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Roaming
Mania
A
One Act Play
Arin…the director
Clara…the gossip
Laura…the teenager
Catherine…the whore
Helena…the bitch
Professor…the professor
Anne…the idiot
Cowboy…the cowboy
Drunk…the drunk
Ivan…the actress
Mysteria…the witch
Angie…the understudy
Prologue
Arin:
Ladies and Gentlemen, the play begins, not with a bang, but with a
whimper. What
you
are about to see has never been done before, nor will it ever be performed
again; it is without script, without regret: it is theater in its purest
form. We are the last spontaneity in a
dying world. Our lineage is a bright
and harlequin ribbon, descending from the ages of the Italian masters, Commedia
and Masque, through the courts of kings and corner puppet shows, palace,
palazzo, play-house, whore-house, Vaudeville and village. We claim as parentage Pulcinella and
Brighella, Lelio, Scapino, all the fools and lovers that ever were. Our stage is not these poor planks before
you, but the inside of your minds, which bedecks our players with the panoply
of riches, the dust and smoke of raging war, all the arts and pageants of lost
antiquity, of Carthage, Camelot, Egypt, Rome… [sees Clara] Where the hell are they?
Clara:
Still trying to get Anne out of that French-maid uniform. There's some trouble with
the
laces. You would think a stripper's
outfit would be easier to remove. You
started without us?
Arin:
I had no choice. I've been doing
the prologue.
Clara:
And boring them to tears.
Arin:
I think the only reason you stay with us, Clara, is to see the day I
fail.
Clara:
You always fail, my dear, I'm just waiting to see the day you realize
it.
Arin:
Vulture!
Clara:
Fool.
Laura:
Angie says to tell you she can't get out of the bunny suit.
Arin:
Tell her, damn it, to come on stage with it on. We'll try and work a bunny into the
first
act. [to audience] You see, we had
actually confused this festival with another engagement…
Clara:
A Bachelor's party for the governor's nephew.
Arin:
So we're a little unprepared.
The truth is, you see, our manager left us three days ago.
Clara:
Taking our leading actress, our money, and our address book.
Arin:
So we're a little confused.
Clara:
Judging from the postcard they are somewhere near Venezuela.
Arin:
[sees Catherine] Catherine, you're here!
Catherine: O Arin, pumpkin, I have to tell you, on the way here I saw the
most darling pair
of
shoes! Tell me I can have them! I won't act if I can't!
Clara:
You can't act anyway, dear.
Arin:
Catherine, please!
Catherine: But pookie, I want them!
You never let me have anything I want!
Arin:
You may have noticed, we've started the play. If it goes well, we may be able to
afford
things like shoes, dresses, or food.
First we need to win.
Catherine: Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, love.
Arin:
Why's that? [Catherine giggles]
You've slept with a judge again?
Clara:
From what I've heard about Catherine, that may hurt our chances more
than help
them.
Catherine: Well, he said he was a judge.
But he did have an awful lot of tattoos. I met him
at
a bar.
Arin:
When will you learn, sweetheart, that sleeping with people isn't the way
to get what
you
want.
Helena: [enters] It got her here, didn't
it? She can't act, so there has to be
some explanation.
Arin:
Wife!
Catherine: Bitch.
Helena:
Slut.
Arin: Laura!
Laura: [entering] Hi.
Arin:
Where are the others?
Laura:
They're all back stage. They
want to be introduced.
Arin:
Laura, though the youngest, has the most sense of us all. Her mother is Catherine.
Her
father…well, her father might be a judge, much like yourselves. We are travelers; roads are fathers to us
all. If I let these fools introduce
themselves, my wife would bother you, Clara would bore you, and Catherine would
seduce you, so it's best I move on to the other members of the troupe. We'll start with the oldest, since he's most
likely to die before the curtain.
Professor, come!
Professor: Indeed, I am old, the sable folds of age gathering fogs round my
head, once
wreathed
with laurel, with Ivy, now withered, forgotten. My brain, this treasured nut, has locked inside it the secrets of
Arabia, the dreams of Pythagoras, the sweat of Sophocles. I have seen much, and forgotten more. Played many parts, in none of them
contented. When my eyes began to fail I
memorized the great works: every line of Virgil, Shakespeare, Aescalus, Ovid, I
know by heart.
Arin:
Unfortunately, he knows them in no particular order.
Professor: My skull is the thin illumined shell of a burning Alexandria, a
storehouse of
pages,
encyclopedic, profound: Botany, Philology,
Eschatology, Astronomy. I am burdened
greatly with the weight of knowledge.
Clara:
That's true, at least: we've
been waiting 60 years.
Professor: Sadly, in this troupe, I am much maligned and ill-respected.
Arin:
And like the moon follows sun, so a daughter follows him: the one is
bright, the
other…dim.
Professor: Introduce yourself, Anne.
Anne:
I'm Anne. I wear dresses. Sometimes I fall down. I like rocks.
Arin:
Anne is better at blank stares than blank verse, but she can handle most
parts with less
than
three lines. She was blessed with big
hands to write them on.
Ceasar: [running on stage, followed by
Cowboy] Get them off! Get them off!
Cowboy:
There are no bees! There are no
bees! Listen to me, listen!
Ceasar:
My eyes are made of honey! They
are harvesting my eyes! [Cowboy slaps
him]
Ohhhh. An audience.
Armin:
This, Ladies and Gentelmen, is our resident madman: Pompey.
Oh, sorry, it's
Saturday,
isn't it: Ceasar.
Ceasar:
I am Ceasar. You come to praise
me, not to bury me. I am…where am I?
Arin:
He has every psychological disorder known to man, but fortunately only
one per
personality. He is a Freudian's fantasy: psycho,
analytical, schizophrenic, hysteric, repressed, depressed, melancholic, manic,
divergent and delirious. He has a gym
bag full of medications, prescriptions, and paperback books on improving
self-esteem. You needn't worry: he's
hardly ever violent. But it is very,
very important that he never hear the word M-O-T-H-E-R!
Anne: Mother?
Ceasar: [going beserk] Mother? Mother! She loved me! Dear Mother! It was my Father!
He
left! He locked me in the cellar! The rats, on my toes, they taught me how to
sing!
Cowboy:
Stand back, pardners, I can break im!
[jumps on ceasars back and rides him like a
horse] Yeehaw, Giddyap [etc]...
Arin: [shouting over them] Stop!
Cowboy: [slides off back] There y'are. Tame as a kitten. I never
met a mare I couldn't
tame. Nor a woman neither. And believe me, pardners, I've had my share.
Arin:
Just introduce yourself.
Cowboy:
I was born in Texas, but I come from the plains. The wide green hills stretching to
the
sun, my buns in the saddle, my boots on my feet. I sing songs of love, of the lonely purple night. I've got a quick draw, a quick wit, and a
voice like a nightengale. [starts to play harmonica and sing,
terribly].
Arin: Please, we beg you, forgive
him. If Ceasar is id, then our Cowboy
is ego. A super-
ego,
actually, if you catch my meaning. [Drunk enters, pursuing Ivan, singing
"My love is like a red, red rose"]
Ivan: Get away from me, you fool! Your breath is melting my mascara. Arin, get him
away!
Arin: [grabs him, throws him to
ground] Sit! Stay! Ladies and
Gentelmen, this is...this
is...[looks
at others for help] this is a
man so drunk I've forgotten his own name.
He isn't part of the Company, actually, but somehow always shows up
before every performance in the women's dressing room.
Drunk:
I saw a french maid back there!
When did you hire a french maid!
And that bunny
rabbit! Oh, mamma! [everyone
tries to shush him and look nervously at Ceasar].
Arin:
Since we don't have to pay him, we let him stick around. He can play just about
anyone,
provided they are as drunk as he. Drunken sailors, drunken lovers, drunken soldiers,
drunken brothers. [Drunk
starts singing again] Towards the end
of the show he tends to specialize in people who are sleeping, people who are
dead, who've fainted, are in comas--he can also play heaps of smelly clothing. [Ivan coughs politely]
Arin:
Ah yes, this is Ivan, she...[Ivan coughs again and pulls papers from her
dress and
hands
it to Arin. Arin sighs and statrs to
read, drily] It is with the utmost
pleasure I bring to the stage the renowned and redoubtable Ivan Richardson,
whose name and fame proceeds in all directions, surpassed only the presence and
preeminence of her beauty and talent.
She is most esteemed, etc, etc...[flipping through several pages] ...she is the true daughter and heiress of a
Muscovite Duke, disowned after an impassioned elopement with the most cruel and
capricious of lovers: the theater.
Ivan: [stealing the papers] Trading
provinces for applause, jewels for jet-lag, her velvet
couch
for courser costume, to descend and deign to grace us with her greatness...Ivan
Richardson...[postures ridiculously and prepares to continue.]
Arin: [interrupting] and lastly I bring
to your attention, the mysterious Granny Mysteria.
She
usually appears in a cloud of smoke, but we seem to have run out of flash
powder.
Professor: Anne ate it. She thought it was sugar. [Anne burps and smoke comes out her
mouth].
Arin: I advise you not to cross her, for
she's the devil herself. [Helena smacks him]
She also
happens
to be my mother in law.
Mysteria: Hello, dearies. What d'ye
lack? A potion for love, for the pains
in your back? I
have
talismans, herbs, a crystal ball..
Arin:
And the uncanny ability to predict the past.
Mysteria: I can put a curse on your head and make your eyes fall out. I know voo-doo,
tarot,
taboo, wicca, apocrapha, alchemy, and feng-shui. I have mastered the ancient
arts, hermetic, heretic, emetic, dietic, heuristic, euphistic...
Arin: Jesus Christ!...
Mysteria: [wincing] I read in the stars
the fates of worlds. What d'ye
lack? Old lamps for
new! The perfect recipe for newt's eye stew! Just like m…father used to make! 30,000 lei--see me after the show!
Arin:
Is your hurly-burly done?
Mysteria: When the play is lost and won.
Professor: If fair is foul, that's fair enough.
Catherine: Shut up, will you? I hate
it when you guys do that.
Arin:
Well, that's everyone. But
still, there's something missing. Ah
yes, my chair. Stool!
On
stage! [Angie hops in, in bunny suit,
and kneels. Arin sits on her.] This is Angie. She's an understudy. I
think that's all I need to say.
Angie: I hate you all.
Anne:
Bunny!
Cowboy:
That ain’t no bunny, that thar’s a horse! [gets on Angie’s back]
Giddyap!
Anne:
Bunny! [Also get’s on Angie’s back.
Angie can’t hold them all, and collapses with
everyone
on top of her]
Drunk:
Kinky! [jumps on pile]
Ivan: [screaming]: Please, please, a
little dignity! We may have fallen low,
but remember,
remember
what we once were!
Helena:
Dignity is like virginity, dear.
Clara:
You can never get it back?
Helena:
Our director tries to sell it from on stage…
Arin:
[struggling up] that’s not true, dammit!
Professor: Ladies and Gentlemen, you must forgive them. You see, these actors, this
company,
contains within their costumes all the faults of human kind. [pauses]
You walk the street, and notice the faces all look alike. There are molds, there are types, there are
common themes. The human race is but
slight variations on irreducible forms.
These, kind sirs, are but the distilled follies of our age. You recognize them, perhaps. They seem familiar. They are essential, basic. They are all of us.
Anne: [jumping around] Bunny rabbit,
bunny rabbit!
Professor: I can’t speak for that one.
Arin: come
what may, time and the hour runs through the roughest play. We’ve wasted
enough. We must begin! [general bustling, getting ready]
Helena:
And what will we perform?
Professor: It’s obvious that our usual fare would fall to rough on these
prestigious palates,
such
refined tastes, keen discernment. They
are epicures, not bachelors! You can’t
present the cream with dusty dregs…
Ivan: It must be a classic, something
dignified.
Anne:
Something with a bunny?
Arin: No!
Clara: Why not?
Ivan:
Bunnies aren’t dignigied.
Angie:
Hey, we can be.
Arin: Silence!!! [everyone stops]. We’ll perform…We’ll…perform…
Laura:
Shakespeare?
Anne:
Shakespeare?
Clara:
You remember, sweetheart, he was in that movie with Leonardo DiCaprio…
Cowboy:
Gawd, you’re an idiot! [pause]
It was Mel Gibson.
Arin:
Aha! Yes! Shakespeare: the immortal bard! The balm of tounges! The genius of the
ages! We’ll sound his native woodnotes wild! But what play, what play…
Ceasar:
[steps forward] Julius Ceasar!
Everyone: NO!
Professor: A madman is always good for Shakespeare, but he’s too young for a
Lear, too
hairy
for Ophelia. He could be a Hamlet if he
knew a hawk from a handsaw.
Clara:
I think As You Like It has a
bunny…
Arin: No!
Helena:
Othello might hit close to
home…
Catherine: Oh, go to hell.
Arin:
[to Helena] Or The Taming of the
Shrew…
Ivan:
A Comedy of Errors. Then when we make mistakes they’ll think
it’s part of the play.
Laura:
Or Romeo and Juliet? [everyone
is silent]
Arin:
Yes! Of Course! The star crossed lovers! Thwarted passion! Broiling feud!
Backstage!
Backstage! We start the play! Dear Ladies, kind Gentlemen, for your
edification and enjoyment, for your catharsis and convenience, distraction and
diversion, we are not too proud to present to you, our own unique and special
version, of the well-loved play, of…of… [someone whispers from backstage] Ah yes… the most excellent and Lamentable
tragjedy of…Romeo and Juliet!!!
Samson…Helena
Gregory…Anne
Sword/Crutch/Balcony…Angie
Capulet…Clara
L. Capulet…Catherine
Benvolio…Professor
Tybalt…Ceasar
Prince…Arin
Abraham…Cowboy
Chorus/Romeo…Laura
Other Romeo…Drunk
Juliet…Ivan
Chorus/Laura: [with dumbshow] Two households, both alike in indignity
In fair Verona where we lay our
scene
From ancient grudge break to new
mutiny
Where civil blood makes civil hands
unclean,
From forth the fatal loins of these
two foes
A pair of star-crossed lovers take
their life,
Whose misadventures... [Arin coughs,
and signals to hurry it up]
Are
now the rush hours traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall
strive to mend.
Samson/Helena: Gregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.
Gregory/Anne: Nope. [Laughs] Coals are hot.
Samson/Helena: I mean an we be in choler,
we’ll draw.
Gregory/Anne: I like to draw.
Samson/Helena: I strike quickly, being moved.
[to Anne] But thou art not quick enough to move or strike.
Gregory/Anne: Who’s thou? [looks around]
Samson/Helena: A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
Gregory/Anne: A Doggie? [looks around
more]
Samson/Helena: [takes her head, explains
it too her] The quarrel is between our
masters, and us their men. [Anne nods.
Abraham appears] Here comes of the house of Montagues. I will
bite my thumb at them [holds out his thumb] which is disgrace to them if they bear it. [Anne bites his
thumb] Owwww! You bit my thumb!
Abraham/Cowboy: Did you bite his thumb at
us, sir?
Gregory/Anne: I…did bite his thumb…sir.
Abraham/Cowboy: Did you bite his thumb at us,
sir?
Gregory/Anne: [to Helena] What should I say?
Samson/Helena: Say ‘Ay.’
Gregory/Anne: You? He
bit his thumb, sir.
Samson/Helena: No, ‘Ay!’
Gregory/Anne: Ummm…he bit his eye, sir.
Samson/Helena: ‘Ay’ means ‘yes’!!!
Gregory/Anne: I know what you mean…
Abraham/Cowboy: Do you quarrel, sir?
Gregory/Anne: Ay, sir!
Helena,
then jumps on her back, starts hitting her, etc…Professor enters]
Benvolio/Professor: Arrrgh! Learn your parts, you fools! This isn’t how it goes. You don’t
know
what you’re doing!
Tybalt/Ceasar [entering]: What, art thou drawn among these heartless
hinds? Turn thee,
Benvolio.
Look upon thy death.
Benvolio/Professor: [backing up] No, Ceasar, calm down. It’s me, it’s me. I’m stopping the
scene…
Tybalt/Ceasar: What, drawn and talk of peace?
I hate the word as I hate hell, all
Montagues, and thee. Have at thee, coward. [attacks
the professor and brings him
to
the floor, where they roll around, Ceasar choking him. Enter Capulet and Lady Capulet.]
Capulet/Clara: What noise is this? Give me my
long sword, ho!
Capulet’s Wife/Catherine: I’m not your
ho, bitch!
Capulet/Clara: [calling] Long sword! On stage! [Angie enters and makes herself
into a
sword]
Capulet’s Wife/Clara: That’s not a sword. It’s a
crutch, a crutch [takes Angie and bends
her
into a crutch]—why call you for a sword?
Capulet/Clara: [turning her back into a
sword] It’s my sword, I say.
Capulet’s Wife/Clara: crutch!
Capulet/Clara: sword! [they fight over
her, pulling her back and forth.] Thou villain!
Angie: [in pain] hold me not, let me go.
Capulet’s Wife/Clara: Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
Prince/Arin: [trying to quiet them] Rebellious subjects, enemies to the peace,
Profaners of this neighbor-stained steel—
Will they not hear?
[louder] What ho [to Catherine], you
men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins:
On pain of torture, from these bloody hands
Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground [Clara
and Catherine throw Angie down]
And hear the sentence of our moved Prince.
[everyone quiet].
Just
what the hell was that supposed to be?
This
play was written as a tragedy!
We’ll
try again and play a later scene.
You,
Laura, will play love-struck Romeo,
And
you [to Ivan] his love on her high balcony
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall play the forfeit of the peace.
[scene clears]
Romeo/Laura: But soft, what light from yonder window breaks? [Arin points
her in the
other
direction] It is the East, and Juliet is the sun
Arise,
fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who
is already sick and pale with grief
That
thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. [Ivan appears, on Angie’s shoulders, like on
a balcony. They face away from Laura.]
It
is my lady, O, it is my love.
O
that she knew she were! [Drunk is sneaking
up on her]
She
speaks, yet she says nothing. What of
that?
Her
eye discourses; I will answer it.
I
am too bold. ‘Tis not to me she speaks.
[Drunk grabs her and throws her off stage.
Crash is heard. Ivan turns, sees
him, and screams.]
Juliet/Ivan: Ay me!
Juliet/Ivan: O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Romeo/Drunk: Who the hell’s Romeo?
Juliet/Ivan: Deny thy father and refuse thy name,
Or
if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And
I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
Romeo/Drunk: Whatever you say,
sugarlips.
Juliet/Ivan: ‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy.
Thou
art thyself, though not a Montague.
What’s
Montague?
Romeo/Dunk: That’s what I want to know!
Juliet/Ivan: O be some other name! [looking around for Laura]
Romeo/Drunk: Fine, whatever. You can
call me Jimmy.
Juliet/Ivan: What’s in a name? That
which we call a rose
By
any other name would smell as sweet
[Drunk smells his own armpits and starts coughing] So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called,
Retain
that dear perfection which he owes
Without
that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And
for thy name—which is no part of thee—[she
gulps, says slowly:]
Take
all myself.
Romeo/Drunk: I’ll take you, baby! I’ll
take you right now! [Ivan screams again and kicks
him
in the face.]
Juliet/Ivan: What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night,
So
stumblest on my counsel?
Juliet/Ivan: My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
Of
thy tounge’s stuttering, yet I know the sound.
Art
thou not Romeo, and a Montague?
Romeo/Drunk: I told you, sweetie, this Romeo’s some other guy. Now let’s go to my place and start making
the beast with two backs…[he starts chasing her around the stage]
Juliet/Ivan: How cam’st thou hither,
tell me, and wherefore?
This
place is death, considering who thou art,
If any of my kinsman find thee here. [the other players have come on stage and
are ganging up on the drunk]
Romeo/Drunk: Your theater pals can’t save you now, sweetheart.
Juliet/Ivan: If they do see thee, they will murder thee.
Juliet/Ivan: O swear not!…by the moon…Do not swear at all…
Romeo/Drunk: [being dragged off
stage] O wilt thou leave me so
unsatisfied?
Juliet/Ivan: [now off of Angie’s shoulders] Dear love, adieu. A thousand times good
night.
[she slaps him] Yet I should kill
thee with much cherishing.
Good
night, good night. Parting is such
sweet sorrow.
Professor: Know your parts, and sorrow
will be sweeter.
Arin: I’m sorry, sweet, but the scene
fell apart. But part of it was
sweet…[Ivan glares at
him]…I’m
sorry.
Ivan:
My part was perfect. The problem
was that moron. What kind of
director
lets madmen and drunks run loose on stage.
Clara:
All of them, I think. Otherwise
they would have no actors.
Helena:
And who let Frankenstein’s daughter here play Gregory?
Professor: Don’t say that about my daughter!
Helena:
You should have stopped her!
Professor: I was busy at the time being strangled by Tybalt!
Arin: All right! All right.
[To Ivan] Don’t worry dear,
we’ll start the scene again. Laura
will
be Romeo.
Ivan:
No, Arin, we won’t. I quit. I am an actress, not a circus act. I’m Ivan Richardson,
dammit! I did not join this troupe to be pawed on
stage by some gin-soaked savage.
Arin,
I am through. You are a disgrace to the
theater. [starts to walk out]
Clara:
That’s what I’ve been saying all along.
Arin: Ivan, please. Wait.
Give us one more chance. It
won’t happen again.
Helena:
Who needs her?
Arin:
We do. [To Laura] The drunk?
Laura:
He’s backstage. We tied him up
with some of Catherine’s panty hose.
Clara:
He must have been delighted.
Arin:
There, you see. It’s under
control. Now we’ll try again…
Ivan:
I’m not getting back on that balcony.
Angie:
She’s not getting back on this balcony.
Catherine: Can’t we do another play,
darling?
Arin:
But everyone loves Romeo and Juliet.
Helena:
That’s the problem. If you do a
play everyone loves badly, they hate you for it. If you do a play no one likes anyway badly, it’s called
“experimental”.
Professor: We need an old play that everyone has heard of.
Helena: but not actually read.
Professor: Recognized as a classic.
Helena: but that no one really likes.
Professor: Ah….the Greeks.
Cowboy:
Naw, naw, pardners. No more a
your crusty old dead guys. If They want
that, they can go to one a them…you
know, places with books…
Professor: a library?
Cowboy:
yeah. We gotta have somethin’
with flash, y’all, with life. With love
and
lawlessness
on the wild frontier. Gunfights and tombstones. We need ta have
somethin’
with sex appeal.
Catherine: Well, that leaves you out, bow-legs.
Arin:
All right, Simon. We’ll try and
work that in. Anyone know of a Greek
Tragedy with
sex
appeal?
Professor: The Bacchae?
Arin:
Too obscure.
Helena:
Lysistrata?
Arin: Too risky.
Laura: Oedipus Rex?
Arin:
Laura, you’re a genius.
Cowboy:
We’re going to do a play about dinosaurs?
Clara:
Oedipus Rex isn’t a dinasaur, stupid.
It’s a dog.
Catherine: What if we don’t know the play?
Professor: Chances are they don’t know it either. I’ll be the chorus; you can follow my lead.
Helena: Who’s going to play Oedipus? [everyone turns slowly (following Arin) to
look at
Ceasar]
Ceasar:
[talking to no one] Sometimes, doctor, I imagine everyone is staring.
Ivan:
Him? You’ve got to be kidding!
Arin:
No, don’t you see? He’s
perfect. [goes up, puts his arm around
him] Have you ever
wondered
why I let Ceasar in the troupe?
Clara:
Isn’t it part of his parole?
Arin:
Well, yes, that’s true. But
there’s something more. You see, There’s method acting to
his
madness. Ceasar might be the best actor
of us all. Because unlike us, he really
believes he is the character he plays.
The illusion for him is absolute, the world and stage, the mask and man,
internalized in total truth, the perfection of our art. What realism, what feeling!
Clara:
What a freak.
Ivan:
People get killed in this play, don’t they?
Professor: A few. It’s more maiming,
really.
Ivan:
Great.
Helena:
One problem, love. Oedipus, in
the play, kills his father and marries his m-o-t-h-e-
r,
right?
Professor: Right.
Helena: Well, how are we supposed to do a
play about an m-o-t-h-e-r if we can’t say the
word
m-o-t-h-e-r without Ceasar going psycho?
Arin:
Simple. We’ll just replace
m-o-t-h-e-r with another word, and we’ll all know what we
mean.
Helena:
Like what.
Arin:
I don’t know…“refrigerator”.
Professor: So refrigerator now means moth…th…th…the other word?
Arin: Exactly. Now places, please, and let’s begin. [to Ceasar]
Ceasar, you’re Oedipus.
[to
Audience] We apologize, kind friends,
for the unfortunate delay, but bring to you now the true course of our play,
flavored strongly with spice of anticipation.
Prepare, as we cast back the curtains of thousands of years, to a drama
drawn from the most secret desires and sacred laws, of trespass, tragedy, and
terror beyond knowing. We bring you, at
last, Oedipus the King!
Messanger/Whore #2…Clara
Jocasta…Helena
Sphinx…Anne
Teiresias…Granny Mysteria
Altar…Angie
Chorus/Professor: Hail, great goddess, guide my tounge,
Blanche
not from dark words brought to light,
As thou from brow of thunder born.
Daughters
of Mnemosyne, of limpid pools and poets’ pens:
Calliope,
Melpomene, presiding muses of the mind.
I
speak now of the swollen-footed king
Whose
father fearfull left him on Cithaeron
Lest
Delphic prophecy be proved by parricide.
But
Oedipus, ill-fated, found,
by
shepherd’s hands and kindness saved,
was
raised in Corinth, origins unknown.
Until
in dread of deeds foretold,
Of
father’s blood and…“refrigerator’s” bed,
He
fled from Oracle’s grim fingered fate,
And
met it on the road. For his father,
traveling with his horse from Thebes,
Was
sent unknowing by his son
on
Charon’s raft, to regions of the dead.
Hail,
great goddess, owl of wisdom, hail!
Laius/Cowboy: [looking up] Looks like
hail! Some fella musta been prayin’ ta
that damn
hail
goddess again. C’mon Trisha,
Roxanne, we gotta catch up ta them
doogies before nightfall.
Chorus/Professor: I said traveling with his horse!
Laius/Cowboy: yep, these here are two a the nicest little whores this side
a’…[thinks] that
one…river…in
Egypt. Never travel without ‘em. You
know the temple of Delphi? These gals
come from the temple a phi-delt. It’s a
sorority temple. Everything’s going
Greek nowadays. Now what say we build a
fire, eat some beans, and sing us some cowboy songs.
Oedipus/Ceasar: Hail, traveler!
Laius/Cowboy: [looking up at the sky]
dammit! Why y’all gotta be doin
that all the time.
It’s
like ya want bad weather.
Oedipus/Ceasar: Move aside. I am followed
by the dread clouds of dark pronouncement.
The
incense of altars and vestal litanies, the innards of beasts and libations of
blood, hang about me like a curse, a blotted sun, and tread their weary travels
through my brain.
Laius/Cowboy: You talk funny, pardner.
Want some a’ my tobaccy?
Oedipus/Ceasar: Fool! The fates that spin
lives from skiens of souls, hang with blades
to
cut loose this thread of dust. The road
is narrow. Move your whores aside
and
let me pass.
Laius/Cowboy: Now them’s fightin’ words, pardner. This road ain’t big enough for the
both
of us. You made a big mistake in comin’
this way, stranger. I’m the quickest
draw
this side a’…this side a’….damn!
Oedipus/Ceasar: The Nile?
Lauis/Cowboy: Damn right! Now take ten
paces, draw your gun and shoot.
Oedipus/Ceasar: Guns…guns haven’t been invented.
Lauis/Cowboy: Yeah, well, this play’s not
one for historical accuracy. It’s named
after a
dinasuar! Now, ten paces and fire. [starts to walk. Stops, looks at whores, points at shoes. Starts to walk again, and whores make
“ca-chink, ca-chink” sounds of spurs.
Walks ten paces, turns and mimes firing a gun. No sound] Damnit, ladies,
where’s my gun shot sounds?!
Whores:
[yell] BAM! [Cowboy is shot].
Laius/Cowboy: [making a big deal of it] Oh.
I been shot. You done shot me,
stranger. Well, it’s the law of the
west. Look after the farm. Damn sheriff. Never take me alive. I’m
shot. I’m dead. Oh.
Oh. [etc.] [body carried off stage by whores]
Chorus/Professor: So doomed Oedipus, his finger’s wet with
father’s blood
Treads
his benighted way to Thebes, which is held in terrible thrall
by
the wise and abominable Sphinx. [Anne
is carried in as Sphinx]
Sphinx/Anne: I am the wise and abomable..abdomibanal…ababab…really bad Sphinx.
[Smiles] I’m a kitty cat. Meoww! [professor gives her look reminding her to be
serious. Enter Oedipus]
Oedipus/Ceasear: Hail, wise and terrible Sphinx [both look up
to sky]
Infestation
of the Theban roads,
Crouched
mysterious on highest rocks
Sphinx/Anne: I like rocks! [another look from Professor]
Oedipus/Ceasar: I come to face thy challenge,
The
riddle yet unsolved, and meet death dashed upon
deadly
claws if I do fail.
Sphinx/Anne: Okay, here it is: [lifts
one of her hands to read from the palm]
what animal
is
that which has four eggs in the morning…no…walks on four legs in the morning,
two legs at noon, and three in the…[picks up her other hand to read from and
falls on her face] Ow! I broke my nose!
Oedipus/Ceasar: What animal walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon,
and
three
in the evening?…[Clara and Catherine start singing the Jeopardy theme
song] What, good gods, what is the
answer? I’ve got it! A bear with a pogo stick!
Sphinx/Anne: [looking at her hand] nope.
Odipus/Ceasar: Half of a tap-dancing spider?
Sphinx/Anne: nope.
Oedipus/Ceasar: a table rolling down a hill?
Sphinx/Anne: noooo.
Oedipus/Ceasar: Siamese Twins after a failed operation?
Sphinx/Anne: no.
Oedipus/Ceasar: oh, man…[sounds of bells and gameshow music]
Herdsman/Clara: [in gameshow host
voice] “Man” is the right answer! He crawls, then
walks,
then…stands on a stool because he’s afraid of the dark! You’ve defeated the sphinx! Creon, tell him what he’s won.
Creon/Catherine: Well, for solving the riddle and destroying
the sphinx, you will recieve: the gratutitude of Thebes, a fully furnished
palace, and the right to sit on the Theban throne! [she and Laura gesture,
Vanna White style, to an empty chair]
Everyone: oooooohhh.
Creon/Catherine: And as an added bonus, you will wed Jocasta,
the widowed queen!
[same
gesture to Helena]
Everyone: aaaaahhhhh.
Chorus/ Professor: Off the stage, you imbeciles! You’re ruining the play! [to Ceasar]
Scene
Three: your palace. [Oedipus and Jocasta Prepare for scene]
Oedipus,
king, the men of Thebes,
Thy
humble votaries, come suppliant to your throne,
to
beg you succour from our woes.
Armed
with his blazing torch the God of Plague
Hath
swooped upon our city. And now the race
By
Cadmus sown as serpent’s teeth in furrowed fields,
Is
blighted, scorched, and brought to earth,
Spurned
from great Demeter’s grace.
Jocasta/Helena: Noble Creon we have sent
To
learn in Delphic oracle
The
guidance of Apollo’s will.
Creon/Catherine: Hi guys, I’m back!
Oedipus/Ceasar: Hail, Creon!
Creon/Catherine: [looking up] looks more
like rain to me.
Oedipus/Ceasar: Tell us, Creon. What Pythian prophesy have you learned?
Creon/Catherine: Well, the lines at the temple were really
long, so we used a Ouiji board
instead.
Oedipus/Ceasar: And?
Creon/Catherine: It said the curse could only be lifted if
you found the guy who killed the
old
king Laius. The weird thing is he’s
supposed to have been murdered by his own son.
Jocasta/Helena: Anything else?
Creon/Catherine: Yeah, it said that Oedipus can do better than
that bitch, Jocasta, because
she’s
old, ill-tempered, and has a face like a shoe-horn. It suggested he try dating
younger
women [draping herself seductively].
Jocasta/Helena: Thank you, Creon [dragging her out by her hair] go flirt with a
Hippogrif.
Oedipus/Ceasar:
There was a prophesy once that I should kill my own father. Hmm. What a
coincidence.
Jocasta/Helena: We must consult the blind seer Teriesias.
Oedipus/Ceasar: Isn’t that kind of mean to call a blind man a “seer”?
Teiresias/Mysteria: I am Teiresias, the seer who
comprehendest all,
Lore of the wise and hidden mysteries,
High things of heaven and low things of the earth.
My caved lids peer through hearts of men and fogs of time.
I need an altar.
Jocasta/Helena: Altar! On stage. [enter
Angie. Kneels
down. Mysteria sits on her back.]
Oedipus/Ceasar: Teiresias, this stain of blood makes shipwreck of our state. We must
know
the scoundrel who slew the king.
Teiresias/Mysteria: Thou art the man. Thou the accursed polluter of this land.
Oedipus/Ceasar: You speak in riddles. I
fail to find the sense.
Teiresias/Mysteria: Thou wert raised by Polybus in Corinth as
his own. But in truth thou
art
the scion of Laius.
Oedipus/Ceasar: Thy words are wrapped in mysteries. The meaning is unclear.
Teiresias/Mysteria: You killed your father on the road, not
knowing who he was. You took
his
throne, and wed his wife.
Oedipus/Ceasar: I don’t quite understand.
Teiresias/Mysteria: It’s you, you idiot! You killed him! Laius was your father!
Oedipus/Ceasar: The problem with prophesies is they are so unclear. I wish the Gods could
speak
more plainly. Leave us, Tieresias, you
weary me with riddles. [To Messenger/Clara]
Who are you?
Messenger/Clara: I am a messenger. [pause] I have a message.
Jocasta/Helena: Oh, merciful gods! I
recognize your face. You are the
herdsman, to whom
our
infant was given, charged with his death lest the oracle prove true. But compassion made you leave him on Cithaeron
mount, from whence he was brought to the Corinthian King.
Messenger/Clara: No, I just do his laundry once a month.
Jocasta/Helena: His laundry?
Messenger/Clara: Yeah, that’s right. I wash his clothes. And I know something that will
make
all this clear. Look, come here. It’s printed right here on the back of his
boxer shorts.
Jocasta/Helena: [reading from back of Oedipus’s underwear] property of Oedipus, the true
son
of King Laius.
Oedipus/Ceasar: Oh, terrible gods! Oh,
wretched fate! There is only one thing
that this can
mean! One conclusion that can possibly be
drawn! I’ve been wearing someone else’s
underwear all these years!
Jocasta/Helena: No, Oedipus, it’s even worse.
Don’t you see, I was Laius’s wife.
You are
Laius’s
son. Oedipus, I am your…I am your…
“refrigerator.”
Oedipus/Ceasar: My refrigerator? No
wonder your feet are so cold in bed.
How do you
open? I could use a cold drink. [tries to pry open her mouth and look down
her
throat]
Messenger/Clara: No, she’s your “refrigerator”,
you know, the daughter of your
Grandmother.
Oedipus/Ceasar: what?
Messenger/Clara: The sister of your uncle. The aunt of your cousin.
Oedipus/Ceasar: You mean my mother?
Messenger/Clara: Ummmm…well, yeah.
Oedipus/Ceasar: Well then why didn’t you just say, “mother”? Why all this
talk
about refrigerators?
Messenger/Clara: You won’t try and strangle me?
Oedipus/Ceasar: Of course not. Why would
I? You can say it. Mother. Mother. Mother.
Messenger/Clara: Oh.
Great. It’s just that usually
you freak out whenever someone says,
“mother”! [As soon as she says mother Ceasar screams
and strangles her]
Oedipus/Ceasar: My eyes! My eyes!
Oh, Mother! She loved me! She
loved me! It was my
father!
Creon/Catherine: [to Helena] This is your fault, bitch!
Jocasta/Helena: Go to Hades, whore! [they
attack each other. Cowboy jumps on
Ceasar’s
back. Chaos becomes general].
Altar/Angie:
FREEZE! [everyone
freezes. Still-frame. Angie gets up and addresses the
audience.] This, as you might have guessed, was the
last show the company was ever to perform.
Seconds from now, Ceasar finished strangling Clara, and put the Cowboy
in a Coma by throwing him off his back.
He then strangled himself. The
professor died of a heart attack, brought on by the shock of seeing Helena push
Catherine off the stage, breaking three of her ribs. Helena is now in a state penitentiary. While all this was going on, we later discovered, Arin, the
director, was backstage—quietly committing suicide. Granny Mysteria mysteriously disappeared before the police
arrived, and was never seen again. The
drunk, having escaped from his bondage in the wings, swept Ivan in his arms and
carried her off stage left. They eloped
together two nights later, and are now living somewhere near Venezuela. Laura is in medical school, and Anne has
joined the Peace Corps. I am the only
one of the original twelve actors still involved with the theater. I produce and direct reproductions like this
one of our final fateful play, mostly so I can give myself lines, like
these.[pause] You’re expecting now a
moral, some lesson to be learned. There
is none. We were a bad company, doing
bad performances of plays that might not have been that good to begin
with. The only thing worthwhile,
amusing, was our falling apart. Our
mistakes, our descent. A brightly
colored Robin falling from a tree. The
last spontaneity in a dying world, that ends not with a bang, but with a
whimper.
[Curtain].