I auditioned in June 2006 for acting classes at Michael Imperioli's Studio Dante. I did one of Charlotte's monologues from "Last of the Red Hot Lovers." I was evaluated by Vincent Curatola and Nick Sandow. I think Mr. Curatola was undecided but Nick Sandow hated me. I knew I had done a damn good job. But, I was rejected. I left feeling like shit.
In any event, I came home and wrote a letter to Nick Sandow. Here it is:
"After my audition last Tuesday, I left knowing that I did not express why I really was interested in taking acting classes at Studio Dante. I attended a preview of Dark Yellow on Friday, May 26th, and I thought the production was excellent. I had viewed (on the computer) several short films in “The Collection.” I admired your work in Stuck Together, Dog, and Good Morning Mr. Greenberg and I also saw Sharon Angela in The Interview, which was very funny. I was a 6th grade teacher, in Manhattan, for 34 years and I am a stand-up-comedian... so I was surprised to discover I developed a case of lockjaw during the interview. It was you from whom I wanted to learn the craft, and all of the instructors at Studio Dante were very impressive. I was unhappy with the flustered way I came across, so I am now writing to tell you what was left unsaid. If at a future time Studio Dante allows another opportunity to try to be accepted into the classes, my contact information is above. Thank you."
Oh, kill me now, that was another desperate reach. Stick a fork in me, I am so done. What the fuck is wrong with me? Later that week I auditioned for classes with Austin Pendleton at HB Studio. I performed the same monologue and I was accepted. I declined the class because it began too early in the day for my night owl schedule. Days after that, I did that same monologue for Sanford Morris at HB Studio and he thought it was excellent.
I never heard from Nick Sandow about a do-over. But, I see him all the time when I attend plays at Studio Dante. Next time I see him I am going to ask him if I was rejected because I am not skinny.
December 2017:
There is not one time I recall that afternoon at Studio Dante that I do not cringe. I am mortified because there are times in every life where a person feels like a damn fool, and that day lives at the top of my memory. I feel humiliated not because I was rejected. The hell with that. I feel like an idiot because of the asinine letter I sent to Nick Sandow.
I continued to attend regularly the plays at Studio Dante even though I hated the atmosphere within the venue. Studio Dante was called adoringly a "jewel box" and it did have a colorful visual heady appeal, but the very small theater did not have any level of stadium seating and there was always some big head in front of me blocking the entire view of the stage area. And that place had an unpleasant weird self-conscious vibe. Every time I entered that theater, I felt uncomfortable. Even the receptionist viewed me constantly with a jaundiced eye both before and after that audition. I suppose they did me a favor by not accepting me there. The place was a cure for constipation and one time I had a total panic attack during intermission.
I did see Nick Sandow a few times after that audition at Studio Dante because he and I coincidentally attended the same evening performances. I realized from his facial expressions and slowly turning red face that he recognized and remembered me and he was reacting to the letter I had sent him which I know he received. It was all very... awkward. And the atmosphere inside that setting was always totally unpalatable.
Anyway, Studio Dante did not have a long life. It closed after a few years and the building was torn down recently. I think even the ghosts that roam in that space now have a level of extreme severe discomfort. Something definitely was amiss. In the lobby. I always felt like I was butt naked and being "trolled" in real time by sideway glances and the pretentious stiff energy there was so thick you could cut it with a knife. But encores, curtain calls, and standing ovations for the fine plays that somewhat made all else fall away... for a few hours.
Well after all, who knows where these kind of "mad" experiences will lead us.... yep, who knows.
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