Shorter, Faster, Funnier
Page 3
SAMUEL: (Shrugging.) I am a man today. I’ve matured.
(STACIE wraps her arms around SAMUEL’S neck. They continue to dance even closer together, but both still a bit shy. They sway back and forth to the music. After a few beats:)
STACIE: (Soft.) Samuel.
SAMUEL: (Dreamlike.) Yeah?
STACIE: Your hand’s on my butt again.
SAMUEL: Sorry.
(Blackout.)
END OF PLAY
THE BLIZZARD
David Ives
The Blizzard was created as part of the 24 Hour Plays series (Tina Fallon, artistic director). It was first presented at the American Airlines Theatre in New York City on October 23, 2006. It was directed by Bennett Miller. The cast was as follows:
JENNY Anna Paquin
NEIL Fisher Stevens
SALIM Aasif Mandvi
NATASHA Gaby Hoffmann
A country house, toward evening. Cold winter light in the windows. In the course of the play, the lights gradually dim around center stage to nighttime. At curtain, JENNY is onstage alone.
JENNY: (Calls.) Neil?—Neil! (NEIL enters from outside, stage right.)
NEIL: It’s still coming down. Some of those drifts are three feet deep already. What’s the matter?
JENNY: Nothing. I just wondered what happened to you.
NEIL: Got scared, huh?
JENNY: No, I wasn’t scared. The food’s all ready. Do you really think they’ll make it up here in this?
NEIL: Joe’s got those new chains on the car. The ones that Sandy made him fork out for? Just what you’d expect from Miss Rationality.
JENNY: Right. Mr. List Maker. Mr. My-Pencils-Have-to-Be-Laid-Out-in-the-Right-Order-on-My-Desk. No, you’re not rational. Sandy is rational.
NEIL: What about the TV?
JENNY: Nothing. Not a thing.
NEIL: The electricity’s on. You’d think with a satellite dish we’d pick up something.
JENNY: The telephone’s still out.
NEIL: They’ve probably been trying us since they left the city.
JENNY: There’s no radio either.
NEIL: No radio?
JENNY: Isn’t it great? It’s just like an Agatha Christie.
NEIL: Thanks for that. I’m still not used to it. Being so remote. Nature’s always scared the living crap out of me. Now I’m living in it. Or visiting it on weekends, anyway. You know I saw a bat flapping around out there? I didn’t know there were bats in blizzards. No radio? The world could be ending out there, for Christ’s sake. And we’d be the last ones to hear about it. No radio …
JENNY: Yes, we have no radio and a beautiful blizzard and a house and woods and a mountain that are all ours.
NEIL: All ours in twenty-nine years and three months.
JENNY: I kind of wish they weren’t coming up tonight. It’s so cozy. I wouldn’t mind curling up with a book.
NEIL: I wish you hadn’t said “Agatha Christie.”
JENNY: You inflict Torturama One, Two and Three on people and I can’t say “Agatha Christie”?
NEIL: Those are movies, not a real house in the middle of the real country with the lines down. And Torturama paid for our little mansion on a hill, babe.
JENNY: You know what it is about murder mysteries? No, listen. I think the reason people like murder mysteries is that, in a murder mystery, everything is significant. The people in murder mysteries are living in a significant world. A world where everything is there for a reason. Even before the murder’s happened, you know that one is going to happen and you know that everything is a clue. Or rather, you know that some things are clues and some things are just obfuscation, they’re snow. And you know that everybody has a secret of some kind. A secret that’s like a soul. Murder mysteries are religious, in a way. Don’t laugh. They’re life the way you feel it when you’re in love. When everything’s in a special light. Incandescent. They’re a couple of hours of everything meaning something, for God’s sake. And then they’re over and you’re back to your old life, to real life. To mortgages and pork loin and potatoes and making a cherry pie.
NEIL: So real life doesn’t feel like it means something to you these days?
JENNY: Sure it does. I’m just saying … Well, don’t we all wish for that in real life? One of those moments when everything feels charged with meaning? When the air is electric?
NEIL: Well here’s your opportunity. Listen, we’re probably going to be totally snowed in. Why don’t we all do something different this weekend.
JENNY: Different, what does different mean?
NEIL: I don’t know. Something unusual. Something unexpected. Not you and Sandy holing yourself up in the kitchen and talking about whatever you talk about, not me and Joe sitting around talking about Mom and Dad and what happened in the third grade. Not the usual pour-a-glass-of-Jack-Daniel’s, bullshit bullshit bullshit, what’ve you guys been doing, go in to dinner and break out the Margaux ’01, have you seen any movies, did you catch that episode of blah blah blah. I don’t know, something we’ve never done before, or let’s talk about something we’ve never talked about before. Anything, instead of all the things we usually talk about.
JENNY: Okay. Something unusual. I love it.
SALIM: (Offstage.) Hello—? Neil?
NEIL: There they are. (SALIM and NATASHA enter from the front door at stage left. SALIM carries a black plastic valise.)
SALIM: Hello! Neil and Jenny, right? Sorry for the cold hand, I’m freezing. God, you’re just like Joe and Sandy described you. I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you, Neil. I am such a fan of Torturama. All of them. Natasha can’t watch them herself. Natasha is squeamish.
NEIL: I’m sorry, I don’t understand …
SALIM: Salim. And Natasha.
NATASHA: Hello. I’m so happy to encounter you at last. And you, Jenny, you are just as beautiful as Sandy told me. You are exquisite.
SALIM: And God, what a place up here! But so remote! Wow! We brought this for you. (Holds up the black valise.) A little house-warming gift.
NEIL: Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m sorry, maybe there’s been a mistake …
SALIM: I mean, this is the place, isn’t it? You’re Neil and Jenny? Oh, right, right. Where are Joe and Sandy. Middle of a snow-storm. Two strange people walk in. You’re spooked. Totally natural. Natasha?
NATASHA: Joe and Sandy couldn’t make it, so they sent us instead.
NEIL: They sent you instead. Wait a minute. They sent you instead …
SALIM: They caught some kind of bug. God, Joe and Sandy have been telling us all about you two for I don’t know how long.
NATASHA: A long time.
SALIM: A very long time.
NEIL: I don’t think Joe and Sandy ever mentioned knowing a … I’m sorry …
SALIM: Salim.
NEIL: A Salim and a Natasha.
SALIM: You’ve been out of touch with your brother for too long, brother. They were really broken up they couldn’t make it tonight. I’d say call them up and ask them but hey, are your cell phones as down as ours up here?
JENNY: How do you know Joe and Sandy?
SALIM: (The black valise.) You know what’s in here? Just for showing us your hospitality? It’s this new tequila, a hundred bucks a bottle. Olé, right? Let’s support those oppressed brothers churning this stuff out for ten pesos a day. Neil, you want to pour?
JENNY: You didn’t answer me.
NATASHA: How do we know Joe and Sandy.
SALIM: How do we know Joe and Sandy. How do we know them, Natasha?
NATASHA: Intimately.
SALIM: Intimately. Good word. We know them intimately.
JENNY: Neil … Neil …
NEIL: Look, I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.
SALIM: To leave? But … okay, I get it, I get it, you want some kind of proof that we’re not just what …
NATASHA: Imposters.
SALIM: Imposters. Ten points, Natasha. We’re not imposters! We’re the real thing
! I’m sorry if I’m coming on kind of strong, it’s my personality, you know what I mean? God, how do you prove that you know somebody? Let’s see. Where do I start? Do I start with Joe or Sandy? You know she made him get these hotshot snow chains for the car. That is so Sandy. No imagination, but always thinking ahead. So rational. (Pause.) Listen. Listen, I’m sorry we barged in on you like this. Maybe we should leave, but … hey, are you really going to turn two freezing strangers back out into the storm? Neil, you’re the guy who inflicted Torturama on the world, more killings per square frame than any movie in history. You’re pouring blood in the aisles, man. Don’t tell me you’re scared. What are you scared of? What am I, the wrong color? And what am I going to do to you, huh? If I was going to do something to you I’d’ve done it already, wouldn’t I? (Pause.) So do we leave? Or do we stay? Aw, have a heart, Neil.
NEIL: Well, we can’t turn you out in this weather …
JENNY: Turn them out, Neil.
NEIL: Honey, I …
JENNY: Turn them out.
NEIL: It’s a blizzard out there, honey.
SALIM: Your wife is so sweet. Really. She is a doll.
NATASHA: You know, with so much snow, it’s like we’re in a murder mystery here.
SALIM: Natasha adores Agatha Christie. You know what I hate about murder mysteries? It’s that everybody in them’s got a secret. People don’t have secrets. People are open books. I don’t know you personally, Neil, but just looking at you I’d say you’re probably the kind of guy who makes lists, for example. Lines his pencils up on the desk. Likes things neat and tidy. Am I right? A Jack-Daniel’s-before-dinner kinda guy. You’re not the kind of guy who, what, secretly worked for the CIA once upon a time, you’re not a guy with a secret history of killing people, I mean really killing people, offscreen, you don’t have any real blood on your hands. You’re in the entertainment industry. You have nothing to hide.
JENNY: Send them away, Neil.
SALIM: And Jenny, she probably made her usual dinner for tonight, let’s see what would it be, pork loin and some kind of special potato recipe and a cherry-rhubarb pie for dessert. The perfect American housewife. Nothing to conceal. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, there’s that personality of mine again. I’m brash. I’m insensitive. I’m loud. Call me American.
NEIL: You know I have a gun in the house.
SALIM: Oh, that’s rich. What a liar! “I have a gun in the house.” Right. That’s so cute. This isn’t a movie, this is real life, Neil. And I’m your brother for the night. I’m a stand-in for Joe. Remember me? Your brother?
JENNY: Where are Joe and Sandy?
SALIM: They’re very sick in bed is where they are.
JENNY: What have you done with them?
SALIM: They can’t move is what they are. Aren’t I your brother? Neil? Come on. (He puts his arm around NEIL’s waist.) Am I your brother?
NEIL: Sure …
SALIM: Am I your brother? Am I your brother? Am I your brother?
NEIL: You’re my brother.
SALIM: There you see? How hard was that? Now we can talk about all those kids we used to beat up in third grade. Just like old times. Well, brother, what do you say? We’re here for the duration. You gonna play the good host here or what? You want to show me around the grounds?
NEIL: Sure.
SALIM: Sure what?
NEIL: Sure, brother.
SALIM: Attaboy! (SALIM follows NEIL off through the back door. A pause.)
NATASHA: You know what I love about murder mysteries? Is that everything in them seems to mean something. The people in murder mysteries are living in a significant world. Everything holding its breath. Waiting. The air is electric. And then, bang, it happens. The irrevocable. Whatever that is. Changing everything. It’s a kind of poetry. To me, it’s almost a religious feeling.
JENNY: I don’t want any more fucking significance. I don’t want it. I don’t want it.
NATASHA: Poor Jenny. Afraid over nothing. Why? Why?
JENNY: You have the wrong people.
NATASHA: You’re the right people. Neil and Jenny. We’re just here for dinner with you. And you have nothing to be afraid of. Really. Absolutely nothing.
JENNY: (Calls out.) Neil …? Neil …?
NATASHA: Absolutely nothing … (The lights fade.)
END OF PLAY
BROTHERLY LOVE
Ean Miles Kessler
Brotherly Love was first performed as part of the Rutgers Playwriting Festival, 2007. The production was directed by Ean Miles Kessler, with special help from Louis Wells. The cast was as follows:
GORDON David Delaney
WALLY Andrew Isaac Rosenberg
The same cast performed the play at Manhattan Repertory Theatre’s Summerfest, opening June 16, 2010. Produced by Byron Bronson, lights and sound by Devon Malik Beckford.
For Dave Delaney and Andrew Rosenberg:
For all their hard work and friendship.
At Rise: A small den/living room in a house in Lynchburg, Virginia. A pull-out bed/couch with doily on the back, a dresser; other furniture as seen fit. The house belongs to GORDON and WALLY’S parents, and has a very homey feel.
Throughout the piece, GORDON unpacks from his overnight bag, pulls out the bed and makes it, and generally makes the room more comfortable for himself and the arrival of his guest.
Production Note: The entire piece should fly.
Lights up quick; WALLY, with beer in hand, and GORDON, with suitcase, unpacking.
WALLY: This is ridiculous—how did you—?
GORDON: I don’t know what you want me to say.
WALLY: I want you to say that you’re full a’ shit, that you’re lying to me.
GORDON: I’m full a’ shit, and I’m lying to you. (Moment.) It was a joke, Wally.
WALLY: That’s not funny.
GORDON: I’m just—
WALLY: No, that’s not funny, Gordon. Seriously. Come on.
GORDON: I don’t know what you wanna hear.
WALLY: Have you seen someone about this?
GORDON: There’s no one to see—
WALLY: I mean a doctor or something.
GORDON: There’s nothing wrong—
WALLY: According to you.
GORDON: Yes. According to me.
(Beat.)
WALLY: I didn’t—it wasn’t me, right? I mean—
GORDON: Oh Jesus …
WALLY: At the pool—
GORDON: No, Wally—
WALLY: We were kids, I was stupid; I would flash anyone—
GORDON: That’s—
WALLY: I thought it was funny—!
GORDON: Wally, it’s not—
WALLY: I was just eleven—! Naked was funny back then—!
GORDON: Wally, you can’t turn someone gay.
(Beat.)
WALLY: No, I know, but yanno, I mean I didn’t, I mean, I didn’t make you a homo, right?
GORDON: Wally. You can’t turn someone gay.
WALLY: No, I know, but—
GORDON: Wally!
WALLY: I’m just sayin’—
GORDON: Fine. Fine, you made me gay.
WALLY: What?
GORDON: No seriously. Your eleven-year-old dick made me a fag.
WALLY: That’s not funny—
GORDON: Runnin’ around the pool, butt-naked, two inches of flop—you goddamn homo-maker, you.
WALLY: That’s—
GORDON: The fuckin’ fag-wizard over here—
WALLY: Wait, two inches—?
GORDON: Wally: Lord of the Queers!
WALLY: I am not—I do not—I do not make people gay! (Slight moment.) I have a girlfriend!
GORDON: Fine.
WALLY: I know you don’t make someone gay, I just—I mean if I had done something by accident—I just—I would never try to make you—yanno—like that.
GORDON: Thanks, Wally.
WALLY: What?
GORDON: Nothing.
(Slight beat.)
WALLY: You gonna tell
Dad?
GORDON: Reason I’m here.
WALLY: You can’t do that—