Choose one monologue for your Mamma Mia! audition and please prepare and tape.
You can download these monologues to your phone or computer from this link.as a PDF.
If there’s one thing I can’t stand in theater, it’s walking out along on stage at the beginning of the evening to open a show cold. (Grins) But it’s better than waiting tables. I’m Charlie (ironic)…your waiter for the evening. I’d rather be on stage tonight. Waiting tables is a toy job. You probably don’t know what a toy job is. I’ll explain. A toy job is a job that you don’t really care about, that you do to make a living, while you wait for the chance to do the job you want to do. (Beat. He measures the audience) But maybe you know already. Being a waiter is sort of a standard job for an actor, it’s expected. I mean, if you’re a dentist or an insurance salesman and someone ways “where’re ya’ working’ nowadays?”, and you say, “I’m a waiter at this little French place on fifty-sixth street,” they think you’re a failure. But if you’re an actor, they understand.
I don’t need this advice. Not from old “Clint the Splint,” strikeout king of Eisenhower High. The only place you ever made time was in study hall! (pause, a slowly dawning realization) The real reason you want to break up the act is so you can have her all to yourself. I did spot her first, in case you’re wondering. I’m keeping you in my sights at all times from now on. If you’re planning on sneaking out and asking her to go for a drink or something, you can just forget it, because I’ll be right on your heels. I don’t know how you could do that to your best buddy. I haven’t even introduced you to this girl, and now you’re practically planning to marry her. And don’t tell me I’m paranoic, because you’ve changed, buster! You’ve changed from high school, and I know how your little brain is working.
Don’t get her upset? I’m hanging seven stories from a gargoyle in a pouring rain and you want me to worry about her? . . . You know what she’s doing in there? She’s playing with her false eyelashes. . . (crossing back to Norma.) I already made up my mine. The minute I get my hands on her, I’m gonna kill her. (Moves back to door.) once I show them the wedding bills, no jury on earth would convict me. . . And if by some miracle she survives, let there be no talk of weddings. . . She can go into a convent. (Slowly moving back to Norma below bed.) Let her become a librarian with thick glasses and a pencil in her hair, I’m not paying for anymore cancelled weddings. . . (Working himself up into a frenzy, he rushes to the table by the armchair and grabs up some newspapers.) Now get her out of there or I start to burn these newspapers and smoke her out.