I auditioned for Stop, Kiss today in the Player’s Theatre at Trinity. Got there in paranoid time so I had a good two hours to walk around and wish that I was still in college. I wish I could take a course there to pass the rest of the summer.
Anyway, had a bit of inspiration with my Chekhov and wandered from bush to bush looking for a suitable flower to pluck for the “she loves me, she loves me not” bit. Had to be an even number, which of course I could engineer myself, but which ruled out the pretty little purple flowers. That would have been lopsided. Though they were four-petaled, the huge purple flowers seemed unwieldy and obvious. I settled upon a small yellow daisy-like flower, plucked it down from eight, and popped it in my lapel. Smooth and brilliant, I thought. If my monologue be uninspiring, which indeed it is, then at least let them remember my name. Like Barbara Streisand and her imaginary chewing gum. That bit actually went very well, if I do say so myself.
However, I cocked up the cold reading, not reading it closely enough feeling pressed for time even though they were merrily chatting away. TAKE the opportunity to TAKE the time! You only get ONE chance! It was in a waiting room so there were two chairs. I stupidly sat down immediately – how is that interesting? Then I felt stupidly boxed in so I got up then got caught misjudging a rather narrow aisle by the other chair, circling behind her. A debacle and awful.
Will I get cast? I fancy not. However I don’t think that’s the most important thing. What’s important is that I auditioned and prepared and gave it a whole-hearted go. I felt right in the space talking to those people. I felt for a tiny bit like I belong. Theatre, that hydra-headed demon, rears a new, ugly head, twice as powerful as I’ve tried to excise it before. To be honest, I’m kind of proud of myself for doing it, and so I treated myself to a nice steak-thing at the – you guessed it! – Cafe Kylemore. Except this time I’m on my side of the river on O’Connell St. God, I love this place.