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‘First off, introduce yourselves,’ instructed Dax. ‘Let’s find out a bit about who you are.’
Dax was in his thirties, short, unshaven and strangely pale, as though he never saw daylight. Not exactly the Hollywood look I’d expected.
My scene partner, Imogen, a plummy blonde wearing a pair of denim dungarees and bright yellow ballet pumps, was busy bigging herself up and I could tell from the credits she was dropping – Sex Education, The Crown – that she’d done a lot more TV than I had. That was supposed to be a good thing, according to my tutors at drama school. I should use her experience to enhance my own performance, let her push me to the next level.
Imogen finally stopped talking and everyone looked expectantly at me.
I rolled out my usual patter.
‘Hi, everyone, I’m Jack Maxwell. I’m thirty and represented by Chad at Star Management. My credits include Romeo and Juliet at the National Theatre, A Streetcar Named Desire at the Donmar Warehouse and a guest-star role in Holby City, which is a British medical drama, in case you don’t know it,’ I said to Dax, hoping to dazzle him with my British charm.
‘Great. Let’s get going,’ replied Dax, only looking semi-impressed. ‘I know it’s difficult going first, guys, but an audition situation would be even tougher. When you’re ready.’
I turned to Imogen, who was already in character, or at least I hoped she was, as she was already looking moodily down at the floor. She lifted her head and caught my eye, her face twisted with disgust, her arms folded, her shoulders hunched, and then she flew at me with her first line before I’d even had a chance to think.
‘How could you do this to me, you bastard?’she screeched through gritted teeth.
I remembered my character objective and came back at her with my line, hoping the work I’d done at home would shine through. At one point, though, I became aware of the audience in my peripheral vision, which was never a good sign; it meant I wasn’t properly ‘in the moment’. I also felt physically stuck, as though my feet were submerged in two feet of thick mud, and I seemed unable to do anything except just stand there while Imogen flew around me like a banshee, her arms outstretched, her mouth open wide like a chorister. She was dominating the scene, rushing through it like a bulldozer, crushing all the subtle moments I’d planned. At one point, Imogen grabbed me and I managed to push her backwards (not too hard, obviously), which I thought might have looked good, but, in truth, I was struggling to get a hold on it.
At the end, everyone clapped politely and, as I waited for my feedback, I noticed that I was slightly out of breath, which might convince everyone I’d really gone for it. It was one of those times I wished I could have said, stop, this is crap, I need to start again.
‘OK. Imogen, great job,’ enthused Dax. ‘You started the scene with a strong objective and carried the intensity and energy through to the end of the scene. I like the moment when you grabbed him and I think perhaps you could have played the scene more physically all the way through. Jack …’ Dax pulled his cap over his eyes. ‘There were some very nice moments.’
‘OK …’ I said, waiting for the ‘but.’
‘You reacted well to Imogen. I got a definite sense of you trying to control the situation and shut her down and I could tell your backstory had been well developed. I think you could have moved more, made it more dynamic, you know? But good job.’
I listened intently, attempting to look grateful for the feedback.
‘Anybody else have comments?’ asked Dax.
An auburn-haired girl wearing rectangular glasses and a black polo neck stuck her hand up. Could she try any harder to look arty and serious?
‘I think you were taken by surprise, Jack, at the beginning of the scene,’ she said. ‘It was like you weren’t ready for it to start, and I actually saw you switch into character, which, I’ll be honest with you, was a little off-putting.’
For fuck’s sake. What happened to classmates being supportive?
‘Anybody else feel that?’ asked Dax, and I was pleased to note that most people either shrugged or shook their heads. ‘Hope you found that useful, guys,’ he said chirpily.
I nodded enthusiastically. ‘Shall we go again?’
That was usually how classes worked – you did your scene, you got notes and then you had a chance to redeem yourself by doing a second run.
‘No time, I’m afraid,’ said Dax. ‘We have a very full class today.’
I couldn’t believe this. What was the point in giving us feedback if we couldn’t use it to do a better job the second time around? Even in an actual audition – since that was seemingly what Dax was trying to replicate – they let you do it two or three times.
I sloped off back to my seat. My eyes felt wide and bright. I clearly hadn’t done enough to make Dax want to cast me in Days Of Our Lives so that was one more avenue to success ruined.
‘Good job,’ said Seb as I sat back down.
I smiled tightly across at him, pretending I was too caught up in watching the next pair introduce themselves to respond. It would have been marginally less humiliating if he hadn’t been here to witness the whole thing.
Seb was last to be called and was paired with the annoying auburn-haired girl, who I secretly hoped was terrible. However, as soon as Seb and his partner, who was called Saoirse (of course she was) started the scene, it became apparent that she was, in fact, really good. And so, to my extreme irritation, was Seb. The scene played out completely differently from the others: more intense, less shouty. They were reacting and not acting, as my acting tutor at LAMDA had repeated over and over again. At the end of their scene, they actually got full-on applause and even I had to join in.
‘At last!’ boomed Dax, jumping up and joining them on the stage. ‘Someone has taken a risk and it has totally paid off. Great job, guys. Powerful, subtle, perfectly pitched for television. I loved it. What did everyone else think?’
Shouts of ‘excellent’ and ‘moving’ rang out.
