The Rehearsal Read Online Free PDF

these
     lessons and to try your hardest to demonstrate to us the level of commitment you are prepared to offer us should you be invited
     to study here.
    “We will be watching you over the course of the weekend, patroling the edges of the rooms and taking notes. If you aresuccessful
     after this first audition weekend, we will invite you back for an interview and a more formal audition. Does anyone have any
     questions about how the weekend will be run?”
    They all had paper numbers pinned to their chests like marathon runners. Number 45 raised his hand.
    “Why don’t you just hold ordinary auditions like the other acting schools?” he said. “Like where you prepare two monologues,
     one modern and one classical.”
    “Because we do not want to attract that kind of student,” said the Head of Acting, “the kind of student who is good at self-advertisement,
     who will choose two contrasting monologues that perfectly demonstrate the range of their skill and the depth of their cunning.
     We do not care about the difference between modern and classical. We do not want students who color-code their notes and start
     their essays weeks in advance.”
    Number 45 blushed, feeling that he had been implicated as a student who color-coded his notes and started his essays weeks
     in advance. The other hopefuls looked at him with pity and privately resolved to keep their distance.
    “Acting is a profession which requires a kind of wholeness,” the Head of Acting said. “My advice to you today is this: your
     ideas about talent count for nothing here. The moment when we decide to move you to the Yes list—the moment when we decide
     you deserve a place at this Institute—might not be a moment when you are actually acting. It might be a moment when you’re
     supporting someone else. It might be when you yourself are watching. It might be when you’re preparing yourself for an exercise.
     It might be when you’re standing by yourself with your hands in your pockets and looking at the floor.”
    The strategists among them were nodding gravely, already planning to let themselves appear to be caught unawares as frequently
     as possible. They made a mental note to remember to stand for a moment with their hands in their pockets, looking at the floor.
    Stanley looked around at his rivals, all of them eager and fervent like candidates for martyrdom, the Head of Acting looming
     above them, swollen with the wonderful honor of choosing the first to die.
    “Let me hand over to the Head of Improvisation,” the Head of Acting said. “Good luck.”
October
    The longest corridor at the Institute bordered the gymnasium for its entire length. The corridor was glassed on one side with
     long curtained windows and recessed doors, and on the other side the wall was uninterrupted save for the heavy double doors
     into the gymnasium that swung out halfway down. On this long wall were fixed a number of costumes preserved and flattened
     against the high brick, their empty arms spread wide, like ghosts pinned by a sudden and petrifying shaft of light.
    Stanley paused to look. He supposed that the costumes had been retained to mark notable performances, and he moved forward
     to read the first brass plaque mounted underneath a pair of limp tartan trousers and a jaunty ruffled shirt. It bore neither
     the title of the play nor the name of the actor, but merely the name of the character and a date, engraved as if on the side
     of a tomb. Belville. 1957. The plaques continued neatly down the wall. Stanley walked along the corridor as one paying respects
     to the dead, looking up at the stiff splayed arms and limp trouser-legs and tattered lace, the older costumes ragged and flecked
     with mold. Vindici, Ferdinand, Mrs. Alving, The Court Envoy. He paused at a heavy royal costume, brocaded in silver and satin
     lined. One of the splayed kingly sleeves had fallen away from the wall and hung limply by his side, so the effigy seemed to
     be pointing