Saturday, July 17, 2010

Mary Poppins Funk

Wednesday, June 30

This morning is my first Broadway EPA: Mary Poppins. Both Elizabeth and I are at Pearl Studios by 8am, even though the call isn't until 2pm. By 9, we're signed up with the monitor—top of the list!—and free to leave until the lunch hour ends and they start the audition. With a few hours to kill, we head up to 72nd Street and find a spot to kick back in Central Park. It's a gorgeous day, and there are moms and kids everywhere. This is only the second time I've been to the park just to sit and enjoy it for a while. Elizabeth and I have really hit it off over the last few days, and this morning isn't any different. We swap stories about home and boyfriends and making it in New York. There are a lot of things we have in common, and as far as personality and communication style, we line up in a lot of ways. It's nice not only to have an "audition buddy" to get on line with but to have a friend I can really talk to. And I worried I'd be lonely!

By 12:30 we're on our way back to Pearl. Hopeful and anxious with headshots in hand, we watch as the monitor calls off name after name from the Equity list and everyone picks up their cards. 2:00 rolls around, and we get word from the monitor that the call is closed. The casting director or producer or whoever is in charge isn't interested in seeing non-Equity. Darn. Elizabeth is really bummed. I totally understand. Waiting all day just to find out there isn't even a chance you'll be seen is pretty lousy.

But I pick up my chin and head out. I'm going to an EPA for Origin Theatre Company, my first straight audition. There are surprisingly few people at the call when I arrive, and I'm seen within fifteen minutes. My monologue isn't the perfect choice, and I know it, but I feel good about my audition. That good feeling sours quickly. The director looks at my resume and then looks at me, grinning, "So you've been in New York, what, two weeks?" That was a smug remark. Um… "As a matter of fact, yes. Two weeks exactly." I try to sound confident and un-fazed by his snarky comment, but he's already rubbed me the wrong way. I say my thank you and leave, frustrated that there are people here who obviously have no problem coming off as rude and condescending. I know probably look like I was born yesterday, and my resume has nothing but university credits, and my headshot looks a little different from most others, but come on. That wasn't necessary. At least not the way he said it.

I consider myself a pretty upbeat, optimistic person, but today, I go home in a bit of a funk. I don't like feeling like this, so it's great fuel to my fire. I'm going to persevere, even if there are guys like him who show up once in a while. Who cares if I'm the small-town kid? Who knows, he might have been, too. Maybe he just forgot.

1 comment:

  1. I'm so sorry you got condescended to. It's an ugly, ugly feeling and I know at least for me it tends to stick around for hours afterward (not fair!). Just remember that it's his ugly, not yours. You get to shrug it off as soon as you feel ready.