Finding the right audition piece is a nightmare. Honestly, it is. You spend hours scouring Samuel French or script databases only to find the same overplayed Shakespearean sonnets or that one monologue from The Star-Spangled Girl that every girl in the tri-state area has memorized. But then, there's Ride the Cyclone. This weird, macabre, and strangely touching Canadian musical about six teenagers who die on a roller coaster has become a goldmine for performers.
Why? Because Ride the Cyclone monologues aren't just dialogue. They are high-stakes, life-or-death pleas for existence.
When you’re auditioning, you want to show range. You want to show you can handle the "absurd" while staying grounded in real, human emotion. This show provides exactly that. Whether it’s the hyper-ambitious Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg or the silent, mysterious Jane Doe, these characters offer actors a chance to chew the scenery without looking like they’re trying too-hard. It’s about the soul of the character.
The musical, written by Jacob Richmond and Brooke Maxwell, has seen a massive resurgence lately, largely thanks to TikTok and theatre enthusiasts who appreciate its "cult classic" energy. If you’re looking for a monologue that stands out, you have to understand the specific "flavor" of this show. It’s dark. It’s funny. It’s devastating.
The Audition Power of Ocean O'Connell Rosenberg
Ocean is the character everyone loves to hate, but she’s also deeply human in her desperation to be the "best." Her monologues are fast. They’re caffeinated. They’re aggressive.
If you choose an Ocean monologue, you’re basically signing up for a masterclass in breath control. She’s the straight-A student who believes her life is worth more than her peers' because she "contributes" more to society. It’s a delicate balance. If you play her too mean, the audience (or the casting director) won’t care if she lives or dies. You have to find the vulnerability in her arrogance.
Take her opening rants about her "humanitarian" efforts. She’s trying to convince a mechanical fortune teller, The Amazing Karnak, that she deserves to come back to life. The comedy comes from her lack of self-awareness. You’re talking about being a "good person" while stepping on the necks of your dead friends. It’s brilliant.
Why Ocean works for auditions:
- Pacing: It shows you can handle rapid-fire text.
- Character Arc: You can show the shift from "Type A" perfectionist to someone who is terrified of the void.
- Energy: It wakes up the room.
Jane Doe and the Haunting Void
On the complete opposite end of the spectrum, you have Jane Doe. She’s the girl who lost her head in the accident. No one knows who she is. No one claimed her body.
Jane’s monologues are often lyrical and unsettling. They require a stillness that most young actors struggle with. While Ocean is all about doing, Jane is all about being. Her dialogue often feels like it's drifting in from another dimension.
If you’re looking for Ride the Cyclone monologues that lean into the "creepy-cool" aesthetic, Jane is your go-to. The challenge here isn't the words themselves—it's the subtext. You are a person without a memory. How does that feel? It’s hollow. It’s cold. It’s hauntingly beautiful.
Most actors use the "I’m a girl with no name" sections to show off their ability to hold a room with nothing but their eyes and their voice. It’s a bold choice. It’s risky. But when it works, it’s the most memorable thing in the room.
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Mischa, Noel, and the Outsider Perspective
We can't talk about this show without mentioning the boys.
Noel Gruber is the only gay kid in a small town, and his monologue is a fever dream of Marlene Dietrich-inspired French cinema tropes. He wants to be a "tragic hooker with a heart of gold." It’s camp. It’s high art. It’s hilarious. When performing Noel, you have to lean into the artifice. You aren't playing a real person; you're playing a person playing a character. It's meta.
Then there's Mischa Bachinski. He’s the "bad boy" with a hidden heart. His monologues often involve a mix of aggressive posturing and deep, soulful longing for his "Natalia" back in Ukraine. Mischa’s monologues are great for showing "toughness" that gives way to "softness."
- Noel: Best for showing comedic timing and "star quality."
- Mischa: Best for showing physical presence and emotional depth.
- Ricky: The silent kid who finds his voice in a wild, space-age fantasy.
How to Nail a Ride the Cyclone Monologue
Don't just copy the Broadway or Chicago cast. Please.
Casting directors have seen the YouTube clips. They’ve seen the TikToks. If you go in there doing a carbon copy of Tiffany Tatreau or Kholby Wardell, they’ll tune out. You have to find your own connection to the material.
- Find the Stakes: Remember, these kids are dead. They are fighting for a second chance at life. The stakes couldn't be higher. If you treat it like a casual conversation, you’ve lost the point of the play.
- Embrace the Weirdness: This isn't Oklahoma!. It’s a show about a mechanical cat, a singing rat, and a headless girl. Don't be afraid to be a little "out there."
- Ground the Comedy: The funniest moments in Ride the Cyclone come from characters who are being 100% serious. Ocean doesn't think she's being funny; she thinks she's being logical. Play the logic, not the joke.
Common Mistakes to Avoid
A lot of people get lured into the trap of "musical theatre face." You know the one. Wide eyes, permanent grin, everything pushed to the front of the teeth.
Stop.
These characters are traumatized. Even the funny ones. If you don't acknowledge the tragedy of their situation, the monologue becomes a caricature. It loses its teeth. You want the people behind the table to feel a little bit uncomfortable. That’s the Cyclone magic.
Another mistake is ignoring the rhythm. Brooke Maxwell and Jacob Richmond wrote the script with a very specific musicality, even in the spoken parts. There is a "beat" to the dialogue. If you step on the rhythm, the jokes won't land and the emotional beats will feel rushed.
The Significance of the "Final Statement"
In the context of the show, these monologues act as a "final statement" before the characters are judged by Karnak.
Think about that. If you had five minutes to sum up your entire existence to a mechanical fortune teller to decide if you get to live again, what would you say? You wouldn't be bored. You wouldn't be "casual." You would be desperate, or resigned, or fiercely proud.
That is the energy you need to bring to Ride the Cyclone monologues.
Whether you're performing Constance Blackwood's realization that she actually loved her "terrible" life or Ricky Potts' wild transformation, the core is always the same: Witness me.
Choosing the Right Piece for Your Type
- The Ingenue: Look at Jane Doe. But don't play her "pretty." Play her "wrong."
- The Character Actor: Constance is a goldmine. Her shift from "nice girl" to "girl who wants to burn it all down" is a gift for any actor.
- The Leading Man: Mischa offers a chance to show more than just "the guy." He shows the poet underneath the puffer jacket.
Honestly, the best thing about these monologues is that they allow you to be messy. Musical theatre is often so polished, so "perfect." Ride the Cyclone is the opposite. It’s dirty, it’s chaotic, and it’s unapologetically strange.
Practical Next Steps for Your Audition
If you're planning to use a piece from this show, start by reading the full script. Don't just pull a snippet from a website. You need to know what happened right before the monologue starts to understand the character's "engine."
Step 1: Contextual Research
Watch different productions. Not just the "main" one. See how different actors interpret the silence in Jane Doe’s lines or the frantic energy of Ocean’s speeches. It helps to see what not to do as much as what to do.
Step 2: Score Study
Even if you're doing a spoken monologue, listen to that character's song. The music tells you about their internal rhythm. Ocean’s song "What the World Needs" is sharp and punctuated. Constance’s "Sugar Cloud" starts soft and builds to a chaotic release. Use that.
Step 3: The "Wait" Test
Try delivering the monologue while standing completely still. If the words aren't interesting enough to hold attention without "acting" with your hands, you haven't found the core of the piece yet. Once the words are strong, then add the movement back in.
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Step 4: Check Your "Cut"
Most auditions give you 60 to 90 seconds. Many of the monologues in Ride the Cyclone are longer than that. Make sure your "cut" has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It should feel like a complete story, even if it's only a minute long.
Using these pieces requires a certain level of bravery. You’re asking a room full of strangers to go on a very weird journey with you. But if you commit to the absurdity and the heart of the show, you’ll be the one they’re talking about when you leave the room. It’s about the risk. After all, isn't that what theatre is supposed to be?