Hatchetfield.

lifetime achievement award

Inside the old Starlight Theatre, a small group of actors sat in a wide hallway, all seemingly waiting for the same thing. They all had similar expressions of disappointment on their face, though some had an unmistakable look of frustration. None of them spoke to each other, the only sound echoing through the halls being muffled singing coming from the door to the stage
The quiet didn't last for long, however, as the door swung open revealing a formally plucky young actor, sweaty, out of breath, and with a similar grimace of frustration to match. The actor quietly stomped out before sitting down with the rest of his peers, who all glanced up as a voice called out into the hall; "NEXT!"

Only silence followed, though this didn't match the despondent sullenness from before. No, this had a distinct spiteful air, and it only grew more palpable as a turtleneck wearing old man stuck his head out the still open doorway. This man was Professor Henry Hidgens, a kooky, reclusive biology professor with delusions of grandeur and dreams of stardom.

Hidgens insisted, "I said NEXT. Where's the next auditioner? I'm waiting!"
"There's no one else," One of the actors admitted quietly.
"What? No, no, that can't be it. Nobody's even made it to callbacks!"
"Yeah, because your song's bullshit!"

Hidgens blinked, taken aback by this sudden outburst. Glancing around the room to each auditioning actors' faces, he noticed they all shared the same sentiment. He bit back a few curses, enraged at these petulant ingenues' audacity to insult his life's work. No, he had to be the bigger person.
Henry breathed deeply, swallowing his pride as he replied with what he hoped was a calm voice, "What makes you say that?"

Another actor replied, more bold than the last, "The last note of the song had to be held for forty seconds. Forty whole seconds."
"So?" Henry blurted out a response, crossing his arms and giving everyone an indignant scowl.
"No HUMAN could hold a note for that long!"

The old man stood in stunned disbelief as the actors erupted in a chorus of agreement, shocked by their utter audacity. He'd been able to do it just fine, what was with these stubborn, bratty young people? Here he was, in a room of almost a dozen promising actors, and none of them had been able to hold one little high note. It was a disgrace.

Smugly sticking his nose up at them, Hidgens only jeered, "Well, I don't know what's wrong with you guys, because I could."
A few of the more outspoken actors opened their mouths to complain, to spit back a retort with just as much venom as the kooky professor was giving them, but their words fell on deaf ears as he continued, "I don't even need you, I'll find the perfect actor on my own. Don't bother showing up for callbacks, or to any other auditions for the matter. I'm looking for people with some actual maturity."

"But-" one of them started again, but by then Henry lost what little patience he had.
Glaring daggers at every single one of the auditioning actors, he spat, "Sucks to suck, dickwads."

Some time later, Henry Hidgens sat in a large, comfy armchair, a glass of wine in one hand and the first draft of his script in the other. Now alone in his empty manor, with only his thoughts to accompany him and his pride hurt worse than it has been in years, he was left with no idea where to go from there.

See, it had been hard enough to get barely a dozen actors to audition in the first place, so much time and effort going into contacting everybody and planning times and dates, and he figured since they didn't part on... good terms, to say the least. It'd be hard to get anyone to hear him out for callbacks. Why'd he ever think this would be a good idea? Nobody, absolutely nobody, understood his magnum opus.

Sighing, he gazed mournfully down at his script once more, taking a long sip of wine as he admired the title with the demeanour of a loving parent; "Working Boys: a New Musical." Nobody understood it, nobody understood his magnum opus. He was like Vincent Van Gogh, unappreciated in his time, only he wasn't even able to finish his pièce de résistance.