C.A.D. 2010
Audition Materials
SENIOR CAD DRAMA
MONOLOGUES
AUDITION PIECE 1 - MALE
ANDREW - COLOSSEUM by Ross Mueller .
ANDREW:
Had her cup of tea, tried to eat some toast and we
whispered about the football tomorrow night, about the game. She said Silvagni
was the key … had to play up forward to give the boys a chance … and she went
off to sleep. Her voice … disappeared, her breath … hollow, hard to find, and
there’s only me and her there.
We were close and she was sleeping with this really strong look of concentration
on her face you know …? Like she can see something I can’t. Staring… staring.
Like that for ages and then, she just … relaxed. Nothing. Nothing for so long, so
I sort of sat up straight, you know, and looked at her and I asked her if she was
okay, but she couldn’t hear me, she was lying in that bed, so still and pale and I
put my hand behind her head, tryin’ to whisper in her ear, trying to help her
breathe or something, I dunno, and I buzzed the nurse to help me. ‘Mum are you
okay…? I’ve called the nurse, you’ll be alright. You’ll be okay, I promise!’
I buzzed the nurses’ station and nobody came to help me, nobody when I called
out for help. I tried to hold her head higher, get her to breathe again because she
looked suddenly bloody sick in those stainless-steel hospital sheets and I was
holding her hand, ‘You’ll be okay in the morning, when you’ve had a bit of a
sleep, you’ll wake from this slumber and be fine in the daylight…’, and I
screamed my guts out for help! I called out again and again and again…!
But nobody heard and nobody came and then she .. she died.
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AUDITION PIECE 2 - MALE
BURT – THE GREEN MILE by Frank Darabont, from the Stephen King novel
BURT: Tell you something. You listen close, too, because it might be something
you need to know. We had us a dog. No particular breed, but gentle. Ready to
lick your hand or fetch a stick. Just a sweet mongrel, you know the kind. In many
way, a good mongrel dog is like your negro. You get to know it, and often you get
to love it. It is of no particular use, but you keep it around because you think it
loves you.
If you're lucky, Mr. Edgecomb, you never have to find out any different. My wife
and I were not so lucky. My son has just the one eye. I suppose he's lucky not to
be blind. We get down on our knees and thank God for that much at least.
That dog attacked my boy for no reason. Just got it into his mind one day. Same
with John Coffey. He was sorry afterwards, of that I have no doubt. But those
little girls stayed raped and murdered nonetheless. Maybe he's never done it
before--my dog never bit before, but I didn't concern myself with that. I went out
there with my rifle and grabbed his collar and blew his brains out.
Now, I'm as enlightened as the next man, Mr. Edgecomb. I would not bring back
slavery for all the tea in China. I believe we have to be humane and generous in
our efforts to solve the race problem. But we have to remember that the negro
will bite if he gets the chance, just like a mongrel dog will bite if it crosses its mind
to do so.
Is Coffey guilty? Yes, he is. Don't you doubt it, and don't you turn your back on
him. You might get away with it once or even a hundred times. But in the end,
you'll get bit.
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AUDITION PIECE 3 - FEMALE
CALLY – SCARECROW by Don Nigro
“In the cornfield next to our house there’s a scarecrow, its been there as long as I
can remember
and its always frightened me.”
Cally lives with her mother, Rose, whose eccentricities have slowly become
suffocating. She escapes her mother across the cornfield, where she meets Nick,
who teases her with dreams of the world beyond their house.
CALLY: Don’t go.
On the way back to the house it’s dark, and I move through the corn like a ghost,
making a wide circle around where I know the scarecrow is, I don’t want him
looking at me, the fear from my childhood is still inside me, the cool night touches
my flesh.
I step into the house and everything is dark except a small light in the kitchen.
My mother has gone to bed. The ticking clocks. The sound of her breathing in
her sleep, forced, troubled. I go up the steps to her bedroom and look in. She is
very beautiful, sleeping there, but she breathes so hard.
Very carefully I stoop down and reach under the bed, and there is an old wooden
chocolate box, and inside the box is the money, so much money there.
She seems to be having a nightmare. She is so unhappy. Maybe I could make
us both happy. Maybe I could end her misery and mine. It would be so easy. I
could just take the pillow there beside her and softly lay it over her face. It would
be the easiest thing in the world. Nobody would know. It would be an act of
love.
I take the pillow in my hands. I put it back. Then I take it again. My heart is
pounding. I can’t breathe. The pillow is almost touching her. It is almost
touching her lips.
Then her eyes open.
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AUDITION PIECE 4 - FEMALE
MARY O'DONNELL - BOMBSHELLS by Joanna Murray-Smith
Bombshells is a one woman play comprised of monologues for different
characters. Here, a ‘talented’ schoolgirl prepares for her up-coming talent show.
MARY: No one can sing and dance like me. No one in the whole school. I am
the Liza Minelli of St Brigid's and nobody can say I'm not. I've got a better voice
than Angela McTerry. Much better. Her only claim to fame is that she has
breasts bigger than her head, of which I am envious... not. And I can dance,
which Angela McTerry cannot do, even though she thinks she can. She has
not got the physique. Angela McTerry does not look attractive in a leotard
and somebody who loves her should tell her so. She's got calves the size of
the Soviet Union, just like her sister, Theresea McTerry. Theresa McTerry,
who's getting married to Ted 'the pot-plant' Swinbank on Saturday, and
thereby introducing the world to the lovely vision of Angela in tangerine
chiffon. And she's got tickets on herself just because her father's on
Neighbours. Like Neighbours is a big deal. Neighbours is not a big deal.
The talent show is a big deal. I love the talent show. I love the talent show.
So far there's no one who even comes close. Allison Stoddard's onewoman Waiting for Godot was rubbish. Janice McElhone's 'Island's in the
Stream' didn't cut it - someone should have told her it's a duet. Veronica
O'Grady's 'Abba Medley' was a travesty. A travesty. I hope Bjorn and Benny
never hear about it. Veronica O'Grady would be banned from Sweden. Mr
Burbridge said: 'Mary O'Donnell, the talent show is coming up so you had
better get thinking, young lady.' Mr Burbridge knows that I am the talent
show. The talent show would be nothing without me. It would be 'the show'.
The show. Because I am the talent. Okay. Okay.
Here we go. This is your last rehearsal, Mary O'Donnell. Do not stuff it up.
Do not stuff it up.
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