SINGER DANCER MOVER

SINGER DANCER MOVER

Auditions are strange things because sometimes it isn’t the singing that gets inside your head.

It’s one innocent little question.

One sentence.

For me it was always something like:
“I know you’re not a dancer, but do you move well?”

Now the truthful answer is…
yes…sort of.

I’ve always had rhythm.
I can move.
I can blend in.
If it’s simple enough and I know the style, then yes, I’ll absolutely be fine.

But am I a proper trained dancer?

No.

And there’s a difference.

A big difference.

Especially in musical theatre.

The thing is, by the time they ask you that question, they probably already know the answer anyway.

They’ve seen your CV.
They know your background.
They know what shows you’ve done.

But it’s still a good question for them to ask because things change.

Maybe I’ve been taking dance classes.
Maybe I’ve improved.
Maybe my CV hasn’t been updated.

And at the end of the day…
I need a job.

So if I know the show and I’ve seen what they actually mean by “movement”, then I can make an informed decision there and then.

There’s no point outright lying if you’ve got two totally left feet.

Which I haven’t.

I’m realistic about my abilities.

So I would confidently say:
“Yes, I move well.”

It’s probably a borderline white lie in some situations…

but I also know once I’m in rehearsals and doing it every day, muscle memory kicks in and I’ll usually be absolutely fine.

That’s the gamble.

And auditions are full of little gambles like that.

Dance calls are probably the most psychologically exposing part of the whole process for singer-actors.

Especially when you suddenly realise who you’re in the room with.

I did a huge cruise ship audition once to “Let’s Get Loud”.

Latin feel.
High energy.

There were probably about ten actor/singer/movers there…

and about thirty trained dancers.

Immediately your stomach drops.

Because you suddenly realise:
“Oh…this is their world.”

Now to be fair, the dancers had a much harder combination than we did.

Ours was simplified a bit.

But still…

dance calls are brutal psychologically because they slowly whittle you down.

First you dance in a huge group.

Great.
I can hide.

Then they split the room.

Then smaller groups.

Then maybe four at a time.

And suddenly you’ve got thirty trained dancers sitting around the room watching you sweat and puff your way through a routine thinking:
“Why…oh why…do I do this to myself?”

I can laugh about it now.

At the time it’s a bit soul destroying.

Especially because nobody wants front line unless you’re a genuine triple threat and super confident.

That’s another phrase that gets thrown around far too easily by the way.

Triple threat.
Quadruple threat.

If I can sing a bit, dance a bit, act a bit and play a little piano, does that make me a quadruple threat?

No.

To me it means you excel strongly at all of them equally.

Not:
“I can vaguely survive all four.”

But some people absolutely throw those labels around.

The other interesting thing with movement calls is choreographers.

They are one of two things for me.

Either complete sweethearts…

or absolute dragons.

Nothing in between.

And I understand why.

They need strong technique.
Strong energy.
Strong confidence.

Especially from trained dancers.

But sometimes you’re all mixed together in the same call and you suddenly feel very exposed.

Most dancers are actually lovely to be fair.

They’ll clap politely after groups finish.
They’ll encourage people.

But it still feels odd because I don’t exactly get to sit and watch them sing sixteen bars afterwards.

That balance always fascinated me a bit.

And the panel never gives much away.

That’s the other thing younger actors struggle with.

You’re desperately trying to read faces.

Meanwhile they’re just observing quietly and deciding whether you fit the jigsaw puzzle.

Height.
Look.
Voice.
Energy.
Movement.
Confidence.

Everything.

Sometimes they know full well you’re not a trained dancer, but they just need to know whether you can survive the track they’re casting.

That’s different.

And honestly, sometimes I surprised myself.

Especially once something was properly rehearsed and in my body.

That’s when muscle memory starts doing the work for you instead of panic.

But if the choreography was seriously technical, then yes, embarrassment kicks in.

Because I know I’m not fooling anybody in that situation.

And nobody enjoys looking foolish.

Especially in front of thirty dancers.

The hardest thing psychologically though is when they stop you early.

“Thank you…”

That’s crushing.

Especially if you thought you were doing alright.

But again, it depends on the level of the show and what they’re looking for.

Do they want an okay mover?

Or a genuinely confident dancer?

There’s a massive difference.

And movement calls can feel brutal because the feedback is often focused entirely on weaknesses.

You rarely hear:
“Fabulous pas de bourrée!”

It’s more:
“Straighter lines.”
“Turn your leg out more.”
“No, no…NO…”

You get used to it eventually.

But when you’re younger, one innocent little question like:
“Do you move well?”

can suddenly make you feel like everybody in the room has already seen straight through you.

 

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