Jennifer Carroll is a 21 year old actor and writer. She first began writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos in 2007 when she had the opportunity to share her experiences as a Canadian ambassador for an international conference for women in Dubai. At the beginning of 2008, she moved to Ireland to pursue a career in theatre and film. Far From Home is her monthly account on living and working in Dublin.
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The Role of a Lifetime
Auditions: the hurdle between every actor and her job, and possibly the worst aspect of my profession. You walk into a room, stand in front of a panel whose job it is to judge you on looks and first impressions, and in moments convince them you are capable of transforming yourself into a stranger.
I dread auditions. I hardly enter and I sense eyes on me, and I always wonder if I can demonstrate to them the force inside me, the passion and the commitment. I tremble as I steady myself, take deep breaths, and I go on to mask my nervous smile in the (hopefully) stunning monologue I've prepared. It's the same every time. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. And so I pull my head high and walk into the next audition, the cycle perpetuating until the beautiful relief of landing a job. A relief you know will only last until your contract ends, and what's waiting for you on the other side? More auditions. The inevitability of an audition means the image of a room with a panel and judging eyes is never far from my mind. And so imagine my slight discomfort when I found myself on the other side of that panel, with actors lined up outside my door, steadying themselves with deep breaths.
The Organic Theatre Collective, my new company, not only aims to innovate the industry with green initiatives, we also want to instill an organic process in our creative journey from page to stage. Our auditions are no exception. I want actors to feel comfortable enough to reveal themselves and challenge us in our hurried first impressions. Still, it was surreal to stand from behind the table and greet each actor as he entered, introduce him to our team, ask him to slate himself to the camera and then listen to his piece.
As each actor unraveled himself in front of us, some taking chances, some scared into tepid safety, I marvelled at how different it looks from the other side. I could see the fright and nervousness behind eyes, fidgety hands and feet, shaky voices and timid attempts at smiles. I wondered if that's what I look like in the stark white room of an audition. Then with delight, I saw actors emerge from their insecurities, burying themselves in character. Stillness and personality slowly began to seep through, and like some gift, they let us in to see who they are.
It's a rare thing, to see a person authentically in such an artificial situation. To catch even a glance is lucky. But as we handed each actor his sides and saw him react with the script and pull the character off the page and into the studio, Lady Fortune landed on our doorstep and played with us a while. As a producer, I got to see for the first time what it means to find an actor you can trust with your project. It's a surprisingly frightening thing, to trust a person with a task like that.
The light started to dip on the second day and we were left with a decision to make. Five talented men, two slots to fill. To be honest, it wasn't a terribly difficult decision to make. There were two men, when they got our script in their hands, who brought the story to life in a way I had never imagined before. And that's the beautiful thing about the theatre and a good actor - they will show you a story you never realized was there before. And when you let yourself be surprised, you'll find actors who help create a play truly worth producing and a story worth telling. And that's the business I'm in… stories.
