Present Laughter: 8 Comedic Monologues for Auditions

The Misanthrope by Molière (1666)

Act 1, Scene 1
Character: Alceste

I cannot bear so base a method which your fashionable people generally affect; there is nothing I detest so much as the contortions of these great time-and-lip servers, these affable dispensers of meaningless embraces, these obliging utterers of empty words, who view everyone in civilities, and treat the man of worth and the fop alike. 

What good does it do if a man heaps endearments on you, vows that he is your friend, that he believes in you, is full of zeal for you, esteems and loves you, and lauds you to the skies, when he rushes to do the same to the first rapscallion he meets? No, no, no heart with the least self-respect cares for esteem so prostituted; he will hardly relish it, even when openly expressed, when he finds that he shares it with the whole universe. 

Preference must be based on esteem, and to esteem everyone is to esteem no one. Since you abandon yourself to the vices of the times, zounds! you are not the man for me. I decline this over-complaisant kindness, which uses no discrimination. I like to be distinguished; and, to cut the matter short, the friend of all mankind is no friend of mine.

It’s good to have a classical piece or two in your comedic repertoire. In this scene from Molière’s comedy of manners, Alceste is trying to appear rational while secretly feeling jealous of his friend who’s able to easily show affection to others. The contrast between the grand language and the base emotion gives you a lot to explore as an actor.

Exaggeration is your friend here as you embody Alceste’s emotions and use vocal variations to get the most out of the script.

The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde (1895)

Act 1, Scene 1
Character: Algernon Moncrieff

But why does your aunt call you her uncle? ‘From little Cecily, with her fondest love to her dear Uncle Jack.’ There is no objection, I admit, to an aunt being a small aunt, but why an aunt, no matter what her size may be, should call her own nephew her uncle, I can’t quite make out. Besides, your name isn’t Jack at all; it is Ernest.

You have always told me it was Ernest. I have introduced you to everyone as Ernest. You answer to the name of Ernest. You look as if your name was Ernest. You are the most earnest-looking person I ever saw in my life. It is perfectly absurd your saying that your name isn’t Ernest. It’s on your cards. Here is one of them. (Taking it from the case) ‘Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4, The Albany.’ I’ll keep this as a proof that your name is Ernest if ever you attempt to deny it to me, or to Gwendolen, or to any one else. (Puts the card in his pocket)

In this scene from early in Wilde’s play, Algernon is speaking to a friend. This man leads a double life, calling himself “Ernest” in London so he can pursue love while going by the respectable “Jack” in the country. Algernon, who’s no stranger to using deception in order to behave however he wants, has found a cigarette case inscribed to “Uncle Jack” and is trying to pry the truth out of his friend.

Algernon is a witty character who loves hearing the sound of his own voice, so play with that. You can also bring a little anger into the second half because anything that frustrates Algernon’s simple worldview is “perfectly absurd,” and he’ll jolly well let everyone know all about it. It’s quite short as monologues go, so be sure not to rush.

You can watch Rupert Everett deliver a version of this speech to Colin Firth in this clip from Oliver Parker’s 2002 film. Here, the action is set in a casino, while in the original script, it takes place in Algernon’s drawing room. Make it your own by channelling the quintessential English-comedy gent in whatever setting you imagine.

Noises Off by Michael Frayn (1982) 

Act 2
Character: Lloyd Dallas 

Tim, let me tell you something about my life. I have the Duke of Buckingham on the phone to me for an hour after rehearsal every evening complaining that the Duke of Gloucester is sucking boiled sweets through his speeches. The Duke of Clarence is off for the entire week doing a commercial for Madeira. Richard himself—would you believe?—Richard III?— (He demonstrates) has now gone down with a back problem. I keep getting messages from Brooke about how unhappy she is here, and now she’s got herself a doctor’s certificate for nervous exhaustion—she’s going to walk! 

I have no time to find or rehearse another Vicki. I have just one afternoon, while Richard is fitted for a surgical corset, to cure Brooke of nervous exhaustion, with no medical aids except a little whisky—you’ve got the whisky?—a few flowers—you’ve got the money for the flowers?—and a certain faded charm. So I haven’t come to the theatre to hear about other people’s problems. I’ve come to be taken out of myself, and preferably not put back again.

Since Noises Off is a farce, it relies on physical comedy and timing. It follows a group of actors staging a chaotic play, and Lloyd is the sarcastic director; he’s a classic theatre “luvvie.” This monologue escalates to a hilarious climax, allowing an actor to fully explore their ability to showcase the character’s dramatic personality. 

Lloyd’s frustration and exaggerated wording provide an ideal opportunity to use your vocal and physical expression to their fullest. Consider rolling your eyes, throwing your hands in the air, and strutting the stage. Be sure to deliver the last line with aplomb. 

The Lieutenant of Inishmore by Martin McDonagh (2001)

Scene 2
Character: Padraic 

Grit your teeth, James. This may hurt…

Will you hang on there a minute, James? 

Padraic answers the phone.

(Into phone) Hello? Dad, ya bastard, how are you?

(To James) It’s me dad. (Pause)

(into phone) I’m grand indeed, Dad, grand. How is all on Inishmore?

Good-oh. Good-oh. I’m at work at the moment, Dad, was it important now? I’m torturing one of them fellas pushes drugs on wee kids, but I can’t say too much over the phone, like…

They are terrible men, and it’s like they don’t even know they are, when they know well. They think they’re doing the world a favour, now. 

I haven’t been up to much else, really. I put bombs in a couple of chip shops, but they didn’t go off...

Because chip shops aren’t as well guarded as army barracks.

Do I need your advice on planting bombs? 

I was pissed off anyways. The fella who makes our bombs, he’s fecking useless. I think he does drink. Either they go off before you’re ready or they don’t go off at all. One thing about the IRA anyways, as much as I hate the bastards, you’ve got to hand it to them, they know how to make a decent bomb…

Sure, why would the IRA be selling us any of their bombs? They need them themselves, sure. Those bastards’d charge the earth anyways. I’ll tell ya, I’m getting pissed off with the whole thing. I’ve been thinking of forming a splinter group…

I know we’re already a splinter group, but there’s no law says you can’t splinter from a splinter group. A splinter group is the best kind of group to splinter from anyways. It shows you know your own mind. But there’s someone in the room, dad, I can’t be talking about splinter groups. (To James, politely) I’ll be with you in a minute now, James.

What was it you were ringing about anyways, dad? 

(Padraic’s face suddenly becomes very serious, eyes filling with tears.)

Eh? What about Wee Thomas? (Pause) Poorly? How poorly, have you brought him to the doctor? (Pause) How long has he been off his food, and why didn’t you tell me when it first started? (Pause.) He’s not too bad? Either he’s poorly or he’s not too bad now, Dad, he’s either one or the fecking other, there’s a major difference, now, between being not too bad and fecking poorly, he cannot be the two at once now, (crying heavily) and you wouldn’t be fecking calling me at all if he was not too bad now! What have you done to Wee Thomas now, you fecking bastard? Put Wee Thomas on the phone. He’s sleeping? Well, put a blanket on him and be stroking and stroking him and get a second opinion from the doctor and don’t be talking loud near him and I’ll be home the first fecking boat in the fecking morning, Ar, you fecker, ya!

(Padraic smashes the phone to pieces on the table, shoots the pieces a few times, then sits there crying quietly. Pause.)

Me cat’s poorly James. Me best friend in the world, he is.

These days, Martin McDonagh is best known for his blockbuster films; but the writer reserved some of his best dark comedy for his earlier stage plays. In this scene, Padraic takes a break from torturing James to answer a call from his dad.

The contrast between Padraic’s grisly work and the everyday tone of the chat with his father provides the laughs here, but be careful not to turn the performance into a caricature of Irishness. When Padraic learns that his cat is ill, there’s a terrific opportunity to show a range of emotions—surprise, sadness, worry, rage—before making the most of the comedic ending.

It’s a long monologue, so cut it to fit the audition requirements, and be sure to time yourself performing it to get it right. 

Jerusalem by Jez Butterworth (2009) 

Act 2, Scene 1
Character: Johnny “Rooster” Byron

I musn’t grumble. Though last week was a bad week. I had a run-in with four Nigerians in Marlborough town centre. Four traffic wardens. See, I’d spent all day in The Bear and I was walking home when I got caught short. So I pop down a side street and I’m having a Jimmy Riddle on the near back wheel of a people carrier. Suddenly, these four big Nigerians get out. Traffic wardens. They’re being picked up and taken back to base. They start shouting. Saying I pissed on their car. Needless to say, I flat deny it. They all crowd round. They say something. I say something. Upshot was, they bundled me in the back and all sat on me. Drove me up to this flat on the outskirts of town.

I was held captive for a week.

They tied me up in the basement. That week, I learned more about the life of a Wiltshire traffic warden than I ever thought I’d know. They walk miles. Long days. It’s hard, hard graft, for rubbish pay. On day three they brought a TV down and we all watched the snooker semi-final. They said they’d let me go if I said I was sorry. Only problem was, I wasn’t. In the end I escaped. See, all week they were bringing me Nigerian delicacies which I chewed up and stored in my pouches. I didn’t swallow nothing for a week, and I got thinner and thinner, until the ropes loosened. When they weren’t looking, I threw my coat on the fire to muffle the flame, inched up the chimney, out onto the rooftops. I was way. So, that was a rough few days.

Apart from that, mustn’t grumble.

BBC news called Johnny “Rooster” Byron “one of the most compelling, complex, and iconic characters in modern British theatre.” In this scene, he has one of his typical flights of fancy, engaging the audience with imagination and wit.

It allows an actor to really go to town by demonstrating that they know how to hold the room’s attention, spin a yarn, and deliver a great last line. Don’t limit your performance to just the text; use physicality to enhance the words so you really own the stage.

You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown by Clark Gesner and John Gordon (1967)

Act 1, Scene 5
Character: Sally Brown 

A ‘C’? A ‘C’? I got a ‘C’ on my coat hanger sculpture? How could anyone get a ‘C’ in coat hanger sculpture? May I ask a question? Was I judged on the piece of sculpture itself? If so, is it not true that time alone can judge a work of art? Or was I judged on my talent? If so, is it fair that I be judged on a part of my life over which I have no control? 

If I was judged on my effort, then I was judged unfairly, for I tried as hard as I could! Was I judged on what I had learned about this project? If so, then were not you, my teacher, also being judged on your ability to transmit your knowledge to me? Are you willing to share my ‘C’? 

Perhaps I was being judged on the quality of coat hanger itself out of which my creation was made…now is this not also unfair? Am I to be judged by the quality of coat hangers that are used by the drycleaning establishment that returns our garments? Is that not the responsibility of my parents? Should they not share my ‘C’?

This monologue is a smart choice for auditions, as it showcases a range of emotions, from confusion to a raw sense of injustice. It also allows the actor to play with comedic timing and expression. Adults are sometimes required to play children for various reasons, including the strict licensing requirements for child performers. This monologue provides a great opportunity to flex your acting muscles in that direction.

Though she’s a child, Sally delivers this speech as if she’s a lawyer. Channel your favourite courtroom drama, and don’t forget to pause after the rhetorical questions to maximise their impact as Sally gently leads her teacher through a logical maze.

Characters from Charles M. Schulz’s classic comic strip are remembered fondly by many people, which could work in your favour in an audition.

By the Way, Meet Vera Stark by Lynn Nottage (2011)

Act 1, Scene 2
Character: Lottie

How do I know? How do I know? You think I came all the way out to Cali to sew labels on cheap shirts? Darling, I was in the Broadway hit Suzie Jane. Kay East called me the best damn shimmier in all of New York City. I did Blackbirds with Dories Mills, the engagement at the Alhambra. Went on for her four times. (Sings, birdlike:)

I’m a little blackbird looking for a bluebird

You’re a little blackbird get a little lonesome, too.

May god strike me down. Shucks, I played Juliet for a group of Pullman porters in Chicago, and received no less than two marriage proposals on closing night. You may not believe this, but I had a slender pretty figure when I first come out here. Yes, indeed. Had to fight off the fellas. Fight ‘em like ole Jake Jefferson. But you gotta be high yella mellow or look like you crawled outta Mississippi cotton patch to get work in this rotten town. So here I am, or should I say here is, seven years later trying to eat my way into some work, looking like someone’s mammy and the closest I’ve gotten to the pictures is sitting in the back row of the cinema. 

I played the hell outta Juliet. You ain’t seen a death scene until you’ve seen this bitch die on stage.

O happy dagger!

This is thy sheath;

(Lottie pretends to thrust a dagger into her stomach.)

…there rust, and let me die.

(Lottie drops to the ground.

Lottie takes a bow.)

Thank you, thank you, sugar, but that ain’t nothing. I got plenty more of that in my pocket. But I’ll tell you what, I don’t expect this business to hand me anything. Cuz only a fool keeps going back to the same well once it’s run dry.

Lynn Nottage is the first woman in history win the Pulitzer Prize for drama twice. By the Way, Meet Vera Stark is a satire of racism in Hollywood. It starts with a note from the author that Act 1 should be performed “in the tradition of the screwball comedies of the 1930s” and suggests that the act “should be very fast-paced, whimsical, and always buoyant. Breathless.” This tells you a lot about how to deliver the piece.

Lottie is a relatively minor character, but there’s a delicious actor-playing-an-actor layer to using this monologue for an audition. It also provides an opportunity to showcase your physical-theatre skills.

Fleabag by Phoebe Waller-Bridge (2016)

Season 2, Episode 6
Character: Martin

Listen to me. I just, I have a little speech that’s building here. Now, I know you look at me and you see a bad man with a big beard. Fine. I tried to kiss your sister on her birthday. Fine! I mix up birthdays and I have an alcohol problem just like everyone else in this fucking country, but I am here and I do things. I pick up Jake from shit. I make dessert for Easter. I organised the downstairs toilet. I fired the humming cleaner. I hoovered the car. I put up all your certificates and I don’t make you feel guilty for not having sex with me. I am not a bad guy! I just have a bad personality. It’s not my fault. Some people are born with fucked personalities. Look at Jake. He is so creepy. It’s not his fault! Why the bassoon? You want to know what the bassoon is!? It’s a cry for help! 

The main fucking problem here is that you don’t like me. And that has been breaking my fucking heart for 11 years. I love you. I make you laugh. I’m a douche, but I make you laugh. You said that that was the most important thing! I think the thing that you hate the most about yourself is that you actually love me. So, I am not going to leave you until you are down on your knees begging me. Oh man... I didn’t think you’d do that in that dress. Right. Well, I guess the only thing left for me to say is... Fuck you.

While Fleabag is largely a vehicle for Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s main character, this lesser-known monologue from one of the show’s secondary characters has great pathos, showing a desperate man in a desperate moment. Martin is the husband of Fleabag’s sister. He’s an unpleasant, untrustworthy, alcoholic; but this monologue makes viewers pity him, despicable as he is: He’s just found out that his wife wants to leave him, so he confronts her about it. It also has an impactful last line, and Martin’s list of “accomplishments” allows an actor to build growing emotion and humour into their delivery. 

It’s a great choice for channelling self-deprecating humour, creating a character who is, at least for a moment, relatable and endearing to the audience. Draw on that by giving a raw and vulnerable performance.

Whether you opt for the aggressive presence of a Johnny Byron, the pathetic charm of a Martin, or anything in between, be sure to practise your monologue in front of an audience of friends or family. This will help you learn how to time the laughs and hit the punchlines to maximum effect. Break a leg!