Breakin' the Law

On Sunday, I'm auditioning for Ground Up Theatre's summer production of Midsummer Night's Dream. The audition calls for a two-minute comic Shakespearean monologue. At first, I chose this as my monologue, because it's hilarious. I imagined myself very energetically propping up shoes and giving the directors a good bit of the clowny Ha Ha. But the more I started rehearsing it, the less funny it seemed. I kept thinking "If I was the director, I'd think this was silly, but lacking in any layers or depth." It has no story, this monologue. No real beginning or end (a great middle, though...a great middle).

So last night, my friend Dave pointed me to this monologue (Titania, middle of the page). It's a great monologue. It's not particularly comic, it's written for a woman, and it's from the play for which I'm auditioning (which is one of those things audition classes tell you is considered bad form). It breaks every rule of auditioning I can think of. And that is the reason I used to get roles: I never played it safe in auditions. I love it.

Besides, it's not like I'm fixing intelligence to make a more plausible case to go to war in Iraq. Which, according to the British, is more than George W. Bush can say. I really want to see him get out of this. Not that I doubt he will, mind you, but I like the thought of him squirming.

Back in the good old days of the Nixon administration, this is the sort of thing that used to get folks impeached. I miss those days.

Anyway, wish me broken legs. Wish them on the president, too, but for more literal reasons.