One of the most embarrassing experiences of my entire life. Top 10 for sure. It’s July 2023. Walk Like a Man; a Frankie Valli touring musical. Think Jersey Boys, but nomadic and less prestigious (definitely not still bitter). They’re looking for someone to play Nick Massey. He’s the one with the slicked hair and the ‘gabagool’ accent. Oh right that’s all of them. I want to say bass…?
It’s my first physical audition ever. Even my audition for “drama school” (i.e. Bath Spa) was online. They never trained us for this; only for self tapes. I got the audition through my new agent. A real pressure to prove myself starts building in my head. I don’t want to let her down. Mistake number one. Or actually, mistake number two. Mistake number one was putting down ‘Singing - intermediate’ on my Spotlight some time back. My fate thus sealed; in two months’ time, I will be invited to audition for a musical. Me. Christ. They listened to my natural accent for precisely 6 seconds and went “Yep, that’s the guy!”
Not only did I not politely decline the invitation; I thought I had it in the bag. Overconfidence; mistake number three. Then three days to learn the slides, the lyrics to ‘Johnny B. Goode’, and another optional song. I opted for Sinatra; a safe bet. The Americana dialed up to turbo. Hours spent reciting in front of a mirror, looking like a hillbilly lunatic. The day has arrived. Train tickets purchased with hard earned money. Mistake number four. My God, won’t someone from the future stop him? He doesn’t know any better!
I arrive at Paddington Station. I make my way to a section of London I’ve never been to before. It’s in a ballet studio. The rustic and decrepit interiors are very on-theme. I’m ushered to a larger waiting room. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like I had multiple kids with an AI. 50 shades of white. Hazelnut hairdos combed upward right. White shirts and brogues galore. A room full of malnourished Patrick Batemans. They all look exactly like me. Like it’s actually scary. Don’t let the fact that they’re all much more handsome than you get to you. Don’t let the fact that they’re all much more handsome than you get to you. Too late. Mistake number five.
I realise I’m 2 hours early and decide to go for a walk. I listen to music to get my mind off things. Sinatra comes on. Shit. I come back to the waiting room. The roster has changed, but the synergy remains the same. So many me’s. I sit. Some guys next to me are chatting. They’re in their 30s I think. They’re engaging in a thespian dick measuring contest. “Oh I’ve done this show and that show.” “Oh yeah? I was on a cruise for 3 months.” On the surface it all seems very friendly, but it’s layered with so much passive aggression and insecurity. But who am I to judge; they’re also probably shitting themselves and this is their remedy. One of the guys is a dirty blonde. “Heh”, I smirk. Idiot. Has he ever seen a photo of the Jersey Boys? With hair like that, he is NOT getting this part. Then again, statistically speaking, neither are the rest of us in this room. I mean, they’re doing auditions all day between 9-6 which means that the 30 ruggishly good looking dudes in front of me are only a snapshot of what I’m competing with and so if they see someone for an average of 4 minutes then that means that they see 15 people per hour and 135 people during the entire day which means that I have around 0.7% chance of getting this part. And they might have other audition days. I’ve gone down the rabbit hole. I’m really nervous now. Mistake number six. Shit. Maybe I should chat to someone about my acting accomplishments. Oh wait, I have none.
A middle aged woman enters and calls my name. I respond. Butterflies (non-romantic). She leaves. Time passes. Butterflies die down. She reenters. They awaken again. I’m led from the big waiting room to a smaller waiting room, like a weird Russian doll. There’s two chairs right next to each other. One of my clones is sitting on one of them. Don’t be handsome don’t be handsome don’t be handsome. Shit. I sit down. We are in the middle of a very narrow hallway. Right next to us is a door that is 3% hinge and 97% frosted glass. As far as doors go, it’s possibly the least soundproof one I’ve ever come accross. You can hear everything that’s happening inside. Everything. I’m sure it’s a test. A well constructed ploy to scare us. And it’s working like a charm. Me and Armie Hammer next to me both know what’s behind that door; opportunity. Salvation. The chance to not be unemployed for a little while. The stakes have reached previously unfathomable heights. I can hear my heart.
And when I think it cannot get any worse; it does. The guy before us starts playing. There’s a grand piano inside and he’s elected to use it, despite noone asking him to. He’s evidently well versed in the instrument and figured it wouldn’t hurt his chances. Nerd. Wait. Shit. He is incredible. He is ridiculously good. A musical Jesus on the Steinway. I would give him the part. I look towards Armie, praying that he’ll match my shock. Please, let this guy be the outlier and not me. Armie is unfazed. Shit. I’m the outlier. I shouldn’t be here. Panic; my final mistake. I stare at a spot on the wall.
The guy comes out. He too is handsome. He seems happy, I think. I’m not sure. He definitely should be. That was very good. Maybe he’s just trying to play it cool. That’s definitely what I would’ve done. Armie goes in. The door shuts behind him and the music starts. He’s even better than the previous guy. 50 something pounds. That’s how much the train tickets were. To think that I could’ve converted that money to happiness instead of anxiety. In my mind, I give up completely. I am never getting this part. That door is a portal to Hell. And in about 2 minutes, I will walk through it and be punished for claiming that I can sing. I await my death. An eternity later, the portal opens.
All of this happened a little over a year ago. I still remember it very clearly. The only bit that’s hazy is this next part; the climax you had eagerly been waiting for. Like white fog. Blue balls of literary magnitude. I will tell you what I remember. It was a white room. The three of them were sitting in a line, like in American Idol. Two women, one man. I did not in fact play the piano. I forgot all of my lines. And I mean all of my lines. The section of my brain responsible for memory had shut down. My rendition of ‘Johnny B. Goode’ created a massive black hole at the centre of the room, devouring all of the residual charisma in the building like a Dyson hoover. My monologue, which had me hitting on one of the casting directors, was possibly the worst thing I have ever done in my life. Like, in general. No obscure teen comedy, coming-of-age film reference could ever do it justice. And I really wish I could say that they were dicks about it; but they really weren’t. All three of them were super nice. I shudder thinking about how much effort it must’ve taken for them to remain composed and supportive. I don’t want to be a burden to people. I wish they had just laughed in my face.
You get the picture. It was bad. But I want to leave you with this. It had just finished. You normally step outside for a second and they deliberate amongst themselves whether they want to ask you back for the second stage or not. I had a hunch. And in that second, I remembered; I’m seeing my girlfriend later. She’s going to love this story. It is fucking hilarious, when you think about it. I told them that it was my first physical audition and thanked them for being kind. We had a short chat. I made them laugh; the mojo is back. It was nice. They wished me luck. I walked to the door and opened it. Outside, the next two actors sat waiting. I didn’t really look at them, but I hope at least one of them was scared. Exeunt.
The rest of my day was fun. I remembered that I didn’t account for their lunch breaks in my calculations earlier. So actually I had 0.8% chance of landing this. That’s not too bad. It is now almost exactly one year on and I’ve just landed my first proper job. Playing Nick Massey in Jersey Boys. Just kidding. Can you imagine though? That would’ve been so cool.