Peter and the Starcatcher Auditions!
September 6th and 7th 2:45-5:45pm- Pick one of these days! Do not come to both.
Callbacks September 8th 2:45-5:45- Call back list will be posted first thing on the morning of the 8th
1.Pick one of the four monologues listed below. YOU ARE NOT REQUIRED TO MEMORIZE. Cold read and perform this monologue the day of the audition
2.Guided Improvisation- Mrs. D will put you in to groups to improv a few scenarios.
Mrs. D will have students read scenes from the script and learn a portion of a song/sing. (This play has a few songs)
Tell you what. You say “sorry” so easy, like the rough patch’s smoothes over, no hard feelings and everything’s fixed. Well, no. There’s dark … a mass of darkness in the world, and if you get trapped in that cave like us, it beats you down. “Sorry” can’t fix it. Better to say nothing than “sorry”. (hearing his mother’s song, far away) When it’s night, and I’m too scared to sleep, I look through the cracks, y’know? – between the wood nailed over the window – and I see all those little stars that I can’t reach, and I think that in a hundred years, or two or three hundred maybe, boys’ll be free and life’ll be so beautiful that nobody’ll ever say “sorry” again – ‘cuz nobody’ll have to. I think about that a lot.
You stop that right now. I won’t answer any such questions. You’re inclining toward the sentimental and that’s all well and good for a boy, but the fact is, we girls can’t afford to be sentimental. We must instead be strong. And when I marry, my husband will have to –
Not you, you swot. Ugh, the ego.
And when I marry, I shall make it very clear to this person – that sentimentality is not on the calendar. He will have to lump it or leave it. And if he should leave, I’ll say a spinster and pin my hair back and volunteer weekends at hospital. And I will love words for their own sake, like “hyacinth” and “Piccadilly” and “onyx”. And I’ll have a good old dog, and think what I like, and be part of a different sort of family, with friends you know? – who understand that things are only worth what you’re willing to give up for them.
Perchance you think a treasure trunk sans treasure has put my piratical BVDs in a twist? How wrong you are. Yes, I’d hoped to be hip-deep in diamonds, but they’re a poor substitute for what I really crave: a bona fide hero to help me feel whole. For without a hero, what am I? Half a villain; a pirate in part; ruthless, but toothless. And then I saw you, and I thought, “Maybe? Can it be? Is he the one I’ve waited for? Would he, for example, give up something precious for the daughter he loves?” But alas, he gives up sand. Now, let’s see. Hero with treasure, very good. Hero with no reassure… doable. No hero and a trunk full o’ sand? Not so much.
NOW, WHERE’S MY TREASURE?!?
First Class ain’t what it used to be. ‘Course, back in my salad days, I was a green girl bringing up brats in a big, breezy brownstone in Brighton. That was a tight spot, too, and hell on the household help. Especially the kitchen boy – a lovely island lad who cooked a cunning cannelloni, plus a pasta fazool to make you drool. But oh, it made the master mad how the mistress moaned fer ‘is manicotti. He beat that boy something brutal, but the boy didn’t say boo. Point is – we must button our beaks and be brave like that boy, or my name’s not Betty Bumbrake. Now, you might well be afraid you’ll never clap eye on your father again, and it cuts me to the core, but never show that sorry Slank the slightest sniff of fear. There are men who can smell it on you, Molly, and they make you pay… (breaks down blubbering