You’re standing in a hallway. It smells like stale coffee and floor wax. Your heart is doing that weird thudding thing against your ribs, and you’ve got exactly sixty seconds to prove you aren't just another guy with a headshot. Most actors treat male one minute monologues like a sprint. They rev up the engine, scream a bit, and hope the casting director didn't blink.
Honestly? That’s the quickest way to get a "thank you, next."
The one-minute mark is a brutal constraint. It’s not enough time to tell a life story, but it is plenty of time to show a pulse. If you’re looking for a piece that actually lands, you have to stop looking for "great writing" and start looking for a "great moment."
The Trap of the "Storyteller" Monologue
Most guys pick a monologue where they describe something that happened to them. “Back in high school, I had this dog...” or “I remember the first time I saw the ocean...” Stop. Just stop.
Casting directors call these "active" versus "passive" pieces. When you tell a story about the past, your eyes go distant. You aren't in the room. You’re in your head, looking at a memory. You know what happens then? The panel looks at their watches. They want to see you doing something to someone else right now.
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Instead of a memory, find a piece where you’re trying to get something. You’re trying to stop someone from leaving. You’re trying to get a confession. You’re trying to convince a friend not to jump. Even if you’re talking to a spot on the wall (don’t stare down the panel, it’s creepy), that spot needs to be a person who is resisting you.
Contemporary Heavy Hitters (The Non-Cliche Stuff)
If you do the "I coulda been a contender" speech from On the Waterfront, you are competing with Marlon Brando. You will lose. Every time.
Try looking at playwrights like Gabriel Davis or Adam Szymkowicz. They write for the modern voice. For example, in Davis’s play Goodbye Charles, there’s a piece called "The Fact Checker." It’s a comedic monologue where a guy who is hyper-rational deals with the irrationality of love. It’s funny because it’s a guy trying to solve a problem with logic that can’t be solved with logic.
Then there’s Wreckage by Peter Gil-Sheridan. The character Brandon is bringing dinner to a grave. It’s dark, it’s weird, and it’s deeply human. It gives you "levels." You start with the mundane act of setting down a Tupperware container and end somewhere much heavier.
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Some specific pieces to hunt down:
- "Eating Crayons" by Ryan Bultrowicz: A character named Nick talks about childhood nostalgia and adult frustration. It’s quirky, but it has an edge.
- "The Seven Torments of Amy and Craig" by Don Zolidis: Great for younger guys. It’s an apology that turns into a brutal moment of honesty.
- "Alligators" by Andrew Keatley: If you need something with high stakes and a bit of a "coiled spring" energy.
Classical Doesn't Have to Mean Boring
Sometimes you need a classical piece for a drama school audition or a Shakespeare festival. Most guys go straight for Hamlet. Please, for the love of everything, leave the "To be or not to be" alone.
If you want to stand out, look at Shakespeare’s As You Like It. Orlando’s opening speech—where he’s complaining about his brother treating him like an ox—is fantastic. It’s full of "gall" and resentment. It’s a guy who feels stuck.
Or check out Thomas Heywood’s A Woman Killed with Kindness. It’s a "non-Shakespeare" classical option that casting teams love because they haven't heard it sixteen times that morning. The character Wendoll has a monologue where he’s wrestling with his own guilt. It’s basically a 1603 version of a psychological thriller.
How to Cut a Piece Down
Finding a "published" one-minute monologue is actually kind of hard. Most good speeches in plays are two or three minutes. This means you’ve gotta get your hands dirty with some editing.
Basically, you want to find the "arc." Look for the moment where the character changes their mind or doubles down. Cut out the "fluff." If a sentence doesn't help you get what you want from the other person, delete it.
I’ve seen guys take a three-page scene and turn it into a sixty-second powerhouse by just cutting the other character's lines and stitching the responses together. As long as the logic holds, it works.
The Technical Stuff (That Actually Matters)
Let’s talk about the "sixty seconds" thing. It’s a hard limit. If you go to 65 seconds, most panels won't care. If you hit 90, they’re annoyed. If you hit two minutes, they might literally stop you mid-sentence.
- The Intro: Don't do a long-winded intro. "Hi, I’m [Name], and I’ll be doing [Character] from [Play]." That’s it.
- The Focus: Pick a spot just above the panel’s heads. If you look them in the eye, they can't take notes because they feel obligated to "interact" with you.
- The Ending: When you’re done, just stop. Take a beat. Say "thank you." Don't linger in the "character" for five minutes like you’re waiting for an Oscar.
Why "Type" Still Rules
You might want to play a 50-year-old grizzled detective, but if you look like you just finished a high school math test, don't do it. Choose a monologue that fits how the world sees you right now.
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If you have a naturally "nice guy" vibe, picking a monologue where you’re a serial killer can sometimes work as a subversion, but usually, it just feels like you're trying too hard. Play to your strengths first. You want the panel to think, "I can see exactly where to cast this guy."
Practical Next Steps for Your Search
Stop googling "best monologues" and start reading plays. Seriously.
Go to a site like Stage Partners or NYC Castings and look through their archives, but use them as a jumping-off point. If you find a monologue you like, find the whole play. You have to know what happened ten minutes before the monologue starts to actually perform it with any depth.
Once you have your piece:
- Time it with a stopwatch. If it’s 55 seconds, you’re golden.
- Find the "beats." Every time your character changes their tactic (from begging to threatening, for example), that’s a beat. A good one-minute piece needs at least two or three.
- Record yourself. You’ll probably realize you’re moving your hands way too much or talking at a million miles an hour.
Acting is about being, not doing. Even in sixty seconds, if you can just be there, you’ve already won half the battle. Find the truth in the lines, keep it under the time limit, and leave the room before they have a chance to get bored.
Pro Tip: If you're struggling to find contemporary material, look into "New Play Exchange" (NPX). It's a massive database of scripts by living playwrights that haven't been overused in every audition room from New York to LA.
Actionable Insight: Pick three monologues this week—one comedic, one dramatic, and one classical. Practice them until they feel like a natural conversation you’re having with a friend, then keep them in your "back pocket" for the next time an opportunity pops up.