Auditions for TWELFTH NIGHT on February 5 & 6
…from 6-9pm at The Loveland Stage Company.
Please bring all conflicts to auditions.
Twelfth Night is a fast-paced romantic comedy with several interwoven plots involving romance, mistaken identities and practical jokes. Separated from her twin brother Sebastian in a shipwreck, Viola disguises herself as a boy, calls herself Cesario, and becomes a servant to the Duke Orsino. He sends her to woo the Countess Olivia on his behalf, but the Countess falls in love with Cesario. Meanwhile, Olivia’s uncle, Sir Toby Belch gets drunk with his friend, Sir Andrew Aguecheek and they play a trick on Malvolio, Olivia’s steward. Eventually Sebastian turns up and causes even more confusion, chaos and comedy.
The show runs: May 5-21, 2023
Directed by: Kiya Fix
Co-Produced by: Becky Jones & Micheal Kiser
Auditions will consist of one prepared monologue (see below for monologue choices) and cold readings from the script.
All actors will be considered. Some roles will likely be doubled or tripled.
For those auditioning for the role of Feste, please also come prepared to sing your favorite 80s song – if you play an instrument please bring it along, too.
Duke Orsino (M): The Duke of the region is lovesick for Olivia, but she rejects his attention. He later finds himself attracted to Viola, but because she is disguised as a man, he finds these feelings befuddling.
Viola (F): The victim of a shipwreck. She disguises herself as a man (Cesario) and becomes a page to Duke Orsino. She falls in love with him but cannot reveal who she actually is.
Olivia (F): A fine wealthy woman with an unruly household of servants. She resists the attention of Duke Orsino and falls in love with his young attendant, Cesario.
Sebastian (M): Viola’s twin brother who is assumed to have drowned. When he does arrive in Illyria, he is mistaken for Orsino’s page Cesario and seduced by Olivia.
Malvolio (Any): The head servant in Olivia’s household. Very efficient but also very self-righteous and priggish.
Feste (Any): A street musician, who moves between Olivia’s and Orsino’s homes. His/her clever wit and singing voice keep him/her employed. The fool must walk the fine line between being funny and being insulting. The headliner of The Fools.
Sir Toby Belch (M): Olivia’s drunken uncle. Crude and funny, he carouses with Sir Andrew and flirts with Maria. Part of The Fools.
Maria (F): Olivia’s gentlewoman who is far from gentle. She is the mastermind of the trick the fools play on Malvolio. Part of The Fools.
Sir Andrew Aguecheek (M): A friend of Sir Toby. Attempts to court Olivia but doesn’t stand a chance. He thinks he is witty, brave, young, and good at dancing, but is actually an idiot. Part of The Fools.
Antonio (M): Rescues Sebastian after his shipwreck and falls in love with him.
Fabian (Any): A latecomer to the Fools, Fabian participates in the trick played on Malvolio and seems to be the only sober member of The Fools.
Valentine (Any): One of Orsino’s attendants.
Curio (Any): One of Orsino’s attendants.
Ensemble roles (Any):
- Sea Captain
- Two Sailors
- A Priest
- Two Officers
- Olivia’s Servant
- Orsino’s Attendants
If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! It had a dying fall:
O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odor. Enough; no more.
’Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
Oh spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou,
That notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, naught enters there,
Of what validity and pitch so o’er,
But falls into abatement and low price
Even in a minute. So full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.
This is the air; that is the glorious sun.
This pearl she gave me, I do feel ’t and see ’t.
And though ’tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet ’tis not madness. Where’s Antonio, then?
His counsel now might do me golden service.
For though my soul disputes well with my sense
That this may be some error, but no madness,
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes
And wrangle with my reason that persuades me
To any other trust but that I am mad –
Or else the lady’s mad. Yet if ’twere so,
She could not sway her house, command her followers,
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing
As I perceive she does. There’s something in ’t
That is deceivable. But here the lady comes.
Let me speak a little. This youth that you see here
I snatch’d one half out of the jaws of death,
Relieved him with such sanctity of love,
And to his image, which methought did promise
Most venerable worth, did I devotion.
But O how vile an idol proves this god
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame.
In nature there’s no blemish but the mind;
None can be call’d deform’d but the unkind:
Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil
Are empty trunks o’erflourish’d by the devil.
I left no ring with her. What means this lady?
Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her!
She made good view of me, indeed so much
That methought her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure! The cunning of her passion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.
None of my lord’s ring? Why, he sent her none!
I am the man. If it be so, as ’tis,
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness
How will this fadge? My master loves her dearly,
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him,
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me.
What will become of this?
‘What is your parentage?’
‘Above my fortunes, yet my state is well:
I am a gentleman.’ I’ll be sworn thou art;
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions and spirit,
Do give thee five-fold blazon: not too fast:
Unless the master were the man. How now!
Even so quickly may one catch the plague?
Methinks I feel this youth’s perfections
With an invisible and subtle stealth
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be.
What ho, Malvolio!
Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight. Since the youth of the Count’s was today with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him. If I do not gull him into a nayword and make him a common recreation, do not think I have wit enough to lie straight in my bed. I know I can do it. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles of love, wherein by the color of his beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall find himself most feelingly personated. I can write very like my lady your niece: on a forgotten matter we can hardly make distinction of our hands. He shall think, by the letters that I wilt drop, that they come from your niece, and that she’s in love with him.
Two faults, madonna, that drink and good counsel will amend: for give the dry fool drink, then is the fool not dry: bid the dishonest man mend himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the botcher mend him. Any thing that’s mended is but patched: virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin; and sin that amends is but patched with virtue. If that this simple syllogism will serve, so; if it will not, what remedy? As there is no true cuckold but calamity, so beauty’s a flower. The lady bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take her away.
[Reads] If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee, but be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon ’em. Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants. She thus advises thee that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stockings and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered. I say, remember. Go to, thou art made, if thou desir’st to be so. If not, let me see thee a steward still. Farewell. She that would alter services with thee, The Fortunate-Unhappy. This is open. I will be proud, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross acquaintance. I do not now fool myself, my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting on.
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