I had an audition last night that I was excited to get because it wasn't for a storefront theater, but a theater that actually has a little bit of a reputation. You may not have heard of it, but some people in the theater world have. And I don't mean to slight storefront theaters because some of them are really wonderful - this audition just felt like a little bit of a step up for me from what I have been doing (or trying to do). And yes, it was an audition for understudy positions, but still. It was a foot in the door, so to speak, so that felt good.
It didn't go as well as I hoped, but I didn't tank it, either. I don't think. They may think so. But they laughed during my first piece (which is comedic, so that's good) and they worked with me a little on my second, which was good. I kind of like it when auditors ask me to work on something because it means they see potential, they just want to try something else, and I get the opportunity to show them that I am directable. I'm still willing to bet that I don't get the part, but I'm glad I went.
One other thing that was interesting was that one of the auditors noticed a sort of hoarse quality to my voice and asked if that was normal. Thing is, I don't think it is, but I don't know. I told her I was a little dried out because I was - my sinuses are being kind of bipolar as of late. But it got me thinking about my voice.
There have been a couple other instances in the last year when I am trying to talk loudly enough to be heard in a bar or something like that wherein someone has asked me if I'm catching a cold or losing my voice. Which makes me wonder if the way I'm trying to project my voice is ripping it up. Or maybe I've ripped it up singing "Me and Bobby McGee" too many times. Who knows? But it did occur to me that at least last night, when I was doing my second piece and I was trying for the big, booming, full voice that I was also speaking in a very low register. I like to try to speak and sing in a low register. It might have something to do with my own weird denial of the fact that I am female and women have higher voices than men. See, most of the actors and musicians I look up to are male, and even the women I like sing too low for themselves. I can hit the high notes - I was singing along with "O, Holy Night" in the car the other day (because yes, I am listening to Christmas music this year) and I can hit those lovely high notes on the "Noels." But somehow, I have gotten it in my head that if I'm speaking from my diaphragm, pushing the sound out from my diaphragm through a relaxed and open throat and jaw, that the sound should be lower. Alto or tenor as opposed to soprano.
So maybe I just need to accept that my voice is higher than that. Maybe I am a soprano. And maybe if I am a soprano trying to speak like a tenor, that is why I sound hoarse - my voice doesn't want to go that low so it gets gravelly.
On my way home in the car, I did my monologues again, trying to stay in a medium-to-higher register, to try to convince myself that I can still be powerful if I sound like a girl. I think as long as the intention is there, it should work. I just need to get used to how it sounds.
Is it weird that I notice these things about myself? Do other actors have these kinds of discoveries based on a sort of off-hand comment made at an audition?
16 December 2010
10 December 2010
Stillness
So I'm taking this Shakespeare monologue class and I'm loving it. The teachers are brilliant and wonderful and make it such a comfortable learning environment at the same time they push us to get to the crazy places. I love it. LOVE IT. If you are ever in need of a Shakespeare education, let me know and I'll put you in touch with these two. They are lovely.
The monologue I'm working on is by Hermione from "The Winter's Tale." She has been accused of adultery (of which she is innocent) and was thrown in prison by her husband, the King, where she gave birth to his kid which he doesn't think is his kid, so he had the baby sent out into the woods to "fend for itself" so to speak. And the monologue I'm doing is while she is on trial, he threatens her life if she is found guilty. So she basically responds with, "I'm not afraid to die because you have already taken away everything that I loved. But just know that I am innocent, and if you kill me, my kids will still know I am innocent and won't you feel silly then?" And the emotional place the teachers have been taking me to get into all of the shit that this woman has been put through is gut-wrenching (and I have to say, it's marvelous to get to sob like that once a week, especially if you have someone standing there right next to you with their hand on your back, one hand supporting your head that you have let drop forward, which is what happens in this class. Because yes, she is torn up, but she has to defend herself), but the bit I had not been paying any attention to is that this woman is the Queen. And she's standing in front of probably the whole town who are all judging her while she pleads not for her life, but for her name. As in, this is not the time or place for her to lose her shit. This is an instance when she needs to STAND AND LOOK AT THE DALEKS, so to speak. She needs the beautiful, calm fury of the Doctor punishing the Family of Blood. She needs to stay composed.
As actors, we are told that audition pieces should show a little bit of everything we can do. They are supposed to show us off. Which most of us think means including some kind of physical movement because most of us would like to show that we don't move like stick people. But here I am, working on a monologue that might be best served by standing absolutely still. So the teacher said to me, "Stillness is a choice." And it's perfect. It's beautiful in its simplicity. If I am still and calm as the Queen in my rage as I fight for my honor, I am that much more of a sympathetic character and my King is shown to be that much more of a lunatic for doing this to his wife, who still truly, truly loves him.
"Stillness is a choice."
And when I got home, I felt this kind of catharsis because in my regular life, especially in social situations, I am often still. Not because I'm not engaged, but because I am observing, or because I feel the need to balance out the craziness around me. So I felt justified in my life, almost like when I found that article about "How to Care for Your Introvert," that "made it okay" for me to be an introvert. It is okay if I am still sometimes.
I can't wait to try it again next week.
The monologue I'm working on is by Hermione from "The Winter's Tale." She has been accused of adultery (of which she is innocent) and was thrown in prison by her husband, the King, where she gave birth to his kid which he doesn't think is his kid, so he had the baby sent out into the woods to "fend for itself" so to speak. And the monologue I'm doing is while she is on trial, he threatens her life if she is found guilty. So she basically responds with, "I'm not afraid to die because you have already taken away everything that I loved. But just know that I am innocent, and if you kill me, my kids will still know I am innocent and won't you feel silly then?" And the emotional place the teachers have been taking me to get into all of the shit that this woman has been put through is gut-wrenching (and I have to say, it's marvelous to get to sob like that once a week, especially if you have someone standing there right next to you with their hand on your back, one hand supporting your head that you have let drop forward, which is what happens in this class. Because yes, she is torn up, but she has to defend herself), but the bit I had not been paying any attention to is that this woman is the Queen. And she's standing in front of probably the whole town who are all judging her while she pleads not for her life, but for her name. As in, this is not the time or place for her to lose her shit. This is an instance when she needs to STAND AND LOOK AT THE DALEKS, so to speak. She needs the beautiful, calm fury of the Doctor punishing the Family of Blood. She needs to stay composed.
As actors, we are told that audition pieces should show a little bit of everything we can do. They are supposed to show us off. Which most of us think means including some kind of physical movement because most of us would like to show that we don't move like stick people. But here I am, working on a monologue that might be best served by standing absolutely still. So the teacher said to me, "Stillness is a choice." And it's perfect. It's beautiful in its simplicity. If I am still and calm as the Queen in my rage as I fight for my honor, I am that much more of a sympathetic character and my King is shown to be that much more of a lunatic for doing this to his wife, who still truly, truly loves him.
"Stillness is a choice."
And when I got home, I felt this kind of catharsis because in my regular life, especially in social situations, I am often still. Not because I'm not engaged, but because I am observing, or because I feel the need to balance out the craziness around me. So I felt justified in my life, almost like when I found that article about "How to Care for Your Introvert," that "made it okay" for me to be an introvert. It is okay if I am still sometimes.
I can't wait to try it again next week.
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