Another Dream

Auditions are brutal.

The queue snaked from the theatre doors, along the block to the corner and ended a third of the way down the cross-street. And I was early. The people at the front of the line must have arrived before daybreak. Puts people like me with two or three day jobs to pay the rent at a serious disadvantage. They’d probably have already cast all the roles before they got halfway up the line.

But, I’d taken the day off for this audition, so I stayed. People kept arriving too, the line lengthening behind me. I just hoped I’d make it through the first cut this time. I’d been to auditions where I never even made it through the theatre doors, weeded out in the line because I didn’t have the right “look”. Which confused me because I was about as generic-looking as you can get. The kind of bland pretty that’s the backbone of most chorus-lines and ensembles.

This was a new production; the audition notice hadn’t specified a type – probably the reason for the crowd. It angered me because if they were looking for something specific, most of us were wasting our time. And I’d passed on another audition, for the touring company of Hadestown. I probably would have had a better shot at that one, but I dreamed of Broadway, so Broadway auditions took priority.

The queue started moving just after ten. It moved quickly too, which was never a good sign. Sure enough, when I rounder the corner, a small knot of people drifted down the line, pulling people out and sending them off to join the throngs making their way up and down the sidewalks. The despondent slope of their shoulders made them stand out, a complete contrast to the ones who remained to be headed clipboards, even the most exhausted looking suddenly energized by the sudden burst of hope.

By the time I reached the group of people – three women and two men – the line had shrunk considerably as more and more hopeful dancers peeled away. I stood up straight and forced my lips into a smile that I hoped looked more natural than it felt. First impressions matter and I wanted mine to be good.

It took only seconds for all five of them to look me over. They glanced at one another, nodded and then I was passed a clipboard.

“Fill that out and bring it with you,” one of the men said as the group moved past me.

My hand shook as I took the clipboard. A delicious excitement bubbled through me, threaded with veins of terror. I made it this far. I had to sing and dance my heart out when the time came. I jammed my hand into my bag to make sure I had my sheet music, even though I’d checked at least ten times since packing my bag this morning. Still there. I fumbled past it for a pen and started filling out the form.

Inside, we handed our forms to a boy who looked no older than sixteen and gathered in the dress circle foyer to be briefed on how things were going to go. Some auditions do the dancing first, in groups, and do a first cut from there. Others do the singing first, calling each individual in to warble a few notes before telling them to stay or leave. I knew I had a better chance if the dancing came first. I’m a dancer. I can sing, but my voice isn’t anything special. I can hold a tune, even belt if that’s required, but I know I don’t have anything remarkable to offer in the vocal department.
“Okay.” A guy pushed through the theatre doors and spoke in a voice that silenced the 150 or so eager performers who made it into the building. “Thanks so much for coming this morning. We’re going to break into groups and while our choreographer takes one group through some combinations, another group will come up to the studio to sing.”

Very efficiently we were broken into groups. I wasn’t in either of the first groups to go into the theatre or upstairs so found myself a quiet corner to do some stretching. I felt sorry for that first group of dancers, having to go into the theatre and dance without warming up.

It was less than ten minutes before people began trickling out of the theatre and down the stairs, heading back outside with the same dejected look the ones cut in line had. Damn, these people were brutal. Some of those people cut from the dancing section could have been singers. And vice versa.

“Please let me get dance first,” I whispered as I crossed my fingers again.

My group was called to dance about twenty minutes later. The choreographer was young and energetic and clearly didn’t believe in starting slow or simple. She demonstrated the first combination, calling out the steps as she did, then turned and watched as we all tried to follow the complex rhythms she clapped out and the shouted directions.

“Fuck,” a slightly plump girl next to me murmured as she tried to keep up.

I echoed her sentiment, even though I was doing a better job of following the choreography than she was. It wasn’t that the steps were hard, but they were fast and the rhythms were unpredictable.

The choreographer wove through the dancers and tapped various people on the shoulder. They stopped dancing and slunk offstage. Good to know. A shoulder tap meant no.

I thought I was clear, that I was going to make it through, but as I filed offstage with the others, the choreographer tapped my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re a good dancer, but just not what we’re looking for this time.”

My shoulders dropped as I nodded and gathered my things.

Another day. Another dream crushed.

Writers Cramp winner 11-3-26