Why Don't They Want Me?: Bobby Keniston Talks About the Pain of Rejection

Yes, Rejection is Heartbreaking

Greetings to all of you out there, and welcome to Theater is a Sport.  My name is Bobby Keniston, and I will be communicating my thoughts to you through your computer screen.  If you like, imagine that we're sitting down over a cup of coffee or chicken broth, just shooting the breeze about theater.  Why not?  We're all personable people here, right?

Tonight I'm going to talk about rejection, particularly in terms of student and community theater, for actors, writers, and anybody who has ever been rejected.

Rejection sucks.  There you go.  I won't sugar coat it.  It's not fun.  People, by and large, will prefer acceptance over rejection any day of the week.  I think it has something to do with the whole "being a part of the human race" thing. 

Any time you audition for a school or community theater production, or, any time you submit a script, or portfolio of your designs or any other such creative endeavor, you are taking the risk of being turned down.  It's as simple as that.  Perhaps this is a part of what Fehrlingetti is talking about with "constantly risking absurdity". 

Make no mistake--- all creative endeavors are a risk, and you are going to win some and you are going to lose some (pardon the cliche, but it's true).  Even I, a veteran of over sixty plays, do not always get the parts that I want. 

There is a very small percentage of the human race who lets rejection roll off their back without too much thought about it, and are eager to go out and try again.  There is a much larger percentage of the population who SAYS that rejection doesn't bother them, and then go home and cry, cuss and wonder why the whole damn world is against them.  I am part of the latter group myself.  And then, on the other end, there is another small percentage who, upon being rejected, tell the rejectors in no uncertain terms how ridiculously stupid they are, right to their faces, effectively lighting a match and burning a bridge. 

If you are in the same group that I am in, my advice is for you.

Okay, so you've decided to take the plunge and audition for a play or submit a play forpublication.  Congratulations!  Good for you!  It's a noble pursuit that can change your life.  You've already shown tremendous courage by making the decision to put yourself out there. 

So you've worked hard, given your best audition, or best callback, and now it's just a matter of waiting.  Try to relax.  It's not easy.  As Tom Petty said, "the waiting is the hardest part".  It's nice to know one way or another, but resist the temptation to contact the theater group before they contact you.  You don't want to bug people.  This goes for publishing houses as well (only, with them, once you wait the amount of time they specify in their submission guidelines, it is okay to drop them a friendly, albeit brief, line to inquire). 

Finally, you get the letter or e-mail from the director or casting people of your local community theater (or, of course, the cast list is posted at school).  You take a look, and the message starts out "We want to thank you so much for taking the time for auditioning.  Unfortunately, when casting a play..."  Or you scan the cast list two or three (or ten) times, and you do not find your name. 

PAIN.  CRUSHING.  PAIN. 

WHY DON'T THEY WANT ME?

It's tough with acting and writing, because they are so difficult to separate from YOU.  You the person.  For an actor, your body is your instrument.  It feels very personal, because, in effect, it is. 

Or maybe you didn't get the part you wanted.  You wanted the juicy lead, but only got a small part with 8 lines, and you know, just KNOW that you are better than that fathead who got the part (who, more likely than not, is actually a friend of yours, or, a well-established nemesis... both happen a lot at schools and community theaters). 

It's okay, in the privacy of your own home, to vent.  It's okay to cuss, cry, and say things like, "That stupid place doesn't appreciate me!  I give and I give, and they just throw me a bone every time!"  or "I'm too good for that place.  They don't even deserve me!  Their plays are all crap, anyway!"  You're a human being.  Don't beat yourself up for feeling your feelings.  Anger is a natural response to having your feelings hurt.  Truly.  I'm speaking physiologically.  In the brain, when your feelings are hurt, particularly with something you are very invested with, you chemically are geared to the part of the brain responsible for anger and jealousy, and grief.

So, again, feel your feelings. 

But do not wallow.  After a certain amount of time, and it varies from person to person, pick yourself up, look in the mirror, and give yourself a pep talk.  I do this a lot.  And remember that pain is a part of life.  Granted, not a pleasant one, but it is sometimes necessary for growth.

And remember, casting a play is based on the opinions of the person (or very few people) who are in charge of the production.  And, of course, there are always other factors beyond talent.  For example, school and community theater, females have it tougher than males, at least statistically speaking.  Women try out for theater more than men.  That's why a male who seems "less than talented" can wind up getting parts.  Directors need men.  Not fair, but it's how it is.  Then there's the matter of casting to make decent "stage pictures" and "stage families", and that is all stuff beyond your control, so don't take it to heart (I know, I know, it's easy for me to say).

Also--- there are some roles that a person just isn't right for.  I hate to admit it, because in my heart, I feel like I can play ANYTHING, and would like to play EVERYTHING.  But, I do consciously know that no director is going to cast me as the typical "leading man" type, tall dark and handsome.  I'm short.  I look like a sidekick.  And, though I would love to play the part before I shuffle off my mortal coil, not many casting folks are gonna consider me for Hamlet, unless I mount the production and cast myself.  It's not easy to come to peace with such truths, but it can be very important to do so. 

If you find that you are getting rejected far more than you are being accepted, it might behoove you to ask the group or drama teacher why.  Now, this doesn't mean approach them demandingly, saying, "Why the hell don't you ever give me a part?"  That would not bode well.  Instead, if you take it from a different angle, you might get some good advice.  "I really am interested in acting, and I want to keep growing and learning.  Do you have any tips for how I might audition better?"  Drama teachers will be happy to talk to you, of course, and a community theater director should be, too.  It's all about learning, remember that.

Unfortunately, this isn't the case for professional theater by and large, and it is not really the case for writers either.  Maybe a writer, if they submitted a play to their local community theater for consideration, could have a conversation about what works and what doesn't with the artistic director, but editors and the publishing houses are usually too swamped to give personal feedback.  However, if you find that your script keeps getting rejected, maybe you could have an old creative writing teacher, or a person involved with theater read it and offer suggestions on how you might tighten it up. 

Most of all, if theater is important to you (and it must be if you are constantly risking absurdity), then keep trying, keep growing, and keep finding ways to act or write.  You're a strong, resourceful person.  Put up your own show, go to open mics, play scenes in a classroom, take an acting class, shoot a video... whatever--- just DON'T GIVE UP. 

I guess what I'm saying is, the only rejection that is permanent is the rejection of self.  And you're too good for that. 

You are.  I mean it.  I may not know you personally, but I know that any human being is too good for that. 

So, until next time, keep the chin up, cuss and cry if you have to, but keep playing that sport I call theater.

This is Bobby Keiston saying good night.

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MY MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT ONSTAGE or MY FIRST COLLEGE PRODUCTION

A Picture of Tighty-Whities Underwear

One of the truly beautiful things about live theater is this:  if you have performed in it enough, you have an embarrassing story to tell.  I have several, to be honest, but none come close to the one I am about to tell you. 

You may be wondering why I am going to tell you this story if it is so embarrassing.  I'll tell you why.  If you live through these moments in the theater, it is a solid badge of honor that should, nay, must be shared for the commiseration of all who have ever survived similar moments. 

After transferring to Bennington College, I decided to take a semester off from acting in a production.  I don't know why, really--- I think at the time I was telling myself that I wanted to scope out the lay of the land, see what kind of stuff happened there.  Whatever the reason, I desperately missed being a part of it all, and was determined to audition for everything my second semester.  The faculty-directed production that semester was Major Barbara by GB Shaw, and there were a few student productions happening as well, including a play called Judith by Howard Barker, which was being directed by a young woman called Vic, who, up until that point, I didn't really know. 

The competition amongst the ladies was pretty severe that semester--- from Freshman to Seniors, all the ladies wanted Barbara.  And there was truly an embarrassment of riches to choose from.  I went to the auditions for Mr. Shaw's show not really knowing it too well, and saw the halls of VAPA chock-full of young ladies wanting to read.  Not only that, I could tell they were somewhat particular about who they would be reading with.  When it was my turn to read, I did my best, reading the part of Charlie, a supporting role that seemed fun enough, but I can't say I was tremendously invested in it.  You see, I had taken a look at Mr. Barker's Judith, a three-character play that was dark and "out there", and represented what I felt I SHOULD be acting in in college (in truth, Major Barbara is certainly something one should be doing in college, too, make no mistake). 

Judith was based off the story of Judith, the woman who beheaded the general Holofernes.  She was a great heroine of her time.  Mr. Barker's script was complex and lyrical, talking about very adult things in a raw, yet philosophical manner.  I never pictured myself as the "general" type, but I knew that pickings were slim when it came to guys that semester--- many were going to be used in the faculty production, and it was somewhat rare for people who are cast in the faculty production to be cast in anything else... faculty had first choice, student directors had to deal with what remained. 

So, yeah, I wanted to be in Judith because I wanted to be edgy.  I'll admit it.  I loved dark stuff, primarily watched only independent films, read disturbing plays, etc.,  and that was that.

At my audition for Judith, I read wtih a few different girls, and then Vic had me, and anoher guy up for the part named Dan (an excellent musician and actor, who I thought for sure would get the part if he wanted it), hold onto a sofa cushion, and said, "Okay, so this cushion is Judith.  How would you kill her?"  Dan went for it, going wild on that cushion.  I was having trouble.  I kind of squeezed the cushion some, perhaps in a gesture of strangling.  Vic stopped us and said, "Bobby, I get what you're doing, it looks like a kind of strangling, but we're talking about a violent man..." and, I couldn't help it, I interjected and said, "Yeah, I... I just don't think he wants to kill her."   Vic said, "okay," and asked me to act like the cushion was an enemy I wanted to kill, so I went wild on it.

I learned later it was the fact that I didn't want to kill Judith that got me the part. 

I am making this embarrassing story pretty long, but, hey... why not?

So, it turns out that they wanted me to play Charlie in Major Barbara, and Vic really wanted me to play Holofernes in Judith, but, I wasn't really supposed to do both.  But, from my understandiing, Vic wouldn't back down during the casting session, so I wound up doing both parts that semester, though Holofernes was the one I was truly excited about. 

Who wouldn't be?  I was in the play with two lovely ladies, Sasha (who played Judith's servant) and Jessica (who had been a strong contender for Barbara, but who I was psyched to see got the part of Judith--- and not just because she was pretty, but because she was pretty fierce).  I loved everything about the Judith rehearsal process--- picking the play apart, improvising for character building, working the relationship with the characters... we even had a slumber party in the space where we were performing.

(I will note that I also felt very specail that semester being a part of Major Barbara, which turned out to be great fun and very educational...)

Okay, so, to set up the scene leading up to my embarrassing moment.  Both Jessica and I had to take our clothes off in that show.  Neither of us stripped down completely, but, early on in the show, I took my tunic off and was in a "loincloth" for the rest of the performance.  The loincloth was fashioned out of a pair of tighty-whities and some other material.  Jessica was wearing a fairly sheer top.  It was odd the kind of mutual vulnerability that we were feeling throughout this.  I'm glad we went through it together. 

About two-thirds of the way through the show, my character was killed, and I spent the last third lying on the ground on my back in my loincloth, waiting to be straddled (I know, weird, huh?), but only after I had been "beheaded". 

Yeah, it was strange, but an amazing first show for my college career, because it was LIGHT YEARS away from any show I had ever been in before.  It felt like a new beginning. 

So, I was proud of this show, proud of all of us involved (including Dan, who, not one to hold a grudge, created some beautiful original music for the show).  On the second night, we were to have our biggest audience.  The second night was also the night that all of my professors would be there:  my acting teachers Janis and Derek, my playwriting professor Gladden, and, as it would turn out, the night my close peers were all coming to see the show. 

It was a wonderful performance.  I felt pretty on top of it.  Felt really connected with Jess and Sasha, started feeling very intense... basically, all was well.  You can just feel these connections when you're on stage, can't you?  When everything is going right.  Nothing can go wrong...

The show ends, I get up in the dark and go behind our set before going out to bow.  I'm feeling good, for having been dead  the last fifteen minutes or so.  Right before we go out to bow, Jess leans over to me and whispers "You've been hanging out since you took your tunic off."  I look at her for a moment, puzzled, and then it hits me.  I look down, and, sure enough, I was... well... "hanging out" of my loincloth.  I did my best to remedy the situation before going out to bow. 

Okay, so the photos took place after the second show.  I have to confess, during the milling about with professors and so forth, I felt mortified.  Many of my pals in the audience mentioned how they had liked the show, and then made plenty of comments about my wardrobe malfunction.  Apparently, a flap in the tighty-whities didn't want to stay shut.  I could share some of the more colorful comments, but, I want this to be a student-friendly blog, so I shall refrain. 

My professor Janis tried to make me feel better:  "It looked perfectly natural for the play, Bobby.  There's nothing to be embarassed about."   My playwriting professor had a different tact:  "Hey, Bobby, what are you doing later?  Just... hanging out?" 

Still, I am glad for the experience of being a part of Judith.  It was a great way to start my college experience at Bennington.  And I'm glad that my wardrobe malfunction happened, though I cannot possibly begin to describe how much I hated it at the time (I mean, it was hard enough for me to take my shirt off in those days). 

The reason I am glad it happened, is because it is a story I have been able to share countless times with people who do their best to outdo it, and wind up falling short. 

If you have an embarrassing theater story that tops mine, please feel free to share it in the comments below, or e-mail me at theater.is.a.sport@gmail.com.

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Please come back to Theater is a Sport tomorrow for the second lesson in my Playwriting tutorial.  We'll begin the art of writing monologues.  Until then, please remember--- theater is a sport.