Next.
And so suddenly I'm the critic. I was at the theater all weekend watching over a hundred people audition for the Neo-Futurists. We'll be calling back about nine, casting two or three.
You see a lot of nice people trying really hard, and sometimes you can see so clearly that they're not where they belong, like the twenty-eight-year-old closeted waiter at a Chillies in an Oklahoma suburb. Everyone who walks into an audition is scared. Everyone is doing something that is very hard. But for some reason, all the cliches are true. You look at a person and fairly quickly you know they'll be right for the show. It only takes a few seconds, usually.
But then several hours later, the ensemble is arguing about who we will call back and why. This is my fifth round of auditions since I've joined the Company, and it seems all the struggles are essentially the same, and much anxiety is expressed over whether or not the right people are being called back, or more accurately, whether it is right to knock certain people out of consideration. In the end--and I think I'm alone on this one--I don't think it's possible to make a mistake.
The Buddhists believe that everyone you meet, you have met before in a previous life, that your relationship with them is defined by your relationship with them in your last life--down to the person you pass on the street or see on television. Lovers have been lovers before, or friends, brothers, sisters, mothers or fathers. The man who gives you the finger out his car window for no good reason was the man you splashed with mud as horses pulled your coach down that rainy cobble-stoned street in 1893. Why didn't you say you were sorry by the way?
I was talking to Genevra about this last night. She nodded and smiled. She doesn't think I'm crazy but she doesn't agree. She does not believe that the folks we're going to hire are essentually already cast, that we somehow can't help but hire them. (Everyone in the company would nod and smile at me if I shared that one.) To me, the arguing, the struggles, the philosophical differences, it is all a game that the universe is playing. Yes, most things can go lots of ways, but I think for something this important, for a relationship with so much karma-to-be, whomever we choose will be the right choice--even if they turn out to be complete assholes.
The El tracks rattle. Water bubbles from a pot. A man writes haikus.
Your worst day is someone's best day. Your audition is another person's lesson. You have spent your day well. You have spent your day poorly. No moment is planned. Every moment is planned. Nothing is a surprise. Nothing is under our control.
What would happen if the Neo-Futurists saw things my way? How could they conduct auditions? I just hang back and offer comments and when the people I know are going to emerge as our obvious choices, I back them aggressively. And I discuss my reasons in terms that befit the audition process because that's what you do. That's how you conduct an audition. Just like this. Auditions are just like this.
In the end, it drives me crazy to be a critc. I don't like the words that come out of my mouth when I grope to describe why I like or don't like a person, but I try not to critique critique--because that's just mental confusion. The words are not lies. They're the truth. But they're my truth, and they exist in my mind as a necessary game.
And people audition for us constantly and we are constantly auditioning. When you see someone important, it only takes a few seconds to realize that they will be important once again. You will love them, hate them, want them, fear them. I believe, for what it's worth, that these lessons find you. The larger tests cannot be avoided.
And so suddenly I'm the critic. I was at the theater all weekend watching over a hundred people audition for the Neo-Futurists. We'll be calling back about nine, casting two or three.
You see a lot of nice people trying really hard, and sometimes you can see so clearly that they're not where they belong, like the twenty-eight-year-old closeted waiter at a Chillies in an Oklahoma suburb. Everyone who walks into an audition is scared. Everyone is doing something that is very hard. But for some reason, all the cliches are true. You look at a person and fairly quickly you know they'll be right for the show. It only takes a few seconds, usually.
But then several hours later, the ensemble is arguing about who we will call back and why. This is my fifth round of auditions since I've joined the Company, and it seems all the struggles are essentially the same, and much anxiety is expressed over whether or not the right people are being called back, or more accurately, whether it is right to knock certain people out of consideration. In the end--and I think I'm alone on this one--I don't think it's possible to make a mistake.
The Buddhists believe that everyone you meet, you have met before in a previous life, that your relationship with them is defined by your relationship with them in your last life--down to the person you pass on the street or see on television. Lovers have been lovers before, or friends, brothers, sisters, mothers or fathers. The man who gives you the finger out his car window for no good reason was the man you splashed with mud as horses pulled your coach down that rainy cobble-stoned street in 1893. Why didn't you say you were sorry by the way?
I was talking to Genevra about this last night. She nodded and smiled. She doesn't think I'm crazy but she doesn't agree. She does not believe that the folks we're going to hire are essentually already cast, that we somehow can't help but hire them. (Everyone in the company would nod and smile at me if I shared that one.) To me, the arguing, the struggles, the philosophical differences, it is all a game that the universe is playing. Yes, most things can go lots of ways, but I think for something this important, for a relationship with so much karma-to-be, whomever we choose will be the right choice--even if they turn out to be complete assholes.
The El tracks rattle. Water bubbles from a pot. A man writes haikus.
Your worst day is someone's best day. Your audition is another person's lesson. You have spent your day well. You have spent your day poorly. No moment is planned. Every moment is planned. Nothing is a surprise. Nothing is under our control.
What would happen if the Neo-Futurists saw things my way? How could they conduct auditions? I just hang back and offer comments and when the people I know are going to emerge as our obvious choices, I back them aggressively. And I discuss my reasons in terms that befit the audition process because that's what you do. That's how you conduct an audition. Just like this. Auditions are just like this.
In the end, it drives me crazy to be a critc. I don't like the words that come out of my mouth when I grope to describe why I like or don't like a person, but I try not to critique critique--because that's just mental confusion. The words are not lies. They're the truth. But they're my truth, and they exist in my mind as a necessary game.
And people audition for us constantly and we are constantly auditioning. When you see someone important, it only takes a few seconds to realize that they will be important once again. You will love them, hate them, want them, fear them. I believe, for what it's worth, that these lessons find you. The larger tests cannot be avoided.
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