This was one of those weeks for me where everything seemed to centre around one theme. Like when you learn a new word and then suddenly you see it everywhere and realise you’ve been skimming over it for years? Well, since moving to the city, I think I’ve been skimming over the power of words themselves, and how they can affect our creative environment.

One of my many jobs in the city is working at a very classy gym. As part of my compensation, I get a free membership, which I use liberally. The classes are amazing, plus they are free. The free part is my favorite part.

A couple of weeks ago, I was waiting outside the dance studio for one of these classes to begin, and happened to hear a very unsettling conversation involving a good number of the women in the hallway. They were all talking about the gift they’d purchased for the teacher as an end of the year thank you. The exchange went something like this (names have been changed):

Woman A: Megan got everyone’s attention at the end of class so we could give it to him.

Woman B: Megan? Who’s Megan?

Woman A: Oh, you know! Megan! The tall, beautiful dancer.

Woman C: I don’t think she’s a beautiful dancer. She dances kind of like Gumby.

Excuse me, what? Let’s back up here. Did I mention this class was at the gym? This is not American Ballet Theater folks. People are here to burn some calories, not to show off their Baryshnikov-like leaps! I was absolutely appalled by her rudeness. I would never have expected such “mean girl” behavior from a grown woman. Not only was she bad-mouthing some poor girl who wasn’t even there to defend herself, but she was doing it in front of the whole class. And the insult itself was just so low. I subsequently felt constantly judged during my workout, and probably always will.

Just a few days later, I had another experience which proved to me how powerful off-hand comments can be. I was randomly Googling my mother — don’t ask — and I came across a quote on someone’s blog. The author said that my mother had, “read [her] poem,” and that my mother’s, “simple act of encouragement sustained [her] for a year”. A year? I was overwhelmed. My mother had made a huge impact on this woman’s life. This made me a very proud daughter — although I already was — but it also struck me as an artist. The littlest comments we make amongst our creative peers can mean so much, and we don’t even think about them.

When I was about 12 years old, Sheila Donovan, an older and much cooler girl than I, told me I sounded beautiful on a song we were singing with a large group of kids as part of a medley. I was probably very obviously nervous and awkward, and Sheila was nice enough to say something that made me smile and has stuck with me for over nine years.

So, recently I’ve been trying to be freer with my compliments. I say, spread the love! Instead of awkwardly staring at Marc Kudisch at the gym, go up and tell him how awesome he is! Okay, that may only apply to my bizarre life. But, in all seriousness, everyone makes an impact on this world. Now, it’s your choice whether that impact is positive or negative.

Image: Jogging on a bright November morning

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New York is one crazy place. I recently submitted myself for a non-paying gig and could not get an audition slot. Yes, you heard that correctly: the show was unpaid, but the competition to work for no money is so steep that they didn’t have time to see everyone. And we’re not even talking about competition for a role, we’re only talking about competition to get in the door. It’s a madhouse.

Recently, though, I was lucky enough to not only get in the door but to actually book a national children’s theatre tour. In fact, I’m writing this on the road – we’re currently driving through scenic West Virginia. Hour five and counting. Oy.

Luckily for me, the company I’m touring with treats its actors pretty well. We’re entitled to a decent weekly pay and per diem, overtime, and even rest invasion, or extra compensation for any hour worked that encroaches on the required 12-hour break between the time you arrive at your hotel for the night and the time you have to be at the van and ready the next morning. Touring can be difficult and exhausting, but this company has really done everything in its power to make things manageable for its actors.

This should be the norm, but unfortunately, it’s not. Every actor in the city is clamouring for a chance to perform, and many are willing to accept less than ideal working conditions to get that chance. It’s a city full of scabs. But, honestly, who can blame an actor for taking work? After spending four years and thousands of dollars on training, and busting your butt at a thankless day job, any role seems like a miracle.

There are some opportunities that seem too good to be true – showcases throughout the city that promise an audience full of agents and other theatre professionals scouting new talent. All you have to do is sell or buy a certain number of tickets (and, in some cases, pay your accompanist), and you will get to sing or do a monologue for these industry insiders.  Now, I don’t want to completely knock these showcases. They give actors a chance to practise their craft in front of an audience, and they also make decent quality video recordings of the performances, which are a life saver when it comes to submissions. And, while I don’t personally know anyone who has landed an agent from this type of performance, I would assume that someone, somewhere down the line has got work from this type of performance opportunity, or no one would do it. I can’t help but wonder, though – if the performers are the ones selling the tickets, who is inviting the agents and casting directors? Won’t it just be an audience full of the actors’ friends?

Theatres everywhere are struggling, and I understand the need to cut corners just to keep companies alive. But it does seem unfair to take advantage of actors who are just anxious for a chance to flex their creative muscles. Still, we actors don’t always help ourselves. It sometimes feels as though we push down our asking price by taking any job that comes our way, regardless of how terrible the contract might be. It’s difficult to say, and at its core it’s probably just a very vicious cycle that can only be solved by more money going into the arts, either through patronage or governmental support. Because, in order to survive, theatres need to make money, and actors need to act. Unfortunately, actors also need to eat and pay their bills. These are the pesky facts of life.

Image by Monica Reida.

If you are an American reader of A Younger Theatre and would like to contribute to the AYT USA blog series, please contact blogs[at]ayoungertheatre.com.

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Dozens of girls crawl out of bed at 5am or earlier, grab their pre-packed audition bags, and head to Midtown. Once they take the two or three trains needed to get to the audition studios from their “transitioning” neighborhoods 100 or so blocks north or south of central Manhattan, they wait outside in the bitter cold or blistering heat until the building opens and then go into the “holding room”. Yes, a “holding room”. As if you didn’t already feel like one in a herd of cattle.

They then put their names on the unofficial list and set up camp, unloading their makeup, curling irons, and simple chic dresses they cannot really afford. One of my favorite audition pastimes is watching a room full of schlumpy looking nobodies turn into a bevy of supermodels. It’s like the transformation from Beauty and the Beast, complete with fog courtesy of the thick cloud of hairspray and powder pervading the air.

Once the audition monitor arrives, everyone eagerly waits to hear whether the unofficial audition list will be honored. At this stage in the game, there may be up to a hundred names already on the list… and only seventy actors in the room? How can that be?

At every New York audition, you will find actors sleepily staggering up to the unofficial list and adding their name to the dozens already there… and then adding the names of their ten closest friends who aren’t actually in line yet.

Now, there are about a million and one reasons why these other performers haven’t yet gotten to the studio. The frantic text messages they sent all of their actor friends begging to be added to the list run the gamut from: “The F train is experiencing delays!” to  “I’m coming all the way from Philly!” and “There’s another open call I have to get to today. If you sign me up there, I’ll sign you up here! Then we can switch!”

We have all felt the pain of early morning auditions. But on the popular and extremely useful website Auditionupdate.com, one reader who lives outside of the city points out that they can suck more for some than for others. Sometimes, the first train into the city on New Jersey Transit or Metro North may not leave until 5:00 am or later. So, it is important to note that these absent actors are not necessarily lazy bums.

On the other hand, I don’t think most actors, myself included, really consider the ramifications of adding their friends to the audition list, though that’s not to say there is no discussion surrounding the topic: the aforementioned “Bitching Post” on Audition Update shows that there is debate surging.

Every name that you add to the list that is not your own may mean one more actor who does not get seen that day. Five minutes can mean the difference between getting seen and getting a job, and not even getting to sing or read because you had to go pick up your charge, Billy, from school or get to a temp job before they reach your number on the list. And if you can’t get in the room, you simply aren’t going to get hired.

I don’t think it’s fair to advise readers to never sign up their friends or vice versa.  After all, this new, more ethical system will open up work if everyone buys into it. It would be like telling everyone they should just arrive at auditions when they actually start, rather then getting there at 6am. Wouldn’t that be nice? Then we could all sleep in! But it’s simply not going to happen and it’s not a crusade you can win on your own. However, as the genius folk-rap duo Flight of the Conchords would say, “You gotta think about it. Think, think about it.”  By helping out your friend, are you simultaneously ruining someone else’s day?

If you are an American reader of A Younger Theatre and would like to contribute to the AYT USA blog series, please contact blogs[at]ayoungertheatre.com.

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Being an actor with a day job is an oxymoron. First of all, you can’t really have a regular job during the day. You have to be free for morning auditions. Then, if you get cast, you have to be free in the afternoons for rehearsals. But then, you can’t really work in the evenings either because once you open, you need to keep your nights free for performances. So, when exactly are actors supposed to make money to pay rent and utility bills? And you know, eat occasionally?

The other issue is that one cannot get a day job without experience, especially in New York City. Craigslist want ads for waitresses in Manhattan often ask for three or more years of serving experience in a high pressure, crowded environment. Many childcare positions go to those with their Masters in education. Who knew you had to be bilingual and have a degree to hang out with someone’s five year-old? And receptionist jobs are hard to come by, competitive, and not very flexible.

So, temping will work, right? It’s so flexible! And the rates aren’t terrible either. But wait, you’re saying I may not get called in to work for weeks at a time? Or that I may never hear from you at all?

Alright, so I guess I’m stuck being poor. I’m not looking for a fancy lifestyle! What do I need with money? Oh wait, I have to pay for voice lessons, dance classes, coachings, theatre tickets, headshots, a gym membership, audition outfits, workshops, and master classes? Oh. Problem. Striving for that triple threat moniker requires regular training and training does not come cheap.

Currently, I have two temp jobs that I’m really happy with. At one of them, I even get to substitute teach. But it’s just not going to foot the bill. I’m searching for job number three and am lost as to what I should even be looking for at this point. If only I had some unique skill like woodworking. Then I could make my own schedule! Why was that not a class I took in college?

Oddly enough, my artistic life is going much better than my practical one. In the less than two months I’ve been living here, I got my first show, ASMed another, and even became EMC. And while all of that makes me very, very happy, I’m still frustrated at the end of the day because I am not self-sufficient.

One major issue I have is dealing with the guilt of being a less than reliable employee. I can’t go into an interview and confidently claim I will be able to work any one job for a year, or that I won’t consistently ask friends to cover my shift. I know that I came here to act and that, consequently, other things need to come second but I really don’t like the idea of quitting on someone.

In any job you do, someone is relying on you; you are always part of an ensemble. And if I didn’t learn the importance of ensemble work in school, then I don’t think my education was worth very much. Acting is all about being able to rely on others and to make it possible for them to rely on you. But how can I do that in a world where I need to be free for a callback at the drop of a hat? Or to leave the state or even the country at a moment’s notice to perform at a regional theatre or join a touring company? I can feel the ulcer forming now.

I don’t really have a solution to this ethical dilemma. But, I suppose I do have three options: 1) Quit performing altogether and find a 9 to 5 job, 2) Move to a city where it is possible to both perform professionally and still hold down regular hours or 3) Stick it out and work hard to give everyone as much notice as I can on any change in my hectic schedule.

For right now, I’m going with option three. I want to give this a real go while still trying to maintain my reputation for being reliable.  I find that I have to constantly remind myself that I came here to perform and that right now, auditioning is my real job. The other stuff is just to pay the bills. And, oh, are there bills!

If you are an American reader of A Younger Theatre and would like to contribute to the AYT USA blog series, please contact blogs[at]ayoungertheatre.com.

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Costume design can be a slightly confounding medium. There’s an immediately obvious aspect to it, of how a costume looks and how that makes the audience feel, but there’s so much more to it than that. Young won her Tony for Peter and the Starcatcher, an unfamiliar prequel to a very familiar story. When designing for a Peter Pan prequel, there are obvious expectations of how characters will look, but Young (and the show’s creative team) almost subverted those expectations. Take Peter Pan’s iconic green tunic, for example; in Peter and the Starcatcher, Peter’s friend Molly, who behaves more like the Peter Pan of legend, wears a green dress, and, as Young explains, “when Molly has to leave, and Peter eventually over time forgets about her and about his adventures with her, I think that that image [of the green dress] is still ingrained in his mind, and then as his clothes start to fall apart, or he has to start put together things that are on the island, he starts to emulate the way that Molly looked when she left.”

But the detail-orientation and creation of backstory extends beyond that. Take the character of Smee, who wears a Wall Street-style trench coat in the show. Young created a whole backstory for how Smee came to own that trench coat, explaining, “I like to think that the pirates invaded the Financial District at one point, he stole that off of a dead banker. I don’t think he’s actually capable of killing anyone yet, he’s tried, but somebody else killed the banker, and he’s on the street, and he took his trench coat.”

This intricacy is even applied to replacement cast members, like in the case of Matthew Saldivar, who replaced Christian Borle as Captain Black Stache over the summer. While she did not have enough time to design an entirely new costume for Saldivar, she made sure that the costume would work with his characterisation of Black Stache. Explaining the difference between the two actors, she says, “Christian [Borle] used to have his vest tight and buttoned really tight with one little button, which is the only button he would button, because everything was too small, and that didn’t really work for Matt [Saldivar], so we re-tailored his vest, and now it’s just open, all the time…and he unbuttons his shirt a lot more.”

The more Young speaks, the more it becomes clear that the way she designs costumes is anything but haphazard; everything she does is incredibly purposeful. This applies to every step of her design process—a process that is remarkably similar to that of an actor. That’s not to say that she shies away from historical research, though. One such example of this is one of the play’s most important pieces, Lord Astor’s coat: “Lord Astor belongs to an order, the order of the Starcatchers, that doesn’t actually exist… I can make up what the Starcatcher uniform is, but it would probably be something similar, like we wanted it to look British…So, instead of putting him in a big red coat, we made a coat that looked like the Caribbean Navy officers coat, and we gave it a red lining, and these red sleeves, which is not particularly British, but they’re innocuous when they are on Lord Astor, but once Black Stache starts wearing them, and flipping up his tails everywhere, and pulling open his coat, suddenly the coat becomes a lot more red than it was before.”

Similarly, she had a lot of fun designing costumes for a recent production of Pride and Prejudice, discovering that some of the most interesting costumes date from a far bygone era. Take ballgowns, for example: “It turns out a lot of the costumes that were made for black and white films are really fabulous colors because they played with the camera in that way, to sort of punch the luminosity of the costume, so there’s all these absolutely surprising colors from the 30s and 40s, in the costume stocks out there, to play with.”

This was a particularly lucky find, since she had spent most of her budget on designing simple white dresses for the Bennett sisters—a feat easier said than done. “I wanted to make them look attractive, and it’s really hard because that period is not flattering for… it is not in line with our contemporary conception of what is a beautiful woman’s body, you look like fat marshmallows…So in order to do that, it was like, how can we make it look period but adjust the waistlines, adjust the necklines, change the seaming, so that it’s more flattering, or more attractive to a contemporary eye, which we could do, but also meant that I wasn’t going to find that somewhere else.” As she points out, that can be disappointing to investors: “That’s where I spent the big money and the labor, but the dresses themselves look very simple and sweet and didn’t seem luscious in the way that, I think that when someone hands you a big check, they’re expecting.” This aligns well with Young’s philosophy on good costume design: “I think that the best costumes, in my mind, are the ones that people don’t see… they make you feel things, without you knowing that you’re feeling them. So most of the time, I like to design invisible costumes.”

There’s not always a big check, though. Luckily, that often leads to some wonderful results, like a sense of community among all those who made the project happen. Take one of the pre-Broadway incarnations of Starcatcher, for instance: “I think that innovation and creativity in finding materials and ways to reuse things is so much more rewarding for everyone who’s involved, like with Peter and the Starcatcher, getting people to donate the materials. Actors donated bottle caps, restaurants downtown, when we did it downtown, donated their corks, and it really fosters a sense of community, which I think live theatre is all about.”

Unsurprisingly, costume design is not the most financially lucrative job. Even for a designer like Young, it’s hard to find a good balance of work that is geographically compatible. She notes, “I just had to turn down a show that I really wanted to do, because it was teching when I was going to be doing fittings for two other shows in different cities. So it’s one thing if I’m like, well, if I could do my fittings in the morning and go to tech in the afternoon, but I can’t do that if my fittings are in Oregon, and my tech is in Texas.” She thinks the challenges are worth it, though, noting, “The tradeoff of having a job that is so fun, that involves so many creative choices and challenges, is you’re going to have to do it a lot if you want to make it work.”

Making it work and becoming a Tony-winning costume designer is not an easy process. It takes a lot of networking and a fair amount of luck to get there, even for a designer as talented as Young. While she had only done theatre on the side during her undergraduate degree, she decided to pursue a Master of Fine Arts in costume design, a decision she doesn’t regret, explaining, “I would say that I learned a lot in graduate school, my experience was invaluable, and I wouldn’t be where I am today if I hadn’t gone to grad school.” Unfortunately, though, getting an MFA is not an instant ticket to employment, so Young found it important to accept any and all projects that came her way. Her advice to aspiring costume designers? “Just say yes to everything, and be really good at even the smallest jobs. Approach every job like it’s the most important thing, even if it’s just buying socks.”

If you are an American reader of A Younger Theatre and would like to contribute to the AYT USA blog series, please contact blogs[at]ayoungertheatre.com.

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What do you do when you want to act? You quit school, pack your bags and move to L.A., right? Well, I decided to work a nine to five while doing theatre on the side post-graduation. Although I am ultimately pursuing an impractical career, I am taking the practical approach of saving up money while figuring out what my next step is. And all the while I am wondering (1), how long will I have to wait to do what it is I am truly passionate about, and (2), what in the world are the benefits of community theatre.

When I started doing research on community theatre, I mostly found information about how it fosters and nurtures a community. But what I really wanted to find was some success story about a famous actress who was discovered doing community theatre in a small town of South Dakota – and this is where I become fixated on what the world deems “success” and lose sight of why I want to do theatre in the first place. Back when I knew nothing about theatre and decided to study it in college, I was asked why by my high school choir director. All I could manage was a timid “because I like it.” This still holds true for me today, and I’m finally understanding exactly why.

Theatre is an inspiring and often thought-provoking storytelling art. And a local community production has the potential to have the same impact on a person as a Broadway show (without costing half a paycheck). This is ultimately up to the actors and collaborators giving their best efforts – not doing it half-heartedly because it is “only” community theatre. Monica Reida makes a very insightful comment on her blog, Fragments: “not everyone on the stage in a community theater production is someone with a theater degree. But ultimately they’re hard-working people that want to make a production that people will love, enjoy, and remember.” And according to the AACT website, community theatre blossomed in the United States as a result of The European Art Theatre Movement around the turn of the 20^th century. A group of actors called the Irish Players made community theatre a form of protest against commercial theatre.  It seems that they thought they could do just as well or better, despite the fact that they probably weren’t making any money off of their productions. It is about “the art of making art.” It is about “putting it together.”

There are many more opportunities to develop as an artist for those who are able to look past the negative stereotype of community theatre. At this point in my life, it’s not about how prestigious the theatre I am working with is. It’s learning the persistence of putting yourself out there, experiencing auditioning, and getting to do what you love, even if it is only an audition. Yes, the director may not be working on anything going to Broadway, but by doing an audition, more people are exposed to your talents, your personality, and your capabilities. And in turn, you get to learn about yourself as a person and performer, as well as experiencr working with a variety of personalities.

So at the end of the day, researching the “top 10 reasons budding professionals should participate in community theatre” will not make you feel better about choosing to sit at a desk for eight hours a day instead of suffering like a “true” artist should. The most reassuring idea is the logic that you, as a true performer and artist, already know and are sick of hearing all of the time. It really is about the experience – the experience of auditioning, performing, and developing your craft. It’s all about what you put into the performance. That is the only way you can grow. And this concept does not change in the professional world. Theatre is theatre is theatre.

Already I have heard so many people talk about how they stopped pursuing a career as a performer simply because they just didn’t want to deal with the rejection anymore. If I can learn to press on despite that, and become a better performer because I took advantage of opportunities that others would not, I will have already taken a huge step.

Image via Grit.com

If you are an American reader of A Younger Theatre and would like to contribute to the AYT USA blog series, please contact blogs[at]ayoungertheatre.com.

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Let’s be real, you couldn’t pay me to go back to high school. Even all the craziness that comes along with moving to New York, furnishing and decorating my new apartment, trying to find a job, and rehearsing two shows at once cannot compare to the stress, anxiety, and self doubt I felt in my teen years. I’m not saying I hated high school altogether, but I think it’s safe to say that being a teenager can be hard. Really hard.

This summer, I worked with thirty-one teens in a high school musical theatre program and got the chance to review that high school experience from a completely different vantage point. I learned so much from the experience, starting with the fact that high schoolers are probably the most marginalized age group around. They are supremely underestimated in terms of drive, passion, and intelligence, all three of which these students had in spades.

But another thing I saw across the board was low self-esteem. This is obviously a problem with actors of all ages, but it definitely plagues the high school set more than any other. Or maybe adults are just better at hiding it.

The thing that always gives it away, is the constant apologizing for one’s work. Sometimes it’s verbal—“I didn’t really have time to work on this”; “I’m not prepared”; “I have a cold”; “I can’t really sing”; “this isn’t in my range”; “Sorry!”—and sometimes it’s all in the physicality—making faces after one’s voice cracks; a slumped posture; essentially fleeing the stage after the final note is sung.

So, why do young actors self-sabotage this way? It’s a multi-faceted issue, but I think the lion’s share of it comes from a lack of safe space. Being a creative teen can be difficult. Depending on where you grow up, it can be very unpopular to pursue the arts. So teens feel that if they set expectations low, they can’t disappoint their already judgmental audience.

Over the summer, I heard campers from each different artistic track — musical theatre, music industry, culinary arts, fashion industry, and film — talk about how few friends they had in school and how misunderstood they felt by their peers. Many of them were in counseling or on medication for the depression they faced as a result of this bullying. They were tortured and teased and had finally come to a place that welcomed and supported them.

Shortly after camp finished, I was working on a play and reading up on the idea of the “hero’s journey,” or the monomyth. This device, developed by Joseph Campbell, is used to describe the journey a character goes through in a traditional myth. It starts with the “call to adventure” and goes through the steps they must take to complete their path.

Toward the end, there is the “refusal of the return,” when the hero completes their task and resists returning home, because their normal life cannot compare to the magic they experienced in the outside world. When I got to this step, I realised the monomyth was the perfect metaphor for summer camp.

When each session starts, campers reluctantly file through the doors and into the unknown. They are nervous, scared, and excited, and they apologise for just about everything they do. What they find, at least at this particular camp, is a warm environment where they are free to make mistakes and bold choices and to truly be themselves. They start to stand a little bit taller and take up space, and they begin to catch themselves before the word “sorry” passes their lips.

But after three weeks, they have to go back home and face everything that zapped away their self-esteem in the first place.  It’s so hard to send them back out into that big scary pond, knowing what might await them.

These teenagers are my heroes, and will continue to influence the choices I make for the rest of my life. Because even if it was only for three weeks, they took risks and pursued their dreams with their full heart and soul. And if they take one smidgen of that new-found confidence back home with them, then it was all worth it.

So, every time I want to take a day job that might pay the bills but will prevent me from auditioning, or when I feel the urge to cringe because I didn’t quite hit that high note, I will think of them. And every time I start complaining about how difficult and stressful my life is, I will abstain. Because if these teens can face what comes at them in their every day lives, then I can certainly go into that audition room walking just a little bit taller.

If you are an American reader of A Younger Theatre and would like to contribute to the AYT USA blog series, please contact blogs[at]ayoungertheatre.com.

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Singing has been and always will be my first passion. My joy for singing has only increased over the years, although my discovery of acting in college now comes a close second. However, there have been a few rare moments when I’ve realised how truly inseparable the two arts must become – something I feel any performer must come to realise if they are to consider themselves good, let alone extraordinary.

It is easy to spot those performers who have. They are Patti LuPone and Donna Murphy (just watch her performance of I Read in Sondheim’s Passion). They are the performers who give you chills up and down your spine, conveying emotion seamlessly through their body and voice. I had the privilege of hearing Norm Lewis belt out Being Alive in Sondheim on Sondheim featuring Vanessa Williams and Barbara Cook, and I have never been able to forget it. I bought the cast recording with the expectation of reliving the musical magic of that night, but I will never hear it the same way again. Such is the allure of live theatre.

As mentioned in my previous post, I have started taking voice lessons with a wonderful teacher who has so quickly grasped what my voice is capable of and picked out fantastic material for me to work on. In my last lesson, I realised that our focus after warm-ups was how to act the song, not how to sing it. At first this frustrated me, since I struggled with delivering the power I felt was necessary for Patterns from Baby. I later realised, however, that my problem wasn’t that I couldn’t deliver that power vocally – in fact my teacher has commended my vocal ability, and I think I have been underestimating myself in that respect. The main issue is that I am focusing on the vocals and not on the emotions behind the song necessary to deliver that power.

Following my teacher’s advice, I have been watching several videos of other people performing Patterns, and I recognise the same problem in many other vocalists. They have incredible instruments, but it is clear they have only done their job as singers and not as performers. I am not convinced of their emotional state and I only catch small glimpses of specifically what they might be talking about. They use all of their vibrato and belting power throughout the song, and they adhere too strictly to the technical aspects of the music. Obviously musical structure is necessary, but as musical theatre is a storytelling art, it should sound more like a monologue and less like a perfectly sung musical piece, such as in opera. Here lies only the beginning of the difficulty in striving towards a career in this industry.

As actors we either have, or must develop, a strong imagination. If you can imagine your circumstances to be true, so can the audience. Every day we people-watch and wonder what someone must be like based on what they are wearing, how they are walking, and the expression on their face. That is real, and we need to evoke that same kind of reality any time we are on stage. Creating theatre is creating life. What I am really talking about is the difference between technical performing and living truthfully on stage. Remember Christine in Phantom of the Opera? The Phantom wants her to sing for him, but he demands so much more of her than that. He demands her voice, her life… her soul.

There comes a time in every performer’s life when they become relatively comfortable with getting up on stage in front of a group of people. But sometimes we rely too much on that ability and only do the bare minimum by performing as rehearsed, instead of letting ourselves be completely exposed and vulnerable on stage. I somehow find myself able to convey intense emotion without using anything specific to invoke reality into my performance. I need to spend more time researching the character I am portraying and then using acting methods to bring out those emotions. Some follow Stanislavski in using personal experience, while others draw on Chekhov’s approach by using the body and specific actions.

Everyone has their own acting techniques which they use to dig into a character, and this same process is necessary for any good performance, even of one song. We must fight our tendency to just sing. It takes a lot to go through a song lyric by lyric, to research a character and imagine all the details of their situation. It’s daunting, for sure, and tedious at times. Lots of people can sing well, but as performers we must use our acting ability to take our vocal ability to the next level.

To read more from Lauren, check out her personal blog.

If you are an American reader of A Younger Theatre and would like to contribute to the AYT USA blog series, please contact blogs[at]ayoungertheatre.com.

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Shuttling 16 high school students around New York City for the summer may not seem like fun, but I have to say it’s a blast. I’m currently working as a teaching assistant and resident advisor at a musical theatre program for teens, and it’s been a rewarding and eye opening experience. Over each three-week session, we take the campers to six Broadway shows, which I must say is a pretty nice perk. Now, some of these shows are great and some of them are, well, not so great. And yet somehow, at every show, the audience sends the cast off with a standing ovation. Now, I realise that the “standing ovation rant” is a hot topic— Ben Brantley wrote an excellent article on the subject just a few months ago—but I wanted to add my own voice to the throng.

Please, for the love of all that is Sondheim, can we put an end to the madness! Not every show deserves an SO. A standing ovation should be saved for the Jerusalems of this world; the Gypsys, the Normal Hearts, the Melba Moores in Purlie – those performances that you will never forget because they have changed you in some way and left you scraping your jaw off the floor. When you leave the theatre humming the tunes and immediately rush out to get the cast recording and then spend the next month listening to the show on repeat, then you get to stand and cheer. When you see a performer bring new light to a piece that you’ve seen thousands of times, then you can jump out of your seat. If the piece actually makes you want to do something different with you life, feel free to leap into the air. Otherwise, just sit on your bum!

According to Brantley, who is a much more seasoned British theatergoer than I, the standing ovation “epidemic,” as he calls it, is not as widespread in the UK. And I have to say that when I studied abroad in London, I did notice that audiences weren’t as quick to stand. So, many of A Younger Theatre’s British readers may not even know that this illness is spreading throughout the United States. And my thanks to you for keeping your expectations high!

Brantley offers some excellent reasons for why this phenomenon exists in Broadway theatres. First of all, it’s a chain reaction. If someone near you is standing during curtain call, you feel obliged to stand with him or her. No one wants to be the horrible grinch who just couldn’t bother to get up from his or her seat. However, I dare audiences to be that person! Keep your standards, even if others are not willing to.

Another reason Brantley gives for why audiences give it all away, is that it makes them feel like the show was worth the ticket price. And with Broadway tickets now costing an arm and a leg, I can understand why patrons want to feel like they got their money’s worth. However, not giving a standing ovation does not mean that the show was not good. It doesn’t even mean that the show was not great! It simply means it wasn’t as great as that other show that you gave a standing ovation to.

As an actor, I am never offended if audiences stay seated at the end of the show. On the contrary, I feel cheated when I get a standing ovation that I know I didn’t earn. If we all stick to our standards, then standing ovations will begin to actually mean something again. Or at least something other than that someone got on a stage somewhere, said some lines, and walked off. That should not a standing ovation make.

If you are an American reader of A Younger Theatre and would like to contribute to the AYT USA blog series, please contact blogs[at]ayoungertheatre.com.

Image credit: Pete Prodoehl.

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Continuing the AYT USA blog series is Lauren Twombly, who has just graduated from Bryan College with a degree in musical theatre. Part of her aspirations as a singer-actress and blogger is to use her experience to encourage fellow artists. As a New Jersey girl who attended school in a small Southern town, she discusses her unique path as an artist thus far; how she is using her current resources to continue pursuing her dreams and why it’s important to fight insecurities about “making it”.

Do you ever wonder if you have done enough or made the right decisions to have a successful and fulfilling career in the theatre?

In America, as far as I can tell, many people who succeed in the business have been going at it for several years already. When you learn about how they started out, you discover that they were touring in some follies show in high school (Sutton Foster), or that they attended a prestigious theatre programme but dropped out because they were good enough to pursue a career already – the case for Matthew Morrison (Glee, South Pacific, Light in the Piazza). These people were successful at an age when I hadn’t even discovered the depth of my passion for theatre. My story is quite different from what many consider to be normal for those who become successful. And this is, at times, terrifying.

I received a degree in music with a concentration on musical theatre from a small Christian college in a small, almost unknown town in Tennessee. This means that my focus can never entirely be music or theatre, having been pulled equally in both directions, while also taking various courses in religion, math, languages, and science. It also means that I have been in a less-than-desirable location for establishing connections in theatre (other than attending the 2011 SETC Conference in Atlanta, which proved highly beneficial). However, having had hardly any previous formal education in acting or music, it was certainly an excellent training ground. It provided me with the basics of music and theatre, a huge support system of faculty and friends, and several opportunities to pursue an art that I had so little experience in but such an overwhelming passion for.

So sometimes I feel hopeless, that I’m not even close to being in a position to pursue a career as a professional performer. I know that I can’t pursue a full throttle career as a performer right away. I can’t afford to live in New York, get an agent, hire an acting coach, and spend all my time preparing for and going to auditions. But that doesn’t mean I can’t ever be a professional actress. As an artist, I have a responsibility to do what I can in my situation.

What does this mean for me, exactly? I’ve started eating better, exercising; keeping my body in shape. I’ve started taking lessons with a phenomenal voice teacher. I read Wicked in three days. I plan to subscribe to Backstage and I’m always on the lookout for local community theatre auditions. I’m working full time as an administrative assistant for a family-owned shipping company. No, I’m not getting paid to do what I love – not yet – but this job will enable me to pay for lessons, headshots, a car, moving out and possibly acting school. I’m doing what I can at this point in my life.

No one can give you a formula for success. I’m constantly talking to other theatre people, trying to figure out how to eventually make my way to Broadway. But my story will not be like anyone else’s. It never has and it never will and that shouldn’t be discouraging. Why would you want your journey as an artist to look just like another artist’s? Isn’t being in this business about what makes you unique and about what you have to offer the artistic community?

But what if I miss the perfect opportunity? What if no one ever sees what I have to offer? You seriously can’t worry about any of that. Know that you are doing everything in your power to put yourself out there and be the best artist you can be. And who knows? Unknowns are becoming famous everyday. Not that I strive merely for fame, but it literally happens overnight. So I should enjoy my anonymity while I can. I should be content to develop my craft during this period, when I am only being criticised on amateur levels.

So I cannot spend so much time worrying about whether I made the right decisions for my career. I have no regrets about my short history as an artist because I know that right now, I am exactly where I am supposed to be. And so are you. I have developed my talents and also my confidence in them. It doesn’t matter where I went to school and how prestigious my theatre programme was. I am working towards pursuing my dreams. It is frustrating when you cannot dedicate every moment of your life to what  you are most passionate about, but listen: when they say, “it’s not going to be easy”, they aren’t joking. And I’m finally starting to learn exactly what that means.

To read more from Lauren, check out her personal blog.

If you are an American reader of A Younger Theatre and would like to contribute to the AYT USA blog series, please contact blogs[at]ayoungertheatre.com.

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