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For RBC to experiment with a character’s gender and sexuality was nothing new. But somehow it still seemed rather old-fashioned—still trapped in the viewpoint that maleness was the standard. If a character was made to be openly gay, then that was a focal point, rather than just a simple element of the character. It became the entire story, rather than being naturally woven into the character’s human existence. But weaving it through would be true representation, and less gimmicky.
The rigid traditionalism of RBC had always intimidated Eden and put her off from auditioning. The London Shakespeare Society had seemed much more approachable and achievable, even if she’d only once got through the first round of auditions. Eden had never gone for RBC.
“So, will you do it?” Amanda pressed, practically vibrating in her seat. “Please say you’ll do it. I think you’d be amazing! And it’s just the push you need to get yourself back on the auditioning horse.”
Eden chewed on her lip. “Would they even take me? Aren’t they really snobby? I haven’t acted in anything proper in ages.”
Amanda waved her hand dismissively. “Not a problem. We went to Mountglad, and that’s enough to get us through the doorno matter what we’ve done since. I’d bet my favourite tarot deck on it.”
“Not the celestial deck,” Eden said with a giggle. “How would I even get an audition? They’re closed, aren’t they?”
Her bold friend smirked, “I’ll get us in; don’t worry. Unlike you, I’m active on the Mountglad alumnae chats. Someone will know someone.”
“But, what if . . .”
“Eden,” Amanda cut her off, her voice turning suddenly serious. “You are going to this audition. I don’t care if I have to drag you there myself. It’s a perfect role for you, and you are more than good enough. You understand me?”
Eden smiled coyly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Okay, fine, I’ll audition. But I’m not getting my hopes up!”
Amanda squealed and immediately started tapping on her phone, ready to shamelessly exploit her various contacts. Eden allowed herself to feel a small sliver of excitement. She’d never auditioned for anything like this before. And it was Genevieve Howard. Even if the play was new, Genevieve’s mere presence was enough to ensure its quality. The woman was a sort of mad genius. A very intimidating, immaculate mad genius.
Eden’s feet began to tap and adrenaline coursed through her. She would have to go home and do a whole bunch of research now, on any angle that might help her stand out for this audition. It was going to be a challenge, but one Eden was determined to meet.
3
GENEVIEVE
Jesus Christ. Who the hell thinks that it’s a good idea to audition for a feminist Shakespeare retelling with a monologue from fucking ‘Miss Julie?’ Was this idiotic girl trying to be funny?Genevieve screwed up her face. She had always had a hard time keeping her disdain from showing, and this time was no different.
Panting slightly, the girl stood in front of the panel. A vacant smile on her face. The little moron clearly thought she had done brilliantly with her dyed red hair and tacky heels. Honestly, Genevieve needed to have a word with the casting department. Where did they find these people?
“Tell me, Miss . . .” She had to glance down at her notes. “Miss Reed. Why did you choose this monologue?”
The girl’s victorious smile faltered. She blinked a few times, her confidence fading under the sheer weight of Genevieve’s scrutiny. “Um, well, the play itself is about the relationship between, um, two characters, and there’s tension . . . and I thought it would fit well?”
Genevieve observed her in silence, one eyebrow raised, waiting for anything of note to come out of the girl’s mouth. But,as ever, she was disappointed. The girl merely fidgeted, waiting for someone to say something. Her lovely face was bright with misplaced hope.
After a long moment of awkward silence, Genevieve decided to put her out of her misery. “My issue is that you have decided, prematurely, that my interpretation of Beatrice is wholly concerned with her outward relationships. Now, ‘Miss Julie,’ as a character, I do not have an issue with.Ifread correctly. However, you have managed to make her internally misogynistic, rather than inherently flawed. Meaning that any value or development the audience receives will be through the lens of her relationships with others. There was no nuance in your performance. No internal battle. Her fight was entirely external, and that simply won’t do. Did you not even bother to read the character information I so graciously provided?”
Like a budget supermarket flower, the girl wilted, every sharp jab of Genevieve’s tongue rendering her smaller and smaller.
“Perhaps I could try another one? Um . . . I know Helena’s monologue from Act One ofA Midsummer Night’s Dream! Look . . . how happy some o’er others can be! Through Athens, I am thought of as fair-”
“Stop,” Genevieve commanded, pinching the bridge of her nose. “In just one line, you’ve convinced me that you will read Helena as being as needy and one-dimensional as you did Miss Julie. I’ve seen enough. Goodbye, Miss Reed.”
As the girl dawdled out of the audition room, her lip noticeably wobbling, Sammy coughed from the seat next to the cutthroat director’s.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Genevieve snapped.
“Darling, that’s the thirty-second girl you’ve turned away in tears. We’ve been at this for days. There was nothing wrong with that monologue. She was showcasing vulnerability?”
“She was showcasing pure idiocy. Just because language has impact, doesn’t mean it is free from the need for complexity,” Genevieve answered with a scowl. She had become utterly sick of all these girls who thought their performance could be carried on the strength of the playwright. That talking of blood magically turned their dullness to shine. They didn’t seem to realise thattheywere the ones who needed to make the words sing.
It was their literal job.
Sammy sighed, “Any one of these girls would do a fantastically well, and you know it. You’re being far too fussy.” He was getting frustrated with her. Genevieve could tell. His pen was tapping a staccato rhythm against the desk and his eyes flicked toward the clock with increasing impatience. Sammy had to be here as a representative of the company, to ensure transparency. But he had never particularly enjoyed auditions.
Genevieve turned to him. “Every one of those girls either presented me with vapid neediness or complete heartlessness. It’s like they’re far too busy trying to work out what kind of woman Beatrice should be, and forgetting that she is a person first. It’s like they looked up ‘feminist monologue’ online, without a single thought about what I’m actually trying to do here. I’m not telling a feminist story. I’m telling a story about a person. Those two things are distinctly different.”
