The drama school audition season is drawing to a close once more, and the offers and rejections will be flying into the inboxes (and letterboxes, perhaps? How much nicer to receive a piece of paper…) of young hopefuls around the country. I was recently talking to friend whose niece has just completed the round of auditions, and inevitably a number of dim memories about our own experiences arose from the murky depths. My friend has moved on from the acting world, and is now able to look back with a degree of distance, but still shivers when she recalls those early audition experiences:
‘My RADA audition was my first ever, and I must have looked like I was in front of a firing squad! I remember my LAMDA audition like it was yesterday. I dried and they kindly let me start again and then I dried again! There was absolutely nothing in my head! Then I tried to get out but couldn’t, as I had to push and not pull the door. Excruciating!’
My own experiences were not dissimilar. Again, I started the ball rolling with a terrifying audition at RADA, where I performed a speech from the Revenger’s Tragedy, clutching an imaginary skull which somehow disappeared mid-way through. This was followed by my first LAMDA meeting, where I, too, forgot my lines. I actually asked if I could look at my script; they said yes, no doubt biro-ing a line through my name at the same time. Central, Guildhall and Guildford all zoomed by in a rush of cluelessness – basically, I really had no idea what I had let myself in for.
In my second year of trying, for some reason I only applied to RADA and Central. At my RADA audition, they asked me why I was limiting my chances in this way, and I panicked and said ‘I’m not sure if it’s what I really want to do.’ I walked back to Goodge Street station thinking to myself that it had gone rather well, until I remembered what I had said… Another black line through my name there.
Finally, in my third year of applying, I worked out what it was all about, namely that I had to take hold of myself, prepare properly, and approach auditions with a professional attitude. Before that, I was a mess of fear, excitement and ambition – but I do think those early failures were essential for me in regard to learning what auditions are really for. My third LAMDA audition was a very different kettle of fish. Despite still being awash with nerves, I was happy with my speeches, I knew them inside out, and I actually felt ready to walk out in front of the panel. I embraced the recall day eagerly, understanding that it was actually about being open and working as a company member. That very evening, Rodney Cottier called from LAMDA to say I had got in, and the joy that was felt in my family kitchen was unconfined, I can tell you. There was much jumping and cheering; fish and chips and champagne were consumed. It was a day never to be forgotten.
Since then, auditioning has become one of the most familiar aspects of my life and, happily, has long since lost the tang of fear that once used to hang around it. But I’m sure those early experiences can sometimes be so traumatic and frustrating that aspiring actors give up altogether. Of course, knowledge comes with experience, and you learn that when you walk into an audition, the panel are as desperate for you to succeed as you are. They want to fill that place, or cast that role. They are aching for you to be good. Many directors will tell you that what they are really looking for is someone they can work with – someone who responds well to direction and will be adaptable and creative in the rehearsal room. Drama schools too are looking for team players – they are casting a whole year of students who will need to be able to work together for up to three years.
Of course, it’s hard to keep these things in your head when you are so nervous you can barely stand up and face the right direction. But it really does get easier. Sooner or later, auditions go from being things of dread – akin to being summoned to the headmaster’s office – to being something you can’t wait to begin. At its best, an audition is a microcosm of the rehearsal room, and allows an actor the opportunity to sink her teeth into a part, and often, to explore a play she might never have encountered otherwise.
So, all that time spent on hunched plastic chairs outside drama school audition rooms, dreading your turn and obsessively murmuring your lines under your breath as a blithely confident second-year student crosses names off their list, is actually a vital part of an actor’s development. Strange to say, but one can actually feel nostalgic for decades-old terror…