Audition Monologues for Men: 10 Pieces That Actually Give You Something to Do

There is a particular kind of despair in searching for audition monologues for men.

You ask for a monologue and the internet hands you three emotional settings: rage, confession, or charming nervousness. Sometimes all three arrive wearing the same jacket. A man screams at his father. A man apologizes badly to a woman. A man explains his pain to a silent room and hopes the room mistakes explanation for acting.

Some of those pieces are good.

Many are not.

The problem is not that male actors lack material. The problem is that many lists hand actors speeches instead of scenes.

And a monologue, if it is going to work in an audition, cannot only be a speech.

It has to be a scene where one person happens to talk for a while.

That is the standard we used in How to Choose a Good Monologue for Auditions: does the character want something now? Is someone specific across from them? Can the imaginary partner affect the actor? Does the piece build somewhere? Does it help the room imagine what kind of actor you are?

This list is built from that place.

Not the most famous monologues.

Not the loudest.

Not the ones that look impressive on a page.

These are audition monologues for men and younger male actors that give you something to do.

One note before the list: the monologue texts below come from our rehearsal shortlist. Many of the source works are copyrighted, so actors should still work from legal copies of the plays, books, films, or scripts. If you are publishing or performing the material, verify the rights and attribution first.

Use this as a guide. Then go get the full script.

How to read this list

For each piece, pay attention to five things:

• Who the character is talking to.
• What the character wants from them.
• How the tactic changes.
• What kind of actor the piece serves.
• What the room might imagine after watching it.

That last part matters.

An audition monologue is not only proof that you can feel things. It is a casting argument. The room should understand where you belong, what your instrument does well, and what kind of work you might be trusted with.

For adult men, that may mean danger, restraint, shame, authority, contradiction, wit, tenderness, or emotional force. For younger male actors, it may mean openness, sincerity, defiance, comic timing, sensitivity, or the first glimpse of a spine forming under pressure.

Neither category is better.

They are just different rooms.

Tom from Fat Pig by Neil LaBute

Best for: contemporary dramatic auditions, adult male actors, actors who can play shame without asking the audience to forgive them too quickly.

Tom is breaking up with Helen, but the real action is uglier and more playable than “ending a relationship.” He wants to escape the cost of loving someone his social world has taught him to be ashamed of. He wants Helen to understand, maybe even absolve him, while he says something that does not deserve absolution.

That is useful for an actor.

The piece has contradiction inside it. Tom knows he is weak. He hates that he is weak. He tries to dress the weakness as practicality, compatibility, timing, social pressure, anything except what it is. The acting lives in the failed self-defense.

Do not play him as a clean villain. That flattens the piece. The danger is not that Tom feels nothing. The danger is that he feels something and still chooses cowardice.

Scene partner: Helen.

Objective: Make her accept the breakup without making him feel like the kind of person who would do this.

Caution: The piece can become self-pity if the actor enjoys the guilt too much. Keep the action on Helen. What are you trying to make her believe?

Monologue text:

TOM

I’m weak. That’s what I basically learned from our time together. I am a weak person, and I don’t know if I can overcome that. No, maybe I do know. Yeah. I do know that I am, and I can’t… overcome it, I mean. I think you are an amazing woman, I honestly do. And I really love what we’ve had here. Our time together… But I think that we’re very different people. Not just who we are- jobs or that kind of thing- but it does play into it as well. Factors in. We probably should’ve realized this earlier, but I’ve been so happy being near you that I just sorta overlooked it and went on. I did. But I feel it coming up now, more and more, and I just think- No, that’s bullshit, actually, the whole work thing. Forget it. (Beat.) I’m just, I feel that we should maybe stop before we get too far. It’s weird to say this, because in many ways I’m already in so deep. Care about you a lot, and that makes it superhard. But- I guess I do care what my peers think about me. Or how they view my choices and, yes, maybe that makes me not very deep, or petty, or some other word, hell, I don’t know! It’s my Achilles flaw or something. It doesn’t matter. What I’m sure of is this- we need to stop. Stop seeing each other or going out or anything like that. Because I know now how weak I am and that I’m not really deserving of you, of all you have to offer me. I can see that now. Helen… things are so tricky, life is. I want to be better… to do good and better things and to make a proper sort of decision here, but I… I can’t.

Where to find it: Fat Pig is published by Broadway Play Publishing.

Practice it in Klieg: open Tom’s rehearsal workspace.

Biff from Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller

Best for: dramatic auditions, actors with emotional force, actors who can carry anger as thought instead of volume.

Biff’s confrontation with Willy is famous for a reason. It has a real build. It begins with exposure and becomes a demand: see me, stop waiting for the version of me you invented, let the false dream burn before it kills us.

That is not a mood.

That is an action.

Biff is not just telling Willy what happened to him. He is trying to break a family mythology in real time. He wants his father to release him from the dream, and maybe he wants to release his father too, even if he can only do it by tearing the room open.

The trap is playing “big American theatre moment” instead of playing the person across from you. If you come in announcing importance, the piece gets heavy. If you come in needing Willy to understand because there may not be another chance, it gets dangerous.

Scene partner: Willy.

Objective: Force Willy to see the truth of who they both are.

Caution: This is an overdone monologue in many rooms. If you choose it, your relationship to the material must be specific. Famous writing will not protect vague acting.

Monologue text:

BIFF

Now hear this, Willy, this is me. You know why I had no address for three months? I stole a suit in Kansas City and I was jailed. I stole myself out of every good job since high school. And I never got anywhere because you blew me so full of hot air I could never stand taking orders from anybody! That’s whose fault it is! It’s goddamn time you heard that! I had to be boss big shot in two weeks, and I’m through with it! Willy! I ran down eleven flights with a pen in my hand today. And suddenly I stopped, you hear me? And in the middle of that office building, do you hear this? I stopped in the middle of that building and I saw- the sky. I saw the things that I love in the world. The work and the food and the time to sit and smoke. And I looked at the pen and said to myself, what the hell am I grabbing this for? Why am I trying to become what I don’t want to be? What am I doing in an office, making a contemptuous, begging fool of myself, when all I want is out there, waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am! Why can’t I say that, Willy? Pop! I’m a dime a dozen, and so are you! I am not a leader of me, Willy, and neither are you. You were never anything but a hard-working drummer who landed in the ash-can like all the rest of them! I’m a dollar an hour, Willy! I tried seven states and couldn’t raise it! A buck an hour! Do you gather my meaning? I’m not bringing home any prizes any more, and you’re going to stop waiting for me to bring them home! Pop, I’m nothing! I’m nothing, Pop. Can’t you understand that? There’s no spite in it any more. I’m just what I am, that’s all. Will you let me go, for Christ’s sake? Will you take that phoney dream and burn it before something happens?

Where to find it: Death of a Salesman is listed by Dramatists Play Service.

Practice it in Klieg: open Biff’s rehearsal workspace.

Fortinbras from Fortinbras by Lee Blessing

Best for: comedic auditions, actors with speed, intelligence, verbal agility, and political absurdity in the body.

This is a great example of comedy with an objective.

Fortinbras arrives at the end of Hamlet, looks at the disaster, and immediately understands the public relations problem. Bodies everywhere. Royal family gone. A country waiting for a story. He wants Horatio to accept a cleaner version of events, not because truth matters, but because power needs a narrative people can understand.

That gives the actor a delicious engine.

He is not “being funny.” He is selling. Reframing. Simplifying. Spinning death into legitimacy. The comedy comes from how practical he becomes in the face of catastrophe.

This is useful for actors who can think quickly onstage. The monologue should feel like a mind inventing itself in real time, not like a prepared bit.

Scene partner: Horatio.

Objective: Convince Horatio to abandon the messy truth and help sell a better story.

Caution: The source text is long as written. Cut it carefully. Keep the build from confusion to invention to confidence.

Monologue text:

Fortinbras

God, what is all this? You can’t keep something like this quiet. Captain, why don’t you take these, um, bodies (Indicates the bodies.) and put them someplace safe for now, ok? Is everyone dead? The whole family, I mean? Two families?! No one’s left? Of the whole royal, ? They all just kill, each other, or what? Say, who’s in charge now, anyway? I mean, who can understand all this stuff? So, what you’re telling me is a ghost appears to Hamlet and tells him his uncle killed his father, so Hamlet pretends to go crazy, or maybe he really is, who cares?, and he decides to kill his uncle. But he stalls around for a long time instead, kills a guy who’s not his uncle, gets sent to England, gets rescued by pirates, comes back and kills everybody, including himself. I mean, come on. Horatio, we’ve got to have a new story. You want to tell everyone in Denmark that their entire royal family killed itself, plus a family of reasonably innocent nobles, plus two attendant lords? Good God, Horatio, how much do you think people can take? No one wants to hear their whole royal family’s incompetent. Personally, I think we should just replace the whole story. We need a story that’ll do something for us: explain the bodies, preserve the monarchy, give the people some kind of focus for all their, I don’t know, anger, loss, whatever. And most of all, something that’ll show people that everything that’s happened up till now had to happen so that I could become king. I know how I’d like to explain it. A Polish spy. It’s the perfect idea. Look, the Poles, bitter at Claudius’s pact with my uncle to grant me and my troops free passage through Denmark so that I can kick their Polish butts, send a spy to the court here in Elsinore. His job is to destroy the entire Danish royal family. You know, as a lesson to all who would conspire against the Polish crown, all that crap. Anyhow, he successfully sabotages the fencing match, bares the sword tip, poisons the weapon, the wine, see how easy this is, all one guy, sets the unsuspecting participants against each other in a sort of frenzy of sudden rage and paranoia, and executes the most extraordinary mass‐regicide in the history of Europe. And we can even add a lot of stuff about the horror when the royal Danes, each mortally wounded and/or poisoned, suddenly realized that Poland had achieved its ultimate revenge, blah, blah, blah. You don’t think it will be believed, Horatio? I bet it will be. It’s just so much better. Anyone can understand it. And the best thing is, it gives me that historical reason‐for‐being that’s so important to a new king. You see? I’m here to save Denmark from an imminent attack by Poland. (Horatio looks incredibly dubious.) Of course, if you want to tell people that ridiculous story of yours, be my guest. But I’ll bet mine’s the one that catches on. (He winks conspiratorially)

Where to find it: Fortinbras is published by Dramatists Play Service and listed through Playwright Co.

Practice it in Klieg: open the Fortinbras rehearsal workspace.

Jim from Going Home by Alma De Groen

Best for: contemporary dramatic auditions, actors who can play persuasion, artistic identity, and a decision that has already cost them something.

Jim is trying to convince someone that he has changed. He is not going home because he failed. He is not running away. He is trying to claim a new relationship to his work, his country, and himself.

That could sound reflective on the page.

It should not be reflective in the room.

The action is persuasion. He needs the other person to believe him. More than that, he wants them to come with him and see the life he is trying to step into. The monologue is full of self-explanation, but the actor has to keep it aimed outward.

The piece works because it lives in the difficult space between personal clarity and the need for another person to witness it. Jim may know what he wants now, but he still needs the other person to see it as real.

Scene partner: the person he wants to convince and bring with him.

Objective: Make them believe that going home is a beginning, not a retreat.

Caution: Verify the edition and source before using it professionally. This is a less common piece, which can be an advantage, but only if you know the play around it.

Monologue text:

JIM

There won’t be any disappointment. It’s different now. I’ve changed! How can I convince you? [Pause] Look. I was happy this morning. Remember? [Pause] You really don’t believe me, do you? Shit. What can I say to you? Listen. I went into the studio this morning and looked at my paintings- really looked at them- and they seemed wrong. Inadequate. And do you know something? I didn’t care. Because I knew that it was a good feeling, becaue something had happened to me, I’d grown, and I’d be able to make the paintings grow with me, that eventually they’d catch me up, and then I’d outstrip them again, and then they’d catch me again. [Pause.] I’ve had the feeling many times, but this morning I realised something I’d never fully acknowledged before: that it’ll go on all my life no matter where I am or what the circumstances are. It’s a race that I hold with myself that only I can win or only I can lose. It doesn’t matter where I run the race, as long as I run it and don’t let anything stop me along the way. [Pause.] I’m not going home because I failed here, or because I think it will be better. I’m not going home simply because it’s time now. I was born there and I want to live and work there. Do you believe me? Come with me and you’ll see.

Where to find it: Going Home is listed in the National Library of Australia catalogue.

Practice it in Klieg: open Jim’s Going Home rehearsal workspace.

Jim from The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams

Best for: actors who can play charm, discomfort, tenderness, and consequence without turning charm into innocence.

Jim’s scene with Laura is dangerous because it is so easy to like him.

He is warm. He is socially fluent. He sees something in Laura and names it. He gives her confidence, attention, and a kind of temporary light. Then the scene turns. The attention cannot become what Laura may hope it will become. He has strings on him. The charm has consequences.

That is what makes it actable.

Laura is not decoration in this piece. She is everything. If the actor performs Jim as a man giving a beautiful speech, the monologue dies. If the actor lets Laura’s silence, hope, embarrassment, and possible misunderstanding affect him, the room can feel the scene.

The useful acting is in the tension between generosity and carelessness. Jim may mean well. That does not mean he is harmless.

Scene partner: Laura.

Objective: Build Laura up, then manage the damage when he realizes what his attention may have done.

Caution: The full stretch is usually too long for an audition. Use a tight cut, and do not sentimentalize it. Read the play.

Monologue text:

JIM

I’m glad to see you have a sense of humor. You know ‐ you’re – different than anybody else I know? Do you mind me telling you that? I mean it. You make me feel sort of – I don’t know how to say it! I’m usually pretty good at expressing things, but – this is something I don’t know how to say! Did anybody ever tell you that you were pretty? Well, you are! And in a different way from anyone else. And all the nicer because of the difference. Oh, boy , I wish that you were my sister. I’d teach you to have confidence in yourself. Being different is nothing to be ashamed of. Because other people aren’t such wonderful people. They’re a hundred times one thousand. You’re one times one! They walk all over the earth. You just stay here. They’re as common as – weeds, but ‐ you, well you’re a rose! It’s right for you! – You’re pretty! You’re pretty in all respects – your eyes – your hair. Your hands are pretty! You think I’m saying this because I’m invited to dinner and have to be nice. Oh, I could do that! I could say lots of things without being sincere. But I’m talking to you sincerely. I happened to notice you had this inferiority complex that keeps you from feeling comfortable with people. Somebody ought to build your confidence up – way up! And make you proud instead of shy and turning away and – blushing ‐ . Somebody – ought to – somebody ought to – kiss you Laura! (Awkward pause) … Laura, you know, if I had a sister like you, I’d do the same things as Tom. I’d bring fellows home to meet you. Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this. That may not have been the idea in having me over. But what if it was? There’s nothing wrong with that. – The only trouble is that in my case – I’m not in a position to ‐‐‐‐ I can’t ask for your number and say I’ll phone. I can’t call up next week end – ask for a date. I thought I had better explain the situation in case you – misunderstood and I hurt your feelings… You see, I’ve – got strings on me. Laura, I’ve – been going steady! I go out all the time with a girl named Betty. Oh, she’s a nice quiet home girl like you, and Catholic and Irish, and in a great many ways we – get along fine. I met her last summer on a moonlight boat trip up the river to Alton, on the Majestic. Well – right away from the start it was – love! Oh, boy, being in love has made a new man of me! The power of love is pretty tremendous! Love is something that – changes the whole world. I happened that Betty’s aunt took sick and she got a wire and had to go to Centralia. So naturally when Tom asked me to dinner – naturally I accepted the invitation, not knowing – I mean – not knowing. I wish that you would – say something. Well… I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m rushing off. But I promised Betty I’d pick her up at the Wabash depot an’ by the time I get my jalopy down there her train’ll be in. Some women are pretty upset if you keep them waiting. Good‐bye, Laura. And don’t you forget the good advice I gave you.

Where to find it: The Glass Menagerie is listed by Concord Theatricals.

Practice it in Klieg: open Jim’s Glass Menagerie rehearsal workspace.

Jay from Lost in Yonkers by Neil Simon

Best for: younger male actors, teen actors, dramatic comedy, auditions that need courage without forced heaviness.

Jay is standing up to Uncle Louie. That is the simple version.

The more useful version is this: Jay is discovering, while speaking, that fear does not have to decide the room. He is defending Arty, defending his father, and naming Louie’s bullying while still being a kid standing in front of a dangerous adult.

That gives the actor a strong build.

The monologue begins with protection and grows into moral courage. It can show humor, period flavor, family pressure, and a young person’s first real act of defiance.

For a younger actor, that is valuable. The piece does not ask the actor to pretend to be older than they are. It lets them show a spine forming under pressure.

Scene partner: Uncle Louie.

Objective: Stop Louie from humiliating Arty and force him to see that Jay’s father has courage too.

Caution: It reads young. That is not a flaw, but do not use it for a room that needs to imagine you as an adult lead.

Monologue text:

JAY

Don’t do it, Arty… Leave him alone, Uncle Louie. You want the bag open, do it yourself. (He takes the bag from Arty and tosses it at Louie’s feet.) Maybe you don’t rob banks or grocery stores or little old women. You’re worse than that. You’re a bully. You pick on a couple of kids. Your own nephews. You make fun of my father because he cried and was afraid of Grandma. Well, everyone in Yonkers is afraid of Grandma… And let me tell you something about my father. At least he doing something in this war. He’s sick and he’s tired but he’s out there selling iron to make ships, and tanks and cannons, and I’m proud of him. What are you doing? Hiding in your mother’s apartment and scaring little kids and acting like Humphrey Bogart… And I’ll tell you something else, No. That’s all.

Where to find it: Lost in Yonkers is listed by Concord Theatricals.

Practice it in Klieg: open Jay’s rehearsal workspace.

George Gibbs from Our Town by Thornton Wilder

Best for: younger male actors, acting school auditions, actors with sincerity, openness, and the ability to let a decision arrive without pushing it.

George is a beautiful test because it looks simple.

Simple is dangerous.

There is nowhere to hide.

He is talking to Emily, receiving what she has told him, and making a decision about his future. The piece is not about proving emotional intensity. It is about listening, being changed, and allowing a thought to become a choice.

A less experienced actor may be tempted to make it sweet from the beginning. Do not. Let Emily affect him. Let the decision form. The audience should feel that George did not enter the moment already knowing what he would choose.

That is what gives the monologue life.

Scene partner: Emily.

Objective: Stay connected to Emily and discover whether the life he thought he wanted is actually the one he wants.

Caution: Avoid sentimentality. Wilder does not need syrup. He needs truth.

Monologue text:

GEORGE GIBBS

I’m celebrating because I’ve got a friend who tells me all the things that ought to be told me. I’m glad you spoke to me like you did. But you’ll see. I’m going to change. And Emily, I want to ask you a favor. Emily, if I go away to State Agricultural College next year, will you write me a letter? The day wouldn’t come when I wouldn’t want to know everything about our town. Y’ know, Emily, whenever I meet a farmer I ask him if he thinks it’s important to go to Agricultural School to be a good farmer. And some of them say it’s even a waste of time. And like you say, being gone all that time, in other places, and meeting other people. I guess new people probably aren’t any better than old ones. Emily, I feel that you’re as good a friend as I’ve got. I don’t need to go and meet the people in other towns. Emily, I’m going to make up my mind right now, I won’t go. I’ll tell Pa about it tonight.

Where to find it: Our Town is listed by Concord Theatricals.

Practice it in Klieg: open George’s rehearsal workspace.

Jordan from Foot in Mouth

Best for: teen comedic auditions, young actors with timing, active repair, and the ability to make bad choices quickly.

Jordan wants Jessica to forgive him.

That is clean.

What makes the piece useful is that every attempt to fix the situation makes it worse. He apologizes, explains, jokes, backtracks, clarifies, damages himself, tries again. The comedy comes from tactics failing in real time.

That is the difference between a comic monologue and a joke delivery system.

Jordan is not there to be funny. He is there to get Jessica back, and his panic keeps choosing the wrong words.

For a young actor, this is helpful because it gives behavior. The actor can listen to Jessica’s imagined reactions and let each one change the next tactic.

Scene partner: Jessica.

Objective: Win Jessica back before she fully walks away.

Caution: Keep it active. If you play only the awkwardness, the piece gets thin. The want has to be real.

Monologue text:

JORDAN

Hey, Jessica. Oh, c’mon. Can’t I talk to you for just a minute? Look, I know I was a jerk- (Beat.) Okay, a major jerk. And I don’t blame you for dumping me. Well, just a little. Joke - that was a joke! I’m sorry I blew you off last Saturday. But the only reason I did was because Carrie Benson was upset about Doug breaking up with her. She was lonely, she needed a friend, and she promised me a good time. Jess, wait! That’s not what I mean. I didn’t sleep with her. She didn’t want to. Hold up, hold up! That came out way wrong. What I’m trying to say is that she wanted me to spend the night, and I wanted to be with her. Not be with her, be with her! Don’t you understand? Every time I think of you, that little four letter word keeps flooding my head. You know, the “L” word? Does that happen when you think of me? It does?! (Beat.) Liar? That wasn’t exactly the word I had in mind.

Where to find it: This piece appears in The Ultimate Audition Book for Teens series; see listings such as Google Books.

Practice it in Klieg: open Jordan’s rehearsal workspace.

Carl from Subtle Warnings

Best for: short comedic auditions, young male actors, actors who can play threat under politeness.

Carl is pretending to be friendly while making sure Jeremy understands the rules.

That is a strong playable contradiction.

He is not openly threatening Jeremy, exactly. He is introducing himself, making conversation, asking about the date, mentioning karate, and letting the subtext do the work. The fun is in how much he can communicate while technically behaving well.

This can be very useful for a young actor because it is short, clear, and active. It gives you a simple objective and a specific partner. It also lets you show control. The comedy should come from the false casualness, not from mugging.

Scene partner: Jeremy.

Objective: Make Jeremy afraid enough to treat Tina carefully without openly starting a fight.

Caution: It is lighter than some of the other pieces. Pair it with something emotionally richer if the audition asks for contrast.

Monologue text:

CARL

So you must be Jeremy. I’m Tina’s brother Carl. It’s nice to finally meet ya. Tina will be down in a minute. You know how girls are. So, it’s the big first date, huh? Where are ya taking her? (Beat.) A party? All right. Sounds fun. Just between you and me, Jer, are there gonna be any drugs at this party? (Beat.) Just beer? That’s cool. Ya know, Tina is such a lightweight. One beer and she’ll be puking all over you. Not a pretty sight. So, you better keep her away from the alcohol. For the sake of your clothes, ya know? Tina told me you play soccer. Tough game. I’d play myself, but I’ve been studying Karate for years. I’m a 3rd degree black belt now. (Beat.) I love it, but sometimes I have to watch myself. Like say someone lays a hand on … Tina, for example. I could kill them instantly if I’m not careful. But otherwise. Karate’s awesome. Well, it was cool meeting you. And hey, have fun on your date.

Where to find it: This piece appears in The Ultimate Audition Book for Teens series; see listings such as Google Books.

Practice it in Klieg: open Carl’s rehearsal workspace.

Holden McNeil from Chasing Amy by Kevin Smith

Best for: screen-oriented auditions, film classes, workshops, or situations where contemporary film material is allowed.

This is the piece in your shortlist that needs the clearest warning.

It is often misattributed online as a Salinger or “Holden” monologue. It is not. The speech comes from Chasing Amy, written and directed by Kevin Smith, and the character is Holden McNeil.

That matters.

It also matters because some theatre auditions specifically ask for material from a published play. If the instructions say “play,” do not bring a film monologue and hope no one notices. As we talked about in How to Prepare for an Acting Audition When You Don’t Know What They Want, if there is one thing you marry in an audition, it is the instructions.

When the context allows it, though, the piece has a strong action. Holden is confessing love to someone who may not want, need, or welcome that confession. He wants the truth out before another day passes. He wants to change the relationship, or at least stop living inside the lie of not saying it.

The actor’s job is not to make the speech romantic.

The actor’s job is to deal with the other person’s face.

If the scene partner is uncomfortable, angry, moved, resistant, confused, or already closing off, each of those imagined responses should change the actor. Otherwise the confession becomes a polished emotional paragraph.

Scene partner: Alyssa.

Objective: Force the relationship into truth, even if the truth breaks it.

Caution: Use only when film material is appropriate, and do not misattribute it. Also, handle the queer context of the scene with care. The speech is not just a generic love confession.

Monologue text:

HOLDEN

I love you. And not, not in a friendly way, although I think we’re great friends. And not in a misplaced affection, puppy-dog way, although I’m sure that’s what you’ll call it. I love you. Very, very simply. Very truly. You are the epitome of everything I have ever looked for in another human being. And I know that you think of me as just a friend, and crossing that line is the furthest thing from an option you would ever consider. But I had to say it. I just, I can’t take this anymore. I can’t stand next to you without wanting to hold you. I can’t, I can’t look into your eyes without feeling that, that longing you only read about in trashy romance novels. I can’t talk to you without wanting to express my love for everything you are. And I know this will probably queer our friendship – no pun intended – but I had to say it, because I’ve never felt this way before, and I don’t care. I like who I am because of it. And if bringing this to light means we can’t hang out anymore, then that hurts me. But God, I just, I couldn’t allow another day to go by without just getting it out there, regardless of the outcome, which by the look on your face is to be inevitable shoot-down.

Where to find it: The film is Chasing Amy; IMDb identifies the character as Holden.

Practice it in Klieg: open Holden’s rehearsal workspace.

How to choose between these pieces

Do not choose the one that sounds most impressive.

Choose the one that makes you more specific.

If you are at your best when you can think quickly, Fortinbras may serve you better than Biff. If you have quiet sincerity, George may reveal more than a bigger dramatic speech. If your strength is contradiction, Tom may give you more to play than a cleaner hero moment. If you are younger and trying to show courage without pretending to be thirty-five, Jay might be exactly right.

Ask:

• Can I be cast near this world?
• Do I understand the person across from me?
• Does the piece build?
• Can I make the imaginary partner visible?
• Does it show something specific about me as an actor?
• Is it right for the audition I am actually attending?

That last question saves careers from small embarrassments.

If a school asks for contrasting monologues, do not bring two pieces that show the same wound in different lighting. Pair stillness with speed, comedy with emotional depth, sincerity with bite, classical American text with contemporary awkwardness. Range is not showing everything. Range is showing contrast with control.

And if the piece is famous, your relationship to it must be personal enough to survive familiarity. A casting director may have heard Biff before. They have not heard your Biff if you are actually living with Willy, listening to him, needing him, losing him, and fighting for something that costs you.

How to rehearse after you choose

Once you pick the monologue, do not memorize it as a speech.

Memorize it as a chain of thoughts.

In How to Memorize Lines, we talked about this directly: lines are thoughts. If the line will not stick, often the thought has not been digested yet. That is even more true in monologues, because there is no real partner there to rescue the rhythm.

Build the silent partner.

What do they give you after the first sentence?

Where do they resist?

Where do they soften?

Where do they make you angry?

Where do they make you change tactics?

Then rehearse the piece through those imaginary responses. Do not just repeat the words until they become smooth. Smooth is not the goal. Alive is the goal.

Once you choose the piece, load it into Klieg, rehearse the turns, ask for line when you need it, and keep the imaginary partner alive even when you are working alone.

The best audition monologues for men are not the ones that announce masculinity, pain, charm, anger, or sensitivity.

They are the ones that give the actor someone to affect.

Someone to listen to.

Something to risk.

That is what the room remembers.