The last few weeks have been particularly good, for example, because I have had loads going on. Contact from two different companies I've worked with before, my theatre sister moving away and leaving me -sad moment-, the emergence of a new competitor for me to beat in this race, and the awesome results of a very wet photo shoot from a month or so back. West Side Story is now the dream amateur scenario I prayed for, thus confirming that there is a God, and that God loves a musical, racist Stab-a-thon about as much as Colleen loves the pills (*allegedly* - legal understanding of any sort pending). So far it's been a blast. We're a bit like a (distant and unfamiliar) family already, which, after only 4 rehearsals, is a bit like meeting someone in a doctor's waiting room and deciding that, because you're both coughing and flailing your arms at roughly the same time, you should exchange phone numbers (it sounds like the patients are the weird ones, but at least they've had the foresight and good sense to see a doctor).
Speaking of doctors, I don't have one. Haven't been to the doctor in about 5 years. Might be an idea...
So anyway, things are great (apart from that lesion on my arm - getting itchier, turning blacker. Jet black, even. Note to self: Novelty will be hilarious - don't get it seen to til after West Side Story). We're getting t-shirts too, specific to the Jets and Sharks so now we can feel even more like we're in actual gangs ("Goooood, let the hate flow through you!") and possibly some kind of tournament consisting of different team games across the coming months: my suggestions include Shark vs Jets Game of Life - lets see who, after their leaders' deaths, managed to really make something of themselves, get married, have babies, before being dragged back to the mean streets after a bored Schranke kidnaps their kids. "BRING ME BABY JOHN!", Schranke will growl as Krupke delivers his newly sharpened hand-hook, a constant reminder of the day Anita maimed him and then swallowed a clock (she later found it hard to pass the time...euw).
Intense.
Thankfully, given that the lines between what is Game of Life and what is Hook have been blurred, this isn't the only thing occupying my mind at the moment. Drama school application time is fast approaching, and this year there are a few I'm probably going to have to turn down offers from. In fact, I might just be too busy deciding which school I should grace my presence with to do any housework. Bummer.
The thing with drama school is that there are a million different ideas about how they "cast" their intake, and almost none of the information is helpful, because it doesn't matter what you do, it's still crapshoot. I mean, obviously, if you're applying for an MA in Musical Theatre (which certain people who write this blog might be doing, I won't name names), it doesn't hurt to be able to act, sing and dance. The issue then is that, in certain circles, it is believed that you have to be fully mouldable, easily stripped back and built up again, so it's maybe not fantastic that you sing or dance or act particularly well. I have honestly come out of auditions for musical theatre courses and the one that got in was the only one that didn't got rhythm (and who could ask for anything more?). But then part of you knows that the more talent you show the better your chances. Unless your talent is arranging flowers while your wife sings opera, in which case you're not winning the damn thing in a million years. Though, if this is the case, at least you can console yourself at night knowing that you lost out to an obese child and his vaguely Grecian father who like to jiggle with their tops off. You never stood a chance! And you still have more fans that Kanye West (and fewer bees in your bonnet, which is odd given that you keep the flowers in your car)!
Another inglorious mystery: the audition pieces. When choosing audition pieces one should always pick contrasting monologues and songs, but somehow this is easier for everyone who isn't me. For someone who prides himself on being very versatile as a performer, I somehow always end up doing monologues that seemed varied when I picked them (Merchant of Venice followed by foul-mouthed sock puppet) but ended up being too similar (sock puppet spouts profanities about Jews).
Then there's:
Your appearance
Your age
Your weight
Your size and body shape
Your hair colour
Eye colour
Skin colour
Height
Natural accent
Mannerisms
Posture
Previous experience
Previous degree
Does this seem too eager?
Does this seem too nervous?
Does this seem too informal?
Does this seem like I'm not bothered?
Are my clothes the right clothes?
"Do you speak much Welsh?"
"Do you consider yourself to be disabled?"
Is it a bad thing that they're totally in silence and she's shaking her head so much?
God, that's a big head for such a skinny woman.
...
She can totally tell that I'm staring at her head...
It seems that you just won't know that you did everything right until you get in, by which time it'll be too late, because you'll never have to audition for a drama school again. Thank God the rest of the world doesn't work that way or we'd have had people getting addicted to cigarettes for years before anyone pointed out that they cause you to be very dead. *Imagines non-sarcastic dream world where scales could tell you exactly how fat you'll be in three days if you eat the entire box of Pop Tarts*
So that's what's to come, folks. More auditions, more rehearsals, more applications. Surely it's not meant to be this complicated? Colleen Nolan has it easy! A life of musical family parties, frozen vol-au-vents and Jane McDonald?
How do I apply for that?!
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