Friday, February 26, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
February 21 Play: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS 3, or: ST. CHISTOPHER
NOTE: This one's a little long, but I like it. You remember the story of the female astronaut who drove across the country to kill her lover (or maybe to kill his new girlfriend)? This is loosely based on that sad tale. Stir in the St. Christopher statue my grandfather kept on his dashboard and what do you get? This play. Hope you enjoy it. There are two other "Afterlives" plays from... how weird! Exactly one month ago: JAN 21 and JAN 23.
52: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS 3, or: ST. CHRISTOPHER - by Ed Valentine
© February 21, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: RAIN sound. A car. A LADY ASTRONAUT, grim, gripping the wheel. A country song plays on the car radio. Then: THUNDER. The woman swerves, the car skids. She keeps driving. Lights flicker. Go out. When they come back up: a SAINT WITH THE HEAD OF A DOG in the backseat. (The face: a hound of some sort. Jowly. Beagle? Basset? A hound.)
SAINT: I saved you.
WOMAN: No you didn’t.
SAINT: Just now! Yes. Yes I did. I’m Saint Christopher. Patron saint of travelers.
LADY ASTRONAUT: I remember St. Christopher. My Granpa used to have a St. Christopher statue on his dashboard of his old Dodge Dart.
SAINT: I’m – what can I say? Flattered.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Granpa died in a car crash.
SAINT: Oh.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Decapitated.
SAINT: So was I! Eventually.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Eventually?
SAINT: It took a few tries. Saints are hard to kill.
LADY ASTRONAUT: So are grandfathers. He was a tough old bird.
SAINT: I imagine. You could just pull over. We could talk about this.
LADY ASTRONAUT: I’m not pulling over.
SAINT: Just for a minute.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Not even for a minute. Not even for a second. I’m wearing diapers.
SAINT: So –
LADY ASTRONAUT: So I never have to stop.
SAINT: Oh.
(Sniffs.)
That explains a lot.
LADY ASTRONAUT: So why do you have a dog face? Granpa’s St. Christopher statue didn’t have a dog face.
SAINT: No, I imagine it didn’t. In Eastern art I’m sometimes but not always depicted as having a dog’s face. No one knows why.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Do you know why?
SAINT: Well, yes. It’s because I had the face of a dog.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Makes sense. What are you doing here?
SAINT: I told you: Patron Saint of Travelers. I came to protect you.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Nothing can protect me.
SAINT: Dissuade you, then?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Nothing can dissuade me.
(She pulls out a gun from below the dashboard. Cocks it.)
Nothing. He left me, but it was her fault. She was driving the truck that rear-ended my life. She was driving the tractor-trailor that jackknifed my heart.
SAINT: Still – a gun?
LADY ASTRONAUT: It’s all her fault, and she’s a gonna pay. And me? Now I carry a payload the weight of the whole world.
(Silence. She drives.)
SAINT: When I was a young man, I had to cross a river.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Which one?
SAINT: I forget. I was about to cross, when I saw a little baby on the shore. “Oh Saint Christopher,” he asked. “Please St. Christopher, help me get across the river!”
LADY ASTRONAUT: A talking baby?
SAINT: Yes.
LADY ASTRONAUT: And he called you Saint Christopher?
SAINT: Yes.
LADY ASTRONAUT: You weren’t a saint yet.
SAINT: What I was, was a giant! 12 cubits – 18 feet – tall. And so I picked up the baby in my arms and started across the river.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Where’s this going?
SAINT: Just listen. So I started across the river, and as I did the baby grew heavy in my arms, heavy, heavy, SO heavy that I could barely carry him. And the waves washed over us, and it was all I could do to keep him above the water.
(Pause. Sound of rain.)
LADY ASTRONAUT: Go on.
SAINT: Just remembering. But I did it. I got to the other side. I got HIM to the other side. And as I lay, wet and panting on the grass of the bank, I told him, I told the baby: "You have put me in the greatest danger. I do not think the whole world could have been as heavy on my shoulders as you were." And the baby looked up at me and said: "You had on your shoulders not only the whole world but Him who made it. I am Baby Jesus, whom you are serving by this work." And you know what happened then? POOF! The baby vanished.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Baby Jesus.
SAINT: Yes.
LADY ASTRONAUT: The baby was Baby Jesus.
SAINT: Yes.
LADY ASTRONAUT: You’d think Baby Jesus could make his own way across the river, don’t you? Being Jesus and all?
SAINT: Oh well. I was happy to help. Say, why don’t you just –
LADY ASTRONAUT: Don’t ask me.
SAINT: You could just –
LADY ASTRONAUT: Nope.
SAINT: Turn the car around?
LADY ASTRONAUT: No.
SAINT: You’ve seen the moon and the stars up close! Like me! The sky is beautiful – isn't that enough.
LADY ASTRONAUT: No.
SAINT: You don’t need to do this. Trust me.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Trust you?
SAINT: Yes.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Trust YOU? Sure. It’s all a lie anyway.
SAINT: What is?
LADY ASTRONAUT: ALL OF IT. The story. The baby. Your 12 or 18 cubits. Your saggy doggy face.
SAINT: I won’t sit still for –
LADY ASTRONAUT: You don’t exist, ok? The Church denied your existence in 1969. Said you were nothing but a myth.
SAINT: It’s not –
LADY ASTRONAUT: A MYTH, OK? YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A GODDAMNED STORY. YOU CAN’T PROTECT ME OR ANY TRAVELER.
SAINT: -
LADY ASTRONAUT: I’m sorry to tell you but it’s true. The church washed its holy hands of you in 1969. My Granpa was so disgusted he took away the statue of you from his dashboard. And he left the Church. And now I’m gonna drive to Tucson and blow my husband’s lover’s damn fool head off. And no dog-faced-saint can stop me. Goddamn. Goddamn.
SAINT: -
One question?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Yes.
SAINT: Your granpa threw the statue away.
LADY ASTRONAUT: That's what I said.
SAINT: So his statue wasn’t in the car when he crashed? When he was –
LADY ASTRONAUT: Decapitated?
SAINT: Right.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Well. No.
SAINT: Pity that. Maybe I could have helped him. If he’d only thought to ask.
LADY ASTRONAUT: We have to ask?
SAINT: We like to be asked. Like dogs, we come when called. Otherwise, we sit and beg or lie sleeping, our legs kicking in a holy dream of fetch and catch. What did you do with the statue?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Huh.
SAINT: What?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Funny.
SAINT: What?
LADY ASTRONAUT: I took it.
SAINT: After he threw it away?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Yes. Took it out of the trashcan in his bathroom. Kept it for myself.
SAINT: And where is it now?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Take the wheel for a sec, will you?
SAINT: My pleasure.
(He reaches over, takes it. She rummages around in the glove compartment. Produces a St. Christopher statue.)
LADY ASTRONAUT: Here.
SAINT: That’s.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Here.
SAINT: That’s.
LADY ASTRONAUT: You. Him. You.
SAINT: Me. They did a nice job with the face, don’t you think? Dashing. That dimple!
LADY ASTRONAUT: I’ll take over, thanks.
SAINT: Don’t mention it.
(She puts the statue on the dashboard. He relinquishes the wheel. She drives. She is somehow calmer.)
LADY ASTRONAUT: That why you came?
SAINT: The statue?
LADY ASTRONAUT: That why you came to me? You saw it here?
SAINT: Maybe. More like – I don’t know. Felt it. heard it.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Heard it?
SAINT: Like dogs, we saints can hear sounds beyond human range of frequency. You still going to Tucson?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Yes.
SAINT: Really.
LADY ASTRONAUT: -
Yes.
SAINT: Really?
LADY ASTRONAUT (Wavering)
I don’t know.
(Hard:)
Yes.
I started out to do it. I gotta finish what I start. Gotta drive forward on the road I planned. That’s the only way to do things. Right?
(Tears are streaming down her face.)
SAINT: Maybe. Or you can turn the car around.
LADY ASTRONAUT: -
SAINT: (Softly:) Or, there’s a Denny’s up ahead. We could stop at Denny’s. You like that? Breakfast?
LADY ASTRONAUT: (Nods.)
SAINT: Yeah. I’d like that too.
(Scratches behind his ear, like a dog.)
Look!
LADY ASTRONAUT: What?
SAINT: The rain stopped.
Sun’s come out.
It’s a brand new day.
Denny’s?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Just for a minute.
SAINT: Okay.
(Sun rises. Day lights up the ASTRONAUT'S face. She blinks, looking forward. Lights very slowly fade.)
END OF PLAY.
52: AFTERLIVES OF THE SAINTS 3, or: ST. CHRISTOPHER - by Ed Valentine
© February 21, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: RAIN sound. A car. A LADY ASTRONAUT, grim, gripping the wheel. A country song plays on the car radio. Then: THUNDER. The woman swerves, the car skids. She keeps driving. Lights flicker. Go out. When they come back up: a SAINT WITH THE HEAD OF A DOG in the backseat. (The face: a hound of some sort. Jowly. Beagle? Basset? A hound.)
SAINT: I saved you.
WOMAN: No you didn’t.
SAINT: Just now! Yes. Yes I did. I’m Saint Christopher. Patron saint of travelers.
LADY ASTRONAUT: I remember St. Christopher. My Granpa used to have a St. Christopher statue on his dashboard of his old Dodge Dart.
SAINT: I’m – what can I say? Flattered.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Granpa died in a car crash.
SAINT: Oh.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Decapitated.
SAINT: So was I! Eventually.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Eventually?
SAINT: It took a few tries. Saints are hard to kill.
LADY ASTRONAUT: So are grandfathers. He was a tough old bird.
SAINT: I imagine. You could just pull over. We could talk about this.
LADY ASTRONAUT: I’m not pulling over.
SAINT: Just for a minute.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Not even for a minute. Not even for a second. I’m wearing diapers.
SAINT: So –
LADY ASTRONAUT: So I never have to stop.
SAINT: Oh.
(Sniffs.)
That explains a lot.
LADY ASTRONAUT: So why do you have a dog face? Granpa’s St. Christopher statue didn’t have a dog face.
SAINT: No, I imagine it didn’t. In Eastern art I’m sometimes but not always depicted as having a dog’s face. No one knows why.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Do you know why?
SAINT: Well, yes. It’s because I had the face of a dog.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Makes sense. What are you doing here?
SAINT: I told you: Patron Saint of Travelers. I came to protect you.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Nothing can protect me.
SAINT: Dissuade you, then?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Nothing can dissuade me.
(She pulls out a gun from below the dashboard. Cocks it.)
Nothing. He left me, but it was her fault. She was driving the truck that rear-ended my life. She was driving the tractor-trailor that jackknifed my heart.
SAINT: Still – a gun?
LADY ASTRONAUT: It’s all her fault, and she’s a gonna pay. And me? Now I carry a payload the weight of the whole world.
(Silence. She drives.)
SAINT: When I was a young man, I had to cross a river.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Which one?
SAINT: I forget. I was about to cross, when I saw a little baby on the shore. “Oh Saint Christopher,” he asked. “Please St. Christopher, help me get across the river!”
LADY ASTRONAUT: A talking baby?
SAINT: Yes.
LADY ASTRONAUT: And he called you Saint Christopher?
SAINT: Yes.
LADY ASTRONAUT: You weren’t a saint yet.
SAINT: What I was, was a giant! 12 cubits – 18 feet – tall. And so I picked up the baby in my arms and started across the river.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Where’s this going?
SAINT: Just listen. So I started across the river, and as I did the baby grew heavy in my arms, heavy, heavy, SO heavy that I could barely carry him. And the waves washed over us, and it was all I could do to keep him above the water.
(Pause. Sound of rain.)
LADY ASTRONAUT: Go on.
SAINT: Just remembering. But I did it. I got to the other side. I got HIM to the other side. And as I lay, wet and panting on the grass of the bank, I told him, I told the baby: "You have put me in the greatest danger. I do not think the whole world could have been as heavy on my shoulders as you were." And the baby looked up at me and said: "You had on your shoulders not only the whole world but Him who made it. I am Baby Jesus, whom you are serving by this work." And you know what happened then? POOF! The baby vanished.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Baby Jesus.
SAINT: Yes.
LADY ASTRONAUT: The baby was Baby Jesus.
SAINT: Yes.
LADY ASTRONAUT: You’d think Baby Jesus could make his own way across the river, don’t you? Being Jesus and all?
SAINT: Oh well. I was happy to help. Say, why don’t you just –
LADY ASTRONAUT: Don’t ask me.
SAINT: You could just –
LADY ASTRONAUT: Nope.
SAINT: Turn the car around?
LADY ASTRONAUT: No.
SAINT: You’ve seen the moon and the stars up close! Like me! The sky is beautiful – isn't that enough.
LADY ASTRONAUT: No.
SAINT: You don’t need to do this. Trust me.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Trust you?
SAINT: Yes.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Trust YOU? Sure. It’s all a lie anyway.
SAINT: What is?
LADY ASTRONAUT: ALL OF IT. The story. The baby. Your 12 or 18 cubits. Your saggy doggy face.
SAINT: I won’t sit still for –
LADY ASTRONAUT: You don’t exist, ok? The Church denied your existence in 1969. Said you were nothing but a myth.
SAINT: It’s not –
LADY ASTRONAUT: A MYTH, OK? YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A GODDAMNED STORY. YOU CAN’T PROTECT ME OR ANY TRAVELER.
SAINT: -
LADY ASTRONAUT: I’m sorry to tell you but it’s true. The church washed its holy hands of you in 1969. My Granpa was so disgusted he took away the statue of you from his dashboard. And he left the Church. And now I’m gonna drive to Tucson and blow my husband’s lover’s damn fool head off. And no dog-faced-saint can stop me. Goddamn. Goddamn.
SAINT: -
One question?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Yes.
SAINT: Your granpa threw the statue away.
LADY ASTRONAUT: That's what I said.
SAINT: So his statue wasn’t in the car when he crashed? When he was –
LADY ASTRONAUT: Decapitated?
SAINT: Right.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Well. No.
SAINT: Pity that. Maybe I could have helped him. If he’d only thought to ask.
LADY ASTRONAUT: We have to ask?
SAINT: We like to be asked. Like dogs, we come when called. Otherwise, we sit and beg or lie sleeping, our legs kicking in a holy dream of fetch and catch. What did you do with the statue?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Huh.
SAINT: What?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Funny.
SAINT: What?
LADY ASTRONAUT: I took it.
SAINT: After he threw it away?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Yes. Took it out of the trashcan in his bathroom. Kept it for myself.
SAINT: And where is it now?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Take the wheel for a sec, will you?
SAINT: My pleasure.
(He reaches over, takes it. She rummages around in the glove compartment. Produces a St. Christopher statue.)
LADY ASTRONAUT: Here.
SAINT: That’s.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Here.
SAINT: That’s.
LADY ASTRONAUT: You. Him. You.
SAINT: Me. They did a nice job with the face, don’t you think? Dashing. That dimple!
LADY ASTRONAUT: I’ll take over, thanks.
SAINT: Don’t mention it.
(She puts the statue on the dashboard. He relinquishes the wheel. She drives. She is somehow calmer.)
LADY ASTRONAUT: That why you came?
SAINT: The statue?
LADY ASTRONAUT: That why you came to me? You saw it here?
SAINT: Maybe. More like – I don’t know. Felt it. heard it.
LADY ASTRONAUT: Heard it?
SAINT: Like dogs, we saints can hear sounds beyond human range of frequency. You still going to Tucson?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Yes.
SAINT: Really.
LADY ASTRONAUT: -
Yes.
SAINT: Really?
LADY ASTRONAUT (Wavering)
I don’t know.
(Hard:)
Yes.
I started out to do it. I gotta finish what I start. Gotta drive forward on the road I planned. That’s the only way to do things. Right?
(Tears are streaming down her face.)
SAINT: Maybe. Or you can turn the car around.
LADY ASTRONAUT: -
SAINT: (Softly:) Or, there’s a Denny’s up ahead. We could stop at Denny’s. You like that? Breakfast?
LADY ASTRONAUT: (Nods.)
SAINT: Yeah. I’d like that too.
(Scratches behind his ear, like a dog.)
Look!
LADY ASTRONAUT: What?
SAINT: The rain stopped.
Sun’s come out.
It’s a brand new day.
Denny’s?
LADY ASTRONAUT: Just for a minute.
SAINT: Okay.
(Sun rises. Day lights up the ASTRONAUT'S face. She blinks, looking forward. Lights very slowly fade.)
END OF PLAY.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
February 20 Play: NIGHT IN THE WEST
51: NIGHT IN THE WEST - by Ed Valentine
© February 20, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: The West. Again. A campfire. Blue night. A couple of stars, not too many. 2 lanterns. 2 wizened cowboys: DOUBLE-D and POKEY.
DOUBLE-D: It comes in the darkness. When the darkness comes down.
POKEY: An’ what does it look like?
DOUBLE-D: No one knows. No ones’ never seen it and lived.
POKEY: P’shaw I say.
DOUBLE-D: Don’t say p’shaw.
POKEY: P’shaw I say and I’ll say it agin.
P’shaw. P’shaw! You’re just trying to scare me.
DOUBLE-D: Am I?
POKEY: Sure you are. You’re always just trying to scare me
DOUBLE-D: Maybe there’s enough to be scared of. It’s a big scary world.
POKEY: Well, I may be stupid, but I ain’t that stupid. I’m leaving.
(DOUBLE-D stomps out the fire.)
POKEY: What’d you go and do that fer?
DOUBLE-D: We’ll see now who’s just trying to scare who. We’ll see now.
(They’re only lit by a lantern each.)
POKEY: That ain’t fair! That ain’t fair!
(A pause. DOUBLE-D’s lantern goes out.)
POKEY: Double-D? Double-D? I’m scared. You hear me? I’m scared.
(A wolf howls. POKEY looks around, sweaty. Terrified. His light goes out.)
END OF PLAY.
NOTE: Pokey and Double-D were characters in "Cowboy Kabuki," which I performed as a puppet piece recently with puppet playlist. I enjoyed bringing them back, and playing with the idea of lght and darkness in the play -as well, of course, as the idea of the Unseen Other, just outside the circle of light. What are they waiting for? What's happening? It may be up to you to decide. I just wrote this thing - you don't expect me to have all the answers, now, do you?
© February 20, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: The West. Again. A campfire. Blue night. A couple of stars, not too many. 2 lanterns. 2 wizened cowboys: DOUBLE-D and POKEY.
DOUBLE-D: It comes in the darkness. When the darkness comes down.
POKEY: An’ what does it look like?
DOUBLE-D: No one knows. No ones’ never seen it and lived.
POKEY: P’shaw I say.
DOUBLE-D: Don’t say p’shaw.
POKEY: P’shaw I say and I’ll say it agin.
P’shaw. P’shaw! You’re just trying to scare me.
DOUBLE-D: Am I?
POKEY: Sure you are. You’re always just trying to scare me
DOUBLE-D: Maybe there’s enough to be scared of. It’s a big scary world.
POKEY: Well, I may be stupid, but I ain’t that stupid. I’m leaving.
(DOUBLE-D stomps out the fire.)
POKEY: What’d you go and do that fer?
DOUBLE-D: We’ll see now who’s just trying to scare who. We’ll see now.
(They’re only lit by a lantern each.)
POKEY: That ain’t fair! That ain’t fair!
(A pause. DOUBLE-D’s lantern goes out.)
POKEY: Double-D? Double-D? I’m scared. You hear me? I’m scared.
(A wolf howls. POKEY looks around, sweaty. Terrified. His light goes out.)
END OF PLAY.
NOTE: Pokey and Double-D were characters in "Cowboy Kabuki," which I performed as a puppet piece recently with puppet playlist. I enjoyed bringing them back, and playing with the idea of lght and darkness in the play -as well, of course, as the idea of the Unseen Other, just outside the circle of light. What are they waiting for? What's happening? It may be up to you to decide. I just wrote this thing - you don't expect me to have all the answers, now, do you?
February 19 Play: JAZZ IN FURS
50: JAZZ IN FURS - by Ed Valentine
© February 19, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A JAZZ SINGER in a spotlight. Great outfit. Probably a fur. An old-fashioned microphone on a stand.
Sound of applause.
Then applause dies down.
She sings.
JAZZ SINGER:
I’m changing!
I feel myself changing.
And what’s so queer, dear,
Is that I’m hear, dear,
Watching myself changing too.
I’m changing.
My cells are rearranging.
And what I fear, dear,
Is that you’re near, dear,
And I’m afraid of what else I might do.
(She slowly becomes a wolf.)
Don’t say I haven’t told you
What happens when I hold you.
Don’t say there wasn’t warning
That you might not make the morning.
There’s never enough time enough time enough time enough time!
So…
Now I am changing
Such a goddamned strange thing
So don’t stay here, dear
Please do keep clear, dear!
I have no resistance
And it’s not just at a distance –
That I can take in you!
I’d like to take in you.
Like to take in all… of… you!
(Her transformation complete, she howls at the moon. Lights out.)
END OF PLAY.
NOTE: The new WOLFMAN movie's come out, with Benicio Del Toro in it. I haven't seen it yet, but the wolfman was on my mind. And Ella Fitzgerald was on the radio at the Casbah Cafe while I was trying to write this, so... there you go.
© February 19, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A JAZZ SINGER in a spotlight. Great outfit. Probably a fur. An old-fashioned microphone on a stand.
Sound of applause.
Then applause dies down.
She sings.
JAZZ SINGER:
I’m changing!
I feel myself changing.
And what’s so queer, dear,
Is that I’m hear, dear,
Watching myself changing too.
I’m changing.
My cells are rearranging.
And what I fear, dear,
Is that you’re near, dear,
And I’m afraid of what else I might do.
(She slowly becomes a wolf.)
Don’t say I haven’t told you
What happens when I hold you.
Don’t say there wasn’t warning
That you might not make the morning.
There’s never enough time enough time enough time enough time!
So…
Now I am changing
Such a goddamned strange thing
So don’t stay here, dear
Please do keep clear, dear!
I have no resistance
And it’s not just at a distance –
That I can take in you!
I’d like to take in you.
Like to take in all… of… you!
(Her transformation complete, she howls at the moon. Lights out.)
END OF PLAY.
NOTE: The new WOLFMAN movie's come out, with Benicio Del Toro in it. I haven't seen it yet, but the wolfman was on my mind. And Ella Fitzgerald was on the radio at the Casbah Cafe while I was trying to write this, so... there you go.
February 18 Play: BUYING SLEEPING BEAUTY
49: BUYING SLEEPING BEAUTY - by Ed Valentine
© February 18, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: SLEEPING BEAUTY, asleep in a glass coffin. Her chest lightly moving.
A CARNY BARKER on a small podium by her.
BARKER:
Selling tickets!
Come one, come all!
See the Sleeping Beauty, See the Sleeping Beauty!
The likes of her you’ve never seen in your Natural Born Life!
(A well-dressed woman and her SON enter.)
SON: She’s beautiful.
MOTHER: But asleep.
SON: She’s the girl of my dreams.
MOTHER: She’s the girl of HER dreams, that’s for sure.
SON: When she dreams, I bet she dreams of castles. And carriages. And doves.
MOTHER: When she dreams, I bet she dreams of dreaming. She dreasm she’s asleep, dreaming of herself dreaming. The soul of narcissism, in my opinion.
SON: She’s the one for me.
MOTHER: If that’s how you like them.
SON: She’s the one for me.
MOTHER: It’ll never go anywhere.
SON: She’s the one for me.
MOTHER: What will people say?
SON: Mother.
-
MOTHER: You’ve worn me down. (CALLING TO BARKER:) Mister? I’ll buy her, glass coffin and all.
(Hands BARKER a wad of bills.)
BARKER: Why, thank you! Thank you, Ma’am! Now I can retire to Boca Raton! WHoo-hoo!
(He cheers and runs off. The pair are alone with the casket. SON touches the casket.)
SON: Thank you, Mother.
Thank you very much.
(Lights fade.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 18, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: SLEEPING BEAUTY, asleep in a glass coffin. Her chest lightly moving.
A CARNY BARKER on a small podium by her.
BARKER:
Selling tickets!
Come one, come all!
See the Sleeping Beauty, See the Sleeping Beauty!
The likes of her you’ve never seen in your Natural Born Life!
(A well-dressed woman and her SON enter.)
SON: She’s beautiful.
MOTHER: But asleep.
SON: She’s the girl of my dreams.
MOTHER: She’s the girl of HER dreams, that’s for sure.
SON: When she dreams, I bet she dreams of castles. And carriages. And doves.
MOTHER: When she dreams, I bet she dreams of dreaming. She dreasm she’s asleep, dreaming of herself dreaming. The soul of narcissism, in my opinion.
SON: She’s the one for me.
MOTHER: If that’s how you like them.
SON: She’s the one for me.
MOTHER: It’ll never go anywhere.
SON: She’s the one for me.
MOTHER: What will people say?
SON: Mother.
-
MOTHER: You’ve worn me down. (CALLING TO BARKER:) Mister? I’ll buy her, glass coffin and all.
(Hands BARKER a wad of bills.)
BARKER: Why, thank you! Thank you, Ma’am! Now I can retire to Boca Raton! WHoo-hoo!
(He cheers and runs off. The pair are alone with the casket. SON touches the casket.)
SON: Thank you, Mother.
Thank you very much.
(Lights fade.)
END OF PLAY.
February 17 Play: BURNING QUESTIONS
48: BURNING QUESTIONS - by Ed Valentine
© February 17, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: 2 in a room full of books. They kneel, holding one book together.
1: This. It’s the one.
2: The one?
1: Out of all of these. Out of all the many: one.
2: And it has all the answers? The answers to everything?
1: Yes.
2: What’s our purpose? Why do we die? Is Bigfoot real? Is there a God?
1: Yes.
2: Why are people evil?
1: Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
2: Who put the overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s chowder?
(Beat.)
1: I love that song!
(Together, they sing the song.
BOTH:
Oh, who threw the overalls in Mrs Murphy's chowder
Nobody spoke, so he shouted all the louder
It's an Irish trick that's true
I can lick the mick that threw
The overalls in Mrs Murphy's chowder.
(louder:)
I can lick the mick that threw
The overalls in Mrs Murphy's chowder!
(louder! marching and banging books like drums.)
I can lick the mick that threw
The overalls in Mrs Murphy's chowder!
(They subside.)
2: Open it, open it!
1: It’s time, it’s time!
(He does.)
It’s empty.
2: Empty?
1: Stupid book.
(he lights a lighter. Burns the book. A thunderclap. Something has gone wrong.)
(Papers fall from the sky around them. They look up. Lights fade.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 17, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: 2 in a room full of books. They kneel, holding one book together.
1: This. It’s the one.
2: The one?
1: Out of all of these. Out of all the many: one.
2: And it has all the answers? The answers to everything?
1: Yes.
2: What’s our purpose? Why do we die? Is Bigfoot real? Is there a God?
1: Yes.
2: Why are people evil?
1: Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
2: Who put the overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s chowder?
(Beat.)
1: I love that song!
(Together, they sing the song.
BOTH:
Oh, who threw the overalls in Mrs Murphy's chowder
Nobody spoke, so he shouted all the louder
It's an Irish trick that's true
I can lick the mick that threw
The overalls in Mrs Murphy's chowder.
(louder:)
I can lick the mick that threw
The overalls in Mrs Murphy's chowder!
(louder! marching and banging books like drums.)
I can lick the mick that threw
The overalls in Mrs Murphy's chowder!
(They subside.)
2: Open it, open it!
1: It’s time, it’s time!
(He does.)
It’s empty.
2: Empty?
1: Stupid book.
(he lights a lighter. Burns the book. A thunderclap. Something has gone wrong.)
(Papers fall from the sky around them. They look up. Lights fade.)
END OF PLAY.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
February 16 Play: QUARTET
47: QUARTET - by Ed Valentine
© February 16, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A stage in a concert hall. The QUARTET enters, as if to begin a concert. Applause. They sit. They look, and breathe. Raise their instruments.
Suddenly:
VIOLA: Wait.
-
Wait. I can’t go on.
FIRST VIOLIN: Don’t.
VIOLA: Don’t tell me don’t. I’m telling you, I said it, I can’t.
(Starts to gather her music.)
SECOND VIOLIN: They’re paying customers!
VIOLA: (glaring at CELLO) Tell HIM to pay them, then. From his lockbox of a heart.
(VIOLA walks off, through the center aisle.)
(A terrible pause.)
FIRST VIOLIN: We’re - sorry. We’re very.
SECOND VIOLIN: Sorry.
FIRST VIOLIN (TO CELLO): This is all your fault.
(Apologetically, embarrassed, FIRST VIOLIN and SECOND VIOLIN go to walk off into the wings.)
SECOND VIOLIN: (To CELLO) You coming?
(CELLO, without a word, begins to play. Alone in the light. FIRST VIOLIN and SECOND VIOLIN watch from the wings. Lights only on CELLO. CELLO only hearing the music. Spill of lights on the others in the wings. Music ends.
VIOLA enters in the center aisle. Waits. Watches. Listens. Hears.
Lights fade.
END OF PLAY.
© February 16, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A stage in a concert hall. The QUARTET enters, as if to begin a concert. Applause. They sit. They look, and breathe. Raise their instruments.
Suddenly:
VIOLA: Wait.
-
Wait. I can’t go on.
FIRST VIOLIN: Don’t.
VIOLA: Don’t tell me don’t. I’m telling you, I said it, I can’t.
(Starts to gather her music.)
SECOND VIOLIN: They’re paying customers!
VIOLA: (glaring at CELLO) Tell HIM to pay them, then. From his lockbox of a heart.
(VIOLA walks off, through the center aisle.)
(A terrible pause.)
FIRST VIOLIN: We’re - sorry. We’re very.
SECOND VIOLIN: Sorry.
FIRST VIOLIN (TO CELLO): This is all your fault.
(Apologetically, embarrassed, FIRST VIOLIN and SECOND VIOLIN go to walk off into the wings.)
SECOND VIOLIN: (To CELLO) You coming?
(CELLO, without a word, begins to play. Alone in the light. FIRST VIOLIN and SECOND VIOLIN watch from the wings. Lights only on CELLO. CELLO only hearing the music. Spill of lights on the others in the wings. Music ends.
VIOLA enters in the center aisle. Waits. Watches. Listens. Hears.
Lights fade.
END OF PLAY.
February 15 Play: SUPER BOWL
46: SUPER BOWL - by Ed Valentine
© February 15, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
IN THE DARKNESS: A glowing television. Sixteen men around it, watching. Nothing is on the TV: just a blank screen. WIFE comes home. Turns on hallway light.
MEN: Aah!
WOMAN: Jimmy?
JIMMY: Turn it off, turn it off!
(She does. Then steps into the light of the TV.)
WIFE: Jim, what’s going on?
JIMMY: We’re watching the game.
WIFE: There’s nothing on.
JIMMY: That’s ridiculous.
WIFE: There’s nothing on.
JIMMY: Don’t you see it?
WIFE: There’s nothing on.
JIMMY: That’s what you think.
(Pause. All the men react as if to something they saw on a sports game on the TV.)
MEN: SCORE!
(They hi-five.)
JIMMY: Are there wings in the fridge?
WIFE: -
I guess so.
-
You want me to get them?
JIMMY: That’d be great, honey.
Just great.
(The men drink beers. Wife turns out the hallway light. Exits past the TV. The men drink beers in unison.)
MEN: Beers.
(Lights snap out.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 15, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
IN THE DARKNESS: A glowing television. Sixteen men around it, watching. Nothing is on the TV: just a blank screen. WIFE comes home. Turns on hallway light.
MEN: Aah!
WOMAN: Jimmy?
JIMMY: Turn it off, turn it off!
(She does. Then steps into the light of the TV.)
WIFE: Jim, what’s going on?
JIMMY: We’re watching the game.
WIFE: There’s nothing on.
JIMMY: That’s ridiculous.
WIFE: There’s nothing on.
JIMMY: Don’t you see it?
WIFE: There’s nothing on.
JIMMY: That’s what you think.
(Pause. All the men react as if to something they saw on a sports game on the TV.)
MEN: SCORE!
(They hi-five.)
JIMMY: Are there wings in the fridge?
WIFE: -
I guess so.
-
You want me to get them?
JIMMY: That’d be great, honey.
Just great.
(The men drink beers. Wife turns out the hallway light. Exits past the TV. The men drink beers in unison.)
MEN: Beers.
(Lights snap out.)
END OF PLAY.
February 14 Play: HEART OF THE HOME
45: HEART OF THE HOME - by Ed Valentine
© February 14, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A door. A beating sound. Increases through the play. FRED has an axe. JOAN behind him.
JOAN: We shouldn’t.
FRED: We should.
JOAN: It couldn’t be.
FRED: It could!
JOAN: But we were told not to!
FRED: Nonetheless. We can’t live here with that.
JOAN: No. We can’t.
FRED: We’ll never have a moment’s peace.
JOAN: Never never.
FRED: Well then! Be brave, be bold!
JOAN: I am.
-
Do you think I’m not?
FRED: No!
JOAN: No, you don’t think I am brave? Or no, you don’t think I’m not?
FRED: Hush!
JOAN: Okay. I’m scared.
FRED: Me too.
(They join hands. He shoulders the axe. They open the door. We see a giant heart, wet and red, jammed inside a small space. The 2 sink to their knees.)
JOAN: Poor thing. It was there all along.
FRED: I wonder.
JOAN: What?
FRED: I wonder what it wants?
(The heart thumps. They watch it. Lights fade. Red glow.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 14, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A door. A beating sound. Increases through the play. FRED has an axe. JOAN behind him.
JOAN: We shouldn’t.
FRED: We should.
JOAN: It couldn’t be.
FRED: It could!
JOAN: But we were told not to!
FRED: Nonetheless. We can’t live here with that.
JOAN: No. We can’t.
FRED: We’ll never have a moment’s peace.
JOAN: Never never.
FRED: Well then! Be brave, be bold!
JOAN: I am.
-
Do you think I’m not?
FRED: No!
JOAN: No, you don’t think I am brave? Or no, you don’t think I’m not?
FRED: Hush!
JOAN: Okay. I’m scared.
FRED: Me too.
(They join hands. He shoulders the axe. They open the door. We see a giant heart, wet and red, jammed inside a small space. The 2 sink to their knees.)
JOAN: Poor thing. It was there all along.
FRED: I wonder.
JOAN: What?
FRED: I wonder what it wants?
(The heart thumps. They watch it. Lights fade. Red glow.)
END OF PLAY.
February 13 Play: REUNION
44: REUNION - by Ed Valentine
© February 13, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A large long table. Many Victorian relatives already eating. Whispering, rustling, A MAN walks in: modern dress. They all stop, food to mouths. Stare at him.)
MAN: Hello?
WOMAN: You’ve come back. You’ve come back to us.
MAN: I don’t know you.
WOMAN: Oh yes. Yes you do.
You’re us.
MAN: I am not.
WOMAN: You’re hungry like us.
You’re perplexed like we are.
You’re us.
Sit down and eat.
(He does. Stares out. The RELATIVES all go back to whispering, staring, looking, pointing at him.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 13, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A large long table. Many Victorian relatives already eating. Whispering, rustling, A MAN walks in: modern dress. They all stop, food to mouths. Stare at him.)
MAN: Hello?
WOMAN: You’ve come back. You’ve come back to us.
MAN: I don’t know you.
WOMAN: Oh yes. Yes you do.
You’re us.
MAN: I am not.
WOMAN: You’re hungry like us.
You’re perplexed like we are.
You’re us.
Sit down and eat.
(He does. Stares out. The RELATIVES all go back to whispering, staring, looking, pointing at him.)
END OF PLAY.
February 12 Play: ICE FLOE
43: ICE FLOE - by Ed Valentine
© February 12, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: An ice floe. A woman with flowers. Another with knitting.
KNITTING: This was the place, then?
FLOWERS: This very hole.
KNITTING: Yes, but. But how can you be sure, you know? One hole is very like another. A hole is just a hole. A void. A zed.
FLOWERS: I know.
KNITTING: Still. This was the place, you think.
FLOWERS: I know.
KNITTING: Well, then.
-
He’s not coming back, you know.
FLOWERS: You didn’t need to say that.
(throws flowers in the hole)
Let’s go home.
(They don’t move. A long time watching the hole.)
Lights fade.
END OF PLAY.
© February 12, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: An ice floe. A woman with flowers. Another with knitting.
KNITTING: This was the place, then?
FLOWERS: This very hole.
KNITTING: Yes, but. But how can you be sure, you know? One hole is very like another. A hole is just a hole. A void. A zed.
FLOWERS: I know.
KNITTING: Still. This was the place, you think.
FLOWERS: I know.
KNITTING: Well, then.
-
He’s not coming back, you know.
FLOWERS: You didn’t need to say that.
(throws flowers in the hole)
Let’s go home.
(They don’t move. A long time watching the hole.)
Lights fade.
END OF PLAY.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
February 11 Play: RIGMAROLE
42: RIGMAROLE - by Ed Valentine
© February 11, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
IN DARKNESS: BANG! A gunshot. Then a terrible thud.
LIGHTS UP: HAROLD stands, with smoking gun. WALLACE kneels by a dead horse, a bullet hole black in her forehead.
WALLACE: She didn’t deserve that! Why? Why would you -
HAROLD: Didn’t do it for her.
Did it for you.
Ma asks, I’ll tell her your horse broke her leg so it was a mercy killing.
And it was.
-
What you’re doing is unnatural. You hear?
Un. Natural.
WALLACE: Shit. You don't care about that.
HAROLD: Maybe. Maybe not.
Maybe best way to get at you, Wallace. Best way to get at you.
Come on now, let’s bury her.
WALLACE: My poor Rigmarole.
My poor Rolly.
My poor poor Roll.
WALLACE cradles the horse. Pieta. Harold’s gun still smokes. The smoke rises in the light.
Lights out.
END OF PLAY.
© February 11, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
IN DARKNESS: BANG! A gunshot. Then a terrible thud.
LIGHTS UP: HAROLD stands, with smoking gun. WALLACE kneels by a dead horse, a bullet hole black in her forehead.
WALLACE: She didn’t deserve that! Why? Why would you -
HAROLD: Didn’t do it for her.
Did it for you.
Ma asks, I’ll tell her your horse broke her leg so it was a mercy killing.
And it was.
-
What you’re doing is unnatural. You hear?
Un. Natural.
WALLACE: Shit. You don't care about that.
HAROLD: Maybe. Maybe not.
Maybe best way to get at you, Wallace. Best way to get at you.
Come on now, let’s bury her.
WALLACE: My poor Rigmarole.
My poor Rolly.
My poor poor Roll.
WALLACE cradles the horse. Pieta. Harold’s gun still smokes. The smoke rises in the light.
Lights out.
END OF PLAY.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
February 10 Play: GIRL IN RED
41: GIRL IN RED - by Ed Valentine
© February 10, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: Two men walking in the blinding snow. Through the snow, A GIRL IN RED appears. Then disappears.
1: Did you see that?
2: What?
1: That girl. That girl in red.
2: No.
1: You must have seen her! She was in bright red. Right there.
2: You’re crazy. How can you see anything in this snow?
(The GIRL appears somewhere else. Disappears.)
1: There! There again!
2: You’re mad, you know. Let’s just get home.
(Trudges on.)
Are you coming?
(1 stands transfixed. The GIRL in red appears somewhere, maybe in the audience. 2 does not see.)
1: No, you go on. I’m following something else.
2: Suit yourself. It’s cold!
(He goes on, and exits.)
1: I found you in the snow.
(GIRL beckons. 1 follows her. Lights fade. Snow falls.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 10, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: Two men walking in the blinding snow. Through the snow, A GIRL IN RED appears. Then disappears.
1: Did you see that?
2: What?
1: That girl. That girl in red.
2: No.
1: You must have seen her! She was in bright red. Right there.
2: You’re crazy. How can you see anything in this snow?
(The GIRL appears somewhere else. Disappears.)
1: There! There again!
2: You’re mad, you know. Let’s just get home.
(Trudges on.)
Are you coming?
(1 stands transfixed. The GIRL in red appears somewhere, maybe in the audience. 2 does not see.)
1: No, you go on. I’m following something else.
2: Suit yourself. It’s cold!
(He goes on, and exits.)
1: I found you in the snow.
(GIRL beckons. 1 follows her. Lights fade. Snow falls.)
END OF PLAY.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
February 9 Play: REMOTE, OR: AFTER IBSEN
40: REMOTE, OR: AFTER IBSEN - by Ed Valentine
© February 9, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: a tiny square of an apartment. A MAN flipping channels. The room is mostly lit by the glow of the TV. He’s gotten enormous, and it’s as if he’s become part of the couch. As if couch and man are melding together. Meanwhile, SHE is picking up the mess all around the room, putting the garbage and dirty laundry into a laundry basket. Sound from TV. Lights from TV. She finally pauses.
SHE: Something has to be done.
Did you hear me?
I said, something has to be done.
HE: Then do something.
SHE: Yes?
HE: Then do something.
(SHE thinks, perplexed. Then the light dawns. With great relief:)
SHE: Yes. I will.
(She dumps out the box on the floor. Leaves the house through the front door.
Slam.
He sits for a while. Then stops flipping channels.
To the remote:)
HE: It’s better this way.
(Goes back to flipping channels. Lights fade.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 9, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: a tiny square of an apartment. A MAN flipping channels. The room is mostly lit by the glow of the TV. He’s gotten enormous, and it’s as if he’s become part of the couch. As if couch and man are melding together. Meanwhile, SHE is picking up the mess all around the room, putting the garbage and dirty laundry into a laundry basket. Sound from TV. Lights from TV. She finally pauses.
SHE: Something has to be done.
Did you hear me?
I said, something has to be done.
HE: Then do something.
SHE: Yes?
HE: Then do something.
(SHE thinks, perplexed. Then the light dawns. With great relief:)
SHE: Yes. I will.
(She dumps out the box on the floor. Leaves the house through the front door.
Slam.
He sits for a while. Then stops flipping channels.
To the remote:)
HE: It’s better this way.
(Goes back to flipping channels. Lights fade.)
END OF PLAY.
February 8 Play: TEA LEAF READER
39: TEA LEAF READER - by Ed Valentine
© February 8, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: Two at a dining table. Drinking from teacups. The mood is very light.
1: My grandmother taught me to read tea leaves.
2: What do mine say?
1: Oh, I haven’t done it for years.
2: Try, try!
1: Well –
2: Go on.
1: Well then: alright.
-
I’m embarrassed.
2: Go on!
1: Well then!
(Focuses. Reads leaves.)
Well then.
(Focuses. Puts the cup down. Looks at 2.)
Well.
2: What? What do they say?
1: -
Let’s just have our tea.
(They sit a long time, both very unsettled. For very different reasons.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 8, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: Two at a dining table. Drinking from teacups. The mood is very light.
1: My grandmother taught me to read tea leaves.
2: What do mine say?
1: Oh, I haven’t done it for years.
2: Try, try!
1: Well –
2: Go on.
1: Well then: alright.
-
I’m embarrassed.
2: Go on!
1: Well then!
(Focuses. Reads leaves.)
Well then.
(Focuses. Puts the cup down. Looks at 2.)
Well.
2: What? What do they say?
1: -
Let’s just have our tea.
(They sit a long time, both very unsettled. For very different reasons.)
END OF PLAY.
February 7 Play: THE BEST BREAD
38: THE BEST BREAD - by Ed Valentine
© February 7, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A BAKER in a flour-covered apron. A POOR CUSTOMER in burlap stands across the counter. Baker holds a rustic loaf of bread.
POOR CUSTOMER: What’s that?
BAKER: It’s bread.
POOR CUSTOMER: Is it good bread?
BAKER: The best bread. Baked most lovingly, tenderly. It was born just this morning, just a little lump of yeasty dough, until I popped him in the oven and let him grow. See? The light crust is his skin. See? The raisins are his eyes.
POOR CUSTOMER: I’ll take it!
(Bites into the loaf.)
OW!
BAKER: He bites back.
He bites back.
(POOR CUSTOMER sinks to ground. Spits out teeth. BAKER watches.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 7, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A BAKER in a flour-covered apron. A POOR CUSTOMER in burlap stands across the counter. Baker holds a rustic loaf of bread.
POOR CUSTOMER: What’s that?
BAKER: It’s bread.
POOR CUSTOMER: Is it good bread?
BAKER: The best bread. Baked most lovingly, tenderly. It was born just this morning, just a little lump of yeasty dough, until I popped him in the oven and let him grow. See? The light crust is his skin. See? The raisins are his eyes.
POOR CUSTOMER: I’ll take it!
(Bites into the loaf.)
OW!
BAKER: He bites back.
He bites back.
(POOR CUSTOMER sinks to ground. Spits out teeth. BAKER watches.)
END OF PLAY.
February 6 Play: THE SKY SHOW
37: THE SKY SHOW - by Ed Valentine
© February 6, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: YOU SIT IN THE PLANETARIUM. THE LIGHTS GO DOWN.
VOICE:
Please take your seats as we take you on an amazing journey through the known universe.
(MUSIC.)
The sky is filled with stars.
(STARS COME OUT.)
And the stars are just gas. They don’t twinkle. You can’t wish on them. Their twinkling is an illusion.
(WE DRAW CLOSER TO THE STARS.)
In fact, they themselves may be an illusion.
(A COMET BLAZES BY. SOUND OF WIND.)
Some of them are dead. Some of them are dead, and we don’t know it. We do not know what we see.
(THE STARS TURN COLD AND BLUE. WE START TO PULL AWAY FROM THEM INTO THE BLACKNESS OF THE SKY.)
And cannot trust our eyes. This is why science is useless. Because no one knows anything. Yeah, I miss the days I could believe in twinkling, too – or the days when I could believe in them as wishing stars.
(THE STARS ARE VERY FAR AWAY.)
But not anymore. Not anymore.
(CONSTELLATIONS APPEAR. A SOUND OF WIND, THE CONSTELLATIONS BLOW AWAY ONE BY ONE.)
The world has no more room for dreamers, and wishers, and wishing stars.
(WE STOP MOVING OUT, AND MOVE TOWARDS THE STARSS.)
But – still. I wish on them. I do. I do.
(WE MOVE IN.)
Maybe you can wish on one, too.
(MOVE IN.)
Maybe this one.
(SOMEONE POINTS AT ONE PARTICULAR STAR WITH A RED LASER POINTER.)
Or pick one you like, really. Any one will do.
-
There. That one.
Thank you for coming to the sky show. And please exit to the left.
(LIGHTS RISE ON AUDIENCE.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 6, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: YOU SIT IN THE PLANETARIUM. THE LIGHTS GO DOWN.
VOICE:
Please take your seats as we take you on an amazing journey through the known universe.
(MUSIC.)
The sky is filled with stars.
(STARS COME OUT.)
And the stars are just gas. They don’t twinkle. You can’t wish on them. Their twinkling is an illusion.
(WE DRAW CLOSER TO THE STARS.)
In fact, they themselves may be an illusion.
(A COMET BLAZES BY. SOUND OF WIND.)
Some of them are dead. Some of them are dead, and we don’t know it. We do not know what we see.
(THE STARS TURN COLD AND BLUE. WE START TO PULL AWAY FROM THEM INTO THE BLACKNESS OF THE SKY.)
And cannot trust our eyes. This is why science is useless. Because no one knows anything. Yeah, I miss the days I could believe in twinkling, too – or the days when I could believe in them as wishing stars.
(THE STARS ARE VERY FAR AWAY.)
But not anymore. Not anymore.
(CONSTELLATIONS APPEAR. A SOUND OF WIND, THE CONSTELLATIONS BLOW AWAY ONE BY ONE.)
The world has no more room for dreamers, and wishers, and wishing stars.
(WE STOP MOVING OUT, AND MOVE TOWARDS THE STARSS.)
But – still. I wish on them. I do. I do.
(WE MOVE IN.)
Maybe you can wish on one, too.
(MOVE IN.)
Maybe this one.
(SOMEONE POINTS AT ONE PARTICULAR STAR WITH A RED LASER POINTER.)
Or pick one you like, really. Any one will do.
-
There. That one.
Thank you for coming to the sky show. And please exit to the left.
(LIGHTS RISE ON AUDIENCE.)
END OF PLAY.
February 5 Play: HOTEL HOLLYWOOD
36: HOTEL HOLLYWOOD - by Ed Valentine
© February 5, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A BELLHOP with bags. 1940’s clothing. Dark corridor behind him.
BELLHOP:
Right this way.
(He begins to walk.)
She walks down the hallway,
Following right behind him.
He’s smart enough not to make small talk. He knows who she is, of course.
Everybody knows who she is.
If he’s surprised that she came back here, to the place where –
Well, he doesn’t show it.
He knows the story, of course. What happened in Room 1607.
Everyone knows the story. That’s why they come here, most of ‘em.
And many of ‘em ask for Room 1607. That’s why that room’s blocked off.
Partly why. There are other reasons.
1607.
And she’s asked for that room, and it’s not in use.
So she asked for the room next door.
She follows him down the hallway.
1601.
He can feel the air crackle.
1602.
He can hear her breathing.
1603.
He can hear her heels hitting the carpet.
1604?
Silence.
1605.
Silence.
1606.
Then 1607.
Room 1607.
He knows she’s fallen behind him.
In the reflection of the doorknob
(we do keep ‘em shiny at Hotel Hollywood)
He can see her give a light little touch to the doorknob of 1607.
He walks on.
He fumbles with the bags for a moment.
He is not a clumsy man.
This gives her a moment more,
Just a moment more.
And then: a choice: what to do know?
He decides.
With not a trace of sympathy nor knowledge,
He’s just…
A Bellhop, after all, a young buck in Hollywood, a know-nothing.
He says,
“Your room, Miss.”
Not “Ma’am,” but “Miss.”
And from behind her sunglass mask
She says
“Thank you.”
She passes him and enters the room
A smudge of dark glasses, fur, and perfume –
Then shuts the door.
She’s gone.
But before she does, she hands him a fifty.
A fifty!
(He shows the bill.)
The biggest tip he ever got.
-
And he’ll never spend it.
-
(Snaps out of it. Produces keys.)
Your room, Miss.
(He looks at you. Indicates room. Lights burn out slowly.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 5, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A BELLHOP with bags. 1940’s clothing. Dark corridor behind him.
BELLHOP:
Right this way.
(He begins to walk.)
She walks down the hallway,
Following right behind him.
He’s smart enough not to make small talk. He knows who she is, of course.
Everybody knows who she is.
If he’s surprised that she came back here, to the place where –
Well, he doesn’t show it.
He knows the story, of course. What happened in Room 1607.
Everyone knows the story. That’s why they come here, most of ‘em.
And many of ‘em ask for Room 1607. That’s why that room’s blocked off.
Partly why. There are other reasons.
1607.
And she’s asked for that room, and it’s not in use.
So she asked for the room next door.
She follows him down the hallway.
1601.
He can feel the air crackle.
1602.
He can hear her breathing.
1603.
He can hear her heels hitting the carpet.
1604?
Silence.
1605.
Silence.
1606.
Then 1607.
Room 1607.
He knows she’s fallen behind him.
In the reflection of the doorknob
(we do keep ‘em shiny at Hotel Hollywood)
He can see her give a light little touch to the doorknob of 1607.
He walks on.
He fumbles with the bags for a moment.
He is not a clumsy man.
This gives her a moment more,
Just a moment more.
And then: a choice: what to do know?
He decides.
With not a trace of sympathy nor knowledge,
He’s just…
A Bellhop, after all, a young buck in Hollywood, a know-nothing.
He says,
“Your room, Miss.”
Not “Ma’am,” but “Miss.”
And from behind her sunglass mask
She says
“Thank you.”
She passes him and enters the room
A smudge of dark glasses, fur, and perfume –
Then shuts the door.
She’s gone.
But before she does, she hands him a fifty.
A fifty!
(He shows the bill.)
The biggest tip he ever got.
-
And he’ll never spend it.
-
(Snaps out of it. Produces keys.)
Your room, Miss.
(He looks at you. Indicates room. Lights burn out slowly.)
END OF PLAY.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
February 4 Play: THE NEGLECTED BUSINESSMEN
35: THE NEGLECTED BUSINESSMEN - by Ed Valentine
© February 4, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: Four Japanese businessmen around a restaurant table. Bones of a big ugly fish on a platter. A fifth businessman slumped over, dead.
BUSINESSMAN 4: Hey! We’re from that play you never typed in. We’ve been sitting here. Doing nothing.
BUSINESSMAN 3: Like so many failures, may I add.
BUSINESSMAN 2: Dishonor!
BUSINESSMAN 1: We can never go home. And this fish stinks.
BUSINESSMAN 4: There’s a saying in our town: “Never eat day-old sushi.” You’ve made us into day-old sushi.
ALL 4: Let us live!
BUSINESSMAN 4: Sincerely: The Corporation.
(They bow. Stare out. Lights out.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 4, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: Four Japanese businessmen around a restaurant table. Bones of a big ugly fish on a platter. A fifth businessman slumped over, dead.
BUSINESSMAN 4: Hey! We’re from that play you never typed in. We’ve been sitting here. Doing nothing.
BUSINESSMAN 3: Like so many failures, may I add.
BUSINESSMAN 2: Dishonor!
BUSINESSMAN 1: We can never go home. And this fish stinks.
BUSINESSMAN 4: There’s a saying in our town: “Never eat day-old sushi.” You’ve made us into day-old sushi.
ALL 4: Let us live!
BUSINESSMAN 4: Sincerely: The Corporation.
(They bow. Stare out. Lights out.)
END OF PLAY.
February 3 Play: TRICK OR TREAT
34: TRICK OR TREAT - by Ed Valentine
© February 3, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A doorway. In front of it, three kids (?) dressed, respectively, as a WITCH, a GHOST, and a MUMMY. They face the doorway. We don’t see their faces.
The WITCH rings the doorbell. A suburban WOMAN opens the door.
WOMAN: Yes?
Look at you three! Isn’t that.
-
You’re a little early for Halloween, aren’t you?
-
It’s February 3rd.
-
It’s February 3rd.
(The three do not say anything. The WOMAN does not close the door. Long, uncomfortable silence. Lights fade.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 3, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: A doorway. In front of it, three kids (?) dressed, respectively, as a WITCH, a GHOST, and a MUMMY. They face the doorway. We don’t see their faces.
The WITCH rings the doorbell. A suburban WOMAN opens the door.
WOMAN: Yes?
Look at you three! Isn’t that.
-
You’re a little early for Halloween, aren’t you?
-
It’s February 3rd.
-
It’s February 3rd.
(The three do not say anything. The WOMAN does not close the door. Long, uncomfortable silence. Lights fade.)
END OF PLAY.
February 2 Play: LAST CALL AT FRANK'S
33: LAST CALL AT FRANK'S - by Ed Valentine
© February 2, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: Two MEN at a bar. Both tipsy. Empty glasses in front of them. MAN 2 putting on his coat.
BARTENDER (OS): Last call.
1: One more for the road?
2: Well.
1: Come on.
2: I shouldn’t.
1: Come on.
2: Okay, okay, twist my arm.
(2 takes off his coat. 1 signals “two more” to the OS bartender.)
1: I drive better with five in me anyway. Way better than with 4.
2: Me too!
1: And 3? Forget it. But after five, I can drive again. Really well.
(A bottle walks by. Or flies in. If it flies in, it has wings. In any case, 2 notices, 1 doesn’t. Bottle exits.)
With six I can drive pretty good, not as good as five. Seven, well, I’ve tried it. Been stopped a buncha times.
(A number of bottles walk by or fly in. 2 notices, 1 doesn’t. Bottles exit.)
They never take me in. Cops know me. I donate to the Police Athletic League.
(Stripper music, lurid lights. A big bottle saunters past and off. 2 notices, not 1.)
Still I stick to five. It’s safer. Five’s my limit.
(BARTENDER gives them drinks.)
Thanks, Frank.
2: Is that Five?
1: Round there.
(Raises glass.)
Here’s to ya!
(2 goes to raise his glass. Puts it down.)
2: I think I’m calling it. Safe home, Joe.
1: Safe home?
-
Jeez.
(Shakes his head. Drinks.)
(2 puts on coat. Stands, unsteadily. Walks upstage. Stands in a doorway light for a moment. Outside the ‘doorway,’ snow begins to fall. 2 shivers. Goes out into the night. Lights fade.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 2, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: Two MEN at a bar. Both tipsy. Empty glasses in front of them. MAN 2 putting on his coat.
BARTENDER (OS): Last call.
1: One more for the road?
2: Well.
1: Come on.
2: I shouldn’t.
1: Come on.
2: Okay, okay, twist my arm.
(2 takes off his coat. 1 signals “two more” to the OS bartender.)
1: I drive better with five in me anyway. Way better than with 4.
2: Me too!
1: And 3? Forget it. But after five, I can drive again. Really well.
(A bottle walks by. Or flies in. If it flies in, it has wings. In any case, 2 notices, 1 doesn’t. Bottle exits.)
With six I can drive pretty good, not as good as five. Seven, well, I’ve tried it. Been stopped a buncha times.
(A number of bottles walk by or fly in. 2 notices, 1 doesn’t. Bottles exit.)
They never take me in. Cops know me. I donate to the Police Athletic League.
(Stripper music, lurid lights. A big bottle saunters past and off. 2 notices, not 1.)
Still I stick to five. It’s safer. Five’s my limit.
(BARTENDER gives them drinks.)
Thanks, Frank.
2: Is that Five?
1: Round there.
(Raises glass.)
Here’s to ya!
(2 goes to raise his glass. Puts it down.)
2: I think I’m calling it. Safe home, Joe.
1: Safe home?
-
Jeez.
(Shakes his head. Drinks.)
(2 puts on coat. Stands, unsteadily. Walks upstage. Stands in a doorway light for a moment. Outside the ‘doorway,’ snow begins to fall. 2 shivers. Goes out into the night. Lights fade.)
END OF PLAY.
February 1 Play: ENGLISH ROSE
32: ENGLISH ROSE - by Ed Valentine
© February 1, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: On table, a rose-covered teacup, a London paper, and a rose in a flowerpot. Maybe the tablecloth and the wallpaper behind them are covered with roses as well. A MAN stands by the table with a watering can. He waters the rose. The ROSE opens. She has a beautiful face. They are middle-aged, middle-class Londoners.
ROSE: Aah!
MAN: Good morning.
ROSE: Good morning to you, luv!
MAN: You say the sweetest things.
ROSE: Ooh! I can feel the cold water trickle down my stem, past my roots –
MAN: More?
ROSE: Thanks, soaking my soil and filling up my xylem and phloem, running through my long green veins to every corner of my blushing beauty. Aah!
(She extends her leaves, opens a little wider.)
MAN: Good, then?
ROSE: Thanks.
MAN: Right.
(He sits with tea, reads paper. She tries to lean over to read the paper. Can’t.)
ROSE: Anything new, luv?
MAN: Manchester lost. Liverpool won. The market’s up. Then down. Then up.
ROSE: Oh.
MAN: And a war started.
ROSE: Where?
MAN: Everywhere.
-
Nothing new.
ROSE: Things have changed between us, Martin.
MAN: Mmm?
(He never looks up from his paper.)
ROSE: Things have changed between us. Don’t you feel things have changed?
MAN: I don’t know why you’d say that. Everything’s the same as it ever was. Nothing’s changed. Nothing will change. We go on and on and on, muddling through. Doing the best we can. Trying not to hurt. More water?
ROSE: No, thanks.
(She sags a little. Then brightens.)
Well, I think we can do better.
MAN: Mm?
ROSE: I said, I think we can do better. Let’s find a place in the country. A place with air and sun and grass –
MAN: Expensive.
ROSE: That’s all I want. A little place with land.
MAN: The only place with land we’ll have is a 6 by 4 by 6 plot someday.
(She is very sad. He notices.)
Unless the market picks up.
The market might well pick up yet.
(Closes paper.)
A place with land? Yes, perhaps.
ROSE: Good then! Yes, perhaps.
(He goes back to his paper.)
MAN: Right, then.
ROSE: Water me?
-
More water?
(They sit. She looks out. He looks at his paper.)
END OF PLAY.
© February 1, 2010 * ed@edvalentine.com
LIGHTS UP: On table, a rose-covered teacup, a London paper, and a rose in a flowerpot. Maybe the tablecloth and the wallpaper behind them are covered with roses as well. A MAN stands by the table with a watering can. He waters the rose. The ROSE opens. She has a beautiful face. They are middle-aged, middle-class Londoners.
ROSE: Aah!
MAN: Good morning.
ROSE: Good morning to you, luv!
MAN: You say the sweetest things.
ROSE: Ooh! I can feel the cold water trickle down my stem, past my roots –
MAN: More?
ROSE: Thanks, soaking my soil and filling up my xylem and phloem, running through my long green veins to every corner of my blushing beauty. Aah!
(She extends her leaves, opens a little wider.)
MAN: Good, then?
ROSE: Thanks.
MAN: Right.
(He sits with tea, reads paper. She tries to lean over to read the paper. Can’t.)
ROSE: Anything new, luv?
MAN: Manchester lost. Liverpool won. The market’s up. Then down. Then up.
ROSE: Oh.
MAN: And a war started.
ROSE: Where?
MAN: Everywhere.
-
Nothing new.
ROSE: Things have changed between us, Martin.
MAN: Mmm?
(He never looks up from his paper.)
ROSE: Things have changed between us. Don’t you feel things have changed?
MAN: I don’t know why you’d say that. Everything’s the same as it ever was. Nothing’s changed. Nothing will change. We go on and on and on, muddling through. Doing the best we can. Trying not to hurt. More water?
ROSE: No, thanks.
(She sags a little. Then brightens.)
Well, I think we can do better.
MAN: Mm?
ROSE: I said, I think we can do better. Let’s find a place in the country. A place with air and sun and grass –
MAN: Expensive.
ROSE: That’s all I want. A little place with land.
MAN: The only place with land we’ll have is a 6 by 4 by 6 plot someday.
(She is very sad. He notices.)
Unless the market picks up.
The market might well pick up yet.
(Closes paper.)
A place with land? Yes, perhaps.
ROSE: Good then! Yes, perhaps.
(He goes back to his paper.)
MAN: Right, then.
ROSE: Water me?
-
More water?
(They sit. She looks out. He looks at his paper.)
END OF PLAY.
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