Cattle Call

Auditions have been thin on the ground recently, so I perked up on Saturday morning when Casting Call Pro told me I had a message and the message told me I had an audition for a paying speaking part on Sunday afternoon. Here was the script. Could I confirm? Of course I could.

Sunday afternoon sees me strolling leisurely through north London, quarter of an hour early for my audition in a youth club. Ahead of me someone else is going in, almost certainly  for the same part. There's a queue. I'm third in line. While waiting to be seen, I look round a room full of  men and women in their fifties, all apparently for the two roles on offer.

The couple ahead of me, apparently together and auditioning for each role is miffed at the fact that they thought the audition was 4.30 -  the same time I had for my slot. No, says the young woman checking names. The call is for 4.30. Call? Yes. We're going to photograph everyone and then have pairs go through their lines. The whole process should be over in 90 minutes. The couple protest, surely there is some mistake, we have individual auditions, but the young woman is insistent. As the same information gets repeated and questioned several times, the queue behind me grows longer.

The couple move on. My name is taken. I spot a player from a previous production and go to say hello. When 4.30 comes, we are shuffled upstairs to be photographed and then again asked to wait. The atmosphere of discontent amongst the dozens of people waiting is almost palpable.

The process seems pointless. The roles being cast are for minor characters in a short scene in a  pilot - characters who will not appear in future episodes. The company, which has an impressive website and track record, seems to have offered an "audition" to anyone who applied for a part, when it could have saved its own time and ours by calling in five or six, maximum ten, candidates for each part. Or if they insisted on seeing everyone, it would have been helpful to inform us that the process would take 90 minutes and we were not being offered separate audition slots. We thought we were being invited in as professionals offered speaking parts, and found ourselves subjected to a cattle call as if we were extras. All this process has done is create extra work for the casting director and his crew and generated unnecessary ill-feeling among people who want to work for them.

As we wait, there are mutterings in the ranks and threats to leave without being seen. But of course none of us goes. We all want a part, no matter how small, in what may turn out to be a success - a part which will not only pay but which will look good on our list of credits. So even as we grumble to each other, we line up and wait for our turn in front of the camera.

I'm paired with Viv, who's pleasant and professional. We rehearse a couple of times and chat about this and that. After more than an hour's queuing and waiting, we are let in to do our 90 seconds filming. I give a  performance designed partly to emphasise the comic side of the character and partly to make myself memorable, in the hope that even if I'm not wanted for this part, I might be suitable for another role.

We'll see. I'm not holding my breath, but I haven't identified the company or the semi-famous name behind it because there is that minimal chance they will want to use me. And to be fair, a representative of the company did have the grace to apologise to everyone when it was clear we felt we had been badly treated. I don't think it was intentional, but it was the kind of basic mistake that a professional company shouldn't make - and won't, I hope, make again.