In this city of bureaucrats, lawyers and computer nerds, how many good, old-fashioned macho men are left? You guessed it, folks. When the Kennedy Center announced auditions for ``macho he-men'' to perform as extras in the Australian Ballet's production of ``Spartacus'' this week, only 36 showed up. Worse, nearly half of them were politely ushered to the door as impostors. The audition fliers posted on bulletin boards at congressional offices, gyms and dance studios around town included a photograph of exactly the kind of guy the Kennedy Center was looking for _ a lean and mean Roman gladiator clad in a flimsy loin cloth, his rippling muscles straining to burst his leather chest straps. What shuffled into the rehearsal hall of the Kennedy Center Opera House on Monday evening fell roughly into two categories: health spa muscleman and your standard couch potato. They were short and tall, potbellied and trim, balding and longhaired, dressed in jeans, T-shirts and shorts. One wore a striped shirt and tie. Few seemed likely candidates for Hungarian choreographer Laszlo Seregi's balletic tale of a slave revolt in ancient Rome. One who didn't make the cut was Eugene Woodruff, 57, of suburban Annandale, Va., a supervisor at the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office who took his disappointment good-naturedly. Woodruff has been a supernumerary, or extra, with the Washington Opera a few times, mostly just standing around on stage, but never in a ballet. ``I'm not a dancer at all,'' he said with a smile. ``I don't take part in any strenuous athletics. For exercise, the only thing I do is rifle shooting. I also mow the lawn and saw some firewood.'' The lure for Woodruff couldn't be the money. The 19 extras selected to play Roman soldiers and slaves in ``Spartacus'' will receive $28 for four rehearsals and $40 for four performances starting Friday. The extras in opera productions are paid considerably less, but the pay for ``Spartacus'' is higher because there is ``lots of marching and escaping and running around on stage,'' said Steve Quinn, the Kennedy Center's liaison with the Australian Ballet. Colin Peasley, the touring ballet company's ballet master, chose 19 of the more athletic-looking candidates and began an intensive drill to whip them into shape as Roman soldiers and slaves. ``Left, right, left, right,'' he barked as the extras marched across the floor to piano music from Aram Khachaturian's score. Grabbing a wooden spear, Peasley said, ``These are held like you hold a thermometer, under your arm like this.'' He taught the neophyte guards how to sway without getting dizzy, and how to crouch without ``looking like you're sitting on the toilet.'' He held a Roman warrior's shield to his chest. ``You must be careful how you hold a shield or they begin to look like a handbag,'' he said. Woodruff enjoyed his past moments of glory in the operatic limelight, no matter how obscure, but he had no pretensions. ``I have no illusions about being a great actor,'' he said. ``I do it for the fun of it. It's a chance to do theater that's big-time, without having any real professional skills.''
