All the world's a couch: Agents ignore you? Directors won't return your calls? Perform at the Casting Couch and they'll be there, watching. Emma Cook investigates

Moira Townsend, actress and producer, relaxes in London's Grafton Hotel bar on Tottenham Court Road, painting her nails, chewing gum and sorting out last-minute details for this evening's 'Casting Couch'. Every month she produces a showcase where relatively unknown actors perform for the theatre industry's casting and directing fraternity.

A few years ago, Townsend, 34, grew tired of rejection. As a struggling actress she regularly sent out 40 letters a week with no response. Determined to be famous by the age of 30, she decided the only quick route to success was to create her own captive audience. So in 1991, she invited a number of agents and producers to watch one of her own productions. The response was immediate - she was spotted by one of Mike Leigh's talent scouts and invited to audition. 'Leigh asked me all about my childhood,' she says, 'but when I told him, he didn't want me in the film.' Unfazed by the rejection, she seems much happier producing 'Casting Couch' than trying to act. 'I'm creating something and watching it come to life.'

Next to the Grafton, in the intimate Warren wine bar, producers, directors and agents perform as expected - air-kissing, networking and boozing. Although the event is aimed primarily at them, about half the audience now comes from a non-theatrical background.

Like a beauty contest compere, Townsend gives each act a personal introduction: 'Glen can sing, dance and loves comedy.' Performers stay on stage for about eight minutes, belting out a diverse range of material including Steven Berkoff, Noel Coward, Julian Barnes and Shakespeare. At some points, though, there seems to be a problem in distinguishing between the serious pieces and the humorous ones. An actor called Damon delivers a monologue by the writer Barry Keefe about his supposed mother's bowel operation. Laying on the pathos, he describes a humiliating experience involving her colostomy bag. There are a few sniggers - this could be humour at its blackest. An embarrassed silence follows as the story concludes with the mother committing suicide with a pint of bleach.

One of the more promising acts is 22-year-old Geraldine Geraghty. Tall, dark and attractive, qualities that can count for more than an Equity card in these circles, Geraghty plays a north London hairdresser gossiping about a night on the town with her mates. She receives the loudest round of applause so far.

After watching her, film producer and director Frank Scantori, resembling a larger version of Timothy Spall, believes he has 'found the right girl' for his new film. 'It saves chugging through files and CVs. This way, you know what you get.'

More than 25 per cent of Casting Couch actors will get work and another 30 per cent will be called in by agents and directors. As the show's reputation increases, so does the competition to get a place in it. Out of 150 applicants, about 80 will audition and 21 will be successful. The rest must accept, as Townsend did for so many years, standard rejections. Townsend softens the blow by encouraging unlucky applicants to enter again next time. 'We'll always give them another chance,' she says - which is probably more than an audience will.

To audition or book tickets ( pounds 7, pounds 5 conc) for the next 'Casting Couch' (12,13 Sept) contact Moira Townsend, 081-964 4043. Pager: 081-812 1755

(Photograph omitted)