30 scripts written by us, free to practice with, record and put in your reel.
Every one lists voice age, accent and length, so you can pick a read that fits the audition you are chasing.
Two Sugars
Family drama, parent and adult childMature (55+)Neutral BritishTwo narrators (duet)1 minuteabout 76s
Cast: DANNYJOAN
A terraced-house kitchen in Leeds, Sunday afternoon. JOAN, 70s, keeps making tea while her son DANNY, 40s, tries to tell her he has taken a job in Canada
DANNYMum, sit down a minute.
JOANI'm making tea.
DANNYYou've made tea. There's a pot right there.
JOANThat one's stewed. Two sugars?
DANNYI've not had sugar since I was thirty.
JOANSince you married her.
DANNYSince the doctor told me. Mum. The job came through.
JOANWhat job?
DANNYThe one I told you about. At Christmas. And again at Easter.
JOANOh. The Canada one.
DANNYToronto. We fly in March.
JOANMarch is nice. It's not too cold there in March?
DANNYIt's freezing in March.
JOANWell, you'll want a proper coat, then.
DANNYMum.
JOANYour dad's coat is still upstairs. The good wool one. It'd fit you now. You've got his shoulders.
DANNYI don't need Dad's coat.
JOANI know you don't need it, love. I'm asking if you'll take it.
DANNY...Yeah. Yeah, I'll take it.
JOANGood. That's good. Right. One sugar, then. Just the one. Just this once.
What it is for: A kitchen-table goodbye where nobody says goodbye. Trains subtext: the real conversation is about the coat, not the tea. Coach's note: Watch out for Joan playing hurt from the top. She is busy, not wounded; the tea is how she avoids it. Danny must not push harder each time. The turn is 'I'm asking if you'll take it', and he has to hear it before he answers. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a mother who is funny without trying and a son whose patience is fraying but never cruel.
Gate 31, a regional airport, 11 p.m. PRIYA, mid-30s, sits with an untouched sandwich. THEO, 40s, sits two seats away with a dead phone
SFX: a flat airport chime
THEODid they just say another hour?
PRIYAAnother hour. Then they'll say another hour.
THEOYou sound like you've done this before.
PRIYAI've done this flight nine times this year.
THEOWork?
PRIYAMy dad. He's in a home in Tucson.
THEOI'm sorry.
PRIYADon't be. He's very happy. He thinks I'm his sister.
THEOAh.
PRIYAShe was nicer than me, apparently. He tells me so.
THEOMy mother used to tell me I had my father's temper. I never met my father.
PRIYAThat's a terrible thing to say to a child.
THEOIt was a very accurate thing to say to a child.
PRIYA...Can I tell you something?
THEOSure.
PRIYAI'm not sure I'm going. When they call it. I keep thinking I'll just sit here.
THEOAnd then what?
PRIYAI don't know. Sit here.
THEOWell. I'm on the same plane. If you're not on it, I'll tell him his sister says hello.
What it is for: Two strangers, one delay, and a confession it is only safe to make to someone you will never see again. Coach's note: Watch out for rushing the small talk to get to the reveal. The small talk is the scene. Theo drives the first half; Priya takes the scene on 'I'm not sure I'm going'. Theo must listen and not rescue her. What casting listens for: Casting listens for two people who are genuinely strangers: polite, a little guarded, and warming in real time.
The Casserole Dish
Family drama, estranged sistersAdult (40-55)IrishTwo narrators (duet)1 minuteabout 75s
Cast: SIOBHANMAEVE
A doorstep in Galway, early evening. SIOBHAN, 50, has come to return a dish to her younger sister MAEVE, 45. They have not spoken properly in six years
SFX: a door opening, wind
SIOBHANI brought your dish back.
MAEVEYou needn't have come all this way.
SIOBHANIt's forty minutes.
MAEVEI know how long it is.
SIOBHANIt was a lovely lasagne. People said.
MAEVEIt was shop-bought. I put it in my own dish.
SIOBHANWell. Nobody knew.
MAEVEMammy would have known.
SIOBHANMammy would have told the whole parish.
MAEVEShe would.
SIOBHANI've washed it. Twice. There was a bit burnt on in the corner.
MAEVEYou didn't have to wash it.
SIOBHANI know I didn't.
MAEVE...The kettle's on, if you want.
SIOBHANI'd not want to keep you.
MAEVEYou're not keeping me, Siobhan. Sure, where would I be going? I've nothing on. I've had nothing on for three weeks.
SIOBHANNo. Nor me.
MAEVECome in, so. Mind the step. It's still loose. He never fixed it.
SIOBHANI'll look at it. I've the drill in the car.
What it is for: Estranged sisters on a doorstep, three weeks after the funeral. The dish is the excuse; the visit is the apology. Coach's note: Watch out for playing the anger openly. Both women are being very polite, which is worse. Siobhan must not step inside too early. The turn is 'You didn't have to wash it', which is Maeve letting her in. What casting listens for: Casting listens for two distinct Irish women, sisters but not the same person: one brisk, one careful.
Handover at Three
Medical drama, night shiftAdult (25-40)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)1 minuteabout 80s
Cast: DEVONRAY
A hospital ward, 3 a.m. Nurse DEVON, 30s, an hour past the end of a double, hands over to Nurse RAY, late 20s. Both are exhausted. The monitors beep steadily
SFX: soft monitor tones, a distant call bell
DEVONBed four, stable, obs every two. Bed five, pain score down to three, next dose at six.
RAYSix. Got it.
DEVONBed seven's the new admission. Fall at home. Daughter's on her way from Denver.
RAYTonight?
DEVONShe's driving. She'll be here by breakfast if the pass is open.
RAYOkay. And bed nine?
DEVONBed nine is Mrs. Alvarez.
RAYI know Mrs. Alvarez.
DEVONShe had a bad hour at midnight. She's settled now. Comfort care only. Family's been called.
RAYRight.
DEVONShe asked for you.
RAYFor me?
DEVONThe one who does the crossword with her. That's you.
RAYWe never finish it.
DEVONShe said. She said you're hopeless at the long ones.
RAYI am hopeless at the long ones.
DEVONGo and sit with her. I'll do the six o'clock meds before I leave.
RAYYou were off an hour ago.
DEVONI'm off when I'm off. Go on. Take a pen.
What it is for: A nurse handover at 3 a.m.: clipped clinical rhythm with one human moment slipped in between the facts. Coach's note: Watch out for making the jargon sound like jargon. They say this every night; it is fast and flat. The turn is the pause after 'She asked for you', and whoever plays Ray has to take it without changing pace. What casting listens for: Casting listens for pace and precision under fatigue, and whether you can hide a feeling inside a list.
An open-plan insurance office, 8:55 a.m. MARCUS, 22, first day, finds GAIL, 50s, already at the desk next to his
MARCUSHi. Hello. I'm Marcus. I'm at desk four, I think. They said desk four.
GAILThat's desk four.
MARCUSGreat. Great. And you are?
GAILDesk five.
MARCUSRight. Do they... Is there a login, or...
GAILThere's a login. It won't work until Thursday.
MARCUSThursday?
GAILIt never works until Thursday. Nobody knows why.
MARCUSSo what do I do until Thursday?
GAILLook busy. Read the handbook. Nod when Kevin walks past.
MARCUSWhich one's Kevin?
GAILYou'll know.
MARCUSOkay. Sorry. Can I ask who sat here before me?
GAILWhy?
MARCUSThere's a mug in the drawer. It says World's Okayest Grandma.
GAIL...That was mine.
MARCUSOh. Sorry, I'll just...
GAILNo. Leave it. They moved me to five when they cut the team. I used to be four.
MARCUSI can swap. I don't mind.
GAILYou'll mind by Thursday. Put the kettle on, desk four. I'll show you the login trick.
What it is for: A nervous new hire and a colleague who is not what she seems. Trains a status shift inside a comic first-day scene. Coach's note: Watch out for overplaying Marcus's nerves into cartoon. He is trying hard to seem fine. Gail seems bored; she is testing him. The turn is 'That was mine', where she stops testing. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a young male voice with real warmth and a dry older female voice that never pushes a joke.
An empty high-school classroom in June. MR. HALE, 64, is packing boxes. LUIS, 33, his former student, walks in with a new staff lanyard
LUISYou kept the periodic table.
HALEIt still works. They haven't found any new elements worth the paper.
LUISThey found four.
HALEWorth the paper, I said. Can I help you?
LUISYou don't recognise me.
HALEI have taught four thousand teenagers, son. Give me a clue.
LUISThird row. By the window. I set the Bunsen burner on fire.
HALEThe Bunsen burner does not catch fire.
LUISExactly. You said that at the time.
HALE...Luis Ortega.
LUISYes, sir.
HALEYou're wearing a lanyard.
LUISI start in September. Chemistry. This room.
HALEThis room.
LUISThey asked if I wanted to change anything.
HALEAnd?
LUISI said leave the table.
HALEYou were trouble, you know. Every single day.
LUISI know.
HALENo. You were never trouble. You were bored. There's a difference. Look for the bored ones.
LUISI will.
HALEAnd for heaven's sake, keep them away from the window.
What it is for: A retiring teacher meets the former student who is taking over his classroom. Pride that neither man can say out loud. Coach's note: Watch out for letting it go sentimental. They are teasing each other. Mr. Hale keeps his teacher voice until 'You were never trouble'. Luis drives the scene; Hale gets the last word. What casting listens for: Casting listens for two distinct male ages and a shared rhythm, like people who once spent a year in the same room.
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Mirror, Signal
Family drama, father and daughterAdult (40-55)Southern USTwo narrators (duet)1 minuteabout 84s
Cast: EARLCARLA
A church parking lot in Georgia, Saturday morning. CARLA, 45, grips the wheel of her father's truck. EARL, 72, sits in the passenger seat with his hand on the dashboard
SFX: an engine idling
EARLMirror.
CARLAI checked the mirror.
EARLCheck it again.
CARLADaddy, there is nobody here. It's Saturday. Even God's off.
EARLThat's when they get you. Signal.
CARLATo go where? It's a parking lot.
EARLIt's a habit. You build the habit.
CARLAMike always drove. Twenty-two years. I never needed to.
EARLWell, Mike's in Tampa with a dental hygienist. So. Signal.
CARLAThat's low.
EARLThat's accurate. Ease off the brake. Ease. Ease, I said.
CARLAI'm easing!
EARLThat's not easing, that's a cattle stampede.
SFX: the engine stops
CARLAI can't do this.
EARLOkay. Okay. We'll sit a minute.
CARLAI'm forty-five. I can't even drive to my own job.
EARLYou drove to the end of this lot.
CARLAThat's forty feet.
EARLIt's forty feet more than last week. Your mama learned in this truck, you know. Same lot. She cried too. Cried and hit the brakes so hard I bit my tongue. Then she drove us all the way to Savannah. Start her up. Mirror.
What it is for: A father teaching his divorced, forty-something daughter to drive. Comedy on top, a lifetime of worry underneath. Coach's note: Watch out for playing Earl as a nag. He is terrified and covering it with rules. Carla drives the scene, literally; the turn is when she stops the car and he stops talking. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a relaxed Southern rhythm that does not become a caricature, and real family timing.
Dad's Keys
Family drama, brothersAdult (40-55)ScottishTwo narrators (duet)1 minuteabout 75s
Cast: CALLUMEWAN
A driveway in Perth, Scotland. Two brothers, CALLUM, 48, and EWAN, 44, look at the dent in their father's car
CALLUMThat's new.
EWANThat's the gatepost at the surgery. He says it moved.
CALLUMGateposts don't move, Ewan.
EWANI know gateposts don't move. I'm telling you what he said.
CALLUMSo somebody's got to.
EWANSomebody has.
CALLUMYou're here more.
EWANI'm here more because you're in Aberdeen.
CALLUMThat's not a criticism, I'm saying you've got the rapport.
EWANThe rapport.
CALLUMHe likes you better. Everybody knows that.
EWANHe does not like me better.
CALLUMHe does. He'll still speak to you after.
EWAN...And he won't speak to you.
CALLUMHe didn't speak to me for a year when I sold the boat.
EWANThat was his boat.
CALLUMIt was sinking, Ewan.
EWANFine. We'll both go in.
CALLUMBoth?
EWANBoth. You hold the tea, I'll say the words, and he can not speak to either of us. Fair's fair.
CALLUMHe'll put the kettle on and pretend we're not there.
EWANAye. Then we'll know it's gone well.
What it is for: Two brothers deciding who takes their father's car keys away. Old sibling roles replayed over one small, awful job. Coach's note: Watch out for making it an argument. They agree; neither wants to be the one. Callum wants Ewan to do it, and Ewan knows why. The turn is 'He'll still speak to you after.' What casting listens for: Casting listens for two Scottish voices that are clearly brothers yet clearly different men.
Night. ROSE, 70s, sits on her bed and dials her late husband's cell number. It rings. Someone answers: SAM, 30s
SFX: a phone ringing, then a click
SAMHello?
ROSEOh. Oh, I'm sorry. I thought...
SAMThat's okay. Who were you trying to reach?
ROSENobody. I mean, my husband. This was his number.
SAMOh.
ROSEHe passed in March. I call it sometimes to hear the message. I suppose they give the numbers away.
SAMI got it last week. I'm so sorry.
ROSENo, it's not your fault. You must think I'm a crazy old woman.
SAMI don't. What did it say? The message.
ROSEIt said, "This is Walt, I'm probably in the garden." He was always in the garden.
SAMThat's a good message.
ROSEIt was a terrible message. Nobody knew what to do after the beep.
SAMWould you like me to say it?
ROSEWhat?
SAMI don't mind.
ROSE...Would you say it anyway? Just the once?
SAMThis is Walt. I'm probably in the garden.
ROSEThank you. You don't sound a bit like him.
SAMShould I try again?
ROSENo. No, that was just right. Goodnight, dear.
What it is for: A widow calls her late husband's old number to hear the voicemail. Someone new picks up. A phone scene with no faces. Coach's note: Watch out for playing the stranger as annoyed or as a saint. They are simply kind and a little embarrassed. Rose must not cry on the line; she is too polite to. The turn is 'Would you say it anyway?' What casting listens for: Casting listens for phone intimacy: close mic, small sounds, and real listening between lines.
The doorway of a teenager's empty bedroom. JORDAN and ALEX, both late 40s, married twenty years, hold paint charts
JORDANI like the grey.
ALEXWhich grey?
JORDANHarbour Mist.
ALEXThey're all Harbour Mist. It's a chart of forty Harbour Mists.
JORDANThe third one down. It's calm. You could work in here.
ALEXI don't want to work in here.
JORDANYou said you wanted an office.
ALEXI said that three years ago.
JORDANWell, now there's room.
ALEXThere's room because he's in Portland.
JORDANHe's in Portland because he got in. That's good. We said that's good.
ALEXIt is good.
JORDANThen what?
ALEXThere's a note on the wall behind the door.
JORDANWhat note?
ALEXIn pencil. From when he was nine. It says "Mom and Dad measured me here." And a line.
JORDAN...I didn't know that was there.
ALEXI found it when I took the posters down.
JORDANOkay.
ALEXOkay what?
JORDANOkay, we paint round it. We tape it off. Harbour Mist everywhere except that one line.
ALEXThat's going to look ridiculous.
JORDANYeah. It is.
What it is for: A married couple, a paint chart and a bedroom their son has not slept in for a year. Grief disguised as home improvement. Coach's note: Watch out for letting Jordan be the villain. Jordan is trying to move them on. Alex is not against the paint; Alex is against the tape. Let the silence after 'He left a note on the wall' sit. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a long marriage in the rhythm: interrupting, finishing thoughts, knowing when to stop.
Five Minutes Each
Family drama, eulogy argumentAdult (30-45)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.6 min
Cast: NATELAUREN
The parking lot of a funeral home, twenty minutes before the service. LAUREN, 38, and her brother NATE, 34, stand by her car. Both hold folded pages
NATEHow long is yours?
LAURENIt's fine.
NATEThat's not a length, Lauren.
LAURENIt's about seven minutes.
NATEPastor Mike said five each.
LAURENPastor Mike didn't know Dad.
NATENeither did you, for eleven years.
LAURENWow. Okay. Smile, the Hendersons are waving.
NATEHi, Mrs. Henderson. ...I'm just saying, I was the one here.
LAURENI know you were here.
NATEI drove him to every appointment. I learned to do his insulin.
LAURENAnd I'm grateful.
NATEYou don't sound grateful. You sound like you wrote seven minutes about the lake house.
LAURENWhat's wrong with the lake house?
NATENothing. It was great. I was four. I don't remember it.
LAUREN...Oh.
NATEYou got the good version of him. The lake house version. I got the one who forgot my name at the end.
LAURENHe didn't forget your name.
NATEHe called me Lauren, the last week. Every day.
LAURENNate.
NATEIt's fine.
LAURENIt isn't fine. What's yours about?
NATEThe insulin. Mostly. It's not very good.
LAURENRead it to me.
NATENow?
LAURENWe've got twenty minutes. Read me yours, and I'll cut mine to five. Then I'll tell you about the lake house. Properly. So you've got it too.
What it is for: Siblings in a funeral-home parking lot, fighting over who gets to speak. The argument about time is an argument about who knew their father. Coach's note: Watch out for shouting. They are in a parking lot with mourners walking past; everything is hissed and smiled. Nate drives until 'You got the good version of him'. After that Lauren leads, and Nate has to let the line land. What casting listens for: Casting listens for anger held under a public face, and two siblings who know exactly where each other's bruises are.
Bay Six
Medical drama, night shiftYoung adult (18-25)Neutral BritishTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.7 min
Cast: ADEYEMIFENWICK
A hospital ward, 4 a.m. DR. ADEYEMI, 25, on her first night alone, checks on MR. FENWICK, 78, who is wide awake
SFX: a quiet ward, a monitor, someone snoring two beds down
ADEYEMIMr. Fenwick? You're awake.
FENWICKI'm always awake. Nobody sleeps in here. It's like trying to sleep in an airport.
ADEYEMII'm Dr. Adeyemi. I'm the doctor on tonight.
FENWICKThe doctor? Just you?
ADEYEMIWell, there's a registrar. Upstairs. Somewhere.
FENWICKSo it's just you.
ADEYEMIIt's just me. Your nurse said you had some chest pain.
FENWICKIt was indigestion. I told her. It's the fish pie.
ADEYEMII'd still like to have a listen, if that's all right.
FENWICKGo on, then. Your hands are cold.
ADEYEMISorry. Deep breath in for me.
FENWICKHow long have you been a doctor?
ADEYEMIBreathe out. Long enough.
FENWICKThat means about a month.
ADEYEMINine weeks. And one more, please.
FENWICKMy granddaughter's a doctor. In Leicester.
ADEYEMIOh, yes?
FENWICKShe rang me after her first night. Crying. Said she'd forgotten everything she ever learned.
ADEYEMI...Your chest sounds clear. I'm going to do a quick trace of your heart, just to be safe.
FENWICKYou're doing all right, you know.
ADEYEMISorry?
FENWICKYou're doing all right. You checked. That's what they want, isn't it? That you check.
ADEYEMIThat's exactly what they want.
FENWICKWell, then. Stick your wires on. And then sit down a minute, love. You look worse than me.
What it is for: A junior doctor's first solo night meets a patient who has seen a hundred junior doctors. Status reversal at 4 a.m. Coach's note: Watch out for playing Dr. Adeyemi as incompetent. She is competent and frightened. Mr. Fenwick is not grumpy; he is lonely and bored. The turn is 'You're doing all right', when he starts taking care of her. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a young professional voice that holds its nerve, and an older voice with warmth hidden under complaint.
Terminal B, Ten Past Midnight
Literary drama, strangersMature (55+)AustralianTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.8 min
Cast: VALJESSE
An almost empty airport terminal in Perth, just after midnight. VAL, 68, settles into the seat next to JESSE, 24, even though every other seat is free
VALMind if I sit here?
JESSEThere's a whole row.
VALThere is. I don't like sitting on my own in airports. You get murdered.
JESSEI don't think many people get murdered in Terminal B.
VALThat's what they want you to think. Where are you off to?
JESSEMelbourne.
VALMe too. Six a.m., if it goes. What's in Melbourne?
JESSEA wedding.
VALLovely! Whose?
JESSEDoesn't matter.
VALOh, it matters. Nobody says "doesn't matter" about a wedding unless it matters a great deal.
JESSEWhat's in Melbourne for you, then?
VALMy sister. We haven't spoken in fourteen years. She's got a new hip and nobody to help her with the stairs.
JESSEAnd you're going to help?
VALI'm going to help. I'm going to be very gracious about it. And then I'm going to mention the caravan.
JESSEWhat happened with the caravan?
VALFourteen years, that's what. Your turn.
JESSE...It's his wedding. My dad's. I haven't met her.
VALAh.
JESSEHe asked me to be best man. I haven't written anything.
VALWell, we've got six hours and a vending machine. Tell me one good thing about him.
JESSEI can't think of one.
VALYou can. You're just scared it'll count. Start small. Did he ever make you a sandwich?
JESSE...He did a very good toastie.
VALThere you go. That's your opening line.
What it is for: An older woman and a young man stranded overnight, both travelling to things they are dreading. Warmth built from nothing. Coach's note: Watch out for making Val a wise old lady. She is nosy, funny and a bit rude. Jesse must not open up too fast; the first half is him trying to get rid of her. The turn is 'It's his wedding.' What casting listens for: Casting listens for relaxed Australian rhythm in both voices and a young man who stays guarded longer than you expect.
The Reference
Literary drama, teacher and studentMature (55+)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.8 min
Cast: ANDREBRANDT
A small office at a community college. MS. BRANDT, 60, now a department head, looks up as ANDRE, 31, knocks on the open door. She taught him English when he was sixteen
ANDREMs. Brandt. You probably don't remember me.
BRANDTAndre Wallace. Junior year. You sat at the back and read the sports page inside your textbook.
ANDREYou remember.
BRANDTI remember everyone I failed. It's a short list. Sit down.
ANDREI'm applying for the teaching program. Here. The form asks for a reference from a former teacher.
BRANDTAnd you came to me.
ANDREYou were the only one who ever gave me homework back with more words on it than I'd written.
BRANDTThat wasn't a compliment at the time.
ANDRENo, ma'am. I hated you.
BRANDTThat's honest.
ANDREYou failed me in May. I had to do summer school.
BRANDTI didn't fail you, Andre. You didn't hand anything in. There's a difference.
ANDREThere wasn't to me.
BRANDT...No. I suppose there wasn't.
ANDREMy mom was sick that spring. I was working nights.
BRANDTI didn't know that.
ANDREYou didn't ask.
BRANDTNo. I didn't. I should have asked.
ANDREThe summer school teacher made us write an essay about a book that changed us. I wrote about the one you gave me in March. The one I never handed anything in on.
BRANDTYou read it?
ANDREI read it anyway. Twice.
BRANDTGive me the form. I'll need a week.
ANDREIt's only one page.
BRANDTI know. I'll need a week to make it short enough.
What it is for: A former student asks the teacher who failed him for a reference. Old power, new power, and an honest apology. Coach's note: Watch out for letting Ms. Brandt grovel or Andre gloat. She is proud; he is careful. The scene turns twice: on 'I didn't fail you', and on 'I read it anyway'. Listen for both. What casting listens for: Casting listens for status that shifts back and forth without either voice getting louder.
Sunday Call
Family drama, father and daughterMature (55+)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.7 min
Cast: GLENNHANNAH
A video call on a Sunday evening. HANNAH, 36, cooks in her apartment in Chicago with her phone propped on the counter. GLENN, 67, is on the other end
SFX: a video call connecting, a pan sizzling
GLENNThere she is.
HANNAHHi, Dad. Sorry, I'm making dinner. Can you see me?
GLENNI can see your ceiling. Very nice ceiling.
HANNAHHow was your week?
GLENNQuiet. Good. The Nelsons have a new dog. It barks at the mailman like he owes it money.
HANNAHDid you get to the bowling thing?
GLENNSkipped it. Bit tired.
HANNAHYou never skip bowling.
GLENNI'm sixty-seven, Hannah. I'm allowed to skip bowling. How's work?
HANNAHBusy. Same. Hang on, I'm flipping these. ...Where are you?
GLENNWhat do you mean?
HANNAHThat's not your kitchen. That's a blue curtain.
GLENNIt's the spare room.
HANNAHYou don't have a blue curtain in the spare room.
GLENNI'm... Hang on, the picture's freezing.
HANNAHIt's not freezing, Dad. I can see you perfectly.
GLENNHoney...
HANNAHDad, where are you?
GLENNSaint Joseph's. Since Thursday. It's just some tests.
HANNAHSince Thursday.
GLENNI didn't want to spoil your week.
HANNAHHang on. I'm turning the stove off. ...Okay. It's off. What tests?
GLENNHoney, they're only...
HANNAHWhat tests, Dad?
GLENNThe kind where they want to talk to family.
HANNAHI'm getting the eight a.m. flight.
GLENNYou don't have to.
HANNAHI know I don't have to. Tell them your family's coming.
What it is for: A weekly video call where a father hides his diagnosis and his daughter works it out from the background of the screen. Coach's note: Watch out for Glenn sounding ill. He sounds fine; that's the point. Hannah is distracted at first, cooking, half listening. The turn is when she notices the room, and from there she drives. Keep the frozen-screen beat real. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a father who performs normality well enough to fool anyone but his child.
The Deposit
Family drama, brothersAdult (30-45)AustralianTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.6 min
Cast: MICKRHYS
A backyard in Brisbane, a barbecue for one. RHYS, 36, turns sausages. His twin brother MICK arrives, unannounced, with a six-pack
MICKBrought a peace offering.
RHYSIt's light beer.
MICKIt's the thought.
RHYSWhere's the money, Mick?
MICKStraight in. No "How are you." No "Happy birthday for last week."
RHYSHappy birthday. Where's the money?
MICKIt's coming. It's tied up.
RHYSIn what?
MICKAn opportunity.
RHYSThe food truck.
MICKThe food truck was last year. This is different.
RHYSWhat's it this time?
MICKBoats. Hire boats. On the river. You'd love it.
RHYSI'd love my twenty grand back.
MICKAnd you'll get it. With interest. I'm a very good bet.
RHYSLaura and I had an offer on a place. In March. We lost it. The deposit wasn't there.
MICKYou didn't tell me that.
RHYSI told you in March. On the phone. You said, "Mate, give me two weeks."
MICKRhys, I'm sorry about the house. Genuinely. But the boats...
RHYSShe's pregnant, Mick.
MICK...What?
RHYSLaura. Five months. You didn't even ask how she is. You haven't asked in a year.
MICKI didn't know.
RHYSYou didn't ask.
MICKThat's... Mate, that's huge. That's the best news.
RHYSYeah. It is.
MICKI'll sell the boats.
RHYSYou haven't bought any boats, have you?
MICK...No.
RHYSThen there's still twenty grand somewhere. Sit down. Have a sausage. We're working out a plan.
What it is for: Twin brothers, a borrowed house deposit and a lie that has run for a year. Comic surface, real betrayal underneath. Coach's note: Watch out for letting Mick off the hook. He is charming because he has always been forgiven. Rhys is calm for too long; when he breaks, it is quiet, not loud. The turn is 'You didn't even ask how she is.' What casting listens for: Casting listens for two brothers with the same accent and completely different energy.
The Trainee
Workplace drama, first dayMature (55+)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.7 min
Cast: TYLERDENISE
A busy hardware store, a Monday morning. DENISE, 58, recently widowed, starts her first job in thirty years. TYLER, 23, has been assigned to train her
TYLEROkay, so this is the register. It's pretty intuitive. You just tap here, then here.
DENISEI've used a touchscreen, Tyler.
TYLERRight. Totally. Sorry. Some people haven't.
DENISESome people are seventy. I'm fifty-eight.
TYLERCool. Cool. So, returns. Returns are tricky. You'll want to call me for returns.
DENISEWhy?
TYLERBecause people get kind of intense about returns.
DENISEI raised three boys. I can handle intense.
TYLERIt's a bit different with, like, strangers.
DENISEIs it?
TYLEROkay, heads up. That's Mr. Pruitt. He comes in every week. He always wants to return a hose.
DENISEThe same hose?
TYLERDifferent hose. Same problem. He says they leak.
DENISEDo they leak?
TYLERHe's putting them on backwards. Nobody's told him. It's kind of our thing.
DENISEThat's terrible.
TYLERIt's kind of funny.
DENISEIt's terrible. Watch the register. Mr. Pruitt! Good morning. Is that the new hose? Let me show you something. You see this little washer? It wants to face the tap. See? Now try it. No leak. There you go.
TYLER...Where did you learn that?
DENISEMy husband put hoses on backwards for thirty-one years. Somebody had to tell him.
TYLERWe're going to lose our best customer.
DENISENo, you're not. He'll be back next week. He's lonely, Tyler. Now show me the returns screen properly.
What it is for: A 58-year-old career-changer on her first shift, trained by a 23-year-old. Comic status clash that ends in respect. Coach's note: Watch out for making Denise defensive or Tyler smug. She is determined; he is trying very hard to be nice about it. The turn is the customer she handles, and Tyler has to genuinely change his opinion on 'Where did you learn that?' What casting listens for: Casting listens for a mature female voice with dry humour and a young male voice that is earnest, not dim.
What the House Is Worth
Family drama, mother and daughterMature (55+)Southern USTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.7 min
Cast: BETHJUNE
A family home in Alabama, the morning of the valuation. BETH, 44, holds a clipboard. Her mother JUNE, 76, holds a cup of coffee and is in no hurry
BETHThe realtor's here at ten. I made a list of things to mention.
JUNEMention them, then.
BETHNew roof, 2019. Water heater, new. Mama, did you ever fix the porch step?
JUNEYour daddy was going to fix the porch step.
BETHDaddy's been gone six years.
JUNEThen I guess he's not going to fix it.
BETHWe'll say it's charming. Character. People pay for character.
JUNEPeople pay for a porch step they don't fall through.
BETHMama, I'm trying to help. They're going to come in and see paneling and say "dated".
JUNEIt is dated. I dated it. Nineteen seventy-eight.
BETHI'm just saying, if we want top dollar...
JUNEWhat do you think it's worth?
BETHI don't know. Maybe two-twenty. If we paint the kitchen.
JUNEI got an offer on Tuesday. Two-forty. Cash. The Morales boy from church. He's got twins.
BETHYou got an offer? Without a realtor?
JUNEI've already signed.
BETHMama!
JUNEHe wants the swing set. He asked if the swing set stays. Nobody who asks that is going to cheat me.
BETHYou could have told me.
JUNEI'm telling you now. The realtor's coming so you'll feel useful. Sit down, honey. I made biscuits.
BETH...Did he see the step?
JUNEHe's going to fix it. Saturday. He said his daddy taught him how.
What it is for: A mother and daughter walking through the family home before the realtor arrives. A negotiation about money that is really about memory. Coach's note: Watch out for playing June as fragile. She is sharper than her daughter and decided long ago. Beth thinks she is running the scene; the turn is 'I've already signed', and June takes over. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a warm Southern mother with steel in her, and a daughter who keeps trying to manage her and failing.
Visiting Hours
Family drama, dementiaMature (55+)Neutral BritishTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.6 min
Cast: FRANKPAUL
A care home lounge in Kent, afternoon. PAUL, 50, brings flowers. His father, FRANK, 84, looks up with delight, and not for the reason Paul expects
FRANKTommy! Look at you. Look at the state of you.
PAULHi, Dad. It's Paul.
FRANKWhere've you been? Mum's going spare.
PAULDad, it's me. Paul. Your son.
FRANKDon't be daft. Sit down. Have you got any fags?
PAULYou gave up in 1990.
FRANKDid I? Well, that's a shame. Sit down, Tommy.
PAULI've not got any fags, no.
FRANKWhat's wrong with your face?
PAULNothing. It's just been a long time.
FRANKIt's been a week. You were here for the match.
PAULWas I?
FRANKYou were. We lost. You cried like a baby.
PAUL...Yeah. Yeah, Frank. It's me. I brought you flowers.
FRANKFlowers? What are you, courting?
PAULThey're from Paul.
FRANKWho's Paul?
PAULYour boy. You've got a boy. He's fifty now.
FRANKFifty? Don't be soft. I'm not old enough to have a boy of fifty.
PAULHe's a good lad, though.
FRANKIs he?
PAULHe comes every Sunday. You don't always know him.
FRANKWell, that's rotten for him, isn't it.
PAULHe doesn't mind.
FRANKHe does. Tell him I'm sorry. Tell him I'm sure he's a good lad.
PAULI'll tell him.
FRANKNow. Did we win this week, Tommy?
PAULWe won, Frank. Three nil.
FRANKTold you. Told you we would.
What it is for: A son visits his father in a care home, and his father mistakes him for his own dead brother. The son decides to play along. Coach's note: Watch out for playing the father as confused. In his reality he is sharp and happy. Paul must decide, live, to become Uncle Tom; the turn is 'Yeah, Frank. It's me.' After that, both men should lighten. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a mature voice that is completely present in the wrong decade, and a son whose grief never makes it into his voice.
The Seating Plan
Family drama, divorced parentsMature (55+)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.6 min
Cast: DIANERICHARD
Their daughter's kitchen, while she is out at her final dress fitting. DIANE, 60, and her ex-husband RICHARD, 63, sit over a seating chart and a pile of name cards
DIANETable four. Your brother cannot sit with my sister.
RICHARDWhy not?
DIANEThanksgiving, 2009.
RICHARDThat was one turkey.
DIANEIt was a whole turkey, Richard. On the lawn.
RICHARDFine. Move him to six.
DIANESix is your golf people.
RICHARDPerfect. They won't notice. Where's Sharon going?
DIANESharon is going wherever Sharon wants. Sharon's your wife.
RICHARDSharon is my wife, yes. Thank you. I remember.
DIANEI put her at table two. Near the front. With the good centerpiece.
RICHARDThat's generous.
DIANEI'm a generous woman.
RICHARDYou are. You always were. You gave the dog my good sweater.
DIANEThe dog was cold.
RICHARDSo was I. Where's Greg going?
DIANEGreg is not coming.
RICHARDOh. I thought...
DIANEHe's not coming. Since June.
RICHARDI'm sorry, Di.
DIANEDon't. I'm fine. There's one card left over and I don't know where it goes.
RICHARDPut me next to you.
DIANEWhat?
RICHARDAt the parents' table. Sharon's at two with the centerpiece. Put me next to you at one. For Katie. So she sees us sitting together.
DIANEFor Katie.
RICHARDFor Katie.
DIANE...You'll behave.
RICHARDI always behave.
DIANEThe turkey, Richard.
RICHARDThat was my brother. I was holding the door.
What it is for: Divorced parents of the bride doing the seating chart together at her kitchen table. Old habits, old jokes, old wounds. Coach's note: Watch out for playing bitterness. They were married for twenty-five years and still make each other laugh, which is the problem. The turn is 'Put me next to you', and neither of them should acknowledge what it means. What casting listens for: Casting listens for chemistry between two mature voices who can bicker and flirt without knowing which one they are doing.
The Last Bus
Medical drama, after the shiftAdult (30-45)ScottishTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.7 min
Cast: AILSAKIRSTY
A bus shelter outside a Glasgow hospital, 8 a.m., in the rain. Nurses AILSA, 45, and KIRSTY, 31, wait for the bus after a night shift
SFX: rain on the shelter roof, traffic
AILSASeven minutes.
KIRSTYIt said four, five minutes ago.
AILSAThat's Glasgow minutes. Want a biscuit?
KIRSTYWhere did you get a biscuit?
AILSABed twelve's daughter. She brought a tin for the station. I liberated two.
KIRSTYYou're a menace.
AILSAI'm a hero. How's your feet?
KIRSTYGone. I think I left them on the ward.
AILSAMine went in 2011. Never came back.
KIRSTYThat wee man in six. Did he get his scan?
AILSAHe got his scan. It's fine. You did good with him.
KIRSTYI didn't do anything.
AILSAYou sat with him for an hour at two in the morning. That's not nothing.
KIRSTYI should've been doing obs.
AILSASomebody did your obs.
KIRSTYWho?
AILSAWho do you think?
KIRSTY...Thanks.
AILSAWhen's the interview?
KIRSTYWhat?
AILSAThe one you've got. The one you've not told me about.
KIRSTYHow do you...
AILSAYou've ironed your good shirt. It's in a bag. You've been guarding it all night like it's the crown jewels.
KIRSTYIt's a dental practice. Nine to five. Receptionist.
AILSARight.
KIRSTYI'm sorry.
AILSAWhat are you sorry for? Go and get it. Somebody should get out with their feet.
KIRSTYI'd miss you.
AILSAYou would. I'm magnificent. Here's the bus. Take the other biscuit.
What it is for: Two nurses at a bus stop after a hard shift. One is quitting and hasn't said it; the other already knows. Coach's note: Watch out for making it a big confession. Kirsty never says 'I'm quitting'; Ailsa says it for her. Ailsa drives the scene by pretending not to. Keep the banter fast so the stops land. What casting listens for: Casting listens for two Scottish women whose friendship is in the timing, and for tiredness that never becomes mumbling.
Lost Property
Literary drama, griefMature (55+)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)90 secondsabout 1.8 min
Cast: CLERKWALTER
A basement lost-property office for a city transit system, late afternoon. A CLERK, any age, behind a counter. WALTER, 79, in a raincoat, holds a numbered ticket
CLERKForty-two.
WALTERThat's me.
CLERKWhat did you lose?
WALTERAn umbrella.
CLERKSir, I have eleven hundred umbrellas.
WALTERThis one's green. With a wooden handle. A duck's head.
CLERKA duck.
WALTEROr a goose. We never agreed.
CLERKWhen did you lose it?
WALTERTuesday. The number nine bus. About three o'clock.
CLERKOkay. Form B. Name, address, description of item, estimated value.
WALTERValue?
CLERKWhat's it worth?
WALTERAbout six dollars. She got it at a yard sale.
CLERKSix dollars. Sir, I'll be honest. For six dollars, a lot of people just buy another one.
WALTERI know. I'm not a lot of people.
CLERKNo?
WALTERIt was hers. My wife's. She passed in the spring. I've been carrying it everywhere. I don't even open it. It's got a broken spoke.
CLERK...Wait there.
WALTERI don't want to be any trouble.
CLERKYou're not trouble. You're number forty-two. Wait there.
SFX: footsteps, a metal door, a long pause, footsteps returning
CLERKGreen. Wooden handle. Broken spoke.
WALTERThat's her.
CLERKFor the record, it's a goose.
WALTERI told her it was a goose. Fifty-one years I told her. She said geese don't have that sort of beak. She said I'd never looked at a goose in my life.
CLERKHad you?
WALTERNot closely, no.
CLERKSign here. And sir? Keep it closed on the bus. Hold onto the handle.
What it is for: A transit lost-property clerk and an old man looking for his late wife's umbrella. Procedure slowly giving way to kindness. Coach's note: Watch out for letting the clerk be cold. They are busy, not unkind, and the forms are how they stay sane. Walter must not tell the story as a sad story; he is annoyed with himself. The turn is 'It was hers.' What casting listens for: Casting listens for a clerk who can do bureaucratic patter with a heart, and an older man with dignity.
The Vestry
Family drama, eulogy argumentMature (55+)IrishTwo narrators (duet)2 minutesabout 2.3 min
Cast: CONORBERNIE
The vestry of a parish church in Cork, ten minutes before a funeral Mass. BERNIE, 66, the widow, holds her speech. CONOR, 42, her late husband's son from his first marriage, has just read it
SFX: an organ practising quietly through a closed door
CONORYou can't say this bit.
BERNIEWhich bit?
CONOR"The happiest years of his life." You can't say that.
BERNIEThey were happy years.
CONORThey were twelve years. He was married to my mother for thirty.
BERNIEI know how long he was married to your mother, Conor.
CONORThen you know half that church knew her. Her sisters are in the third row.
BERNIEI've met her sisters. Her sisters have made sure I've met them.
CONORThat's not fair.
BERNIENo. Maybe it isn't. I'm sorry.
CONORI'm not asking you to leave anything out. I'm asking you not to rank it.
BERNIEI wasn't ranking. I was telling what I saw.
CONORYou saw the end of him. The retired version. The one who took up the tin whistle and went walking on Sundays.
BERNIEThat's right. I was there for the ending. Somebody had to be.
CONOR...What's that supposed to mean?
BERNIEIt means you were in London, love. And I'm not blaming you. You had your life. But I was the one who sat up with him in March. And he talked about your mother, Conor. Every night. At the end, it was all her.
CONORHe talked about Mam?
BERNIEThe dance hall in Mallow. The red coat. The day you were born and he fainted in the corridor.
CONORHe never told me he fainted.
BERNIEHe was mortified. He made me promise.
CONORSo why say the happiest years?
BERNIEBecause I wanted one line that was mine. Just one.
CONOR...Say "some of the happiest".
BERNIE"Some of."
CONORIt's still yours. It's just got room in it.
BERNIEAll right. Some of. And you'll tell the fainting story?
CONORYou tell it. He made you promise, not me.
What it is for: A widow and her stepson, ten minutes before the funeral, fighting over one paragraph of her eulogy. Two people who loved the same man differently. Coach's note: Watch out for making Conor the villain. He is protecting his dead mother, not attacking Bernie. Bernie holds her ground politely until 'I was there for the ending'. The final beat is a compromise, so neither of you should play victory. What casting listens for: Casting listens for restraint in a church setting: voices kept low, emotion kept under the collar.
Two Envelopes
Family drama, estranged sistersAdult (40-55)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)2 minutesabout 2.3 min
Cast: TESSGWEN
A small house in Ohio, the week after a funeral. GWEN, 52, and her sister TESS, 44, sort through their mother's writing desk. They have not spent a whole day together in years
TESSThere's a drawer here that's locked.
GWENKey's on the hook in the pantry. With the spare car key and the key nobody knows what it's for.
TESSHow do you know that?
GWENBecause I was here, Tess.
TESSOkay. I'm getting the key.
SFX: footsteps, a drawer unlocking
TESSTwo envelopes. One says Gwendolyn. One says Theresa.
GWENShe only used our full names when we were in trouble.
TESSWell, we're in trouble. Here.
GWENYou open yours first.
TESSWhy me?
GWENYou're the one she worried about.
TESSThat's a lovely thing to say at a time like this. Really. Put it on a card.
GWENI'm not being mean. She said it herself. Every Christmas. It's true. Open it.
TESS..."Theresa. I know you think I loved your sister best. I didn't. I understood her better, and that is not the same thing. You were the one I never understood, and I spent forty years trying." ...Okay.
GWENTess.
TESSI'm fine. Open yours.
GWENI don't want to.
TESSYou made me.
GWEN...Fine.
TESSWell?
GWENIt's a recipe.
TESSWhat?
GWENMine's just a recipe. Pot roast. "Gwendolyn, you never get the gravy right. Here is how."
TESSThat's it?
GWENThere's a PS. "Don't let Tess leave early."
TESS...Oh my God.
GWENTwenty years I drove her to the doctor. I get a recipe and instructions about you.
TESSShe was right, though. About the gravy.
GWENShe was right about the gravy.
TESSAnd I was going to leave early. I've got a flight tomorrow at seven.
GWENI know you have.
TESSI could change it.
GWENYou could.
TESSIf somebody's making pot roast.
GWENSomebody might be. You'd have to peel the potatoes.
TESSI always had to peel the potatoes.
GWENThat's because you were the one she never understood.
What it is for: Sisters clearing their mother's desk find one sealed letter for each of them. Who opens first, and what they choose to share, is the whole scene. Coach's note: Watch out for reading the letters aloud as if they were monologues. The sisters are reading bits to each other, testing. Gwen is the older and thinks she is in control; the turn is 'Mine's just a recipe', which flips the status. What casting listens for: Casting listens for two women with a long history audible in every interruption, and for the laugh that arrives at the worst moment.
Supply Room
Medical drama, night shiftAdult (40-55)Southern USTwo narrators (duet)2 minutesabout 2.3 min
Cast: DWAYNEMIA
A hospital supply room in Tennessee, 4:40 a.m. MIA, 23, a new graduate nurse, is sitting on an upturned box. DWAYNE, 50, the charge nurse, comes in and closes the door
SFX: the door clicking shut, the hum of fluorescent light
DWAYNEThere you are.
MIAI'm counting gauze.
DWAYNEThat's a good idea. Gauze needs counting. How many we got?
MIAI don't know. I lost count.
DWAYNEHappens. Scoot over.
MIAYou don't have to sit.
DWAYNEMy knees say I do. Mr. Harlan's family's with him now.
MIAOkay.
DWAYNEHis daughter asked who was with him. At the end.
MIAI'm sorry. I should have called you sooner. I didn't...
DWAYNEShe wanted to know so she could thank you.
MIA...Oh.
DWAYNEI told her it was you. Holding his hand. Talking to him about the game.
MIAI don't know anything about football. I just kept reading him the scores off my phone. I didn't even know which team was his. I just said "we" every time somebody scored.
DWAYNEHe knew. Trust me, he knew.
MIADid I do something wrong?
DWAYNENo.
MIAYou can tell me.
DWAYNEI am telling you. No. His heart was tired. Everything that should've been done, you did. And then you did the thing they don't teach.
MIAI cried in front of him.
DWAYNEGood.
MIAGood?
DWAYNEThe day you don't, come find me and we'll talk about another career.
MIAHow many have you had?
DWAYNEI stopped counting. Like the gauze. I remember the first one, though. Mrs. Greer. 1998. She told me my hands were cold.
MIAWere they?
DWAYNELike ice. I wear two pairs of socks on nights to this day.
MIAThat doesn't make sense.
DWAYNEGrief doesn't. Here's what you do. Five minutes. Drink some water. Wash your face. Then you come help me with bed eleven, because she's pressing the call button every nine minutes and she likes you better than me.
MIAEverybody likes me better than you.
DWAYNEThat's the spirit. Five minutes.
What it is for: A charge nurse finds a new graduate hiding in the supply room after her first patient death. Mentorship without a single speech. Coach's note: Watch out for letting Dwayne lecture. He keeps giving her small jobs; that is how he helps. Mia keeps trying to be professional. The turn is 'Did I do something wrong?', and his answer must not be rushed or soft. It is plain. What casting listens for: Casting listens for an experienced male voice with a gentle Southern rhythm and a young female voice holding together by a thread.
Four A.M. Bread
Workplace drama, first dayMature (55+)WelshTwo narrators (duet)2 minutesabout 2.3 min
Cast: HUWRHIANNON
A small bakery in a Welsh valley, 4 a.m. HUW, 63, the owner, flours a bench. RHIANNON, 41, his new assistant, arrives in a very clean apron
HUWYou're early.
RHIANNONYou said four.
HUWI said about four. Nobody's ever on time for about four.
RHIANNONI'm always on time. It's one of my things.
HUWWhat are your other things?
RHIANNONOrganisation. Attention to detail. Seventeen years in commercial litigation.
HUWLovely. Wash your hands.
RHIANNONI've washed them.
HUWWash them again. Bakery washing. Up to the elbow.
SFX: a tap running
RHIANNONI've made some notes on the ordering system.
HUWWe haven't got an ordering system. We've got a notebook and a pencil on a string, and the pencil's been missing since Easter.
RHIANNONThat was my first note.
HUWMrs. Pritchard rings on a Thursday. That's the system. Hands in here. This is the dough.
RHIANNONWhat am I doing?
HUWFolding. Like this. Pull, fold, turn. Pull, fold, turn.
RHIANNONHow many times?
HUWUntil it tells you.
RHIANNONUntil it tells me what?
HUWThat it's done.
RHIANNONHuw, with the greatest respect, dough doesn't tell you anything.
HUWKeep going.
RHIANNON...It's gone smooth.
HUWThere. It told you.
RHIANNONThat's ridiculous. It did, though.
HUWWhy are you here, Rhiannon?
RHIANNONI told you in the interview.
HUWYou told me something about "work-life balance." That's not a reason. That's a leaflet.
RHIANNONI sat in a meeting in Cardiff in March and I couldn't remember the client's name. I'd been working on the case for two years. I looked at the table and I just thought, I haven't made anything. Ever. I've only stopped other people getting things.
HUWAnd bread?
RHIANNONMy nan made bread. In this village. You probably knew her.
HUWMegan Rees?
RHIANNONHow did you know?
HUWYou fold like her. Too hard. Ease off. There. Now you're a baker. Oven's at two hundred and twenty. Don't burn yourself on your first day. Paperwork is murder.
What it is for: A burnt-out lawyer starts her first day at a village bakery under a baker who has no interest in her CV. Comedy of control giving way. Coach's note: Watch out for playing Huw as grumpy. He is precise and quietly delighted by her. Rhiannon keeps trying to manage the bakery like a case file. The turn is 'Why are you here?', and her answer should surprise her too. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a musical Welsh rhythm in both voices and comic timing that comes from character, not jokes.
Grounded
Literary drama, strangersAnyNeutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)2 minutesabout 2.4 min
Cast: SKYMORGAN
A closed airport concourse in Denver after a snowstorm, 2 a.m. SKY, 19, lies on a backpack. MORGAN, 54, in a crumpled business suit, sits against a pillar with a laptop that has run out of battery
SFX: a floor polisher somewhere far off
SKYYou can have my charger if you want. It's the round kind.
MORGANThank you. It's the wrong kind.
SKYEverything's the wrong kind. Where were you going?
MORGANBoston. A board meeting at nine.
SKYYou won't make that.
MORGANNo. I've accepted that. Where were you going?
SKYLima. Then Cusco. Then I don't really know.
MORGANYou don't know?
SKYThat's sort of the point.
MORGANHow old are you?
SKYNineteen. Everybody asks that like it's a diagnosis.
MORGANSorry. I have a daughter who's nineteen.
SKYIs she backpacking?
MORGANShe's at Stanford. Pre-law.
SKYIs that what she wants?
MORGAN...It's what I wanted, when I was her age.
SKYThat's not what I asked.
MORGANNo. I don't know what she wants. I have never asked her.
SKYMy parents think I'm throwing my life away.
MORGANAre you?
SKYI don't know yet. I was supposed to start college in August. I sat in the orientation and I couldn't breathe. Like, actually couldn't. So I left. I've been working at a car wash since then. Saved every cent.
MORGANThat's more nerve than I've ever had.
SKYYou run a company.
MORGANI run a division of a company. I've been running it for nineteen years. I have not taken a vacation in six. I was relieved when they cancelled the flight. Genuinely relieved. I sat here and felt the whole of my body unclench.
SKYSo don't go.
MORGANTo Boston? I have to.
SKYWhy?
MORGANBecause... That's a very good question.
SKYCall your daughter.
MORGANIt's midnight in California.
SKYShe's nineteen. She's awake.
MORGANWhat would I even say?
SKYAsk her what she wants. Then shut up for a bit.
MORGAN...Can I borrow your phone? Mine's dead.
SKYYeah. Round charger. Told you.
What it is for: A teenage-looking backpacker and a middle-aged executive stuck on the airport floor overnight. Two lives that look opposite until they don't. Coach's note: Watch out for casting each other as types. Sky is not a flake and Morgan is not a suit; both are running from something. Morgan drives the first half with questions. The turn is Morgan's confession, and Sky must take it seriously, not wisely. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a clear age gap in the voices and for honest listening, since either role can be played by any gender.
Chalk Dust
Literary drama, teacher and studentMature (55+)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)2 minutesabout 2.5 min
Cast: BENKOWALSKI
A school cafeteria after a retirement party, the tables half cleared. MRS. KOWALSKI, 67, is boxing up leftover cake. BEN, 40, in a firefighter's jacket, hurries in
BENDid I miss it?
KOWALSKIThe speeches, yes. The cake, no. Take some. I'm not driving home with four pounds of sheet cake.
BENYou don't remember me.
KOWALSKIHoney, it's been thirty-eight years of faces. Give me a year.
BEN2000. Tenth grade. Ben Castillo.
KOWALSKICastillo. You sat by the pencil sharpener.
BENI did.
KOWALSKIYou sharpened pencils for an entire semester. I don't think you wrote a thing with one.
BENI came to say thank you.
KOWALSKIFor the pencils?
BENFor February. I was going to drop out. My dad had left. I was working at the tire place after school. I came in one day and you kept me back after the bell and you said, "Ben, you are too smart to be this tired." And then you gave me a granola bar.
KOWALSKIA granola bar.
BENAnd you told me the tire place would still be there after graduation, and I wouldn't. Something like that. I didn't drop out. I became a firefighter. I've been meaning to tell you for twenty years.
KOWALSKIBen, I'm so sorry. I don't remember that at all.
BEN...Oh.
KOWALSKII gave out a lot of granola bars. It was mostly because I was hungry and felt bad eating in front of you.
BENRight. Sure.
KOWALSKIBut I remember something else.
BENWhat?
KOWALSKIThere was a girl in that class. Dana. She had a seizure one afternoon, in April. Everybody froze. I froze. I'd been teaching fifteen years and I just stood there. And the boy by the pencil sharpener got up, turned her on her side, put his jacket under her head, and told everybody to back up. Calm as anything. That was you.
BENThat was... My little brother had seizures.
KOWALSKII went home that night and signed up for a first aid course. Because a fifteen-year-old showed me up.
BENI didn't know that.
KOWALSKIWell. Now we're even. Take the cake, Castillo. Take all of it. Your firehouse can finish it.
What it is for: A former student arrives late to a retirement party to thank his old teacher for the moment that saved him. She doesn't remember it, and remembers something else. Coach's note: Watch out for playing the thank-you as a big speech. Ben has rehearsed this and it keeps coming out wrong. Mrs. Kowalski is not being modest; she truly doesn't remember. The turn is her memory of him, which he has never heard. Let it land on him. What casting listens for: Casting listens for a grown man who becomes fifteen for a second, and an older woman who is funny, tired and completely honest.
Inventory
Family drama, mother and sonMature (55+)Neutral AmericanTwo narrators (duet)3 minutesabout 3.8 min
Cast: OWENMARION
A suburban house in Minnesota, a Saturday in October. MARION, 79, sits on a kitchen chair in the middle of her living room, surrounded by boxes. Her son OWEN, 47, holds a roll of packing tape
OWENKeep, donate or trash?
MARIONWhat is it?
OWENIt's a fondue set. Orange. Still in the box.
MARIONKeep.
OWENMom, you've never made fondue.
MARIONI might start.
OWENAt Maple Grove? They do the cooking for you. That's the whole point of Maple Grove.
MARIONThen I'll make fondue for the other residents. I'll be very popular.
OWENDonate.
MARIONKeep. Put it in the keep box.
OWENThe keep box is full. The keep box is the whole house. We're moving you into one room, Mom.
MARIONOne room and a kitchenette. I read the brochure. Kitchenette. I could make fondue in a kitchenette.
OWENFine. Keep. Next. A tennis racket.
MARIONYour father's.
OWENDad never played tennis.
MARIONHe meant to. That was his intention racket. Donate.
OWENFinally.
MARIONWhat's that one?
OWENIt's a box of my school stuff. Report cards. A clay thing.
MARIONIt's an ashtray. You made it in second grade. Neither of us smoked.
OWENI don't need it.
MARIONI know you don't need it. Keep it anyway.
OWENMom.
MARIONYou have a house, Owen. Put it on a shelf. Kate won't mind.
OWEN...
MARIONWhat?
OWENNothing. Keep. Fine. Clay ashtray. Keep.
MARIONSomething's wrong.
OWENNothing's wrong. We have eleven rooms to do before Thursday.
MARIONWe have ten. I did the bathroom on Tuesday. I threw out forty years of hotel shampoo. You'd have been proud.
OWENI am proud. You've been really good about this.
MARIONI know. That's because I asked for it.
OWENWhat?
MARIONI asked for the place. You think you and your sister talked me into it. You didn't. I put my name down in January. I fell in the yard in December and lay there for forty minutes before Mrs. Olson saw me. I didn't tell you. I didn't want a fuss. I wanted a kitchenette and somebody to check on me.
OWENYou lay in the yard for forty minutes?
MARIONIt was a very nice afternoon. I looked at the clouds.
OWENMom.
MARIONNow. Your turn. Why won't Kate mind?
OWEN...Kate moved out. In August.
MARIONAugust.
OWENI didn't tell you. I didn't want a fuss.
MARIONWell, isn't that a family trait.
OWENI've been in an apartment over the dry cleaner's. It's fine. It smells of steam.
MARIONAre you all right?
OWENI don't know. I've been doing a lot of boxes. It helps.
MARIONThat's why you took Thursday off. And Friday. And this whole week.
OWENIt's been nice. Having somewhere to be.
MARIONKeep, donate or trash?
OWENWhat?
MARIONThe house, Owen. This house. When I'm at Maple Grove. Your sister wants to sell. I haven't said yes.
OWENI can't afford to buy you out.
MARIONWho said anything about buying? You'd pay the taxes and fix the gutter. And come to Maple Grove on Sundays for fondue.
OWENYou're serious.
MARIONI'm eighty next month. I don't have time to not be serious. Keep, donate or trash?
OWEN...Keep.
MARIONGood. Then the ashtray stays exactly where it is.
What it is for: A mother and son pack up her house before she moves to assisted living. She keeps rescuing objects; he keeps hiding the reason he is really there. A long scene with two reveals. Coach's note: Watch out for playing it as a sad scene from the start. For the first half it is a comedy of boxes: Marion rescues, Owen discards. Her reveal ('I asked for the place') changes his whole plan, and his reveal about Kate is the real turn. He must say it plainly, not dramatically. After that she drives, and she is practical, not tearful. What casting listens for: Casting listens for sustained two-hander stamina: four shifts of energy across three minutes, with each actor listening as hard as they talk.
Two Coffees at the Services
Family drama, estranged brothersAdult (40-55)Neutral BritishTwo narrators (duet)3 minutesabout 3.9 min
Cast: GARYSTEPHEN
A motorway service station café somewhere in the Midlands, Sunday lunchtime. GARY, 49, is already seated with two coffees. His younger brother STEPHEN, 45, arrives with a carrier bag. They have not spoken in eleven years
SFX: café clatter, a coffee machine hissing, a child whining somewhere
GARYGot you a coffee. White, no sugar. That right?
STEPHENBlack, now.
GARYSince when?
STEPHENAbout eleven years.
GARYRight. I'll get another.
STEPHENIt's fine. I'll drink it.
GARYYou found it all right, then.
STEPHENIt's a service station, Gary. It's got a sign the size of a house.
GARYI know. I'm making conversation. It's what people do.
STEPHENIs that it?
GARYIs what it?
STEPHENThe bag. On the chair.
GARYOh. Yeah. That's him. That's Dad.
STEPHENIn a carrier bag.
GARYIt's a bag for life. It's a good bag. What was I going to bring him in? A briefcase?
STEPHENI don't know. Something.
GARYThe urn's in there. It's a nice urn. Oak effect. I chose it.
STEPHENOkay.
GARYYou could've chosen it, if you'd come.
STEPHENI know.
GARYI rang you four times.
STEPHENI know. I got the messages.
GARYSo why didn't you come?
STEPHENI don't know.
GARYYou do know.
STEPHEN...What does the will say? About the ashes.
GARYIt says "my sons to decide." That's it. Four words. He couldn't even be bothered to be difficult about it.
STEPHENWhere do you want to put him?
GARYMum's grave, I thought. Or Skegness. He liked Skegness.
STEPHENHe hated Skegness.
GARYHe went every year.
STEPHENBecause Mum liked it. He sat in the car and did the crossword. For thirty years. He never once went on the beach.
GARYThat's not true.
STEPHENEvery year, Gary. You were on the beach. I was in the car with him.
GARYWhy were you in the car?
STEPHENBecause if I was in the car, he wasn't shouting at Mum.
GARY...
STEPHENYou were older. You were always out. You don't remember what he was like when it was just us.
GARYHe wasn't that bad.
STEPHENNot to you.
GARYI thought you just didn't like him. I thought you were being... I don't know. Being you.
STEPHENI was frightened of him. My whole childhood. That's why I didn't come to the funeral. Not because of you. Because I didn't know what I'd feel, and I didn't want to feel it in front of you.
GARYYou could have told me that.
STEPHENYou'd have said he wasn't that bad.
GARY...Yeah. I would have.
STEPHENSo.
GARYSo what do we do with him?
STEPHENI don't know. I don't want him on the mantelpiece.
GARYNor do I, if I'm honest. Our Kelly says he's creepy.
STEPHENHow old's Kelly now?
GARYNineteen. She's at college. She asks about you.
STEPHENDoes she?
GARYShe's got your nose. Poor girl.
STEPHEN...Mum's grave. Next to Mum. That's where he'd want to be.
GARYThat's not where you'd want him.
STEPHENIt's not about me. She'd want him there. She put up with him. She can keep an eye on him.
GARYAll right. Mum's grave. Next Sunday?
STEPHENNext Sunday.
GARYYou'll come?
STEPHENI'll come.
GARYI'll get you a black coffee after. In the café by the church. It's terrible.
STEPHENGood. I'll drink it anyway.
What it is for: Brothers who have not spoken for eleven years meet halfway, at a motorway service station, to decide what to do with their father's ashes. A long duet built entirely on subtext. Coach's note: Watch out for letting it become a row. They are in a public café and they are both terrified of the other one leaving. Gary is the talker and fills silence with jokes; Stephen is the one who went away and speaks in short lines. The turn is 'I was frightened of him', and from there Stephen drives. Do not play the ending as a reconciliation; it is a first step. What casting listens for: Casting listens for two male voices who keep missing each other in the rhythm until, near the end, they start to land on each other's lines.
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