At a middle school in the middle of January 2009, the Liken version of “Jonah” made the leap off the page into the real world as we staged our first-ever public read-through of a script.
Our thought was that in the past, we’d read the script together as a group just before we started to shoot. But that was mostly to help the cast gel and find our characters before we started shooting the next day. There was no time to take a step back and look at the show to see if it was accomplishing what we hoped it was accomplishing, let alone revise it.
We had even talked about how beneficial it would be to put on a stage version of a production before we shoot it, so we’d have plenty of opportunity to revise the script, songs and performances to the point where we felt like it was ready to lock it down in movie form. But baby steps.
Our plan here was to assemble a top quality cast, rehearse it for a few hours, then listen to them perform the entire script, including songs, with a small audience. Then we’d assess how it went, make some revisions, then try it again about a month later with a different cast. It’s not a full-fledged stage version, but like I said, baby steps.
We’d been auditioning actors for about a month for the read-through. I was greatly impressed with the caliber of talent that was coming through our doors, which made the casting decisions difficult. Casting is always a bittersweet process. Most of the time, for every role you cast, you have another few actors you’d love to be able to work with, but can’t. At least not this time. On the other hand, we could console ourselves at least somewhat by the notion that we would be putting together a second cast for the read-through in February.
But back to the January read-through. About a week before the read-through, we started making our calls to notify the actors and get them links to copies of the script and songs. Although we were planning on doing the read-through with script in hand, our hope was that they’d be familiar with their lines and certainly their songs, because we knew our rehearsal period would be brief.
The day before the read-through, I met most of the day with Scott Eckern, my co-director on this project. Scott’s been in the musical business for many years, and we feel very blessed to have the benefit of his experience on Jonah. Scott and I read through the entire script out loud, pausing to map out some basic blocking, paring down the narration script, and working through any issues we thought might arise.
Then, on Saturday, Jan. 17, we assembled our cast at Mountain Ridge Junior High School in Highland, Utah, at 2 p.m. As is the Liken way, we opened with a brief word of prayer, had everyone introduce themselves, then dove right into the script.
The set up for the read-through was fairly simple. We did the whole thing in front of the curtain. We had a two rows of chairs on each side of the apron, then two mics set up in the middle of the apron, about 10 feet apart from each other. Directly off center stage, on the floor of the auditorium, was the piano, where Masa Fukuda would do his magic. (Masa was amazing. We had no sheet music, so he merely listened to Aaron’s demo tracks, then worked out how to play it.) On a riser stage right was another microphone for our narrator.
We quickly realized that the four hours we had allotted for the rehearsal would barely be enough to work through the script once, factoring in time for the basic blocking, such as which actor goes to which mic for which bits and the limited amount of staging that we did. I had thought we’d get through the script at least twice, with maybe a little extra time to polish any rough spots. But I knew that plan was out the window when we broke for our first break an hour and a half into the rehearsal and we were only about a quarter of the way into our script.
The time crunch meant abandoning some parts of the show that I had hoped would be in there, so that I could see how they played in front of an audience. It also meant there was little time to work with the actors and their characterizations. But the show had to go on, so focused on certain key points and left it at that.
To make matters more interesting, one of my key actors let me know just before we broke for dinner that something had come up and he wouldn’t be able to make the evening performance. So I had to scramble to find a replacement about an hour before the performance. Fortunately, the evening before, I had gone to a wedding reception with my wife, Suzanne. The reception was for the daughter of one of Suzanne’s former employers. We hadn’t seen this family in over 20 years, and our communication since then had been largely limited to exchanging Christmas cards. But we received an invitation, so we made the drive up to Salt Lake City. And when we walked into the reception hall, we were met by a young man who I recognized as having auditioned for a part in Jonah, but who happened to be the groom’s best man. Although we didn’t have a part for him in the cast for this read-through, I had made a mental note to do my best to find a part for him in the next read-through.
His name is Justin Williams, and as luck would have it, it turned out we got there just as he was about to sing a pair of love songs that the bride and groom had dedicated to one another. Justin’s accompanist turned out to be one other than Masa Fukuda. Small world. They did a great job with both songs, and as we were leaving, Justin had mentioned that he was planning on coming to the read through the next night.
So when I found out I had a hole in my cast, I found Justin’s number and asked if he was still planning on coming and, if so, would he mind coming a little sooner than he planned so we could have him in the show. He was completely gracious and a good sport. When he came in, I sat him down with some headphones and let him listen to the main song his character would be singing a few times. Then Jason Celaya, good sport that he is, helped him rehearse his basic blocking during the dinner break.
After the dinner break, we opened the doors and welcomed an audience of probably about 250 people, which to me was just about the right size – not so big to be overly intimidating to our troupe of actors who, as professional as they were, had only been working together for about four hours on this project, yet big enough to feel like it was a performance as opposed to another rehearsal.
I gave the audience a brief intro to the project, the actors and key behind-the-scenes people, then made my way to my seat in the audience and said a prayer that it would come together. And I have to say that, given that we had never been able to do a single run-through of the show, the way the show came off was nothing short of miraculous. My hat is off to that cast and Masa.
Since our usual delivery format is DVD, I must say that it is a real treat for us to be able to experience a Liken with an audience. To be able to hear them react with laughter and applause is something we don’t get to experience much in the DVD world.
When the show was over, we asked everybody to complete comment cards. We had a version for those 12 and over, and because the opinions of the kids are also important to us, we had another version for those under 12.
I’ve since read through all the cards. We were impressed with how many people took the time to complete the cards, as well as with how serious they took that responsibility. That, along with the results from a focus group session we held immediately after the screening, has formed the basis of a rewrite that I will be tackling soon.
In the meantime, we learned a lot about the read-through process and how we might do things differently next time, but I must say that I am very grateful for how well it went and for how useful the process and feedback was in our efforts to make “Jonah” the very best Liken we can.
Next up, we’ll restart the audition process for a different cast for the February read-through and see how our revisions to the script and songs fare with a new audience. More details on that later.
But for now, let me close by thanking and listing our final cast for the January read-through of “Jonah & the Great Fish”: Jeremy Elliott (Jonah),
David Burton (Humphrey, the Great Fish),
Dan Beck (Capitan),
David Weekes (King of Nineveh),
Jessie Clark Funk (Queen of Nineveh),
Jeff Stevens (Chum),
Edgar Zuniga (Chuy),
Justin Williams (Logan),
Jason Celaya (Ryder),
David Smith (Alejandro),
Paul Cartwright & Josh Tenney & Levi Larsen (The Sharks),
Brittni Smith & Kimberly Roderick & Meagan Rudd (The Crabelles),
Ashlyn Anderson (Chloe),
Hailee Hodgson (Hope),
Kade Tyson (Ramsey),
Aisha Garcia (Lila),
and Nathan Garcia (Lloyd).
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Sunday, January 04, 2009
In Awe of Auditioners
I have the utmost respect and admiration for those who willingly subject themselves to that most hideous of tortures called The Audition.
Personally, I’m batting a thousand when it comes to auditioning for roles and getting them. I wish I could say that was because of my masterful skills in auditioning. But the truth of the matter is I’ve maybe auditioned a handful of times in my life, and the roles that I’ve auditioned for mainly required a guy with a pulse who could stand in the background and move his lips like he was singing.
My first role was as one of the King of Siam’s kids in “The King and I,” as staged by what is now called BYU-Hawaii. Yep, for about three weeks, I played an Asian kid. To help achieve the effect, I dyed my hair black (it was supposed to be this temporary dye that washed out, but it stayed with me all summer that year – looked really weird as my bright red hair started growing back in and I was this two-tone haole). I also wore some serious eye makeup. (I remember how mortified I was after one daytime performance returning to school only to find out that I had forgotten to remove my eye makeup. After a classmate finally stopped laughing enough to point out this fact, I raced to the bathroom where, without any makeup removal cream, I resorted to rubbing my eye area red raw with damp paper towels. Looked like I had been crying for days which, in elementary school, was only slightly less embarrassing than wearing eye makeup.)
The last role I auditioned for was when I was 21. I had just moved with my family to England, and a local church group there was putting on a musical called “My Turn on Earth.” Say what you will about that show, all I know is that it paired me up with this adorable young beauty in a number called “Eternity is You,” a sign from heaven so apparent that even I could not miss it. Suzanne and I were married about a year later.
I enjoyed being in the few shows that I’ve been in, and would’ve loved to have been in many more, but wasn’t. Partly, it was because I had seen and heard myself on tape, and realized that that my gifts were likely elsewhere (I hoped they were at least somewhere), besides on the stage or in front of the camera. But if I had to be honest, the bigger reason I wasn’t in more shows was that most of them required that I first do this horrible process called The Audition. Who invented this, I wondered? The Marquis de Stage? It was horrible. My entrance into the audition room that I mentally practiced to be so full of wit and charm would turn into this catatonic shuffle by some open-mouthed mute boy. In front of The Table, my well-rehearsed monologue would vanish from my brain without a trace, which didn’t really matter much, because my voice, which projected so well in front of my mirror at home, would turn into this barely audible, breathy thing.
Though it has been many years since I have mustered up the courage to personally audition, I am freshly reminded of the pain they inflict as I witness my daughters venture off to audition for various projects in school and in the community. I see the prep, the battle of nerves, the waiting for the phone to ring.
While I have personally left the ranks of the auditionees (somehow the world of theater survived in my absence), I have the utmost empathy, admiration and appreciation for those who willingly subject themselves to this process. Those of us on the other side of the table at Liken could not do what we do without you.
Whenever anyone comes to audition for Liken, I try to imagine that he or she is a family member. Treat them with respect. Express appreciation for their time. Find something positive to compliment. Let them know what’s next. Takes a little longer doing it this way, but it feels like the right way to do it. At least for those of us at Liken anyway.
After conducting perhaps a thousand auditions, a few things have occurred to me about the process that I wish I could pass along to everyone who auditions for Liken. Again, I don’t profess to be an expert at auditioning, this may not have much applicability outside of Liken, and I only offer this for what it’s worth.
1. Audition a bunch. Yes, it’s a horrible experience. But if acting is in your blood, it is an unavoidable part of the process. The more you audition, the more likely you are to get over the awkwardness the process is, and the more you are likely to be the character you want to be.
2. Separate your performance in the audition from the outcome. I know this is easier said than done, but my dream is that those who come to audition could somehow manage to gauge their audition against a different set of criteria than whether or not they got the role. When your audition is done, assess yourself on how well you kept your nerves under control, how well you sang your song or delivered your monologue, how well you handled the cold read or whatever else was thrown your way in the audition. Don’t even glance at the phone. Instead, start working on lining up and preparing for your next audition, rather than wasting any energy on whether or not you got the part. I only mention this because sometimes we have people nail their audition, but because of various circumstances that maybe we didn’t even anticipate, we may not have a role for them in the current production. It pains me to think that someone might beat themselves up wondering what they did wrong or, even worse, that someone might throw in the towel just because they didn’t get a certain role.
3. Build your resume. Most people who are in a Liken have had a number of leading roles in stage productions and have studied their craft at school and in courses. Except for some very young actors (the child who played Baby Jesus in “The First Christmas” comes to mind), it is uncommon for us to cast someone in Liken who doesn’t have extensive experience. This is not an artificial screening mechanism we employ – it’s just that there is a lot to be said for how an actor’s experience on stage or on camera carries into the audition room. It’s also nice to know that an actor has been able to withstand the rigors and nerves that come with a production. The last place we want to see somebody freeze up is when there are dozens of crew people, cameras and lights staring at him.
4. Become the character. By this, I don’t mean you need to start speaking immediately in your character’s accent when you walk into the room or wear a period costume to the audition. But I do mean that when you start to sing or say your monologue, makes us believe that these aren’t lyrics or lines you’re delivering, but the heartfelt expressions from the bottom of your character’s soul. Our productions attract singers, and we are grateful to have had many talented recording artists in Liken. But the ones that can make the leap from the recording booth to a Liken are those that understand the need to let their character shine through their faces as well as the words they are singing. Don’t sing the whole song with your eyes closed. Don’t just stand there, hands at your side. Don’t be a afraid to take a step or two. Gesture. Get into it. Be the character.
5. This is a special note for parents of child actors. I suspect the urge to join your child in the audition room is tremendous. And I can certainly appreciate it. For one thing, if you don’t go in, it will be difficult to provide feedback to help your child in future auditions. For another thing, this is your child we’re talking about, and chances are you don’t know much about whoever is conducting the audition. I know that some people advise against going in with your child at all costs. The concern is that the child might be distracted by the parent. At Liken, we always let the parent decide. If they don’t come in, we typically have a glass window that the parent can watch through or leave the door open so they can at least hear what is going on. And we honestly don’t mind if they choose to come in. However, part of the audition process is to see how well your child responds to us as directors. We’ve had occasions where it is hard for us to get a word in edgewise during the audition, because well-meaning parents have taken over in an effort to get their child to do what they know they can do. As a parent, I completely appreciate the urge to chime in. But from our perspective, it is much more helpful if, when the child looks to the parent for direction or feedback, the parent simply turns the attention back to us with a simple nod our direction or a gentle word.
There are probably other things that I’m missing at the moment, but maybe the above is an okay start. Believe me, when you walk into the audition room, both you and we want the same thing: for you to really nail the audition. What they say about us needing you more than you need us is true: without talented actors, there is no Liken. We look forward to seeing you in the audition room and – at some point, we all hope – in a future Liken.
Personally, I’m batting a thousand when it comes to auditioning for roles and getting them. I wish I could say that was because of my masterful skills in auditioning. But the truth of the matter is I’ve maybe auditioned a handful of times in my life, and the roles that I’ve auditioned for mainly required a guy with a pulse who could stand in the background and move his lips like he was singing.
My first role was as one of the King of Siam’s kids in “The King and I,” as staged by what is now called BYU-Hawaii. Yep, for about three weeks, I played an Asian kid. To help achieve the effect, I dyed my hair black (it was supposed to be this temporary dye that washed out, but it stayed with me all summer that year – looked really weird as my bright red hair started growing back in and I was this two-tone haole). I also wore some serious eye makeup. (I remember how mortified I was after one daytime performance returning to school only to find out that I had forgotten to remove my eye makeup. After a classmate finally stopped laughing enough to point out this fact, I raced to the bathroom where, without any makeup removal cream, I resorted to rubbing my eye area red raw with damp paper towels. Looked like I had been crying for days which, in elementary school, was only slightly less embarrassing than wearing eye makeup.)
The last role I auditioned for was when I was 21. I had just moved with my family to England, and a local church group there was putting on a musical called “My Turn on Earth.” Say what you will about that show, all I know is that it paired me up with this adorable young beauty in a number called “Eternity is You,” a sign from heaven so apparent that even I could not miss it. Suzanne and I were married about a year later.
I enjoyed being in the few shows that I’ve been in, and would’ve loved to have been in many more, but wasn’t. Partly, it was because I had seen and heard myself on tape, and realized that that my gifts were likely elsewhere (I hoped they were at least somewhere), besides on the stage or in front of the camera. But if I had to be honest, the bigger reason I wasn’t in more shows was that most of them required that I first do this horrible process called The Audition. Who invented this, I wondered? The Marquis de Stage? It was horrible. My entrance into the audition room that I mentally practiced to be so full of wit and charm would turn into this catatonic shuffle by some open-mouthed mute boy. In front of The Table, my well-rehearsed monologue would vanish from my brain without a trace, which didn’t really matter much, because my voice, which projected so well in front of my mirror at home, would turn into this barely audible, breathy thing.
Though it has been many years since I have mustered up the courage to personally audition, I am freshly reminded of the pain they inflict as I witness my daughters venture off to audition for various projects in school and in the community. I see the prep, the battle of nerves, the waiting for the phone to ring.
While I have personally left the ranks of the auditionees (somehow the world of theater survived in my absence), I have the utmost empathy, admiration and appreciation for those who willingly subject themselves to this process. Those of us on the other side of the table at Liken could not do what we do without you.
Whenever anyone comes to audition for Liken, I try to imagine that he or she is a family member. Treat them with respect. Express appreciation for their time. Find something positive to compliment. Let them know what’s next. Takes a little longer doing it this way, but it feels like the right way to do it. At least for those of us at Liken anyway.
After conducting perhaps a thousand auditions, a few things have occurred to me about the process that I wish I could pass along to everyone who auditions for Liken. Again, I don’t profess to be an expert at auditioning, this may not have much applicability outside of Liken, and I only offer this for what it’s worth.
1. Audition a bunch. Yes, it’s a horrible experience. But if acting is in your blood, it is an unavoidable part of the process. The more you audition, the more likely you are to get over the awkwardness the process is, and the more you are likely to be the character you want to be.
2. Separate your performance in the audition from the outcome. I know this is easier said than done, but my dream is that those who come to audition could somehow manage to gauge their audition against a different set of criteria than whether or not they got the role. When your audition is done, assess yourself on how well you kept your nerves under control, how well you sang your song or delivered your monologue, how well you handled the cold read or whatever else was thrown your way in the audition. Don’t even glance at the phone. Instead, start working on lining up and preparing for your next audition, rather than wasting any energy on whether or not you got the part. I only mention this because sometimes we have people nail their audition, but because of various circumstances that maybe we didn’t even anticipate, we may not have a role for them in the current production. It pains me to think that someone might beat themselves up wondering what they did wrong or, even worse, that someone might throw in the towel just because they didn’t get a certain role.
3. Build your resume. Most people who are in a Liken have had a number of leading roles in stage productions and have studied their craft at school and in courses. Except for some very young actors (the child who played Baby Jesus in “The First Christmas” comes to mind), it is uncommon for us to cast someone in Liken who doesn’t have extensive experience. This is not an artificial screening mechanism we employ – it’s just that there is a lot to be said for how an actor’s experience on stage or on camera carries into the audition room. It’s also nice to know that an actor has been able to withstand the rigors and nerves that come with a production. The last place we want to see somebody freeze up is when there are dozens of crew people, cameras and lights staring at him.
4. Become the character. By this, I don’t mean you need to start speaking immediately in your character’s accent when you walk into the room or wear a period costume to the audition. But I do mean that when you start to sing or say your monologue, makes us believe that these aren’t lyrics or lines you’re delivering, but the heartfelt expressions from the bottom of your character’s soul. Our productions attract singers, and we are grateful to have had many talented recording artists in Liken. But the ones that can make the leap from the recording booth to a Liken are those that understand the need to let their character shine through their faces as well as the words they are singing. Don’t sing the whole song with your eyes closed. Don’t just stand there, hands at your side. Don’t be a afraid to take a step or two. Gesture. Get into it. Be the character.
5. This is a special note for parents of child actors. I suspect the urge to join your child in the audition room is tremendous. And I can certainly appreciate it. For one thing, if you don’t go in, it will be difficult to provide feedback to help your child in future auditions. For another thing, this is your child we’re talking about, and chances are you don’t know much about whoever is conducting the audition. I know that some people advise against going in with your child at all costs. The concern is that the child might be distracted by the parent. At Liken, we always let the parent decide. If they don’t come in, we typically have a glass window that the parent can watch through or leave the door open so they can at least hear what is going on. And we honestly don’t mind if they choose to come in. However, part of the audition process is to see how well your child responds to us as directors. We’ve had occasions where it is hard for us to get a word in edgewise during the audition, because well-meaning parents have taken over in an effort to get their child to do what they know they can do. As a parent, I completely appreciate the urge to chime in. But from our perspective, it is much more helpful if, when the child looks to the parent for direction or feedback, the parent simply turns the attention back to us with a simple nod our direction or a gentle word.
There are probably other things that I’m missing at the moment, but maybe the above is an okay start. Believe me, when you walk into the audition room, both you and we want the same thing: for you to really nail the audition. What they say about us needing you more than you need us is true: without talented actors, there is no Liken. We look forward to seeing you in the audition room and – at some point, we all hope – in a future Liken.
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