Let me hear your raptor call," a casting agent asks a student, who has listed the talent under "Special Skills" on her resume. From deep in the student's chest, an otherworldly, half-human, half-animal scream emerges and fills the audition room. "Good," the agent says. Three other agents at the table interrupt their note taking to glance up—apparently raptor calls are unusual at auditions, even in New York.

The next student places his hands on the floor, kicks his legs over his head, and walks perfectly balanced across the room (Special Skill: Walking on Hands). "OK," an agent says. Not as special as the raptor call. Then the actor sings the anthem "Go the Distance" from "Hercules."

"I see you playing more of a character role, something funnier," an agent comments. "Something like—"

"Lefou!" another agent chimes in, naming a short character from "Beauty and the Beast."

"Exactly! Are you funny?" the first agent asks.

"I can be funny," the actor says uncertainly, trying to remember the last comic role he played. When he realizes he doesn't have anything remotely funny in his "book" (the binder with a repertoire of songs that every actor brings to auditions), his face flushes with an "I blew it" look.

"How tall are you?" another agent asks.

"Five nine," the actor replies.

"Really?! You read shorter than that, which is great. There is so much work for the short, funny guy. You can make a ton of money playing Lefou."

The actor, who had entered the room with "leading man" ambitions, leaves it disappointed, dazed—what exactly should "the short, funny guy" sing?—and vaguely hopeful: they seemed to think he had a shot at a career. Didn't they?

Senior showcase season starts in late winter—theater majors come to New York City from across the country to take workshops with, and perform for, industry professionals who could get them work when they move to the city after graduation. It's snowing hard on Thursday morning, Feb. 25, the beginning of senior showcase weekend for 13 UNH seniors. Really hard. In fact, it won't stop snowing until Saturday afternoon—over 20 inches will fall on Central Park in 36 hours.

Snow is not the only problem. "I feel like crap," Allie Hadwen '10 tells Kris Coughlin '10. Hadwen was diagnosed with a severe ear and sinus infection on Wednesday, and now her head feels like it's going to explode. Worse, she can barely hear herself sing. She, Coughlin and two others, Ethan Thomas '10 and Laura Loy '10, make up the UNH showcase company—they were chosen by their professors last spring to perform and have been rehearsing a piece made up of two scenes and several songs for six months.

They have three 12-hour days ahead of them. Today, they are scheduled to attend a workshop with four casting agents and a coach; tonight, they will perform for a roomful of agents, directors and personal managers. While stretching, vocalizing and completing their "look," they keep checking the weather. The city is swirling with "Weather Event!" energy—airports are closed, trains are packed, people are leaving the city in droves.

"I'm not going to lie to you, we're going to lose some people," Shorey Walker says, in between checking her e-mail for cancellations. Her day job is director of marketing for Actor's Connection, a studio that schedules seminars, workshops and showcases. She also directs, acts, sings, dances, models and goes to 10 auditions per week. Theater people do a lot, but apparently many of them don't do serious snow.

Professional organizations like Actor's Connection, and the showcase concept itself, are relatively new developments in the industry. In the 1980s, for example, actors who came to New York for their big break were pretty much on their own. They went to auditions, flooded the market with headshots and resumes, bartended, waited tables and hoped. They hoped to get an Equity card—having an Actor's Equity Association union card was an actor's ticket to auditioning for the best shows. They hoped that they had the right look for a producer; that they'd meet a reputable agent (or a not-so-reputable one with really good connections) at a party or through a friend.

Today, actors still do all those things. But in a business that changes quickly and thrives on grapevine information—which kind of headshots are in vogue this year, which small theater is closing its doors, which young director is up and coming, which casting director is looking for what kind of talent—organizations that offer training and networking opportunities make you feel as if someone at least is taking your dreams seriously.

It's typical for a thousand people to audition for a new Broadway show that will employ fewer than 75 actors. In 2006, when "A Chorus Line" was revived on Broadway, 3,000 people auditioned for 17 roles. But there are more national tours and regional productions than there used to be, and digital technology has increased the opportunities for being cast in less-visible movies and short films. You won't necessarily be famous, but it's work. Professional actors need to attack the industry with a business mentality, the current wisdom goes. Or, as one agent tells students, "Luck is a factor, but you can make yourself be in the right place at the right time if you're well informed."

This is the third year the UNH theater department has done a showcase weekend, which is funded by an endowment from former television producer Marcy Peterson Carsey '66, whose production company was responsible for two of the most highly rated and longest-running sitcoms on TV, "The Cosby Show" and "Roseanne." The department has had a necessarily close relationship with its alumni for much longer. "We're up in New Hampshire and miss out on that word-on-the-street information that is such a big part of the industry," says Deb Kinghorn, chair of the theater and dance department. "We rely on the expertise and input of our alumni, not only in New York, but also in Los Angeles and Seattle." During this showcase weekend, dancer Laura Halzack '03 from the Paul Taylor Dance Company, freelance lighting designer Keri Thibodeau '98, properties carpenter Peter Grimes '95 and production supervisor Loren Mochari '92 will all share their experiences.

The four students have been selected to perform based on the quality of their auditions, their grade point averages (above a 3.0), and whether they are ready for New York. (The remaining nine UNH students will attend workshops and take backstage tours.) "Some students, because of their size or vocal type, 'play' older, and it might take them a while to catch up to their look," says Matt Nesmith, assistant professor and director of musical theater. So, for example, if you're a 22-year-old who looks 40, you might be waiting for years for your big break, since there are plenty of 40-year-olds who can presumably play 40 better than you. "Casting agents are looking for actors they can get work for right now, and that means actors who look their age."

I'm not going to sign someone I don't want to talk to every day," one agent tells the students. "And you've got to want it more than I want it for you," another adds. The four casting agents who are conducting a workshop don't agree on everything—they are split on whether actors should put their height on their resumes, for example—but they all acknowledge that they sign actors who have talent, a personality that meshes with their agency, and drive.

"Sometimes I have to have what I call 'Hobby Awareness Day' with my clients," an agent confesses. Everyone laughs. In other words, if you're treating your acting career like a hobby, you may as well get out now. "You are your own business—even if you have an agent—you should be sending out resumes, making phone calls," another adds. "I'm totally stealing 'Hobby Awareness Day,'" one agent murmurs to another.

Variations on the commitment theme are heard throughout the weekend. "If you think you might want to do something else with your life other than act, do that instead," an actor tells the students. "Because being an actor is going to interfere with stuff that people in other professions get to do. I can't tell you how many things I've missed because of shows I was doing—big things, like friends' weddings."

This is an actor who landed her first Broadway role right out of college: it's hard to feel sorry for her. Another incredibly persistent and thick-skinned actor didn't get a role on Broadway until he was in his 40s—people like him keep the possibility of being a star at the top of their list of priorities; they wait tables or do odd jobs while continuously auditioning, training and networking. "If you do something to fall back on, then you'll fall back," another actor says. "Acting has to be your focus."

By senior year, most theater majors know what it takes to be a pro. They have been performing since they were kids, and at UNH they are among the hardest working students on campus; besides taking courses, doing homework and, for some, holding down part-time jobs, they spend another 20-25 hours each week in rehearsals. They leave their dorms or apartments at 8 a.m. and don't return until midnight. "Last fall, my schedule started the day before classes began, and I didn't have a night off until Thanksgiving," Hadwen says. In fact, Loy says that hearing Broadway actors talk about their lives is heartening. "If you're in a show on Broadway, you work 35 hours a week, plus whatever professional development you do. It's nice to see that theater can be a job—in college, it's a life."

So at this point in their careers, being half-hearted isn't an issue for these kids. It's the nuts-and-bolts stuff that they need to hear from the agents. Like, what do you look for in a client? "Everyone is different," an agent explains. "Some agents want someone who is ready for Broadway. Others look for potential and want to work with someone they can help develop." Do you have any suggestions about interviewing techniques? "When I interview someone, I expect them to be able to rattle off a list of five shows that are running right now that they can see themselves in," an agent says. "I don't want to drive the interview. You need to have your story down." Another disagrees. "If somebody sits down in front of me and does a monologue, I get glassy-eyed. I like people to be relaxed—to have things to say that they want me to know, but communicate it in a natural way."

And finally, crucially, the students want to ask, what do you think of me? The agents think Coughlin's performance is top notch, but too, well, performance-y. Industry professionals will be more likely to see him in a variety of roles if his audition feels like "here's one of the many songs I sing exceedingly well," as opposed to "I was born to play this part." Also, they think his musical theater song is too musical theaterish. Because he has an edgy, urban "boy band" look, he should sing pop and rock songs; plus, the recent launch of Green Day's "American Idiot" on Broadway seems to be heralding another rock musical era. "You're going to do great," an agent says to him as he leaves the room.

Hadwen does a heroic job singing "The Beauty Is" from "The Light in the Piazza," and not just because she's sick. It's a sophisticated piece with complicated harmony, more art song than show tune—most people couldn't hum it, let alone sing it. The agents, though, say that the song is overdone in auditions. They also say she needs to improve her posture and get a better headshot. "You're much prettier than your photograph, and that's a problem," an agent says.

Thomas has a strong jaw, a wide smile, big eyes and a rich bass voice. The agents think his audition piece—"Make Them Hear You" from "Ragtime"—fell flat. It comes at a climactic moment in the show, and, as an anthem, needs to convey energy, passion and commitment, which is tough to build in eight bars—the point at which most industry people will stop you because they have heard enough.

The agents agree that Loy's performance of "Look At Me" from "Violet" was dynamic, the best of the day. Loy is a "triple threat" in industry parlance—her acting, singing and dancing are all strong. She has had a lot of dance training, which means she has one fewer hurdle to overcome in auditions: she looks comfortable in her own skin. "But never wear character shoes to an audition," an agent admonishes her. "It's a common college mistake. Wear a pair of really hot heels. I know it seems nit-picky, but the level of the audition is so high that we can be nit-picky."

An actor's training is rife with paradox. It takes hours of rehearsal, exploring the nuances of every word and gesture in a song or scene, for it to be spontaneous on stage. It takes years of training to learn every inch of one's body, gain instant access to one's store of emotion and imagination and to play someone else effectively. It takes an extraordinary amount of energy to present an authentic moment of stillness on stage. Theater majors spend four years developing their craft, but they have only just begun.

Enter Kimberly Vaughn. "Our goal is to help casting people call us back!" she says to the roomful of attendees at her workshop. Vaughn specializes in preparing actors for Broadway auditions—she shows them how to make every word and gesture perfect and true. As Hadwen walks to the center of the room, her nose begins to drip. She retreats to the piano for a tissue. Vaughn tells her it's OK to say you're not feeling well. As she walks back to the center, Hadwen looks nervous. It's OK to be nervous, too, says Vaughn, but don't look nervous. She should look straight ahead as she walks, and release the tension in her arms. "Now introduce yourself."

"Um, my name is Allie Hadwen," she says. "And I'll be singing 'The Beauty Is' from 'Light in the Piazza.'" Vaughn says we're all human, and we all say "um"—but don't. Hadwen will be auditioning for producers who have to raise $15 million—they'll trust her talent if she takes command of the room. And they will probably know which show your song is from, Vaughn reminds her. Hadwen pauses before she starts to sing again—now the nervous energy is gone and she radiates confidence. The audience is at ease as a result. "That was so much better!" Vaughn says. "Wasn't she so much more appealing?!"

The audition process is an opportunity for actors to tell their story—the work lies in translating a story or lyric by channeling it through their own interior landscape. If actors can plug their own feelings and relationships into the lyrics and music, then the story begins to feel like it is happening right there on stage and that they're making it up as they go—therein lies the magic of theater.

Coughlin is an external actor, and pulls his audience in—"I think empathy is the most important thing an actor can have," he says. He is animated, energetic and open on stage and is very likeable as a result, a quality that can't be taught or overrated. He sings an emotionally rich "When the World Stopped Turning" from "Elegies: A Song Cycle," and fully inhabits it—so much so that his eyes fill up when he finishes and he walks to the window to collect himself.

Vaughn tells him it won't work to walk away, just as he shouldn't have looked at the floor earlier. "The character's objective is to get back out in the world," Vaughn says. "Portray that." Every word the actor sings deserves a thoughtful treatment because it helps the audience enter the scene. She asks him to make a bigger differentiation between the words "skewed" and "blurred." "Build on the difference between those words, and sustain the emotional intensity. It's called 'riding the air.'"

Casting directors are less impressed with technical expertise than one might think. While Loy is technically impressive when she sings "Home" from "Phantom of the Opera" and "Look At Me," two challenging pieces that require excellent breath control, Vaughn asks her not to go to "voice land." "They will cast a superb storyteller with an average-to-good voice over someone with a fabulous voice and no storytelling skills," Vaughn says. They can make the storyteller a better singer with voice lessons. The emotional connection that comes with being a good storyteller can be encouraged but not taught. "They're looking for human beings, not human doings."

Ethan Thomas gets, perhaps, the most difficult task from Vaughn. He performs a monologue, "The Patriarchal God," from the play "And God Says (!@#?!)" by UNH professor David Kaye. He plays God as a formidable, impatient, insensitive coach. Vaughn asks him to portray him as ironic and unstable instead.

Someone else might flinch, but Thomas, who is an intellectual, process-oriented actor, appreciates the challenge. He flips it effortlessly, changing his inflections, gestures and the emotional impact of the piece. "How did that feel?" Vaughn asks him. "Crazy!" he says. "It was a fascinating process—a nice little mixer-upper." "Treat it as an exercise," she recommends. "Incorporate some of it, or none. Don't expect the people you audition for to laugh. Just remember to hang on to your objective—if you do, it will land."

Here's another central paradox of the profession: even if you've done a thousand performances, it has to feel brand new every time. About 30 casting people brave the storm to watch the showcase company's evening performance, which on the whole, feels confident and energetic, even joyful in places, and, well, professional. The work they've done all day allows them to trust their instincts. If the showcase experience is what it purports to be—a bridge from your old life as a college student to your new one as a professional actor—it feels like all four showcase students have crossed it.

The audience members feel it, too. They are given a sheet of paper on which they can indicate which actors they'd like to see again—there is a column for "Call me when you get into the city," and one that reads "Contact me immediately." All the students get several "call me's" and at least one "contact me immediately."

Afterward, the students compare notes. They were terrified before—now they're pumped. They think they can work with bigwigs; it's not that different from working with professors. The feedback they're hearing from casting agents they've heard before from their professors, and that's reassuring.

Thomas says the experience points up something else for him: "My social life has definitely taken a hit from working in the theater so much. I gotta work on my schmoozing skills."

Coughlin seems to be the most adept at schmoozing—"Kris cleaned house!" Hadwen says at the end of the night. He also has the most oddly encouraging experience of the weekend. A well-known casting director approaches him after a reception, and without introducing himself, takes him aside and says quietly, "You're going to be on Broadway. But I want you to remember something. A lot of people who make it get cocky and stop training. Make sure you keep training." And then he disappears. ~

A Year of Celebration
A staged reading of a new play by TV and movie star Mike O'Malley '88; a performance by one of the world's leading sopranos, Barbara Bonney '78, '00H; a UNH Symphony Orchestra performance of Beethoven's "Missa Solemnis," one of the composer's supreme achievements. These and many more stellar concerts and exhibitions will mark the 50th anniversary of the Paul Creative Arts Center and the importance of the arts at UNH. Music, dance, theater and more will take center stage beginning on Homecoming Weekend. For a full schedule of events, see http://www.unh.edu/pcac/.

Return to UNH Magazine Spring '10 features