get for using a monologue I learned the day of!" I don't know if she'll get called back, but I bet she thought she tanked, and actually, I was quite charmed.

There was a man doing a cursing speech from Richard III, and he cursed each of us individually. I wouldn't recommend that.

Murphy's Law said that the worst monologues were the ones that went on for seven days. And boy howdy, did they!

And how many people didn't look a THING like their headshots! Longer hair, different makeup, different hairstyle, fine. Ten years ago? Try again. Dreamy, blurry shot? No thanks.

The Moral of the Story:
The big thing for me was the cleanliness of your entrance and your exit -- give us a chance to be ready for you, and give us a chance to be ready for you to leave. Take your cues from us. We were very friendly. Some auditors are less so. But we didn't really want to chatter, so I can only imagine how little the grumpy ones want.

On the other side of the table, while it was exciting and inspiring to see some good performers, it really felt like more of a job. And I really valued people who were super-professional about it.
Keep at it, guys. It sucks, but I can guarantee you there are actors out there who are worse off than you!