Monoplay monologue of a blind girl. Fifth act, third phenomenon Classical theatrical monologues from a woman's face

For the competition of reciters "Living Classics"

A.P. Chekhov "Darling"

Sasha began to go to the gymnasium. His mother went to Kharkov to stay with her sister and did not return; every day his father went somewhere to inspect the herds and, it happened, did not live at home for three days, and it seemed to Olenka that Sasha had been completely abandoned, that he was superfluous in the house, that he was dying of hunger; and she took him to her outbuilding and arranged him there in a small room. And now six months have passed since Sasha has been living in her outbuilding. Every morning Olenka enters his room; he is fast asleep with his hand under his cheek, does not breathe. She's sorry to wake him up. "Sasha," she says sadly, "get up, darling!" It's time to go to school. '' He gets up, dresses, prays to God, then sits down to drink tea; drinks three glasses of tea and eats two large bagels and half of French bread and butter. He has not yet fully awakened from sleep and therefore is not in a good mood. "And you, Sasha, have not firmly learned the fable," says Olenka and looks at him as if he were escorting him on a long journey. - Take care of me with you. Do try, darling, learn ... Listen to the teachers. - Oh, leave, please! - Sasha says. Then he walks down the street to the gymnasium, himself small, but in a large cap, with a knapsack on his back. Olenka silently follows him. "Sasha!" She calls out. He looks around, and she puts a date or caramel into his hand. When they turn into the alley where the gymnasium stands, he becomes ashamed that a tall one is following him, fat woman; he looks around and says: `` You, aunt, go home, and now I will go myself. '' She stops and looks after him, unblinking, until he hides in the entrance of the gymnasium. Oh, how she loves him! Of her former affections, none was so deep, never before had her soul submitted so selflessly, disinterestedly and with such joy as now, when motherly feeling was more and more flaring up in her. For this stranger to her boy, for his dimples on her cheeks, for a cap, she would give her whole life, she would give with joy, with tears of affection. Why? And who knows - why? ”After seeing Sasha to the gymnasium, she returns home quietly, so contented, deceased, loving; her face, which has rejuvenated over the past six months, smiles, shines; people on the way, looking at her, feel pleasure and say to her: - Hello, darling Olga Semyonovna! How are you, darling? ”“ It has become difficult to study at the gymnasium now, ”she says at the bazaar. - No joke, yesterday in the first grade they asked a fable by heart, and a Latin translation, and a problem ... Well, where is the little one? And she starts talking about teachers, about lessons, about textbooks - the same thing that Sasha says about them .At three o'clock they have dinner together, in the evening they prepare their homework and cry. Putting him to bed, she baptizes him for a long time and whispers a prayer, then, going to bed, dreams of that future, distant and foggy, when Sasha, after completing his course, becomes a doctor or an engineer, will have his own big house, horses, a carriage, he gets married and he will have children ... She falls asleep and keeps thinking about the same thing, and tears flow down her cheeks from her closed eyes. And the black kitty lies at her side and purrs: - Moore ... moore ... moore ... Suddenly a strong knock on the gate. Olenka wakes up and does not breathe with fear; her heart is beating violently. Half a minute passes, and again there is a knock. “This is a telegram from Kharkov,” she thinks, starting to tremble all over. “Mother demands Sasha to come to her in Kharkov ... Oh my God!” She is in despair; her head, legs, arms grow cold, and it seems that there is no person more miserable than her in the whole world. But another minute passes, voices are heard: the veterinarian returned home from the club. "Well, thank God," she thinks. Gradually, the heaviness lags behind the heart, it becomes easy again; she lies down and thinks about Sasha, who is sleeping soundly in the next room and from time to time says in delirium: - I ttebe! Go away! Don't fight!

"Paul's Englishman" Dragunsky's Tale

Tomorrow is the first of September, ”Mom said. - And now autumn has come, and you will go to the second grade. Oh, how time flies! ..

And on this occasion, - dad picked up, - we will now "slaughter" the watermelon!

And he took a knife and cut open the watermelon. When he cut, such a full, pleasant, green crackle was heard that my back went cold with a premonition of how I was going to eat this watermelon. And I had already opened my mouth to cling to a pink watermelon hunk, but then the door flew open and Pavlya entered the room. We were all terribly happy, because he had not been with us for a long time and we missed him.

Whoa who came! - Dad said. - Pavlya himself. Pavlya the Wart himself!

Sit down with us, Pavlik, there is a watermelon, - said mom, - Deniska, move over.

I said:

Hey! - and gave him a seat next to him.

Hey! he said and sat down.

And we began to eat and ate for a long time and were silent. We were reluctant to talk.

And what is there to talk about when there is such delicious food in your mouth!

And when Paul was given the third piece, he said:

Ah, I love watermelon. Even more. My grandmother never gives me enough to eat.

And why? Mom asked.

She says that after a watermelon I get not a dream, but a continuous running.

True, - said the Pope. - That's why we eat watermelon early in the morning. By evening, its effect ends, and you can sleep peacefully. Eat, don't be afraid.

I'm not afraid, - said Pavlya.

And we all got down to business again and again were silent for a long time. And when mom began to remove the crusts, dad said:

Why, Pavlya, haven't you been with us for so long?

Yes, I said. - Where have you been? What did you do?

And then Pavlya puffed up, blushed, looked around and suddenly casually dropped, as if reluctantly:

What did you do, what did you do? .. I studied English, that's what I did.

I was taken aback. I immediately realized that I had spent the whole summer in vain. I fiddled with hedgehogs, played rounders, did trifles. But Pavlya, he did not waste time, no, you are naughty, he worked on himself, he raised his level of education.

He studied English and now I suppose he will be able to correspond with the English pioneers and read English books!

I immediately felt that I was dying of envy, and then my mother added:

Here, Deniska, study. This is not your rounders!

Well done, - said Dad. - Respect!

Pavlya beamed directly.

A student, Seva, came to visit us. So he works with me every day. For two whole months now. He just tortured me completely.

What, difficult English? I asked.

Go crazy, - sighed Pavlya.

Still not difficult, - dad intervened. “The devil will break his leg there. It's a very difficult spelling. Liverpool is spelled and Manchester is pronounced.

Well, yes! - I said. - Right, Pavlya?

It’s just a disaster, ”Pavlya said. - I was completely exhausted from these activities, I lost two hundred grams.

So why don't you use your knowledge, Pavlik? - said my mother. - Why didn't you say hello to us in English when you came in?

I haven’t been through "hello" yet, - said Pavlya.

Well, you ate the watermelon, why didn't you say "thank you"?

I said, - said Pavlya.

Well, yes, you said in Russian, but in English?

We haven’t gotten to “thank you” yet, ”Pavlya said. - Very difficult preaching.

Then I said:

Pavlya, but teach me, as in English, "one, two, three."

I haven’t studied it yet, ”Pavlya said.

What have you learned? I shouted. - Have you learned anything in two months?

I studied "Petya" in English, - said Pavlya.

That's right, ”I said. - Well, what else do you know in English?

That's all for now, - said Pavlya.

Oscard Wilde "The Nightingale and the Rose"

Meanwhile, the nightingale sat on an oak tree and waited for the moon to rise. With her rising, she took off and flew to the rose bush. Pressing his chest against a sharp thorn, he began to sing ... As one song succeeded another, the sharp thorn dug more and more into the nightingale's chest, pouring his blood into the rose bush. And all night long the cold silver moon listened to the songs of the nightingale. And a beautiful rose bloomed over the thorn; with each song she unrolled a petal. At first the rose was as pale as a misty morning dawn. But with the glimpses of dawn, she began to take on a soft pink color. "Cuddle tightly, bird," said the bush to the nightingale, "otherwise the rose will not bloom with the onset of the day ... The nightingale began to cling to the thorn more tightly and began to sing even louder, praising the tender love of youth. A slight gentle blush appeared on the rose petals; but the rose hasn’t turned purple yet, because the thorn hasn’t touched the nightingale’s heart yet. “Closer, squeeze tight, otherwise the rose will not bloom until morning!” the bush demanded again. The nightingale clung tighter to the thorn, and the thorn touched his heart. Sharp pain ignited in him. But the song of the nightingale became even more sonorous. He sang about eternal, immortal love, which is not even afraid of death. And suddenly ... the rose blushed and blossomed like the purple dawn of the east. Its petals have become like a ruby, but what about the nightingale? His voice suddenly weakened, his eyes clouded, his wings fluttered ... He made the last faint sound ... It seemed that the pale moon had forgotten about the dawn and froze ... the nightingale no longer heard this exclamation: he was dead and lay lifeless on the grass.

A sunny day at the very beginning of summer. I wander not far from home, in a birch forest. Everything around seems to be swimming, splashing in golden waves of warmth and light. Branches of birches are streaming above me. The leaves on them seem to be emerald green, then completely golden. And below, under the birch trees, light bluish shadows run and flow across the grass, like waves. And bright bunnies, like reflections of the sun in the water, run one after another on the grass, along the path.

The sun is in the sky and on the ground ... And this makes it so good, so fun that you want to run away somewhere into the distance, to where the trunks of young birches sparkle with their dazzling whiteness.

And suddenly from this sunny distance I heard a familiar forest voice: "Ku-ku, ku-ku!"

Cuckoo! I’ve heard it many times before, but I’ve never seen it even in a picture. What is she like? For some reason, she seemed to me plump, big-headed, like an owl. But maybe she's not like that at all? I'll run - I'll have a look.

Alas, it turned out to be not easy at all. I - to her voice. And she will be silent, and then again: "Ku-ku, ku-ku", but in a completely different place.

How can you see her? I stopped thinking. Or maybe she's playing hide and seek with me? She is hiding, and I am looking. But let's play the other way around: now I'll hide, and you look.

I climbed into a hazel bush and also cuckoo once, twice. The cuckoo is silent, maybe it is looking for me? I sit in silence and I myself, even my heart is pounding with excitement. And suddenly, somewhere nearby: "Ku-ku, ku-ku!"

I am silent: look better, do not shout to the whole forest.

And she is already very close: "Ku-ku, ku-ku!"

I look: a bird is flying through the clearing, its tail is long, it is gray itself, only the breast is in dark speckles. Probably a hawk. Such in our yard hunts for sparrows. He flew up to a nearby tree, sat down on a twig, bent down and shouted: "Ku-ku, ku-ku!"

Cuckoo! Just like that! It means that it is not like an owl, but like a hawk.

I’ll like to cuck her out of the bush in response! With a fright, she almost fell off the tree, immediately darted down from the knot, darted somewhere into the forest thicket, only I saw her.

But I don't need to see her again. So I solved the forest riddle, and besides, I myself spoke to the bird for the first time in its native language.

So the clear voice of the cuckoo in the forest revealed to me the first secret of the forest. And since then, for half a century now, I wander in winter and summer along the deaf, untrodden paths and discover more and more secrets. And there is no end to these winding paths, and there is no end to the secrets of native nature.

Erich Maria Remarque "Arc de Triomphe"

He felt unbearable sharp pain... Something seemed to be tearing, tearing at his heart. My God, he thought, can I really suffer so much, suffer from love? I look at myself from the outside, but I can’t help myself. I know that if Joan is with me again, I will lose her again, and yet my passion does not subside. I dissect my feeling like a corpse in a morgue, but this makes my pain a thousand times stronger. I know that in the end everything will pass, but it doesn't help me. Ravik stared out of Joan's window with unseeing eyes, feeling ridiculously ridiculous ... But even that could not change anything ...
“And you are up there,” he said, turning to the lighted window and not noticing that he was laughing. - You, little light, Fata Morgana, the face that has acquired such a strange power over me; you, met me on this planet, where there are hundreds of thousands of others, better, more beautiful, intelligent, kind, faithful, reasonable ... You, thrown at me by fate one night, thoughtless and domineering love, burst into my life, skin; you, who knows almost nothing about me, except that I resist you, and only for this reason rushed to meet me. As soon as I stopped resisting, you immediately wanted to move on. Hello to you! Here I am, although I thought that I would never stand like this again. The rain penetrates through the shirt, it is warmer, cooler and softer than your hands, your skin ... So I stand here, I am pathetic, and the claws of jealousy are tearing everything inside me; I want and despise you, I admire you and idolize you, for you threw the lightning that ignited me, the lightning lurking in every womb, you threw in me a spark of life, a dark fire. Here I am, but not like a corpse on vacation - with petty cynicism, miserable sarcasm and a pathetic amount of courage. There is no longer the cold of indifference in me. I am alive again - albeit suffering, but again open to all the storms of life, once again falling under its simple power! Bless you, Madonna with a changeable heart, Nika with a Romanian accent! You are a dream and a deception, a mirror shattered into smithereens by some gloomy deity ... Accept my gratitude, innocent! I will never admit anything to you, for you immediately mercilessly turn everything in your favor. But you returned to me what neither Plato, nor chrysanthemums, nor flight, nor freedom, nor all the poetry of the world, nor compassion, nor despair, nor the highest and most patient hope could return to me, - you returned my life, simple, strong life, which seemed to me a crime in this timelessness between two catastrophes! Hello to you! Thank you! I had to lose you to understand this! Hello to you!

Leonid Andreev "Angel".

It seems to me that both a young man and a girl can take this prose.

The Christmas tree dazzled him with its beauty and the loud, insolent glitter of countless candles, but it was alien to him, hostile, like the crowded
around her there were clean, beautiful children, and he wanted to push her so that she fell on those bright heads. It seemed that someone's iron hands took his heart and squeezed the last drop of blood out of it. Huddled behind the piano, Sashka sat down there in the corner, unconsciously cracking the last cigarettes in his pocket and thinking that he had a father, mother, his own house, but it turns out as if there was none of this and he had nowhere to go. He tried to imagine a penknife, which he recently exchanged and loved very much, but the knife became very bad, with a thin sharpened blade and only half a yellow knuckle. Tomorrow he will break the knife, and then he will have nothing left. But suddenly Sashka's narrow eyes flashed with amazement, and his face instantly assumed the usual expression of insolence and self-confidence. On the side of the tree facing him, which was less lit than the others and made up its inside out, he saw what was lacking in the picture of his life and without which everything around was so empty,
as if the people around were inanimate. It was a wax angel, hanging casually in the midst of the dark branches and as if flying through the air. His transparent dragonfly wings fluttered from the light falling on them, and all of him seemed alive and ready to fly away. Pink hands with delicately made fingers stretched upward, and behind them stretched a head with the same hair as Kolya's. But there was something else in her, which Kolya's face and all other faces and things were deprived of. The face of the angel did not shine with joy, did not fog up with sadness, but lay, on it, the stamp of a different feeling, not conveyed by words, undefined by thought and accessible to understanding only by the same feeling. Sashka did not realize what secret power drew him to the angel, but he felt that he always knew him and always loved, loved more than a penknife, more than his father than everything else. Full of bewilderment, anxiety, incomprehensible delight, Sashka folded his arms at his chest and whispered: “Dear… darling angel!

E. Alby. "What Happened at the Zoo". Jerry's Monologue ("Jerry and the Dog Monologue").

STORY ABOUT JERRY AND THE DOG!

The fact is that sometimes it is necessary to make a big detour to the side in order to return to the place by the shortest way; however, maybe this is not at all about that. But that is precisely why I went to the zoo today and therefore walked north ... or rather, in a north direction, until I came here. OK. So, this dog is some kind of black monster: a huge muzzle, tiny ears, and his eyes ... red, bloodshot, maybe sick; and all the ribs bulge outward. The dog is black, all completely black as coal, only the eyes are red and ... yes, and on the right front paw there is an open wound, also red. This scarecrow, as you can see, has been for many years. Well, what else ... yes, sometimes he shows fangs, gray-yellow-white, when he growls. That's it - grr! He growled at me as soon as he saw me for the first time, the day I entered this house. And from the first minute this dog gave me no peace. You see, animals do not cling to me, I am not Saint Francis, who was surrounded by birds. Animals are indifferent to me ... just like people. Almost always. But this dog was not indifferent. From the first minute he began to growl at me, he ran after me and strove to grab my leg. Not that he threw himself at me like a madman, no - he hobbled after me, but rather briskly and very persistently, although I always managed to escape. He tore a piece of my pants — see, here's the patch; it was the second day I moved there, but I kicked him and instantly flew up the stairs. I still don't know how the other tenants are managing him, but tell you the truth? In my opinion, he is the only one with me. I dispose him to this. Well. This went on for a whole week, and, oddly enough, only when I entered, when I left, he did not pay any attention to me. That's what interests me. Rather, it did. The dog seemed to only need me to take my belongings and spend the night on the street. Once, fleeing from him, I flew up the stairs to my room and became thoughtful. And I decided. First I'll try to kill the dog with kindness, and if it doesn't work out ... I'll just kill him.
The next day I bought a whole bag of cutlet sandwiches, not overcooked, no ketchup, no onions. On the way home, I threw out the bread and left the cutlets.
I opened the door - he was already waiting for me at the entrance. Trying on. And growls. I cautiously entered, took the cutlets out of the bag and laid them about ten paces from the dog. Like this. He stopped growling, sniffed, and moved towards the cutlets, slowly at first, then faster. He walked, stopped, looked at me. I smiled at him, so, you know, ingratiatingly. He lowered his muzzle, sniffed and suddenly - din! - pounced on the cutlets. As if in my life I had eaten nothing but rotten cleanings. Probably it was. I think the hostess also eats only rotten meat. Well. He instantly ate the cutlets, tried to gobble up the paper as well, then sat down and smiled. I give you my word, he smiled; cats smile too, I saw. And suddenly - once! - how it will growl and how it will throw itself at me. But even then he did not catch up with me. I ran into my room, threw myself on the bed, and again began to think about the dog. To tell you the truth, I was very upset and angry. Six excellent cutlets with almost no pork, with pork they are so disgusting ... I was just offended. But on reflection, I decided to try again. You see, the dog clearly had an antipathy towards me. And I wanted to know if I could overcome this antipathy or not. For five days in a row I wore cutlets for him, and the same thing was always repeated: it growls, sniffs the air, comes up, looks, eats it, gam-gam-gam, smiles, growls and - once - at me! Our street was already littered with slices of bread from sandwiches. I was not so much outraged as offended. And I decided to kill him ...

E. Alby. "What Happened at the Zoo". Jerry's Monologue ("Jerry and the Dog Monologue", continued).

Do not be afraid. I didn’t succeed. On the day I decided to kill the dog, I only bought one cutlet sandwich and what I thought was a lethal dose of rat poison. And when I was buying a cutlet, I told the seller that there was no need for bread, and I thought that he would answer something like: we don’t let go of cutlets without bread, or: what are you going to eat from your hand? But no, he kindly wrapped the cutlet in waxed paper and said: "Feed your cat?" I was about to say: no, I want to poison a familiar dog. But the "familiar dog" is somehow silly, and I replied, I'm afraid that it was too loud and formal: "Yes, I'll feed it to my kitty." People looked up at me. And it's always like this - when I want to simplify things, people throw their eyes at me. But the truth is, there were no smiles and all sorts of witticisms. So. On the way home, I kneaded the cutlet in my hands and mixed it with rat poison. I was both sad and disgusted. I open the door, I see this monster is sitting, waiting for a handout, and then he will rush at me. He, poor fellow, did not realize that while he was smiling, I would always have time to get away. Well, I put the poisoned cutlet, stood on the stairs and wait. The poor dog swallowed it in an instant, smiled and once! - to me. But I, as always, rushed upstairs, and he, as always, did not catch up with me. AND THEN THE DOG GREATLY SICK! I guessed because he no longer lay in wait for me, and the hostess suddenly sobered up. That same evening, she stopped me at the stairs and said that God was about to take her dog to him. She even forgot about her vile lust and for the first time opened her eyes wide. And her eyes were just like those of a dog. She whimpered and begged me to pray for the poor dog. I was about to say: madam, if I’m going to shake, so for my neighbor in kimono, for the Puerto Rican family, for the man in the room opposite whom I’ve never seen, for the woman who always cries outside the door, and for all the people in such houses like this one ... but I, madam, do not know how to pray. But ... to make things easier ... I said I would pray. She raised her eyes to me. And suddenly she said that I was lying and, probably, I want the dog to die. And I replied that I did not want this at all, and it was true. I wanted the dog to survive, and not just because I poisoned him. To be honest, I'm afraid I wanted this to see how he would treat me.
Well, one way or another, but the dog recovered, and the mistress was drawn to gin again - everything became as before. After she said that he was better, I walked home in the evening from the cinema, where I watched a picture that I had already seen ... or maybe it just was no different from those that I had already seen ... I walked and hoped that the dog was me waiting ... I was ... how can I say ... obsessed?., spellbound? .. No, not that ... I was so eager to see my friend again.
Yes, with my friend. Exactly. I was so eager to meet my dog ​​friend, to a pain in my heart. I entered the door and, no longer being careful, walked to the stairs. He was already there ... and looked at me. I stopped. He looked at me, and I at him. It seems ... it seems that we stood for such a very long time ... like idols ... and looked at each other. I stared at him longer than he stared at me. A dog generally cannot withstand a human gaze for a long time. But during those twenty seconds or two hours that we looked into each other's eyes, a contact arose between us. This is what I wanted: I loved the dog and I wanted him to love me. I tried to love and tried to kill; both failed separately. I was hoping ... I don't know why, I was waiting for the dog to understand ...

E. Alby. "What Happened at the Zoo". Jerry's Monologue ("Jerry and the Dog Monologue", ending).

Vladimir Dyatlov. "Guards badge". (Monologue for a boy 8-12 years old).

I walk down the street again. September. An unfamiliar boy kicks an old guard badge on the asphalt. Bronze rings dully and ...
Then it was also September.
It was scary before the attack of the Germans, when I - very young, fourteen years old - sat in the trench and waited for the command. I saw the back of the commander in front of me, and he had to give the command, but he did not give everything. Suddenly there was a terrible explosion. I was thrown off to the side, and the last thing I could see was a bright flash. And everything was clouded with fog. And then...
There was only the sky and the grasshopper. Just the sky and just a grasshopper, the chirping of which I suddenly heard. Then I began to feel my body. But there was almost no joy. There was pain. I groaned. A warm stream ran down his throat, choking his breath.
- Do you want to drink?
In the crater left by the shell, not far from me lay a girl.
“Yes,” I said, and swallowed again. It felt like I was being slashed down my throat with a razor. It was somehow especially painful. I was lying on my side, so was she. And we looked at each other.
- You can't drink. You have a wound on your neck. Now I will bandage, - said the girl, and began to crawl towards me.
I noticed that she crawls somehow very slowly. A scarlet path ran down her cheek like a scar from her lips. On her tunic, next to the Guards badge, there was a huge stain of caked blood.
“You better lie down,” I said. - I can do it this way.
“No,” she said. - I'll dress you up. Whatever it takes ...
I lay and listened to her crawling. Somewhere in the distance, shots rattled, explosions were heard, someone was dying and surviving. I closed my eyes and thought that now it doesn't matter. But...
She finally reached me. She looked at me with her big blue eyes somehow very intently.
“Raise your head,” she asked.
- I can not. I don't have enough strength.
- Necessary. Otherwise you will pour out your blood.
- And you?
- I'm fine. Pick it up, she said. I beg you. Pick up!
This painful procedure for both of us - bandaging - dragged on for a long time. Finally, it was all over. Completely exhausted, we lay side by side and talked. She is about mom, about the Volga, about school ... I am about the Black Sea. These were strange stories: we often lost consciousness, were delirious, but stubbornly talked and talked. And everyone muttered something, as if beating off telegrams to someone invisible with the same texts: "still alive", "still alive", "still there" ...
They took her to the rear first. I heard her say to the orderly:
- Give my guards badge to this boy.
The badge was given away, although the orderlies were then badly scolded for the delay. I lay swaddled like a baby. They even covered their eyes with gauze. And next to her on the pillow was her badge ...
Never again in my life have I met my savior. And I don't even know what her name was, and if she is still alive. I keep only the guards badge, chipped by a bullet, as a memory of a Man, of a blue-eyed girl from the Volga.
I keep it as a memory ...

Oleg Bogaev. "Maryino Pole". Masha's monologue(for an indefinite age, both older and younger can read).

I thought he died a long time ago, but he came back ... I’m lying completely dead, my head is cooling ... and suddenly I feel, taking my hand ... “Hello,” she says, “Mashenka”… And stroking it so tenderly… ”“ It's me, your Vanya, returned to you ... Look at me, I am alive "! And I opened my eyes, at first I can’t admit ... Where from ??? And, for sure, my Ivan is standing as if in the daytime all in the light ... "Why are you," - he says, - "Zainka, I didn't even remember me before my death ... You probably forgot me?"
“War is not a quick matter ... Victory has been awaited for a hundred years. I know, everything about you, Marya ... I went to the station ... And you hold the funeral behind the mirror ... But I'm alive! " - And I look, and I can't believe my eyes ... Just like on the card - a young tanker ... And not a single gray-haired person, can you imagine ... - "Not good," - says, - "Masha ... Your husband is returning from the war, you are lying sadly ... Come on, get up! " - We sat down at the table, poured, drank. He asks: "Then what ... also ... was there a war with Fritz?" I told him - "Yes, like him ... Who moved out, who died ... Sima, Praskovya and I - three of us lived here until I died." - We are silent. And he looks sadly out the window: “Eh, people, what have you done with our country? .. Wherever you look, there is devastation everywhere, everywhere there is one grave. Eh ... And there are no enemies, and no friends, and neither good nor evil ... There is no one. There is nothing. I should laugh, but there is no laugh, cry, but the tears have dried up ... There is only one shame. " He drank again, and suddenly he said - “But should we be sad, Masha ?! The Russian soldier is a hero for that, that any miracle will bungle! The whole village thought that we were killed on the fronts ?! Oh no! We shouted death! "
“We are all alive, everything as it is to the last! And we will return, ”he says,“ on the lettered trains. All in orders, in parade! And we'll fix everything again, rebuild it, and live better than the old one! And now, "he says," go to the station to meet us. We'll be back in May, on a par with the eve of victory. "
Let's go back, he says, but he didn't mention the number. Here and think, when will you return? When???

Sergey Uzun. "Weak?"(for an indefinite age, both older and younger people, both boys and girls, can read).

Let's race to the slide? - he suggested to her, anticipating victory.
- Nope. - she refused - The teacher said not to run. Will hit later.
- Have you chickened out? Are you giving up? - he teased her and laughed offensively.
- Here's another. - she snorted and rushed from her place to the hill.
Then they sat in a group, punished, under the supervision of a nanny, looked out the window as others walk and sulked at each other and at the teacher.
- I told you - it will. she muttered.
- I would have overtaken you without fail - he sulked - You ran dishonestly. I have not prepared ...

And I bet I read you faster? - he suggested to her.
- Hahaha. - she accepted the bet - They will check the reading technique and see. If I’m faster, you’ll carry my portfolio to home and to school all week.
- And if I - give me your apples all week! - he agreed.
Then he puffed along the road with two knapsacks and muttered:
- So what! But you don't remember what you read and write more slowly. I bet? ...

Let's play. - he suggested - As if I were a knight, and you are as if a lady of the heart.
- Fool. - for some reason she was offended.
- Weak? - He laughed - Weakly embarrassed at the sight of me? And not being called a fool is also weak.
- And nothing is weak. - she was led - Then that's what. You, too, do not call me a fool and protect me.
- Of course - he nodded - And you solve algebra for me. This is not a chivalrous business.
- And you write me essays. - she giggled - Lying and composing is just a knight's business.
And then he made excuses into the phone:
- And it was not necessary to behave like a fool. Then no one would have called a fool. Incidentally, I apologized right away ...

Can you play a man in love with me? she asked
- With difficulties. - he answered sarcastically. - I know you too well. And what happened?
- We were invited to the party. And one does not want to go. They will offer anything.
“Well .. I don’t even know.” He drawled.
- Weak? she urged.
- And nothing is weak. - He accepted the offer - With you a pack of cigars, by the way.
- For what? - she did not understand.
- Escorts are expensive these days. - he threw up his hands.
And on the way home he muttered:
- Play a lover, play a lover. And she herself pounds in the face for nothing ... Lovers, by the way, usually climb to kiss ...

What is it? she asked.
- Ring. Isn't it obvious? he mumbled.
- Nibelungen? Authorities? Some new game is it started?
- Yes. Let's play husband and wife. he blurted out
- Need to think. she nodded.
- Weak? - he urged.
- And nothing is weak. - she held out - Are we not flirting?
- Yes, we will divorce if that. Delov something. he chuckled.
And then he made excuses:
- How do I know how proposals are made? Well, for the first time I propose. Well, you want to try again? I'm not weak.

Let's play parents? she suggested.
- Let's. In mine or in yours? - he agreed.
- Fool. In the parents of their own child. Weak?
- Wow. - he thought - Not weak, of course, but it’s hard, I suppose ..
- Are you giving up? - she was upset
- No no. When did I give up to you? I play, of course. - he decided.

We complicate the game. You're playing grandma now.
- Truth? - she did not believe.
- Yes. - he nodded. - Would you play as a grandmother?
- What do you play in this case?
- In the husband of the grandmother. - he laughed - It's stupid for me to play grandmother.
- In de-dush-ku. No matter how young you are here. - She laughed - Or weakly?
- Where am I going ...

She sat by his bed and cried:
- Are you giving up? Are you giving up or what? Quitting the game? Weak still to play?
- Yes. It seems so. - he replied - Played well, huh?
- You lost once you give up. Understood? Lost.
- Controversial statement. - he smiled ...
And he died.

"Letter to Mother".(A monologue for any age - but for a girl).

Dear daughter! The day will come when I will grow old - and then be patient and try to understand me. If I get dirty while eating, if I can't get dressed without your help, be patient. Remember how many hours I spent teaching you this. If while talking, I will repeat the same words thousands of times - do not interrupt, listen to me. When you were little, I had to read the same story to you thousands of times to make you fall asleep. When you see that I do not understand anything about new technologies, give me time and do not look at me with a mocking smile. I taught you so much: how to eat correctly, how to dress beautifully, how to deal with life's adversities. If at some point I forget something or lose the thread of our conversation - give me time to remember. After all, the most important thing is not what I say, but that I can be with you. If suddenly my appetite disappears, do not force me, I myself know when I should eat. If tired legs refuse to support me, give me your hand. Just like I gave you mine. And if one day I tell you that I no longer want to live, but want to die, do not be angry with me. Time will pass and you will understand me ...
Seeing my old age, do not be sad, do not get angry, do not feel powerless. You should be by my side, try to understand me and help me - as I helped you when you were just beginning your life. Help me move on, help me finish my journey with love and patience. For this I will reward you with my smile and my immense love, which has never faded away. I love you, my dear daughter!
Hold on.
Your mother

Arkady Averchenko. "The man behind the screen". Misha's monologue(for a boy 8-12 years old).

No, it's better to die. Tired of these eternal reproaches ... You can't eat an extra apple, you can't play ... What importance: broke a cup or poured foreign perfume in a gold bottle. So you have to fight, push? Oh my God. God will punish them. If God takes it, He will do it so that their house will burn down. Now, if the house catches fire, mom will jump out into the street, waving her arms, shouting "perfume, perfume ... save my foreign perfume in a golden bottle," and I know how to save perfume. But I won't do it. On the contrary, I’ll put my hands on like this and laugh like an Indian ... "Do you need perfume? .. And when I accidentally poured half a bottle, should I push now?" Or, maybe, so that I found a hundred rubles ... everyone starts to suck up, to grease me ... to beg for money ... but I will make my hands and laugh like an Indian. It would be nice to have some kind of tame animal. Leopard or panther ... When someone hits or pushes me, the panther will rush and tear him to pieces, and I will fold my arms like this and laugh like an Indian. Or if I had some needles growing at night. Like a hedgehog. When they don't touch me, so that they are invisible, but as someone swings, the needles rise and - fuck, he ran into! Today mamma would know how to fight. And why? For what? No, it’s better to die ... I’ll lie here and die. I suppose no one pays attention to me now, and when I am dead in the evening, then I suppose they will cry. Maybe if they knew what I was up to, they would have delayed me, apologized ... Well, it’s better not. Let death ... Farewell, remember someday the servant of God Michael. I did not live long in this world ... I wonder what everyone will say when they find me in my aunt's room behind a screen ... screeching, groaning, crying will rise. Mom will come running ... "Let me go to him, it's my fault," and I'll say: "Yes, it's too late now."
And why am I going to die, from what disease? .. Nobody dies just like that. Grumbles - here it is ... Consumption. Well, let! Better with matches though. Consumption is slower, so that all patience will burst. Where are the matches? Fu, how bitter you are ... And let it all the same ... I will lie down, as in the "Niva" there is a killed Zaporozhets in the picture, and I will die ...

G. Troepolsky. "White Bim Black Ear". Descriptive monologue (for a young man or girl 12-16 years old).

Ivan Ivanovich let go of the taxi, hoping that he would lead Bim on a leash, and went to the van. He really walked with great hope: if Bim is here, then he will see him now, caress him, if Bim is not, then it means that he is also alive, there will be.
- Bim, my dear Bimka ... Boy ... My fool, Bimka, - he whispered, walking across the yard.
And then the watchman flung open the door of the van.
Ivan Ivanitch recoiled and turned to stone ...
Bim was lying with his nose to the door. The lips and gums are torn from the torn edges of the sheet metal. The nails of his front paws were bloodshot ... He scratched at the last door for a long, long time. Scratched until his last breath. And how little he asked. Freedom and trust - nothing else.
The shaggy woman, huddled in a corner, howled. Ivan Ivanovich put his hand on the head of Bim - faithful, devoted,
loving friend.
A rare snow fluttered. Two snowflakes fell on Beam's nose and ... did not melt.
Powdered snow.
Quiet snow.
White snow.
Cold snow covering the ground until the next, annually repeating beginning of life, until spring. A man, gray as snow, walked along a white wasteland, next to him, holding hands, two boys went to look for their mutual friend. And they had hope.
And lies are as holy as truth. So a dying man, smiling, says to his loved ones: "I felt very good." So a mother sings a merry song to a hopelessly ill child and smiles. And life goes on. It goes because there is hope, without which despair would kill life.

Christina Seshitskaya "My Magic Lantern". Schoolboy Jacek's monologue(for a teenager 10-14 years old).

I will not hide: I love to be the first. It gives me moral satisfaction. In training, I go out of my way to keep up with others. I think that there is nothing shameful in this - everyone treats rivalry in sports like that; today one will be lucky enough to take first place, and tomorrow another, that's all. But in life everything is different. Quite often, there are times when I would gladly secure an honorary last place.
This is exactly what happened in our class today. Pani Rudzik broke her arm a few days ago; she was given a cast from hand to elbow, and so she came to school. Needless to say, Henek Krulik is dying of envy and is terribly distressed: how it was not he, but Ms. Rudzik who slipped on the stub. Genek even climbed the entire corridor in search of this stub, but, apparently, the cleaning lady had managed to sweep up by that time, taking away from the poor thing a tempting opportunity to slip and break an arm or a leg.
So, today Mrs. Rudzik came with an arm and a plaster cast and announced on the fly that we would have a test, because during the test there was silence in the classroom, and although thirty people are forced to suffer and suffer, at least one manages to sit quietly. It was impossible not to agree with this: after an accident with pickled cucumber the peace of our teacher was indeed necessary. When the test ended, Mrs. Rudzik asked if someone would agree to help and take our class notebooks to her home. Thus, a start was given to a goal that, naturally, could not attract me. However, our entire class was inflamed with the desire to render this service to Mrs. Rudzik, and everyone rushed to attack the poor notebooks with wild cries: "I will take it! .. No, I! .. I was the first to offer! .." If I were sure that these exclamations are a manifestation of extraordinary kindness and responsiveness, I would certainly join the others, but since I strongly doubted these good intentions, I sat down on the side, watching the events unfold. Looking at me, Rysek indignantly declared:
- And all the same, you, Jasek, are lazy and selfish! Are you afraid to be overworked, or what?
And, having made me a suggestion, he rushed into the thick of the fight. The teacher entrusted the notebooks to Irka. Irka went to the door, and her face was as if she were holding a set of orders for veterans for impeccable service, and not our future deuces. And then the same Rysek said contemptuously:
- Of course, Irenka again! First sucker in class! - and looked at Irka as if she was more terrible than Medusa the Gorgon. Although I am sure that if Rysek had been the first to get hold of the notebooks, he would have walked through the classroom with the same expression on his face and never for a moment doubted that he had every right to turn up his nose.
Tell me, why is it so difficult to tell the difference between a simple desire to help a person and sycophancy? I'm ready to help, but sycophant is an abomination. I don't want to win the championship in this way. In our class there is enough suck without me. Some act openly, others quietly. Not only that: some parents suck up. Shoot with gifts when your child is threatened with a deuce in a quarter - a shame!
However, in our school teachers usually refuse gifts, and many even raise a fuss. Only a sportsman once took an offering without further ado.
- Thanks! - he said. - You are doing this in vain, but once you have brought it, come on.
I myself heard him say this to Mrs. Tseberkevich when she shoved him a chocolate set. And two days later he made her good-natured son Metek jump over the goat; when, after several attempts, this brat, after several attempts, firmly saddled the projectile, slapped him a couple and did not even treat him to a chocolate bar as a consolation. I suppose he wanted to prove to Mrs. Tseberkevich in this way that sweets had nothing to do with jumping over the goat! Our sportsman is a real teacher, he, if necessary, can teach parents a thing or two. I personally feel sick when I see how one person cheats on another, slipping various gifts.

Each genre of cinema has its own purpose. Some films can be called purely entertaining - and this is also good if they give the viewer positive emotions. But the most valuable is the "thinking" movie, which asks the viewer a lot of questions, and each person will answer them in his own way. And everyone can be right.

Tengri MIX offers you a selection of 10 monologues that will not leave you indifferent and will make you rethink some things. They rise the most different topics, and for many, they may be close. The monologues are played by the best actors of our time, and largely thanks to their talent, these scenes have now become cult.

"The Devil's Advocate" (Al Pacino)

This famous speech of the Devil in the film can be perceived in two ways. The main thing is not to take it superficially. There are not as many lies in it as it might seem, but the true truth in these words is not so easy to find. "This age from Alpha to Omega is mine. I have reached the apogee of strength", - triumphant hero Al Pacino. Why did the Devil come to such a conclusion and are we able to convince him?

"Angel-A" (Jamel Debbouz, Rie Rasmussen)

Despite the fact that this scene involves two characters, it can be considered a monologue, because these two are a man and his guardian angel. This is the monologue of a person who learns to love again, learns to understand this feeling and share it.

Meet Joe Black (Anthony Hopkins, Claire Forlani)

Mr. Hopkins is great by default. He is perfectly given the role of wise old people who exude simple truths, but they do it in such a way that a person begins to perceive them in a new way. This monologue of his is also about love. O pure love, to which many are mixed with prudence. About love, which is never interested in the salary of its beloved.

The Shawshank Redemption (Morgan Freeman)

In the course of the film, Freeman's hero, who has been in prison for almost his entire life, is asked the same standard question: "Have you corrected yourself?" What should be said to a prisoner who spent 40 years behind bars in order to convince a strict official of his own repentance?

Route 60 (Christopher Lloyd)

This film is very instructive in itself. It consists of several complete storylines, each of which teaches the viewer and the main character something new. What does this scene teach? Tells the card trick.

"Rock 'n Roller" (Toby Kebbell)

There is one highlight in the crime drama Guy Ritchie - this is the monologue of the main character Johnny Pound. It says there is always a second side to the coin. There are no ideally good or ideally bad things, events, actions in the world. And they will show a person exactly the side that he himself wants to see.

"12" (Alexey Gorbunov)

This monologue is cruel in its truthfulness. The hero of the film - the director of the cemetery - talks about how money is made on someone else's grief. He does not try to hide it and remains honest with himself. But listen to his story to the end - perhaps he has his own truth?

"An Ordinary Miracle" (Evgeny Leonov)

"The Idiot" (Evgeny Mironov)

This scene is pure psychology. Prince Myshkin talks about the thoughts of a man who has only a few minutes to live. About how the value of each second sharply increases: "What if I didn't die! What if life were turned back - what infinity! And all this would be mine! I would then turn every minute into a whole century, I would not lose anything, I would count every minute, I would not have wasted anything! "

"Heart of a Dog" (Evgeny Evstigneev)

Our list ends with recognized classics. Each scene in this film is a genius, and Professor Preobrazhensky's monologue is no exception. Do you want to know why the world is in ruin? Let's listen to the professor's opinion.

A monologue is that part of an acting performance in which the artist is given complete freedom of self-expression (within the image, of course). He may speak passionately and ardently, he may be stained with anger and spit saliva, or he may speak quietly but very soulfully. And many actors have realized this opportunity one hundred percent.

There are many strong monologues in cinema, but kinowar.com has selected 15 of the strongest of them.

Chaplin has always been a specialty in cinema. This man created the world-famous image of the Tramp, became a silent film icon and showed the new kind entertainment all over the planet. It was his speech in the film "The Dictator" that became a new breakthrough in the world, then practically silent, cinema. Delivered in 1940, this speech is still one of the best in the history of cinematography, including modern sound.

Monologues play a special role in Tarkovsky's films. We would like to highlight our favorite one - the Writer's monologue, performed by the incredible Anatoly Solonitsyn.

One of the most powerful and cynical phrases of the unprincipled Gordon Gekko went down in history not only because it was beautifully performed by the Oscar-winning Michael Douglas, but also because it really reflects the essence and laws that operate in the world of big money to this day.

Tarantino always knew how to do cool monologues that you want to quote. Especially when they are so lusciously filmed and played. One of the most striking monologues is Samuel L. Jackson's citation of a fictional passage from the Bible.

The whole essence of military training lies in this film by Stanley Kubrick. The film's strongest introduction comes in the lines of the "classic military" Sergeant Hartman: “I have no racial discrimination here. I don't give a damn about black-asses, Jews, macaroni and Latinos. All of you here are equally worthless! "

Jack Nicholson is a man with incredible acting skills. He is able to turn any moment into a work of art. Of all his memorable roles, I would especially like to recall his monologue from the movie "A Few Good Guys", in which you not only feel an overwhelming tension, but, it seems, can feel the steel inner core of an unbroken person.

Colonel Kurtz, played by Marlon Brando, is as terrible as the most cherished horror can be. It is especially interesting to understand this in the sense that almost all of Brando's monologues were improvisation, and the production of the shot was chosen in this way due to the fact that he had problems with overweight... In any case, this film has become a masterpiece of world cinema, and largely thanks to this scene.

ATTENTION! The scene contains spoilers.

Truly the pinnacle of the creative skills of two masters - Daniel Day-Lewis and Paul Anderson - has become one of the most iconic in the history of cinema. It cannot be otherwise, because a desperate, aged, feral oil producer kills a priest. And he does it in such a way that it seems that Satan himself is doing it. Bravo!

Smiling and optimistic in appearance, Robin Williams has always been a great motivator. His roles and acting played and inspired the desire to live, laugh, change everything for the better. Surely we know that his destiny has taken shape tragically but in his films he will stay that way forever.

This moment is still the Bible for anyone who ever came across a sale. An incredible assertive play by Alec Baldwin, after which you want to sell the whole world in order to prove to yourself that you have steel balls.

A story that chills blood with its cruelty, truthfulness and naturalism. The description of the last major tragedy of the US Navy in World War II paints a gruesome picture of a shark encounter. The details are chilling and allow the viewer to understand and imagine what he most likely would never even want to hear about.

The dramatic monologue of the dying android Roy Batti, borrowed in part from Friedrich Nietzsche, has long become an icon in the world science fiction... An incredible ending of the film and no less juicy content of the dramatic climax, which is finally intended to answer the question: Do androids dream of electric sheep?

An alternative philosophy of life of a modern man, embodied in one of best films throughout history. The character

There are two chairs on the stage. Playing slow classical music... A girl enters the hall, in a raincoat, a scarf is tied around her neck, in light shoes. Her gaze is turned to nowhere, it is clear that she is blind. She stands, shifts from foot to foot, sits on one of the chairs, then gets up again, looks at the clock. Sits down again, enjoys the music. Feels that someone is approaching her. Stands up.

"Is that you? Hello! I recognized you. You always breathe so softly and hard and your gait is so smooth, flying. How long do I wait? No, not for long, I came about 15 minutes ago. You know how I love the noise of the fountain and laughter of children playing on the playground. And the rustle of foliage reminds me of the wonderful, summer and carefree days of my childhood. Naive? No, I just love to dream and know how to enjoy little things! Such as the scent of grass and the coolness of the fog, the touch of a warm palm and the melody of early morning , the music of awakening. And everything else does not matter to me. I learned to feel those things that cannot be seen, which can only be understood with my heart. How I wish you were imbued with them as I do ... Lord, what am I saying! desire is selfish! You possess a divine gift ... What is divine in it ??? The question of a sighted person! All people tend not to appreciate what they have, and only after losing, suffer. But only the blind can tell you that there is reality beyond the visible . In that itself scent, melody and hug. Forgive me ... Do you forgive me? ... "

The girl sits down on one of the chairs, looks dreamily into emptiness.

"Shall we walk? Or sit down and listen to how he plays the flute Street musician? Tell me what it looks like! As I think? I think he looks like John Lennon, he is wearing a shabby brown jacket with leather patches on the elbows, a plaid shirt and trousers with suspenders ... Yes, you're right, this is how a saxophonist should be dressed. And next to him lies a black case from his flute, into which the children poured millet and pigeons peck at it right from the case. The fantasy played out ... But I can describe what the musician's melody is like. The sounds of the flute are like the singing of birds on a spring morning, they are like raindrops and the tints of a rainbow. They make my soul rush high, high to heaven! I just feel how an irresistible desire grows in me to climb to the toes, throw my hands up and sing, sing, of course, sing, only this melody has no words, as I have no light in my eyes ... I don't cry. It's just that sometimes I feel a lack of something. I myself do not understand why. Yes, I learned to perceive and feel people by their voice, by their breathing, by their gait. I can easily determine the skin color, hair length, height and eye color of the speaker or singer. But I touch my face, and I don't know what it is. I seem to be lost to myself ... Like a closed book. I can smell, touch and hear everything in this world. But I will remain a mystery to myself forever. "

The girl grabs her hand as if someone touched her there. She puts her second hand on the first and strokes the interlocutor's imaginary hand.

"You took my hand. I recognize your touch from a thousand others. Your hand is like a guiding thread leading me through the labyrinth of darkness, which only occasionally takes on a gray tint. When? In the moments when I cry. Believe me, tears seem to wash away this veil from my eyes. I listen to music ... And when the rhythm, tonality and words sound and combine, when they are at the peak of mutual harmony, it’s like a climax, an orgasm and tears flow from my eyes. But these are not bitter tears, not tears suffering or bitterness. These are grateful tears, healing and soothing. But what am I all about tears .... You smile! I can feel it, I can hear your hair moving, how your eyes narrow in a smile. "

The girl gets up, walks around the chair, leans on its back, as if putting her hands on the shoulders of the interlocutor.

"You and I are sitting like that, very friendly and comfortable, holding hands, smiling. This is an unforgettable feeling. And the sincerity and kindness of your palm cannot be replaced by any colorful pictures and multicolored felt-tip pens !!!"

The girl sits down on the chair again, and no longer gets up. She no longer looks at the interlocutor, she looks into the hall, as if trying to consider everyone in the hall, but she does not succeed. The music plays a little louder.

"People pass by, they smile, because the sun is shining brightly. I feel it on my face and body. Its warmth envelops the whole body, like a duvet. People rejoice at the blue sky, sun and warmth! Children run barefoot on the warm asphalt. And adults they put on light moccasins and chintz shawls that develop in the breeze. And you know, I really love when large flakes of snow fall from the sky in winter. I feel them melting on my eyelids and lips, and then I believe that I belong to this Along with the sun, sky, birds and songs.Every person, every bauble and pear in its own way adapts to the huge world around us.I am a part of it, blind, but believing that thanks to the power of love for all living things, for everything, what sings, smells and warms, I subtly feel the whole palette and the rainbow of its interweaving ... Do you understand me? No, you are sighted. Do you love me? I love you too. And that is enough for us. "

Hello, friends!

I promised to write this post for a long time, and now it is finally offered to your attention.

Today you can meet great amount recommendations for admission to drama school. The reason is simple - everyone wants to make money preparing you for admission. Unfortunately, not really worrying that your further acting destiny largely depends on their "advice".

However, due to a lack of deep understanding of the topic and the authors' own interpretation, these recommendations make me associate with Solieri, who tried to compose music with the help of mathematics. I hope you remember what came of it ... He killed Mozart.

And from some of the opuses, tears are even welling up. Unfortunately, not for joy ...

I will not hide, before I also followed this path from my inexperience and commercialism, but now I try not to give in to the greedy temptation and grief of popularity. And my last recommendations look more ... professional and sensible, or something ...

But let's not talk about it. The purpose of today's post is quite different. Now I will share with you really proven methods of admission to drama schools, which in many cases really work.

So, you've made the decision to become a drama or theater and film actress. And moms, dads and other close and distant relatives could not dissuade you from this crazy idea. The next step in achieving your dreams will be to enter a theater university or, among the common people, a theater school. And most importantly, passing the creative competition.

And immediately a lot of questions: What is a creative competition? What does it consist of? How to prepare for it? What is better to take prose, poems and fables? What is the selection criterion? How long should they be? How should you look and what should you wear? What are they - these examiners conducting a competitive selection? Good or Evil? What can be asked to do additionally and why?

Ay ... Oh ... PANIC !!!

Where to rush? Who should you go to for help? What to do? Ha ... ha ... The eternal Russian question.

RELAX!

First of all, calm down and relax. Let's figure it out now. "Relax", as my Teacher used to say - Felix Mikhailovich Ivanov.

First, what is a creative competition, why is it needed and what it is eaten with.

The creative competition is a compulsory exam in all theater schools in our country.
To understand what it is, imagine a sieve set for sifting flour. Each successive sieve has smaller holes.
The creative competition is exactly the same set, consisting of preliminary views - an interview, several rounds, they are also called auditions, a plastic exam and a colloquium - a conversation with the artistic director and teachers of the future course.

The number of stages in the set and their purpose may change, for example, vocal listening will be added, or plastic will be replaced by dance. It depends on the nature of the training at the school and the preferences of the course leader. Each sieve in the set is needed to identify the abilities and natural data necessary in the acting profession. And as a result, the elimination of applicants who are not suitable for training.

By the way. After going through one of the stages, do not think that you were taken and you are a happy owner winning ticket... No. This is only the beginning of the marathon distance and it is still very far from the end. But you will get there. I am sure about that.

Let's continue. Now about each stage in more detail.

Previews.

It all starts with a preview. At this stage, the largest screening out of those wishing to become actors occurs, but the requirements here are the mildest. Your task is simply to attract attention to yourself, to stand out from the general mass of applicants. And as a result, get admission to the first round of the competition.
In many schools, this initial selection is carried out by graduate students, teaching assistants, trainees or second teachers. Masters and leading instructors very rarely attend auditions. But there are exceptions.

How do you make people pay attention to you?

You must be something different from everyone in your twenty, ten or five. All means are good for this. Do not hesitate. Everything is like in the market. You are a commodity. And any seller knows that the buyer is attracted at the beginning only by the appearance of the product, and only then by the taste. They will try you later. On tours.

Now you have decided that you do not have external data for the acting profession? Not very pretty and too overweight? But what about Evgeny Pavlovich Leonov, Alexei Nikolaevich Gribov, Faina Georgievna Ranevskaya, Tatyana Ivanovna Peltzer and Inna Mikhailovna Churikova? Not handsome, frankly. However, they can safely be classified as great actors. They are the glory of the Russian theater and our pride.

A little explanation: the course requires students with different external and internal data. Different. And preferably in two, or even in three copies, in case of illness or expulsion of one of the students. Please note that the leader and teachers of the course must stage graduation performances, and this requires performers of various roles. So don't worry. On this "ark" they take everyone: tall, short, fat, thin, beautiful and ... not very.

I advise you to watch "America's Next Top Model" on MTV or on the Internet with Tyra Banks. Even in the modeling business, different people win. Including Tyra herself, who has a very problematic lower body.

So, at the stage of preliminary auditions, the most important thing is the right attitude, correctly selected reading material and good appearance - clothes, hairstyle and competent make-up for girls.

About the reading material a little later. Now about the mood and appearance and its use.

Psychological adjustment for a creative competition is the most important element of your preparation.

It should start with working with imaginary images, in other words, with fantasies. Imagine passing the exam as a fait accompli with a positive result for you. These performances must be vivid and very realistic. With all the details, including smells, sounds, music, voices of people and machines, the actions that people perform in your images. Add to this the sense of taste. The picture should be complete, like in a 3D cinema.

It is necessary to start this preparation two weeks before the preliminary audition in order to develop a stable attitude towards victory as an intermediate goal in your acting career, and the attitude towards entering college as the most joyful event in your life. I recommend repeating this training as often as possible. At least once a day.

During the competition itself, before reading your material, I recommend sniffing something with a strong but pleasant smell. This will help you maintain the right attitude in such a nervous environment.

By the way, Innokenty Mikhailovich Smoktunovsky smelled oranges at the rehearsals of The Idiot. And it helped him a lot.

By the way. Please note that in most cases, the school accepts people who have come to the exam for a company with friends, just to support them. The attitude of such applicants was the most correct. At that moment they were interested in the process of acquiring friends, and not in their own result. It was this attitude that helped them to maximize their natural potential at the competition.

Now about the appearance and its use.

Clothes, as well as hairstyle and make-up, should, if possible, hide flaws and reveal advantages.

For girls. Dresses, skirts, blouses. And not any trousers or trouser suits, T-shirts and bras peeking out from under the clothes. This is how you will dress later, when you enter the school. I recommend the top with long sleeves. From excitement, the vessels narrow and the blood supply is disturbed. Hands appear bluish. Better cover them up. Do not cut too deep on the chest and neckline. There are many women in the admissions office. Your breasts may be better than theirs. And the admission will end in fiasco for you. But if the reception is carried out by men, then it is better to have a blouse with buttons.

All teachers are people and nothing human is alien to them.

The bottom should show that you have legs. The length is better than the classic one, five to ten centimeters below the knees. Anyone who has a problem with their legs is ankle length. With miniskirts and cuts, be careful, the recommendations are the same as with the neckline. In general, in my opinion, a loose-fitting dress up to the knees or slightly lower is better. The color and pattern on the clothes can be any. Desirable in pastel colors. Avoid polka dots, very small and variegated cells, and too large and very small flowers. They dazzle and irritate already tired teachers. Medium stripe is ideal. But we must remember that the vertical one lengthens the figure and is suitable for those who are not tall and full, while the horizontal one makes the figure look fat and visually shorter. Remember this and use it wisely.

For young people with a good proportional figure, a slightly fitted top with long sleeves is suitable. It can be a shirt, turtleneck or, at worst, a sweatshirt. Preferably not colorful colors, and without pictures and inscriptions on the chest. Hawaiian style shirts and T-shirts will not work. Children with a non-standard figure need to use striped clothing, which creates the illusion of a harmonious figure. Recommendations are the same as for girls.

Bottom - better pants than jeans. They should be loose-fitting so that your manhood does not protrude. It is necessary to demonstrate it to girls in bed, and to teachers. But it's up to you to decide.

Now, the trick. In clothes, detail is important. Bright, catchy, which others do not have and which can be quickly changed. Shawl, stole, scarf or belt for girls. Tie, neckerchief or pocket square for boys. You need to take several of them with you and change depending on how others in your top ten are dressed. Also, as a last resort, you can use a jacket, sweater and jacket. Do not change your clothes, especially on tours. Educators may not remember you.

Hair should open up your face, especially your eyes. As they say, the eyes are the mirror of the soul and the main expressive means actor. For guys and girls. Get the bangs out of your eyes! They are very annoying for teachers in the selection committee.

For girls. Open your neck and ears if there are no obvious problems with them (very large or too protruding).
Now the tricks. Long curls along your face will help hide large cheekbones. Thrown forward on the chest - short neck. The bangs raised on the fleece are a small forehead, slightly lowered - too large.

Pin your hair in a bun or tidy it up if most of the girls in your top ten are with fluffy ones, and vice versa, loose them if they are short.

For the guys. Hair can be any length, but not under zero or longer than the shoulder line. And not any dirty, greasy patl. Hair should be clean, decent and slightly messy.

If all the boys in your group are combed, tousle their hair slightly. If, on the contrary, apply lightly with water. Do it quickly, right in front of your listening room.

For girls. There should be almost no makeup ... visible. It must be extremely natural. Many girls wear mohawk war paint on their faces. Apply tone and emphasize the eyes.

Guys. Tone acne and boils on your face. That's all for you.

I advise you to look on the Internet at specialized sites for more detailed information.

Now they will start to "try" you to the fullest, but do not be shy - we will break through.

At this stage, the most stringent selection of future students takes place. And you have to come to him well prepared. Here you need to show all your data, all natural potential: charisma, emotionality, organic. Everything that you are capable of and even more. On tours, there are usually three of them, although there may be additional ones, you have to take risks and go to the end. There may not be a second chance. It is necessary to amaze the consciousness of the members of the selection committee, to surprise them to the core.

How to do it?

With the help of correctly selected and very well-read prose, poems and fables.

There is only one criterion for choosing a reading material, and I am convinced of this - it should be close to you in spirit and emotionally excite you. No. Not just like it, but should excite you, excite you to the depths of your soul. And these experiences must be absolutely sincere.

Made around school with a tutor will not work. They will figure you out. The fact that the material is done, experienced teachers see immediately. They have been sitting in the commission for several years, and during this time they have seen different things. Their task is to find a diamond that is not faceted, and you are trying to siphon fake jewelry with them. Well done, but not real. Who would like it?

Understand. The important thing is not how you read correctly, with or without accents, whether you hold the backlash or not, where you put the accents. You will be taught this in school. What matters is what this reading reveals in you. And this is NATURAL POTENTIAL! Disclosing it is most important. Remember this.

Only this approach to reading material will lead to success and you will read it perfectly.

Now why exactly prose, poem and fable? The secret is simple.

Prose or prose. They help to see in you the ability to create in your imagination and convey to listeners visual images of what you are talking about. The ability to attract the attention of the audience, the so-called charm. And also the ability to lead a thought to its logical conclusion.

Poem. Reveals the degree of your emotionality and sense of rhythm.

Fable. Shows how free you are, as well as the ability to quickly reincarnate and be different. When reading a fable, it is very important to be organic and not portray anything.

Recommendations:
Don't take too long passages of prose. It is better to take a few minutes and a half, a maximum of different in character and genre. I assure you, they will not listen longer, and if asked to continue, you will have something else. The passage should be with one strong and very bright event somewhere in the middle, and it is imperative that there is a beginning and an end.
Do not tempt fate with monologues from plays. Especially Shakespeare. The level of the material is not yet yours. You will not pull.

Pick up small poems. Lyrical, heroic, tragic, dramatic, loving, but not philosophical. Emotions are needed, gentlemen, emotions!

Do not read works that are not of your gender. Young people choose poems and prose for men, and girls for women. Otherwise, it may raise strange questions. And it is listened to terribly.

Fables are better to take I. Krylov or S. Mikhalkov, I do not advise taking Aesop. It is more difficult because of the translation.

And I will repeat it again. Prose, poems and fables should not only appeal to you, but evoke an emotional response in you. This is the key to success.
Yes, and read how last time in life. After that, even a flood.

On tours, you may also be asked to complete a task. For example, surprise or scare those present, crouch down, climb into a chair and crow, open an imaginary can of canned food in which a live snake is sitting.
All this in order to determine the degree of your freedom and imagination, the reactivity of your brain. Here you just need to let go of yourself and do the first thing that comes to mind - it will be true.

You will not be able to guess the right way, so you shouldn't try to please the teachers. Act, and then think like an animal. Rather, how primitive... Trust your intuition. She will show you the right path.

The Movement Exam is used to test the coordination and performance of your musculoskeletal system.

Clothes for this exam can be taken in simpler, but better dark colors. A long or short sleeve T-shirt, sweatpants, sneakers or jazz shoes will do. For dancing - shoes for girls and boots for boys with small heels.

Please note that if you have completed the main rounds, this exam is pure formality. It is sometimes used to screen out controversial applicants. I hope you are not. True, there are die-hard stage dancers and crazy dance teachers. So be on the lookout anyway.

But the vocal exam is a more serious matter. Especially if the artistic director gravitates towards musical theater... There can be only one recommendation here - SING! And preferably, sing well.

The colloquium, as I said, is a conversation with the artistic director and teachers of the future course to find out your cultural level and how strong and conscious the desire to become an actor or actress is in you. In fact, it looks more like an interview. Questions and answers.

I must say right away that the artistic director and teachers are interested in recruiting talented students. The attitude towards them and the new sets for their courses strongly depend on who they release and how many of them will be in demand in the future. Consider them with the above said. They are your good friends, not your enemies.

Therefore, behave calmly and respond with dignity, slowly. No need to flirt and grimace. If you do not know what to answer, it is better to ask again. There will be time to think.

Finally, a few tips.

It is necessary to prepare well for admission. Your psychophysical apparatus must be in working order throughout the entire creative competition, and this is not easy.
To do this, you need to accumulate emotions all the time and spend them only on exams.

Therefore, do not enter into quarrels and conflicts, do not run to discos and noisy parties with friends, do not drink alcohol and do not use all sorts of energy drinks.
You need to drink tea, preferably green or plain water.
Food should be natural and rich in carbohydrates. Emotions are very energy consuming things.
Get enough sleep, but don't oversleep.
Listen to music, better jazz.
Watch classic movies. I advise you to watch old comedies.
It is important. Energizes your emotional pillow.

Take a bottle of plain water with you to the competition, it will not allow dry mouth to form. Avoid sugary drinks, energy drinks, and juices. The saliva in the mouth will become viscous and half of the letters will disappear when reading.

And also it is necessary to take heels of lollipops like "Bon-Pari". Eating the candy five minutes before entering the listening room will dramatically increase your carbohydrate levels. This will give you a new burst of energy.

If suddenly, right before reading, you feel that your mouth is dry and numb, lightly bite the tip of your tongue. Everything will pass right away. Bite carefully! The language will still come in handy.

I wish you to enter the drama school and, thereby, start learning the acting profession. Good luck with the creative competition.

P.S. Next time we will touch upon the topic of acting trainings. And we will do it according to the most progressive methods. Do you know what techniques and exercises to use? Then you will find out.

Stay with me and appreciate each other!

Yours, Igor Afonchikov.