Almost Maine auditions
Below you will find all of the information for the auditions for Almost, Maine.
Please download the audition form here. Please print, fill out and BRING the audition form with you. You may print the monologue of your choice if you wish, however, copies will be available at the auditions.
by John Cariani
When: Monday and Tuesday, July 12-13
Where: Saratoga Arts, 320 Broadway, Saratoga Springs, NY, 12866
Time: Open call, 6:30-7:00 pm sign in, 7:00-9:00 pm auditions
Preparation: Please prepare to read ONE of the monologues of your choice included at the end of this packet. Auditions will consist of a monologue reading (no memorization required), improvisation, and readings from the script. Dress comfortably. Bring with you a list of ALL of your commitments, from the date of your audition through October 3.
Cast: Two women and Two men, age: 20-60. All ethnicities and gender identifications encouraged to attend. Actors play multiple parts. All roles are open. Depending on the audition numbers a 3rd couple could be added.
Rehearsals: Start July 19 with a read through, in person rehearsals start August 9. Exact days and times TBD based entirely on the cast and crew’s availability. We will work around summer vacation plans. Rehearsals will be held in an area that is near downtown Albany until Tech Week, on or about September 19, when we will move to the Arts Center in Saratoga.
Show dates: September 24-26 and October 1-3, Friday and Saturday at 8:00 pm, Saturday and Sunday Matinees at 2:00 pm.
Online auditions: Should you not be able to make the auditions, you may contact the director as soon as possible to set up an online audition which must be held prior to July 11. Please email the director at Michael.firstname.lastname@example.org
Additional Questions: Please email or text the director, Michael McDermott at (518)669-5414 or Michael.email@example.com
Info about the show:
Almost, Maine is a romantic comedy comprising nine short plays that explore love and loss in a remote, mythical almost-town called Almost, Maine.
The play is bracketed by a discussion between two lovers, Pete and Ginette, who are gradually in the process of revealing their love to each other. The Prologue ends with the paradox that given that the world is roughly spherical, people as close as possible to one another in one direction are as far apart as possible in another direction. Thus Ginette heads away from Pete in a journey around the world to bring her closer to him.
The subsequent eight scenes involve vignettes of eight other couples, all overcoming relationship obstacles in narrative arcs that pose a problem or paradox, work through short intervals of vaguely surreal comedy, and end with happy resolutions. The play ends with a happy reunion between Pete and Ginette.
NOTE: Ages listed are STAGE AGES. (i.e., actor need not be that age, just be able to pass in that range while on stage)
Each actor cast (20-60) will play multiple characters.
Characters include: Pete, an inexpressive, nice guy; Lendall, a simple guy with a romantic edge; Phil, a hardworking man having marital issues; Man, a small, thin, everyday guy; East, a gentle repairman; Jimmy, a heating and cooling man, depressed and trying to get over his ex-girlfriend; Chad, a rough “country guy”; Randy, a rough “country guy”; Dave a timid guy who tries to be tough, but is really tender; and Steve, a kind, open guy who is very sheltered. Ginette, young and in love; Waitress, a busy body, yet caring; Glory, a hiker with a tough facade, yet has a broken heart; Gayle, an angry woman who is impatient because she feels like her boyfriend is not moving fast enough; Hope, an independent and confident woman; Sandrine, an excited girl who is about to get married; Marvalyn, a woman who puts up a hard front to protect herself from getting hurt; Marci, a hardworking woman having marital issues; and Rhonda, a tough tomboy who has never been in a relationship.
The people of Almost, Maine are not simpletons. They are not hicks or rednecks. They are not quaint, quirky eccentrics. They don’t wear funny clothes or funny hats. They don’t have funny Maine accents. They are not “Down Easters”. They are not fishermen or lobstermen. They don’t wear galoshes and rain hats. They don’t say, “Ayuh.”
The people of Almost, Maine are ordinary people. They work hard for a living. They are extremely dignified. They are honest and true. They are not cynical. They are not sarcastic. They are not glib. But this does not mean that they are dumb. They’re very smart. They just take time to wonder about things. They speak simply, honestly, truly, and from the heart. They are never precious about what they say or do.
Audition Monologues Almost, Maine
There’s something you should know: I’m here to pay my respects. To my husband. Yeah: My husband. Wes. I just wanted to say goodbye to him, ‘cause he died recently. On Tuesday actually. And, see, the northern lights—did you know this?—the northern lights are really the torches that the recently departed carry with them so they can find their way to heaven, and, see, it takes three days for a soul to make its way home, to heaven, and this is Friday! This is the third day, so, you see, I will see them, the northern lights, because they’re him: He’ll be carrying one of the torches. And, see, I didn’t leave things well with him, so I was just hoping I could come here and say goodbye to him and not be bothered, but what you did there just a second ago, that bothered me, I think, and I’m not here for that, so maybe I should go find another yard…
Shh!!! I’ve tried to make you love me by giving you every bit of love I had, and now…I don’t have any love for me left, and that’s…that’s not good for a person…and…that’s why I want all the love I gave you back, because I wanna bring it with me. I need to get away from things…Okay, YOU. You are the things in this town I need to get away from because I have to think and start over, and so: all the love I gave to you? I want it back, in case I need it. Because I can’t very well go around giving your love—‘cause that’s all I have right now, is the love you gave me—I can’t very well go around giving your love to other guys, ‘cause that just doesn’t seem right—Shh!!! So I think–. I think that, since I know now that you’re not ready to do what comes next for people who have been together for quite a long time, I think we’re gonna be done. So I think that’s the best thing we can do, now, is just return the love we gave to each other, and call it even.
Oh, don’t even answer that. That was–. I know that’s a horrible question to ask a person who lives in a small town, as if everybody in small towns knows everybody else, agh!, can’t believe I asked that. I don’t live here anymore, but when I did, I hated when people assumed I knew everybody in a small town just because it was small. It was worse than when they’d ask if we had “…plumbing way up there?”, ‘cause, you know, people in small towns really don’t know each other any better than in big towns, you know that? I mean, you know who you know, and you don’t know who you don’t know, just like anywhere else. (Pause) I’m so sorry to have bothered you. I was just sure–. When his parents passed away, he kept the house, I heard. He lived here. He stayed here, I thought. He was one of the ones who stayed. (Pause) I didn’t stay. I went away.
Okay. You don’t have to. Most people don’t. Hit me. Most people just go away. You can go away, too, if you want to. That’s what most people do when I tell them about myself. My brother Paul says I just shouldn’t tell people about myself, because I scare them. (referring to his book of “Things to be Afraid Of”) So I’ve recently put “myself” on the list of things to be afraid of, and I have to memorize what to be afraid of. Things like bears. And guns and knives. And fire. And fear—I should fear fear itself—and pretty girls. My brother Paul says they can hurt you ‘cause they make you love them, and that’s something I’m supposed to be afraid of too—love—but Paul says that I’m really lucky, ‘cause I’ll probably never have to deal with love, because I have a lot of deficiencies and not very many capacities as a result of the congenital analgesia. Paul says I’m never gonna have to know what it feels like…’cause it hurts.
I don’t know. Just sometimes…I don’t know why I bother goin’ “out”. I don’t like it, Randy. I hate it. I hate goin’ out on these dates. I mean, why do I wanna spend my Friday night with some girl I might maybe like, when I could be spendin’ it hangin’ out with someone I know I like, like you, you know? I mean…that was rough tonight. In the middle of Sally tellin’ me how she didn’t like the way I smelled…I got real sad, and all I could think about was how not much in this world makes me feel good or makes much sense anymore, and I got really scared, ‘cause there’s gotta be something that makes you feel good or at least makes sense in this world, or what’s the point, right? But then I kinda came out of bein’ sad, and actually felt okay, ‘cause I realized that there is one thing in this world that makes me feel really good and that does make sense, and it’s you.
Oh, come on. You give yourself too much credit. He was young. That’s all you need to get your hopes dashed: Be young. And everybody starts out young, so…everybody gets their hopes dashed, and besides…I don’t think you really dashed his hopes. ‘Cause if you dash somebody’s hopes—well that’s…kind of a nice way to let ‘em down, ‘cause it hurts…but it’s quick. If you’d have said, “No,” that woulda been “dashing his hopes”. (Pause) But you didn’t say, “No.” You said nothin’. You just didn’t answer him. At all. And that’s…killin’ hope the long, slow, painful way, ‘cause it’s still there just hangin’ on, never really goes away. And that’s…kinda like givin’ somebody else a little less air to breathe every day. Till they die.