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.