So, with backing in place, a theater in place, dates set, and a first draft of the show done, the next step was to find the people who would bring my warped little revue to sparkling life onstage.
I needed ten performers who could each handle solo vocal work, sing as part of an ensemble, and be exhuberantly and obnoxiously peppy for 90 minutes, including intermission.
They also would eventually have to be studless, tattooless, clean-shaven (both the men and women), have smartly coiffed period hair, and have dazzling Pepsodent smiles.
And they had to be young. 18-25 is the age range I was going for. (Some of you peers might remember them being called the "Pepsi Generation").
Mind you, since my first revue in 2001, I’ve had sort of an unofficial repertory company. A pool of about 12 really talented people, mostly my age (but all younger, some of them would want me to point out), which I would choose from for each project. Not unlike Jim Phelps putting together his weekly team on each episode of Mission: Impossible, back in the 60’s and 70’s.
But without the 8 x 10’s on the table top, or the dramatic music underneath.
Casting my own material has always been a snap.
But now ... with a few rare exceptions, I really didn’t know any performers half (or, sigh, a third) my age anymore. If Ted is twice the age now than he was when he was half his present age, why are you bothering even reading this problem?
Also, I knew there were auditions coming up shortly for a local production of West Side Story (whose performances would overlap with my show on one weekend), so I wanted to audition first for two reasons:
1. I wanted first shot at these young performers.
2. In case I cast someone and they dropped out to be in West Side Story I’d have plenty of time to replace them.
So I quickly set up audition dates allowing me about three weeks to get the word out.
I sent out e-mails with the show website link in them. I told my few twenty-something friends to get the word out to their friends.
And then the first day of auditions came.
I had one of my two favorite accompanists there for whom I had a fresh, double-sided laser-printed copy of my piano score. All the audition materials were neatly printed with the show logo at the top. I had a sample rehearsal schedule that auditionees could look at. Everything was ready to go.
So, like the greedy man who found the singing frog in the famous Warner Brothers cartoon, One Froggy Morning, I proudly opened the doors and waited for the thundering herd of singers to come flooding into the rehearsal hall.
The turnout?
[Insert cricket sounds]
I had one auditionee (a good friend of my young assistant director) waiting to sing. And she did.
CUT TO: The minute hand on the clock showing the passing of two hours, underscored by either "The Syncopated Clock" or the theme from Jeopardy! (depending on how old you are).
Had a lot of nice chats with my assistant stage manager, my accompanist and two or three others who were there to help and watch. But it was like a ghost town after awhile. Even my A.D. started texting at the staff table.
To break the monotony, I would occasionally go out the front door, tempted to carry a sandwich sign that read: "POPTIMISTS" AUDITIONS HERE or HAVE CAST, WILL DIRECT.
Finally, with about ten minutes left, and me beginning to wonder how to rewrite The Poptimists into a one-woman show, a talented young man I’ve known for a few years shows up and auditions.
I called them both back.
The second day was a little better. Two young women I recruited from some local artist websites showed up. (I guess in my e-mails I successfully came off as sincere and not some creepy middle-aged guy trying to lure them to “an audition”.)
This time there were about ten altogether. I figured at this rate, that mathematically if I kept this pace up for three months I’d have 200 to choose from.
I offered one young woman I knew a role on the spot. She happily accepted.
So ... that’s ten percent down, ninety percent to go. And no black performers at all. But I wasn’t worried yet. A phenomenal black male performer said he couldn’t come to auditions but could come to callbacks.
In the two days between auditions and callbacks I got a few e-mails from people wanting to audition. Being the desperate – er, benevolent director I am, I said yes.
Callbacks came and went. A few extra people showed up, and the one I was expecting didn’t. The auditionees seemed to enjoy my new material. Of course as the writer and director you’re never really sure if they actually like the material or if they really just want the part.
Following callbacks, I found I could fill five of the ten roles. I sent out invitations to the performers and all happily accepted, except one.
What? I mean, really!
So I’m still looking for the “California” couple (think Ken and Barbie), and the black couple (think James Brown and Diana Ross forced to behave like Ken and Barbie).
And now you’re up to date. You’re current. You know as much as I do. Well, probably more because you’re objective.
My next steps?
More auditions in a few weeks. (I’ve made a lot of calls and my staff has found a lot of great leads on performers, and some word has actually gotten out).
And I’m considering standing outside the building where they’re holding callbacks for West Side Story and approaching the rejected performers.
“Pssst! Hey! Yeah, you. Screw the Sharks and Jets. Wanna be in a World Premiere?”
Next: Rewriting vs. Root Canals: Which Is Worse?
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