The Auditioners (1st ed. - 07.31.

05) - auditioners5j
Copyright © 2005 Doug Rand

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Dedicated to, inspired by, and possible because of Jonathan
Cast of Characters
1
D (the director)
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
CAMERON
10
11
12

Acknowledgments
Special thanks to R. L. Mirabal and the drama students of Lake
Braddock High School (Burke, Virginia), who performed the
first staged reading of The Auditioners at the International
Thespian Festival in Lincoln, Nebraska on June 24, 2005:
1 .............................................................. Jenny Fornoff
DIRECTOR.............................................Andrew Bare
2 ..................................................................Holly Riggi
3 ..................................................................Casey Stein
4 .................................................................Jenna Socha
5 .................................................................Izzy Salhani
6 ............................................................... R. L. Mirabal
7 ............................................................ Matt Provance
8 ............................................................ C J Shoemaker
9 .....................................................................Rhi Cruse
CAMERON ........................................... Mireille Cecil
10 .......................................................... Mark Jennings
11 ...................................................... Emily Mittelman
12 ..............................................................Allison Stein

6
Author’s Note
Beyond auditioners 1, 2, and 3 (who are definitely female) and
7 (who definitely isn’t), I don’t envision the other characters as
any gender in particular. (Actually, I guess 6 was written with
a male actor in mind, but I’d love to see that assumption
shaken up.) Please feel free to change pronouns and other
gender-specific words as your casting situation demands.

7
 THE AUDITIONERS
by Doug Rand

Scene 1
(Curtain up: A woman, 1, launches straight into the following
monologue. She’s really, really, extremely melodramatic.)
1. The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood;
Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry ‘Hold, hold!’
(We may not even know it’s an audition monologue until she’s done
caterwauling, and the director says:)
D. Thank you.
1. That was my classical monologue, from The Scottish Play.
D. I know.
1. I was playing the role of Lady MacScottishplay.
D. Yes you were.
1. Should I do my contemporary monologue now?
D. I think I’m ready.

9
10 Doug Rand

1. My contemporary monologue is from The Cautionary Tales by Ben

Martin. I’ll be playing the role of Susie Jane.
(She visibly hauls herself into character, and starts emoting again.)
It all started in Home Ec class. So innocently, so easily. My “friend”
Jimbo—I’m putting “friend” in air-quotes, because I realize now
that he was no true friend of mine—Jimbo told me he’d read that
nutmeg can get you high.
I said, “Very funny, Jimbo.” He said no, he was serious—he said his
mom was a pharmacist, and he’d read in one of her books that
while nutmeg in small quantities is a delicious spice that goes well
with pancakes and eggnog, in large quantities it can have halluci-
natory effects. I said I still didn’t believe him. He said, “You’re just
scared to try it.” He dared me to eat all the nutmeg in our Home Ec
spice rack. Then…then he double-dog dared me.
I thought, hey, it’s just nutmeg, and I’ve never backed down on a
dare. So I cocked my head back, flipped up the little plastic cylin-
der, and swallowed all of that nutmeg in one big “hit.”
It was disgusting. My throat burned. My eyes were on fire. And
Jimbo just sat there…and laughed.
There was no hallucination. I was sure I’d been duped. But then, a
few hours later, on the bus ride home, I felt the strangest sensation.
It was like my entire body was bathed in warm light, and if I
wanted, I could just float away. I looked outside the bus window,
and saw a fantastic landscape of deep crimson flower fields and
cascading lavender waterfalls, plus other colors I’d never imagined
in my wildest dreams.
By the time I got home, though, it was all over. The warm glow was
gone—but I had to get it back. So I ate up all the nutmeg in my
mom’s spice rack. When that ran out, I took her credit card and
bought more. I was totally out of control—I didn’t even use a cou-
pon. By the end of the week, I was so desperate to score nutmeg in
bulk that I’d started making out with the floor manager at Costco.
Nutmeg was my life. I had to have my “fix,” and I lived for the next
“trip.” Late one night, while I was licking the powder from a
wholesale tub of discount nutmeg, the whole kitchen started
 The Auditioners 11

spinning. The roof flew off my house, and I could see a silvery-silky
Milky Way dancing into eternity. I floated up into the air, and
plucked stars from the sky. They were like stickers, and I stuck
them all over my body, until I was covered in beautiful starlight.
Then…then I woke up. I still felt bathed in something warm, but
why was I face-up on the kitchen floor? That’s when I realized:
Those weren’t stars I was sticking all over my body. They were
kitchen utensils.
(Beginning to weep:) I was so full of knives, forks, and corkscrews
that I looked like a giant blood-stained porcupine.
This is it, I thought. I’ll never go to college. Or fall in love. My
grandchildren and I will never walk through flower fields and cas-
cading waterfalls together. All because I O.D.’ed on nutmeg.
And now I’m dead.
(Pause.)
D. Thank you.
1. Thank you.

Scene 2
2. My classical monologue is from the tragically underproduced
masterwork by Natalie Stannard, entitled Rosaline’s Lament.
(2 begins:)
O Romeo, Romeo—I’m gonna hurt you, Romeo.
I was looking forward to Uncle Capulet’s party for months! And you
said you were going to sneak in so that you could dance with me, if
you can remember back that far. Back when you told me that I was
the most beautiful girl in the world, and that your eyes were only
for me, that you’d die without my smile.
It feels like only yesterday you said these things. Oh, wait, that’s
because it was only yesterday, right before you suddenly decided
that my loser cousin Juliet should get every last scrap of your atten-
tion.
12 Doug Rand

Frankly, Romeo, I’m disappointed. I question your judgment,

really. Because guess what: Juliet’s not that pretty. Her eyes are too
far apart, and she wears too much makeup, and I know from way
too many summers at sleepaway camp that she snores like a bear.
Also, FYI, Romeo, she’s thirteen. You may not see that as a problem,
but we have certain laws in Verona you might want to think about
before busting a move on little miss jailbait.
Not that you care. You’re probably laying the moves on Juliet right
now, tonight of all nights: The tortured sighing. The balcony by
moonlight. The rhymed couplets. Ungh, you are so predictable.
And here you told me “the all-seeing sun ne’er saw my match since
first the world begun.” You wouldn’t shut up about my bright eyes,
my high forehead and my scarlet lip; my fine foot, straight leg and
quivering thigh; and the demesnes that there adjacent lie—not that
you’re getting anywhere near these demesnes without a ring, lover-
boy. Maybe Juliet is less persnickety on that front. Is that it, Romeo?
Is that why you dropped me for a thirteen-year-old who snores?!
O Romeo, Romeo—you see me coming and you’d better run, Ro-
meo.
What’s in a name? that which we call an ass
By any other name would smell as foul.
You are so dead.

D. Thank you.
2. Thank you.
D. That leaves you with two minutes for your contemporary
monologue.
2. Two minutes for a monologue. I only get two minutes? What if
two minutes isn’t enough to show you everything I can be? How
could two minutes possibly show anyone anything that matters?
I’m so tired of being defined by sound bites.
I spent two hours taking the SAT test, and they gave me a number
that determined what school I got into.
 The Auditioners 13

I spent four years at college (okay, five (and a half (because I got
mono (fine, and failed Spanish)))) and now what does anyone care
about that time in my life? Only sound bites: Name of college, year
of graduation, GPA.
Those are the only drops of my entire college experience that get
distilled into my resume. And then you want me to cram not just
my entire college experience, not just my job experience, but my
entire life, everything relevant about me, into one page? And you’ll
throw it away if it’s over a page? Like that’s a problem? Like it’s
some crime to be so interesting that my experiences just tumble un-
fettered from one page to the next?
My life is not a resume. My life is a novel! A great big Russian
novel, thick and juicy, like a steak, with blood and salt and grit and
truth and things that would take your breath away, things that
would break your mind.
I want you to listen to what I’m about to say: You can’t judge a
book by its cover, you can’t judge a person based on the color of
their skin, and you can’t judge me based on a two-minute mono-
logue!
(Beat.)
D. Thank you.
2. Did you like that?
D. I did. I really did. You actually made me realize for the first time
that—
2. I love that monologue. It’s from a play my friend wrote.
D. Ah. Huh.
2. Thanks again!

Scene 3
(3 is silently vamping up a storm.)
D. Go ahead with your first monologue any time you’re ready.
3. I’m ready whenever you are.
14 Doug Rand

D. Okay then.
3. So are you good and ready?
D. Yes.
3. Good. My contemporary monologue is from Grabbing the Sash by
Kristen Neander.
(And 3 begins.)
I just want to thank you all so much for giving me the opportunity
to become your Queen. If selected, I promise a reign of peace, pros-
perity, and boundless happiness, and also I’ll do my best to repre-
sent our town at nationals. But first, I’d like to let you know a little
bit more about me.
My favorite color is magenta.
My favorite season is summer.
My favorite country is America.
My favorite animal is puppies.
My height is [X]’[X]”. (Use whatever numbers are plausible for this ac-
tor.)
My weight is [XX] pounds, of which I am understandably proud.
My measurements are [XX-XX-XX], which are also a source of great
satisfaction to myself and others.
My website is iamindeedhot.com, where you can gain a deeper ap-
preciation of the previous information.
My screen name is Slinkyminx287, and I like to chat about grown-
up things.
My birthday is [XX-XX-XXXX], so as of three weeks ago, this kind of
chatting is totally legal.
My phone number is unlisted, but you’ll find it on the back of my
headshot.
And now, for the brainiac portion of this pageant, I chose the fol-
lowing question: “Why must human beings always suffer?” I
 The Auditioners 15

thought about this question really hard, since my answer counts for
50 points, which is more than the swimsuit portion—and the more I
thought about it, the more I realized it’s really a trick question.
Because really, the question should be, “Must human beings always
suffer in the first place?” And I totally think the answer is “no.”
We’re so smart, you know? (I’m talking about human beings in
general, not specific individuals, like my idiot sister. (JK, Kaitlyn!))
If we can put a man on the moon and we can figure out that deadly
toxic botulism is good for getting rid of wrinkles, then surely we
have the tools to cure any disease, heal any infirmity, and enhance
any mood.
So the problem, my friends, is untapped potential. I urge you to tap
my potential. When the sash and tiara are mine, I solemnly pledge
that I will do everything in my power to end human suffering. It’s
up to you, judges. You have the choice between a bunch of other
contestants who will blow all their prize money on a trip to Cancun,
or the salvation of our very species. I know you’ll choose wisely.
D. Thank you.
3. Thank you.
D. Are you ready for your classical monologue?
3. I am so ready.
(She performs the exact same Lady Macbeth monologue as before, but
without a hint of murderousness. Instead, she recites the monologue
as if it were just another opportunity to play the seductress, with lit-
tle or no regard to the actual words she’s saying.)
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood;
Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts,
16 Doug Rand

And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,

Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry ‘Hold, hold!’
(She finishes the monologue, and smiles coquettishly.)
D. That was, um—that was a very fresh interpretation.
3. I like to experiment.

Scene 4
4. I’m ready to do my Shakespeare monologue.
D. Please tell me it’s not from the Scottish Play.
4. No, sir.
D. Thank goodness.
4. It’s from Macbeth.
D. What are you— Do you know what you’re saying?
4. What? Macbeth?
D. Stop it! You’re going to jinx all of us!
4. Is this one of those theater superstitions?
D. This is the theater superstition, and you just crossed the line.
Twice.
4. I’m sorry.
D. Thank you for your time.
4. What?
D. Don’t forget your hat on the way out.
4. I’m not wearing a hat.
 The Auditioners 17

D. It’s an expression.
4. You’re kicking me out just because I said Macb—
D. Stop it! Now you have to spin around three times and spit over
your shoulder.
(Pause.)
D. Do it!
(4 very hesitantly does so.)
D. Now say, “O great Thespis, God of The Theatre, please forgive
me.”
4. Was Thespis a god?
D. Do it.
4. “O great Thespis, God of The Theatre, please forgive me.”
D. Good. Now get out.
4. But—
D. GET OUT!
4. I—
D. Next!

Scene 5
5. I really like okra. Did you know that okra is actually a fruit? It’s
also the only fruit that drools. You can’t tell when it’s chopped up
in a gumbo, but if you’ve ever had just plain steamed okra, you
know what I mean. It’s very drool-y. What’s the word for that?
“Viscous.” I think.
I wouldn’t want to live in a world without gumbo. So good. I also
just like the word “gumbo.” And “gumbo-limbo.” That’s a tree in
Florida, but it sounds like a really messy party game.
When I was a kid, my mom made okra every Wednesday. I hated
Wednesdays.
18 Doug Rand

“Moooooooom!” I’d say. “I hate okra! It’s drooooooolly!”

“For your information,” she’d say, “That ‘drool’ is full of vitamins.”
“I don’t care about vitamins! Okra is gross! It’s drooooolly!”
“Sir Barksalot drools, and you love him.”
“Mom! Sir Barksalot is a dog. We don’t eat dogs.”
“For your information, young man, in many foreign cultures dog
meat is considered a delicacy.”
“People eat dogs?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why?”
“Because. Now eat your okra.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat your okra this instant, or tomorrow night I’ll grind up Sir Barksalot
to make our meatballs!”
And then I would cry. And Mom would send me to bed without
dinner.
But years later, when I finally tried okra, I realized: It’s delicious! It
just goes to show that moms are always right in the end. And you
know, she never once killed and ate our dog.

D. Thank you. Where did you find that monologue?

5. I didn’t find it anywhere. I just really like okra.
D. Huh.
5. I do have a monologue from a play.
D. Will this be your classical piece?
5. I think it’s a classic.
 The Auditioners 19

D. Go ahead.

5. Everyone wants to know how I ended up here, you know? Eve-

ryone’s gotta pry—fine. I’m here because enough was enough. I
know you know what I’m talking about. I know you know. Life’s
just one big rejection, right? You’re eight years old playing kickball
or whatever, and what happens? The two quote-unquote “captains”
start picking the best kids to be on their team. Jimmy always gets
picked first, because he’s the fastest—then Big Steve, because he’s
the only eight-year-old who can kick the ball into the outfield—and
you don’t mind, because hey, those guys are good.
But then comes the next pick, and the next, and the next, and it’s
always someone else. You realize that the captains are actually
avoiding you, like you’re the kiss of kickball death or something, and
when you do get picked—dead last—it’s only because they had no
choice. That’s what humiliation feels like; you never forget that.
But you wanted to know how I ended up here. Well, like I said,
enough was enough. I was on an audition. For a voiceover part.
Some stupid radio ad for air conditioners or something. And I
nailed it. I’m not a person with the most self-esteem in the world, as
you may have noticed, so when I tell you I nailed that audition, you
know I was good. Everyone was laughing; I had the casting director
in stitches; so when she smiled and said, “You’ll be hearing from
us,” I really believed it.
So a week goes by, no call yet, but I think hey, maybe they’re taking
their time. Then, while I’m driving to my crappy day job, I flick on
the radio, and what do I hear? It’s the stupid radio ad. My radio ad.
With some other guy’s voice. And he’s terrible. I mean, he turned it
into just the most annoying, obnoxious, awful commercial. The kind
that makes your skin crawl. The kind that makes you drop every-
thing and turn off the radio. The kind that makes you stop your car,
turn around, and speed back to that shiny office where they all
laughed with you and promised that this time, this one time, you’d
done a good job, you’d kicked the ball way into the outfield, they
wanted you on the team.
20 Doug Rand

By the time I rammed my car through the plate-glass window of

that office, I didn’t care about being on the team any more.
And now I’m dead.

D. Um. Thank you.

5. Thank you.
D. I’ve never heard that monologue before. What’s it from again?
5. It’s a play I wrote myself.
D. Hey, um. That’s impressive. What’s it called?
5. The Thinly-Veiled Threat.
D. I see.
5. Do you?

Scene 6
6. Can I tell you something? Men and women are, like, totally differ-
ent. You know what I’m saying? They aren’t just two different spe-
cies, they’re from two different planets. You know, they say that
men are from Mars and women are from Venus, but I say that men
are from Mars and women are from, like, Neptune. Am I right? Am I
right? You know what I’m talking about, fellas.
It’s great to be here. Great to be back. How many out-of-towners do
we have here tonight? Anyone? Let me see those hands, out-of-
towners!
(Long, long pause. Finally:)
D. Is this part of your audition?
6. Is this part of my—? Ha! I love this guy. This guy, I love. So
you’re from out of town, huh?
D. No.
6. Oh. Really? That’s cool. City guy. Ci-ty-guy. Excellent, excellent.
 The Auditioners 21

D. Did you prepare a classical monologue?

6. Hey folks, what is with this guy? I’m doin’ a gig, man!
D. I’m the only one here.
6. Please, buddy, would it kill us to pretend this is a gig?
D. I’d love it if your routine happened to start sounding like a clas-
sical monologue.
6. Okay, the classics. Gotta love ’em. The classics are the class acts,
you know what I’m sayin’? I’m talking all the comedy greats:
Henny Youngman, Lenny Bruce, that guy with the talking hand.
But let me tell you something: When I really want to get classic, I
like to pull out the Benjamins.
Now I’m not talkin’ C-notes here (although if anyone’s got some a
those to spare, I do accept tips!). I’m talkin’ the original Benjamins.
The writings of Benjamin Franklin, that is. ’Cause that guy was one
funny founding father. If you’ll allow me… (Unfolds an obviously
much-folded-and-unfolded piece of paper.) Ahem:

GENTLEMEN,
It is universally well known, That in digesting our common Food,
there is created or produced in the Bowels of human Creatures, a
great Quantity of Wind.
(It’s really key to point out here that when Franklin says “wind,”
what he means is “farts.” Got it? Awesome.)
Permitting this Air to escape and mix with the Atmosphere, is usu-
ally offensive to the Company, from the fetid Smell that accompa-
nies it.
Were it not for the odiously offensive Smell accompanying such Es-
capes (“escapes” also means “farts”), polite People would probably
be under no more Restraint in discharging such Wind in Company,
than they are in spitting, or in blowing their Noses.
My Prize Question therefore should be, To discover some Drug to
be mixed with our common Food, or Sauces, that shall render the
22 Doug Rand

natural Discharges of Wind from our Bodies—(6 mouths “farts” to

the audience)—not only inoffensive, but agreeable as Perfumes.
Surely such a Liberty of Expressing one’s Scent-iments (eh? eh?)
and pleasing one another, is of infinitely more Importance to hu-
man Happiness than that Liberty of the Press, or of abusing one an-
other, which the English are so ready to fight & die for.

Ha! My main man Ben still kills! Am I right?

(Pause.)
So let me get back to men and women being different:
Men like to drive SUVs, while women…like to drive men crazy. Or
into a ditch! Seriously, ladies, what’s with the bad driving?
Here’s another one: Men shave their faces, while women…shave
their legs. Not that I’m complaining, right guys?
One more: Women always wear too much make-up, while men
can’t make up their minds about long-term commitment to one mo-
nogamous partner.
Take my girlfriend…please. (Props to Henny Youngman for that
bit. You’re the best, Henny.) All right, my girlfriend: I love her to
death, people. But she drives me crazy. It’s always, “We need to talk
about our relationship” or “I want to know where this is going,”
and I’m like, “Sweetie, we’ve only been dating for four years!”
I kid, I kid. It’s really eight years! Seriously.
I love this girl to death, but she’s from Neptune, you know? (Like we
talked about before?) And doesn’t a guy need a chance to sow his
wild oats? What does that mean, anyway? “Sow your wild oats.”
Who came up with that one, huh? Sewing’s for girls, you know
what I’m saying? And there’s nothing too sexy about oats, either. I
mean, have you seen the guy on the oatmeal box? Not a party ani-
mal, let me tell you. Unless it’s the Loser Party! “Look at me, I’m
gonna party like it’s 1899!” 99, 99…99 bottles of beer on the wall.
Who came up with that one, huh? It keeps going, and going, and
going—like the Energizer Bunny, you know what I’m saying?
 The Auditioners 23

“Energizer? I hardly knew ’er!” Classic. I’ve got a million like that
one. A million’s a big number, isn’t it folks? I mean, seriously, how
many zeroes is that? Six? My girlfriend left me six months ago. Six
months after eight years. Men and women, what are you gonna do?
I wish I was dead.

Scene 7
(4 enters, wearing dark glasses and completely different clothes.)
4. Hello there. I’m ready for my audition.
D. What are you doing back here?
4. I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking—
D. I’m sure you do, and I’m sure this theater’s going to collapse or a
piano’s going to fall on our heads or who knows what if you don’t
get out of here by the time I’m done bellowing!
(Pause.)
4. I’m sure I don’t know what you’re—
D. GET OUT!
(4 scurries away. 7 enters.)
7. I’m here for the audition?
D. You’re in the right place.
7. Then let’s blow the rizzoof off this hizzouse!
D. You just said “rizzoof.”
7. The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements.
D. Please tell me you’re not going to stand here and try to play
Lady MacScottishplay.
7. I was until a mo’ ago. Now, back to El Bardo:
Come, you spirits
24 Doug Rand

That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here—

D. She’s a Lady. You’re a dude.
7. Dude! What part of “unsex me” don’t you understand?
And ahem:
Come to my woman’s breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry—
D. Hold, hold.
7. Is that heaven cryin’, or is that some guy gettin’ up in my grille?
D. I’ve heard enough.
7. Oh no you haven’t, Mr. The Man. I get two shots, mono-a-mono.
So unwad your panties, ’cause I’m about to get Contemporary on
your ass.
This monologue is a poem is a wham is a slam against you, Mr.
Man, a.k.a. Tighty McWhitey, authored on the spot by me, a.k.a.
Three-Time Slam Champ McGee. And so it goes:

I
Don’t see
The great big D
In me
Playin’ Mrs. MacB
It’s straight-up Elizabethan history, G.
I’m talkin’ way back, baby
To the oldest Old Globe
When Billy was still scribblin’
For the most successful drag act
In the English-speaking world, y’all.
 The Auditioners 25

Groundlings shellin’ out their pence

To see Ophelia, Desdemona, Juliet—
Men to a man, lookin’ so fine, every last hero-ine.
So don’t go tellin’ me “hold, hold,”
Mr. Director-Deflector-Pocket-Protector.
All the world’s a stage, and you better believe that I’m a playa.
So if you can’t see
That Lady MacB
Is Me
Then get thee
To a buffoonery.
(Peace.)

D. Yes. Peace out…of this audition. You don’t get the part by slam-
ming the director.
7. Sorry, Charlie—fish gotta swim, poets gotta slam. Flip you on the
catchside, schwamanamanamana.
(7 makes an inexplicable gesture unprecedented in the history of the
universe, and exits with outlandish confidence.)

Scene 8
D. Before we embark on what may well be a complete waste of four
minutes together, I’m going to have to ask you a few questions.
8. Okay.
D. Did you prepare a classical monologue and a contemporary
monologue?
8. Yes.
D. Which one will you be performing first?
8. Classical.
D. Did you write it yourself?
8. No.
26 Doug Rand

D. Really?
8. Uh-huh. I downloaded it off the internet.
D. Fantastic. Do you play an actual character?
8. Oh, totally.
D. Who might that be?
8. This old guy with bad skin and a big mole. I wanted to really
stretch my range.
D. Okay. Go ahead.
(And now, of course, 8 recites the Gettysburg Address. This would
go on a bit too long without some cuts, but since it would be un-
seemly to cut anything out of the Gettysburg Address here on the
page, I’ll just put the more cuttable parts in brackets.)
8. Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this
continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the
proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that na-
tion or any nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure.
We are met on a great battlefield of that war. [We have come to
dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who
here gave their lives that that nation might live.]
[It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.] But in a
larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot
hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead who struggled
here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract.
[The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but
it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living rather to
be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought
here have thus far so nobly advanced.]
It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining
before us—[that from these honored dead we take increased devo-
tion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devo-
tion—]that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have
died in vain, that this nation under God shall have a new birth of
 The Auditioners 27

freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the
people shall not perish from the earth.

D. They sure don’t make politicians like they used to, do they?
8. Oh. Do you not like politicians? Because, my contemporary
monologue is by a politician. I think.
D/8. (In unison:) You/I downloaded it from the internet.
8. Right.
D. Go ahead.

8. My fellow Americans, we are good people. We are a good people,

and a generous people, who love freedom. And what is the mean-
ing of freedom? We live in a free country, where everyone is free to
succeed, or to not succeed. Where every child is free to thrive, or
not to thrive.
Our great and freedom-loving nation has a great and unbroken leg-
acy of freedom, and of freedom-loving. Our fathers and forefathers
made great sacrifices to defend our freedom, and we must honor
their sacrifice, by enjoying our freedom to sacrifice nothing in free-
dom’s name.
Freedom means the freedom to define freedom however we please,
or not at all. Freedom is good. Free trade is good. Free love is bad.
Free speech looks good on paper. Free checking, free tickets, free
toys, all good. Free radicals, apparently bad. Free lunch, apparently
impossible. “Freebird,” great song. “Free Willy,” solid rental.
Free your mind. Mind your freedom. The bombing begins in five
minutes.

Scene 9
D. Go ahead. Please.
9. My classical monologue is from Deuteronomy, by God:
28 Doug Rand

If there be a controversy between men, and they come unto judg-

ment, and the judges judge them, by justifying the righteous, and
condemning the wicked,
then it shall be, if the wicked man deserve to be beaten, that the
judge shall cause him to lie down, and to be beaten before his face,
according to the measure of his wickedness, by number.
Forty stripes he may give him, he shall not exceed; lest, if he should
exceed, and beat him above these with many stripes, then thy
brother should be dishonoured before thine eyes.
D. This is really over the top.
9. Excuse me—do you have a problem with me reading from the Bi-
ble?
D. You got me there.
9. Okay then.
When men strive together one with another, and the wife of the one
draweth near to deliver her husband out of the hand of him that
smiteth him, and putteth forth her hand, and taketh him by the se-
crets—
D. Please, that’s enough—
9. This is from the Bible, buddy!
—and taketh him by the secrets;
then thou shalt cut off her hand, thine eye shall have no pity.
(Pause.)
Thank you.
D. That was deeply unsettling.
9. And dramatic!
D. Look, if you’re going to read from the Bible, could you at least
spare me the gross, vengeful-God stuff?
9. My contemporary monologue is from the New Testament.
D. I’ll take it.
 The Auditioners 29

9. And he said unto me, It is done. I am Alpha and Omega, the be-
ginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the foun-
tain of the water of life freely.
D. Ahhhhh…
9. But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and mur-
derers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all li-
ars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and
brimstone.
(Pause.)
Thank you!

Scene 10
(4 enters, wearing yet another outfit, and this time sporting a very
obviously fake mustache. Also a foreign accent bearing no clear re-
semblance to any actual accent in current use by human beings.)
4. I am much greatly pleased to meet you. I may perhaps proceed
with monologue?
D. Please, please, please go away.
4. You are not liking my how you say “stage presence”?
D. That is the fakest mustache I’ve ever seen in my 23 years in the
theatre.
4. This mustache, she is not how you say “fake”! This mustache is
source of great pride in…place…where I come from!
D. Cameron, can you please help me out here?
(CAMERON, a stage manager, dutifully emerges onstage, walks up
to 4, rips off the fake mustache, and exits. 4 shrieks with feigned
pain.)
4. Oh no! My poor mustache! My dear beard-of-upper-lip! No…
D. Come on, you know the jig is up.
(4 insists on howling and weeping a little bit longer, then looks up
sheepishly, and gives up. Pause. 4 exits. 10 enters.)
30 Doug Rand

10. Hello! My classical monologue is by William Shakespeare, but

only the very best stuff. Ready? Okay!

All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
What a piece of work is a man!
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
If music be the food of love, play on;
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
This above all: to thine ownself be true,
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.
Out, damned spot! out, I say!
O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
A plague o’ both your houses!
Now is the winter of our discontent
Get thee to a nunnery.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
Hath not a Jew eyes?
If you prick us, do we not bleed?
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
Though this be madness, yet there is method in ‘t.
If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here
 The Auditioners 31

While these visions did appear.

Good night sweet prince: And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause:
(Pause.)
Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry ‘Hold, hold!’

D. Now let me guess.

10. My contemporary monologue is also nothing but the best stuff, I
promise!

I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

All right, Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my close-up.
Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me.
Here’s looking at you, kid.
I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.
I coulda been a contender.
I ate his liver with some fava beans…
Stupid is as stupid does.
May the Force be with you.
Tomorrow is another day!
God bless us, every one!
Zuzu’s petals! Zuzu’s petals!
I’m king of the world!
I see dead people.
32 Doug Rand

Hey! I’m walkin’ here!

I’m mad as hell, and I’m not gonna take this any more!
Say hello to my little friend!
Badges? We don’t need no stinkin’ badges!
Show me the money!
You can’t handle the truth!
The horror! The horror!
Stellaaaaaa! Stellaaaaaa!
Adriaaaan!
Eliooooot…ouuuuuch…
(And finally, inevitably, the sound of a screaming wookie.)

Scene 11
11. In order to bring my classical monologue to life for today’s lis-
teners, I have chosen to perform it in the Universal Language—that
is, Esperanto.
(The faster this monologue goes, and the more that individual words
can be conveyed through obvious gestures, the better.)
La korvo si estas raŭka
Tio, ke kvak la mortiga enirejo de Duncan
Sub mia battlements. Alirita, vi spiritoj
Kiuj emas sur mortaj pensoj, malsekso mi ĉi tie,
Kaj plenig mi de la krono al la piedfingro pinta-plena
De plej ekstrema krueleco! far dika mia sango;
ŝtop la aliro kaj trairejo al pento,
ke neniu sinriproĉa vizito de naturo
Ŝancel mia falis intencon, nek ten paco inter
La efiko kaj ĝi! ven al miaj virinaj mamoj,
Kaj pren mia lakto por ĉagren, vi murdaj Ministroj,
Kie ajn en viaj sen-vido substancoj
Vi serv natura petolo! Ven, dika nokto,
Kaj vualo vi en la plej duna fumo de infero,
Tio, ke mia fervora tranĉilo vid ne la vundo ĝi far,
Nek la Ĉielo peep tra la lana litkovro de la malhela,
Krii ‘Ten, ten!’
 The Auditioners 33

D. Your next monologue had better be in English.

11. My next monologue was certainly written in English, by the in-
comparable experimental dramatist Joel Hellman, in fact, but I am
sure you will agree that a text of this profundity must be unshack-
led from language—from Esperanto, even—and is most truthfully
conveyed through the Supra-Universal Language—that is, Mime.
Why mime? This is why:
(11 conveys all of the following in silent gestures and facial expres-
sions, with no props. The more literal the gestures, the better.)
[Hello!]
[Come here.]
[I have to tell you something.]
[Please sit down.]
[No, I don’t want a cigarette.]
[Why not?]
[It’s funny you should ask.]
[You see, I’m pregnant.]
[With your baby.]
[How do I know it’s your baby?!]
[How dare you!]
[I love you!]
[And I thought you loved me, too!]
[What?]
[You don’t love me?]
[You don’t love me, when I’m pregnant with your baby?]
[I see.]
[One moment, please.]
[I just have to get this hanky from my purse, because I’m crying.]
[Oh, look what else I found in my purse.]
[That’s right, it’s a gun.]
[Is it loaded? Let me check.]
[Oh, yes. It’s loaded.]
[Now, say you love me.]
34 Doug Rand

[Say it!]
[I’ll count to three.]
[One.]
[Two.]
[Three.]
[You are so dead.]
[Blam.]
(11 bows grandly.)

Scene 12
12. Hey, everyone! Thanks so much for coming to our show! My
name is Riki Zide, and this is Spontaneous Generation, Idaho Uni-
versity’s third-oldest one-person improv comedy troupe! Now, for
my classical monologue, I’m going to need a genre from the audi-
ence. The wackier the better—Shakespearean, film noir, kung fu
movie, just shout ’em out!
(12 picks up an actual suggestion from the actual audience, which
we’ll call [XXX].)
12. Did I just hear “[XXX]”?
D. I’m the only one / here—
12. (Cutting off D:) I HEARD “[XXX]”! Okay! And now, a classical
monologue in the genre of [XXX]!
(12 dives into the same old Lady Macbeth monologue, doing a ri-
diculous but valiant job fitting the words into whatever style the au-
dience suggested—the more distant from “Shakespearean,” clearly,
the better.)
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood;
Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
 The Auditioners 35

That no compunctious visitings of nature

Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it! Come to my woman’s breasts,
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark,
To cry ‘Hold, hold!’

Okay! Now, for my contemporary monologue, I’m going to need an

activity that two people can do together. Keep it clean, people. Just
shout ’em out!
D. I’ve been thinking I should maybe kill myself.
12. Okay! Killing! And now I’m going to need two objects. (Waits for
two such suggestions, which we’ll call [Y] and [Z].) Great! And now, a
contemporary monologue about killing, including a [Y] and a [Z]!
(12 actually speaks the following monologue, probably using a lot of
the same gestures that 11 did.)
Hello!
Come here.
I have to tell you something.
Please sit down.
No, I don’t want a cigarette.
Why not?
It’s funny you should ask.
You see, I’m pregnant.
With your [Y].

How do I know it’s your [Y]?!

How dare you!
I love you!
And I thought you loved me, too!
36 Doug Rand

What?
You don’t love me?
You don’t love me, when I’m pregnant with your [Y]?
I see.
One moment, please.
I just have to get this hanky from my purse, because I’m crying.
Oh, look what else I found in my purse.
(12 elaborately and realistically mimes removing whatever object [Z]
is—an anvil, an anaconda, whatever—from a very small purse.)
That’s right, it’s a [Z].
Is it [some adjective describing Z]? Let me check.
Oh, yes. It’s [that same adjective].
Now, say you love me.
Say it!
I’ll count to three.
One.
Two.
Three.
You are so dead.
(12 elaborately and realistically mimes killing somebody with a [Z],
probably screaming for comic effect all the while.)

Scene 13
(4 walks on wearing the most ridiculous disguise yet. Like one of
those rasta hats with the fake dreadlocks. Or a Viking helmet.)
4. Hi. I’m here for the audition…
D. You can take off that getup.
4. What “getup”?
D. Please. You win. I’m a helpless and broken shell of a man.
4. Is there anything I can do?
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