Down Stage Write theatre company are looking to cast four actors for four short filmed monologues commissioned from LGBTQ+ writers based in Devon and Cornwall as part of our Write Out Loud project (supported by Arts Council England).
We are looking to cast:
BRYONY:
(The Bryony Hotel by Bee Jarvis)
Playing age 25-35. Female Identifying actor of colour. Queer actor preferred.
ROBIN:
(Jellyfish by Jaime Lock)
Playing age mid 20s. Female Identifying. Queer actor preferred.
ASH:
(Not An Option by Fynn Roberts)
Playing age 20s. Non Binary.
BEN:
(Private by Robin Oliver)
Playing age 30s. Trans male.
Filming will take place in Devon and Cornwall. As such we are looking for actors based in the South West.
Shooting will take place in November and December around creative team and actors availability.
The commitment is a 1 and a half day rehearsal and shoot.
Fee: £150 (plus expenses)
To apply please send your CV and record a short self tape using the script extracts available at:
Deadline for applications is 5th of November 2021
Email: info@downstagewrite.uk
SELF TAPE EXCERPTS:
BRYONY:
So, two became four! I don't like strangers, especially not in my house in a pandemic, but what was I supposed to do, turn them away at my doorstep? I've always felt stuck on the other side of a window with people, watching through the glass, like I'm there in the moment but not quite. It's why I've always lived alone, why I crave the blissful solitude of art. I'm not anti-social, it's just... not for me. So it wasn't a surprise when we all started fighting. Nothing serious, but people would just leave things everywhere, there were too many little reminders that people are around and existing in my space, so I'd take Tobi's war figurines and throw them in his room, and he'd yell at me because I was "picking on him" and "never moved Susanna's succulents" but that's different, they were nice! Or they'd all take consecutive showers one after another so I was blocked from using my own bathroom for hours, and it would always smell like Mac's sandlewood shampoo, or Susanna's lavender soap... actually I never minded that but, look. I know logically it's all inconsequential stuff but it upset me, and there was nothing I could've done about it. Where else could they've gone? So, I'd just hide in my room all day, painting, escaping into my private serenity. It's the only place I had a true sense of stillness, away from the bustling lives of my key worker housemates.
ROBIN:
I need it to be simple.
Jess is so brave, she’s so brave.
And after all of it, we could have nothing. Or worse, one of those little embryos could start to develop and then… stop. And I know that can happen with any pregnancy, but I don’t know, it’s so scary. And we can’t just fuck again and give it another go, you know, and we don’t have any money.
In lots of clinics you’re offered a free round of IVF if you donate your eggs. So they just take out some extra eggs when they do the extraction and give some of them to someone else. They’re capitalising off women’s bodies, aren’t they? I’m not saying it isn’t helpful, the fact it makes it cheaper, and it’s amazing to be able to help some other couple out like that.
I just don’t think this is how I’m supposed to be feeling.
Sometimes I can’t believe Jess wants to have a baby with me. When I think about that part, every bit of me goes fizzy. I wasn’t sure I wanted kids. Actually, I think I was so sure I wanted them that I refused to let myself think about it. People don’t ask about children as much when you’re gay so it’s easy to just turn yourself off.
And then Jess. I remember when she first asked me. We were at my parents’ house and we’d just had slow, quiet morning sex. It looked foggy outside from the gap in the curtain and I could hear the sea rolling over. I love the moments before she speaks, when you can see her brain ticking, her teeth chewing her cheek a bit as she thinks. ‘Shall we have a kid, Robs?’, she said. We’d only been together for a few months at that point so I pushed a pillow over her head and told her to fuck off. But I loved her for saying it.
ASH:
All I wanted to do was stop my house smelling like garbage. That’s why I’m here. That and a spur of the moment dumb decision. A silly prank. But really, it was trash. That’s where all this mess came from. There were too many pizza boxes and energy cans, and yes, I know I’m the stereotype of a person my age, or realistically the stereotype of someone a little younger. But I wanted to fix it, so that deserves a little praise, no? Fine, I'll do it? Woooooo Ash! Go Ash! You attempted to complete some of your basic adult responsibilities, so we did a parade for you. ASH ASH ASH! And I know what you are thinking. Ash is a really boring choice for a gender neutral name, but I grew up on Pokemon, and Ashley Burch is an icon, so sue me. (long pause) Are you gonna…. like.. ask me loads of questions? Or do I get to ask you... Do you grasp your cock tightly when you piss? Is one of your balls bigger than the other? Does your urethra itch after you cum? You have made it very clear that you are a 'he/him' and your relationship between gender and sex makes it very clear that you are cis, so I assumed you want me to be thinking about your genitals, since they are so important to your identity.. that you must.. 1 I'm sorry, that was overly confrontational. I haven't ever been in trouble before and I'm going a little bit wild with it
BEN:
I’m anxious about tomorrow, partly because I’m not entirely sure where my nipples are (he hugs the mastectomy pillow closer and leans his face into the soft material). I mean, I have a general idea obviously (he raises his head and looks back up), but at the minute there are just these big bandages (he gestures with his hands across his chest) that have been there for two weeks, and I’m struggling to imagine what’s underneath.
In the face-to-face consult, he said they’d be standard male size. About 20-25mm, like a 10p piece (he holds his thumb and index finger circled round to the approximate size). I found it hard trying to imagine how it was going to look. How I was going to look (He points at himself). So, when I got home, I found an old cornflakes box, cut round some small change and held up two circles to the bathroom mirror. Moved them up and down, left to right in front of my chest, tried to visualise it.
Cereal boxes are useful things, when I think of all I’ve made from them over the years. Like the suit of armour, I wore for show and tell at primary school. The wings for the hat, and the moustache that completed my Asterix’s outfit (he runs his hand over his top lip.). Even in Sunday school they became angels for the tops of our Christmas trees, and many years later, they prove helpful as nipple stand ins (smiles jokingly).
You know, to begin with my main concern was just wanting what was there, gone. A flat chest and looking half decent in a regular t-shirt. Only wearing one layer (he holds up a finger), instead of four (holds up 4 fingers). It sounds so simple, yet, reaching towards that possibility has been enough to bring me close to tears, for years (He looks towards the window and continues talking). Just thinking of a summer breeze moving through a short-sleeved t. With no binder beneath. Freedom for air to move over my skin and pull the sweat away, rather than trapping it there all day