Audition Monologues for Roles Where Characters Experiment With Something New, Vol. 2
Casting directors will tell you the most common note they give in callbacks is make a choice. Practice monologues are where you build that muscle. When you take on a character experimenting with something new, every line forces a fresh response. There is no autopilot. The character doesn't know what they're doing, so the actor can't either. That's the gift. Discomfort sharpens performance. Each monologue here puts a character in the middle of trying something for the first time. Use them to build cold-read speed, callback range, and the willingness to be visibly figuring it out in front of the people in the room.
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Rosalind — 52, lifelong steak-eater on day eighteen of going vegan
(Pushing a plate around with a fork) Don't say it. Don't. I see the look on your face, Harold. (laughs) Yes, it's tofu. Yes, I made it. Don't ask what flavor I was going for, I don't know yet. The recipe was a website written in haiku. (frustrated) I miss steak. I miss it. I had a dream last night about a ribeye and I woke up offended. (sighs) But that documentary, Harold. That documentary broke me. I cannot get those poor cows out of my head. So this is the plan. Eighteen days. Twelve to go. And then we'll see. (takes a bite, considers) Oh. Oh, that's actually, that's not terrible. That's almost good? (suspicious) Did you sneak butter into this? Look me in the eye. Did you. (laughs) You did, didn't you. Harold. We start over tomorrow. Don't help me anymore.
Marcus — 23, picky eater since childhood facing his first sushi date
(Staring at a piece of sushi with deep suspicion) Okay. Hold on. (picks it up with chopsticks, drops it) Sorry. Give me a second. I'm not, look, this isn't a stunt. I am trying. (laughs nervously) Until I was nineteen, I ate chicken nuggets and white rice. That was my diet. People made documentaries about kids like me. (picks up the sushi again) The thing is, you said this place was your favorite. You said I really want to share this with you. Nobody's ever said that to me about food. Or about anything, really. (looks up at her) So I'm going to eat this. And if I make a face, please look at the window. Don't look at me, look at the window. (pops it in his mouth, chews carefully, eyes widen) Oh. Oh no. I get it. I'm ruined. I'm gonna want this every day now.
Hattie — 73, recent widow trying Thai food for the first time
(Looking at a menu like it's written in code) Sweetheart, I am seventy-three years old. I have eaten meatloaf every Tuesday for fifty-one years. Your grandfather, God rest him, would not let me change the menu. Not once. So you'll forgive me if tom kha gai sounds like a sneeze. (laughs) Yes, fine, order for me. But nothing too spicy. Hattie does not do spicy. (pause, looks around) It is pretty in here, isn't it. All these lanterns. (sighs) Your mother would be furious if she knew I was here. She wanted me to go to the same diner. The same booth. (firmer) But I told myself this year. This year, Hattie, you try something new every month. Last month I went to a yoga class and pulled something I didn't know I had. (smiles) I miss your grandfather. I do. But he is not the boss of my dinner anymore.
Jordan — 36, marketing director on day eleven of intermittent fasting
(Watching their co-worker eat) I'm not staring at your sandwich. I'm not. Don't worry about it. Eat. (beat) Okay, I'm staring at the sandwich. I'm sorry. Day eleven. Day eleven of intermittent fasting. (sighs) My nutritionist said, Jordan, you need to give your gut a rest. I said, from what? She said, from the seventeen cups of coffee and the office bagels and the doom-snacks. Fair. Fair point. (laughs) But Karen, I am sentient hunger. I am pure want. I think in sandwich now. (rubs temples) Forty-three minutes. Forty-three minutes until my eating window opens. I've checked the clock seven times in this conversation. (longer beat) Don't tell HR I'm being weird. I'm fine. I'm great. I have so much energy. I can hear the second hand on the wall clock. (snaps) Forty-two minutes. Don't offer me chips again. I will cry on this rug.
Wendell — 28, lost a bet and is on day four of an all-raw-food week
(Holding a plate of carrot sticks, exhausted) Brent. Listen to my voice. I am withering. I am wilting. I am becoming the salad. (laughs hollowly) Day four. Four out of seven. I lost a bet, by the way, that's the entire reason this is happening. Steve from accounting. (rubs his face) I dreamed about pizza. The pizza spoke to me. It said, Wendell. Come home. And I tried to follow it. I tried. (sits down heavily) The thing is, I feel kind of clear-headed? Like, I can hear better. My eyes are weirdly less tired. (beat) But this is not living. This is surviving. Cold things should not constitute an entire personality. (slumps) Steve from accounting is going to pay. I don't know how yet. But he is going to pay. (eats a piece of celery) ... This was a baby carrot. I thought it was celery. I'm losing it.
Esme — 17, sensitive eater taking on the wing challenge with her best friend
(Looking at a tray of red-glazed wings) Dakota, I want you to know that I love you. I do. As a friend. (beat) I am about to do something stupid for you. Because you said I was a coward. (laughs, slightly hurt) I am not a coward. I just have a sensitive palate. There's a difference. (picks up a wing, hesitates) This is a level six. Out of ten. The waiter looked at me like I was a small dog about to lick a battery. (long pause) Okay. Here we go. (takes a bite, chews, swallows, eyes wide) It's okay. It's fine. (beat) Oh. Oh no. Oh, here it comes. (gulps water) Dakota. Dakota my face. My face is on fire. Stop laughing. Why aren't you helping. (laughing through tears) Why is this fun. Why do people do this. Order me another one. I'm a coward but I'm not a quitter.
Tomás — 45, dad trying to teach himself how to make pizza from scratch
(Standing in a flour-covered kitchen) Alejandro. Look at me. Look at the kitchen. I have lost control. (laughs) This is supposed to be a relaxing hobby. A father-son thing, I read it online. Dough is stress-reducing, they said. They lied. (slaps a piece of dough on the counter) Six failed crusts. Six. One of them caught fire. I don't want to talk about it. (frustrated) Your mother is in her room laughing. I can hear her. She's been laughing for forty minutes. (looks at his son) But here's what I want you to remember. Your grandfather had a brick oven in the yard in Hermosillo. He made the best pizza I ever tasted in his life. And I never asked him how. He died, and I never asked him how. (softer) So I am figuring it out. So when I die, you can teach your kids what your old man taught you. Hand me the flour.
Fiona — 31, eight-year vegan about to break it to try a piece of salmon
(Staring at a piece of grilled salmon, wide-eyed) Aoife. I want to make something very clear before I do this. I am still a vegan. I will be a vegan tomorrow. This is a research trip. (laughs nervously) Eight years. Eight years I have not eaten an animal. And you are going to sit there and watch me, and you are not allowed to tell Mum, because Mum will never let it go. (picks up a fork) The doctor said my iron is dangerously low. I tried supplements. I tried lentils until my body rebelled. (sighs) She said, Fiona, fish is a small mercy. The world will not end. (pause) And I cried in her office because I felt like a fraud. (long beat) But here we are. (takes a small bite, closes her eyes) Oh, God. (eyes water) Don't say anything. I'm grieving. And I'm enjoying it. At the same time. Both.
Curt — 60, retiring next year, learning Indian cooking from his wife of 31 years
(In their kitchen, surrounded by spice jars) Priya. Look at me. I have been your husband for thirty-one years. I have eaten your food for thirty-one years. I have never asked you how you do it. (sighs) That is not okay, my love. (picks up a jar) What is this one. Tell me again. (listens) Hing. Yes. The smell. Right. (laughs) Your mother showed you when you were six. And nobody has ever shown me. And I retire next year, and I want, I want to make you a meal. For once. I want to make YOU the meal. (beat) Stop laughing. I'm being serious. (sniffs the spice, coughs) Okay, that was a lot. (softer) Your hands always smelled like this when I'd hold them. I never asked what it was. I am asking now. Tell me everything. From the start. I have nowhere to be.
Annika — 22, college senior on day 26 of cooking only from scratch
(On a video call to her grandmother) Yiayia, look. Look at this. (holds up a jar) That's homemade ricotta. I made cheese. Cheese, Yiayia! With my own hands and a thermometer and a piece of cheesecloth from the internet! (laughs) Day twenty-six. Twenty-six days of cooking from scratch. Nothing from a box. No takeout. Bread, broth, sauces, all of it. (sighs) You know why I did this? Because I was eating cereal for dinner four nights a week. Four. And I am twenty-two years old, Yiayia, that is not a life. That's existing. (beat) And I've been thinking about you. About how you fed five children on nothing. How you made everything sing. (softer) I'm not going to be like that. I'm never going to be like that. But I want to be a little like that. Tomorrow: tomato sauce. From scratch. Promise me you'll talk me through it.
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