Leigha Horton :: Greenroom
• • • • •

I was lurking around The Callboard, an online discussion forum for Twin Cities actors, the week before last and stumbled upon a conversation about auditioning techniques. Someone suggested that everyone should read Michael Shurtleff’s Audition. Then roughly 20 more people responded that they too had read it and found its advice invaluable.

This lead me to two questions, 1) where the hell did everyone hear about this; and 2) what rock have I been living under? This just reinforced that I received a phenomenal liberal arts education in college, yet a highly uninformative (on a practical, business-level) theater education. I can tell you all about plays by early American women, but I can’t tell you why you’re supposed to wear the exact same clothes to callbacks as you did to the initial audition. Here I am, many, many thousands of dollars later, learning practical, business-level stuff on chat boards. Great. Somewhere I hear someone’s mother singing a hollow, yet loving, “I told you so.”

Anyway, reading the conversation on The Callboard made me feel embarrassed and a little ashamed… if I am to take myself seriously as an actor, it is my responsibility to be not only professional, but informed. It had immediately become apparent that I was not as informed as I had previously thought. And it had immediately become apparent that I have some work to do. So I hit the pavement. Last Sunday I walked into Uptown to scout out Audition at some of our wonderful independent and second-hand bookshops and found a lightly-used copy for three dollars. I also discovered a copy of Robert Cohen’s Acting Professionally: Raw Facts About Careers in Acting (had it in college, didn’t find it immediately useful, got rid of it…or so I thought. I came home to discover the college copy on my top shelf – oops.), Richard Brestoff’s The Camera Smart Actor, and a reference book entitled The Independent Film Producer’s Survival Guide. All for under $25.

I immediately sat down when I got home and read the first 25 pages of Audition. Thankfully, there was plenty that I already knew or had learned (the hard way, of course) over the last several years; but I also learned a handful of new tips and tricks that I had never before encountered. Those three dollars were the best that I have ever spent. Not bad for reigniting my practical performing arts education.

Holy Hannah in a honkin’ huge hand-basket. Know how I said two posts ago that I hadn’t heard back from Children’s Theatre Company, so assumed that I ultimately wasn’t chosen for the part – but the callbacks were an honor nonetheless? I was wrong. YES – I WAS WRONG, and I’ve never been happier to say so! Dudes, I got cast. My very spanking first audition at the illustrious CTC, and I got cast!

This winter I shall warm the hearts of wee ones in Tale of a West Texas Marsupial Girl – in the role of awesomely named Lacey Rubbertree. And it’s professional! And it’s full-time! And there’s a real-live bunny outside my window right now, no doubt here to congratulate me because we all know that animals talk to you when you’re a princess! And I am so excited that I don’t even know how to act properly when I think about it! HI LITTLE BUNNY! THANK YOU FOR COMING TO VISIT!

Oh, MAN. This is really really good – nay, this is FANTASTIC.

Callbacks without castings: good for my ego; ineffectual for my resume. sigh.

Two weeks ago I was unexpectedly called in for an audition at The Children’s Theatre and ended up making callbacks the following week (not bad for my first audition there, eh? More! More!). I haven’t heard back from them, so am assuming I ultimately was not chosen for the part – but the callbacks were an honor nonetheless.

In addition to that, I had been specifically requested to hold a date for a Target radio commercial voiceover – they indicated I was on their “short list.” Ultimately, it turned out that whoever was on the shorter end of their list got the gig. Still, it was momentarily exciting… my hopes are that next time they’re looking, they’ll go back to that short list. Hell, at 5’2”, few people do short better than me.

Next week shall be The Week of Definites. Because I’m short.

Two weekends ago I auditioned at The History Theater for their fall production of The Orphan Train. After some consideration, I have come to the conclusion that it is indeed fair to extend the metaphor to daily-newspaper-movie-review obnoxiousness, and call the audition An Orphan Trainwreck.

Upon checking in, I realize that I can hear the auditioners in the rehearsal room. This is not good for two reasons – it means that a) I’ll be listening to the auditioners and gauging myself against them; and more importantly, b) the other auditioners will listen when I’m auditioning and gauge themselves against me. This thought rattled my cage a little.

After I’ve found a little corner to go over my monologue and song in my head, in walks the real-world incarnation of Darth Maul – one of the meanest and most immature people I’ve ever worked with. Ever. Truly, in the past 15 years of acting, there are only five people whom with I’ve ever had problems working…of those five people, she wins, hands down, for Most Evil. Consider this point in relation to Point B of Paragraph Two.

So now I’m going over my monologue and song in my head, listening to the other auditioners, and thinking about how “Vader” is a funny thing to nickname a mean girl (but how Darth Maul isn’t funny and neither is this girl who is now in the room with me). Then Teresa gets called in for her audition. Teresa is the person who is scheduled immediately before me. Teresa is also the person who goes into the rehearsal room and proceeds to audition using the same song that I am going to be auditioning with for the very first time. Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.

I get into the audition room and meet the director, choreographer, composer, and accompanist. They’re all lovely. But then I recognize the choreographer, and proceed to quickly acknowledge our connection. Bad move. Turns out she left my present talent guild about a month after I started there, on bad terms. So now I’m immediately associated with bad terms. Dear Leigha, meet your new friend, Losing Battle.

Overall, the day did everything it possibly could to freak me right the hell out. Despite that, the song and monologue actually went well. But just to finish things off, I almost got mugged on the way back to my car. But I didn’t actually get mugged, so score one for Horton. Take that, stupid day.

And because I’m the total dork that I am, I literally gave myself a pat on the back when I was driving home.

The Waiting Game sucks. It is a bad game and I don’t like it. The only thing I have ever liked about waiting is Bob Marley’s “Waiting in Vain” – one of the best songs on the planet. Ever. But that’s it. Okay, okay, there are some other things that are good to wait for, because the waiting makes the experience that much richer, but I am tired of waiting for things right now. Lord, looking back on my last few posts, I’m sensing a theme here. Let’s not have a therapy session right now and deconstruct what all this means, okay? Let us instead get to the task at hand:

So what is the task at hand, one might ask? I shall tell. I auditioned again last night (yes, it was only last night – bugger off) at callbacks for Gremlin Theatre’s production of The Petrified Forest over at The Loading Dock. The fact that I was even called back came as a huge surprise – I first auditioned last Wednesday night at 9 pm, which made me the last person they saw after two days of auditioning actors, and which I thought gave me a slim chance at best. Lo and behold, on Saturday I got a call (my caller ID displayed “GREMLIN” – how’s that for disarming?) – I answered to discover that I had made callbacks for the role of Gabrielle. Not bad, especially since I wasn’t waiting for the call.

And callbacks went swimmingly. The director was intelligent, pointed, and humorous and the only fellow reading for Squire was hauntingly good. I felt powerful and effective in my performance, the energy with the other actor was palpable, and the director’s feedback was insightful and promising. All of which, of course, furthered my investment, which is NOT GOOD. This is when the disappointment starts to matter.

Just a few examples of why it’s bad to be invested before the proverbial chicken-egg has hatched: I felt really good about Columbia, yet we all know how that turned out. Or how about two weekends ago when I auditioned for a feature film and the casting director went gaga over my performance and highly praised my audition right there on the spot, only to tell me again over e-mail that I did a great job, and oh, by the way, here are the names of the two people we’re calling back for the role (my name wasn’t on that list).

I’m not bitter. Really. I’m just trying to illustrate a point about the dangers of getting invested in something before finding out if I’ll even be involved.

I’ve been painting tonight to try and keep my mind off of it. Not bad with the right music and the thunderstorm lighting up the night sky. Not bad at all.

…or All the Tedious Details of How I Got Cast in Twelfth Night at Theater in the Round in a Role Usually Played By Men and Liked It

November 29th: The Neverending Audition
7 pm – Arrived at the theater, signed in, then dutifully found a corner on the floor of the overly-actory lobby and reviewed my monologue roughly a million times.

8 pm – scored a coveted spot on what would turn out to be a very hard bench. Saw some familiars, traded witty banter at various intervals between the million-and-first and billionth reviews of my monologue.

9 pm – after getting out of her audition, a girl announced to her “friend” that it went REALLY well. Her monologue, she continued, was Beatrice from Much Ado About Nothing. Damnit. Beatrice from Much Ado About Nothing was the monologue I was REALLY reviewing for the trillionth time. Gah.

10:07 pm – “Leigha Horton, you’re on deck.” Thank GOD. I stand up and stretch and forget my entire monologue. Continue to obsess over monologue until called onto stage.

10:15 pm – called onto stage.

10:18 pm –
Them: “Thanks Leigha, that was great! We’ll be calling people tonight to let them know if we’d like to see them again at tomorrow night’s callbacks.”
Me: Tonight? Really? You’re going to be up pretty late!
Them: yeah, well…

10:30 pm – Get home and want to crash, but instead phone Monkey with all the details. He tries to remind me of my official “Audition, Then Forget About It” Rule (if I don’t hear back, no big deal; if I do, it’s party time), and I try to explain how this one is different. How I really, really want this, and really think that I am able to do the show justice – me and Bill are tight, monkey! TIGHT. At this point I have officially become tired and whiny. Not the sexiest of states, but whatever – I’ve got needs. Rules no longer apply.

11:30 pm – no call. I go to bed very, very sad.

November 30:
Wake up, still very sad.

In the afternoon, I get an e-mail explaining that David’s decision is way harder than he anticipated, and he needs more time to pull together the list of names for callbacks. The Horton Happy Dance ensues…I have not been officially denied yet. There is hope. SWEET. And then I realize that it just means more waiting and wondering. Horton Happy Dance comes to an abrupt stop.

December 3:
I get a call from the Stage Manager – David would like to see me again at callbacks on December 6. Score. Resume HHD.

December 6: The Neverending Callback
6:30 pm until 10:45 pm. Callbacks. I’m there. Cool. Some of the mean people at the first auditions haven’t been called back. Also cool. Learn fascinating things about strangers while waiting in the lobby. Get called in to read three or four times over the course of the first three hours. Learn that fellow actor Stephen Frethem and I grew up about three houses down from each other when we were kids. Nothing for the last hour, watch proudly as the former strangers marry and bear children, get dismissed. Head home. Squeal all the details to Monkey. Sleep.

December 7?: It’s all just a blur now
Get the call from David that I was funny and he’d like to cast me in the role of Feste. AKA The Clown. AKA the really clever, funny, exceptionally well-written part that’s always played by men. And then I said, “Let me understand this, ‘cause, I don’t know maybe it’s me, I’m a little fucked up maybe, but I’m funny how? I mean, funny like I’m a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh… I’m here to fuckin’ amuse you? What do you mean funny, funny how? How am I funny?”

Oh, wait, that was Joe Pesci in Goodfellas. I told you it’s all kind of blurry. I actually said something like, “YES!—wait, what? Feste? Really? That is a SWEET role, but I’m a girl. Well hell, if you want me to play Feste, I will play Feste. Cool.”

So there we have it…angst and sadness and joy and swearing-that-never-happened all wrapped up in a freak package just so that I can be your clown. Dig.

Saturday night I saw the closing performance of Live Action Set’s Please Don’t Blow Up Mr. Boban, a 90-minute wartime romp through the joy and grit of humanity re-mounted post-Fringe Festival at The Loring Playhouse.

Overall, a beautiful, moving piece of performance-dance-theater that certainly deserved all the praise it received. There were a few places where I recognized modified improvisation warm-up games which could have certainly been left out of the piece and rendered it just as, if not more, effective, but they also helped establish a supportive group dynamic that was palpable. The story centered around a bistro owner, Mr. Boban, whose shop is bombed, his brother a casualty of that bombing, yet continued on as the townspeople’s safe-haven on both literal and figurative levels. Between a rebel that took up residence in Boban’s refrigerator and the soul of a dead little girl who stuck around until her photograph-plastered mother found her, it was at once surprisingly funny and heartbreaking. The most touching part of the evening, however, was when an audience member on the other side of the stage (the performance played in the round) began to silently cry during a particularly moving scene. The young boy that he was with, perhaps 11, noticed, scooted closer to his friend and extended his little arm up to try and embrace the grown-up’s shoulders. His arm couldn’t quite reach all the way around, but the sentiment was clear. Sadly, children are often far more empathetic than we tend to notice when we’re wading in our own moments.

So since this is my website and I’m an actress and therefore have an obligation of self-servitude to fulfill, I have to interpret the Mr. Boban experience in a way that speaks directly to my personal dramas of the moment. Ready? O-KAY!:

I walked away from the theater feeling a bit melancholy and realized that being a part of that audience made me miss the stage even more than I already have been missing it. Voice-over work is certainly gratifying, but rather lonely at the same time; I want to work in an ensemble again, I want to feel the energy of a room and dance with it. Well, dance with it in an actor way, not a dancer way (although the two forms are being integrated more and more in the work I see lately).

Over the past month or two, I’ve been checking out tctheatreandfilm.org for audition listings, but not every company/venue lists there. And the old stand-by, the Star Tribune 550’s, is something that I don’t go out and buy on Sundays because I already get the New York Times – I think that I should be able to get the same info through the Star Tribune online, but no such luck. The STrib online classifieds are really quite terrible, actually – more so since they changed their search engine preventing one from viewing all submissions under the 550 header. So there we have it: half-assed searching for stage work, and nothing to show for it. Surprising? Nope. Disappointing? Yep.

Alas, (alack?) it’s time to stop screwing around. I’ve officially hit a plateau in the Twin Cities, and plateaus are sad and scary and lame; so here is my stage-acting agenda for the next two weeks:

1. Get a new headshot (thank you, photographer monkey) and 100 laser prints;
2. Decide on three new audition monologues (contemporary, classic, Shakespeare) and MEMORIZE them;
3. Start actively seeking out stage auditions, and specifically request auditions for the Children’s Theater Company and The Guthrie. It’s time.

Donations accepted. Wish me luck.

Take a flying guess who I was forced to read with at last Tuesday’s audition. Ready? It was Mr. PSA himself – the same fellow from the last awful audition. After a couple of bum auditions at this venue and a strikingly bad vibe from the space itself (duly noted by Nathan who auditioned the night before), I’m starting to think of this place as the Evil Empire. And no, for anyone taking bets, it’s not the Guthrie.

So even though Mr. PSA arrived and checked-in 45 minutes after I did, he ended up getting assigned to me due to the male-to-female ratio. Reid and Erik were there with me (Reid was planned, Erik I happily bumped in to), and Reid did what he could to not get the giggles – it was a noble effort, but not entirely successful.

To quote a light-hearted but dissatisfied Reid, “merr.”

For those of you unfamiliar with the sound, it’s kind of beepy, but in a sad, recalcitrant muppet sort of way.

Ah well, onwards and upwards.

Last Wednesday I auditioned at a reputable theater that shall remain nameless, and I am SO relieved I didn’t get cast that I could just squeal. The disquieting daymare unfolded thusly:

Upon arrival at the audition space, I get paired to read with a seemingly over-trained younger fellow – so methodical that he teeters on a permanent state of awkward. We receive our side (portion of the script to audition with) and agree to read it over separately before rehearsing it together.

I sit and try to read while two of the nine other actors in the lobby have some sort of presentational (read: “aren’t we so cute and likeable and don’t you wish you were our friend?”) domestic dispute. Apparently the guy did something in the theater that “wasn’t right,” and when they reemerge he finds himself on the receiving end of a slap attack – the girl actually flails at him. “What’d I do?!” he screeches. Her answer is a power-play demonstrated by a cool turn in the other direction and an overly-composed walk to the other side of the lobby, followed by a fake-pouting, “you know what you did.”

I return my focus to the script: page two, the characters are physically flirtatious. Page three, they kiss. Wait, kiss? What kind of a director keeps a kissing scene in an audition side? And the attendant said we are to read the whole thing – that means the kiss happens. Damn.

So Mr. PSA and I go into a back room to rehearse, before which, may I note, he digs into his backpack and pops a mint. I can’t figure out if this is considerate or slimy. I later decide it’s both.

Mr. PSA: How comfortable are you with physical boundaries?
Me: Fine. How should we handle this kissing business?
Mr. PSA: I think we should go for it.
Me: [awkward pause] um, Okay.

Okay? Okay?! Why did I say that?! I’d really rather not kiss this kid. It’s not that he’s ugly or anything, it’s just so unnecessary to kiss at an audition. Then again, it’s ridiculous to mime it – neither of the options are ideal.

We get into the theater, and the director addresses me quizzically:

Director: [reading my name off of my headshot] Lee-ga?
Me: [polite, friendly] oh, it’s “Lee-ah”
Director: [long pause, more staring at my headshot] You know, when the ‘e’ comes before the ‘i’ like that, it’s pronounced ‘ay’ (like hay)].
Me: [attempting to be cute and clever] Yes, but if you take away the ‘a’ on the end, the name is pronounced “Lee,” not “Lay” – so it’s “Lee-ah”
Director: [disbelief] uhhhh….
Me: [acquiescing] Yeah, my mom got a little creative…
Director: Well, [pointedly] I guess you’ll pronounce your name however you like. [beat] So, Mr. PSA, it’s nice to see you again – what have you been working on lately?

In the movies, this is usually the kind of exchange between some old salt and a subordinate that’s followed by, “I like you, you’ve got spunk!,” and a promotion. But there was no light-hearted response; it looks like this was a test that I failed. There are few things worse in theater than a director who forces you to contradict him but then doesn’t acknowledge or care for you respectfully standing your ground.

We go on to perform the scene, and right as we are centimeters from kissing the director says, “thank you” (directorspeak for “you can stop now”) and I turn my head just in time to get kissed on the cheek. Yesss! But Mr. PSA doesn’t hear the director and continues. The director says louder, “oh, you’ve rehearsed this part – keep going.” Mr. PSA hears that, there’s some floundering and then he backs up to the line before the kiss. Arrrrgh! The awkward kiss happens, I phone in the rest of the script, the director thanks us again, we walk out of the theater, I leave without saying goodbye to Mr. PSA.

On the drive home I felt like I needed to take a shower, not because of Mr. PSA, but because I felt compromised – I took things that are meaningful to me – my name, my kiss – and devalued them to impress someone who didn’t care. All for a stupid audition. Yes, sometimes failure is a good thing.

Almost two weeks ago I auditioned for a show at Theatre in the Round. This is a non-paying community theater, yet highly respected (so much so that some audiences don’t think you’ve “made it” as an actor in the Twin Cities until you’ve performed there – I will refrain from elaborating on how narrow-minded I think this is considering our vibrant arts community – but that mentality exists and I wanted to note it).

When I checked in for my audition, they handed me the paperwork I needed to complete along with a contact information card that they keep on file, presumably forever. On the back of this card was a very rude awakening: a list of the shows that I’ve auditioned for since the card was first filled out. In 1998. Even though I hate math, I did some anyway and realized that in the SEVEN YEARS I’ve been auditioning for Theatre in the Round, I have never been cast. Ouch.

Granted, I don’t think I’ve ever auditioned there in front of the same director. And I’ve been on the other side of the casting table plenty of times and know what the process is like, but still – seven years?! I get paid stage gigs now with some regularity. I get paid film gigs and voice gigs and any number of other uncategorized gigs – hell, I even get pre-cast! But I can’t land a role at Theatre in the Round? What am I doing wrong?

So, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now – I didn’t get cast for this latest show. The director did, however, send me a very kind e-mail commending me for a strong cold-read and for making him laugh. He also shared that I was his second choice for a specific role. I didn’t really know how to respond to that… um, “hope your first choice drops out?” But then I remembered that if it sounds like a bad idea, it probably is one. I thanked him politely and gave myself a little, mental, pat on the back for pretending to be an adult.

So, I have a few options for my next goal (in terms of Theatre in the Round):

1) Continue this adult trend and keep auditioning like a good sport (boring but respectable/humiliating – it depends on when you ask me);
2) Keep auditioning until I get cast once, consider it a coup, and then never audition there again;
3) Do everything I can to make it BIG, and then continue to audition there and make not-getting-cast into a sport.

Option #1 it probably is – ‘cause I’m an adult. Sigh.