Julie Hesmondhalgh

In 1997, Coronation Street called my agent after I’d worked at the Royal Exchange in Manchester. I came up from London – they paid your train fare back then – and in my head I was going to be the new Bet Lynch. I turned up with bleached blond hair, red lippie and a leopardskin coat. The casting director closed the door and said, “You’re the only person we’re seeing. The part’s a transsexual – a partner for Roy.” I did a scene and by the time I got home – no mobiles back then – there was a message waiting. It was the easiest audition I’ve ever done.

When I left Corrie, after 16 years without an audition, it had all changed. The big difference is that no one gives feedback. It’s not good for actors’ mental health. Imagine: you’re just out of drama school and up for something potentially life-changing, and you never hear back. Actors are often seen as the bottom of the heap, and auditions don’t help. You feel very powerless going into that room, having to give everything in five minutes. You wouldn’t get a writer to write a scene just like that. Actors are expected to deliver on demand. And if you can’t, someone else will.

Everyone’s got their casting nemesis. Friends of mine’ll see Maxine Peake everywhere they go. They’re like: “Maxine’s here. That’s that, then.”

Noma Dumezweni

I used to hate them. I resented having to prove myself over and over again. These days, I enjoy auditions more. The change is down to John Barrowman. I was helping on a musical casting and the moment he opened the door, he was on: all this energy. I realised that the whole audition is a performance – just one rooted in truth. You’re playing you at your best. That’s what I say to young actors: take a breath, shake yourself out, then step inside. The more you enjoy it, the easier it gets. They’re best when you can walk away happy whether you get the job or not. The worst are the ones that feel like they could be life-changers. You start writing off debts in your head. If you get down to the last two, it can be gutting.

Fortunately, Harry Potter was nothing like that. I got the job off the back of a development workshop. It’s so much easier that way. Why? Because it’s all about the work itself. You can just be yourself.

Jemima Rooper, far left, with David Suchet, Stephen Campbell Moore and Zoë Wanamaker in All My Sons in 2010. Photograph: Tristram Kenton/The Guardian

Jemima Rooper

It used to be a personal process, meeting directors, producers and casting directors – sometimes other actors, too. Now it’s much more anonymous. You send in your tape and don’t hear anything back. It feels a lot less about what you can do and a lot more about what you look like. As you get older, that gets a bit depressing.

You do your best auditions at home in the bath. The moment you get into the room, everything changes. It’s a very particular feeling – eye contact, anxiety, the pressure of making your five minutes count. The most rewarding auditions are those you have to fight for. Years ago, the wonderful Howard Davies was doing All My Sons. We’d worked together, but he didn’t think I was right. I badgered my agent, who badgered the casting director, who eventually got Howard to say yes. I felt so passionately that something just clicked and I got the part.

Charlotte Hope

Auditions are just another chance to act – that’s why I love them. I like getting to grips with a new part every few days. I’ve got a lot of friends who are actors so even when I don’t have auditions of my own, I’ll be working on someone else’s scenes with them. In a sense, my job is auditioning. I might not be working, but I never feel unemployed.

You wait five or six weeks for an answer and, as every day passes, the hope dwindles and dies Charlotte Hope

I’m dyslexic, so I need a few days to prepare. It helps me to know the lines inside-out, so I can go in and act without worrying about it like a memory test. I’ll drill lines for days. The biggest auditions can be the most freeing. The odds are always stacked against you and you always expect someone famous to get the part, so it eases the pressure. I’ll do my best, the rest is out of my control. You wait five or six weeks for an answer and, as every day passes, the hope dwindles and dies.

Don Warrington

Without being pompous, these days people tend to know who I am, so auditions are usually pretty laidback. You don’t have to walk into a room and blow them away. They just want to see you can still stand up. Auditions are terrifying – so nervous and artificial that you just don’t see an actor’s best. The moment someone says, “Perform,” the adrenaline starts to rise. If I can stay calm, I feel like I’m winning whether I get the part or not. I wish there was another way.

When you’re young, you’re fearless. Each audition’s like an adventure. Back then, my drama school friends were doing four auditions a week. I’d get one a fortnight. They’d ask if I was going up for a job and slowly I’d say, “No, because I’m black. They don’t want to see me.” I had some strange experiences as well. Let’s just say that some people harboured strange, sexual fantasies about black men. I encountered a couple of dodgy situations, which fortunately I got out of unscathed.

Blake Harrison, far left, with Joe Thomas, James Buckley and Simon Bird in The Inbetweeners Movie (2011). Photograph: Nicola Dove/Allstar/Film Four

Blake Harrison

The Inbetweeners was my first proper audition and it was a cattle market: hundreds of people up for four parts. I didn’t have an agent and we didn’t get scripts in advance. They handed you scenes on arrival. I looked at the four parts and figured I’d go for Simon – the hopeless romantic. The one part I didn’t even look at was Neil. “I’m not that guy,” I thought. “I’m not the dumb one.” We went into the audition room in fours and straight away the casting director said, “Right, you’ll do Neil.”

I did four more auditions after that over about a week and a half. By the end it was down to just three of us. One went home very quickly and I remember watching the other guy through a window, wondering what he was doing, whether it was better than me. Later that evening, I got the phone call.

Jonjo O’Neill

As an actor, you’re always looking to others for affirmation. Auditions are the very worst version of that. The risk you take every time is that someone will say no. It’s very hard not to take that personally. Really, they should just be about meeting someone – a little portion of rehearsal time where you and the director work together to see how it feels. They should be collaborative and inquisitive, but it’s so hard to get away from that classical format. It’s like they’re designed to make you feel insecure.

You know when it’s gone badly. I’ve had awful auditions and I’ve cried plenty of times. I’ve felt big opportunities crumble away in half an hour. That’s just how it goes. Sometimes the voices in your head take over. Sometimes nerves kick in. When I met the Coen Brothers, I fudged it. I shook hands with Ethan, then Joel and said, “Good to meet you Jo-en.” After that, I just sat down and stared at them. Mostly, it’s about trying to escape with a modicum of dignity.

