Subject: [removed] Digest V2002 #445
From: "OldRadio Mailing Lists" <[removed]@[removed];
Date: 11/19/2002 12:07 PM

To: <[removed]@[removed];

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                                The Old-Time Radio Digest!
                                  Volume 2002 : Issue 445
                             A Part of the [removed]!
                                     ISSN: 1533-9289

                                     Today's Topics:

      Struts and Frets; On Auditions        [ Charlie Summers <charlie@[removed] ]

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    Date: Tue, 19 Nov 2002 14:06:03 -0500
    From: Charlie Summers <charlie@[removed];
    To: [removed]@[removed]
    Subject:  Struts and Frets; On Auditions

    STRUTS AND FRETS

    by Harry Bartell

     ++++

    On Auditions

    The word "Audition" is enough to strike terror into the heart of the bravest
    performer. It is a double-edged sword which can either literally open the
    door to a new career or kill a dream and leave the actor muttering
    imprecations on the idiots who don't appreciate his talents. The only people
    who are not adversely affected are those who have lots of money in the bank
    and all kinds of future employment commitments. The solution that worked for
    me was to consider my appearance as a donation under the heading of public
    relations, knowing that I would not get the part so I couldn't be
    disappointed.

    Actually, there were at least three kinds of auditions involving the radio
    actor. The so-called open auditions were held by some producers or directors
    at which the actor could, by appointment, come into a studio and present a
    few minutes of his own material at the microphone. This allowed private
    rehearsal and polish but also contained a booby trap. If the producer was
    simply doing a talent search there was no problem. If he was looking for
    comedy and the auditioner had very dramatic material he might just as well
    have stayed at home. The answer to this problem, of course, was to do
    everything from Aristophanes to O'Neill in a minute and a half.

    The second variety of audition was for a certain part in a script. This
    usually consisted of a short scene with another actor, or a long speech
    alone. If the director had a specific style in mind he might give the actor a
    quick idea of what he was looking for. On the other hand, I have known from
    personal experience that sometimes the director wasn't sure of how the
    character should be played and would listen to half a dozen actors' readings
    to see which he liked best and then cast accordingly.

    Then there was the audition in which the actor had been cast and the whole
    show was a trial balloon for the network or a sponsor. This was the least
    stressful for the actor. The nail-biting in this case was done by writing and
    production personnel. Persistence could pay off. Gunsmoke was auditioned
    twice with different scripts and cast before it finally went on the air.

    Weird things could happen as a by-product of an audition. I read for a
    producer who had done Lux Radio Theater but was now on another project. The
    result was unusual. He called me aside after I read and explained that I
    wasn't right for the part but that he would give me a note to take to his
    successor at Lux which was produced by J. Walter Thompson advertising agency.
    Sure enough, I received a letter that was a rave review of my audition saying
    that I was the best juvenile voice he had heard in years. I was already
    mentally cashing the checks when I took the letter to JWT. I never worked for
    J. Walter Thompson the entire time I was in Radio.

    There were a couple of auditions in which I have more than a passing interest
    and both of them were freaks. The first occurred in 1945 when I was on my way
    to a rehearsal for a show at CBS and there was a strange sight in the foyer.
    Usually there were a few actors hanging out there either waiting to snag a
    passing producer for a job or explaining why somebody else's performance the
    night before was simply awful. This time, the foyer was crowded with
    announcers. You could tell that they were announcers because they all wore
    suits and looked at each other suspiciously. I had never seen a herd of
    announcers all gathered in one place especially announcers with big names so
    I asked what was happening and was told that they were auditioning for
    Sherlock Holmes. It was just a matter of idle curiosity that I asked who was
    doing the audition, figuring that there might be some work there in the
    future. The answer was Edna Best. I liked Edna. I had worked with her on
    programs in which she was an actress and had great respect for her ability.
    She was never as well known as her former husband Herbert Marshall, but she
    was fun and funny.

    So, on a whim, the next time the secretary came out of the studio to call the
    next applicant, I asked her if I could duck in quickly to say hello to Edna.
    She agreed and I tore into the studio, walked up to the microphone and said,
    " Hi, Edna. I haven't seen you for a long time and just wanted to say hello."
    And I started to leave. From the control booth she said, "Aren't you going to
    read?" I told her no that I hadn't been called. She said, "As long as you're
    here grab a script." Which I did, read the copy cold, and the next day I was
    the announcer for Sherlock Holmes.

    Sixteen years later I was in big trouble. In 1959 radio was taking to its
    deathbed, but I had a very good year in television. In 1960 there were
    back-to-back strikes with Screen Actors Guild and The Writers Guild or the
    Directors Guild. Whichever it was I was not working. When television
    production started up again I found out that parts I had been playing were
    going to name film actors and I couldn't buy a job. I had reached a pretty
    high level of franticity when I came home one day and Bev said, "You won't
    believe this, but you had a call for a radio audition tomorrow at CBS." Now I
    knew this was an error of some sort because there was no radio at that point.

    Whatever it was, I figured it would be a recorded voice test and I ambled
    over to CBS dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. I ran into a replay of the
    Sherlock scene with all the suits and big names and immediately knew that I
    was in big trouble. I was introduced to a little lady done up in mink who
    turned out to be Dear Abby. We recorded some copy. She didn't read very well,
    the material was stiff and I had already written this off as a very poor
    afternoon. She told me somewhat later that she didn't think much of the
    audition and I don't know to this day why I was hired.

    We worked together for twelve years.

    - ------------------
    Harry Bartell maintains that his major accomplishment as a professional actor
    for forty years was to survive with his mind, morale and marriage intact.

    Born in 1913 in New Orleans, he grew up in Houston and graduated Phi Beta
    Kappa from Rice University in 1933. After a stint at Harvard Business School
    and a couple of years forced labor in a department store he moved to
    Hollywood and stayed there for the next fifty-one years. Three seasons at the
    Pasadena Playhouse led to work in 185 radio series and 77 TV series plus a
    dozen or so properly forgettable motion pictures.

    This article will be archived at:

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