I have no idea what this is for, or what it will turn into. It's just a scene I started working my way through - but obviously it is still in its pupa stage.
One day it will turn into a beautiful butterfly. Or head lice...
A Job interview:
A: So you were fired?
B: Yes.
A: From your last job.
B: That's right.
A: Because you said you had head lice?
B: That's right.
A: Did you just SAY you had head lice or -
B: Yes. I said I had head lice.
A: But did you have them?
B: I said I did.
A: I understand that but...did you actually have them? The, uh, lice?
B: Oh...no.
A: What were the circumstances?
B: Pardon?
A: Well...did you say "I have head lice" as a joke or was it an honest deception?
(Pause.)
B: An honest deception?
A: That's what I said.
(ABRUPT END)
Showing posts with label Scenes and Shorts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Scenes and Shorts. Show all posts
Friday, September 18, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
Night Windows
I wrote this piece about a year and a half ago. It's based on the painting "Night Windows" by Edward Hopper.
This is a scene I have mulled over several times, trying to get it to work. I haven't really made any revisions to it, but I think there's something in it somewhere.
(As a point of clarification, when people are looking out the window it is the image from the painting that they see. As isf they are the ones looking into the window.)
Here is the image:
NIGHT WINDOWS
(A run down room in a transient hotel. There is a single bed, rumpled having been slept in, SL. Next to it is a small nights stand and table lamp. Immediately up stage is a door. Across the room is a doorway leading to a bathroom. Upstage are two large picture windows, out of which another building is visible. It is very near and it’s windows gape open. All lights in these outside rooms are dark, however there is a dim glow just below the sight line and some shadowy movement, indicating that there may be some life in a room below.
There is also some light coming from just above, out of another window.
Underneath the window, on the floor, there is an ashtray, overflowing with dead cigarettes and some candy wrappers.
The hotel room is dark - the shapes of the furniture in the room are outlined by the dim glow of the city lights outside.
Outside the door there is the sound of a distant elevator “ding” as it reached the floor. Instantly following it are footsteps marching down the hall. They stop in front of the door. A key in the lock, the door opens.
Standing in silhouette is GWEN. She is breathing heavily as she stares into the room. She reaches for the light switch. As she does this, a door slams down the hallway followed by heavy footsteps running towards her. It is MARTIN. He stops, out of breath, behind her. GWEN turns on the lights. She is dressed as if for a party)
GWEN
Is this it?
MARTIN (Still breathing heavily)
Gwen, please…
GWEN
This is it? (Calling out) Chuck?
(Pause. No Answer.)
MARTIN
Don’t go in there, Gwen, please don’t…
GWEN
Whaddaya mean, “don’t go in”?
(GWEN takes a dramatic step into the room. She continues, looking around, leaving MARTIN by the door.)
GWEN
Huh. Doesn’t look like much.
MARTIN
It isn’t. It isn’t much at all. In fact, it’s not anything.
(GWEN laughs for a second and then cups her hand over her mouth, crying. She turns and rushes into the bathroom slamming the door.)
MARTIN
Oh, god, Gwen please don’t cry…
GWEN
Will you stop saying my name please?
MARTIN
Gw-
(GWEN opens the bathroom door)
GWEN
You shut up! Shut. Up. Stop saying my name- you’ve said it at least, what, eighteen times in the last fifteen minutes and that average has got to end here, do you understand me? Just cut it out!
MARTIN
Fine…yes.
(GWEN goes back into the bathroom. MARTIN stands for a moment and then looks heads up to the window. He peers out, lingering for a moment at the glow below. The bathroom door opens and he snaps out of it. GWEN re-appears, her eyes are read and puffy.)
GWEN
I’m going to wait for him. You should leave, probably, or something.
MARTIN
I think I should stay. I could-
GWEN
How long have you known about this place?
MARTIN
Gwe-
GWEN
I swear to god, Martin, if you say my name one more time…(A beat) Answer my question.
MARTIN
What difference could that possibly- it can make no possible difference, Gwen, how long I’ve known.
GWEN
That’s not an answer, Martin. Martin, Martin, Martin. See? I’m catching up.
(MARTIN tries to laugh, but no dice.)
GWEN
What time’s Chuck going to be here?
(MARTIN gives a reflexive look at his watch. He stares at it for a long moment.)
GWEN
Will he be alone?
(MARTIN drops his hand and looks around the room)
MARTIN
Martin?
(Holds his hand up to shush her)
MARTIN
I don’t know the answer to either of those questions. It really isn’t…it’s really not what you think it is.
GWEN
Yes…You said that. I think you should leave, Martin.
MARTIN
I think I should stay…Gwen.
(A long moment. She sits on the edge of the bed. After, what seems like an eternity:)
GWEN
Katy Dennis is a gorilla.
MARTIN
Now, she didn’t know….
GWEN
You know she did, You KNOW she did. She’s an absolute ape, that woman - always doing that (makes half a nasty face) thing with her mouth. Who invited her?
MARTIN
It wasn’t my party-
GWEN
Jeanette Larrabee, that’s who. I’d bet money.
MARTIN
You like Katy Dennis.
GWEN
I’ve always had my suspicions about her…I never said anything, but I’ve always had that sinking feeling. You know, any time I ignore that feeling, I get into trouble.
MARTIN
Feeling?
GWEN
That she's lying in wait. Did you hear her? (Imitating the unseen Katy) “Dar-ling, Andrew said he saw Chuck on 54th buying cigarettes. What do you mean that’s impossible? It’s not impossible at all. Andrew! Come here darling, tell Gwen how you saw Chuck…she simply won’t believe me.”
MARTIN
Mm-hm.
GWEN
You heard her! And at the top of her lungs, too. Gorilla.
(A beat)
GWEN
Why?
MARTIN
What’s that?
GWEN
Why on Earth do you want to stick around? Seriously, Martin, to see the bloodshed?
MARTIN
Gwen…right now, I’m not feeling too keen on explaining myself to you.
(Another beat. GWEN starts giggling, a sort of desperate giggle.)
MARTIN
What’s so funny?
GWEN
You should have sent he look on that guy’s face.
MARTIN
Yeah, well I was too busy trying to park the-what guy?
GWEN
The night manager-or whatever he is- downstairs. I said, “I’ll have the key to Chuck Kildaire’s room please.” And he said, “Well, then, Missy” -He called me “missy”, can you believe it? “Well, then missy, just who in heck are you?”
MARTIN
What’d you say?
GWEN
“His goddamn wife, that’s who.” I thought his head was going to pop.
(She laughs and then her face saddens again. A beat, she notices all the cigarettes and candy wrappers on the floor next to the window. She gets up and walks to the window. MARTIN stiffens. She stares at the mess.)
GWEN
You know it is near impossible for him to keep anything clean-(In an instant, she notices the activity in the room across the alley below. She looks at all the trash and then back out the window, putting it together) Who’s that?
MARTIN (Completely unconvincing)
Who?
(She glares at him)
GWEN
You know very well “Who.”
MARTIN
Gwen, we should be getting back. I told, Abbie I would giver her a ride home and now it’s-(He looks at his watch) well, the party’s probably over by now and what’s she gonna do?
GWEN
No one forced you to give me a ride here.
MARTIN
No one should drive your…state of mind.
GWEN
A-DOR-able. Who. Is. That? (She points out the window on “that”.)
MARTIN
I don’t know.
GWEN
Is it her?
MARTIN
No.
GWEN
Well, then WHO IS IT?
MARTIN
I told you, Gwen, I don’t know.
GWEN
What’s going on here? I deserve some answers. I find out, most unceremoniously, from Katy Dennis, of all people that perhaps I may not always know what my husband is up to. And While I thank you, truly, from the bottom of my fragile heart, for owning up about this place, beyond that you have been a complete and utter BUST in the information department.
(She looks out the window.)
GWEN
So. Does she always lounge around like that? In some skimpy pink nightgown?
(Pause. MARTIN is at a loss as GWEN stares down into the unseen room. MARTIN approaches her from behind and tentatively puts his hands on her shoulders. GWEN raises her head and turns around to look at him. A beat. She touches his cheek but almost instantly thinking better of it, retracts her hand.)
GWEN (Stepping back and away from him)
I’m starving. I didn’t get a chance to eat a thing before the, uh, explosion.
(Pause.)
MARTIN
There was a little diner around the corner…I’ll see if I can’t get something. A sandwich?
(GWEN nods and MARTIN makes his way out. The door closes and his footsteps plod down the hall. A door opens and closes in the distance and he is gone.
GWEN looks around the room, walking aimlessly. She brushes off the bed and sits in the downstage edge, bouncing a little. She looks back over at the window, confusion across her face.
After a few beats, the elevator bell rings down the hall, and footsteps march down the hall.
In a panic, GWEN lunges over to the light switch above the bed and turns it off as quietly as she can. She edges over to the head of it and sits…keeping still.
There is the sound of a key in the lock. The door swings open and light fills the room, although GWEN is still disguised in shadow. CHUCK’s silhouette stands in the doorway.)
CHUCK
Gwen?
(GWEN does not answer, but tries to pull herself up tighter. CHUCK enters and slams the door. He does not turn on the light.
CHUCK’s breathes heavily for a moment, and heads for the window. He mumbles for a beat, leaning on the sill. Pause. In one quick motion, CHUCK pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and matches. He lights one, the flame illuminating his face for a second. He shakes it out and stands, staring down though the window to the apartment below. He sighs, placing the cigarettes on the sill.
GWEN leans forward. Both of their outlines are visible, GWEN watching CHUCK, CHUCK watching the woman below. A long silence.)
CHUCK
I don’t even know her.
(GWEN knows he’s talking to her)
CHUCK
This place isn’t what you think it is. Sometimes I just have to…be away.
(GWEN does not answer. CHUCK finishes his cigarette, holds for a beat, and stamps it out. He walks to the door and opens it, light flooding the room once again. His shadow remains in the door for a beat, and then he shuts the door. His footsteps walk away from the room, down the hall. The elevator bell rings and the doors close. He is gone.
GWEN lets out a long loud breath. Gets up and moves towards the window. She picks up the cigarettes and takes one out. Lighting it. She chuckles, enjoying the moment.)
GWEN
You think you’re the only one?
(GWEN looks out the window.)
END
This is a scene I have mulled over several times, trying to get it to work. I haven't really made any revisions to it, but I think there's something in it somewhere.
(As a point of clarification, when people are looking out the window it is the image from the painting that they see. As isf they are the ones looking into the window.)
Here is the image:
NIGHT WINDOWS
(A run down room in a transient hotel. There is a single bed, rumpled having been slept in, SL. Next to it is a small nights stand and table lamp. Immediately up stage is a door. Across the room is a doorway leading to a bathroom. Upstage are two large picture windows, out of which another building is visible. It is very near and it’s windows gape open. All lights in these outside rooms are dark, however there is a dim glow just below the sight line and some shadowy movement, indicating that there may be some life in a room below.
There is also some light coming from just above, out of another window.
Underneath the window, on the floor, there is an ashtray, overflowing with dead cigarettes and some candy wrappers.
The hotel room is dark - the shapes of the furniture in the room are outlined by the dim glow of the city lights outside.
Outside the door there is the sound of a distant elevator “ding” as it reached the floor. Instantly following it are footsteps marching down the hall. They stop in front of the door. A key in the lock, the door opens.
Standing in silhouette is GWEN. She is breathing heavily as she stares into the room. She reaches for the light switch. As she does this, a door slams down the hallway followed by heavy footsteps running towards her. It is MARTIN. He stops, out of breath, behind her. GWEN turns on the lights. She is dressed as if for a party)
GWEN
Is this it?
MARTIN (Still breathing heavily)
Gwen, please…
GWEN
This is it? (Calling out) Chuck?
(Pause. No Answer.)
MARTIN
Don’t go in there, Gwen, please don’t…
GWEN
Whaddaya mean, “don’t go in”?
(GWEN takes a dramatic step into the room. She continues, looking around, leaving MARTIN by the door.)
GWEN
Huh. Doesn’t look like much.
MARTIN
It isn’t. It isn’t much at all. In fact, it’s not anything.
(GWEN laughs for a second and then cups her hand over her mouth, crying. She turns and rushes into the bathroom slamming the door.)
MARTIN
Oh, god, Gwen please don’t cry…
GWEN
Will you stop saying my name please?
MARTIN
Gw-
(GWEN opens the bathroom door)
GWEN
You shut up! Shut. Up. Stop saying my name- you’ve said it at least, what, eighteen times in the last fifteen minutes and that average has got to end here, do you understand me? Just cut it out!
MARTIN
Fine…yes.
(GWEN goes back into the bathroom. MARTIN stands for a moment and then looks heads up to the window. He peers out, lingering for a moment at the glow below. The bathroom door opens and he snaps out of it. GWEN re-appears, her eyes are read and puffy.)
GWEN
I’m going to wait for him. You should leave, probably, or something.
MARTIN
I think I should stay. I could-
GWEN
How long have you known about this place?
MARTIN
Gwe-
GWEN
I swear to god, Martin, if you say my name one more time…(A beat) Answer my question.
MARTIN
What difference could that possibly- it can make no possible difference, Gwen, how long I’ve known.
GWEN
That’s not an answer, Martin. Martin, Martin, Martin. See? I’m catching up.
(MARTIN tries to laugh, but no dice.)
GWEN
What time’s Chuck going to be here?
(MARTIN gives a reflexive look at his watch. He stares at it for a long moment.)
GWEN
Will he be alone?
(MARTIN drops his hand and looks around the room)
MARTIN
Martin?
(Holds his hand up to shush her)
MARTIN
I don’t know the answer to either of those questions. It really isn’t…it’s really not what you think it is.
GWEN
Yes…You said that. I think you should leave, Martin.
MARTIN
I think I should stay…Gwen.
(A long moment. She sits on the edge of the bed. After, what seems like an eternity:)
GWEN
Katy Dennis is a gorilla.
MARTIN
Now, she didn’t know….
GWEN
You know she did, You KNOW she did. She’s an absolute ape, that woman - always doing that (makes half a nasty face) thing with her mouth. Who invited her?
MARTIN
It wasn’t my party-
GWEN
Jeanette Larrabee, that’s who. I’d bet money.
MARTIN
You like Katy Dennis.
GWEN
I’ve always had my suspicions about her…I never said anything, but I’ve always had that sinking feeling. You know, any time I ignore that feeling, I get into trouble.
MARTIN
Feeling?
GWEN
That she's lying in wait. Did you hear her? (Imitating the unseen Katy) “Dar-ling, Andrew said he saw Chuck on 54th buying cigarettes. What do you mean that’s impossible? It’s not impossible at all. Andrew! Come here darling, tell Gwen how you saw Chuck…she simply won’t believe me.”
MARTIN
Mm-hm.
GWEN
You heard her! And at the top of her lungs, too. Gorilla.
(A beat)
GWEN
Why?
MARTIN
What’s that?
GWEN
Why on Earth do you want to stick around? Seriously, Martin, to see the bloodshed?
MARTIN
Gwen…right now, I’m not feeling too keen on explaining myself to you.
(Another beat. GWEN starts giggling, a sort of desperate giggle.)
MARTIN
What’s so funny?
GWEN
You should have sent he look on that guy’s face.
MARTIN
Yeah, well I was too busy trying to park the-what guy?
GWEN
The night manager-or whatever he is- downstairs. I said, “I’ll have the key to Chuck Kildaire’s room please.” And he said, “Well, then, Missy” -He called me “missy”, can you believe it? “Well, then missy, just who in heck are you?”
MARTIN
What’d you say?
GWEN
“His goddamn wife, that’s who.” I thought his head was going to pop.
(She laughs and then her face saddens again. A beat, she notices all the cigarettes and candy wrappers on the floor next to the window. She gets up and walks to the window. MARTIN stiffens. She stares at the mess.)
GWEN
You know it is near impossible for him to keep anything clean-(In an instant, she notices the activity in the room across the alley below. She looks at all the trash and then back out the window, putting it together) Who’s that?
MARTIN (Completely unconvincing)
Who?
(She glares at him)
GWEN
You know very well “Who.”
MARTIN
Gwen, we should be getting back. I told, Abbie I would giver her a ride home and now it’s-(He looks at his watch) well, the party’s probably over by now and what’s she gonna do?
GWEN
No one forced you to give me a ride here.
MARTIN
No one should drive your…state of mind.
GWEN
A-DOR-able. Who. Is. That? (She points out the window on “that”.)
MARTIN
I don’t know.
GWEN
Is it her?
MARTIN
No.
GWEN
Well, then WHO IS IT?
MARTIN
I told you, Gwen, I don’t know.
GWEN
What’s going on here? I deserve some answers. I find out, most unceremoniously, from Katy Dennis, of all people that perhaps I may not always know what my husband is up to. And While I thank you, truly, from the bottom of my fragile heart, for owning up about this place, beyond that you have been a complete and utter BUST in the information department.
(She looks out the window.)
GWEN
So. Does she always lounge around like that? In some skimpy pink nightgown?
(Pause. MARTIN is at a loss as GWEN stares down into the unseen room. MARTIN approaches her from behind and tentatively puts his hands on her shoulders. GWEN raises her head and turns around to look at him. A beat. She touches his cheek but almost instantly thinking better of it, retracts her hand.)
GWEN (Stepping back and away from him)
I’m starving. I didn’t get a chance to eat a thing before the, uh, explosion.
(Pause.)
MARTIN
There was a little diner around the corner…I’ll see if I can’t get something. A sandwich?
(GWEN nods and MARTIN makes his way out. The door closes and his footsteps plod down the hall. A door opens and closes in the distance and he is gone.
GWEN looks around the room, walking aimlessly. She brushes off the bed and sits in the downstage edge, bouncing a little. She looks back over at the window, confusion across her face.
After a few beats, the elevator bell rings down the hall, and footsteps march down the hall.
In a panic, GWEN lunges over to the light switch above the bed and turns it off as quietly as she can. She edges over to the head of it and sits…keeping still.
There is the sound of a key in the lock. The door swings open and light fills the room, although GWEN is still disguised in shadow. CHUCK’s silhouette stands in the doorway.)
CHUCK
Gwen?
(GWEN does not answer, but tries to pull herself up tighter. CHUCK enters and slams the door. He does not turn on the light.
CHUCK’s breathes heavily for a moment, and heads for the window. He mumbles for a beat, leaning on the sill. Pause. In one quick motion, CHUCK pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and matches. He lights one, the flame illuminating his face for a second. He shakes it out and stands, staring down though the window to the apartment below. He sighs, placing the cigarettes on the sill.
GWEN leans forward. Both of their outlines are visible, GWEN watching CHUCK, CHUCK watching the woman below. A long silence.)
CHUCK
I don’t even know her.
(GWEN knows he’s talking to her)
CHUCK
This place isn’t what you think it is. Sometimes I just have to…be away.
(GWEN does not answer. CHUCK finishes his cigarette, holds for a beat, and stamps it out. He walks to the door and opens it, light flooding the room once again. His shadow remains in the door for a beat, and then he shuts the door. His footsteps walk away from the room, down the hall. The elevator bell rings and the doors close. He is gone.
GWEN lets out a long loud breath. Gets up and moves towards the window. She picks up the cigarettes and takes one out. Lighting it. She chuckles, enjoying the moment.)
GWEN
You think you’re the only one?
(GWEN looks out the window.)
END
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Slayed - The Continuation
The assignment for my writing group this month was to continue the scene begun last month. Here is the continuation. If you'd like to read it from the beginning, click here.
WARNNG: There is aggressive language used throughout. If this bothers you click here.
(Note: Amelia is 15, Gordie is 16 and Bess is 9.)
BESS
(To GORDIE, smashing the ice pack to the
floor, standing)
Shut up you fucking' retard before I come over there
and beat the shit out of you and your little hot dog
again.
GORDIE
(Rising, rushing BESS)
You little mongoloid!
BESS gang rushes GORDIE. He grabs her by the arms
and picks her up. She kicks him in the thighs
over and over again, screaming "YOU FUCKING
RETARD." GORDIE rears back a hand to punch her in
the face when PRINCIPAL BRUCE swings the door to
his office open and lurches for the feuding
twosome.
PRINCIPAL BRUCE is a balding man in his
mid-forties, and terrified. He swats at them to
break it up - holding his face away to guard it
from impact.
PRINCIPAL BRUCE
Enough! E-NOUGH!
He shoves GORDIE to the floor and picks BESS up as
if she is made of razor blades. He tosses her in
the chair, swipes up the ice pack and hands it to
BESS without looking at her.
After a moment to compose himself:
PRINCIPAL BRUCE
I am very disappointed in you. Very disappointed. You
told me - no, promised - no more of this, this -
right. You made a promise. I can see now that your
promises mean nothing.
AMELIA snorts.
PRINCIPAL BRUCE
(Turning on her)
Now you lookahere, Miss Priss. You're not in here for nothing.
So, why don't you wipe that face off your face and -
A door opens and closes in the distance. There
are some official sounding mumblings from off.
Principle Bruce perks up and watches with
interest.
PRINCIPAL BRUCE
(Distant, looking off)
Now lets all settle down.
A moment as the offstage office equipment keens
softly.
After a beat, JAKE SPADE enters, late 30's,
attractive and no nonsense. Principal Bruce backs
up as he enters and takes charge of the room.
Amelia stands and runs into Jake's arms. Gordie
grabs the rip in his pants on instinct.
JAKE
Hi there, Peanut. Not now -
(To Principal Bruce)
Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on out here?
Are you out of your mind to drag me all the way out of
work? Can't this wait? Can't you send a note? You
think I'm made out of time, here?
(To Gordie)
What the fuck happened to your pants? Think I'm made out
of money, here? That's the third pair of pants in a
month, Gordie, Jesus.
GORDIE
It wasn't-
JAKE
Your fault. Uh-huh. I know. Never is.
GORDIE
But-
JAKE
Why don't you shut up and let the grown ups talk.
(To Principal Bruce)
So what is it? What is so of-the-essence that I have
to get my hands dirty?
Principal Bruce glances back at Bess. They all
turn to look at her. Bess is sitting and rocking
the force of her breath causing her to sway. Her
feral eyes glare at Jake.
A beat.
JAKE
The fuck is that?
PRINCIPAL BRUCE
Bess Hart, Mr. Spade. We had an...inci- incident
today. In the parking lot.
JAKE
And..?
PRINCIPAL BRUCE
As you can see, she's-
AMELIA
Gordie beat the shit out of her.
Jake turns to look at Amelia.
GORDIE
WHUT? Oh, come ON!
JAKE
What's that, Peanut?
AMELIA
Gordie did it. He beat her up.
GORDIE
You told me to.
AMELIA
I don't know what you're talking about.
GORDIE
Yeah, you DO, Amelia! You told me to. Wouldn't leave
me alone.
AMELIA
Well, if you weren't being such a pussy-
GORDIE
Watcher mouth, Amelia!
JAKE
ENOUGH.
(All fall silent)
Gordie, I don't want to hear another WORD OUT OF YOUR MOUTH.
(To Principal Bruce, who is about to fall apart himself)
What can we do here? What is this - what? What can we do
here?
From off there is more official mumbling. After a moment,
KAY and PATRICK HART enter. They are in their
late 30's both are worn completely out. They stop
short when they enter. Kay surveys the scene.
Patrick looks at Jake.
PATRICK
Jake.
JAKE
Pat. Kay.
KAY
Jake. Principal Bruce.
Patrick breezes past everyone and into the
Principal's office. Kay makes a b-line for Bess and
sits next to her. They look at each other for a
moment, Kay pushes Bess' matted hair from her
eyes. Kay's presence calms Bess and she smiles up
at her mother.
KAY
(with reserve)
Who did this?
Everyone looks at Gordie.
GORDIE
WHUT?! Oh, Come ON.
JAKE
(Placing Amelia back in her chair)
Wait out here, Peanut.
(grasping Gordie's arm)
You get in here, now.
Principal Bruce scurries into his office and Kay
stands to follow. Bess waits. Everyone but
Amelia and Bess move off to the office.
AMELIA
(Standing)
I'm not staying out here with her!
JAKE
(from off)
You stay put, Peanut.
AMELIA
Are you crazy?
JAKE
I mean it! Or no credit card for a week. Sit tight.
The door closes and Amelia and Bess are left out
in the office lobby. Silence.
Muffled conversation can occasionally be heard
through the office door. The volume might raise
and lower as the scene progresses.
A long beat.
Bess stands, black eye covered in the ice pack
and points her gaze at Amelia. Amelia stairs at
the end of her shoe.
Bess takes a slow step towards Amelia.
Amelia hums tunelessly.
Bess takes a second step.
Amelia sniffs.
Bess takes a third step.
AMELIA
One more inch towards me and I'll do worse to you than
my retard brother ever could.
A beat.
Bess takes a fourth step.
Amelia jerks her head up to look at Bess.
AMELIA
You better not.
BESS
Already did. You're a cuntless wonder.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Conversations Have I Imagined
(NOTE: None of these were actually overheard. They are what occurs to me when I see couples, singles, or triples standing outside smoking cigarettes on Michigan avenue or strolling through the park. Sometimes, the conversations are what's being said ABOUT them.)
GREG: Did you see Adam wearing those white sunglasses?
JEFF: White sunglasses?
GREG: Yeah, he had' em on today. What a dork.
JEFF: (sluggish laugh) Heh. Right.
GREG: I bet he doesn't even know what a dork he looks like - walking around like he's all pimp or whatever.
JEFF: Heeeyeah.
GREG: Pathetic.
(A beat. JEFF drinks a sip of coffee)
JEFF: So where do you think he got 'em?
GREG: What?
JEFF: The sunglasses.
GREG: Like I would know where he got that poser shit.
(A beat.)
JEFF: Right.
*************************************************
JESSICA: I love Lynne to DEATH, right, but I wish she'd quit hinting about her hysterectomy to we have to ASK about it.
MINDY: I know, right?
*************************************************
A: I'm sorry.
B: Huh, Isn't that the big "Oh, well" of the universe.
*************************************************
ANDREA: God, I'm so bored.
JIM: We can do something, if you want.
(ANDREA lets out a long. protracted. sigh.)
*************************************************
(The three of them, out in a field at night. They are young-ish. GABE and ANNE are on bikes. LISA is quite a way from them. GABE has ANNE by the arm.)
GABE: Ride over to my apartment with me.
ANNE: What...stop it. Lisa's right there.
GABE: Do you care if she sees you ride to my place?
(LISA turns and calls from afar, GABE pulls his had away.)
LISA: Are you guys coming or what?
ANNE: Hang on! (To GABE, hushed.) It's a Monday night. I can't ride over to your place. I think Lisa likes you.
(GABE's looks at the ground.)
GABE: Yeah. I know.
LISA: GAWD, you GUYS...come ON! Whateryou in lerve or something.
(GABE sighs and pedals his bike away from ANNE.)
GABE: Keep your pants on...we're coming.
(He pedals forward. Not looking back at ANNE. She huffs at herself, shakes her head and pedals forward at a slower pace.)
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
The Dramatic Situation
The following is a product of my writing group's assignment from a couple of months ago:
My dramatic situation: Slaying of kin unrecognized
My Cards:
Scene 1
The outside of a Principal’s office which hasn’t
been redecorated since 1984. The carpet is beige
and matches the foam cushions on square chairs
arranged against the walls. Photos of previous
principals hang around the room across the walls -
equally as beige as the carpet and cushions.
AMELIA, 15, and GORDIE, 16 sit in across from each
other. AMELIA is dressed in a trendy skirt and
shirt and wearing makeup. GORDIE’s pants are
ripped at the thigh, one long opening.
At the far end of the room, bloody, bruised and
holding an ice pack to her face is BESS, 9. Her
knees are scraped and lip is bleeding. She sits
with out saying a word, glaring at AMELIA and then
back at GORDIE.
There is the sound of an office beyond - Telephone
bells jangle, the rhythmic whir of of a copier
(which, when heard on repeat, delivers the audio
illusion,"Oooh, why?"), muffled conversations by
female voices.
Except for this there is a long silence between
the children.
GORDIE crosses his legs and at once the rip in his
trousers gapes open, revealing the bottom of his
boxer shorts covered with cartoon
snowmen. Judging by the clothes of the three, it
might be Early Summer. AMELIA makes a scoffing
sound and rolls her eyes away. GORDIE takes his
hand and gathers the two side of the rip together.
AMELIA shakes her head with displeasure.
A beat.
AMELIA
(With sudden force)
At some point, you have to defend yourself.
GORDIE
Uh-huh.
AMELIA
How many times does does someone get all, like, up in
your face and everything like that before you have to
defend yourself?
GORDIE shrugs.
AMELIA
Like, how MANY?
GORDIE
I don’t KNOW, what are you-
AMELIA
Just asking a question. I was just talking out loud,
or whatever.
GORDIE
Talk in your head. Leave me alone.
AMELIA
Seriously, like, what was it like fifteen or sixteen
times? Right? Like how often are you gonna-
GORDIE
(Letting out a huge sigh)
Come ON. There’s no...uh, what, form-las, Amelia. I
mean, JEsus. Shut up, will ya?
AMELIA
YOU shut up, god.
(A beat.)
What’s a form-las, anyway?
GORDIE
Huh?
AMELIA
You said "form-las".
GORDIE
(through his teeth)
I meant to say FormUlas. It came out wrong.
AMELIA
Whatever, you’re probably retarded.
GORDIE
God, will you leave me AY-LONE. I’m not retarded.
AMELIA
Liz said you were.
GORDIE
No.
AMELIA
(looking at her fingernails, picking)
Yuh-huh, she did. She said you were retarded. She
works in the office, like, during fourth period and she
saw your IQ in your file. Said it was, like 20 or
something.
BESS makes a snorting laugh.
AMELIA
I think you can shut your face, you little bitch.
BESS glares at AMELIA. If possible, BESS’s nose
begins to bleed but she makes no effort to stop
it.
AMELIA
Oh. My. God. Do you SEE her?
GORDIE does not acknowledge either of them.
AMELIA
GORdie.
GORDIE
What? GOD.
AMELIA
(To Bess)
You should wipe your nose or something. You want to be
clean when they come to take you away, you know that?
If they see you’re all gross they won’t even do
anything, like medical, or anything. They’ll probably
just spray you with a hose and then put you in a room
somewhere.
A beat. BESS moves the ice pack to reveal a
sizable black eye. The ice cubes make a sloshing
sound inside the pack. She wipes her nose on her
sleeve, in one slow movement, her eyes one the
floor.
BESS
My parents are coming to get me.
AMELIA
Whatever. Like you even know what parents are.
BESS
They are, too.
AMELIA
PUH-leeze. Even if you did have parents to come an get
you, they’re probably all high on glue or something
stupid like that...or spray paint.
BESS
You don’t know anything.
AMELIA
I know a LOTSA things.
BESS
You don’t know shit about dick.
GORDIE
Watcher mouth-
BESS
(To GORDIE, smashing the ice pack to the
floor, standing)
Shut up you fucking’ retard before I come over there
and beat the shit out of you and your little hot dog
again.
GORDIE
(Rising rushing BESS)
You little mongoloid!
BESS gang rushes GORDIE. He grabs her by the arms
and picks her up. She kicks him in the thighs
over and over again, screaming "YOU FUCKING
RETARD." GORDIE rears back a hand to punch her in
the face when PRINCIPAL BRUCE swings the door to
his office open and lurches for the feuding
twosome.
PRINCIPAL BRUCE is a balding man in his
mid-forites, and terrified. He swats at them to
break it up - holding his face away to guard it
from impact.
PRINCIPAL BRUCE
Enough! E-NOUGH!
He shoves GORDIE to the floor and picks BESS up as
if she is made of razor blades. He tosses her in
the chair, swipes up the ice pack and hands it to
BESS without looking at her.
After a moment to compose himself:
PRINCIPAL BRUCE
I am very disappointed in you. Very disappointed. You
told me - no, promised - no more of this, this -
right. You made a promise. I can see now that your
promises mean nothing.
AMELIA snorts.
This is as far as I've gotten. I'm planning on continuing. I'll post future revisions here.
Everyone was given 2-4 playing cards and one of Polti's 36 dramatic situations in an envelope. Using the cards as status write a scene in which the given dramatic situation occurs. You may also use the imagery on the cards to inform the characters.
For example:
You were given a Queen of Spades, A 2 of Diamonds, and a 10 of Hearts. Your situation was Abduction.
You might write a scene in which a mail clerk who just got laid off (2 of diamonds) and divorced dad (10 of hearts) kidnap the mayor's wife (the Queen of spades).
You don't have to use all the cards. Please write to the end of continuing the scene past the first few minutes.
My dramatic situation: Slaying of kin unrecognized
My Cards:
Scene 1
The outside of a Principal’s office which hasn’t
been redecorated since 1984. The carpet is beige
and matches the foam cushions on square chairs
arranged against the walls. Photos of previous
principals hang around the room across the walls -
equally as beige as the carpet and cushions.
AMELIA, 15, and GORDIE, 16 sit in across from each
other. AMELIA is dressed in a trendy skirt and
shirt and wearing makeup. GORDIE’s pants are
ripped at the thigh, one long opening.
At the far end of the room, bloody, bruised and
holding an ice pack to her face is BESS, 9. Her
knees are scraped and lip is bleeding. She sits
with out saying a word, glaring at AMELIA and then
back at GORDIE.
There is the sound of an office beyond - Telephone
bells jangle, the rhythmic whir of of a copier
(which, when heard on repeat, delivers the audio
illusion,"Oooh, why?"), muffled conversations by
female voices.
Except for this there is a long silence between
the children.
GORDIE crosses his legs and at once the rip in his
trousers gapes open, revealing the bottom of his
boxer shorts covered with cartoon
snowmen. Judging by the clothes of the three, it
might be Early Summer. AMELIA makes a scoffing
sound and rolls her eyes away. GORDIE takes his
hand and gathers the two side of the rip together.
AMELIA shakes her head with displeasure.
A beat.
AMELIA
(With sudden force)
At some point, you have to defend yourself.
GORDIE
Uh-huh.
AMELIA
How many times does does someone get all, like, up in
your face and everything like that before you have to
defend yourself?
GORDIE shrugs.
AMELIA
Like, how MANY?
GORDIE
I don’t KNOW, what are you-
AMELIA
Just asking a question. I was just talking out loud,
or whatever.
GORDIE
Talk in your head. Leave me alone.
AMELIA
Seriously, like, what was it like fifteen or sixteen
times? Right? Like how often are you gonna-
GORDIE
(Letting out a huge sigh)
Come ON. There’s no...uh, what, form-las, Amelia. I
mean, JEsus. Shut up, will ya?
AMELIA
YOU shut up, god.
(A beat.)
What’s a form-las, anyway?
GORDIE
Huh?
AMELIA
You said "form-las".
GORDIE
(through his teeth)
I meant to say FormUlas. It came out wrong.
AMELIA
Whatever, you’re probably retarded.
GORDIE
God, will you leave me AY-LONE. I’m not retarded.
AMELIA
Liz said you were.
GORDIE
No.
AMELIA
(looking at her fingernails, picking)
Yuh-huh, she did. She said you were retarded. She
works in the office, like, during fourth period and she
saw your IQ in your file. Said it was, like 20 or
something.
BESS makes a snorting laugh.
AMELIA
I think you can shut your face, you little bitch.
BESS glares at AMELIA. If possible, BESS’s nose
begins to bleed but she makes no effort to stop
it.
AMELIA
Oh. My. God. Do you SEE her?
GORDIE does not acknowledge either of them.
AMELIA
GORdie.
GORDIE
What? GOD.
AMELIA
(To Bess)
You should wipe your nose or something. You want to be
clean when they come to take you away, you know that?
If they see you’re all gross they won’t even do
anything, like medical, or anything. They’ll probably
just spray you with a hose and then put you in a room
somewhere.
A beat. BESS moves the ice pack to reveal a
sizable black eye. The ice cubes make a sloshing
sound inside the pack. She wipes her nose on her
sleeve, in one slow movement, her eyes one the
floor.
BESS
My parents are coming to get me.
AMELIA
Whatever. Like you even know what parents are.
BESS
They are, too.
AMELIA
PUH-leeze. Even if you did have parents to come an get
you, they’re probably all high on glue or something
stupid like that...or spray paint.
BESS
You don’t know anything.
AMELIA
I know a LOTSA things.
BESS
You don’t know shit about dick.
GORDIE
Watcher mouth-
BESS
(To GORDIE, smashing the ice pack to the
floor, standing)
Shut up you fucking’ retard before I come over there
and beat the shit out of you and your little hot dog
again.
GORDIE
(Rising rushing BESS)
You little mongoloid!
BESS gang rushes GORDIE. He grabs her by the arms
and picks her up. She kicks him in the thighs
over and over again, screaming "YOU FUCKING
RETARD." GORDIE rears back a hand to punch her in
the face when PRINCIPAL BRUCE swings the door to
his office open and lurches for the feuding
twosome.
PRINCIPAL BRUCE is a balding man in his
mid-forites, and terrified. He swats at them to
break it up - holding his face away to guard it
from impact.
PRINCIPAL BRUCE
Enough! E-NOUGH!
He shoves GORDIE to the floor and picks BESS up as
if she is made of razor blades. He tosses her in
the chair, swipes up the ice pack and hands it to
BESS without looking at her.
After a moment to compose himself:
PRINCIPAL BRUCE
I am very disappointed in you. Very disappointed. You
told me - no, promised - no more of this, this -
right. You made a promise. I can see now that your
promises mean nothing.
AMELIA snorts.
This is as far as I've gotten. I'm planning on continuing. I'll post future revisions here.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Hopper
This fall, my theater company will be producing a show based on the works of Edward Hopper (Most famous for Nighthawks, 1942). We put the idea on the back burner for a bit but have now reinstated our efforts.
Below is a piece I wrote in the initial spate of writing meetings, based on the painting Chair Car, 1965.
CHAIR CAR
LOIS, Early 30’s
VERBENA, Early 30’s
(The common area of a passenger train, early afternoon. There are four people in the car: A Man sitting at the fore, looking out the opposite window from the chair in which he sits, a woman in a hat who cannot seem to take her eyes off the Man’s right ear, VERBENA, sitting further back still, and LOIS. LOIS is sitting with her back turned to the window, reading a dog-eared paperback book. At times the book itself appears to frustrate her. She huffs out one or two agitated sighs, closing the book and turning it over to look at the back cover. When she has finished eyeballing it with displeasure, she turns back to where she left off with a rough flip.
When she flips back she consistently returns to a page where the spine has cracked a bit from wear as if that page has been read over and over. It is not the page she’s reading and having to hit it every time she goes back to looking at the book, increases her agitation.
VERBENA is watching this. Her chair is turned halfway towards LOIS. She is trying, with little success, to observe LOIS with a covert nonchalance. LOIS is at first unaware of this, but during one of her scolding glances at the back of the book, she catches a glimpse of VERBENA turned almost directly her way. Their eyes meet for half a second and VERBENA swivels back around to face front. LOIS remains fixed on VERBENA for a beat, and then returns to her book.
VERBENA tries a few more times to look directly at LOIS and LOIS is ever more aware of VERBENA’s intrusion.
The sound of the train thumping and clacking over the tracks is heard throughout.
Finally, catching VERBENA in another stare, LOIS has had enough.)
LOIS
Excuse me.
(VERBENA swerves back around forward in her chair.)
LOIS
Excuse me…you there.
(A beat. VERBENA turns back to view LOIS at a turtle’s pace. LOIS waits.)
VERBENA
Hi.
LOIS
Uh-huh…Hello…can I help you with something?
VERBENA
I, uh…I don’t kno-
LOIS
No, no, no…you’ve been turning your chair and looking over at me. I’ve seen it.
(A long beat. VERBENA just looks at LOIS.)
LOIS
I’ve seen you doing it. You can’t pretend here, because I’ve seen you.
(VERBENA furrows her brow.)
VERBENA
You don’t have to be so upset.
LOIS
I’m not upset.
VERBENA
You sound like you are.
LOIS
I’m not.
(Pause.)
LOIS
I just want to know what’s going on here.
VERBENA
Nothing.
LOIS
Then why are you looking at me?
(Pause. VERBENA mulls it over and then:)
VERBENA
I was looking at your book.
LOIS
That’s it?
VERBENA
Yes…I was wondering what you were reading. I can’t help it. I’m always looking at what other people are reading, on the train, on the subway.
LOIS
You could have just said that, without going through all the- (She makes a circling motion with her finger.) You can say “Excuse me, what are you reading?”
VERBENA
Excuse me, what are you reading?
LOIS
Exactly, just like that.
VERBENA (Shy laugh)
No…I’m really asking.
(LOIS lets out a humorless snort.)
LOIS
Oh.
(LOIS closes the book and looks at its cover.)
LOIS
“Pictures of the Gone World” by Lawrence Finger-letty.
VERBENA
Oh.
LOIS
Pretty depressing name, if you ask me.
VERBENA
How come?
LOIS
Well, it just sounds so damn melancholy, doesn’t it? Poets these days have to make everything sound like it’s the end of the world.
VERBENA
You don’t go in for poetry too much.
LOIS
Sure I do. I can’t get enough of the stuff.
(VERBENA is incredulous)
VERBENA
Really? You don’t seem-
LOIS
I like it as much as the next gal, with a bunch of roses and a box of chocolates, but honestly…it’s when these fellas get all (makes a circling motion with her finger by her head) you know, it gets to be a bit much for me.
(A long beat. LOIS, assuming the conversation is at a comfortable parting lull, opens the book.)
VERBENA
It’s Ferlinghetti.
LOIS
What’s that?
VERBENA
It’s Ferlinghetti. That’s how you say his last name.
LOIS
So?
VERBENA
You said “Finger-letty.”
LOIS
No I didn’t.
VERBENA
I heard you.
LOIS
I said “Finger-letty.”
VERBENA
Yes…and that’s not right.
LOIS (Shrugging)
Who cares?
(VERBENA is silent. LOIS tries to open the book again)
VERBENA
Where did you get it?
(LOIS is visibly annoyed)
LOIS
Get what? This?
VERBENA
The book.
LOIS
What difference does it make?
VERBENA
I just want to know where you got it.
LOIS
Right and I want to know what difference it makes.
VERBENA
I know it’s strange…
LOIS
You’re tellin’ me?
VERBENA
I used to have that book. Used to own it.
LOIS
Uh-huh.
VERBENA
So, I just wanted to know where you got it.
(LOIS pulls the book towards her.)
LOIS
This is my book.
VERBENA
I know.
LOIS
It was a present to me.
VERBENA
Mine was too…a present.
LOIS
But this one was a present to me…from a friend.
(Pause.)
VERBENA
They must not know you very well.
LOIS
What the hell kinda thing is that to say? And to a total stranger?
VERBENA
I didn’t mean to-
LOIS
Oh yes, you did! (The Woman with the hat turns her head and looks at them. LOIS Sees this and evens her tone.) Yes, you did…what other possible reason could you have to say such a thing? You most assuredly did mean to-(Makes a circling motion with her finger, completing her thought.)
(There is a long silence as LOIS and VERBENA look at one another. LOIS slowly sits back in her seat and swivels it away from VERBENA.)
VERBENA
May I see it?
LOIS
No.
VERBENA
Why not?
LOIS
You can’t be serious.
VERBENA
I only want to see something and then I’ll give it right back.
LOIS
No.
VERBENA
You have my word.
LOIS
Of all the childish- (She swivels back around) Tell me what it is and I’ll look at it for you.
VERBENA
That’s not the same thing.
LOIS
You’re right…it’s not.
VERBENA
Please…I just want to see-
LOIS
See what?
VERBENA
That’s my business.
LOIS
And this book is my business.
(Pause. VERBENA is growing more desperate.)
VERBENA
It looks like it was my book. It looks just like it.
LOIS
Well, it’s not your book. It’s my book.
VERBENA
But it looks like-
LOIS
There are about a thousand of these books around, how could you possibly, out of all the copies of this goddamn book there are in the world, think that this one is yours?
VERBENA
It’s got the same-
LOIS
The same-
VERBENA
The same, I don’t know the same marks on it. It folds back the same way…and there (she points) I can see where I colored in the “O” in “gone” with a pen. I had it on my desk and I was just, you know, on the telephone and I colored it in. It was a stupid thing to do…I felt like I ruined it a little. I used to carry it around with me. Everywhere. It was a present from- (she stops short of saying his name) we were going to get married, he told me. Or run away, he said. He gave it to me and in the front he wrote- something silly, really. A sweet nothing. And afterwards, after he was gone…the book went missing. I probably left it somewhere, that’s what I thought. But it was a present…to me. And I just want to see if maybe…what he wrote….
(A beat. The train has slowed down and the conductor announces the stop that’s coming up)
LOIS
This isn’t your book.
VERBENA
But…can I look?
LOIS
This is mine. It was a gift to me.
VERBENA
I just want to see.
LOIS
It’s mine.
VERBENA
Just for a second…
(The train has stopped. LOIS stands up.)
VERBENA
Please, before you go. Can I see?
(A long beat. The Man and the Woman in the train car get up and exit. LOIS stands for a beat. In one quick motion she whips the book to the front page and hold it up for VERBENA to see. VERBENA looks at it for a beat and takes in a sharp breath. Then, just as swiftly as she opened it, LOIS slams the book shut and stuffs it into her handbag. She marches out of the train, leaving VERBENA alone.)
END
Below is a piece I wrote in the initial spate of writing meetings, based on the painting Chair Car, 1965.
CHAIR CAR
LOIS, Early 30’s
VERBENA, Early 30’s
(The common area of a passenger train, early afternoon. There are four people in the car: A Man sitting at the fore, looking out the opposite window from the chair in which he sits, a woman in a hat who cannot seem to take her eyes off the Man’s right ear, VERBENA, sitting further back still, and LOIS. LOIS is sitting with her back turned to the window, reading a dog-eared paperback book. At times the book itself appears to frustrate her. She huffs out one or two agitated sighs, closing the book and turning it over to look at the back cover. When she has finished eyeballing it with displeasure, she turns back to where she left off with a rough flip.
When she flips back she consistently returns to a page where the spine has cracked a bit from wear as if that page has been read over and over. It is not the page she’s reading and having to hit it every time she goes back to looking at the book, increases her agitation.
VERBENA is watching this. Her chair is turned halfway towards LOIS. She is trying, with little success, to observe LOIS with a covert nonchalance. LOIS is at first unaware of this, but during one of her scolding glances at the back of the book, she catches a glimpse of VERBENA turned almost directly her way. Their eyes meet for half a second and VERBENA swivels back around to face front. LOIS remains fixed on VERBENA for a beat, and then returns to her book.
VERBENA tries a few more times to look directly at LOIS and LOIS is ever more aware of VERBENA’s intrusion.
The sound of the train thumping and clacking over the tracks is heard throughout.
Finally, catching VERBENA in another stare, LOIS has had enough.)
LOIS
Excuse me.
(VERBENA swerves back around forward in her chair.)
LOIS
Excuse me…you there.
(A beat. VERBENA turns back to view LOIS at a turtle’s pace. LOIS waits.)
VERBENA
Hi.
LOIS
Uh-huh…Hello…can I help you with something?
VERBENA
I, uh…I don’t kno-
LOIS
No, no, no…you’ve been turning your chair and looking over at me. I’ve seen it.
(A long beat. VERBENA just looks at LOIS.)
LOIS
I’ve seen you doing it. You can’t pretend here, because I’ve seen you.
(VERBENA furrows her brow.)
VERBENA
You don’t have to be so upset.
LOIS
I’m not upset.
VERBENA
You sound like you are.
LOIS
I’m not.
(Pause.)
LOIS
I just want to know what’s going on here.
VERBENA
Nothing.
LOIS
Then why are you looking at me?
(Pause. VERBENA mulls it over and then:)
VERBENA
I was looking at your book.
LOIS
That’s it?
VERBENA
Yes…I was wondering what you were reading. I can’t help it. I’m always looking at what other people are reading, on the train, on the subway.
LOIS
You could have just said that, without going through all the- (She makes a circling motion with her finger.) You can say “Excuse me, what are you reading?”
VERBENA
Excuse me, what are you reading?
LOIS
Exactly, just like that.
VERBENA (Shy laugh)
No…I’m really asking.
(LOIS lets out a humorless snort.)
LOIS
Oh.
(LOIS closes the book and looks at its cover.)
LOIS
“Pictures of the Gone World” by Lawrence Finger-letty.
VERBENA
Oh.
LOIS
Pretty depressing name, if you ask me.
VERBENA
How come?
LOIS
Well, it just sounds so damn melancholy, doesn’t it? Poets these days have to make everything sound like it’s the end of the world.
VERBENA
You don’t go in for poetry too much.
LOIS
Sure I do. I can’t get enough of the stuff.
(VERBENA is incredulous)
VERBENA
Really? You don’t seem-
LOIS
I like it as much as the next gal, with a bunch of roses and a box of chocolates, but honestly…it’s when these fellas get all (makes a circling motion with her finger by her head) you know, it gets to be a bit much for me.
(A long beat. LOIS, assuming the conversation is at a comfortable parting lull, opens the book.)
VERBENA
It’s Ferlinghetti.
LOIS
What’s that?
VERBENA
It’s Ferlinghetti. That’s how you say his last name.
LOIS
So?
VERBENA
You said “Finger-letty.”
LOIS
No I didn’t.
VERBENA
I heard you.
LOIS
I said “Finger-letty.”
VERBENA
Yes…and that’s not right.
LOIS (Shrugging)
Who cares?
(VERBENA is silent. LOIS tries to open the book again)
VERBENA
Where did you get it?
(LOIS is visibly annoyed)
LOIS
Get what? This?
VERBENA
The book.
LOIS
What difference does it make?
VERBENA
I just want to know where you got it.
LOIS
Right and I want to know what difference it makes.
VERBENA
I know it’s strange…
LOIS
You’re tellin’ me?
VERBENA
I used to have that book. Used to own it.
LOIS
Uh-huh.
VERBENA
So, I just wanted to know where you got it.
(LOIS pulls the book towards her.)
LOIS
This is my book.
VERBENA
I know.
LOIS
It was a present to me.
VERBENA
Mine was too…a present.
LOIS
But this one was a present to me…from a friend.
(Pause.)
VERBENA
They must not know you very well.
LOIS
What the hell kinda thing is that to say? And to a total stranger?
VERBENA
I didn’t mean to-
LOIS
Oh yes, you did! (The Woman with the hat turns her head and looks at them. LOIS Sees this and evens her tone.) Yes, you did…what other possible reason could you have to say such a thing? You most assuredly did mean to-(Makes a circling motion with her finger, completing her thought.)
(There is a long silence as LOIS and VERBENA look at one another. LOIS slowly sits back in her seat and swivels it away from VERBENA.)
VERBENA
May I see it?
LOIS
No.
VERBENA
Why not?
LOIS
You can’t be serious.
VERBENA
I only want to see something and then I’ll give it right back.
LOIS
No.
VERBENA
You have my word.
LOIS
Of all the childish- (She swivels back around) Tell me what it is and I’ll look at it for you.
VERBENA
That’s not the same thing.
LOIS
You’re right…it’s not.
VERBENA
Please…I just want to see-
LOIS
See what?
VERBENA
That’s my business.
LOIS
And this book is my business.
(Pause. VERBENA is growing more desperate.)
VERBENA
It looks like it was my book. It looks just like it.
LOIS
Well, it’s not your book. It’s my book.
VERBENA
But it looks like-
LOIS
There are about a thousand of these books around, how could you possibly, out of all the copies of this goddamn book there are in the world, think that this one is yours?
VERBENA
It’s got the same-
LOIS
The same-
VERBENA
The same, I don’t know the same marks on it. It folds back the same way…and there (she points) I can see where I colored in the “O” in “gone” with a pen. I had it on my desk and I was just, you know, on the telephone and I colored it in. It was a stupid thing to do…I felt like I ruined it a little. I used to carry it around with me. Everywhere. It was a present from- (she stops short of saying his name) we were going to get married, he told me. Or run away, he said. He gave it to me and in the front he wrote- something silly, really. A sweet nothing. And afterwards, after he was gone…the book went missing. I probably left it somewhere, that’s what I thought. But it was a present…to me. And I just want to see if maybe…what he wrote….
(A beat. The train has slowed down and the conductor announces the stop that’s coming up)
LOIS
This isn’t your book.
VERBENA
But…can I look?
LOIS
This is mine. It was a gift to me.
VERBENA
I just want to see.
LOIS
It’s mine.
VERBENA
Just for a second…
(The train has stopped. LOIS stands up.)
VERBENA
Please, before you go. Can I see?
(A long beat. The Man and the Woman in the train car get up and exit. LOIS stands for a beat. In one quick motion she whips the book to the front page and hold it up for VERBENA to see. VERBENA looks at it for a beat and takes in a sharp breath. Then, just as swiftly as she opened it, LOIS slams the book shut and stuffs it into her handbag. She marches out of the train, leaving VERBENA alone.)
END
Friday, March 20, 2009
Capgras
Today is something of a catch up day (After a raucous slumber party with my four-year-old nephew, R.) so, from the vault comes Capgras.
The following scene is the result of an assignment given last year for my writing group. From a book called "Vanishing America", everyone was given an article on items or customs that have all but disappeared from the American Landscape. The goal was to write a scene in which the item or custom was NOT the focus, but if one were to remove it, the scene would fall apart. My item was a rotary phone.
(Phones are an issue in general. The rings give me the willies and talking on the phone is nerve wracking.)
To be fair, I'd been working on this idea for a while (as follow up and component in a potential thematic trilogy to Minnesota Normals.), but this assignment gave me the chance to tinker with it. I have plans to continue it into a full length play, but it's been ages since I've picked it up.
For more information on Capgras Delusion, you can go to the ever dubious Wikipedia Article.
This piece was presented as part of our RAW series last May.
VIVIEN, a woman
GENE, her husband
(Interior of a mid-range resort hotel suite in 1962 at around 6am. There is a giant king sized bed with a dark green satin bedspread, and two nightstands on either side. Atop the left-hand nightstand is a black rotary dial phone. The floor is covered in gold shag carpeting. On the far left is a door leading to a bathroom. Some of the bathroom is visible from the stage, the sink and the shower.
There are paintings on the wall that look like they may be of lovers, but they are blurry and poorly drawn.
Through the door, enter GENE and VIVIEN. They are both in their mid-thirties and dressed as if they have been out on the town, though a little worse for wear. GENE is carrying both of their coats and leading VIVIEN into the room by the arm. VIVIEN has a bandage on her forehead. Her makeup has run around her eyes, giving her an even more beleaguered look. GENE leads her all the way in, and gently closes the door behind them while he is talking…it seems he has been going on and on. VIVIEN never takes her eyes off of GENE.)
GENE
I mean, for heaven’s sake, for heaven’s sake. The club manager is gong to hear from me this afternoon. Give him a piece and I mean a very large piece of my goddamn mind, if you’ll forgive my saying so, a piece of my (Replacing goddamn) “mm-mm” mind.
VIVIEN
It’s all right, da-, uh, darling.
GENE
What were they thinking, after all? Do they really need to wax a dance floor to a high gloss shine, when, what, we’re all just going to scuff it up with our feet? And they could have shown a little, I mean, an INCH of something…sympathy. Just one or two fingers of sympathy for all that humiliation.
VIVIEN
Of course.
GENE
Acting like it’s my job…they have people for this! My job to clean up the blood, while you’re sitting there in “Mm-mm” agony! (A beat) Oh…I need a shower. A shower and about eighty winks…(looks at her. She is still staring) Honey, are you still mad?
VIVIEN
No…no not at all.
GENE
I didn’t mean to laugh, I really didn’t.
VIVIEN
I know.
GENE (Starting to laugh)
I didn’t honestly, but you should have seen it. It was a scream, I never will forget. You did that twirl out there and all of a sudden like in a cartoon, both your legs just fly right out from under you and opposite ways they were supposed to go (Makes a big jerking X with his arms.) I was just laughing till I saw you’re head…It was…(looks at her, she is not laughing.) I’m sorry.
VIVIEN
Yes.
GENE
Anyway, he’s gonna get a chunk, not just a piece of my mind. Not now, certainly, but this afternoon. I’m beat. I know you are.
VIVIEN
Yes.
GENE
I’m gonna take a long hot shower, maybe shave. You should do the same, I bet it would do you a world of good.
VIVIEN
You’re right.
GENE
I know you’re mad, you sure are quiet. I love you. (Gives her a peck on the cheek and heads to the bathroom) Mind if I go first?
(VIVIEN shakes her head. He skips in to the bathroom, but leaves the door open. We see shadows of him taking off his clothes and getting into the shower.
VIVIEN watches intently and listens for the shower to start. Her head turns up to look at the phone on the night stand. She glances back at the bathroom, and sensing that he will not be out for a while, carefully lifts herself from the bed and moves to the phone.
Taking great pains, she places her finger under the receiver, and lifts it to her ear. She pulls her finger away with one protracted shift. VIVIEN then places her finger in the “0” hole and in an achingly deliberate motion spins the dial, trying to keep any sound from traveling to the shower.
She waits for a beat.)
VIVIEN (Almost whispering)
May I have a line out please? (A beat.) But what if I’d rather you just give me a line out, please? (A beat) Why can’t you do it? (A beat) It doesn’t say anywhere on here to dial 9. (A beat) Fine…fine…I’ll do it…sh! Sh! I’ll do it!
(She covers the cradle button with her finger and gives a desperate peek towards the bathroom. Again, VIVIEN lifts her finger from the button at a snail’s pace, and dials 9.
GENE calls out from the bathroom and she nearly drops the phone entirely)
GENE
You know what you should do, Viv? You should turn on the Television and see what’s on…I wonder if there’ll be anything this early. I always wanted to be there right when they take the flag off the air you know what I mean?
VIVIEN
Yes..of course.
(VIVIEN looks at the TV and then back at her phone. She brings it up to here ear and hears the dial tone. Forgetting the TV, she begins the tedious work of dialing the full number. Each digit takes her forever and she is growing more impatient with every slow ticking of the dial.
When at last VIVIEN is finished, she hold the receiver to her ear and presses it onto her sweaty face...waiting. The faint rigs can be heard, three then four then five rings. )
VIVIEN (Whispering to herself)
Please pick up…pick up. WAKE. UP. (A faint “Hello?” is heard) Mom? Are you there? (mumbling “Yes, I’m here”) I’m so glad to hear your voice. (“What on earth time is it?”) I don’t know about six, I suppose. (“Well, good, god Vivien, you sure picked a ripe time to call, you’re father damn near had a heart attack.”) Does Dad still work for the secret service? (“What kind of question…” ) Mother listen, to me…(“It’s really early, vi-“) Just shut up for a second-(“What did you just sa-“) Please listen to me mother…I don’t want you to worry – well, maybe a little bit I want you to worry, but please, I need your help (“You’re scaring me now..”) Please, I- there’s been a accident, and I’m alright…I went to the hospital to get stitches and mother, you have to listen carefully (“I am, for chrissake.”) Mother, the man who picked me up from the hospital is not my husband. (A Beat…”What?”) It’s not Gene, mother. I don’t know who he is, but he is not my husband. (“I don’t understand..”) He looks just like him, he talks just like him and whoever did this is very good at what they do, because he even swears like Gene…I don’t know what they’ve done with him….but this man is not Gene. (“Oh, my god.”)
(The shower stops from the bathroom, but VIVIEN does not notice)
I know what it sounds like…but you have to come get me. Right now…right now you have to come. (“Do you know what time it is?”) YES! I know what time it is goddamnit…you can’t leave me here with a perfect stranger-
(GENE enters with a towel wrapped around his waste)
GENE
Who’s on the phone?
(VIVIEN nearly leaps out of her skin and is horrified by the sight of the top-naked man before her)
VIVIEN
It’s, um, it’s my mother…I wanted to…
(There are mumbling sounds on the other end of the line becoming more and more frantic.)
GENE
Oh…tell her I said hello. I’m sure she wants to know what happened.
VIVIEN
Yes…(Into the phone, in the face of the screaming rambling) Right mother, mother – Gene, uh, Gene says, “Hello” (“What? I thought you said…Vivien”) Yes, we’re great. We’re going on a duck boat later today. (She gives a strained laugh trying to cover.) Yes…oh, heh, yes…Dad is such a card…(“Vivien Marie, What are you talking about?”) Okay…I’ll see you soon. I love you too.
(There are some faint mumbles on the other end that continue until she hangs up. She inadvertently slams the phone down. GENE has been standing watching her.)
GENE
Sweetheart, you look terrible. Like you’ve seen the “mm-mm” devil or something.
VIVIEN
Well, thank you, Ge-, uh, Gene. That’s what a new wife truly loves to hear. That’s exactly it.
GENE
Oh..I didn’t mean…
VIVIEN
I know what you meant.
GENE
Viv, why don’t you take a shower. And we’ll both just feel like it’s a new day…(chuckles) Well, it is a new day, isn’t it?
VIVIEN
Yes.
(GENE moves towards her, his still wet body opening up for a hug. She moves away and stands near the door. A beat. VIVIEN bursts into tears. GENE is utterly baffled.)
GENE
Christ, honey…
VIVIEN
Just stay right there…I’ll feel better in a little while…it’s been a - it’s been a long night and I don’t…I don’t…
(VIVIEN stares at GENE and slowly brings her fingers up to touch her bandage, which has begun to soak through with blood.)
GENE
Aw, goddamnit! Those numb nuts down there don’t even know how to give a couple of stiches…Christ.
(He marches over to the phone and pick it up)
GENE
I need a line out please. (a beat.) What do you mean I have to dial 9? (A beat) where does it say that? (He looks a the phone) Why can’t you do it? No forget it…FORGET IT.
(He slams down the phone, picks it up again and dials 9. He dials the number and looks over at VIVIEN while he awaits an answer.)
GENE
We’re creating a world full of people who can’t even do a goddamn favor anymore.
(Abrupt end)
The following scene is the result of an assignment given last year for my writing group. From a book called "Vanishing America", everyone was given an article on items or customs that have all but disappeared from the American Landscape. The goal was to write a scene in which the item or custom was NOT the focus, but if one were to remove it, the scene would fall apart. My item was a rotary phone.
(Phones are an issue in general. The rings give me the willies and talking on the phone is nerve wracking.)
To be fair, I'd been working on this idea for a while (as follow up and component in a potential thematic trilogy to Minnesota Normals.), but this assignment gave me the chance to tinker with it. I have plans to continue it into a full length play, but it's been ages since I've picked it up.
For more information on Capgras Delusion, you can go to the ever dubious Wikipedia Article.
This piece was presented as part of our RAW series last May.
VIVIEN, a woman
GENE, her husband
(Interior of a mid-range resort hotel suite in 1962 at around 6am. There is a giant king sized bed with a dark green satin bedspread, and two nightstands on either side. Atop the left-hand nightstand is a black rotary dial phone. The floor is covered in gold shag carpeting. On the far left is a door leading to a bathroom. Some of the bathroom is visible from the stage, the sink and the shower.
There are paintings on the wall that look like they may be of lovers, but they are blurry and poorly drawn.
Through the door, enter GENE and VIVIEN. They are both in their mid-thirties and dressed as if they have been out on the town, though a little worse for wear. GENE is carrying both of their coats and leading VIVIEN into the room by the arm. VIVIEN has a bandage on her forehead. Her makeup has run around her eyes, giving her an even more beleaguered look. GENE leads her all the way in, and gently closes the door behind them while he is talking…it seems he has been going on and on. VIVIEN never takes her eyes off of GENE.)
GENE
I mean, for heaven’s sake, for heaven’s sake. The club manager is gong to hear from me this afternoon. Give him a piece and I mean a very large piece of my goddamn mind, if you’ll forgive my saying so, a piece of my (Replacing goddamn) “mm-mm” mind.
VIVIEN
It’s all right, da-, uh, darling.
GENE
What were they thinking, after all? Do they really need to wax a dance floor to a high gloss shine, when, what, we’re all just going to scuff it up with our feet? And they could have shown a little, I mean, an INCH of something…sympathy. Just one or two fingers of sympathy for all that humiliation.
VIVIEN
Of course.
GENE
Acting like it’s my job…they have people for this! My job to clean up the blood, while you’re sitting there in “Mm-mm” agony! (A beat) Oh…I need a shower. A shower and about eighty winks…(looks at her. She is still staring) Honey, are you still mad?
VIVIEN
No…no not at all.
GENE
I didn’t mean to laugh, I really didn’t.
VIVIEN
I know.
GENE (Starting to laugh)
I didn’t honestly, but you should have seen it. It was a scream, I never will forget. You did that twirl out there and all of a sudden like in a cartoon, both your legs just fly right out from under you and opposite ways they were supposed to go (Makes a big jerking X with his arms.) I was just laughing till I saw you’re head…It was…(looks at her, she is not laughing.) I’m sorry.
VIVIEN
Yes.
GENE
Anyway, he’s gonna get a chunk, not just a piece of my mind. Not now, certainly, but this afternoon. I’m beat. I know you are.
VIVIEN
Yes.
GENE
I’m gonna take a long hot shower, maybe shave. You should do the same, I bet it would do you a world of good.
VIVIEN
You’re right.
GENE
I know you’re mad, you sure are quiet. I love you. (Gives her a peck on the cheek and heads to the bathroom) Mind if I go first?
(VIVIEN shakes her head. He skips in to the bathroom, but leaves the door open. We see shadows of him taking off his clothes and getting into the shower.
VIVIEN watches intently and listens for the shower to start. Her head turns up to look at the phone on the night stand. She glances back at the bathroom, and sensing that he will not be out for a while, carefully lifts herself from the bed and moves to the phone.
Taking great pains, she places her finger under the receiver, and lifts it to her ear. She pulls her finger away with one protracted shift. VIVIEN then places her finger in the “0” hole and in an achingly deliberate motion spins the dial, trying to keep any sound from traveling to the shower.
She waits for a beat.)
VIVIEN (Almost whispering)
May I have a line out please? (A beat.) But what if I’d rather you just give me a line out, please? (A beat) Why can’t you do it? (A beat) It doesn’t say anywhere on here to dial 9. (A beat) Fine…fine…I’ll do it…sh! Sh! I’ll do it!
(She covers the cradle button with her finger and gives a desperate peek towards the bathroom. Again, VIVIEN lifts her finger from the button at a snail’s pace, and dials 9.
GENE calls out from the bathroom and she nearly drops the phone entirely)
GENE
You know what you should do, Viv? You should turn on the Television and see what’s on…I wonder if there’ll be anything this early. I always wanted to be there right when they take the flag off the air you know what I mean?
VIVIEN
Yes..of course.
(VIVIEN looks at the TV and then back at her phone. She brings it up to here ear and hears the dial tone. Forgetting the TV, she begins the tedious work of dialing the full number. Each digit takes her forever and she is growing more impatient with every slow ticking of the dial.
When at last VIVIEN is finished, she hold the receiver to her ear and presses it onto her sweaty face...waiting. The faint rigs can be heard, three then four then five rings. )
VIVIEN (Whispering to herself)
Please pick up…pick up. WAKE. UP. (A faint “Hello?” is heard) Mom? Are you there? (mumbling “Yes, I’m here”) I’m so glad to hear your voice. (“What on earth time is it?”) I don’t know about six, I suppose. (“Well, good, god Vivien, you sure picked a ripe time to call, you’re father damn near had a heart attack.”) Does Dad still work for the secret service? (“What kind of question…” ) Mother listen, to me…(“It’s really early, vi-“) Just shut up for a second-(“What did you just sa-“) Please listen to me mother…I don’t want you to worry – well, maybe a little bit I want you to worry, but please, I need your help (“You’re scaring me now..”) Please, I- there’s been a accident, and I’m alright…I went to the hospital to get stitches and mother, you have to listen carefully (“I am, for chrissake.”) Mother, the man who picked me up from the hospital is not my husband. (A Beat…”What?”) It’s not Gene, mother. I don’t know who he is, but he is not my husband. (“I don’t understand..”) He looks just like him, he talks just like him and whoever did this is very good at what they do, because he even swears like Gene…I don’t know what they’ve done with him….but this man is not Gene. (“Oh, my god.”)
(The shower stops from the bathroom, but VIVIEN does not notice)
I know what it sounds like…but you have to come get me. Right now…right now you have to come. (“Do you know what time it is?”) YES! I know what time it is goddamnit…you can’t leave me here with a perfect stranger-
(GENE enters with a towel wrapped around his waste)
GENE
Who’s on the phone?
(VIVIEN nearly leaps out of her skin and is horrified by the sight of the top-naked man before her)
VIVIEN
It’s, um, it’s my mother…I wanted to…
(There are mumbling sounds on the other end of the line becoming more and more frantic.)
GENE
Oh…tell her I said hello. I’m sure she wants to know what happened.
VIVIEN
Yes…(Into the phone, in the face of the screaming rambling) Right mother, mother – Gene, uh, Gene says, “Hello” (“What? I thought you said…Vivien”) Yes, we’re great. We’re going on a duck boat later today. (She gives a strained laugh trying to cover.) Yes…oh, heh, yes…Dad is such a card…(“Vivien Marie, What are you talking about?”) Okay…I’ll see you soon. I love you too.
(There are some faint mumbles on the other end that continue until she hangs up. She inadvertently slams the phone down. GENE has been standing watching her.)
GENE
Sweetheart, you look terrible. Like you’ve seen the “mm-mm” devil or something.
VIVIEN
Well, thank you, Ge-, uh, Gene. That’s what a new wife truly loves to hear. That’s exactly it.
GENE
Oh..I didn’t mean…
VIVIEN
I know what you meant.
GENE
Viv, why don’t you take a shower. And we’ll both just feel like it’s a new day…(chuckles) Well, it is a new day, isn’t it?
VIVIEN
Yes.
(GENE moves towards her, his still wet body opening up for a hug. She moves away and stands near the door. A beat. VIVIEN bursts into tears. GENE is utterly baffled.)
GENE
Christ, honey…
VIVIEN
Just stay right there…I’ll feel better in a little while…it’s been a - it’s been a long night and I don’t…I don’t…
(VIVIEN stares at GENE and slowly brings her fingers up to touch her bandage, which has begun to soak through with blood.)
GENE
Aw, goddamnit! Those numb nuts down there don’t even know how to give a couple of stiches…Christ.
(He marches over to the phone and pick it up)
GENE
I need a line out please. (a beat.) What do you mean I have to dial 9? (A beat) where does it say that? (He looks a the phone) Why can’t you do it? No forget it…FORGET IT.
(He slams down the phone, picks it up again and dials 9. He dials the number and looks over at VIVIEN while he awaits an answer.)
GENE
We’re creating a world full of people who can’t even do a goddamn favor anymore.
(Abrupt end)
Friday, February 27, 2009
Celebrating the Mild Disappointments of My Life
There was a time when these commercials swarmed the airwaves. Friends and couples get together for a night in, perhaps after a hard day, to reminisce over photos and relax in the gentle glow of the other's company. General Foods International Coffees makes its inevitable entrance and the dam breaks on soulful remembrances. The mere taste calls up trips to Paris and Vienna where one or both of them were transfigured by the cafes and waiters with fake names.
This is a risky business.
What if the taste calls up something totally different?
(MONICA, in her floral Jessica McClintock dress and cardigan approaches, bearing a tray full of tea cup and pot. She stirs up some Suisse Mocha from General Foods International Coffees. MARIE is looking through old photos. Everything is a little pink and soft focus.)
MARIE: These sure do bring back some memories. (Sees the tray) Ohh. What's this?
MONICA: (Offering a steaming cup of brown) Taste it.
(MONICA tastes her own cup, and with the warmth of a McDonald's heat lamp:)
MONICA: Remember that night in Mexico City?
(MARIE prepares to take a sip but something stops her as the steam wafts up her nose. Her gentle smiles transform into anxious frowns)
MARIE: Um,...no...I...
MONICA: (Oblivious) There was that cafe and the two guys from San Tropez? This tastes just like the - What's wrong with you?
MARIE: I-I Don't want any...
MONICA: Just try it.
MARIE: No.
MONICA: Take a sip.
MARIE: I can't.
MONICA: Can't you share this one thing with me? We were having such a good time...why do you have to ruin it? Now come on -
(MONICA pushes the cup up to MARIE's mouth. MARIE sips, then in one flinging motion bats the cup away)
MARIE: Stop it! Just stop.. I can't drink that..the taste, the TASTE. Suddenly, I feel all alone and, Oh My god....Do you remember prom night when I got ditched and it started to rain?
(Pause)
MONICA: Uh...Uh-huh.
MARIE: That's what this tastes like...I went into that diner and they said I couldn't wait there unless I bought something...
MONICA: Did you, uh, buy Suisse Mocha?
MARIE: Shut up! NO. I didn't. I bought a Coke. But this, THIS is what the inside of that place SMELLED LIKE. Oh, my God, in liquid form!
MONICA: I - I...
MARIE: (Trying to wipe something imaginary from off her body.) God. I feel so lonely. MAKE IT STOP. GET THIS SHIT OUT OF HERE.
(MARIE swipes the tray off the coffee table and it smashes to the ground. A beat. Both women are crying.)
This is the risk you run when peddling smell and taste as a vehicle for pleasant memory.
All this aside, the soft focus and saccharine, I still wanted my General Foods International Coffee scenario. I wanted to have traveled to Paris. I wanted to look through old photos with friends and savor precious memories. I wanted to celebrate the moments of my life.
The first time I tasted General Foods International Coffee was when my Mom purchased some over a Christmas Holiday. My sister and I laughed at the notion, but I think somewhere in both of us we wanted to replicate the scenes from TV...with a hint of irony, of course.
We boiled up some water, dumped a couple of tablespoons into our cups and sipped.
You know what this stuff tastes like? Swiss Miss.
It's all just hot chocolate with some caffeine for good measure.
There were no dreams of Swiss ski trips. No Roman Holiday fantasies. It's hot chocolate. Pure, childlike, and as American as corn shuck.
Oh, well.
It's still hot chocolate. Squirt some whipped cream on top and I'm satisfied.
And for your viewing pleasure:
These women are morons.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Don't Ef with my food.
Below is a scene written some time ago for my writing group. I sent out an assignment in which the participants had to choose two event and then write the scene that these incidents bookend. The beginning and end lists were the same.
Strangely, the ones having to do with food were the most potent - and violent.I'm not sure what it is about food and violence that seems so natural to me. Sure, we evolved, in part, based on our ability to protect our food stores (sometimes with force), but more an more food can be used to torture or shame. The brutality associated with food, both physical and emotional, is fascinating to me.
As is the brutality of teenagers.
MIKE, 14
PETE, 15
(Two boys, MIKE, 14 and PETE, 15 sit at a lunch table. They sit a few chairs apart. MIKE is considerably smaller than PETE, who is a somewhat scruffy, overdeveloped kid. They sit in the white noise of the cafeteria, a glowering silence between them, munching indistinguishable food.
MIKE watches PETE out of the corner of his eye for a beat.
Quiet between them, punctuated by the occasional group of girls laughing at which both boys bristle.
In a flash, MIKE extends his arm across the table and swipes a square brown mass from PETE’s plate. PETE lurches to his feet, sudden, wrathful.)
PETE
Give that back!
MIKE
NO.
PETE
I’m gonna eat that!
MIKE
Nuh-uh.
(MIKE licks the top of the mass.)
MIKE
You wanna eat it now?
PETE
You’re an asshole jerk face.
MIKE
Whatever.
(PETE sits huffing at MIKE. He looks around the cafeteria ready to get up., An explosion of laughter comes from the gaggle of giggling girls and he gives up turning back around to face his tray. A beat. MIKE reaches over and plops the brown mass back on PETE’s plate.)
MIKE
I don’t want it now.
(PETE lurches up again and stares down at MIKE. MIKE meets his gaze)
MIKE
What? What are you gonna do?
PETE
Asshole. Jerk face.
MIKE
You said that already.
PETE
Ass face.
MIKE
You’re gonna say jerk hole aren’t you?
(PETE sits again. Huffs. The two sit in silence. PETE pokes at the brown square and starts picking off the area MIKE licked)
MIKE
That’s disgusting.
PETE
You’re disgusting.
(A beat. PETE takes a big bite from the brownie. MIKE watches)
MIKE
Fat jerk hole.
(MIKE reaches over to PETE’s plate a second time. PETE throws the brownie down and swats MIKE’s hand away. PETE jumps up and sticks his fingers in each section of food in MIKE’S tray with sudden force)
PETE
You gonna eat that!? (Press) You gonna eat that!? (Press) you gonna eat that!? (Press)
(MIKE leans back as flecks of food land on his shirt. Just as suddenly as he had gotten up, PETE sits, leaving the tray destroyed. PETE is huffing from the exertion, panting under his large frame. MIKE is silent. Pause. A giggle from the girls.)
MIKE
What the crap, man? That was my lunch.
PETE
Quit messin’ with my food.
MIKE
I took a brownie, you sack, you ruined my whole stupid lunch.
PETE
I said to quit messing with my food!
MIKE
THEN DON’T EAT MY SANDWICH!
(A beat.)
PETE
What?
MIKE
DON’T EAT MY SANDWICH!!!
PETE
I didn’t eat your dumbass sandwich.
MIKE
Yuh-huh!
PETE
I didn’t.
MIKE
Mom got that special for me from Quizno’s! I was gonna bring that sandwich to school for lunch today.
PETE
I already ate my sandwich last night…I didn’t eat yours.
MIKE
Yeah, well, I opened up the fridge this morning and only HALF was in there…It had big nasty ass wet bites all in it and the mayonnaise was coming out the sides…
PETE
Mike, I swear to god I didn’t eat your retarded sandwich! (Realizing) I bet Gary ate it.
MIKE
Huh?
PETE
I bet Gary ate it.
MIKE
Gary wasn’t there last night you fat liar.
PETE
I’m serious…I got up to pee and I heard Mom calling him at around one.
MIKE
Be serious.
PETE
I’m totally serious.
(A long beat)
MIKE
Fuckin’ Gary. (Pause) Can I have a bite of your Salisbury steak?
(A long moment. The Girls giggle as lights fade)
Strangely, the ones having to do with food were the most potent - and violent.I'm not sure what it is about food and violence that seems so natural to me. Sure, we evolved, in part, based on our ability to protect our food stores (sometimes with force), but more an more food can be used to torture or shame. The brutality associated with food, both physical and emotional, is fascinating to me.
As is the brutality of teenagers.
MIKE, 14
PETE, 15
(Two boys, MIKE, 14 and PETE, 15 sit at a lunch table. They sit a few chairs apart. MIKE is considerably smaller than PETE, who is a somewhat scruffy, overdeveloped kid. They sit in the white noise of the cafeteria, a glowering silence between them, munching indistinguishable food.
MIKE watches PETE out of the corner of his eye for a beat.
Quiet between them, punctuated by the occasional group of girls laughing at which both boys bristle.
In a flash, MIKE extends his arm across the table and swipes a square brown mass from PETE’s plate. PETE lurches to his feet, sudden, wrathful.)
PETE
Give that back!
MIKE
NO.
PETE
I’m gonna eat that!
MIKE
Nuh-uh.
(MIKE licks the top of the mass.)
MIKE
You wanna eat it now?
PETE
You’re an asshole jerk face.
MIKE
Whatever.
(PETE sits huffing at MIKE. He looks around the cafeteria ready to get up., An explosion of laughter comes from the gaggle of giggling girls and he gives up turning back around to face his tray. A beat. MIKE reaches over and plops the brown mass back on PETE’s plate.)
MIKE
I don’t want it now.
(PETE lurches up again and stares down at MIKE. MIKE meets his gaze)
MIKE
What? What are you gonna do?
PETE
Asshole. Jerk face.
MIKE
You said that already.
PETE
Ass face.
MIKE
You’re gonna say jerk hole aren’t you?
(PETE sits again. Huffs. The two sit in silence. PETE pokes at the brown square and starts picking off the area MIKE licked)
MIKE
That’s disgusting.
PETE
You’re disgusting.
(A beat. PETE takes a big bite from the brownie. MIKE watches)
MIKE
Fat jerk hole.
(MIKE reaches over to PETE’s plate a second time. PETE throws the brownie down and swats MIKE’s hand away. PETE jumps up and sticks his fingers in each section of food in MIKE’S tray with sudden force)
PETE
You gonna eat that!? (Press) You gonna eat that!? (Press) you gonna eat that!? (Press)
(MIKE leans back as flecks of food land on his shirt. Just as suddenly as he had gotten up, PETE sits, leaving the tray destroyed. PETE is huffing from the exertion, panting under his large frame. MIKE is silent. Pause. A giggle from the girls.)
MIKE
What the crap, man? That was my lunch.
PETE
Quit messin’ with my food.
MIKE
I took a brownie, you sack, you ruined my whole stupid lunch.
PETE
I said to quit messing with my food!
MIKE
THEN DON’T EAT MY SANDWICH!
(A beat.)
PETE
What?
MIKE
DON’T EAT MY SANDWICH!!!
PETE
I didn’t eat your dumbass sandwich.
MIKE
Yuh-huh!
PETE
I didn’t.
MIKE
Mom got that special for me from Quizno’s! I was gonna bring that sandwich to school for lunch today.
PETE
I already ate my sandwich last night…I didn’t eat yours.
MIKE
Yeah, well, I opened up the fridge this morning and only HALF was in there…It had big nasty ass wet bites all in it and the mayonnaise was coming out the sides…
PETE
Mike, I swear to god I didn’t eat your retarded sandwich! (Realizing) I bet Gary ate it.
MIKE
Huh?
PETE
I bet Gary ate it.
MIKE
Gary wasn’t there last night you fat liar.
PETE
I’m serious…I got up to pee and I heard Mom calling him at around one.
MIKE
Be serious.
PETE
I’m totally serious.
(A long beat)
MIKE
Fuckin’ Gary. (Pause) Can I have a bite of your Salisbury steak?
(A long moment. The Girls giggle as lights fade)
Friday, January 9, 2009
"Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are."
-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin, The Physiology of Taste, 1825
The suggestion for the our scenes was to have Food as a central part of the proceedings. Food is such a fraught subject, and the other writers certainly didn't disappoint.
Here was my offering:
MORGAN, female – 20’s
TIM, male – 20’s
HENRY, male - 74
(Dining room of an upper middle class suburban home, probably on the North Shore, Summer, mid-day. The cherry wood dining table is laid with three settings for lunch – a bright yellow plate atop a light blue gingham place mat. Iced tea and bowls with mayonnaise-based salads are arranged here and there. All over the dark green walls are paintings and photos of a smiling woman in various stages of aging. One photo might be of her with a puppy, another might be of that same woman several years later. The color of the walls can barely be seen through the blanket of pictures. MORGAN and TIM, mid-twenties, sit across from each other at two of the table settings. They are dressed for warm weather. MORGAN looks strikingy similar to the woman in the pictures. They look at each other, holding hands across the table, MORGAN’s brow is furrowed.)
MORGAN
I said your dad was old.
TIM
He is old.
MORGAN
But I said it. Out loud.
TIM
Morgan, he’s 74 years old. Nothing you said came as any news.
MORGAN
Right. Maybe if I hadn’t just hollered out about how white his hair was. Sometimes you can cover that stuff up, but I really just…y’know, yelped it out.
TIM
Morgan…
MORGAN
I practically screamed it.
TIM
If you keep obsessing over it, you’ll say something else stupid.
MORGAN (Pulling her hand away)
Stupid?
TIM
I didn’t mean to say that.
MORGAN
I’ll say something else stupid.
TIM
I meant stupid to you, sweetie. He didn’t even think two seconds about it.
MORGAN
Right…
(She lets out a sigh and reaches over to take a spoonful of potato salad. TIM watches her as she dumps the white lump on her plate.)
TIM
What are you doing?
MORGAN
Getting some potato salad.
TIM
Morgan…
(He reaches over, grabs the spoon and scoops the potato salad back into the serving bowl.)
MORGAN
What’er you-
TIM
Were you raised in a barn? Jesus.
MORGAN
Tim-
TIM
Dad’s not even at the table yet. For Pete’s sake. Wipe your plate off.
(She lifts her napkin and hesitates)
MORGAN
Are you serious?
(A Beat. Before he can answer, a whistling approaches from the kitchen. HENRY, an imposing man with white Brylcreemed hair enters. He is wearing a little kitchen apron with daisies on it and he carries a plate full of sandwiches stacked into a pyramid.)
HENRY
Here we GO, kids…
MORGAN (Dropping her napkin back into her lap)
Thank you, Mr. Tripp.
HENRY
Not a problem…not a bit of a problem. You kids’er probably hungry, sitting out here waiting on an old-timer like me.
(He and TIM laugh. MORGAN does not. HENRY leans far over the table, reaching across MORGAN to set the sandwiches down.)
HENRY
You kids drive all the way up from Indiana, least I can do is whip up some of my bologna sandwiches (he pronounces it Buh-lon-uh).
TIM
Thanks, Dad. We really appreciate it.
(HENRY, sits at the head of the table, unties the apron and flings it down to the opposite end.)
HENRY
Sure, sure. (He spies the white residue on MORGAN’s plate) Couldn’t wait, could you?
(Pause. MORGAN looks at TIM)
MORGAN
I guess not. I was really, um…hungry. I mean, we drove so far.
HENRY
Uh-huh. We should say grace.
MORGAN
Yes. We should.
(HENRY holds out two enormous hands to and they all join in a circle. A beat. HENRY looks at MORGAN.)
HENRY
Maybe our guest can say grace.
MORGAN
Oh! I….um…..
(Her eyes plead with TIM)
TIM
Go ahead, sweetie.
MORGAN
Oh okay….(She bows her head, totally unprepared for this) Dear Lord….(long pause. Breathing) Thank you for this food….and we hope that we will….(Long pause) be healthy….and thank you for the company…..(Long pause) and please forgive-
HENRY
Amen!
TIM
Amen.
MORGAN
Oh…Amen.
HENRY
Prayer’s so long I thought the bologna (Buh-lon-uh) sandwiches sandwiches were gonna get cold!
(He and TIM laugh. HENRY reaches over and scoops out a heaping portion of the potato salad and glops it onto MORGAN’s plate.)
HENRY
Fill’er up.
MORGAN
Thanks.
(TIM takes a bologna sandwich from the plate and bites into it.)
TIM
I love a bologna (Buh-lon-uh) sandwich.
(Silence. HENRY reaches over to grab a sandwich. MORGAN looks at both men and then turns to look at the picture behind her. After a beat, she turns back.)
MORGAN
Those are beautiful pictures of your wife.
HENRY (Not looking at her, his face engaged in resolute chewing.)
S’not my wife.
MORGAN
Oh.
(She looks at TIM, he stares down at his plate, also chewing)
MORGAN
I thought- okay….
HENRY
I love a bologna (Buh-lon-uh) sandwich. Nothing says Summer to me like a bologna (Buh-lon-uh) sandwich.
TIM
Me neither.
(Pause.)
MORGAN
You mean, Bolo-NEE.
(TIM and HENRY stop chewing)
HENRY
What?
TIM
Dad-
HENRY
No, no….what did you say?
MORGAN
It’s bolo-nee. Not Bolo-nuh, the way you’ve been saying it.
HENRY
What do you mean it’s not Bolo-nuh. That’s how you spell it. There’s an A at the end.
MORGAN
I’ve heard it…um…well there’s no G sound either. You don’t pronounce the G.
HENRY
What G? What’s she talking about Timmy?
TIM
I don’t know Dad.
HENRY
There’s no G.
MORGAN
But. there is a G.
HENRY
Bolo-NEE, huh?
MORGAN
That’s right.
HENRY
Two different words.
MORGAN
What? What are you-
HENRY
Two. Different. Words.
MORGAN
They’re the same-
HENRY
No. NO. Bolo-NUH, is a delicious lunch meat that I am eating right now on a sandwich. Bolo-NEE, is a pack of lies. Bolo-NEE, is bullshit. Does it look like I’m eating a shit sandwich, is that what you’re saying?
(Pause)
MORGAN
No-
HENRY
No. NO…right. TWO. DIFFERENT. WORDS. And no G in there…ANYWHERE.
(A beat)
MORGAN
I-
HENRY
Come in here and insult my cooking….were you raised in a barn?
MORGAN
No, sir.
HENRY
No, SIR.
(A long silence. HENRY looks at her plate.)
HENRY
You haven’t touched your potato salad.
(MORGAN reaches over to take a fork, only to realize that there isn’t one.)
Blackout.
The suggestion for the our scenes was to have Food as a central part of the proceedings. Food is such a fraught subject, and the other writers certainly didn't disappoint.
Here was my offering:
MORGAN, female – 20’s
TIM, male – 20’s
HENRY, male - 74
(Dining room of an upper middle class suburban home, probably on the North Shore, Summer, mid-day. The cherry wood dining table is laid with three settings for lunch – a bright yellow plate atop a light blue gingham place mat. Iced tea and bowls with mayonnaise-based salads are arranged here and there. All over the dark green walls are paintings and photos of a smiling woman in various stages of aging. One photo might be of her with a puppy, another might be of that same woman several years later. The color of the walls can barely be seen through the blanket of pictures. MORGAN and TIM, mid-twenties, sit across from each other at two of the table settings. They are dressed for warm weather. MORGAN looks strikingy similar to the woman in the pictures. They look at each other, holding hands across the table, MORGAN’s brow is furrowed.)
MORGAN
I said your dad was old.
TIM
He is old.
MORGAN
But I said it. Out loud.
TIM
Morgan, he’s 74 years old. Nothing you said came as any news.
MORGAN
Right. Maybe if I hadn’t just hollered out about how white his hair was. Sometimes you can cover that stuff up, but I really just…y’know, yelped it out.
TIM
Morgan…
MORGAN
I practically screamed it.
TIM
If you keep obsessing over it, you’ll say something else stupid.
MORGAN (Pulling her hand away)
Stupid?
TIM
I didn’t mean to say that.
MORGAN
I’ll say something else stupid.
TIM
I meant stupid to you, sweetie. He didn’t even think two seconds about it.
MORGAN
Right…
(She lets out a sigh and reaches over to take a spoonful of potato salad. TIM watches her as she dumps the white lump on her plate.)
TIM
What are you doing?
MORGAN
Getting some potato salad.
TIM
Morgan…
(He reaches over, grabs the spoon and scoops the potato salad back into the serving bowl.)
MORGAN
What’er you-
TIM
Were you raised in a barn? Jesus.
MORGAN
Tim-
TIM
Dad’s not even at the table yet. For Pete’s sake. Wipe your plate off.
(She lifts her napkin and hesitates)
MORGAN
Are you serious?
(A Beat. Before he can answer, a whistling approaches from the kitchen. HENRY, an imposing man with white Brylcreemed hair enters. He is wearing a little kitchen apron with daisies on it and he carries a plate full of sandwiches stacked into a pyramid.)
HENRY
Here we GO, kids…
MORGAN (Dropping her napkin back into her lap)
Thank you, Mr. Tripp.
HENRY
Not a problem…not a bit of a problem. You kids’er probably hungry, sitting out here waiting on an old-timer like me.
(He and TIM laugh. MORGAN does not. HENRY leans far over the table, reaching across MORGAN to set the sandwiches down.)
HENRY
You kids drive all the way up from Indiana, least I can do is whip up some of my bologna sandwiches (he pronounces it Buh-lon-uh).
TIM
Thanks, Dad. We really appreciate it.
(HENRY, sits at the head of the table, unties the apron and flings it down to the opposite end.)
HENRY
Sure, sure. (He spies the white residue on MORGAN’s plate) Couldn’t wait, could you?
(Pause. MORGAN looks at TIM)
MORGAN
I guess not. I was really, um…hungry. I mean, we drove so far.
HENRY
Uh-huh. We should say grace.
MORGAN
Yes. We should.
(HENRY holds out two enormous hands to and they all join in a circle. A beat. HENRY looks at MORGAN.)
HENRY
Maybe our guest can say grace.
MORGAN
Oh! I….um…..
(Her eyes plead with TIM)
TIM
Go ahead, sweetie.
MORGAN
Oh okay….(She bows her head, totally unprepared for this) Dear Lord….(long pause. Breathing) Thank you for this food….and we hope that we will….(Long pause) be healthy….and thank you for the company…..(Long pause) and please forgive-
HENRY
Amen!
TIM
Amen.
MORGAN
Oh…Amen.
HENRY
Prayer’s so long I thought the bologna (Buh-lon-uh) sandwiches sandwiches were gonna get cold!
(He and TIM laugh. HENRY reaches over and scoops out a heaping portion of the potato salad and glops it onto MORGAN’s plate.)
HENRY
Fill’er up.
MORGAN
Thanks.
(TIM takes a bologna sandwich from the plate and bites into it.)
TIM
I love a bologna (Buh-lon-uh) sandwich.
(Silence. HENRY reaches over to grab a sandwich. MORGAN looks at both men and then turns to look at the picture behind her. After a beat, she turns back.)
MORGAN
Those are beautiful pictures of your wife.
HENRY (Not looking at her, his face engaged in resolute chewing.)
S’not my wife.
MORGAN
Oh.
(She looks at TIM, he stares down at his plate, also chewing)
MORGAN
I thought- okay….
HENRY
I love a bologna (Buh-lon-uh) sandwich. Nothing says Summer to me like a bologna (Buh-lon-uh) sandwich.
TIM
Me neither.
(Pause.)
MORGAN
You mean, Bolo-NEE.
(TIM and HENRY stop chewing)
HENRY
What?
TIM
Dad-
HENRY
No, no….what did you say?
MORGAN
It’s bolo-nee. Not Bolo-nuh, the way you’ve been saying it.
HENRY
What do you mean it’s not Bolo-nuh. That’s how you spell it. There’s an A at the end.
MORGAN
I’ve heard it…um…well there’s no G sound either. You don’t pronounce the G.
HENRY
What G? What’s she talking about Timmy?
TIM
I don’t know Dad.
HENRY
There’s no G.
MORGAN
But. there is a G.
HENRY
Bolo-NEE, huh?
MORGAN
That’s right.
HENRY
Two different words.
MORGAN
What? What are you-
HENRY
Two. Different. Words.
MORGAN
They’re the same-
HENRY
No. NO. Bolo-NUH, is a delicious lunch meat that I am eating right now on a sandwich. Bolo-NEE, is a pack of lies. Bolo-NEE, is bullshit. Does it look like I’m eating a shit sandwich, is that what you’re saying?
(Pause)
MORGAN
No-
HENRY
No. NO…right. TWO. DIFFERENT. WORDS. And no G in there…ANYWHERE.
(A beat)
MORGAN
I-
HENRY
Come in here and insult my cooking….were you raised in a barn?
MORGAN
No, sir.
HENRY
No, SIR.
(A long silence. HENRY looks at her plate.)
HENRY
You haven’t touched your potato salad.
(MORGAN reaches over to take a fork, only to realize that there isn’t one.)
Blackout.
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