Girlesque

As I put all of these things in order, it becomes increasingly clear that I only audition for things that sound like porn. This was my first theater audition, and it was at a theater which is part of a three-stage consortium called “Papoosian Stages,” because they are owned by a guy named Jon Papoose.*
*I change the names of the people in this blog because I don't want to be a jerk.

The three stages are actually three small theaters in the top of a strip mall on La Brea Avenue, next to an insurance agent and across the street from a Burger King. The audition description for “Girlesque” describes an all-female musical revue in which girls take off enough clothes to make the audience happy and leave enough on to keep their parents happy. My boyfriend was especially opposed to my auditioning for “Girlesque,” because, in his words, “What are people going to think when that’s the only credit on your resume?” I thought that he was probably right. I was, after all, embarrassed to tell people that I even had this audition. I just lied and told them that I was doing something else. But, again, saying yes to the universe sometimes means saying yes to “Girlesque,” so on a cloudy Sunday afternoon, I walked up the steps to the second level of the “what’s it called?” shopping center, and found an auditorium full of eager women sitting in pew-style seats, looking at a pear-shaped man with shoulder length, heavily blown-dry hair, and a khaki vest with many pockets that closed by Velcro. This was Jon Papoose.

He opened this meeting of the minds with a hearty welcome:
“Welcome to Papoosian Stages. My name is Jon Papoose. And I bet your asking yourselves, ‘How much is this going to cost?” And I’m here to tell you that being in a show at Papoosian Stages is 100%, with no exceptions, Free. I know…you’re all like, “What? It’s free to perform here?” And I’m here to say, “Yeah. It’s about talent here. Not paying to play.”

Jon Papoose’s assumed inner monologue somehow did not match my actual thoughts, which were closer to, “Why would you have to pay to be in a play? That’s retarded.”

I looked up and these women were entranced. They laughed, they nodded vigorously, they looked at each other knowingly. Jon Papoose was in rapture.

“So….the show here is called Girlesque. And no, it’s not a strip show. Will you have to strip in this show? Yes. Will you have to dance? Yes. But have parents come see this show? Yes. Even boyfriends have come see this show. Friends, everyone can come see this show. And also…I’m in a committed relationship. So…” He then relayed a funny story about a woman played the nurse in a previous production of the play. The costume that she'd bought for the play malfunctioned, exposing her nipples to the whole crowd. What fun.

My thoughts wandered to the fact that parents will see anything. My grandparents saw me in an all-female play about the men of the French Revolution. I kissed a girl, caressed another one, spoke at length about the world being a “festering wound, with creation as its rot,” and was guillotined with a symbolic chopping block and a bucket of red paint. And they’re not even my parents. They’re once removed.

Jon Papoose goes on. “So the show isn’t about stripping. It’s about the various female fantasy characters…you know…the nurse, the French maid, the housewife, the stripper…all coming together to tell their stories. So, it puts a face with the fantasy really. They’re all united by this central character, Madame X. She’s also a stripper. I know these things because I wrote the play.”

Jon Papoose seems to write an awful lot of his own material. For example, I was also invited to Dark Side of the Moon, an interpretive, wordless theater piece set to the music of Pink Floyd’s Album of the same name. John Papoose wrote that too.

Now, we begin— a very softspoken redhead, dubbed by John Papoose as the assistant director comes onstage to teach us the dances that we will be doing for our auditions. The audition only consists of dancing. I am sensing a theme.

30 women crowd onstage to learn this dance, and I try to commit, but my mind is bouncing between various distracting thoughts:
“Where did all of these capable-looking, attractive women find this audition posting?”
“That girl can really do a high-kick. She’s, like, a real dancer!”
“I really don’t know how to dance. This is going to be awfully embarrassing.”

The red-headed dance instructor teaches us a routine that strings together a variety of high-kicks, 360-degree hip gyrations, and the coup de grace, a move in which one juts one’s chest out while simultaneously raising one’s arms perfectly vertically. She says, “If any of you have ever stripped before, you’ll recognize this one.”

Throughout all of this, John Papoose sits in the back of the room, at his computer. He retreated with the reassuring words, “Don’t worry. I won’t watch you.”

After about 30 minutes of learning this routine, we are put into groups of 4 to perform this dance. I perform twice. I again, am reminded that I am NOT a triple threat. I leave. I am still amazed at how many women, how many talented, beautiful, women will fight for roles in Girlesque.

This brings on my first pang of panic…I really am in a big city, filled with a huge number of people who want to do exactly what I want to do, and who are all following the same plan that I’ve made. I knew that before, but I hadn't necessarily experienced it yet. Not tangibly. In my mind, this was all meant to go very differently. I was supposed to audition for something very low-profile, get cast, and then do it, standing out as the clearly brilliant rookie, the one whom everybody talks about, saying, “Wow…she’s really talented…have we seen her on television?”

Instead, I’m auditioning for something not only low-profile but demeaning, and half of the city has turned out. I feel like the blind wandering along with the blind, and most of these blind people have more stage-presence and movement ability than I do.

This experience left me feeling...creepy. I thought I could walk into this place, feeling snarky and superior, get some writing material out of it and move on to something more my speed. Now, I feel like I’m at the dark and confusing bottom of a totem pole that diverts in such a way that I don’t even know how to get to the top.

I had to stop wallowing quickly, because I had to go to an audition for a play called “The Knight Who Was Afraid of the Dark.” This one required no dancing, but singing. And after that, I was off to audition for a UNICEF Public Service announcement, and a silent student film in which I had to move my lips to look like I was speaking French, and an independent feature about a guy who accidentally takes a Viagra and has to go through a zany day with a constant erection.

Still at the bottom, but looking up. (?)

Until next time,
The Girl who was Afraid of Girlesque

Panic at the Shower

After my schoolgirl’s try at auditioning for a music video, the other audition requests kept rolling in. It was like some things in the universe aligned in such a way that resulted in many auditions over the course of two weeks. Before giving you the snapshots of these auditions, I must refresh you on my policy: Say Yes. To everything. (within wide limits).
The point? To tell the universe: I am here, and I am ready for anything! Translation: Beggars can’t be choosers.

So….after I danced for Vetiver, I went to a smattering of other auditions, the following posts should act as a verbal photo album of the weeks of February 7th-14th.

Snapshot #1: Panic Shower
Despite the name, this was not a production company making snuff films. It’s actually a pretty interesting company doing web shorts that I thought were really cool—you should check out their website, which is www.panicshower.com. This audition was for a web series entitled “The Windsor Park Series,” in which people sit on a park bench in Glendale and have conversations while a security camera is on them. I read for the part of “Miranda, cute, quirky, and in love with her new boyfriend.” My lines were things like, “Fine…I’m gonna put mayonnaise all over your pillow,” and other flirty things that would make any onlooker (or security guard ordered to review these security tapes) feel rather nauseous. It was a good script. I prepared diligently, memorizing the lines rehearsing my movements, just as Michael Caine told me to do in his book on acting for the camera. I prepared as he prepared for the movie Zulu or any other movie he did. You know…Batman. Other British Films. Michael Caine is very big on preparation, just FYI. The auditions took place in a law office in Pasadena, I, along with many other actors, sat in the waiting room for around 40 minutes. A possibly mistake of Pad Thai for lunch made the proximity of a nicely furnished restroom a nice amenity. I went in, did my thing, got some good feedback, and read another scene for good measure.

Later that evening, I was called on my phone by one of the nice guys running the audition saying, “We think you’re great, and we’d like you to come back for a callback.” I was happy, but not thrilled. I had not yet discovered the rarity of the words, “We think you’re great.” But I’ll tell you now….I haven’t heard them since that night.

Until next time,
Leaving you with a cliffhanger...