There Is No Right Answer
Audition lines are almost always drawn from one of these four categories.
1. Lines from an established work completely unrelated to the writer or production company of the current audition project.
2. Lines from previous works by the writer of the current project or the production company handling it.
3. Lines that appear in—or will appear in—the script of the current project.
4. One-off lines created specifically for this audition and not used anywhere else.
Dividing audition scripts into these rigid categories and figuring out which one they fall into is straightforward. The preparation strategy changes entirely depending on the type.
Take category 1, for example. If an audition for project A comes up, and the lines are pulled from some established work with zero connection to A's writer or production team, the top priority is analyzing the role from a completely different angle than the actor who originated it in that classic.
Preparing an imitation risks coming off as mere mimicry. No matter how hard you work, you can never perfectly replicate the original actor's vibe. Instead, the smart play is: Embody a version of the character that highlights my unique charm and image while diverging as much as possible from the familiar one.
For category 2, you can draw insights like, This writer's past works had such-and-such themes, tones, and messages. And this production company tends to aim for these kinds of intentions. That makes it far easier to pin down the role's direction and emotional arc.
Categories 3 and 4 each demand their own tweaks. The key points shift with every type—even if the differences seem subtle, they show up clearly. And in auditions, those tiny edges decide everything; they boomerang back as make-or-break moments.
From the moment he got the script, Woojin had pegged the Saw the Pheasant? audition lines as category 4 and dove into prep accordingly. Playwright Ma Seol-ah had openly said she'd rewritten the story from the original draft for everyone in Actor's Yard, including himself and senior Lee Kang-sik.
She'd overhauled the atmosphere and plot, birthing a final version worlds apart from the first draft. But she must have wondered: What if we'd stuck with that heavy original concept—what would it have felt like?
There's a vast gulf between reading text on a page and seeing it come alive through actors on stage. That itch to witness it firsthand had birthed this one-off audition script.
Woojin knew this from his 500 auditions: the beauty of a disposable script was that there was no right answer.
Or put another way: If my performance wins over the viewers, that's the right answer.
Even better. That's why he'd loved the Saw the Pheasant? script. Within the mood and emotional range set by the text, he just needed to make his character analysis convincing.
Since the panel already knew the full context, they had preconceived images of the role in their heads. Shatter those with persuasive acting, reveal an unexpected facet of the character they hadn't imagined, and you'd leave an indelible mark.
Even back at the training institute, Woojin had quietly favored these one-offs amid endless auditions.
And now... well, if this were sports, it was like his main event had dropped right in his lap.
"Ah, Dad..."
Woojin's voice trembled across the stage, transforming him in an instant into the Young Man.
That first second—the split instant as the opening word left his lips—was make-or-break. Fail to hook the audience right then, and the rest might as well not exist. Audition gospel.
But, "Mom kept hitting her and told her to die, so Mom listened to Dad real good and went way~ up there!" With an innocent grin, the Young Man thrust his index finger skyward. His breath and emotions flowed seamless, flawless.
"Dad called Mom a filthy bitch over and over! Mom kept saying no, but he hit her anyway. Her eye swelled up like this, her lip split open like that! Hehe."
The lines dripped menace, clashing starkly with the character's bright exterior.
"Y'know, when I was little! I thought tears were purple! Anybody know why?"
The Young Man suddenly leaped off the stage, whipping his head around frantically, hunting for an answerer.
"Hand!"
"......"
"......"
"......"
"Hurry!"
He hectored the dozens of staring eyes. His lips still curved in a smile, his face sunny as ever.
But, "......"
"......"
"......"
No response from the crowd he craved.
"C'mon, hurry! Quick!"
Still, silence blanketed the audience. They just gawked, breaths held, eyes wide on Woojin's performance.
What the...?
Can't react...
What's this pressure?
This was the seventh run-through of the Young Man—Woojin's included. Uniquely, he claimed the space right up to the front-row audience as his beat.
Auditions bred rigidity; prior candidates had stuck strictly to the stage.
But Woojin shattered the mold from the jump. True to the script's hints at the Young Man's personality, he ignored stage boundaries, bounding freely.
Using the full space drew the crowd's eyes wider, demanding sharper focus.
"I was only this big..."
No answer came from the void. Hands on hips, the Young Man pressed on.
"Mom grabbed my hand tight... Mom, I'm going..."
Still smiling, bright voice lilting slow. But his eyes wouldn't play along.
"Mom was crying buckets, but her hand kept moving. Before I knew it, a rope hung from the ceiling."
His gaze... brimmed with emotions at odds with his words.
"Mom climbed on a chair. I didn't know a thing. I looked up at her; she looked down at me. Tears fell from her bruised face. That's why they were purple."
His eyes fixed on nothing specific in the air—unfathomably distant.
Deep in his tale, still grinning, voice light, he shed purple tears from his own eyes.
Face, body, voice all laughed. Only the eyes wept.
Like tears of a clown.
"Mom jumped just like that. Like... bungee jumping. But super weird—she never hit the ground!"
He dangled limp in grotesque mimicry.
"Tongue lolled out this far! Eyes rolled back like this!"
His tearful eyes flipped white.
"Swinging~ sway sway~ wheee! Off she flew."
Black pupils returned amid the whites; his soft murmur evoked a butterfly in flight.
Arms flapping, he dashed the stage, "Ahaha—" laughter filling the theater.
About ten seconds of frantic dashing.
"Hoo."
The Young Man's chest heaved with heavy sighs. Head snapped up—snap—eyes shifting from weeping to laughing, locking on some aerial spot over the crowd.
"Q-queen pheasant! Gotta find the queen pheasant!"
—Whoosh.
Woojin's Young Man vanished offstage.
The whirlwind stage fell quiet.
"Done...?"
Up front, panel lead Jeong Jae-min glanced around, murmuring to Ma Seol-ah and Oh Tae-hyeop.
"Seems like... Whew, held my breath."
"...Me too."
"It's over, right? Why hasn't he come out?"
Then—
"Queen pheasant, where are yoooou!!!!!"
A bellow exploded from backstage. Everyone jolted.
What? Lines are done!
She eyed Jeong Jae-min and Oh Tae-hyeop. Their gazes met: Not over?!...? Bewildered panic.
"That pheasant's plump belly was just like Mom!"
Nearly a scream.
"Freckle by the eye, exactly like Mom's! Where is it? Come out! Uwaaaaaah!!!!!!"
The Young Man's voice cracked raw—desperate, grief-stricken, thick with han.
The cry faded; silence blanketed the stage again.
—Step step.
Woojin's Young Man reemerged. The crowd held breath once more.
—Thud thud.
He descended to the seats again, thrust his face close to Jeong Jae-min, staring wordlessly before asking, in purest childlike innocence never glimpsed till now,
"Grandpa, who are you?"
Emotions flipped without warning.
"......"
"......"
"......"
Smirk. Lips curled; the Young Man said, "...That's it. Thank you."
Only then did he revert to actor Baek Woojin.
* * *
Choi Yeong-do couldn't close his mouth.
His role didn't overlap Woojin's—better suited to the "Doctor" by age.
And right after the seventh candidate wrapped...
His first thought: Thank God...
Relief that their roles didn't clash.
Theater newbie? For real?!
Doubt surged.
Actors honed in theater struggle transitioning to screen: dial back the projection, gestures. Boom mics catch overpowered voices wrong; big stage moves look hammy up close.
Flip side: screen vets amp up for theater.
So Yeong-do had thought, Let's see how good he really is.
Sure, Jeong Jae-min's words rang true—no bias or negativity lingered. But "Baek Woojin" still evoked "film" or "drama"—screen acting.
He knew the guy was skilled. But unproven on stage.
Hence the itch to verify with his own eyes why Jeong Jae-min backed him so fiercely.
Only then could he buy in.
And now, having seen it...
Convinced.
—Clap clap clap clap clap.
Applause was only right for such a performance. Somehow, Yeong-do had become the most fervent in the crowd.