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July 30, 2021

AUDITIONS: Narrator Needed for Bushnell Project, Munich 1919

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About the Project – Munich 1919  
 
Dive into post World War I Germany as a struggling bar owner witnessing one of the world’s most charismatic and feared leaders step into the spotlight. We are seeking the narrator for a recorded 1920s radio drama-style short storyMunich 1919.   
 
Narrator – An older male, 50-70 years old, owns a bar in Post WWI Munich, where the young and old come to speak to crowds about their political beliefs and the future of the country. He is cynical but optimisticHe’s struggling to keep his bar open and his family fed, but he’s doing better than many on the streets. Rough around the edges vibecommanding figure. 

Required skills: able to perform in German accent, general understanding of German pronunciations a plus

*PAID* This position pays $500 plus a travel stipend
 
Dates 
Rehearsal August 18/19 and shoot August 20 in Hartford, CT 
Seeking submissions in the Hartford area. 
 

Audition Script Side

Email your video audition and headshot to Alex Page-Hatley (apagehatley@bushnell.org) by August 6th.


*Please include name/contact info at the beginning of your taped audition*

Please speak the dialogue in a German accent.

“So,” said S., looking around. “No secret surprise from the black flea markets?”

His wife harrumphed.

“Oh well.” He sighed. “I confess it – I was dreaming of a radio hidden in those potatoes.” 


“Potatoes?” She looked at him. “Where do you see potatoes?”
 

Frowning, S. 
proceeded to the pile by the door. Stone by stone he hefted them, and every last one was wrong; they were too big, too round, the skin held a violet tint. He cut into one with his fingernail and looked at the pale meat.
 

“How lovely,” he said, tossing it back. “A heap of turnips.”
 

His wife shrugged. Heinz-Uwe 
swept, his head down.
 

“Perhaps can someone tell me what I am supposed to do with a heap of turnips?”
 

The usual, his wife said. Peel them, cook them, eat them. Serve 
them, if they had to.
 

He stared at her. “But these are turnips! Who am I now, the turnip king of Munich?” S. felt his face swelling and reddening. He looked toward the back door. “No wonder he ran out of here like a thief!”
 

His wife turned to him. “He is a boy,” she said in 
a low voice. “You told him to get something and he got something. You should thank him.”
 

He held up a hand to quiet her.

“Listen here,” he started. A sudden fear of where his words might go struck him, and he broke off, shaking his head. “These are turnips!” he managed in a throttled voice, then turned and pushed back through the swinging door and into the restaurant.

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