February 3, 1998
While shooting the Frasier episode a week or so ago, I was approached by one of the many people wandering around on the set. There were plenty of extras there that day, and I had already been chatted up by an extra earlier, so I assumed this man was also one. He was asking questions about how long I had been out in L.A. and did I do any theater and where had I done it, and I was just trying to be polite and answer all his questions in a friendly way. It wasn't hurting me to be nice to him. And then he threw in, "...because a producing director at The Mark Taper Forum. You should send me your picture and I'll give it to Stanley Soble." At this point, I turned to him and I guess the look on my face belied my first impression of him, because the next thing he said was, "No, I'm serious."
And so he did. And after over six years in L.A. and six years of sending postcards to Stanley Soble and never hearing word one from the illustrious Mark Taper Forum, I finally had a general audition with its "resident casting director."
The audition was a standard theater audition: two contrasting monologues, either one contemporary/one classical, or one comedic/one dramatic. Simple enough. Simple enough for some in theater that is. Who would have thought, six years ago when I left the stages of Harvard, that someday I would suffer tremendous anxiety from having to audition for theater? But, 'twas true, I had grown so accustomed to the format of a film/TV audition that this whole two monologue format seemed like I was being asked to perform in French.
I sought and received help from two of my "theater people." Kama Lee and Glenn Kessler both steered me around some of the simplest land mines, and Glenn helped me pick out a contemporary monologue. The classical monologue was one I had done twice before and I felt pretty comfortable with it. Still, as I was going to bed last night, I felt the pressure of the impending day and all I had to memorize and perform and I have to say, quite simply, that it scared me.
I drove into downtown L.A. in the pouring rain at about 2:30pm, reciting my monologues over and over in my head. And as I sat in my car about 75 yards from the front door of the audition building, all I could think about was how I really should have bought that umbrella earlier today. Five minutes later I was inside, waiting to audition, looking down at the huge droplet stains on my coat and pants. Just big ol' drops of rain. Probably acid rain at that. My pants would be gone by tomorrow.
The audition started off fine, as I proceeded through monologue number one smoothly and easily. I got to the point where I had decided to add a line, and so I added it. Then what happened next I had promised myself would not happen over and over in the car. I blanked on the next line. I knew that adding a line might cause something like this so I had made extra sure that I would be ready with the next line right at this point. I wasn't. My body sprung into action as my mouth and my brain split up. The mouth's job was to keep the casting director busy while the brain looked for the next line. And there my mouth went, adding some such nonsense that vaguely seemed to make sense at that point in the monologue. My brain, meanwhile, replayed the previous lines, leaving out the added line. After an agonizingly long 8 or 10 seconds passed, the two reunited and put me back on track. The damage had been done, however, and the heart rate had jumped 140%.
I finished monologue number one and moved into number two, the classical one. I got about four lines into it and Stanley Soble said, "Woah, woah. Hold on. Just stop and sit down and relax. Take a breath. You really seem like you're just rushing it. There's no hurry here. Take a moment." Oh, what a blessing that was. The heart rate came back down and let go of the earlier debacle. Began again. The difference was obvious within the first two lines and the classical monologue came out quite well, in fact. And luckily, I didn't have to improv Shakespeare at any time during it.
Afterwards, Mr. Soble was very nice and I sat down and we chatted for a bit, which was very cool since there were people waiting, but he seemed genuinely interested in me for a couple minutes. He ended the whole adventure with a promising phrase, something along the lines of, "Well, I hope to see you again soon," which could be a standard farewell but is still better to hear than, "Hey, good luck to you in your career." or "Have a great life." or "Could I interest you in season tickets to the Mark Taper?"