I'm feeling WEIRD. I applied to several graduate programs for an MFA in Acting and... nothing. Literally nothing. Let me back up.
I applied to around 12. Of those 12, 2 decided that they're no longer going to have an MFA program in the next year. I had a total of 6? 7? auditions, spanning across one week of high hopes and disappointment. Okay. I'll re-frame it. Not disappointment, but a re-imagining of what my future holds and how I'm going about pursuing this whole acting thing.
I started off with my audition for USC. I wasn't super excited for this audition, as I was under the impression that USC was expensive. Nope. Turns out, unlike they advertise on their website, the program is totally free. No stipend, like a lot of other programs, but still free. It was my first audition of the week, I was super excited. They asked me to look them in the eye while presenting my two monologues, and I did. I felt really good about it! I walked away confident that no matter what happens, I gave a kick-ass audition.
That same day, I had my UC Irvine audition. They gave us a run-down of the program, and it really aligned with my goals. They had a really holistic approach to acting that wasn't rooted in one "discipline" or "theory" of acting, but rather an exploration of different methods and theories. I did my audition, but accidentally looked thme in the eye for my contemporary monologue, which was Ashlee's from Dance Nationby Clare Barron. My classical piece (essentially Ancient Greek or Shakespeare) was Antigone's final monologue from Antigone by Sophocles. The thing about Ashlee, though, is that the monologue is intense. In the monologue, she's discussing how, as a teenager, she's discovering the way that men treat her, and how she can use that to her advantage. She discusses how smart she is, how she holds a lot of power because of her looks and her intelligence. At one point in the monologue, she says "I'm really frickin smart." The monologue ends with her getting really animated and excited and empowered, saying that "I'm going to make you all my MOTHERFUCKING BITCH." So esentially, I looked these two people who could very well change the trajectory of my entire life straight in the eyes and called them my motherfucking bitch. I finish the monologue, and the auditor (the head of the acting program) looks at my resume, looks back up at me, and says "well, you ARE really fucking smart." He then asked me about my creative endeavors, why I want to be an actor, etc. I basically got to talk about my passion for a few solid minutes. It felt amazing. They said I'd hear from them in a few days.
After UC Irvine, I had a couple of days before my next audition: the URTAs. The URTAs are... interesting. I went last year, and got 6 callbacks from "guest schools," which are mostly conservatories that don't offer MFA programs or are otherwise not "officially" affiliated with the URTAs. But for the schools that I was actually interested in, I got no callbacks. I was hoping that maybe it would be different this time. I go into my audition this year, which is a room full of representatives from several MFA programs, and performed my two pieces. I was cut off right as I said "MOTHERFUCKING BITCH" with a simple, meek and polite "thank you," causing the room to erupt in laughter. I thought, surely this time I made an impression. With that monologue, that ending? Well. evidently not, as I didn't receive a single callback. Cried about it for an hour, wallowed, then quickly dusted myself off, as the most intense, high-stakes auditions were the next two days: Yale and Juilliard.
I arrive for my Yale audition at the Goodman Theatre. It's iconic. It's a dream. It's exactly where I see myself in 5 years if my theatre career goes as planned, an aspirational pillar of theatre. I wait and wait and wait for the group before me to finish. They herd my group, about 12 of us, into the space. The heads of the department give us a run-down of how this audition will go, attempting to take the pressure off by explaining that no matter whether we get a callback, they want us to feel as though we've done our best work. They split us into two groups, one per auditor, and I'm relieved yet overwhelmed when I find out I'm first. I walk in, greet the auditor, and begin my monologues. Both Yale and Juilliard instructed applicants to prepare 4 monologues, 2 of each genre, though we would only be asked to do 2. The extras were in case they wanted to see something else from us. I'm not expecting the auditor to ask me, at the end of my audition, what else I had prepared. I tell her my other two options, Violet from Smokefall by Noah Haidle and Queen Margaret from Henry VI Part III by Shakespeare. She tells me to go with Smokefall, and to really take my time with this monologue. I do the monologue, give it my all, and thank her for her time. When I walk out of the room, I'm feeling ecstatic and proud. I killed that audition. At least in my eyes. They wouldn't have asked me to present a third monologue if they didn't see something they liked, right? Well. They post the callback list. There's three names on it. None of them are mine. I lick my wounds, call my parents to tell them, and make the sad trek back to my hotel, where my dad is waiting for me. Oh, well. Juilliard tomorrow.
Except. While at the Yale audition, I was approached by a woman from Columbia University, telling me that they were having walk-in auditions that afternoon, if I was interested (she wasn't poaching me specifically, I think just asking everyone who was at the Yale audition to come to theirs). I thought, I have nothing to lose, and made my way to Columbia that afternoon. When I got to the hotel the audition was located at, the same building I'd go to the next day for Juilliard, I was met with a group of auditionees, some of which I recognized, telling me that Columbia was no longer doing walk-ins. I ride the elevator to the audition just to confirm, and find out that my trek was worthless. But! I go back down to the group and they ask if I want to hang out a bit. I get to talking with them, and realize that we're all auditioning for the same stuff. I find out that barely anyone got a callback at the URTAs, and that none of them had been asked by Yale to present a third monologue. So that confirms: even though I didn't get a callback, Yale saw something that piqued their interest.
The next day, it's Juilliard Time. As this is the last audition I have and I'm taking the next train home immediately after the audition, I bring with me my entire bag that I'd packed for the week. My parents are home at this point, and it's just me. Just me and Juilliard. I enter the building I'd been in the day before, and find the same group of people sitting exactly where they were the day before. I greet them, and we wait for the audition time to ride the elevator up. As we're waiting, other auditionees start to trickle in, and we all share solidarity over the incredibly scary thing we're about to do, as well as the (mostly) unsuccessful auditions we'd all had that week. The time comes, we go up and sign in. They keep everyone in two waiting rooms, and they post a list with a line through the middle of it. Those of us before the line will audition, and they'll post the first callback list. After that, if your name isn't on the list, you can leave. If your name is below the line, they repeat the same process but later on. My name is the last name before the line. I wait and wait and finally it's my turn. I walk in. Tell them what I'm going to be performing. At this point, I had decided that the Antigone wasn't getting me anywhere, so I went with Queen Margaret. I stumble over my introduction, but otherwise give as best a performance of both monologues as I possibly could have. I finish. They ask me, to my surprise, to present a third monologue. I tell them the options, and they also choose Smokefall. Before I begin, the auditor tells me to take a longer beat before finishing the monologue and saying "thank you," because ending too abruptly takes them out of the moment. I do exactly that. When I exit the room, I tell the group that I had been asked to present a third monologue. None of them had. The auditors take some time to deliberate, and finally the coordinator comes out of the audition room with a clipboard. She gives us a speech about how brave we are and how they appreciate us all coming out, and that if our name isn't on the list that we are free to go and that we won't be accepted into the program. She takes the piece of paper off the clipboard. Tapes it to the wall. There's one name on the list, and a collective gasp from those of us reading it. The name is not mine. I gather my things and get on the train home.
I had a few days off between Juilliard and my final auditon (callback) for DePaul. In the meantime, I'm still waiting to hear whether I've been invited to the final callback weekends for USC and UC Irvine. I get the email from USC saying no. I'm fine. I'm on the train back to the city when I get the email from UC Irvine: a rejection. Oh well, can't let it get to me! I still have DePaul!
So. DePaul. Conveniently located about 50 feet from my sister's apartment on campus, the Theatre School at DePaul has called me back. This callback was based on an initial video prescreen audition and my application. I'm proud of this. In fact, I overheard people at the Yale audition discussing how none of them had received a callback for DePaul's program. I arrive at The Theatre School and the MFA candidates are brought into a room. We're told that the callback will consist of a physical exercise, followed by an "open scene," which is essentially improv but your lines are fed to you. Not the situation, though. And you don't get to consult with your scene partner. You have no context, no storyline, just generic lines and yours and your partner's instincts. We do the physical activity, which is really fun and requires some vulnerability, especially considering the fact that you've never met any of these people before. We walk around the room backwards, trying to open up a sense that we didn't know we had. We behave as a "river," allowing our bodies to freely stream across the audition room floor. I take risks. I throw myself into the exercise. I'm not scared of this stuff anymore. That finishes, and we move onto the open scene portion of the audition. My scene partner and I really click, and we have an emotionally impactful audition (at least for us). I'm allowed to leave and am told that I'll hear back in March about whether I've been admitted.
I walked out of the week feeling incredibly discouraged. While I understood that most of these schools are looking for people with a little more professional experience, I can't help but wonder what I did wrong. What they didn't see in me. Why did no one show any interest? Well, I still had DePaul. They had shown me concrete interest, and I was genuinely in the running for their program. Until I wasn't.
On March 8, the day before my birthday, I check my application portal. It says that a decision has been made. I open it. It's a rejection. Officially, I have been denied from every school that I applied for. Oh well, I think. Next time, I guess. Or maybe not. Maybe I don't need an MFA. Maybe I'll do just fine trying to get this career started without industry connections, without pedagogical background, without the training that I thought I so desperately needed.
The thing that sucks the most? A few weeks ago, people that I'd started following on social media from the auditions started posting about where they were accepted. And I found out (and this one kills) that a girl who was at my DePaul audition, who had also just graduated within the past year, was accepted and was going to Yale. Now I couldn't blame my rejection on a bias against 23-year-olds. Whatever it is, there's something this girl has that I simply don't. And that sucks.
I'm not giving up. That's not the point of this blog. The experience was exhilerating and demoralizing and hopeful and soul crushing and amazing and terrible. I walked out of that week a different person. I have different goals now. Get a full-time job, move to the city, try to break into the industry that way. It's just less clear-cut. Less methodical. Less academic, which I was secretly hoping to hold onto for as long as I could.
At the end of the day, acting is what I want to do. It's all I've ever wanted. And I can have a career, a professional corporate career, to supplement that. I can find passion in marketing or sales or whatever, as long as it allows me to be creative. I can do acting on the side, and even more in the city than in the suburbs. I'm in the process of figuring it out. But no one tells you how hard the transition out of college is, how humbling the year after you graduate is. How big of a reality-check, slap-in-the-face, body-slam-you-to-the-ground-WWE-style trying to be an adult is. I'm floundering. At least it feels like it. But I'm not giving up hope. I'm too young for that yet.