Tuesday, 6 December 2022

MONOLOGUES FOR AUDITIONS

Hey housemates, 

Here are some monolgues that you can perform at any audition.


FEMALES:

From the play The One-Eyed Guru.

Age range: 20s- 50s

Rachel, an unassuming but surprisingly determined woman, has returned home at an unusually late time, where she is confronted by her husband, Jack, who has been anxiously waiting up for her. Eventually, however, it is Rachel who does the confronting, when she produces a scant of particular significance.


The actual use of a light scarf would work well here, adding a physical dynamic at various points throughout the piece, but of course it could justas easily be mimed.


(Proffering a scarf) Here, take it. It's Melanie's: (Beat) Yes, Jack, Melanie's - you do remember Melanie, don't you? You work with her every day… to say the least. Surely her name must

ring a bell or two? I know it's hers. I know it from that pungent smell of a Chanel No. 5 knock-off. That and the fact that I found the tail end of it poking out from beneath our bed. (Beat.) I've seen her wearing it often. It's obviously a favourite. Which is why I'm sure she'd be very relieved to have it returned. (Beat.) And no, this didn't make me feel any better, Jack… having you wait up into the night, wondering all the time where I was? Having you worry and fret about who I was with or what I was doing? Having nasty, insidious thoughts clawing their way into your mind as you tried like a fool to pretend to yourself that everything was all right? No, it didn't. Not really. (Beat) But perhaps… perhaps if everybody knew but you, because you were too cowardly or naive to face the obvious: perhaps if you had your friends telling you that you were being made a mockery of, perhaps if you'd had the phone slammed down on you a dozen times the moment your voice was heard on the other end; perhaps if you'd smelled cheap perfume on your husband's jacket, on his shirts, on the sheets, in the car, up your nose, always, everywhere, lined to the inside of your nostrils like some noxious chemical you couldn't escape no matter where you went, no matter what you did, then yes, yes… I might have felt better.

From the play The Treachery of Images.


Age range: 20s - 50s


In The Treachery of Images, a married couple are placed in the unthinkable position of having to come to terms with the murder of their daughter. While the wife, Christine, has withdrawn into a deadened world of suppressed rage and bitterness, her husband, Tom, has taken the unusual step of publicly announcing his forgiveness of their daughter's

killer, driving a profound wedge between them. Here Christine is found examining the nature of their relationship and whether what they thought they had together ever really existed.


In the original play, Christine is described as a woman of middle age, but in this particular monologue there's nothing in the text to prevent the age range from being broadened.


Ah, yes. that word again... : The problem is there's a you and a there's a me, but I don't believe that there is an us anymore. I sometimes wonder if there ever was. In the beginning, I suppose. But looking back…… what was it? (Beat) What was it really? I'm sure I thought it was love, but I wonder now if it was really just… a close approximation? Because it's all so new, isn't it, when you're starting out? So how are you supposed to know? How do you know what you’re feeling? How do you know if it's the real thing or… or just something close to it? How do you know the difference? I mean, you're innocent and naive and everything’s new, and... then one day you meet someone and you find yourselves attracted to each other, and you share things in common and you make each other laugh and feel special and important in ways you'd never felt before, and it's all rather like being a little drunk. And while it's all still heady and intoxicating, you find yourselves making all kinds of plans

and commitments for the future, and you're so caught up in it all that you don't even notice the buzz wearing off. It all becomes a blur of years and events, of birthdays and anniversaries, highs and lows…a lifetime. And you never stop to re-examine it...not really. Because it's done. And you're

scared to. So you don't. (Beat.) Until something like this happens.




From the play The Reptia, included in the collection Going Solo: One-Act Plays for One Actor.


Age range: 20s - 60s


Taken from the one person play The Replica, we're presented here with an abused wife who we find recounting her recent attempt at regaining some sense of order amid her ever-deteriorating surroundings. Though her manner is friendly and personable, it's also somewhat impassive, a result

of her having become inured to her unfortunate circumstances.


The first time he hit me he seemed genuinely horrified at what he'd done. He appeared, in his anguish, and much to my surprise, to actually take a step back and re-examine himself and the person he'd become. The second time, less so. The third and thereafter it became a matter of routine. (Beat.) Like anything, I suppose, the more you do it the less you think about it. Familiarity breeds contempt…and contempt becomes familiar. It's all what you get used to, isn't it? (Beat.) Before long, I found my face to be hardening almost as fast as my heart. I thought about telling someone. I thought about a lot of things. It's all I ever seemed to do - stare out at nothing in particular… wondering if it would change. (Beat) Eventually it got to the point where I’d let both myself and the house go to such an extent that even I couldn't stand it anymore. One morning, I got up and showered first thing, just like normal people did, made a little effort in my appearance - for what purpose, | was't quite sure, but I did it anyway- and began the task of reclaiming some sense of order out of the chaos that was now my habitat. With a zeal that surprised even me, I swept, dusted, cleaned, sorted, and organized. The bedroom, in particular, had become a shrine to neglect, and the piles of dirty clothes and discarded folderol seemed never-ending. Still, I persevered. Nearing the end of my task, I decided to make sense of the stack of business papers and printed emails that Karl routinely emptied from his briefcase onto the floor of his closet. As I stacked and tidied, I came upon a pornographic magazine filled with pictures of naked teenagers, all with Russian names. Dimitri, Vladimir, Igor, Kostya, Alek. I pushed the magazine back amongst the pile of papers as surreptitiously as I imagined Karl must've done on numerous occasions, and

banished the thought of it from my mind. (Beat.) I'd never seen it.



MALES:


From the play Suburban Redux.


Age range : 20s - 50s


Tristram a rather shy, awkward young man with a slight stutter has just been rebuffed by the high-spirited woman he adores. What began as friendship, son developed into something far more amorous in nature on Tristram’s part, but when his confession of love is met with rejection, he attempts - with painful honesty - not only to accept her decision but to justify it. This is a monologue that will certainly speak to anyone who has ever felt less than adequate in the presence of more dazzling, vivacious company.


While the character in the original play is portrayed as a man of younger years, there is nothing here in the text to prevent an actor of any age from performing this monologue.


No, no, it's quite all right. And it isn't self pity, it it's self knowledge. I'm quite aware of who I am. And I'm quite aware that I've never had a-a particularly interesting or revealing thing to say or contribute in my entire life. And you

needn't be kind, I-I'm not in need of sympathy. Self- knowledge is a source of strength if one's able to embrace it. But the fact remains, when you get right down to it, I'm a decidedly dull individual, and it was stupid and vain of me to

imagine you could regard me as anything else. But it's who I am. I don't wish to be dull. Who would? I can imagine nothing more wonderful than to be an object of fascination in the eyes of another. But no matter how I try it's not to be - not for me, at least. (Beat) But, you see, unlike your husband, whenever I look in the mirror I'm more than capable of facing the truth - however sobering. (Beat) Oh, don't get me wrong - I-I’m not saying I don't find life interesting. I do. I find it immeasurably interesting, as I do people, and art, and music, and literature… and you. I think that must be why I love you a-and love being with you as much as I do - you fill in the bits of me that are missing. When I'm with you I feel as though I am interesting and witty and clever. And I'm sure any number of psychologists would be happy to tell me that that's vicarious a-and weak and wrong of me, but you see… it makes me so very happy. (Beat.) But with you, as with the arts, I'm simply a receptacle for someone else's abilities. I absorb them, I feed on them, they enrich me, but at the end of the day…I bring nothing to the table 



From the play One Night Only, included in the collection Going Solo: One-Act Plays for One Actor.


Age range: 20s - 60s 


Denny is a prison inmate on death row in a Southern U.S. penitentiary. On the last night of his life he decides to conduct an interview with himself while awaiting the imminent arrival of his executioner, who is in an adjoining room and visible through a semitransparent window. Here we find him recalling his initial motivation for contemplating the act of murder as well as his moral justification for choosing to act on those thoughts. 


While a Southern American accent might seem obligatory here, it most definitely isn't. There are almost 3,000 inmates on death row in the United States (at the time of writing) hailing from all parts of the country, as well as roughly 35 foreign nationals from across the globe.


You wanna know about the first time? (Beat.) The first time, the first time, yes, yes, yes... well, well, well… the first time, yes, well, I'd been thinking about it, you see - about killing someone - for quite some time. Quite some time. Years, as a

matter of fact. And then one day I just decided to do it, just because I could, and… because I wanted to know what it felt like, and because I had the ability and the intellectual curiosity, and because... well, I think it's fairly safe to assume

I was probably having a bad day: (Beat) And they said, “But you knew it was wrong, Denny.” (Beat.) But wrong? What's wrong? It's only wrong if you choose to call it wrong. Same as right. Someone decides what's called wrong and whats

called right. They just give it a name. They say that that's wrong and that's right, that's yours and that's mine. Doesn't mean they're right. It's just a choice. Look at him in there - he's about to kill me, and what's more he's being paid to do it

by the same people who say what I did was wrong. So you tell

me? And no one paid me. And I wouldn't say he looks particularly bothered about it either, would you? Look at him, shuffling around in there like he had all day. (Beat.) Hey! (Beat.) Hey! (Beat, then with ferocity.) HEY!I DON'T HAVE

ALL DAY!



From the play The Treachery of Images.


Age range: 20s - 60s


In the days and weeks following the murder of his young daughter, Tom has appeared unusually calm and detached, provoking anger and exasperation from his grief-stricken wife. Here, however, after a particularly virulent confrontation, he finally opens up and reveals to her the reason for his frequently impassive demeanor.


As mentioned previously, though a man of middle age in the source play, nothing in the text here prevents this monologue from being performed by an actor of any age.


I’m.. sure that you already know this, but.. when the human body is… injured in some way, some quite painful way… it releases endorphins into its system in order to numb itself to that which… might otherwise be unbearable. It creates its own opiate to drug itself into tolerating the intolerable. It's how it survives…or tries to. (Pause.) When the police first arrived at my office to...to inform me, consolingly but also quite... bluntly, of what had happened to Susan, I.. well, I don't know how to describe it, quite honestly. Initially I…I didn't believe them, it just didn't seem… possible. I thought there must have been some sort of mistake. I told them as much. (Beat.) They…assured me that there was no mistake… that identification had been found on her body and… that they were… well, very sorry. (beat) After they left I… it didn't so much sink in as …envelop me. Entirely. I waned to scream. Every part of my body wanted to scream. I thought I would explode. It was too much to take in, to contain. I wanted to scream so loudly that the sheer force of my voice would… make it not true. That I could stop it. (Beat) But I couldn't. I couldn't stop it. And I couldn’t

scream. (Beat) Instead, this… strange feeling swept over me. Over my mind. Over everything. It was almost physical. I felt it hit me, roll right over me. It hit so hard I thought I would faint. It was like being drunk. Too drunk. Everything was in slow motion, and I was falling… (Beat.) And then I was numb. And I think I knew why… in a way. But it didn't matter, because I couldn't control it. It all just sort of shut down… because it had to. But it was okay, you see, because it made it...because… I could breathe again. It suddenly all looked different. It was apart from me. (Placing his fist against his chest.) It wasn't in here anymore. It was somewhere else.And so was I. (Beat.) And there I've been ever since……hiding.…scared……in this…strange calm. Scared but protected……from all that would consume me...submerge me. I'm on an island, you see? And it's very small… and it's very lonely. (Beat.) And I can't get off it. Not yet. (His voice cracking with emotion.) And this is how I survive. And I know it may seem cowardly… but it's what I must do. I know there are storms and raging seas all around me, but…but here … here on my island, if I look up at the sky… it's blue and it's calm. and it's safe. And if I just keep looking up … then the rest of it… I can let go of. (Pause.) Please forgive me.

9 comments:

  1. I love this monologues. Thank you Coach!

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  2. Thank you so much coach

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  3. Thank you Coach

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  4. This is amazing. Thank you coach.

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  5. Monologues can be a really helpful tool for actors during an audition. It's important to choose a monologue that resonates with you and showcases your unique voice and talent.

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  6. Really wonderful monologues I must say❤️

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  7. MONOLOGUES: Monologues can be a really helpful tool for actors during an audition. THANKYOU..

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  8. This comes in handy... Thank you

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