Radio City - Out in the Cold

Monday was the annual audition for the Radio City Christmas Show Spectacular. Alas, I am two inches too short to be a Rockette (5'6" and up), but there are a limited number of chorus spots, males and females of a variety of heights that come onstage and dance a bit with Santa and the little people elves while the Rockettes are changing costumes. The pay is less then for the tall ladies, but still good by musical theater standards, and everyone is eligible for the $10/show supplement for leading a sheep or donkey across the stage during the Living Nativity. (Doesn't sound like much compensation for the risk of stepping in doo-doo, but it adds up during the 20 shows a week over the 2-3 month holiday season).

Women (and teen girls, with their moms) come out of the woodwork for this one. Radio City must advertise in every dance studio in the tri-state area. I know from past experience to bring a book and dress warmly for the unseasonably cold when I show up at 9:30, half an hour before the call time. Because at Radio City, a cavernous structure with oodles of interior space, you wait outside, lined up along 51^st street, prey to curious tourists and mocking manual labors. Families ask to take pictures; middle-aged women got in line behind me at one point, thinking it was the line for 'the show.' We kindly explained that we were not waiting to be an audience member, but for judgment.

11:50, and the line has crept forward, but I am still outside. My legs are cold and achy from standing, and I am debating blowing off the whole thing because I have afternoon plans with a friend visiting from home who leaves at 2:30. But I am so close, so I wait until noon when we are given orange wristbands and let into the (empty) rehearsal studio. I hurriedly fill out the information and release form (I am auditioner number 276) go to the bathroom to change into my dance clothes, then wait in line for the bathroom, since many of us have had to pee for a while.

We have been inside about ten minutes when we are ordered in the audition room. We protest; we've barely had time to change, let alone do our hair and make-up and warm up our frigid bodies. A woman rudely yells 'Come on,' and we are rushed into the other studio, frantically buckling character shoes and smearing on lipstick.

Really, are the logistics that hard? Is there really not room in that entire building for us to prepare and sit and stretch?

The director and her assistants actually running the audition seem much more organized. We learn the short, mechanical combination and are briskly ushered center stage three at a time, cuts are made according to their own twisted logic of what height and ethnicity and look they need, and as I leave I pass the men (auditioning at 2) lined up outside. We were somewhat luckier than them. It has started to rain.