by Eric Lane
KEARRIE (on her cell phone, to her office) Here? It's a fucking hellhole. What do you think? Ah-huh. Ah-huh. Ah-huh. Look— keep that on hold.
JOHN: (to LYRIS, oblivious to KEARRIE) Same office, same view. Married my junior high school sweetheart. We take the same train to work. We have the same lunch. Tuna. On rye. No mayo.
LYRIS No mayo?
JOHN: It's not so bad, once you get used to it.
KEARRIE (into phone) Yeah as soon as they call roll, I show my plane ticket… and I' m out of here.
(Now, from downstage left, a court officer enters.)
COURT OFFICER: Hello folks. Welcome to New York County Jury Duty. Before you all come up to me …
KEARRIE: Excuse me, I have a flight to—
NICK: I have a record—
COURT OFFICER (He drowns her out.) —with your reasons for why you shouldn' t be here, let me tell you: I' ve heard them all. On the bright side, most of you will get to go back to your life in two or three days.
(LESLIE, NICK, KEARRIE, JOHN, and LYRIS all groan. Two days is eternity.)
COURT OFFICER And we are as happy to have you, as you are happy to be here. First things first. Check your summons, and be sure you're in the right place. This is Civil Court. Part B. 60 Centre Street. Today is Monday, September 10th … Two thousand and one.
(Blackout.)
PLAYWRITING 101: THE ROOFTOP LESSON
Rich Orloff
Playwriting 101: The Rooftop Lesson premiered on September 8, 2000, on an actual rooftop, as part of Ten Stories Up, a festival of short plays produced by Word-of-Mouth (Seth Kramer, Artistic Director). Melanie S. Armer directed (and quite nicely). The cast was as follows:
THE TEACHER Whitney Porter
THE JUMPER Taylor Ruckel
THE GOOD SAMARITAN Wilkerson
Playwriting 101: The Rooftop Lesson was named “Best of the 2002 Delaware Short Play Festival” and was a cowinner of the 2002 CrossCurrents Five and Dime Playwriting Contest.
NOTE: The characters can be of either sex, but the Jumper and Good Samaritan should be of the same sex. References are written as if the characters are male, but that can be changed.
TIME: The present.
PLACE: The rooftop of a large urban building.
(As the play begins, THE JUMPER is on the ledge of the roof and is about to jump.)
THE JUMPER: I'm going to jump, and nobody can stop me!
(THE GOOD SAMARITAN enters quickly.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Don't!!!!!
(THE TEACHER enters and stands to the side. THE TEACHER points a clicker at the others and clicks, free zing the action.)
THE TEACHER: (addressing the audience) A typical dramatic scenario: Two people in conflict—at least one in deep inner conflict— with high stakes, suspense, and affordable cast size. How will this situation play out? That depends, of course, on the level of craft and creativity in that remarkable art form known as playwriting. Let's rewind from the start—(THE TEACHER clicks, and THE JUMPER and GOOD SAMARITAN return to their places at the top of the play, quickly reversing their initial movements.) And see what happens.
(THE TEACHER clicks again to resume the action. THE JUMPER is on the ledge of the roof and is about to jump.)
THE JUMPER: 'm going to jump, and nobody can stop me! (THE GOOD SAMARITAN enters quickly.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Don't!!!!!
JUMPER:
(THE TEACHER clicks to freeze the action.)
THE TEACHER: Not very satisfying, is it? Where's the suspense? Where's the tension? And what audience member will want to pay today's ticket prices for a play whose conflict resolves in forty-five seconds? But most importantly, where can you go from here?
(THE TEACHER clicks to unfreeze the action.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Gee, you could've hurt yourself.
THE JUMPER: Gosh, you're right.
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: to grab a brew?
THE JUMPER: Sure.
(THE TEACHER clicks to freeze the action.)
THE TEACHER: Without intense oppositional desires, more commonly known as “conflict,” there is no play. When Nora leaves in A Doll's House, nobody wants her husband to reply— (upbeat) “ Call when you get work!” So let's start this scene over—(THE TEACHER clicks, THE JUMPER and GOOD SAMARITAN rewind to their initial places.) maintaining conflict.
(THE TEACHER clicks again.)
THE JUMPER: I'm going to jump, and nobody can stop me!
(THE GOOD SAMARITAN enters quickly.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Don't!!!!!
THE JUMPER: Fuck you!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: (giving an obscene gesture) No, you asshole, fuck you!
(THE TEACHER clicks and freezes the action.)
THE TEACHER: Let's rise above profanity, shall we? It alienates conservatives and makes liberals think you're second-rate David Mamet. (Clicks.) Rewind … And again: (Clicks.)
JUMPER: I'm going to jump, and nobody can stop me!
(THE GOOD SAMARITAN enters quickly.)
GOOD SAMARITAN: 't!!!!!
JUMPER: Why not?!!!
(THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: Oooo, you can just feel the suspense rising now, can't you?
(THE TEACHER clicks again.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Because suicide is a sin!
(THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: Big deal. Theatre is written by sinners about sinners for sinners. Nobody goes to Othello to hear, “Iago, you're so naughty!” Always let the audience form their own judgments. Rewind a bit. (Clicks.) Now let's try a different tack. (Clicks.)
THE JUMPER: Why not?!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Because I love you.
THE JUMPER: I didn't know!
(THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: I don't care! Let's see if we can find something less clichÉd.
(THE TEACHER clicks again.) THE JUMPER: Why not?!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: if you jump there, you'll land on my little girl's lemonade stand. And my little girl!
(THE JUMPER looks over the ledge and moves over two feet.) THE JUMPER: Is this better?
(THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: Now what have we gained? Be wary of minor obstacles. Unless, of course, you need to fill time. Again.
(THE TEACHER clicks again.)
THE JUMPER: Why not?!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Because life is worth living.
THE JUMPER: Mine isn't!
(THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: Excellent. We don't just have a plot anymore, we have a theme. Theme, the difference between entertainment and art. No theme, add a car chase and sell it to the movies. But with theme, you have the potential to create something meaningful, something memorable, something college students can write term papers about. So let's rewind a bit and see where this thematically rich drama goes now.
(THE TEACHER clicks to rewind and clicks again to resume.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Because life is worth living!
THE JUMPER: Mine isn't!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Gosh. Tell me all about it.
(THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: Some expositional subtlety, please.
(THE TEACHER clicks again.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Because life is worth living!
THE JUMPER: Mine isn't!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Are you sure?
(THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: Better.
(THE TEACHER clicks again.)
THE JUMPER: Yes, I'm sure. I'm broke, I have no friends, and I see no reason to continue.
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Look, so you're broke and friendless. All experiences are transient. Detach, as the Buddha once did.
(THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: Of all the world's great religions, Buddhism is the least entertaining. Let's try again.
(THE TEACHER clicks again.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: So you're broke and you're friendless. Why not try Prozac?
(THE TEACHER clicks
.)
THE TEACHER: The popularity and effectiveness of modern anti-depressants is one of the great challenges of contemporary dramaturgy. We no more want Willy Loman to solve his problems with Prozac than we want Stanley and Stella Kowalski to get air-conditioning. How can today's playwright deal with today's medicinal deus ex machinas? Let's see.
(THE TEACHER clicks again.)
THE JUMPER: I tried Prozac once, and it made my mouth really dry.
(THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: Not great, but we'll let it slide.
(THE TEACHER clicks again.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Let me help you.
THE JUMPER: It's too late.
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: No, it's not.
THE JUMPER: You don't understand. I haven't told you the worst. (THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: Fictional characters are rarely straightforward. (THE TEACHER clicks again.)
THE JUMPER: You see, until a few weeks ago, I was in love. Deep love. True love. I was involved with two of the most wonderful gals in the world. One was sexy, rich, generous and caring. The other was streetwise, daring and even sexier. Between the two of them, I had everything. Then they found out about each other, and they both dumped me. Not just one, but both.
(THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: Excellent playwriting. Here's a heartbreaking situation with which we can all identify. Maybe not in the specifics, but in the universal experience of rejection.
(THE TEACHER clicks again.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: At least you've had two exciting affairs. I haven't gotten laid in a year.
(THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: A superb response. Another situation with which, um, well, we've all had friends who've had that problem.
THE TEACHER: A superb response. Another situation with which, um, well, we've all had friends who've had that problem.
THE TEACHER: A superb response. Another situation with which, um, well, we've all had friends who've had that problem.
THE JUMPER: So what are you telling me? That life can get worse? That's supposed to get me off this ledge?
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Hey, I'm just trying to help!
THE JUMPER: Well, you're doing a lousy job.
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: At least I've got some money in the bank!
THE JUMPER: You've also got rocks in your head!
(THE TEACHER clicks.)
THE TEACHER: A common beginner's mistake. Two characters in hostile disagreement isn't conflict, it's just bickering. We don't go to the theatre to hear petty, puerile antagonism; that's why we have families. Let's hope this goes somewhere interesting, or I'll have to rewind.
(THE TEACHER clicks again.)
THE JUMPER: You've only got money in the bank because you're cheap.
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: I am not.
THE JUMPER: Well, you certainly dress like you are.
THE TEACHER: Now this is really degenerating.
(THE TEACHER clicks, but the action continues.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Listen, you stupid twerp—
THE JUMPER: At least I'm a twerp with a decent sex life.
HE GOOD SAMARITAN: And if it was decent for them, maybe you'd still have a sex life.
(THE TEACHER continues to click, but the action continues.)
THE TEACHER: (as the action continues) Now stop it… Stop it! … Stop it!! (Etc.)
(Shouting above THE TEACHER' S “ Stop it” s, which they ignore:)
THE JUMPER: Loser!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Pervert!
THE JUMPER: Cheapskate!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Cretin!
THE JUMPER: Asshole!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Imbecile!
THE JUMPER: Shithead!
THE TEACHER: (clicking in vain) Stop it!!!!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Notice how organically the teacher's frustration has increased. What began as a minor irritation became unbearable when the human desire to control was thwarted.
(THE GOOD SAMARITAN clicks again.)
THE TEACHER: What are you doing?! I hold the clicker around here. How dare—
(THE GOOD SAMARITAN dicks. the teacher freezes.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: See how frustration becomes “anger” ? Although the real life stakes are minor, the character's emotional investment is intense. That's good playwriting.
(THE GOOD SAMARITAN clicks again.)
THE TEACHER: Stop that. What do you think this is, a Pirandello play?
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Well, how do you think we feel? We can't say more than two lines without being interrupted by your self-important pronouncements. How'd you like it if I did that to you?
THE TEACHER: You have no dra— (THE GOOD SAMARITAN clicks and stops/starts THE TEACHER during the following:) matically vi—able rea—son to inter—rupt me. Damn it, will you get back in the play?
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: No, and you can't make me!
(THE GOOD SAMARITAN clicks at THE TEACHER, who dodges the clicker.)
THE TEACHER: Aha, missed. You superficial stereotype!
(THE TEACHER clicks at THE GOOD SAMARITAN and vice versa during the following, both successfully dodging the other.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Control freak!
THE TEACHER: ClichÉ!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Semi-intellectual!
THE TEACHER: Contrivance!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Academic tapeworm!
THE TEACHER: First draft mistake!
(THE JUMPER, who has been watching this, takes out a gun and shoots it into the air.)
THE JUMPER: Hey!!! I'm the one with the problem. This play's supposed to be about me.
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Tough. The well-made play died with Ibsen.
THE TEACHER: (to THE GOOD SAMARITAN) Damn it, get back into the play!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Don't tell me what to do. Ever since I was a kid, everyone's told me how I'm supposed to behave. When I was five, my mom sent me to my room (THE TEACHER starts clicking manically at THE GOOD SAMARITAN.) four thousand times because I wouldn't be the kid she wanted me—
THE TEACHER: This monologue is not justified!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Tough shit, it's my life!
THE TEACHER: It's bad drama!
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: I'll show you bad drama!
(THE GOOD SAMARITAN and THE TEACHER begin to fight.)
THE JUMPER: Stop it! Come on, stop it, you're pulling focus.
THE TEACHER: Butt out!
(THE JUMPER tries to break up the fight.)
THE JUMPER: Come on, guys, cool it! THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Get away from us! THE JUMPER: Just stop it! THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Leave us alone!
(The three of them are in a tight cluster. We hear a gunshot. THE TEACHER pulls away. There's blood on THE TEACHER' S chest.)c
THE TEACHER: I just got tenure. (THE TEACHER collapses.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Oh my God.
THE JUMPER: He's dead.
(the good samaritan looks at the jumper.)
THE GOOD SAMARITAN: How horrible. Is that good playwriting or bad playwriting?
THE JUMPER: I, I don't know. It just happened.
(the good samaritan and the jumper look at the teacher.) the jumper and the good samaritan: (simultaneously)
Hmmmmmmm.
(THE GOOD SAMARITAN and THE JUMPER begin to exit.) THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Gee, you could've hurt yourself. THE JUMPER: Gosh, you're right. THE GOOD SAMARITAN: Want to grab a brew?
THE JUMPER: Sure.
(THE TEACHER comes to life for a moment, clicks into the air and: Blackout.)
ROSIE IN THE SHADOW OF THE MELROSE
Craig Fols
Rosie in the Shadow of the Melrose was first performed July 7, 1994, at the Currican Theatre, New York, as part of an evening of short plays and dances entitled Identical Houses. Kim Hughes directed the following cast:
FRANCES Andrea Burrows
BOY Huguet
(A train platform in a suburban New Jersey commuter rail station. Night.)
&
nbsp; (A bench stage center, like the platform constructed in blunt, clean concrete. A GIRL sits on the bench, waiting. She's about eighteen, very heavy, with long, dark hair. She wears an ugly blouse and pants. There is something about her which suggests another era: it's probably nothing more than the fact that she seems strangely out of place in this one, which is summer, 1980.)
(Crickets can be heard chirping in the fields behind the station.)
(A BOY enters. He's seventeen or eighteen, tall, thin, and pretty. He wears tight-fitting designer jeans and carries a small satchel. He notices the GIRL waiting. He checks out the scene in all directions: peers down the tracks for a train, reads all signs, looks out at the cornfields and condos beyond the platform. He seems nervous. He opens his satchel, gets out a commuter schedule, checks his watch.)
FRANCES: We just missed one.
BOY I'm sorry?
FRANCES: It says in there they run every fifteen minutes but they don't know. It don't mean nothin'. They don't know what they're talkin' about. It might take thirty, forty-five, even an hour, maybe.
BOY: Oh.
FRANCES: I know cause I take this train all the time. (Pause.) My sister, she lives out here. (Pause.) You live out here?
BOY: NO.
FRANCES: You live in Philly?
BOY: What?
FRANCES: I said, you live in Philly?
BOY: Yes, I … do.
FRANCES: That's nice. I figured. Me too. Yeah. Me also. Me and my whole family also live in Philly What part?
BOY: What?
FRANCES: I says, what part of Philly do you live in?
BOY: Germantown.
FRANCES: We live in South Philly.
BOY: Oh. Why?
FRANCES: Huh?
BOY: I mean, why do you ask?
FRANCES: Just wondrin'. I got an aunt lives in Germantown. My Aunt Louise. Her husband, he died. Recently.
BOY: That's too bad.
FRANCES: Not really. He wasn't much, as my mother would say. Which she did. Often. Frances, she'd say, face it, the man's a bum. I don't think he even had a job. Not a real job. Not a good job, anyway. Not ever. Not that I heard about. Maybe she's better off.
(The BOY says nothing and the conversation goes no further. He again checks his watch, looks down the train tracks, moving away from the GIRL as he does.)
You got a date or somethin'?
BOY I beg your pardon?
FRANCES: You must gotta be somewhere, the way you keep checkin' your watch, and antsy, and all. I bet you got some hot date, huh?