05.04.2021 - Auditions for Actors - Mrs Williams

For this unit, we have to pick 2 contrasting monologues and perform them to act as an audition (in the form of a self-tape) to a drama school.  Currently, I am looking at 5 different monologues:

Amy's monologue from And Turning, Stay by Kellie Powell

Don't you dare walk away from me! And don't tell me you're sorry! And don't tell me to forget it, and don't you dare tell me to "let it go." God knows, I'd like to. I wish I could, but I can't! I can't forget that we had something, and you're running away. You're running away! Don't you see, Mark? You're running from what I've searched for all my life! Why, because you're scared? Well, I'm scared too, but you and I - we have something worth fighting for. We could make it work, I'm not saying it would be easy, but I care about you. And I know deep down, under this (Spitting out the word.) bravado, you care about me. And that's what it's all about, Mark, don't you get it? It's the human experience. You can pretend all you want, but you're only lying to yourself. You're denying the simple and wonderful fact that you are emotional, and vulnerable, and alive. Can you honestly stand there and tell me that I mean nothing to you? That everything that happened that night was a lie? That you feel nothing? (AMY is crying or close to it. The following is a painful statement that she makes not to attack or threaten Mark but rather, to allow herself closure with the situation.) I feel sorry for you, Mark. I'll move on. I'll find someone else. I'll be all right, because I will know that I tried. That I did everything I could. But someday you will look back, and you will realize what you threw away. And you will regret it always.

Mildred's monologue from The Hairy Ape by Eugene O'Neill

Please do not mock at my attempts to discover how the other half lives. Give me credit for some sort of groping sincerity in that at least. I would like to help them. I would like to be some use in the world. Is it my fault I don't know how? I would like to be sincere, to touch life somewhere.

(With weary bitterness.)

But I'm afraid I have neither the vitality nor integrity. All that was burnt out in our stock before I was born. Grandfather's blast furnaces, flaming to the sky, melting steel, making millions- then father keeping those home fires burning, making more millions- and little me at the tail-end of it all. I'm a waste product in the Bessemer process- like the millions. Or rather, I inherit the acquired trait of the by-product, wealth, but none of the energy, none of the strength of the steel that made it. I am sired by gold and darned by it, as they say at the race track- damned in more ways than one.

Sylv's monologue from East by Steven Berkoff

I for once would like to be a fella, unwholesome both in deed and word and lounge around one leg cocked up and car keys tinkling on my pinky. Give a kick * at talent strolling and impale them with an impertinent and fixed stare … hand in Levi-Strauss and teeth grinding, and that super unworrisome flesh that toys between your thighs, that we must genuflect and kneel to, that we are beaten across the skull with. Wish I could cruise around and pull those tarts and slags whose hearts would break as he swiftly chews us up and spits us out again … the almighty boot! Nay, not fair that those pricks get all the fun – with their big raucous voices and one dozen weekly fucks … cave mouths, shout, burp and Guinness soaked … If I dare do that … ‘What an old scrubber-slag-head’ utter their fast and vicious lips … so I’d like to be a fella. Strolling down the front with the lads and making minute and limited wars with knife-worn splatter and invective splurge. And not have the emblem of his scummy lust to Persil out with hectic scrub … just my johnny tool to keep from harm and out of mischief … my snarling beasty to water and feed from time to time to rotten time … to dip my wick into any old dark and hot with no conscience or love groan … doth he possess the plague in gangrened bliss to donate to me and not give a shit. I am snarled beneath his bristly glass-edged jaw, beneath a moving sack of leer and hard and be a waste-bin for his excessives and embellishments.

Ophelia's monologue from Hamlet by William Shakespeare

O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword,
Th’ expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
Th’ observ’d of all observers, quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
That suck’d the honey of his music vows,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason
Like sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh,
That unmatch’d form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy. O, woe is me
T’ have seen what I have seen, see what I see.

Bette's monologue from The Marriage of Bette and Boo by Christopher Durang

Hurry up, Boo. I want to use the shower. (Speaks to the audience, who seems to be her great friend:) First I was a tomboy. I used to climb trees and beat up my brother Tom. Then I used to try to break my sister Joanie’s voice box because she liked to sing. She always scratched me though, so instead I tried to play Emily’s cello. Except I don’t have a lot of musical talent, but I’m very popular. And I know more about the cello than people who don’t know anything. I don’t like the cello, it’s too much work and besides, keeping my legs open that way made me feel funny. I asked Emily if it made her feel funny and she didn’t know what I meant:; and then when I told her she cried for two whole hours and then went to confession twice, just in case the priest didn’t understand her the first time. Dopey Emily. She means well. (Calls offstage:) Booey! I’m pregnant! (To audience:) Actually I couldn’t be because I’m a virgin. A married man tried to have an affair with me, but he was married and so it would have been pointless. I didn’t know he was married until two months ago. Then I met Booey, sort of on the rebound. He seems fine though. (Calls out:) Booey! (To audience:) I went to confession about the cello practicing, but I don’t think the priest heard me. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even give me a penance. I wonder if nobody was in there. But as long as your conscience is all right, then so is your soul. (Calls, giddy, happy:) Booey, come on!