I was raised by an “almost-made-it-big” mother. This meant that whenever we went out, she was always sure to bring up that she was “about to be cast as Rachel in FRIENDS, and then Jennifer Anniston (that bitch) showed up late to the audition and stole it from her.”. Things like that. With this failed career in acting, there was only one more thing for her to do to really know if she could have made it: have a child and send her to acting classes in New York City every weekend on a bus with the au pair starting at the age of 6, obviously.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. I loved all the attention those charismatic acting teachers with the gelled-up hair would show me when I belted out my Robin Hood monologue. It was an odd choice for a little girl, but they weren’t ever wrong. Lots of self-tapes were sent to god-knows-where, and I expected nothing. I didn’t want to be a star because I knew it wouldn’t just be Me. My mom would always find a way to take one step over the “living vicariously” line and into the “living” line- you should have seen our Bat Mitzvah.
When each summer rolled around, I had to audition for all the musicals at sleepaway camp, just in case I got the lead role and could blow everyone away. I never did, well, except almost once. At only 11-years-old, me: Ava DiLorenzo scored the part of Marta- one of the seven VonTrapp kids. This was by far the highlight of my 2015. I was even on the list to get a microphone so my angelic screeches could be heard from the back of the amphitheater. Luckily for the camp, they ran out and ended up giving the microphone to the eldest sister, whatever her name was. I didn’t care too much- I practiced my projecting skills that fall during my improv lessons in the city.
Marta. Marta. Marta. That was my first line. All I had to do was jump into the center, throw my arms up with a big smile, and introduce my new self to my 400 soon-to-be fans. Being the second youngest VonTrapp, I had some time to mentally prepare for this. No one really tells you how much hotter and brighter the lights are when you’re front and center. Like one of those cucumbers with no arms in VeggieTales, I jumped up and screamed at the top of my lungs: “MARTAAA!”. My arms were pinned to my side; I couldn’t even lift them. If I had to give a visual, I would say I looked like a greasy french fry stuck straight up in its red Mcdonald’s box.
There was a reason for this arm thing. But you can’t judge me. All of us little VonTrapps were dressed in long gray bottoms and a gray wife-beater tank top. This was the pre-hyperhidrosis diagnosis, which would come months after my last summer in 2021. My body refused to let me lift my arms because I knew how much I was sweating. Maybe live performing just isn’t for me.
Back at home, I still didn’t give up. I cut out the singing and tried my luck at doing play performances. Each cast list posted would result in the same thing: me, Ava DiLorenzo, getting cast as that little comedic relief that had a few lines here and there. I had enough:
“Do these directors even know who I am? Every weekend, I go into New York City (THE BIG APPLE) and record self-tapes of monologues! I want to give them something real. Something raw. I voice act for cartoons and do commercials for Burger King!! Ask me to do one. Do it right now. I will. Ask me.” I made the mistake of asking myself. “This is a tomato. I thought everyone knew that. But apparently, McDonald’s doesn’t because they don’t put it on their everyday, flame broialsk burger! Flame braisfjal burgoaur.” Sorry. “F l a m e b r o i l e d b u r g e r.”
I always had trouble with that one.
My mom kept me going and going. I performed in front of managers, agents, even a few Real Housewives of New Jersey…nothing.
I was old enough to take the initiative and cut a deal with her at this point. I would still take acting at school, but I was officially done on my journey to becoming the next big Disney star.
I held up my part of the deal but still felt this longing. I just felt so unsatisfied with how my confusing career ended. I never got that lead role or a clip-on microphone, not even an email back from Burger King at least asking me to try saying flamebroiuouleed one more time. All these years, just thrown away.
My final year at summer camp rolls around: summer 2021. I wasn’t technically supposed to be there, considering everyone in this age group had aged out, but it certainly made for an interesting dynamic. The group under us had never stepped foot inside a high school to put that into perspective. Each summer, there is a big Benefit Show that all the big kids get to perform in. This was the real deal when I was younger. I was really convinced that these 14-year-olds were putting on an award-winning performance. Three age groups were allowed to participate, and with the oddities that a COVID summer brought, our age group was apprehensively offered the opportunity to audition.
We were seventeen. Who would actually want to put on a half-ass production of Mamma Mia with these campers we practically took care of in 7th and 8th grade? I’ll tell you who: Me. Ava DiLorenzo.
The audition song? “The Winner Takes it All” sung by Meryl Streep. That was the only song we were allowed to sing. I walked up to the piano and placed myself in the center of the stage. In front of me, four kids were running this production that were fresh out of college, and behind me, all of the boys from my group just dying to see whatever I was about to do.
I’m a firm believer in “fake it ‘till you make it,” but I could not display a smidgen of confidence for the life of me. The sheet music shook in my hand so quickly I couldn’t even see the small lyrics under those notes that meant absolutely nothing to me. The paper became soggy because of how tightly my sweaty hands grabbed it. Finally, the piano cued me in, and so for the first time in my life, I sang.
I thought it was going fine, all things considered, but I also knew that this wouldn’t last for long. Buried deep inside each of my “am I really doing this?” giggles was the crippling fear of what would come next. The high note.
Oh God, the high note. I don’t think it’s necessary to mention that I was severely ill from screaming at small children for three weeks prior. This couldn’t possibly go well, even on my best day (which is awful). So my mind goes into a spiral. I know the audience consists of my biggest critics, who have known me since I was nine. Needless to say, they are not afraid to hold back. So, as anyone would do in this situation, I danced. Swaying and scream-singing at the top of my lungs, I sounded like an elephant.
The song ended, and I caught my breath while seeing the crowd’s reactions. The drama staff had their jaws on the ground. My friends were really questioning their relationship with me, saying things like, “what the hell was that, Ava.”. There was a straightforward answer: “Art.” I walked backstage to hide the fact that I was still out of breath, and I sat down in a dressing room that I would soon call my own and would participate in frantic quick changes into sequined mermaid ensembles.
I finally did it. I got a lead role with a clip-on microphone and got to blow my twelve-year-old campers away, who were convinced I was a superstar. But, of course, a million things went wrong. Most prominently, the fact that my clip-on microphone’s volume was turned so low and everyone else’s so high that no one even focussed on my singing, just the other campers’ angelic shrieks.
My mother tuned into the live stream, and although we never talked about it afterward, she was finally able to understand why my acting career was at a standstill all those years. She may not have seen my hidden potential shine through after all these years, but she did see the pure joy on my face once those sweaty, sweaty spotlights turned off, and I was finally able to say, “Yeah, bitch, I just did that.”. I have to admit, I wasn’t really able to perform to my best ability, considering I may have sweated through the denim shirt they had me wear, but hey, that’s just showbiz, baby. I’m not sure you would understand.