We look for candidates who demonstrate passion and commitment to the dramatic arts.

Transcription

1 Thank you for your interest in the Young Actors Studio Entry to the Young Actors Studio is by audition. We look for candidates who demonstrate passion and commitment to the dramatic arts. Prior to the audition Prepare and present one monologue from the list provided below. Your piece must be memorized for the audition. On the day You will: Perform your prepared pieces Participate in an improvised activity. Please arrive at least 15 minutes before your audition and wait for your session to be called. Auditions are conducted in a group everyone is in the room throughout the whole process. You are required to stay for the whole audition time. Things to remember Stage your performance beforehand, simply Wear suitable clothing (non-restrictive clothing that does not limit your movements). You may be asked to work in bare feet. Use your natural voice. Be open and engaging with the other people in your group. We are looking for people who can work well together, as well as develop individually. You may bring bottled water into NIDA s rehearsal rooms; however, no other food or drink is permitted. Once you have auditioned we will contact you within 2 weeks to let you know the outcome. If we are able to offer you a place in the course and you wish to accept it, you will need to arrange payment for the course prior to course commencement. If you have further questions regarding the audition process, please us at open@nida.edu.au or call (02) Page 1 of 12

2 WHEN SELECTING YOUR TEXT: Choose a monologue or character you identify with. You may choose a character whose gender is not your own. Check any pronunciations you are unsure of. Look for the hidden meaning in the text by making specific choices such as where is the character; who is the character; and when is the play/monologue set. From The Last Valentine By Glyn Maxwell Speaking to the audience, LUCE tries to describe why she decided to write love-letter to the new boy at school in the character of Heidi, a lonely rich girl. Later, the situation backfires when she shares the story with her other school friends and they decide to set up a meeting between Ray, the new boy, and the imaginary Heidi. I never said I hated him. In a way I didn t hate him at all, like I even felt Feeling for him, I mean, with wondering sort of Who he was exactly, because he just came out of the blue in the winter term, and we couldn t place the way he looked or the way he talked, the rare times he was asked and would have to answer. There was nothing, I mean to go on with this Ray, Nothing at all to go on. So one day, Not Valentine s but before, in the weeks before, With Christmas moving away and instead of it getting Lighter, it getting colder and darker, one day I wrote to him, to Ray, can t say why I did it, I didn t say who I was, or rather I did say But what I said was I was Heidi, I don t know why, and I said I lived In a mansion in a great park, that I had horses. And I m not like that at all, I never liked horses. But Heidi did, still does, and she sat in the hall Of a high, white brick mansion With pillars on the outside At the end of a beautiful lawn and we had a pool I told him not that first time, that was later I only said I d seen him once, down the shops, And I wanted to be his friend. My name was Heidi. Page 2 of 12

3 From Raised in Captivity by Nicky Silver Sebastian has re-met his twin sister Bernadette at his mother s funeral, and decided to liven up and end his therapy. His therapist is seated at a desk, and he is seated opposite her. He is quite anxious. Sebastian: I don t know how to say this. I, I m not sure how to approach it. Um. The thing is, the thing is I ve made a decision. I have [He shifts in his chair] I ve been coming here, to see you, every Friday for four and a half years. It s become a habit, something I do without questioning. But this morning my mother was buried did I mention that? She was. She died. She was killed by her shower-massage. Anyway, there, at the funeral, certain things became disturbingly clear to me. My sister was there. She sang. As you know, I ve mentioned Bernadette, I think she s completely insane. For instance, our birthday parties were pageants of hysteria. My mother always gave us one party, our being twins, and every year Bernadette would have what I recognized, even then, as mini-nervous breakdowns. When we were ten, we had a clown. I ll never forget it. That was the year, I think, she slipped, irredeemably, round the bend. It was hot, August, and the temperature must ve reached a hundred and ten in that front yard. There were about two dozen children there, none of whom I particularly liked, and none of whom was having a particularly good time. We just sat there, sad, withered children on a patch of brown, burned-up grass. My mother had, as always, planned every moment of the day with military precision. Two o clock: three-legged races. Two fifteen: passing oranges under our chins. At three o clock, the entertainment arrived. A clown: Mr Giggles. Mr Giggles was extremely old. It s true that all adults seem old to small children, but Mr Giggles would have seemed very old to very old people! He was old. His skin was the texture and non-colour of white raisins. Page 3 of 12

4 From Breathing Corpses by Laura Wade Breathing Corpses takes its title from Sophocles assertion: When a man has lost all happiness. He is not alive. Call him a breathing corpse. The play follows a gruesome cycle of linked deaths and how they affect the living. AMY is chambermaid in a mid-price hotel. She lets herself into one of the rooms to clean only to discover a dead boy in the bed. This is the second time it has happened to her and she wonders whether she ll lose her job over it. So she talks to the body whilst trying to pull herself together. AMY I m OK Amy wipes her eyes and smiles weakly. Just you re dead and I m going to get sacked I think, so - Not very not very good, is it? She laughs at herself. Talking to you. She frowns, looking around the room. That s new. She signs and turns back to the corpse. What s your name, Mr Man? She turns back to the bed, pretending that the corpse spoke. I ll go down and tell them in a minute. Probably think I m joking this time. Beat. Amy sees an envelope propped up on the dressing table. Oh, you did a letter. Nice. Amy picks the envelope up. You know you look I bet you were lovely. I bet you were really really kind. Not a person I d ever really talk to but. But you look lovely. Don t fancy you or anything, you re a bit old for me. Probably got kids my age. Oh god have you got Beat. She looks at the envelope. Does it say in here? Who s Elaine? She turns the envelope over in her hand. Page 4 of 12

5 You didn t lick it. You know they ll take this. Evidence. She ll not get it for days. She ll have a few days of not knowing why, while they re doing tests on it and stuff. If you ve said why in here. D you mind if I It s just you ve not sealed it, so no-one d know, cept you and me and I won t tell anyone if you don t. Amy opens the letter and turns it over to see the name at the bottom. Jim. Hi Jim. She reads the letter. Oh my god. A woman in a box. Like a cardboard box? God. Yeah, that s really hard. Hard enough find you, can t imagine if I found one in a box. Didn t you wonder about who was going to find you? Amy finishes the letter. That s a really nice letter, Jim. I mean, you know For that kind of letter it s nice. Not too long, you don t blame anyone. Wouldn t seem fair, really, they never get a chance to say anything back. Good you haven t blamed anyone. D you mind if I open the window? It s just you smell a bit. No offence, but. It s just You ve had a stressful time, what with the (Gestures to the letter.) and I think you ve on the sheets, so She opens the window. Cold out there. Don t want to smell nasty when they come in, do you? Page 5 of 12

6 From Punk Rock by Simon Stephens Edgy and acute, Punk Rock is a slow-building story of violence at school, told with compelling depth and tension. The play introduces us to seven high-achieving teenagers at a fee-paying grammar school. They are holed up in the Upper School library, tucked away from supervision, revising or not, as the case may be for their mock A-Levels. William We went to Cambridge University together in the summer holidays. On a visit. He's a lot funnier when you get him on his own. I think he gets nervous of speaking too much25in front of people like Bennett. People notice him because of his scholarship tie. He said that it's a constant reminder. He took me to where Isaac Newton studied. He took me to the Botanic Gardens there. Showed me a tree which is apparently a descendent of the apple tree that Newton sat under. It was unlike anything I've ever seen. Nobody from my family's ever even been to university before. We're not a family where that kind of thing happens. We went to King's. Which is the college I've applied for. Asked somebody where we should go and look. There was a doctor in there. A scientist. Somebody with, he had a white coat on. He told me we should go and look at the chapel there. He said it was rather beautiful. I'd never heard a man use the word beautiful like that before. It was beautiful, by the way. Parts of it date from the middle of the fifteenth century. The ceiling is spectacular. It has rather breathtaking fan vaulting. It was designed by Wastell. And built by him, actually. If my application's accepted I'll have my interview next month. I hope I get one, an interview. They do the mock interviews in here. Lloyd does them. It'd be great. Just me and Lloyd. In here. Having an interview! It's half three. We should be going home. Page 6 of 12

7 From Antigone by Sophocles translated by Don Taylor The story of one sister s loyalty to both her brothers, regardless of their acts or opposing political beliefs, Antigone is one of the most consistently popular plays in the history of drama. Look at me, citizens of my father's land. See: come to the end my last path, last look at the light of the sun. Never again. Death, who puts all to sleep, death leads me still alive to the shore of that languorous river, Acheron. No wedding song for me, no hum outside the bedroom doors. No, no song for me at all. I will marry that bitter river Death. I will marry Acheron. I heard once of our Phrygian guest, Niobe, the daughter of Tantalos. I heardof her dismal death. How on that volcanic crest, she felt stone creep like ivy through her limbs taming her into stillness stone. And men tell how under the incessant beating of rains and snow she dissolves in her grief, tears flow from her stony brows, trickle down the cracked rock of her body. That is the how the gods are taking me to bed. Now they laugh at me. I'm to be reviled. In the name of the gods of my father, can't you wait until I am dead? Must it be while I stand here before you! City, city and you, its well-born citizens. Streams of the river Dirke Thebes: sacred grove, rich chariot ground, be my witnesses now. See: how no friend weeps for me. See according to which laws I am taken to my rocky prison, my unexpected tomb. Ill-fortune on me, an alien among the living and alien among the dead no longer alive and yet not dead. Page 7 of 12

8 From Dancing at Lughnasa by Brian Friel It is 1936 and harvest time in County Donegal. In depicting two days in the life of a family, Brian Friel evokes not simply the interior landscape of a group of human beings trapped in their domestic situation, but the wider landscape, interior and exterior, Christian and pagan, of which they are a part. Maggie When I was sixteen I remember slipping out one Sunday night it was this time of year, the beginning of August and Bernie and I met at the gate of the workhouse and the pair of us off to a dance in Ardstraw. I was being pestered by a fellow called Tim Carlin at the time but it was really Brian McGuinness that I was that I was keen on. Remember Brian with the white hands and the longest eyelashes you ever saw? But of course he was crazy about Bernie. Anyhow the two boys took us on the bar of their bikes and off the four of us headed to Ardstraw, fifteen miles each way. If Daddy had known, may he rest in peace And at the end of the night there was a competition for the Best Military Two-step. And it was down to three couples: the local pair from Ardstraw; wee Timmy and myself he was up to there on me; and Brian and Bernie And they were just so beautiful together, so stylish; you couldn't take your eyes off them. People just stopped dancing and gazed at them And when the judges announced the winners they were probably blind drunk naturally the local couple came first; and Timmy and myself came second; and Brian and Bernie came third. Poor Bernie was stunned. She couldn't believe it. Couldn't talk. Wouldn't speak to any of us for the rest of the night. Wouldn't even cycle home with us. She was right, too: they should have won; they were just so beautiful together And that's the last time I saw Brian McGuinness remember Brian with the? And the next thing I heard he had left for Australia She was right to be angry, Bernie. I know it wasn't fair it wasn't fair at all. I mean they must have been blind drunk, those judges, whoever they were Page 8 of 12

9 From The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams TOM: Listen! You think I m crazy about the warehouse? You think I m in love with Continental Shoemakers? You think I want to spend fifty-five years down there in that - celotex interior! With fluorescent tubes? Look! I d rather somebody pick up a crowbar and battered out my brains - than go back mornings! I go! Every time you come in here yelling that Rise and Shine! Rise and Shine! I say to myself, How lucky dead people are! But I get up. I go! For sixty five dollars a month I give up all that I dream of doing and being - ever! And you say self self s all I ever think of! Why, listen, if self is what I thought of, Mother, I d be where father is gone! As far as the system of transportation reaches! He starts past his mother, she reaches for his arm Don t grab at me, Mother! I m going to the movies! No wait, I m going to opium dens! Yes, opium dens - dens of vice and criminal hangouts, Mother. I ve joined the Hogan gang. I m a hired assassin, I carry a tommy gun in a violin case! I run a string of cat houses in the Valley! They call me Killer, Killer Wingfield. I lead a double life, a simple honest warehouse worker by day and by night a dynamic Czar of the underworld, mother! I go to gambling casinos, spin away fortunes on the roulette table! I wear a patch over one eye and a false moustache, sometimes put on green whiskers. On those occasions people call me El Diablo! Oh, I could tell you things to make you sleepless! My enemies plan to dynamite this place. They re going to blow us all sky-high some night! I ll be glad, very happy, and so will you! You ll go up, up on a broomstick, over Blue Mountain with seventeen gentlemen callers, you ugly, babbling, old witch! Page 9 of 12

10 From: King Lear by William Shakespeare EDMUND Thou, Nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moonshines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? Wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true, As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? Who, in the lusty stealth of Nature, take More composition and fierce quality Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, Go to th' creating a whole tribe of fops, Got 'tween a sleep and wake? Well then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund As to th' legitimate. Fine word "legitimate"! Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top th' legitimate -: I grow, I prosper; Now, gods, stand up for bastards! Page 10 of 12

11 From: Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare JULIET: Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have killed my husband. Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring! Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband. All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murd'red me. I would forget it fain; But O, it presses to my memory Like damnèd guilty deeds to sinners' minds! 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banishèd!' That 'banishèd,' that one word 'banishèd,' Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Page 11 of 12

12 From Chasing Amy by Kevin Smith Holden McNeil (20 s) is trying desperately to explain to his best friend, a lesbian, that he loves her. HOLDEN: I love you. And not in a friendly way, although I think we're great friends. And not in a misplaced affection, puppy-dog way, although I'm sure that's what you'll call it. And it's not because you're unattainable. I love you. Very simple, very truly. You're the epitome of every attribute and quality I've ever looked for in another person. I know you think of me as just a friend, and crossing that line is the furthest thing from an option you'd ever consider. But I had to say it. I can't take this anymore. I can't stand next to you without wanting to hold you. I can't look into your eyes without feeling that longing you only read about in trashy romance novels. I can't talk to you without wanting to express my love for everything you are. I know this will probably queer our friendship -no pun intended- but I had to say it, because I've never felt this before, and I like who I am because of it. And if bringing it to light means we can't hang out anymore, then that hurts me. But I couldn't allow another day to go by without getting it out there, regardless of the outcome, which by the look on your face is to be the inevitable shoot-down. And I'll accept that. But I know some part of you is hesitating for a moment, and if there is a moment of hesitation, that means you feel something too. All I ask is that you not dismiss that -at least for ten seconds- and try to dwell in it. Page 12 of 12