4:48 a.m., late January. Palm Beach International Airport. Awaiting flight DL1273 to Atlanta for a connecting flight to frigid Chicago, IL, where I’ll shuttle from the terminal exit to a hotel downtown on the river inlet. I’ll shower, hammer whatever suitable sustenance I can wrap my dry, tingling fingers around, change, and walk about a quarter mile to another hotel to my first audition of the week.

What does it take to go to acting school? This.

This is the week I’ve been prepping, planning, and practicing in anticipation of for almost six months. I’ve got two classical monologues, one by Shakespeare and another by Moliere, two contemporary pieces from Kenneth Longergan and Ira Levin, a backup comedy piece from Yasmina Rey, and a backup backup monologue that I wrote in which the fictional lawyer for Sam Bankman Fried, the cryptocurrency exchange king whose empire collapsed in a matter of days due to extreme financial mismanagement, airs his frustration with his client’s naive dissonance from the seriousness of his federal charges.

I’ve also got two songs of 16 bars each ready to rip acapella, both sung by two different leading men from two very different musicals.

All of my prepared pieces are of course contrasting. I hired a private acting coach in West Palm Beach, Bob Carter, to work with me over six weeks to understand the nuances and finer techniques of delivering a classical, heightened-text piece. I also shelled out for a private vocal coach to help me discover and hone my range, how to read notes on sheet music, and break my “chicken wings” tick (I tend to flap my arms around when my body hasn’t yet synced up with my brain during a rendition of a song.)

I could go on and on…how I researched and ultimately decided on the crop of MFA Grad Acting and Theatre Conservatories programs I eventually applied to; how I methodically tailored each individual application to each individual program; the hours I spent with friends and family who are working professionals in the entertainment industry working through every angle and minute strategy of the application process.

But let’s get to the meat of it. Here’s what I’ve learned so far.

Your Personal Statement Matters

I knew the personal statement mattered, but I was surprised to discover that it’s almost always the first thing every admissions auditor I’ve been in front of so far asks me about first. Every school, whether undergrad, grad, or conservatory acting program, requires some written personal statement of beliefs or purpose. Criteria varies program to program. But the crux of what they want to know is: Who are you and why are you applying to our program?

As often and as much as I enjoy writing, I found myself struggling with the personal statement. I had too much to say – my first drafts were three and four times the maximum word count the instructions held applicants to. That’s a problem. Too many ideas, too fragmented. I was trying to be too much at once.

Another problem I had to face is my blind ego in the written word. It wasn’t until my brother read my statements that he pointed out to me what I had failed to notice myself: that my statements were littered with bold, totalitarian statements of my greatness. You don’t have to tell them how good you are, he explained, let them see your audition and decide for themselves if you’re great or not. Sage advice. I ripped up all my statements and started over.

The personal statement is so crucial that some of the more elite programs require me to bring a copy with me to my audition. Undoubtedly, they will ask about the words I wrote on those papers, and why I wrote them.

Auditioning In Person Matters

The admission counselors may or may not say it explicitly, but it’s a truism: auditioning in person gives you an edge over candidates that elect to audition virtually. That’s exactly why I’m flying to Chicago in the middle of the frigid winter and Monday morning at five in the morning.

In this post-pandemic age, the industry’s collective embrace of virtual auditions is undoubtedly a positive one. For the convenience of casting directors, producers, and directors, virtual auditions offer an opportunity to cycle more quickly through candidates over live casting calls.

But when it comes to your acting program audition, I strongly encourage you to audition in person – even when the program purports that virtual auditions are perfectly acceptable. They are being kind and mindful to those who auditioning in person is simply impossible. Good for them. Avoid it if you can.

There are so many reasons for this principled stance. One is that you can’t move on Zoom, and auditors need to see how you move. Another is that being in person shows the auditors you are taking this opportunity to audition – and by extension, this program and your future – seriously. Lastly, live auditioning offers “good nerves” – those butterflies from the adrenaline surging through your blood that keep you on your toes – that you simple cannot get over a wifi connection.

You’ll be more proud of your application, accepted or not, if you audition live and in person. Make the commitment and do it.

Epilogue

I’m writing twenty-four hours after my first of three days of auditions for various programs. Both of my auditions went great yesterday. But I came away with an interesting observations that I didn’t realize I needed to lay down here for my readers. It’s a third bullet point in the what does it take to go to acting school debate. Here we go.

It Takes Money. Lots and Lots of Money.

In addressing a group of candidates in my of the audition block yesterday, the Dean of a prominent MFA acting program scanned the room of approximately 25 prospective, hopeful, glittery-eyed actors for about ten seconds. In another ten seconds, he dashed at least 90% of the hope in the room.

“I can look around right now and tell you only one or two of you will make it to callbacks” he bellowed. “I bet you can look around and see the same thing.”

He was right. There was only one other student I saw who “looked” prepared. Everyone else were deer in headlights.

I was the first student to arrive for the block, about 45 minutes before we were scheduled to start. I checked in and immediately squatted on an adjacent, empty room. I began my stretches, warm-ups, and scene run-throughs. During the next forty five minutes, I noticed in my peripheral the rest of the candidates stream in, look at me preparing; then they registered and promptly sat down in a chair neatly lined across the walls of the room, and…you guessed it…reached for their phone and started scrolling TikTok or IG.

Some paced the halls. Some read. None besides me physically prepared.

I’m prepared for this journey – physically, mentally, and financially. That last one is the lynchpin. The Dean addressed it.

“You could be talented…gifted, great singer, phenomenal dancer, whatever. If you can’t afford it you won’t make it. [City] is extremely expensive. You will not be able to work during this program. And if you do work, it will be for menial pay that probably won’t be enough to live in [City].”

And that’s not even to mention the financial challenges post-graduation. He was just talking about not being able to afford life in the program – before your career even starts.

The Dean then asked the room for questions.

“Does [School] grant scholarships so tuition is free?” asked a Bambi candidate, almost reflexively.

“Yes, but that’s just the tuition. You still have to sleep, eat, get around. I can already tell you’re not ready if all your looking for is whether the tuition is free”. The Dean was right again.

You have to be financially prepared for acting school. That means possibly not having a job, or having an overnight or low-paying job, or gig work, or whatever, that isn’t Monday-Friday 9a-5p. Your program is your full-time job, and you’ll find very quickly once you get started that there is not much time leftover in your schedule after program commitments – much less time available for making a living wage.

No one really thinks about these things until it’s too late and they need to drop out of their program because they cannot afford it. But not you. You’re thinking about it because you’ve read this blog post. You’re already ahead of 90% of your competition if you do.