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My brain came up with a new variation on The Actor's Nightmare, one I don't like very much. It's sort of The Auditioner's Nightmare.
I dreamed I was attending an event where one could audition for any number of professional acting jobs with different directors. It took place in a large building, and I had several potential people and shows, mostly unidentified in the dream, for which I wanted to try out. The building had some of the recurrent sorts of shopping and snacking stations that I've dreamed about lately as well, all kind of playing with my old recurrent college and work cafeteria and merchant tables idea.
When I would go to one director or another, the procedure was pretty much standard: They would hand me a photocopied bundle of pages for a cold reading, including music, and they or an assistant would start giving me cue lines from somewhere on the first page. The type on the page was always quite small, as were the musical staff and notes for anything sung, and I was woefully unable to find my place on the page to really get the scene going. There was one, about the third try-out I went to, that was a reading from some Robert Preston musical comedy, but again, I couldn't make much of it, although it was a little easier to recognize what was on the page. After three or four of these, I kind of lucid-dreamed my reaction: "I guess I'm not cut out for any of these auditions," and I woke up.
I dreamed I was attending an event where one could audition for any number of professional acting jobs with different directors. It took place in a large building, and I had several potential people and shows, mostly unidentified in the dream, for which I wanted to try out. The building had some of the recurrent sorts of shopping and snacking stations that I've dreamed about lately as well, all kind of playing with my old recurrent college and work cafeteria and merchant tables idea.
When I would go to one director or another, the procedure was pretty much standard: They would hand me a photocopied bundle of pages for a cold reading, including music, and they or an assistant would start giving me cue lines from somewhere on the first page. The type on the page was always quite small, as were the musical staff and notes for anything sung, and I was woefully unable to find my place on the page to really get the scene going. There was one, about the third try-out I went to, that was a reading from some Robert Preston musical comedy, but again, I couldn't make much of it, although it was a little easier to recognize what was on the page. After three or four of these, I kind of lucid-dreamed my reaction: "I guess I'm not cut out for any of these auditions," and I woke up.
