Friday, July 23, 2010

The Play's The Thing

Thanks to everyone who braved my 48 Hours set diary in the last post. Even my own husband hasn't made it through. To paraphrase the script: "Not enough coffee in the WORLD..."

David and I were at Comic-Con yesterday and I have a juicy post brewing for that glorious annual event, but I'm feeling sad and discouraged right now and wanted to use my blog for a bit of kvetching before I take a nap.

A lot of you know that the last show I was in, Sylvia, went up in May. Since September 2008, I've more or less consistently been involved in something at that sweet little theater in Point Loma, and it's really added to my quality of life. Sylvia was my sixth show in a year and a half.

So I've been waiting less than patiently for summer shows to be announced.

Two Mondays ago, I auditioned for The Glass Menagerie. I almost didn't go. There are only two women in that play, and neither is in my age range, if the director is casting it accurately. Speaking of the director, he was new to me, and the whole night ended up being new to me: when I opened that familiar door, I saw about 40 people--most of them strangers--in their Sunday best, clutching head shots, and immediately knew I wasn't in Kansas anymore. The evening was intense--I felt like I was on high alert for three and a half hours, though I actually only read twice. I enjoyed my second reading especially--the guy reading for Tom (who was actually named Tom) was not just good, he's what's known in the biz as a "generous" partner, who gave me lots of feedback during the scene. I didn't think I was terrible. But I knew I wouldn't be cast. It's still pretty weird to me that not only didn't I make callbacks, I don't even KNOW who was cast. The whole thing is still that secret.

So I felt sort of sad about all that. But slightly cheered because the same night I found out there would be auditions one week later for the "on the green" version of Twelfth Night. I was in the "on the green" Moliere last summer, as you may remember. I worried that there would be scads of professional strangers stuffing the room again, but I worried for naught. There were about 10 of us auditioning, if that. I only knew a couple of people. Hannah is directing again, and I feel so comfortable and safe with her. By the time we were doing scenes and monologues, I felt great. After all, these were cold readings of material I've known forever. I was exhausted from finishing the film the night before, but I got a second wind from the fun.

I got to read for all three of the female parts, and then for whatever reason, Hannah asked me to read for Sir Toby Belch, the town drunk. And I just went for it. I was staggering around, poking and pushing people, slurring my words, laughing on cue but I wasn't faking it. I was just having that much of a good time. Everyone had nice things to say. I wondered if I was going to get cast in this male part, and I figured what the hell. Bring it on! It will be more fun than the women anyway.

She said she'd let us know by Friday, and it's Friday now. I just got home from the gym and there was an e-mail from Hannah. Not the news I wanted. No, not terrible news for me personally. But that's how it seems right now. Because I was really craving that stage. And the whole process of getting the show to that stage. And she's decided there just weren't enough people and she's not going to do it. Sure, there's going to be some sort of Shakespeare workshop in its place, which will probably be interesting, but no actual shows. I want the shows.

Of course, I'm managing to read this as a personal thing, anyway. Oh, if I'd just done a better audition, I think--she wouldn't feel the need to cancel the whole thing. I didn't give her anything to work with. But I probably can't make this one all about me, much as I might try.

But I'm sad. Have a sort of sick, bereft feeling in my belly. And in my heart. I wanted to be out there, performing for the people. Now I'll have to wait, and I have no idea for how long.

8 comments:

Logical Libby said...

I'm sorry. That sucks. I always hated the let down.

Have you thought about spray painting yourself silver and acting like a robot for money outside a tourist attraction?

Caroline said...

No fair! I'm sorry. :( I hope you get a really juicy role in the next show to make up for this.

Sam said...

@Libby: Ooh, great idea! Too bad I'm allergic to silver paint. ;)

David said...

I have read your set diary, and before this post. It is a must for anyone wanting to experience a small fraction of the 48 Hour excitement. Now back to reading this post.

Jennifer said...

So sorry, Sam! Well, at least you have kindergarten to look forward to. ;)

Stephanie said...

I'm sorry you're sad. I wonder if something more is brewing. I also wonder if this is your nudge to try a new theatre group.

Jen said...

Sorry, dear. Here's a hug. I think there are lots of good things in store for you, and soon!

The Wades said...

Sorry, Sam. I can tell how much you enjoy all that TORTURE! (My view of your fun.) :)