I wanted to post this for you so that you might see how I represented the poetry of every day speech. I am excited about performing our original works.
Russ:
Uhhh –so the questions is what is the worst job I ever had?
Having to wash windows for my mother
Because I was tall so I always got to do the windows
And she liked to do it in vinegar and I hate the smell of vinegar
So that was the worst job I can think of
….ummm I don’t remember that but I still don’t like vinegary things
I don’t like the smell of vinegar or pickles
I like sweet pickles
but not sour pickles
so you know whether I am still associating vinegar with my mother
or I if I didn’t like vinegar prior to that task I don’t recall
I didn’t mind other things
I mean I would have to clean dishes or vacuum
I don’t remember disliking those jobs or
cutting the grass it’s not like I hated doing things around the house
but I did not like washing the windows.
(Did she know you hated washing the windows?)
Probably I probably was not coy about that
Of course she was my mother …
You think a child could get off doing something
Because they didn’t want to
Oh long after
Leaving the house had nothing to do with it
I mean no no
My mother uh
Always had a list of chores for me to do
She was a widow for seventeen years.
My dad died twenty years ago Thanksgiving week
And she died three years ago
So yeah that’s seventeen years
But whenever my brother or I would visit her
She would always have a list
It was usually a small list of mechanical type things
like replacing the filter
I never minded doing those
But I guess the windows.
That was maybe just a spell
Maybe high school and college
I don’t remember having to do it too much
After that
(Who washes the windows in your house now?)
If they’re washed I wash them
I just use Windex or one of those other versions
But I do retain I guess as so many children do
Ways of doing things
For instance I guess my mother
taught me it might have been my father but probably my mother
That newspaper was a good thing
to use to wash windows
And so the last time I washed windows at home
I guess I used newspaper
Which works except you
get the print on your hand
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Looking Back to Capture Purpose
Two hours until I experience my first graduate committee meeting... Honestly I'm not nervous, but rather am anxious to get everyone's feedback vocally and in a more personal setting. It is such a great process to be a part of as an actor. These committee experiences throughout our time here at the University of Louisville should help us to develop an awareness of our weak points and a process by which we approach our personal growth in hope of achieving success.
My skills have greatly increased and reawakened as a result of having been part of this Playscript Analysis class. The characters and plays that we read over the course of this semester have helped me to connect to the reason it is that I pursue theatre… to express the human experience and bring about thought and change through my work. I need the world to listen to what I have to say and how I say it. As Hamm so wonderfully puts, “I hope the day will come when you’ll really need to have me listen to you, and need to hear my voice, any voice. (Pause)” The stage is the only place where one can live out all his multi-faceted aspects, and it allows you to communicate with people in the world like no other form of expression.
As I sit here writing my last blog entry for the semester, I can't help but smile at how powerfully affected I am by this semester… Moving forward through this graduate program, and life, I start to see the little reasons behind my activities in life and ways I go about them. I’m observing myself more and more as time goes by, analyzing and critiquing my personal processes and idiosyncrasies. Most importantly, I’m developing my love of theatre and learning how to most usefully contribute to the creative process. Through this self analysis and observation, I must never let go of the reason I’ve come to this world: to love what I do. Like Layal, I do not want freedom, but will gladly be a slave to the theatre, if it will only take care of me.
Layal: I don’t want freedom – to be alone? / I don’t care for it, I like protection / all I want is to feel it, love / I am crazy for it
I hope to approach theatre with this attitude. We’ll see if it takes care of me. Thanks for a great semester.
My skills have greatly increased and reawakened as a result of having been part of this Playscript Analysis class. The characters and plays that we read over the course of this semester have helped me to connect to the reason it is that I pursue theatre… to express the human experience and bring about thought and change through my work. I need the world to listen to what I have to say and how I say it. As Hamm so wonderfully puts, “I hope the day will come when you’ll really need to have me listen to you, and need to hear my voice, any voice. (Pause)” The stage is the only place where one can live out all his multi-faceted aspects, and it allows you to communicate with people in the world like no other form of expression.
As I sit here writing my last blog entry for the semester, I can't help but smile at how powerfully affected I am by this semester… Moving forward through this graduate program, and life, I start to see the little reasons behind my activities in life and ways I go about them. I’m observing myself more and more as time goes by, analyzing and critiquing my personal processes and idiosyncrasies. Most importantly, I’m developing my love of theatre and learning how to most usefully contribute to the creative process. Through this self analysis and observation, I must never let go of the reason I’ve come to this world: to love what I do. Like Layal, I do not want freedom, but will gladly be a slave to the theatre, if it will only take care of me.
Layal: I don’t want freedom – to be alone? / I don’t care for it, I like protection / all I want is to feel it, love / I am crazy for it
I hope to approach theatre with this attitude. We’ll see if it takes care of me. Thanks for a great semester.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Game Over
This is the first scene to the play Game Over....and here's hoping that one day I could finish it up.
One thing I wanted to capture was the communication between the characters and how they related to not just each other, but to the audience as well. The characters are indeed strange, but I feel like that capture that sort of "beckett-esque" quality of banality. The banal surface compared to its contradicting underlayer. Hirno (Hear-No) is based off of Nagg, which I took directly form that part where he's telling the monologue about the tailor and how no matter the number of times he's told the story he continues, much to Hamm's protest of him even speaking. Sano (say -no) is based off of Nell, who is the first to die in the play and her body just lies in the bin. I want Sano to have died first and I want Sano to be the one wanting to "move on" to the next part of the afterlife more than anyone, which is suggested by Sano's use of body to further desire with his lack of words. I feel like there is a certain sort of undying determination when a person has to slam their body around to get a point across. Lastly, Sino (see-no) is based off of Hamm who has sight problems. At first I wanted Sano to be Hamm as to make a comment that he talks entirely too much during Endgame. Anyway, that was the start of the thought process. I just really wanted to play with ideas of life after death and this idea that Clov has an entirely different life outside of that room, possibly one where he takes action rather than getting stuck in a Beckett reality of nothignness; the other room is a room full of something/anything.
Game Over
Scene 1
The stage is a room with no windows. There is a doorway stage right. Three bins sit center stage. The lights are reminiscent of an overcast desert morning; oddly bright with no real indication of color.
Hirno: Is he gone?
Sino: It can’t be…It can’t be.
Hirno: It shouldn’t be. (Looks over at Sino) It shouldn’t be so? Has he come?
Sino: It can’t be…It can’t be.
Hirno: Do you think if he came he would bring fresh air? Trapped in a jar perhaps? I love fresh air that has been trapped. Makes me remember home. (Looks at Sino). Are you bothering to listen at all?
Sino: Turn the light on and perhaps I shall tell you. Being able to show you and tell you was something I loved to do. He won’t come. Can’t come. He is trapped, trapped, trapped…trapped.
Hirno: Bitter. Fresh Air. Do you remember the breezes? We used to enjoy the breezes once upon a time….that fresh air…not knowing…never knowing.
A loud crash noise is heard and a plume of dust is sent in from the doorway stage right. The lights flicker and the sharpening of blades and a piercing scream is heard. The noises die just as suddenly as they were heard.
Sino: What did you say?
Hirno: I said…
Once again a loud crash noise is heard and a plume of dust is sent in from the doorway stage right. The lights flicker and the sharpening of blades and a piercing scream is heard. The noises die just as suddenly as they were heard.
Sino: I thought so. You always knew your way with words. I haven’t seen him in a long time, nor have I seen him in a long time. (Long pause. Hirno belches and the sounds of “Divinites Du Styx” from Gluck’s Alceste are heard pouring form the stage right doorway. The song should start on the third “Divinites..” and play through to the the end.) Are you listening to me, why don’t you answer?
Sano rises from the third steel bin. He rises and claps his hands together, dust flies in the air. He stares at the audience, then stares at Sino and Hirno. He tries to scream and silence is heard. He plugs his ears with his fingers and returns down.
Hirno: He’ll be the first to go that one!
Sano’s arms rise up out of the bin followed by his head. He makes eye contact with Hirno then sinks back into the bin.
Sino begins to hit the side of his bin with his head in a percussive manner that follows a steady beat. Hirno and Sano begin to add to it with their hands beating on their bin. The tempo over time gets faster and faster and faster until finally, a shadowy figure appears in the stage right doorway. All noise and movement ceases.
Hirno, Sino, and Sano all retire into their bins.
Blackout.
One thing I wanted to capture was the communication between the characters and how they related to not just each other, but to the audience as well. The characters are indeed strange, but I feel like that capture that sort of "beckett-esque" quality of banality. The banal surface compared to its contradicting underlayer. Hirno (Hear-No) is based off of Nagg, which I took directly form that part where he's telling the monologue about the tailor and how no matter the number of times he's told the story he continues, much to Hamm's protest of him even speaking. Sano (say -no) is based off of Nell, who is the first to die in the play and her body just lies in the bin. I want Sano to have died first and I want Sano to be the one wanting to "move on" to the next part of the afterlife more than anyone, which is suggested by Sano's use of body to further desire with his lack of words. I feel like there is a certain sort of undying determination when a person has to slam their body around to get a point across. Lastly, Sino (see-no) is based off of Hamm who has sight problems. At first I wanted Sano to be Hamm as to make a comment that he talks entirely too much during Endgame. Anyway, that was the start of the thought process. I just really wanted to play with ideas of life after death and this idea that Clov has an entirely different life outside of that room, possibly one where he takes action rather than getting stuck in a Beckett reality of nothignness; the other room is a room full of something/anything.
Game Over
Scene 1
The stage is a room with no windows. There is a doorway stage right. Three bins sit center stage. The lights are reminiscent of an overcast desert morning; oddly bright with no real indication of color.
Hirno: Is he gone?
Sino: It can’t be…It can’t be.
Hirno: It shouldn’t be. (Looks over at Sino) It shouldn’t be so? Has he come?
Sino: It can’t be…It can’t be.
Hirno: Do you think if he came he would bring fresh air? Trapped in a jar perhaps? I love fresh air that has been trapped. Makes me remember home. (Looks at Sino). Are you bothering to listen at all?
Sino: Turn the light on and perhaps I shall tell you. Being able to show you and tell you was something I loved to do. He won’t come. Can’t come. He is trapped, trapped, trapped…trapped.
Hirno: Bitter. Fresh Air. Do you remember the breezes? We used to enjoy the breezes once upon a time….that fresh air…not knowing…never knowing.
A loud crash noise is heard and a plume of dust is sent in from the doorway stage right. The lights flicker and the sharpening of blades and a piercing scream is heard. The noises die just as suddenly as they were heard.
Sino: What did you say?
Hirno: I said…
Once again a loud crash noise is heard and a plume of dust is sent in from the doorway stage right. The lights flicker and the sharpening of blades and a piercing scream is heard. The noises die just as suddenly as they were heard.
Sino: I thought so. You always knew your way with words. I haven’t seen him in a long time, nor have I seen him in a long time. (Long pause. Hirno belches and the sounds of “Divinites Du Styx” from Gluck’s Alceste are heard pouring form the stage right doorway. The song should start on the third “Divinites..” and play through to the the end.) Are you listening to me, why don’t you answer?
Sano rises from the third steel bin. He rises and claps his hands together, dust flies in the air. He stares at the audience, then stares at Sino and Hirno. He tries to scream and silence is heard. He plugs his ears with his fingers and returns down.
Hirno: He’ll be the first to go that one!
Sano’s arms rise up out of the bin followed by his head. He makes eye contact with Hirno then sinks back into the bin.
Sino begins to hit the side of his bin with his head in a percussive manner that follows a steady beat. Hirno and Sano begin to add to it with their hands beating on their bin. The tempo over time gets faster and faster and faster until finally, a shadowy figure appears in the stage right doorway. All noise and movement ceases.
Hirno, Sino, and Sano all retire into their bins.
Blackout.
Heiress Hollyhock
I’ve decided to post my play from the finals up here. I had to make a few changes, including the title. The name Princess didn’t really make sense for present-day America, so I changed it to Heiress Hollyhock, which is also really annoying. Also, I added a little bit more to the ending so that it we would understand why Batman would need to show up. The things in quotes are dialogue and stage directions from the original Aoi No Uye.
(The scene takes place in the courtyard of the Hollyhock House designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in Los Angeles. It can either be in the real courtyard or a remake. Around this whole courtyard is the house with a balcony. The audience sits in the courtyard space that is not the performance space. This performance space that represents Heiress Hollyhock’s home is a cement patio, a door upstage center and stage right, stairs that lead to a balcony, and a tall wall a few meters behind the bed. Just at the top of the stairs and stage right is Heiress Hollyhock’s bed. There is also a bucket next the bed and a spotlight at the edge of the balcony downstage right of the bed.)
Heiress Hollyhock lies on her bed as Courtney enters from stage left carrying a breakfast platter and goes up the stairs to Holly.
Courtney- Here’s some breakfast, Holly. Are you feeling better yet?
Courtney gives Holly her breakfast. Holly barely touches it throughout.
Holly- The morning sickness is even worse today. Also, I can’t stop thinking about Roxanne, and that’s just making my nausea worse.
The doorbell rings.
Courtney- That might be him.
Courtney goes downstairs and opens the center door. Enter Bynum.
Bynum- Good morning.
Courtney- You must be Bynum Walker. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Courtney, Heiress Hollyhock’s assistant. You must know that the she’s sick. We’ve sent her to her doctor, psychiatrist, acupuncturist, and masseuse, but none of them could cure her. Now she’s taken a more spiritual turn.
That’s why we need you here. We need your skills in the homeopathic magic of Voodoo.
Bynum- Right. Let’s see, if I can remember correctly, Heiress wants me to bind her to her husband Genji and see if Genji’s mistress, Roxanne has put any spells on the Heiress.
Courtney- That’s right. She’s ready upstairs if you can help her.
They make their way up the steps and to Heiress’ bed.
Holly- Finally! Bynum, can you help me?
Bynum- I have a song that might bring Roxanne here to talk to you. It’s the only way to clear things up.
Holly- If it’s the only option left . . ..
Bynum- What else is there to do at this point? (He starts beating a drum and singing.)
“Pure above; pure below.
Pure without; pure within.
Pure in eyes, ears, heart and tongue.
You whom I call”
Press down on the pedal
As you rush to me
“Over the long sands!”
Bynum continues drumming as the doorbell rings. Courtney opens it and it’s Roxanne.
Courtney- Is that really you?
Roxanne- What?
Courtney- How can I help you?
Roxanne- I have beef with your Heiress Hollyhock. I think that she keyed my car. There are also some other things that I need to get off my chest. It’s inevitable. You might as well let me in.
Courtney- Okay. She’s upstairs.
They go up to Heiress’ room. Holly stares at Roxanne in anticipation. Long pause.
Roxanne- I’ve been keeping this in Heiress. The clock is ticking and we need to have this conversation now.
Holly- Get on with it.
Roxanne- I know that just because you’re younger and you’re carrying his baby you think you have a right to Genji, but my vengeance on you will come. (Pause.)
I wish that this was a dream that I could wake up from and Genji and I wouldn’t love one other. It’s just difficult to think straight with this hate between us. That must be why I came here. I can’t think straight. “For a little while, I thought, I would take my pleasure;” and I drove here as fast as I could.
Bynum- (Bynum stops drumming.) Roxanne, don’t be alarmed. I called you here with my song so you could straighten things out with Heiress.
Roxanne- I didn’t get a call. Checking her phone.
Bynum- No. I mean I called you with Voodoo.
Roxanne- What? Oh my God. You can’t think I’m that naïve and vulnerable. You think this is like some devil’s call to a witch on the Sabbath?
But if you did do it, I’m sure it was to prompt my downfall.
(She covers her face.) Either way, I should be ashamed of myself for coming here. I’ve tried to come here before to confront you, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. One night I made it here and sat in my car in your driveway “till dawn and watched the moon, till dawn and watched.” “How could I show myself?” Perhaps that night I convinced myself to drive here so that I might see Genji. My mind has been so scrambled.
This morning I did bite the bullet and ring the doorbell, for some reason.
Bynum- It was probably the song. She did make it to the door . . .
Roxanne- I probably came because I got sick of Genji not calling me. So sick I’m numb to the world. I had to do something.
(To Holly.) I used to have such a good life before you got pregnant and all hope for me ending up with Genji was lost. I even sat at feasts in the White House! On most mornings I would meet Genji somewhere else instead of coming here to talk to you like today. I used to do so many exciting things. I lived life to the fullest.
Now I can’t find my happiness without Genji. “I wither like the Morning Glory” as miss Hollyhock mopes in a better position. I hate you so much because you’re so restrained that it seems like you don’t even realize what you have.
You should be suffering. You probably did something bad in your past life to deserve this situation. As the Buddhist saying goes, “Our sorrows in this world aren’t caused by others; for even when others wrong us we are suffering the retribution of our own deeds in a previous existence.”
(She turns towards Holly’s bed; “passion again seizes her and she cries:”) I hate you so much! (“She creeps towards the bed.”)
Bynum- Roxanne, watch yourself! Think before you act.
Roxanne swiftly goes to Holly’s bed and knocks the breakfast trey off of the bed. Courtney senses trouble and runs to the edge of the balcony where there is a spotlight facing the sky. She turns the spotlight on. The light has a bat shape in it.
Bynum- “She is going to strike again. (To Roxanne.) You shall pay for this.”
Roxanne- “And this hate too is payment for past hate.”
Roxanne slaps Holy in the face. Holly leans over to the bucket next to her bed and throws up.
Holly- (Too sick to fight back.) What did I do!?
Roxanne- You took him away from me! (Roxanne spots something shining on the floor by her feet where the breakfast platter fell. She reaches down and grabs it. It is a sharp knife.) If I did something bad in my past life, then you must have too to deserve this. (She walks toward Holly with the knife).
Suddenly a tall dark figure appears at the top of the wall behind the bed. Courtney- Finally, Batman.
(The scene takes place in the courtyard of the Hollyhock House designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in Los Angeles. It can either be in the real courtyard or a remake. Around this whole courtyard is the house with a balcony. The audience sits in the courtyard space that is not the performance space. This performance space that represents Heiress Hollyhock’s home is a cement patio, a door upstage center and stage right, stairs that lead to a balcony, and a tall wall a few meters behind the bed. Just at the top of the stairs and stage right is Heiress Hollyhock’s bed. There is also a bucket next the bed and a spotlight at the edge of the balcony downstage right of the bed.)
Heiress Hollyhock lies on her bed as Courtney enters from stage left carrying a breakfast platter and goes up the stairs to Holly.
Courtney- Here’s some breakfast, Holly. Are you feeling better yet?
Courtney gives Holly her breakfast. Holly barely touches it throughout.
Holly- The morning sickness is even worse today. Also, I can’t stop thinking about Roxanne, and that’s just making my nausea worse.
The doorbell rings.
Courtney- That might be him.
Courtney goes downstairs and opens the center door. Enter Bynum.
Bynum- Good morning.
Courtney- You must be Bynum Walker. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Courtney, Heiress Hollyhock’s assistant. You must know that the she’s sick. We’ve sent her to her doctor, psychiatrist, acupuncturist, and masseuse, but none of them could cure her. Now she’s taken a more spiritual turn.
That’s why we need you here. We need your skills in the homeopathic magic of Voodoo.
Bynum- Right. Let’s see, if I can remember correctly, Heiress wants me to bind her to her husband Genji and see if Genji’s mistress, Roxanne has put any spells on the Heiress.
Courtney- That’s right. She’s ready upstairs if you can help her.
They make their way up the steps and to Heiress’ bed.
Holly- Finally! Bynum, can you help me?
Bynum- I have a song that might bring Roxanne here to talk to you. It’s the only way to clear things up.
Holly- If it’s the only option left . . ..
Bynum- What else is there to do at this point? (He starts beating a drum and singing.)
“Pure above; pure below.
Pure without; pure within.
Pure in eyes, ears, heart and tongue.
You whom I call”
Press down on the pedal
As you rush to me
“Over the long sands!”
Bynum continues drumming as the doorbell rings. Courtney opens it and it’s Roxanne.
Courtney- Is that really you?
Roxanne- What?
Courtney- How can I help you?
Roxanne- I have beef with your Heiress Hollyhock. I think that she keyed my car. There are also some other things that I need to get off my chest. It’s inevitable. You might as well let me in.
Courtney- Okay. She’s upstairs.
They go up to Heiress’ room. Holly stares at Roxanne in anticipation. Long pause.
Roxanne- I’ve been keeping this in Heiress. The clock is ticking and we need to have this conversation now.
Holly- Get on with it.
Roxanne- I know that just because you’re younger and you’re carrying his baby you think you have a right to Genji, but my vengeance on you will come. (Pause.)
I wish that this was a dream that I could wake up from and Genji and I wouldn’t love one other. It’s just difficult to think straight with this hate between us. That must be why I came here. I can’t think straight. “For a little while, I thought, I would take my pleasure;” and I drove here as fast as I could.
Bynum- (Bynum stops drumming.) Roxanne, don’t be alarmed. I called you here with my song so you could straighten things out with Heiress.
Roxanne- I didn’t get a call. Checking her phone.
Bynum- No. I mean I called you with Voodoo.
Roxanne- What? Oh my God. You can’t think I’m that naïve and vulnerable. You think this is like some devil’s call to a witch on the Sabbath?
But if you did do it, I’m sure it was to prompt my downfall.
(She covers her face.) Either way, I should be ashamed of myself for coming here. I’ve tried to come here before to confront you, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. One night I made it here and sat in my car in your driveway “till dawn and watched the moon, till dawn and watched.” “How could I show myself?” Perhaps that night I convinced myself to drive here so that I might see Genji. My mind has been so scrambled.
This morning I did bite the bullet and ring the doorbell, for some reason.
Bynum- It was probably the song. She did make it to the door . . .
Roxanne- I probably came because I got sick of Genji not calling me. So sick I’m numb to the world. I had to do something.
(To Holly.) I used to have such a good life before you got pregnant and all hope for me ending up with Genji was lost. I even sat at feasts in the White House! On most mornings I would meet Genji somewhere else instead of coming here to talk to you like today. I used to do so many exciting things. I lived life to the fullest.
Now I can’t find my happiness without Genji. “I wither like the Morning Glory” as miss Hollyhock mopes in a better position. I hate you so much because you’re so restrained that it seems like you don’t even realize what you have.
You should be suffering. You probably did something bad in your past life to deserve this situation. As the Buddhist saying goes, “Our sorrows in this world aren’t caused by others; for even when others wrong us we are suffering the retribution of our own deeds in a previous existence.”
(She turns towards Holly’s bed; “passion again seizes her and she cries:”) I hate you so much! (“She creeps towards the bed.”)
Bynum- Roxanne, watch yourself! Think before you act.
Roxanne swiftly goes to Holly’s bed and knocks the breakfast trey off of the bed. Courtney senses trouble and runs to the edge of the balcony where there is a spotlight facing the sky. She turns the spotlight on. The light has a bat shape in it.
Bynum- “She is going to strike again. (To Roxanne.) You shall pay for this.”
Roxanne- “And this hate too is payment for past hate.”
Roxanne slaps Holy in the face. Holly leans over to the bucket next to her bed and throws up.
Holly- (Too sick to fight back.) What did I do!?
Roxanne- You took him away from me! (Roxanne spots something shining on the floor by her feet where the breakfast platter fell. She reaches down and grabs it. It is a sharp knife.) If I did something bad in my past life, then you must have too to deserve this. (She walks toward Holly with the knife).
Suddenly a tall dark figure appears at the top of the wall behind the bed. Courtney- Finally, Batman.
Layal and Her Right to Stay
Heather Raffo’s 9 Parts of Desire is a challenging and thought provoking piece of theatre. In contrast to Katie (even though this is just an original blog and not a response to her Dec. 2nd blog – I did that as well…), I find the character of Layal to be the most moving and captivating. My perspective of how Iraqi women view American judgment is specifically affected by Layal. Throughout the play it seems as though Layal is fighting off judgment from Americans. Her perception of freedom and existence are much different from the western concepts held by those attacking her country... I was hurt by her assumptions that I would view her as a whore. She constantly defends herself with statements about the choices she makes.
LAYAL: Always I run to them, I come crying, begging, take care of me / they need me to do it, oh they love me to run to them crying – If I am not afraid then there is no feeling. Your eyes say to me that I am a whore / their eyes say I am the most beautiful woman in Baghdad / I am their fountain / I have been raped and raped and raped and raped / and I want more / they see me, they recognize me for what I am / that is freedom / they will never kill me –
In this passage she says that they “need” her to run crying and to be afraid. She says that without her fear there would be no “feeling.” I see Layal as a survivor and as someone who is fighting to protect the only way of existence she has known. She says she has been raped many times and wants more... I cannot understand how a woman can be at peace with being forced against her will sexually. I cannot understand how she could desire more of it and justify the action by stating it gives her freedom to be recognized for what she is… However, even though I do not understand, I do believe Layal has the right to exist this way if she so chooses. Her objective, she says, is not to die, which I’m interpreting from her final line in the above passage, “they will never kill me.” If her goal is to stay alive and remain in Iraq, then survival calls upon her to accept certain inevitabilities in life. For my part, I wish she would leave this lifestyle and pursue a new life somewhere else away from this oppression. But then again, that is for Layal and other Iraqi women like her to decide, not me… It is Layal’s strong commitment to stay in Iraq under her current circumstances that makes her the most powerful character in Heather Raffo’s 9 Parts of Desire.
LAYAL: Always I run to them, I come crying, begging, take care of me / they need me to do it, oh they love me to run to them crying – If I am not afraid then there is no feeling. Your eyes say to me that I am a whore / their eyes say I am the most beautiful woman in Baghdad / I am their fountain / I have been raped and raped and raped and raped / and I want more / they see me, they recognize me for what I am / that is freedom / they will never kill me –
In this passage she says that they “need” her to run crying and to be afraid. She says that without her fear there would be no “feeling.” I see Layal as a survivor and as someone who is fighting to protect the only way of existence she has known. She says she has been raped many times and wants more... I cannot understand how a woman can be at peace with being forced against her will sexually. I cannot understand how she could desire more of it and justify the action by stating it gives her freedom to be recognized for what she is… However, even though I do not understand, I do believe Layal has the right to exist this way if she so chooses. Her objective, she says, is not to die, which I’m interpreting from her final line in the above passage, “they will never kill me.” If her goal is to stay alive and remain in Iraq, then survival calls upon her to accept certain inevitabilities in life. For my part, I wish she would leave this lifestyle and pursue a new life somewhere else away from this oppression. But then again, that is for Layal and other Iraqi women like her to decide, not me… It is Layal’s strong commitment to stay in Iraq under her current circumstances that makes her the most powerful character in Heather Raffo’s 9 Parts of Desire.
What I Learned in Class
Although this might be silly, I have found I've learned something very interesting in this class. It has nothing to do with form or content, with beats or scansion, with dialogues or monologues or anything like that. But it comes down to respecting other people's opinions and being able to back up your own. I have been in classes similar to this, a discussion based class working with several scripts. I love these classes, especially when they get heated. However, I used to walk away from classes sometimes feeling upset at classmate's opinions. I have not done that with our class. At first I thought this must be because... well, everyone agrees. But that is not true. Not everyone had the same opinion. I thought maybe it's because no one had strong opinions, but this is not true either. Our class is full of strong opinions. I believe this class was successful based on the idea that we all have separate opinions that we could support. Because students were able to support opinions with text, form, content, whatever a specific play may entail, it was easier to respect these opinions without necessarily agreeing with them.
I think it has honestly taken me 17 years of schooling to finally figure this out.
Thank you for a great first semester, and thank you for teaching me something far beyond playscript interpretation.
A night of originals
After Listening to everyone's final projects and reading some of the posts, I propose would should get a "night of originals" up and going. Studio is a great option but I think there is so much red tape to jump through that it should almost be a part of the class. Granted this idea is coming at the end of the semester. Even a night of readings would be beneficial. What if it is a continuation or we can sign out the thrust and just do it ourselves. Having your peers listen in and give feed back is far more educational then strangers, although if we could pack the house with them all the better.
When i was at Northern Ill for a year we had readings for anyone who had written a play. This was done once a semester, just before/after finals. (depending on what theatre was available.) I don't see why we can't try the same thing.
I know personally for me, I want to at least hear mine read and possible staged. Mine is a bit more extravagant with props and all so a staged reading is ok with me. Gary's seems right up our alley and easily staged. Triza's is as well.
What does everyone think?
When i was at Northern Ill for a year we had readings for anyone who had written a play. This was done once a semester, just before/after finals. (depending on what theatre was available.) I don't see why we can't try the same thing.
I know personally for me, I want to at least hear mine read and possible staged. Mine is a bit more extravagant with props and all so a staged reading is ok with me. Gary's seems right up our alley and easily staged. Triza's is as well.
What does everyone think?
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
My paper: The Endgame Concept
I just thought some might want to view my concept of Beckett's Endgame. I hope that you pay more attention to the idea rather than my poor writing skills. The idea I That I have in mind is that should not be taken as an attempt to defame the author in any way shape or form. I fear that my personal feelings about the beckett estate may overshadow the way in which you view this paper.
Beckett that might have been:
Or could be.
By: Jared White
I had initially not intended to have such a negative reaction to the story of the Becket estate. But I guess I was just a little too incensed at the idea of a theatre wasting it money because its show was not allowed to open. This sort of thing just sounds like the system bringing itself down on the poor hardworking theatre folks. Where some might see Samuel Beckett as some kind of visionary, this Beckett Estate thing only makes me think of him as an old man with control problems from beyond the grave. I mean think about it, he’s dead, what more could he get out of having his performances done the exact same way for the next 100 years. If he were alive and had to endure watching or hearing about some terrible production of Waiting for Godot, then I would be somewhat sympathetic. I would feel for him because he would be seeing his work butchered. But he’s dead what purpose does it serve to go on in this fashion? In preparation of this paper I came across over 10 separate instance of the Beckett Estate challenging or shutting down a production which they felt sullied the vision of the man. And that was just my first Google search I didn’t even dig that deep. What the hell are these lawyers doing to his reputation?
With this in mind I have sought to find a way to present an interpreted form of Endgame that would still make the author proud. However, given how strict he was with his works while he was alive I doubt I will achieve this. But my idea is to alter as little dialogue as possible. What will have to be altered is stage direction and interpretation of lines, this is where the Estate would get me. I will outline specific actions set pieces and inflected lines that will add a subversive ‘tilt’ to the show. In this way one could watch our production and see Beckett’s original work in its entirety but another could watch it and get the statement we are attempting to make.
The wonderful thing about theatre is that it is the ultimate propaganda tool. There are many things wrong with the world. Things that we just can’t pick up a gun and fix. (Not that that’s a good solution in any case) Words however have an effect and meaning that reach beyond bullets. The idea that I wish to rail upon in this production is that of corporate servitude. We are all children of consumer culture and as a result don’t see the control that the rich and the powerful have over us. We have been raised on our nice things and are content with Nike and Starbucks.
Take a look in the mirror and ask yourself how many wide spread brand name items you have on your person. Apple, Nike, Levi, Wal-Mart, Toshiba Starbucks, Jeep. Do we need these things to survive? You might say, yes.
Why? Mostly because you have never known a life without them. We work at dead end jobs making money that we automatically throw away on items that have little value to us except that it makes us happy to have them and makes our life a little easier. We work and work not realizing our servitude to the corporations of America that take our money that we have worked so hard for. When does it stop? We are in the middle of an economic crisis right now. Nobody has any money to spend on Christmas presents but we’re doing it any way. Things are getting more and more expensive by the day. Yet we continue to dig ourselves deeper.
It is under this idea that I have constructed the “Revolution Theatre’s production of Endgame. We set out to produce theatre that will incite change. (Thus the name) Throughout the play I have set aside moments (some of which I will lay out for you) where Clov is given payment in some form. The idea is that by the end of the play he will want to leave Hamm. Or at least in the audience mind he will want to leave.
Beginning on about page 2 (depending on your script), we start with “Me to-Play” (Same blocking as in the script, but with different references and subtle movements on each line) On the line “My father” and “My Mother” he will ‘look’ (obviously he is still blind but he knows where everything always is) toward the trash can referencing his father and mother so that we get the idea once Nagg and Nell emerge from their respective hidey-holes. My- Dog obviously refers to his dog which is off in the kitchen with his other lapdog Clov. So we will make an appropriate look toward the where the kitchen exit will be downstage. When Clov re-enters once Hamm has called him he will staple a piece of refuse to the set. (See new set design later in the paper) He will then carry on in the usual fashion dictated by the script. The only difference will be on lines such as “I’ll give you one biscuit per day” Hamm will produce a wad of cash and hand it Clov. Later in the play when Hamm hands Clov payment Clov will take the wad of cash separate it and staple to the wall during the successive lines. I also want the lines referring to the bicycle to be established as a withholding relationship. The idea behind capitalism is that you have to earn your living. Rather than having a right to your living by mere existence. Things such as food, shelter, clothing etc must be purchased when they should be allowed to all by the mere fact of being human. The right to food, the right to shelter, and the right to things that we work for when we might be given them.
The idea throughout this scene is to have Clov establish a subservient relationship with Hamm. Hamm already treats Clov like a dog and so the idea is that Clov is naturally disposed toward serving him. When the audience asks themselves why the obviously self capable Clov continues to serve the abusive Hamm, line like “I don’t know the combination to the cupboard” explain it. It’s a matter of material. Food, money, shelter that is being held over Clovs head. Adding the blocking of Hamm giving Clov money throughout the play only underlines capitalist servitude idea that I am attempting to establish.
The next scene I would love to elaborate on really excites me. Several weeks ago we were talking in class about design ideas and the idea of making Nagg and Nell Muppets popped into my head. They both seem so Oscar the Grouch to me, living in those trash cans. The look for Nagg and Nell will look very much like Statler and Waldorf the two old hecklers from the Muppet show. The two puppets will live in the trash cans when not in use. Underneath the trash cans will be two puppeteers that will enter the trash cans from two trap doors underneath. This will allow for
I don’t have any different interpretation of this scene other than to say that the banter and dialogue between Nagg and Nell already lends itself to the Muppets. As both Muppets will need to be able to grasp things it is essential that they are Muppets and not puppets.
At the beginning of the play my actor Gary Brice, who plays Clov, will be very chipper (well as chipper as can be) in his duties. But as the play progresses, the abuses he receives at the hand of Hamm (Will Salmons) will begin to tear him down so that the audience and Clov himself will wonder why he stays.
Clov: I’ll leave you
Hamm: No!
Clov: What’s there to keep me here?
Earlier even Hamm asks why he stays.
Hamm: I’ll give you one biscuit per day. One and a half. Why do you stay with me?
This is the payment I was referring to earlier.
Clov: Why do you keep me here?
Hamm: There’s no one else
Clov: There’s nowhere else
This is a dependency that the working class has on the elite.
Hamm: You’re leaving me all the same.
Clov: I’m trying.
This says I want to leave, and I’m trying.
Hamm: You don’t love me.
Clov: No.
Hamm: I’ve made you suffer too much. Haven’t I?
Clov: It’s not that.
Not a denial of oppression, and more of a confirmation.
This is the idea that I’m talking about throughout the entirety of the piece. It’s not so much an omission of dialogue or rewriting it’s an interpretation of already existing dialogue. In this case it will be up to the actors to interpret the lines in this way. It would take about two weeks of table work in order to iron out the idea that I am seeking with this piece.
The set and costumes will also need to be slightly altered to fit my idea with this in mind I have chosen the idea of old brand name labels being pasted all over the set. It will resemble the idea built in Wall-E. A world gone bust on the consumption of all resources at the hand of the corporate world. Our little thrust stage will not allow for the traditional proscenium method of staging.
We will have to set the stage in a different configuration. We will have three flat set away from each other toward the back of the stage. One in the foreground and two in the back on either side of the one in the foreground. For the purposes, of my paper I’ll call the one in the foreground Flat A. The flat in the back ground on stage left we’ll call Flat B and the one on stage right we’ll call Flat C. Flat B and Flat C will overlap Flat A from behind stage center. Flat B and Flat C will meet the proscenium walls on their respective sides. This allows an upstage exit on either side of Flat A between Flats B and C.
All three flats are covered in brand name boxes, newspapers, magazines etc. Anything that says corporate America gone bust. The idea is that Clov has been having a heyday bringing old pieces refuse in and pinning it to the set. The idea is that the set is held together by bits of trash from the now defunct corporate world.
Set up and above over the audience on the downstage left and right sides are two windows which Clov gets the ladder to look through. (This will make his laugh when he looks out especially funny as it will seem as though he is looking at out at the audience and laughing)
I am conflicted on Hamm’s costume. I see one of two things, both ideas are very similar. But with the change of one detail it makes everything I am saying about him different. Hamm’s costume is designed to look like a business man. I am, however, torn between his suit looking like it has been dragged through the mud or completely spotless. I want the feel that he is the personification of a paralyzed yet still powerful corporate tycoon. But I feel to drag him through the mud would make him seem broken. I do not feel that Hamm is entirely broken. I see a business suit, black, with a white shirt and tie. I see his outfit representing fat white America. But the idea that it has not been cleaned in some lends it’s self to the rest of my interpretation.
I had the fun idea of dressing Clov in what you might call “comrade” garb. I imagine him in very simple attire. The idea is that Hamm has not given him much to work with in terms of clothing. So he has had to make do with what he’s been given. He, however, has taken very good care of what he has so it’s nearly spotless. Also imagine him to have developed a neat freak habit after cleaning up after Hamm, Nagg and Nell for so long.
I don’t by any stretch of the imagination feel that this is too far off the beaten path in terms of what Beckett was writing though obviously other will. It is not my intention to shame or deface a work of art such as Endgame. It is only my intention to show the possibilities that might be achieved by thinking outside the box. When we consider the reputation that the Beckett lawyers are making with their continual litigation. Who will want to perform a Beckett play in the next 20 years for fear of being sued? Countless authors have stringent rules placed on their works for fear of being plagiarized and defamed. They have every right to protect their intellectual property. But plays are something quite different. They are works of fiction that are portrayed in a different medium after having been placed on the stage.
If Samuel Beckett is content to have his plays remain on a shelf unperformed for fear of them being performed incorrectly then he shouldn’t have allowed them to be produced at all. Theatre is about risks and Endgame as it is doesn’t take risks anymore. That is why I imagine things this way.
Beckett that might have been:
Or could be.
By: Jared White
I had initially not intended to have such a negative reaction to the story of the Becket estate. But I guess I was just a little too incensed at the idea of a theatre wasting it money because its show was not allowed to open. This sort of thing just sounds like the system bringing itself down on the poor hardworking theatre folks. Where some might see Samuel Beckett as some kind of visionary, this Beckett Estate thing only makes me think of him as an old man with control problems from beyond the grave. I mean think about it, he’s dead, what more could he get out of having his performances done the exact same way for the next 100 years. If he were alive and had to endure watching or hearing about some terrible production of Waiting for Godot, then I would be somewhat sympathetic. I would feel for him because he would be seeing his work butchered. But he’s dead what purpose does it serve to go on in this fashion? In preparation of this paper I came across over 10 separate instance of the Beckett Estate challenging or shutting down a production which they felt sullied the vision of the man. And that was just my first Google search I didn’t even dig that deep. What the hell are these lawyers doing to his reputation?
With this in mind I have sought to find a way to present an interpreted form of Endgame that would still make the author proud. However, given how strict he was with his works while he was alive I doubt I will achieve this. But my idea is to alter as little dialogue as possible. What will have to be altered is stage direction and interpretation of lines, this is where the Estate would get me. I will outline specific actions set pieces and inflected lines that will add a subversive ‘tilt’ to the show. In this way one could watch our production and see Beckett’s original work in its entirety but another could watch it and get the statement we are attempting to make.
The wonderful thing about theatre is that it is the ultimate propaganda tool. There are many things wrong with the world. Things that we just can’t pick up a gun and fix. (Not that that’s a good solution in any case) Words however have an effect and meaning that reach beyond bullets. The idea that I wish to rail upon in this production is that of corporate servitude. We are all children of consumer culture and as a result don’t see the control that the rich and the powerful have over us. We have been raised on our nice things and are content with Nike and Starbucks.
Take a look in the mirror and ask yourself how many wide spread brand name items you have on your person. Apple, Nike, Levi, Wal-Mart, Toshiba Starbucks, Jeep. Do we need these things to survive? You might say, yes.
Why? Mostly because you have never known a life without them. We work at dead end jobs making money that we automatically throw away on items that have little value to us except that it makes us happy to have them and makes our life a little easier. We work and work not realizing our servitude to the corporations of America that take our money that we have worked so hard for. When does it stop? We are in the middle of an economic crisis right now. Nobody has any money to spend on Christmas presents but we’re doing it any way. Things are getting more and more expensive by the day. Yet we continue to dig ourselves deeper.
It is under this idea that I have constructed the “Revolution Theatre’s production of Endgame. We set out to produce theatre that will incite change. (Thus the name) Throughout the play I have set aside moments (some of which I will lay out for you) where Clov is given payment in some form. The idea is that by the end of the play he will want to leave Hamm. Or at least in the audience mind he will want to leave.
Beginning on about page 2 (depending on your script), we start with “Me to-Play” (Same blocking as in the script, but with different references and subtle movements on each line) On the line “My father” and “My Mother” he will ‘look’ (obviously he is still blind but he knows where everything always is) toward the trash can referencing his father and mother so that we get the idea once Nagg and Nell emerge from their respective hidey-holes. My- Dog obviously refers to his dog which is off in the kitchen with his other lapdog Clov. So we will make an appropriate look toward the where the kitchen exit will be downstage. When Clov re-enters once Hamm has called him he will staple a piece of refuse to the set. (See new set design later in the paper) He will then carry on in the usual fashion dictated by the script. The only difference will be on lines such as “I’ll give you one biscuit per day” Hamm will produce a wad of cash and hand it Clov. Later in the play when Hamm hands Clov payment Clov will take the wad of cash separate it and staple to the wall during the successive lines. I also want the lines referring to the bicycle to be established as a withholding relationship. The idea behind capitalism is that you have to earn your living. Rather than having a right to your living by mere existence. Things such as food, shelter, clothing etc must be purchased when they should be allowed to all by the mere fact of being human. The right to food, the right to shelter, and the right to things that we work for when we might be given them.
The idea throughout this scene is to have Clov establish a subservient relationship with Hamm. Hamm already treats Clov like a dog and so the idea is that Clov is naturally disposed toward serving him. When the audience asks themselves why the obviously self capable Clov continues to serve the abusive Hamm, line like “I don’t know the combination to the cupboard” explain it. It’s a matter of material. Food, money, shelter that is being held over Clovs head. Adding the blocking of Hamm giving Clov money throughout the play only underlines capitalist servitude idea that I am attempting to establish.
The next scene I would love to elaborate on really excites me. Several weeks ago we were talking in class about design ideas and the idea of making Nagg and Nell Muppets popped into my head. They both seem so Oscar the Grouch to me, living in those trash cans. The look for Nagg and Nell will look very much like Statler and Waldorf the two old hecklers from the Muppet show. The two puppets will live in the trash cans when not in use. Underneath the trash cans will be two puppeteers that will enter the trash cans from two trap doors underneath. This will allow for
I don’t have any different interpretation of this scene other than to say that the banter and dialogue between Nagg and Nell already lends itself to the Muppets. As both Muppets will need to be able to grasp things it is essential that they are Muppets and not puppets.
At the beginning of the play my actor Gary Brice, who plays Clov, will be very chipper (well as chipper as can be) in his duties. But as the play progresses, the abuses he receives at the hand of Hamm (Will Salmons) will begin to tear him down so that the audience and Clov himself will wonder why he stays.
Clov: I’ll leave you
Hamm: No!
Clov: What’s there to keep me here?
Earlier even Hamm asks why he stays.
Hamm: I’ll give you one biscuit per day. One and a half. Why do you stay with me?
This is the payment I was referring to earlier.
Clov: Why do you keep me here?
Hamm: There’s no one else
Clov: There’s nowhere else
This is a dependency that the working class has on the elite.
Hamm: You’re leaving me all the same.
Clov: I’m trying.
This says I want to leave, and I’m trying.
Hamm: You don’t love me.
Clov: No.
Hamm: I’ve made you suffer too much. Haven’t I?
Clov: It’s not that.
Not a denial of oppression, and more of a confirmation.
This is the idea that I’m talking about throughout the entirety of the piece. It’s not so much an omission of dialogue or rewriting it’s an interpretation of already existing dialogue. In this case it will be up to the actors to interpret the lines in this way. It would take about two weeks of table work in order to iron out the idea that I am seeking with this piece.
The set and costumes will also need to be slightly altered to fit my idea with this in mind I have chosen the idea of old brand name labels being pasted all over the set. It will resemble the idea built in Wall-E. A world gone bust on the consumption of all resources at the hand of the corporate world. Our little thrust stage will not allow for the traditional proscenium method of staging.
We will have to set the stage in a different configuration. We will have three flat set away from each other toward the back of the stage. One in the foreground and two in the back on either side of the one in the foreground. For the purposes, of my paper I’ll call the one in the foreground Flat A. The flat in the back ground on stage left we’ll call Flat B and the one on stage right we’ll call Flat C. Flat B and Flat C will overlap Flat A from behind stage center. Flat B and Flat C will meet the proscenium walls on their respective sides. This allows an upstage exit on either side of Flat A between Flats B and C.
All three flats are covered in brand name boxes, newspapers, magazines etc. Anything that says corporate America gone bust. The idea is that Clov has been having a heyday bringing old pieces refuse in and pinning it to the set. The idea is that the set is held together by bits of trash from the now defunct corporate world.
Set up and above over the audience on the downstage left and right sides are two windows which Clov gets the ladder to look through. (This will make his laugh when he looks out especially funny as it will seem as though he is looking at out at the audience and laughing)
I am conflicted on Hamm’s costume. I see one of two things, both ideas are very similar. But with the change of one detail it makes everything I am saying about him different. Hamm’s costume is designed to look like a business man. I am, however, torn between his suit looking like it has been dragged through the mud or completely spotless. I want the feel that he is the personification of a paralyzed yet still powerful corporate tycoon. But I feel to drag him through the mud would make him seem broken. I do not feel that Hamm is entirely broken. I see a business suit, black, with a white shirt and tie. I see his outfit representing fat white America. But the idea that it has not been cleaned in some lends it’s self to the rest of my interpretation.
I had the fun idea of dressing Clov in what you might call “comrade” garb. I imagine him in very simple attire. The idea is that Hamm has not given him much to work with in terms of clothing. So he has had to make do with what he’s been given. He, however, has taken very good care of what he has so it’s nearly spotless. Also imagine him to have developed a neat freak habit after cleaning up after Hamm, Nagg and Nell for so long.
I don’t by any stretch of the imagination feel that this is too far off the beaten path in terms of what Beckett was writing though obviously other will. It is not my intention to shame or deface a work of art such as Endgame. It is only my intention to show the possibilities that might be achieved by thinking outside the box. When we consider the reputation that the Beckett lawyers are making with their continual litigation. Who will want to perform a Beckett play in the next 20 years for fear of being sued? Countless authors have stringent rules placed on their works for fear of being plagiarized and defamed. They have every right to protect their intellectual property. But plays are something quite different. They are works of fiction that are portrayed in a different medium after having been placed on the stage.
If Samuel Beckett is content to have his plays remain on a shelf unperformed for fear of them being performed incorrectly then he shouldn’t have allowed them to be produced at all. Theatre is about risks and Endgame as it is doesn’t take risks anymore. That is why I imagine things this way.
The Heights...
The 3 parts of the Heights By Gary Brice
Characters:
Ka’val 15
Ka’mil 19
Kelvin 20
Note… Throughout the play the actor uses a bandanna, gun and book to move from person to person
[Blackout. Multiple gunshots are heard followed by the painful cries of a grieving mother. An acapella version of Amazing Grace is heard as the lights very slowly come up. They are very dim. The actor enters from the audience slowly as if in a funeral procession. The bandanna is neatly folded in his front shirt pocket as if it were a handkerchief for a suit. He is in all black except for the bandanna which is white. He stands with his head down as the song fades just low enough to hear. A spot light comes up on him as the rest of the stage goes black]
(He opens the book)
Beat
(He struggles through the passage. He is very bad at reading)
Ka’val: The LORD is my shep-herd; I shall not want.
He mak-eth me to lie down in green pas-tures: he lead-eth me be-side the still wa-ters.
He res-tor-eth my soul: he lead-eth me in the paths of righ…righ-te-ous-ness for-his-name-sake.
Yeah, though I walk th…through the voll-ey of the sha-dow of DEATH, I-will-fear-no-e-vel: for thou arT with me; thy rod and thy staff they com-fort-me.
Thou pr…pre-par-est a table before me in the pre-sence of mine en-e-mies: thou an…an…an-oint-est my head with oil; my cup runn-eth o-ver.
Surely good-ness and mer-cy shall follow me all-the-days-of-my-life: and I will d…dwell in the house of the LORD for-ev-er. Amen.
(The song continues. The spot fades and the lights go back dim as he walks up stage. He takes the bandanna out his pocket and ties it around his head. He is Ka’mil. He turns around and walks center. As he walks the spot comes back up and the rest of the stage goes black. Although he does not have a phone he is talking on one)
Ka’mil: Ok Ka’mil…yea you be good ok…daddy love you.
(He smiles big)
Ka’mil: Ok put mommy back on the phone.
Beat
Ka’mil: Hey. You alright…yea well you know I didn’t fuck with that nigga Kevin like that no way so…No that’s not why I don’t want him to go…He too young he don’t even know what death is… yea well I no that’s his cousin but a 4 year old don’t… whatever…I said whatever cause it don’t matter what I fuckin say you still gone do whatever the fuck you wanna do anyway!…yea well fuck you too, you just make sure you drop him off on time.
Beat
Ka’mil: Bitch
(The spot goes out as the lights come up to dim as he turns and walks up stage. He takes the bandanna off and ties it on top of his head like a cleaning lady would. He is Kelvin. The spot comes up as he walks center. The rest of the stage goes dark. He waits eagerly with his hand in the air. He is waiting to be called on.)
Beat
Beat
Kelvin: Thank you! Im sorry but I have to disagree with all of you guys. This issue of gun violence is so much bigger than yall are making it out to be. You cant just blame the parents. You have to blame the community too. You have to look at the culture of poverty and what that does to people. This is what happens when people have been poor for generations. Look at the history of socioeconomic inequality in places like the Heights. You have to look at the bigger picture before you just blame the parents.
Beat
Kelvin: That’s all.
(The Music stops and the lights come up as he takes the bandanna off his head and puts it back in his shirt pocket. He is Ka’val. He sits in the chair)
Beat
(He stands and punches the air until he is in a FRENZIE)
Beat
(He collapses to the ground and cries uncontrollably)
Beat
(He regains his composure. He sits in the chair he uses his bandana to wipe his eyes. He tries to over compensate for his moment of vulnerability with hyper-masculinity)
Ka’val: Swear ta god on my brotha Ron, Mikey D, and my two cousin graves. Swear ta god On my muthafuckin grandmammas life…every last one of them niggas dead.
Beat
Ka’val: I aint no bitch. No Bitch in me. Do you muthafuckas know who my muthafuckin daddy is? My daddy had all of the muthafuckin Heights on lock.
Beat
Ka’val: Aint no muthafuckin way them faggot ass mark ass bitch ass dickin in the booty ass niggas would have got away with that shit if he was here so aint no muthafuckin way them niggas gone get away with that shit with him locked up.
Beat
(He pulls out a gun from under his shirt)
Beat
Ka’val: This muthafucka got hella hits on it. This was my brotha Rons. Only nigga harder than him ta come up outta these muthafuckin streets was my muthafuckin daddy.
Beat
Ka’val: I don’t even go see that nigga no mo. He said he don’t like us seein ‘im locked up and shit. I don’t give no fuck tho. If I don’t end up dead imma end up in that muthafucka wit his ass.
Beat
Ka’val: Muthafuckas already think imma punk and shit! Just cause I aint got no scars or no hits and I aint did no time don’t mean shit. Muthafuckas just know not ta fuck wit me. They know where I come from. They know imma thorough bread nigga. It’s nothing fo me to throw them thangs. It’s nothing for me ta come up in yo muthafuckin house and blow out yo muthafuckin brains!
Beat
Ka’val: I hate funerals…I done been to 4 funerals and it aint even summer yet. Niggas is getting crazy tho. They shot up a funeral a while ago. Niggas doin that shit now. Muthafukas can’t even get buried in peace. We was ready for that shit today at Ron’s Funeral. Ready for any one of them raggedy ass niggas to jump stupid at my brothers funeral. Jesus Christ wouldn’t have been able to stop my ass if any nigga would have tried anything.
Beat
Ka’val: I hate hearin my mama and grandmamma cry like that. My grandmamma the one made me read that damn bible verse. I kept it together tho. Didn’t none of them muthafuckas see me cry. I wouldnt let myself cry. Ron woulda wupped my muthafuckin ass if he would have seen me cryin like a lil bitch. I just sat there plottin how im gone kill every last one of them niggas for getting my brotha.
Beat
Ka’val: least Ron took out one of them niggas before they got his ass.
Beat
Ka’val: That Kevin nigga funeral today too.
Beat
All them niggas gone be there…
(He stares at the gun he takes the bandanna and ties it around his face so only his eyes are showing. He turns and walks up stage. He stops he takes off the bandanna, rolls it up and ties it around his forehead circa Master P)
(Lights up on Ka’mil the bandanna is now folded and tied around his head. The book is no longer a bible but a notebook. He walks down stage to the chair where he is busies himself with writing rap lyrics. The gun is tucked neatly in his belt)
Ka’mil:
You niggas wanna fuck wit me you know I’ll go ballistic
Make you another black on black crime statistic
Cut you and chop you up then drink you just like a mystic
Don’t try and tempt faith by me although you can not resist it
Annihilate your social life make you a fuckin misfit;
Listen little faggot my verses’ is so sadistic
--Im optimistic my life is feudalistic
Love none of these hoes so you know im chauvinistic,
Im not a rapper my verses are journalistic
My heart love god but my mind is gone atheistic
Im narcissistic and my verses futuristic
Need a big booty bitch thats tryna be voyeuristic….yeeeeaaaaaahhhhhh
(He laughs)
Beat
(He stands. The lights go bright like a concert. He jumps around the stage and performs the rap he just wrote, as if for a sold out arena)
Ka’mil: You niggas wanna fuck wit me you know I’ll go ballistic
Make you another black on black crime statistic
Cut you and chop you up then drink you just like a Mistic
Don’t try and tempt faith by me although you can not resist it
Annihilate your social life make you a fuckin misfit
Listen simple nigga my verses’ is so sadistic
Im optimistic my life is feudalistic
Love none of these hoes so you know im chauvinistic
Im not a rapper my verses are journalistic
My heart love god but my mind is gone atheistic
Im narcissistic and my verses futuristic
Need a big booty bitch that trying ta be voyeuristic.
Beat
Ka’mil: A big booty bitch thas tryna be voyeuristic??? That shit is stupid!
(Lights go back. He laughs at the line.)
Beat
(He sits and he pulls out a bag of crack. He is getting the rocks ready for distribution)
Beat
Ka’mil: Don’t fuckin look at me like that I don’t smoke this shit. And it aint crack its bill money.
(He laughs)
Beat
Ka’mil: I mean shit I sell weed too. Im just doin this shit until I get my record deal. Yeeeaaaahhhhh!
Beat
Ka’mil: My grandmamma be getting on my ass about this shit. Muthafuckas be like nigga you aint gotta sell drugs “just go get a real job”. Aint no fuckin jobs in the Heights. Fast food don’t fuckin pay. I got a fuckin shorty man. What the fuck do look like makin food for ignorant ass ingreatful ass muthafuckas huh? Makin 7 dollars an hour, when I got these dope fiends beatin down my door ta fuck wit this shit. Fuck Mcdonalds. I can make a whole fuckin McDonalds check in one day fuckin with this shit.
Beat
Ka’mil: Muthafucks don’t wanna help me make a way. Im makin my own way. I just need for the right muthafuckas to hear my shit and im on. Yea im makin my own way. Livin by my own rules. When life hands you lemons, fuck lemonade you fuckin start a company like Minuetmade. Then a nigga be foreal paid. Stunntin in a muthafuckin bad ass Escalade. Getting hella paid. Yeeeaaaahhhhh.
(He likes this spontaneous rhyme enough to hurry to his notebook and write it down)
Ka’mil: When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade…
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade… Yeeeaaahhhhhh!
Beat
Beat
Ka’mil: Aint no fuckin body helpin me. Shit fuck that, they’ll help me make my way to jail, and I aint never goin back to that bitch. Or they’ll help me make my way to a funeral line and I’ll be damned if my shorty gone bury me any time soon.
Beat
Ka’mil: Ka’mil Rasheed Evans JUNIOR. That’s my lil shorty. I do all of this shit for him. He gone have it better than me.
Beat
Ka’mil: Belive that.
(He finishes bagging the crack and goes back to writing his rap. The lights go bright again. He performs his concert again)
Ka’mil: When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade…
You niggas wanna fuck wit me you know I’ll go ballistic
Make you another black on black crime statistic
Cut you and chop you up then drink you just like a Mistic
Don’t try and tempt faith by me although you can not resist it
Annihilate your social life make you a fuckin misfit
Listen simple nigga my verses’ is so sadistic
Im optimistic my life is feudalistic
Love none of these hoes so you know im chauvinistic
Im not a rapper my verses are journalistic
My heart love god but my mind is gone atheistic
Im narcissistic my verses futuristic
So pay attention nigga cause some of yall bout to miss this
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade…
(As he performs the last hook he turns and walks up stage. The lights go back. He takes off the bandanna and ties it on top of his head. He is Kelvin. The note book is now a script, Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare the gun is a prop. He is rehearsing.)
Kelvin: Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,For Cassius is aweary of the world;Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;Cheque'd like a bondman; all his faults observed,Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote,To cast into my teeth. O, I could weepMy spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger,
Beat
Kelvin: This makes no fucking sense. This is a fucking gun. Why would she tell us to use guns for our props and not change the fucking line?
Beat
There is my dagger,And here my naked breast; within, a heartDearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
(He holds out the gun)
Beat
Kelvin: why would I voluntarily ask this dude to shoot me. Niggas do not do that shit, real talk. I’m a fucking English major why the fuck do I have to take acting Shakespeare.
Beat
Kelvin: I don’t even like touching guns. It don’t matter if they fake. I see too many guns back in the Heights. It’s hard being from the Heights because so much shit be goin on there. But, there’s not much I can do about it 3 hours away. I’m better off at Western. When I get my degree ain’t none of them niggas gone be able to tell me shit.
Beat
Kelvin: I know I aint there but…We have discussions and shit in AAS club about the violence in the Heights because a lot of us are either from there or from around there. I get so pissed off in In those meetings. Muthafuckas just be sayin stupid shit. Ignorant shit. I just be like are you talking about our neighborhood or some fuckin third world country half way across the world. Yea everybody is going crazy and yea shit is getting grimy as fuck but damn. Those are still people out there. Like today we were talkin about the 4 year old that got shot at the funeral yesterday Everybody is all like blame the parents blame the parents.”People don’t know how to raise they kids any more” How about we blame the fuckin whole community. Education sucks, the housing sucks, aint no fuckin jobs most of us come from broken homes. Its just being a product of a bad environment. How the fuck are the parents gonna know any better when they came up in the same fucked up ass streets!
Beat
Kelvin: Im sorry. It just seem like every other fuckin day somebody is either gettin shot or killed. We can be doin so much more in those meetings than complaining and pointing the finger. I mean we could be a lot more productive. What the fuck are any of us doing to help.
Beat
Kelvin: We cowards, all of us. We got on the first thing smoking up out of the Heights and most of us won’t even look back. I’m goin back, I’m goin back to teach cause the Heights needs me.
Beat
Kelvin: How the fuck does a 4 year old get shot at a funeral. You are supposed to leave a funeral with closure. You mourn the death, celebrate the life, then try like hell to move on with your own. You don’t leave one funeral to plan another one.
Beat
(he holds the gun out)
There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a heartDearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know,When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him betterThan ever thou lovedst Cassius.
(Lights up on Ka’val the bandanna is around his face so you only see his eyes. He is flagged for battle. He sits and he just stares.)
Beat
Beat
Beat
(He rips of the bandanna)
Beat
Ka’val: I didn’t even look. I just started shootin….
Beat
Beat
Ka’val: I-I…I hit a four year old…
Beat
(He starts to rock uncontrollably even cry)
Beat
Ka’val: I AINT NO BITCH.
Beat
Ka’val: DO YOU KNOW WHO MY MUTHAFUKIN DADDY IS…
(Lights Shift to Ka’mil he is frantically ripping the pages out of his notebook throwing them about the stage)
Ka’mil: YOU NIGGAS WANNA FUCK WIT ME
Beat
YOU KNOW ILL GO BALLISTIC
Beat
MAKE YOU ANOTHER BLACK ON BLACK CRIME STATISTIC
CUT YOU
CHOP YOU UP
DRINK YOU JUST LIKE A MISTIC
Beat
(He has ripped all of the pages out and has thrown them sporadically about the stage. He collapses and cries hysterically)
Beat
Ka’mil: They killed my shorty….
Beat
Ka’mil: At a funeral. At his cousins funeral.
Beat
Ka’mil: Ka’mil…Rasheed…Evans…jr…
Beat
Beat
Ka’mil: THEY KILLED MY SHORTY
(He gets out the gun)
Beat
(He puts the bandanna around his face and rushes upstage)
(Lights Shift to Kelvin the he pulls the bandanna out of his pocket and and puts it on like a scarf)
Kelvin: Shit I forgot how brutal the wind is up here in the Heights.
Beat
Kelvin: Aint shit changed. The Heights look exactly the same. It look like fuckin animals live here.
Beat
Kelvin: Look at me starting to sound like the idiots at the meetings.
Beat
Kelvin: I organized a march after that 4 year old got shot.
Beat
Kelvin: I hear his daddy went out and shot the lil dude that killed his son.
Beat
Kelvin: 3 lives gone. 2 dead 1 gone to prison for the rest of his life. Dude was only 19. I’m only 1 year older than him. Dude he shot was only 15. I guess when you lose a kid don’t shit else matter. I guess when you lose anybody, for a split second nothing matters. Damn.
(He starts to pick up the paper. Amazing Grace plays as The lights very slowly fade to dark)
(Blackout)
Characters:
Ka’val 15
Ka’mil 19
Kelvin 20
Note… Throughout the play the actor uses a bandanna, gun and book to move from person to person
[Blackout. Multiple gunshots are heard followed by the painful cries of a grieving mother. An acapella version of Amazing Grace is heard as the lights very slowly come up. They are very dim. The actor enters from the audience slowly as if in a funeral procession. The bandanna is neatly folded in his front shirt pocket as if it were a handkerchief for a suit. He is in all black except for the bandanna which is white. He stands with his head down as the song fades just low enough to hear. A spot light comes up on him as the rest of the stage goes black]
(He opens the book)
Beat
(He struggles through the passage. He is very bad at reading)
Ka’val: The LORD is my shep-herd; I shall not want.
He mak-eth me to lie down in green pas-tures: he lead-eth me be-side the still wa-ters.
He res-tor-eth my soul: he lead-eth me in the paths of righ…righ-te-ous-ness for-his-name-sake.
Yeah, though I walk th…through the voll-ey of the sha-dow of DEATH, I-will-fear-no-e-vel: for thou arT with me; thy rod and thy staff they com-fort-me.
Thou pr…pre-par-est a table before me in the pre-sence of mine en-e-mies: thou an…an…an-oint-est my head with oil; my cup runn-eth o-ver.
Surely good-ness and mer-cy shall follow me all-the-days-of-my-life: and I will d…dwell in the house of the LORD for-ev-er. Amen.
(The song continues. The spot fades and the lights go back dim as he walks up stage. He takes the bandanna out his pocket and ties it around his head. He is Ka’mil. He turns around and walks center. As he walks the spot comes back up and the rest of the stage goes black. Although he does not have a phone he is talking on one)
Ka’mil: Ok Ka’mil…yea you be good ok…daddy love you.
(He smiles big)
Ka’mil: Ok put mommy back on the phone.
Beat
Ka’mil: Hey. You alright…yea well you know I didn’t fuck with that nigga Kevin like that no way so…No that’s not why I don’t want him to go…He too young he don’t even know what death is… yea well I no that’s his cousin but a 4 year old don’t… whatever…I said whatever cause it don’t matter what I fuckin say you still gone do whatever the fuck you wanna do anyway!…yea well fuck you too, you just make sure you drop him off on time.
Beat
Ka’mil: Bitch
(The spot goes out as the lights come up to dim as he turns and walks up stage. He takes the bandanna off and ties it on top of his head like a cleaning lady would. He is Kelvin. The spot comes up as he walks center. The rest of the stage goes dark. He waits eagerly with his hand in the air. He is waiting to be called on.)
Beat
Beat
Kelvin: Thank you! Im sorry but I have to disagree with all of you guys. This issue of gun violence is so much bigger than yall are making it out to be. You cant just blame the parents. You have to blame the community too. You have to look at the culture of poverty and what that does to people. This is what happens when people have been poor for generations. Look at the history of socioeconomic inequality in places like the Heights. You have to look at the bigger picture before you just blame the parents.
Beat
Kelvin: That’s all.
(The Music stops and the lights come up as he takes the bandanna off his head and puts it back in his shirt pocket. He is Ka’val. He sits in the chair)
Beat
(He stands and punches the air until he is in a FRENZIE)
Beat
(He collapses to the ground and cries uncontrollably)
Beat
(He regains his composure. He sits in the chair he uses his bandana to wipe his eyes. He tries to over compensate for his moment of vulnerability with hyper-masculinity)
Ka’val: Swear ta god on my brotha Ron, Mikey D, and my two cousin graves. Swear ta god On my muthafuckin grandmammas life…every last one of them niggas dead.
Beat
Ka’val: I aint no bitch. No Bitch in me. Do you muthafuckas know who my muthafuckin daddy is? My daddy had all of the muthafuckin Heights on lock.
Beat
Ka’val: Aint no muthafuckin way them faggot ass mark ass bitch ass dickin in the booty ass niggas would have got away with that shit if he was here so aint no muthafuckin way them niggas gone get away with that shit with him locked up.
Beat
(He pulls out a gun from under his shirt)
Beat
Ka’val: This muthafucka got hella hits on it. This was my brotha Rons. Only nigga harder than him ta come up outta these muthafuckin streets was my muthafuckin daddy.
Beat
Ka’val: I don’t even go see that nigga no mo. He said he don’t like us seein ‘im locked up and shit. I don’t give no fuck tho. If I don’t end up dead imma end up in that muthafucka wit his ass.
Beat
Ka’val: Muthafuckas already think imma punk and shit! Just cause I aint got no scars or no hits and I aint did no time don’t mean shit. Muthafuckas just know not ta fuck wit me. They know where I come from. They know imma thorough bread nigga. It’s nothing fo me to throw them thangs. It’s nothing for me ta come up in yo muthafuckin house and blow out yo muthafuckin brains!
Beat
Ka’val: I hate funerals…I done been to 4 funerals and it aint even summer yet. Niggas is getting crazy tho. They shot up a funeral a while ago. Niggas doin that shit now. Muthafukas can’t even get buried in peace. We was ready for that shit today at Ron’s Funeral. Ready for any one of them raggedy ass niggas to jump stupid at my brothers funeral. Jesus Christ wouldn’t have been able to stop my ass if any nigga would have tried anything.
Beat
Ka’val: I hate hearin my mama and grandmamma cry like that. My grandmamma the one made me read that damn bible verse. I kept it together tho. Didn’t none of them muthafuckas see me cry. I wouldnt let myself cry. Ron woulda wupped my muthafuckin ass if he would have seen me cryin like a lil bitch. I just sat there plottin how im gone kill every last one of them niggas for getting my brotha.
Beat
Ka’val: least Ron took out one of them niggas before they got his ass.
Beat
Ka’val: That Kevin nigga funeral today too.
Beat
All them niggas gone be there…
(He stares at the gun he takes the bandanna and ties it around his face so only his eyes are showing. He turns and walks up stage. He stops he takes off the bandanna, rolls it up and ties it around his forehead circa Master P)
(Lights up on Ka’mil the bandanna is now folded and tied around his head. The book is no longer a bible but a notebook. He walks down stage to the chair where he is busies himself with writing rap lyrics. The gun is tucked neatly in his belt)
Ka’mil:
You niggas wanna fuck wit me you know I’ll go ballistic
Make you another black on black crime statistic
Cut you and chop you up then drink you just like a mystic
Don’t try and tempt faith by me although you can not resist it
Annihilate your social life make you a fuckin misfit;
Listen little faggot my verses’ is so sadistic
--Im optimistic my life is feudalistic
Love none of these hoes so you know im chauvinistic,
Im not a rapper my verses are journalistic
My heart love god but my mind is gone atheistic
Im narcissistic and my verses futuristic
Need a big booty bitch thats tryna be voyeuristic….yeeeeaaaaaahhhhhh
(He laughs)
Beat
(He stands. The lights go bright like a concert. He jumps around the stage and performs the rap he just wrote, as if for a sold out arena)
Ka’mil: You niggas wanna fuck wit me you know I’ll go ballistic
Make you another black on black crime statistic
Cut you and chop you up then drink you just like a Mistic
Don’t try and tempt faith by me although you can not resist it
Annihilate your social life make you a fuckin misfit
Listen simple nigga my verses’ is so sadistic
Im optimistic my life is feudalistic
Love none of these hoes so you know im chauvinistic
Im not a rapper my verses are journalistic
My heart love god but my mind is gone atheistic
Im narcissistic and my verses futuristic
Need a big booty bitch that trying ta be voyeuristic.
Beat
Ka’mil: A big booty bitch thas tryna be voyeuristic??? That shit is stupid!
(Lights go back. He laughs at the line.)
Beat
(He sits and he pulls out a bag of crack. He is getting the rocks ready for distribution)
Beat
Ka’mil: Don’t fuckin look at me like that I don’t smoke this shit. And it aint crack its bill money.
(He laughs)
Beat
Ka’mil: I mean shit I sell weed too. Im just doin this shit until I get my record deal. Yeeeaaaahhhhh!
Beat
Ka’mil: My grandmamma be getting on my ass about this shit. Muthafuckas be like nigga you aint gotta sell drugs “just go get a real job”. Aint no fuckin jobs in the Heights. Fast food don’t fuckin pay. I got a fuckin shorty man. What the fuck do look like makin food for ignorant ass ingreatful ass muthafuckas huh? Makin 7 dollars an hour, when I got these dope fiends beatin down my door ta fuck wit this shit. Fuck Mcdonalds. I can make a whole fuckin McDonalds check in one day fuckin with this shit.
Beat
Ka’mil: Muthafucks don’t wanna help me make a way. Im makin my own way. I just need for the right muthafuckas to hear my shit and im on. Yea im makin my own way. Livin by my own rules. When life hands you lemons, fuck lemonade you fuckin start a company like Minuetmade. Then a nigga be foreal paid. Stunntin in a muthafuckin bad ass Escalade. Getting hella paid. Yeeeaaaahhhhh.
(He likes this spontaneous rhyme enough to hurry to his notebook and write it down)
Ka’mil: When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade…
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade… Yeeeaaahhhhhh!
Beat
Beat
Ka’mil: Aint no fuckin body helpin me. Shit fuck that, they’ll help me make my way to jail, and I aint never goin back to that bitch. Or they’ll help me make my way to a funeral line and I’ll be damned if my shorty gone bury me any time soon.
Beat
Ka’mil: Ka’mil Rasheed Evans JUNIOR. That’s my lil shorty. I do all of this shit for him. He gone have it better than me.
Beat
Ka’mil: Belive that.
(He finishes bagging the crack and goes back to writing his rap. The lights go bright again. He performs his concert again)
Ka’mil: When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade…
You niggas wanna fuck wit me you know I’ll go ballistic
Make you another black on black crime statistic
Cut you and chop you up then drink you just like a Mistic
Don’t try and tempt faith by me although you can not resist it
Annihilate your social life make you a fuckin misfit
Listen simple nigga my verses’ is so sadistic
Im optimistic my life is feudalistic
Love none of these hoes so you know im chauvinistic
Im not a rapper my verses are journalistic
My heart love god but my mind is gone atheistic
Im narcissistic my verses futuristic
So pay attention nigga cause some of yall bout to miss this
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade…
(As he performs the last hook he turns and walks up stage. The lights go back. He takes off the bandanna and ties it on top of his head. He is Kelvin. The note book is now a script, Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare the gun is a prop. He is rehearsing.)
Kelvin: Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,For Cassius is aweary of the world;Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;Cheque'd like a bondman; all his faults observed,Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote,To cast into my teeth. O, I could weepMy spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger,
Beat
Kelvin: This makes no fucking sense. This is a fucking gun. Why would she tell us to use guns for our props and not change the fucking line?
Beat
There is my dagger,And here my naked breast; within, a heartDearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
(He holds out the gun)
Beat
Kelvin: why would I voluntarily ask this dude to shoot me. Niggas do not do that shit, real talk. I’m a fucking English major why the fuck do I have to take acting Shakespeare.
Beat
Kelvin: I don’t even like touching guns. It don’t matter if they fake. I see too many guns back in the Heights. It’s hard being from the Heights because so much shit be goin on there. But, there’s not much I can do about it 3 hours away. I’m better off at Western. When I get my degree ain’t none of them niggas gone be able to tell me shit.
Beat
Kelvin: I know I aint there but…We have discussions and shit in AAS club about the violence in the Heights because a lot of us are either from there or from around there. I get so pissed off in In those meetings. Muthafuckas just be sayin stupid shit. Ignorant shit. I just be like are you talking about our neighborhood or some fuckin third world country half way across the world. Yea everybody is going crazy and yea shit is getting grimy as fuck but damn. Those are still people out there. Like today we were talkin about the 4 year old that got shot at the funeral yesterday Everybody is all like blame the parents blame the parents.”People don’t know how to raise they kids any more” How about we blame the fuckin whole community. Education sucks, the housing sucks, aint no fuckin jobs most of us come from broken homes. Its just being a product of a bad environment. How the fuck are the parents gonna know any better when they came up in the same fucked up ass streets!
Beat
Kelvin: Im sorry. It just seem like every other fuckin day somebody is either gettin shot or killed. We can be doin so much more in those meetings than complaining and pointing the finger. I mean we could be a lot more productive. What the fuck are any of us doing to help.
Beat
Kelvin: We cowards, all of us. We got on the first thing smoking up out of the Heights and most of us won’t even look back. I’m goin back, I’m goin back to teach cause the Heights needs me.
Beat
Kelvin: How the fuck does a 4 year old get shot at a funeral. You are supposed to leave a funeral with closure. You mourn the death, celebrate the life, then try like hell to move on with your own. You don’t leave one funeral to plan another one.
Beat
(he holds the gun out)
There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a heartDearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know,When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him betterThan ever thou lovedst Cassius.
(Lights up on Ka’val the bandanna is around his face so you only see his eyes. He is flagged for battle. He sits and he just stares.)
Beat
Beat
Beat
(He rips of the bandanna)
Beat
Ka’val: I didn’t even look. I just started shootin….
Beat
Beat
Ka’val: I-I…I hit a four year old…
Beat
(He starts to rock uncontrollably even cry)
Beat
Ka’val: I AINT NO BITCH.
Beat
Ka’val: DO YOU KNOW WHO MY MUTHAFUKIN DADDY IS…
(Lights Shift to Ka’mil he is frantically ripping the pages out of his notebook throwing them about the stage)
Ka’mil: YOU NIGGAS WANNA FUCK WIT ME
Beat
YOU KNOW ILL GO BALLISTIC
Beat
MAKE YOU ANOTHER BLACK ON BLACK CRIME STATISTIC
CUT YOU
CHOP YOU UP
DRINK YOU JUST LIKE A MISTIC
Beat
(He has ripped all of the pages out and has thrown them sporadically about the stage. He collapses and cries hysterically)
Beat
Ka’mil: They killed my shorty….
Beat
Ka’mil: At a funeral. At his cousins funeral.
Beat
Ka’mil: Ka’mil…Rasheed…Evans…jr…
Beat
Beat
Ka’mil: THEY KILLED MY SHORTY
(He gets out the gun)
Beat
(He puts the bandanna around his face and rushes upstage)
(Lights Shift to Kelvin the he pulls the bandanna out of his pocket and and puts it on like a scarf)
Kelvin: Shit I forgot how brutal the wind is up here in the Heights.
Beat
Kelvin: Aint shit changed. The Heights look exactly the same. It look like fuckin animals live here.
Beat
Kelvin: Look at me starting to sound like the idiots at the meetings.
Beat
Kelvin: I organized a march after that 4 year old got shot.
Beat
Kelvin: I hear his daddy went out and shot the lil dude that killed his son.
Beat
Kelvin: 3 lives gone. 2 dead 1 gone to prison for the rest of his life. Dude was only 19. I’m only 1 year older than him. Dude he shot was only 15. I guess when you lose a kid don’t shit else matter. I guess when you lose anybody, for a split second nothing matters. Damn.
(He starts to pick up the paper. Amazing Grace plays as The lights very slowly fade to dark)
(Blackout)
The Heights...
The 3 parts of the Heights By Gary Brice
Characters:
Ka’val 15
Ka’mil 19
Kelvin 20
Note… Throughout the play the actor uses a bandanna, gun and book to move from person to person
[Blackout. Multiple gunshots are heard followed by the painful cries of a grieving mother. An acapella version of Amazing Grace is heard as the lights very slowly come up. They are very dim. The actor enters from the audience slowly as if in a funeral procession. The bandanna is neatly folded in his front shirt pocket as if it were a handkerchief for a suit. He is in all black except for the bandanna which is white. He stands with his head down as the song fades just low enough to hear. A spot light comes up on him as the rest of the stage goes black]
(He opens the book)
Beat
(He struggles through the passage. He is very bad at reading)
Ka’val: The LORD is my shep-herd; I shall not want.
He mak-eth me to lie down in green pas-tures: he lead-eth me be-side the still wa-ters.
He res-tor-eth my soul: he lead-eth me in the paths of righ…righ-te-ous-ness for-his-name-sake.
Yeah, though I walk th…through the voll-ey of the sha-dow of DEATH, I-will-fear-no-e-vel: for thou arT with me; thy rod and thy staff they com-fort-me.
Thou pr…pre-par-est a table before me in the pre-sence of mine en-e-mies: thou an…an…an-oint-est my head with oil; my cup runn-eth o-ver.
Surely good-ness and mer-cy shall follow me all-the-days-of-my-life: and I will d…dwell in the house of the LORD for-ev-er. Amen.
(The song continues. The spot fades and the lights go back dim as he walks up stage. He takes the bandanna out his pocket and ties it around his head. He is Ka’mil. He turns around and walks center. As he walks the spot comes back up and the rest of the stage goes black. Although he does not have a phone he is talking on one)
Ka’mil: Ok Ka’mil…yea you be good ok…daddy love you.
(He smiles big)
Ka’mil: Ok put mommy back on the phone.
Beat
Ka’mil: Hey. You alright…yea well you know I didn’t fuck with that nigga Kevin like that no way so…No that’s not why I don’t want him to go…He too young he don’t even know what death is… yea well I no that’s his cousin but a 4 year old don’t… whatever…I said whatever cause it don’t matter what I fuckin say you still gone do whatever the fuck you wanna do anyway!…yea well fuck you too, you just make sure you drop him off on time.
Beat
Ka’mil: Bitch
(The spot goes out as the lights come up to dim as he turns and walks up stage. He takes the bandanna off and ties it on top of his head like a cleaning lady would. He is Kelvin. The spot comes up as he walks center. The rest of the stage goes dark. He waits eagerly with his hand in the air. He is waiting to be called on.)
Beat
Beat
Kelvin: Thank you! Im sorry but I have to disagree with all of you guys. This issue of gun violence is so much bigger than yall are making it out to be. You cant just blame the parents. You have to blame the community too. You have to look at the culture of poverty and what that does to people. This is what happens when people have been poor for generations. Look at the history of socioeconomic inequality in places like the Heights. You have to look at the bigger picture before you just blame the parents.
Beat
Kelvin: That’s all.
(The Music stops and the lights come up as he takes the bandanna off his head and puts it back in his shirt pocket. He is Ka’val. He sits in the chair)
Beat
(He stands and punches the air until he is in a FRENZIE)
Beat
(He collapses to the ground and cries uncontrollably)
Beat
(He regains his composure. He sits in the chair he uses his bandana to wipe his eyes. He tries to over compensate for his moment of vulnerability with hyper-masculinity)
Ka’val: Swear ta god on my brotha Ron, Mikey D, and my two cousin graves. Swear ta god On my muthafuckin grandmammas life…every last one of them niggas dead.
Beat
Ka’val: I aint no bitch. No Bitch in me. Do you muthafuckas know who my muthafuckin daddy is? My daddy had all of the muthafuckin Heights on lock.
Beat
Ka’val: Aint no muthafuckin way them faggot ass mark ass bitch ass dickin in the booty ass niggas would have got away with that shit if he was here so aint no muthafuckin way them niggas gone get away with that shit with him locked up.
Beat
(He pulls out a gun from under his shirt)
Beat
Ka’val: This muthafucka got hella hits on it. This was my brotha Rons. Only nigga harder than him ta come up outta these muthafuckin streets was my muthafuckin daddy.
Beat
Ka’val: I don’t even go see that nigga no mo. He said he don’t like us seein ‘im locked up and shit. I don’t give no fuck tho. If I don’t end up dead imma end up in that muthafucka wit his ass.
Beat
Ka’val: Muthafuckas already think imma punk and shit! Just cause I aint got no scars or no hits and I aint did no time don’t mean shit. Muthafuckas just know not ta fuck wit me. They know where I come from. They know imma thorough bread nigga. It’s nothing fo me to throw them thangs. It’s nothing for me ta come up in yo muthafuckin house and blow out yo muthafuckin brains!
Beat
Ka’val: I hate funerals…I done been to 4 funerals and it aint even summer yet. Niggas is getting crazy tho. They shot up a funeral a while ago. Niggas doin that shit now. Muthafukas can’t even get buried in peace. We was ready for that shit today at Ron’s Funeral. Ready for any one of them raggedy ass niggas to jump stupid at my brothers funeral. Jesus Christ wouldn’t have been able to stop my ass if any nigga would have tried anything.
Beat
Ka’val: I hate hearin my mama and grandmamma cry like that. My grandmamma the one made me read that damn bible verse. I kept it together tho. Didn’t none of them muthafuckas see me cry. I wouldnt let myself cry. Ron woulda wupped my muthafuckin ass if he would have seen me cryin like a lil bitch. I just sat there plottin how im gone kill every last one of them niggas for getting my brotha.
Beat
Ka’val: least Ron took out one of them niggas before they got his ass.
Beat
Ka’val: That Kevin nigga funeral today too.
Beat
All them niggas gone be there…
(He stares at the gun he takes the bandanna and ties it around his face so only his eyes are showing. He turns and walks up stage. He stops he takes off the bandanna, rolls it up and ties it around his forehead circa Master P)
(Lights up on Ka’mil the bandanna is now folded and tied around his head. The book is no longer a bible but a notebook. He walks down stage to the chair where he is busies himself with writing rap lyrics. The gun is tucked neatly in his belt)
Ka’mil:
You niggas wanna fuck wit me you know I’ll go ballistic
Make you another black on black crime statistic
Cut you and chop you up then drink you just like a mystic
Don’t try and tempt faith by me although you can not resist it
Annihilate your social life make you a fuckin misfit;
Listen little faggot my verses’ is so sadistic
--Im optimistic my life is feudalistic
Love none of these hoes so you know im chauvinistic,
Im not a rapper my verses are journalistic
My heart love god but my mind is gone atheistic
Im narcissistic and my verses futuristic
Need a big booty bitch thats tryna be voyeuristic….yeeeeaaaaaahhhhhh
(He laughs)
Beat
(He stands. The lights go bright like a concert. He jumps around the stage and performs the rap he just wrote, as if for a sold out arena)
Ka’mil: You niggas wanna fuck wit me you know I’ll go ballistic
Make you another black on black crime statistic
Cut you and chop you up then drink you just like a Mistic
Don’t try and tempt faith by me although you can not resist it
Annihilate your social life make you a fuckin misfit
Listen simple nigga my verses’ is so sadistic
Im optimistic my life is feudalistic
Love none of these hoes so you know im chauvinistic
Im not a rapper my verses are journalistic
My heart love god but my mind is gone atheistic
Im narcissistic and my verses futuristic
Need a big booty bitch that trying ta be voyeuristic.
Beat
Ka’mil: A big booty bitch thas tryna be voyeuristic??? That shit is stupid!
(Lights go back. He laughs at the line.)
Beat
(He sits and he pulls out a bag of crack. He is getting the rocks ready for distribution)
Beat
Ka’mil: Don’t fuckin look at me like that I don’t smoke this shit. And it aint crack its bill money.
(He laughs)
Beat
Ka’mil: I mean shit I sell weed too. Im just doin this shit until I get my record deal. Yeeeaaaahhhhh!
Beat
Ka’mil: My grandmamma be getting on my ass about this shit. Muthafuckas be like nigga you aint gotta sell drugs “just go get a real job”. Aint no fuckin jobs in the Heights. Fast food don’t fuckin pay. I got a fuckin shorty man. What the fuck do look like makin food for ignorant ass ingreatful ass muthafuckas huh? Makin 7 dollars an hour, when I got these dope fiends beatin down my door ta fuck wit this shit. Fuck Mcdonalds. I can make a whole fuckin McDonalds check in one day fuckin with this shit.
Beat
Ka’mil: Muthafucks don’t wanna help me make a way. Im makin my own way. I just need for the right muthafuckas to hear my shit and im on. Yea im makin my own way. Livin by my own rules. When life hands you lemons, fuck lemonade you fuckin start a company like Minuetmade. Then a nigga be foreal paid. Stunntin in a muthafuckin bad ass Escalade. Getting hella paid. Yeeeaaaahhhhh.
(He likes this spontaneous rhyme enough to hurry to his notebook and write it down)
Ka’mil: When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade…
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade… Yeeeaaahhhhhh!
Beat
Beat
Ka’mil: Aint no fuckin body helpin me. Shit fuck that, they’ll help me make my way to jail, and I aint never goin back to that bitch. Or they’ll help me make my way to a funeral line and I’ll be damned if my shorty gone bury me any time soon.
Beat
Ka’mil: Ka’mil Rasheed Evans JUNIOR. That’s my lil shorty. I do all of this shit for him. He gone have it better than me.
Beat
Ka’mil: Belive that.
(He finishes bagging the crack and goes back to writing his rap. The lights go bright again. He performs his concert again)
Ka’mil: When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade…
You niggas wanna fuck wit me you know I’ll go ballistic
Make you another black on black crime statistic
Cut you and chop you up then drink you just like a Mistic
Don’t try and tempt faith by me although you can not resist it
Annihilate your social life make you a fuckin misfit
Listen simple nigga my verses’ is so sadistic
Im optimistic my life is feudalistic
Love none of these hoes so you know im chauvinistic
Im not a rapper my verses are journalistic
My heart love god but my mind is gone atheistic
Im narcissistic my verses futuristic
So pay attention nigga cause some of yall bout to miss this
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade…
(As he performs the last hook he turns and walks up stage. The lights go back. He takes off the bandanna and ties it on top of his head. He is Kelvin. The note book is now a script, Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare the gun is a prop. He is rehearsing.)
Kelvin: Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,For Cassius is aweary of the world;Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;Cheque'd like a bondman; all his faults observed,Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote,To cast into my teeth. O, I could weepMy spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger,
Beat
Kelvin: This makes no fucking sense. This is a fucking gun. Why would she tell us to use guns for our props and not change the fucking line?
Beat
There is my dagger,And here my naked breast; within, a heartDearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
(He holds out the gun)
Beat
Kelvin: why would I voluntarily ask this dude to shoot me. Niggas do not do that shit, real talk. I’m a fucking English major why the fuck do I have to take acting Shakespeare.
Beat
Kelvin: I don’t even like touching guns. It don’t matter if they fake. I see too many guns back in the Heights. It’s hard being from the Heights because so much shit be goin on there. But, there’s not much I can do about it 3 hours away. I’m better off at Western. When I get my degree ain’t none of them niggas gone be able to tell me shit.
Beat
Kelvin: I know I aint there but…We have discussions and shit in AAS club about the violence in the Heights because a lot of us are either from there or from around there. I get so pissed off in In those meetings. Muthafuckas just be sayin stupid shit. Ignorant shit. I just be like are you talking about our neighborhood or some fuckin third world country half way across the world. Yea everybody is going crazy and yea shit is getting grimy as fuck but damn. Those are still people out there. Like today we were talkin about the 4 year old that got shot at the funeral yesterday Everybody is all like blame the parents blame the parents.”People don’t know how to raise they kids any more” How about we blame the fuckin whole community. Education sucks, the housing sucks, aint no fuckin jobs most of us come from broken homes. Its just being a product of a bad environment. How the fuck are the parents gonna know any better when they came up in the same fucked up ass streets!
Beat
Kelvin: Im sorry. It just seem like every other fuckin day somebody is either gettin shot or killed. We can be doin so much more in those meetings than complaining and pointing the finger. I mean we could be a lot more productive. What the fuck are any of us doing to help.
Beat
Kelvin: We cowards, all of us. We got on the first thing smoking up out of the Heights and most of us won’t even look back. I’m goin back, I’m goin back to teach cause the Heights needs me.
Beat
Kelvin: How the fuck does a 4 year old get shot at a funeral. You are supposed to leave a funeral with closure. You mourn the death, celebrate the life, then try like hell to move on with your own. You don’t leave one funeral to plan another one.
Beat
(he holds the gun out)
There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a heartDearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know,When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him betterThan ever thou lovedst Cassius.
(Lights up on Ka’val the bandanna is around his face so you only see his eyes. He is flagged for battle. He sits and he just stares.)
Beat
Beat
Beat
(He rips of the bandanna)
Beat
Ka’val: I didn’t even look. I just started shootin….
Beat
Beat
Ka’val: I-I…I hit a four year old…
Beat
(He starts to rock uncontrollably even cry)
Beat
Ka’val: I AINT NO BITCH.
Beat
Ka’val: DO YOU KNOW WHO MY MUTHAFUKIN DADDY IS…
(Lights Shift to Ka’mil he is frantically ripping the pages out of his notebook throwing them about the stage)
Ka’mil: YOU NIGGAS WANNA FUCK WIT ME
Beat
YOU KNOW ILL GO BALLISTIC
Beat
MAKE YOU ANOTHER BLACK ON BLACK CRIME STATISTIC
CUT YOU
CHOP YOU UP
DRINK YOU JUST LIKE A MISTIC
Beat
(He has ripped all of the pages out and has thrown them sporadically about the stage. He collapses and cries hysterically)
Beat
Ka’mil: They killed my shorty….
Beat
Ka’mil: At a funeral. At his cousins funeral.
Beat
Ka’mil: Ka’mil…Rasheed…Evans…jr…
Beat
Beat
Ka’mil: THEY KILLED MY SHORTY
(He gets out the gun)
Beat
(He puts the bandanna around his face and rushes upstage)
(Lights Shift to Kelvin the he pulls the bandanna out of his pocket and and puts it on like a scarf)
Kelvin: Shit I forgot how brutal the wind is up here in the Heights.
Beat
Kelvin: Aint shit changed. The Heights look exactly the same. It look like fuckin animals live here.
Beat
Kelvin: Look at me starting to sound like the idiots at the meetings.
Beat
Kelvin: I organized a march after that 4 year old got shot.
Beat
Kelvin: I hear his daddy went out and shot the lil dude that killed his son.
Beat
Kelvin: 3 lives gone. 2 dead 1 gone to prison for the rest of his life. Dude was only 19. I’m only 1 year older than him. Dude he shot was only 15. I guess when you lose a kid don’t shit else matter. I guess when you lose anybody, for a split second nothing matters. Damn.
(He starts to pick up the paper. Amazing Grace plays as The lights very slowly fade to dark)
(Blackout)
Characters:
Ka’val 15
Ka’mil 19
Kelvin 20
Note… Throughout the play the actor uses a bandanna, gun and book to move from person to person
[Blackout. Multiple gunshots are heard followed by the painful cries of a grieving mother. An acapella version of Amazing Grace is heard as the lights very slowly come up. They are very dim. The actor enters from the audience slowly as if in a funeral procession. The bandanna is neatly folded in his front shirt pocket as if it were a handkerchief for a suit. He is in all black except for the bandanna which is white. He stands with his head down as the song fades just low enough to hear. A spot light comes up on him as the rest of the stage goes black]
(He opens the book)
Beat
(He struggles through the passage. He is very bad at reading)
Ka’val: The LORD is my shep-herd; I shall not want.
He mak-eth me to lie down in green pas-tures: he lead-eth me be-side the still wa-ters.
He res-tor-eth my soul: he lead-eth me in the paths of righ…righ-te-ous-ness for-his-name-sake.
Yeah, though I walk th…through the voll-ey of the sha-dow of DEATH, I-will-fear-no-e-vel: for thou arT with me; thy rod and thy staff they com-fort-me.
Thou pr…pre-par-est a table before me in the pre-sence of mine en-e-mies: thou an…an…an-oint-est my head with oil; my cup runn-eth o-ver.
Surely good-ness and mer-cy shall follow me all-the-days-of-my-life: and I will d…dwell in the house of the LORD for-ev-er. Amen.
(The song continues. The spot fades and the lights go back dim as he walks up stage. He takes the bandanna out his pocket and ties it around his head. He is Ka’mil. He turns around and walks center. As he walks the spot comes back up and the rest of the stage goes black. Although he does not have a phone he is talking on one)
Ka’mil: Ok Ka’mil…yea you be good ok…daddy love you.
(He smiles big)
Ka’mil: Ok put mommy back on the phone.
Beat
Ka’mil: Hey. You alright…yea well you know I didn’t fuck with that nigga Kevin like that no way so…No that’s not why I don’t want him to go…He too young he don’t even know what death is… yea well I no that’s his cousin but a 4 year old don’t… whatever…I said whatever cause it don’t matter what I fuckin say you still gone do whatever the fuck you wanna do anyway!…yea well fuck you too, you just make sure you drop him off on time.
Beat
Ka’mil: Bitch
(The spot goes out as the lights come up to dim as he turns and walks up stage. He takes the bandanna off and ties it on top of his head like a cleaning lady would. He is Kelvin. The spot comes up as he walks center. The rest of the stage goes dark. He waits eagerly with his hand in the air. He is waiting to be called on.)
Beat
Beat
Kelvin: Thank you! Im sorry but I have to disagree with all of you guys. This issue of gun violence is so much bigger than yall are making it out to be. You cant just blame the parents. You have to blame the community too. You have to look at the culture of poverty and what that does to people. This is what happens when people have been poor for generations. Look at the history of socioeconomic inequality in places like the Heights. You have to look at the bigger picture before you just blame the parents.
Beat
Kelvin: That’s all.
(The Music stops and the lights come up as he takes the bandanna off his head and puts it back in his shirt pocket. He is Ka’val. He sits in the chair)
Beat
(He stands and punches the air until he is in a FRENZIE)
Beat
(He collapses to the ground and cries uncontrollably)
Beat
(He regains his composure. He sits in the chair he uses his bandana to wipe his eyes. He tries to over compensate for his moment of vulnerability with hyper-masculinity)
Ka’val: Swear ta god on my brotha Ron, Mikey D, and my two cousin graves. Swear ta god On my muthafuckin grandmammas life…every last one of them niggas dead.
Beat
Ka’val: I aint no bitch. No Bitch in me. Do you muthafuckas know who my muthafuckin daddy is? My daddy had all of the muthafuckin Heights on lock.
Beat
Ka’val: Aint no muthafuckin way them faggot ass mark ass bitch ass dickin in the booty ass niggas would have got away with that shit if he was here so aint no muthafuckin way them niggas gone get away with that shit with him locked up.
Beat
(He pulls out a gun from under his shirt)
Beat
Ka’val: This muthafucka got hella hits on it. This was my brotha Rons. Only nigga harder than him ta come up outta these muthafuckin streets was my muthafuckin daddy.
Beat
Ka’val: I don’t even go see that nigga no mo. He said he don’t like us seein ‘im locked up and shit. I don’t give no fuck tho. If I don’t end up dead imma end up in that muthafucka wit his ass.
Beat
Ka’val: Muthafuckas already think imma punk and shit! Just cause I aint got no scars or no hits and I aint did no time don’t mean shit. Muthafuckas just know not ta fuck wit me. They know where I come from. They know imma thorough bread nigga. It’s nothing fo me to throw them thangs. It’s nothing for me ta come up in yo muthafuckin house and blow out yo muthafuckin brains!
Beat
Ka’val: I hate funerals…I done been to 4 funerals and it aint even summer yet. Niggas is getting crazy tho. They shot up a funeral a while ago. Niggas doin that shit now. Muthafukas can’t even get buried in peace. We was ready for that shit today at Ron’s Funeral. Ready for any one of them raggedy ass niggas to jump stupid at my brothers funeral. Jesus Christ wouldn’t have been able to stop my ass if any nigga would have tried anything.
Beat
Ka’val: I hate hearin my mama and grandmamma cry like that. My grandmamma the one made me read that damn bible verse. I kept it together tho. Didn’t none of them muthafuckas see me cry. I wouldnt let myself cry. Ron woulda wupped my muthafuckin ass if he would have seen me cryin like a lil bitch. I just sat there plottin how im gone kill every last one of them niggas for getting my brotha.
Beat
Ka’val: least Ron took out one of them niggas before they got his ass.
Beat
Ka’val: That Kevin nigga funeral today too.
Beat
All them niggas gone be there…
(He stares at the gun he takes the bandanna and ties it around his face so only his eyes are showing. He turns and walks up stage. He stops he takes off the bandanna, rolls it up and ties it around his forehead circa Master P)
(Lights up on Ka’mil the bandanna is now folded and tied around his head. The book is no longer a bible but a notebook. He walks down stage to the chair where he is busies himself with writing rap lyrics. The gun is tucked neatly in his belt)
Ka’mil:
You niggas wanna fuck wit me you know I’ll go ballistic
Make you another black on black crime statistic
Cut you and chop you up then drink you just like a mystic
Don’t try and tempt faith by me although you can not resist it
Annihilate your social life make you a fuckin misfit;
Listen little faggot my verses’ is so sadistic
--Im optimistic my life is feudalistic
Love none of these hoes so you know im chauvinistic,
Im not a rapper my verses are journalistic
My heart love god but my mind is gone atheistic
Im narcissistic and my verses futuristic
Need a big booty bitch thats tryna be voyeuristic….yeeeeaaaaaahhhhhh
(He laughs)
Beat
(He stands. The lights go bright like a concert. He jumps around the stage and performs the rap he just wrote, as if for a sold out arena)
Ka’mil: You niggas wanna fuck wit me you know I’ll go ballistic
Make you another black on black crime statistic
Cut you and chop you up then drink you just like a Mistic
Don’t try and tempt faith by me although you can not resist it
Annihilate your social life make you a fuckin misfit
Listen simple nigga my verses’ is so sadistic
Im optimistic my life is feudalistic
Love none of these hoes so you know im chauvinistic
Im not a rapper my verses are journalistic
My heart love god but my mind is gone atheistic
Im narcissistic and my verses futuristic
Need a big booty bitch that trying ta be voyeuristic.
Beat
Ka’mil: A big booty bitch thas tryna be voyeuristic??? That shit is stupid!
(Lights go back. He laughs at the line.)
Beat
(He sits and he pulls out a bag of crack. He is getting the rocks ready for distribution)
Beat
Ka’mil: Don’t fuckin look at me like that I don’t smoke this shit. And it aint crack its bill money.
(He laughs)
Beat
Ka’mil: I mean shit I sell weed too. Im just doin this shit until I get my record deal. Yeeeaaaahhhhh!
Beat
Ka’mil: My grandmamma be getting on my ass about this shit. Muthafuckas be like nigga you aint gotta sell drugs “just go get a real job”. Aint no fuckin jobs in the Heights. Fast food don’t fuckin pay. I got a fuckin shorty man. What the fuck do look like makin food for ignorant ass ingreatful ass muthafuckas huh? Makin 7 dollars an hour, when I got these dope fiends beatin down my door ta fuck wit this shit. Fuck Mcdonalds. I can make a whole fuckin McDonalds check in one day fuckin with this shit.
Beat
Ka’mil: Muthafucks don’t wanna help me make a way. Im makin my own way. I just need for the right muthafuckas to hear my shit and im on. Yea im makin my own way. Livin by my own rules. When life hands you lemons, fuck lemonade you fuckin start a company like Minuetmade. Then a nigga be foreal paid. Stunntin in a muthafuckin bad ass Escalade. Getting hella paid. Yeeeaaaahhhhh.
(He likes this spontaneous rhyme enough to hurry to his notebook and write it down)
Ka’mil: When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade…
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade… Yeeeaaahhhhhh!
Beat
Beat
Ka’mil: Aint no fuckin body helpin me. Shit fuck that, they’ll help me make my way to jail, and I aint never goin back to that bitch. Or they’ll help me make my way to a funeral line and I’ll be damned if my shorty gone bury me any time soon.
Beat
Ka’mil: Ka’mil Rasheed Evans JUNIOR. That’s my lil shorty. I do all of this shit for him. He gone have it better than me.
Beat
Ka’mil: Belive that.
(He finishes bagging the crack and goes back to writing his rap. The lights go bright again. He performs his concert again)
Ka’mil: When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade…
You niggas wanna fuck wit me you know I’ll go ballistic
Make you another black on black crime statistic
Cut you and chop you up then drink you just like a Mistic
Don’t try and tempt faith by me although you can not resist it
Annihilate your social life make you a fuckin misfit
Listen simple nigga my verses’ is so sadistic
Im optimistic my life is feudalistic
Love none of these hoes so you know im chauvinistic
Im not a rapper my verses are journalistic
My heart love god but my mind is gone atheistic
Im narcissistic my verses futuristic
So pay attention nigga cause some of yall bout to miss this
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade
When life hands you lemons fuck lemonade
Start Minuet-maid
Be forreal paid
Ina Escalade…
(As he performs the last hook he turns and walks up stage. The lights go back. He takes off the bandanna and ties it on top of his head. He is Kelvin. The note book is now a script, Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare the gun is a prop. He is rehearsing.)
Kelvin: Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,For Cassius is aweary of the world;Hated by one he loves; braved by his brother;Cheque'd like a bondman; all his faults observed,Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote,To cast into my teeth. O, I could weepMy spirit from mine eyes! There is my dagger,
Beat
Kelvin: This makes no fucking sense. This is a fucking gun. Why would she tell us to use guns for our props and not change the fucking line?
Beat
There is my dagger,And here my naked breast; within, a heartDearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
(He holds out the gun)
Beat
Kelvin: why would I voluntarily ask this dude to shoot me. Niggas do not do that shit, real talk. I’m a fucking English major why the fuck do I have to take acting Shakespeare.
Beat
Kelvin: I don’t even like touching guns. It don’t matter if they fake. I see too many guns back in the Heights. It’s hard being from the Heights because so much shit be goin on there. But, there’s not much I can do about it 3 hours away. I’m better off at Western. When I get my degree ain’t none of them niggas gone be able to tell me shit.
Beat
Kelvin: I know I aint there but…We have discussions and shit in AAS club about the violence in the Heights because a lot of us are either from there or from around there. I get so pissed off in In those meetings. Muthafuckas just be sayin stupid shit. Ignorant shit. I just be like are you talking about our neighborhood or some fuckin third world country half way across the world. Yea everybody is going crazy and yea shit is getting grimy as fuck but damn. Those are still people out there. Like today we were talkin about the 4 year old that got shot at the funeral yesterday Everybody is all like blame the parents blame the parents.”People don’t know how to raise they kids any more” How about we blame the fuckin whole community. Education sucks, the housing sucks, aint no fuckin jobs most of us come from broken homes. Its just being a product of a bad environment. How the fuck are the parents gonna know any better when they came up in the same fucked up ass streets!
Beat
Kelvin: Im sorry. It just seem like every other fuckin day somebody is either gettin shot or killed. We can be doin so much more in those meetings than complaining and pointing the finger. I mean we could be a lot more productive. What the fuck are any of us doing to help.
Beat
Kelvin: We cowards, all of us. We got on the first thing smoking up out of the Heights and most of us won’t even look back. I’m goin back, I’m goin back to teach cause the Heights needs me.
Beat
Kelvin: How the fuck does a 4 year old get shot at a funeral. You are supposed to leave a funeral with closure. You mourn the death, celebrate the life, then try like hell to move on with your own. You don’t leave one funeral to plan another one.
Beat
(he holds the gun out)
There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a heartDearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold:If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:Strike, as thou didst at Caesar; for, I know,When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him betterThan ever thou lovedst Cassius.
(Lights up on Ka’val the bandanna is around his face so you only see his eyes. He is flagged for battle. He sits and he just stares.)
Beat
Beat
Beat
(He rips of the bandanna)
Beat
Ka’val: I didn’t even look. I just started shootin….
Beat
Beat
Ka’val: I-I…I hit a four year old…
Beat
(He starts to rock uncontrollably even cry)
Beat
Ka’val: I AINT NO BITCH.
Beat
Ka’val: DO YOU KNOW WHO MY MUTHAFUKIN DADDY IS…
(Lights Shift to Ka’mil he is frantically ripping the pages out of his notebook throwing them about the stage)
Ka’mil: YOU NIGGAS WANNA FUCK WIT ME
Beat
YOU KNOW ILL GO BALLISTIC
Beat
MAKE YOU ANOTHER BLACK ON BLACK CRIME STATISTIC
CUT YOU
CHOP YOU UP
DRINK YOU JUST LIKE A MISTIC
Beat
(He has ripped all of the pages out and has thrown them sporadically about the stage. He collapses and cries hysterically)
Beat
Ka’mil: They killed my shorty….
Beat
Ka’mil: At a funeral. At his cousins funeral.
Beat
Ka’mil: Ka’mil…Rasheed…Evans…jr…
Beat
Beat
Ka’mil: THEY KILLED MY SHORTY
(He gets out the gun)
Beat
(He puts the bandanna around his face and rushes upstage)
(Lights Shift to Kelvin the he pulls the bandanna out of his pocket and and puts it on like a scarf)
Kelvin: Shit I forgot how brutal the wind is up here in the Heights.
Beat
Kelvin: Aint shit changed. The Heights look exactly the same. It look like fuckin animals live here.
Beat
Kelvin: Look at me starting to sound like the idiots at the meetings.
Beat
Kelvin: I organized a march after that 4 year old got shot.
Beat
Kelvin: I hear his daddy went out and shot the lil dude that killed his son.
Beat
Kelvin: 3 lives gone. 2 dead 1 gone to prison for the rest of his life. Dude was only 19. I’m only 1 year older than him. Dude he shot was only 15. I guess when you lose a kid don’t shit else matter. I guess when you lose anybody, for a split second nothing matters. Damn.
(He starts to pick up the paper. Amazing Grace plays as The lights very slowly fade to dark)
(Blackout)
Sunday, December 6, 2009
After Reading cloud 9, Endgame, and Act with out Words i decided to write a play in the styles of Beckett, Brecht and Churchill (Caryl)With only having 3 minutes to present on Monday i wanted everyone to have a chance to read it first or after. I would love some feedback on it.
5x10
By William Salmons
A play of Love, Loss and murder in 2 acts.
The set is a line of 5x10 storage units. Both acts use the same Unit #1606. The units need to be functional as you need to be able to store stuff in them.
There should be at least three units numbered 1605, 1606, and 1607. More is ok, simple is best.
A married couple is placing baby Clothes/furniture into a storage unit.
Take as long as needed to unload the truck and feel the pauses.
Aeron-30’s, any race or size
Chloe 30’s, any race or size.
The entrance of Aeron and Chloe is heard. You hear the sound of a truck backing in from SL. Chloe is seen backing in directing the truck. She is lit by the trucks backup lights.
Chloe- Left, left!
Aeron- (off stage) Who’s left?
Chloe- Mine. LEFT! Stop! STOP!
We hear truck turn off and a door slam. Aeron enters.
Aeron- What? Why did you stop me?
Chloe- You were about to back into that arch.
Aeron- What the…? (pause) Who the hell puts an arch right there? Idiots!
Chloe- I told you we needed a smaller truck.
Aeron- this size is just fine. The bed wouldn’t have fit in the smaller truck. It’s the god dam arch that’s the problem.
Chloe- it’s never your problem.
Aeron- What?
Chloe- Nothing.
Aeron- Problem?
Chloe- No.
Aeron- Sure?
Chloe- Just talking to myself. Let’s get this done It’s getting late and I am hungry.
Aeron- Whose fault is that?
Chloe- what are you talking about?
Aeron- you said you were hungry. I told you to eat before we left.
Chloe- I wasn’t hungry then.
Aeron- I told you it would be a good distance.
Chloe- I didn’t realize you got a unit an hour away from the house. (pause) A good distance (pause) a good distance? What the hell does that mean? Why couldn’t you just have said it was an hour away?
Aeron- I did. I said it was a good distance. (pause) I didn’t say it was up the road.
Chloe- never mind. Forget it.
Aeron- fine.
Chloe- fine. (pause)
Aeron- fine, I wasn’t the one who brought it up.
(Pause)
They begin to unload the truck. They are unloading a Child's room. Crib, toys, clothes. There is no speaking just a few trips back and forth from the truck to the unit. After many boxes have piled up you begin to see Chloe slow down and look at things. Aeron has noticed, but cannot bring himself to say anything to her. Chloe stops and opens the top box. She has pulled out a small article of clothing. She stares at it then bringing it to her face to smell it. Aeron has stopped moving stuff and has moved to watch her.
Aeron- you promised.
Chloe- I promise a lot of things. (pause) I just can’t let it go.
Aeron- do you want to take a break? I’ll find us some coffee or something. You still hungry? You want some coffee?
Chloe- No.
Aeron- No?
Chloe- No.
Aeron- No what? No Coffee? No you’re not hungry?
Chloe- No to everything. Just leave me alone.
(Pause, he goes back to packing, she stares at him.)
Aeron- What?
Chloe- Nothing
Aeron- don’t forget, this was your idea.
Chloe- what the hell are you talking about? You found this place. I wanted to burn it all.
Aeron- Of course that would have solved everything. (pause) I’m gonna keep going. We have a lot more stuff than I realized.
He goes back to unloading the truck; she is now opening another box looking for something. He is annoyed. She continues opening boxes and he continues emptying the truck when he finally has had enough.
Aeron- Chloe that’s enough. Stop it!
Chloe- Where is it?
Aeron- Where is what?
Chloe- (opening boxes) Aeron, I can’t find it! (pause) Where is it? (pause) I thought it was with the clothes. (pause) I don’t see it in here. I can’t believe I lost it.
Aeron- Chloe. Chloe, Stop!
She is now frantic looking for something, tearing all of the boxes open. He has to wrestle her away from them to calm her.
Aeron- Jesus Christ Chloe stop it! Stop! Stop! Stop!
Aeron has Chloe from behind, she has completely lost it. He is whispering in her ear. She slowly begins to gain control.
Aeron- What are you looking for?
Chloe- The purple barrette. You know, the one we got from the France.
She goes back to looking in the boxes.
Chloe- It’s the one with the big flower on top. (pause) I can’t find it. (pause) I want to keep it.
Aeron- Chloe, don’t you remember? (pause) It’s gone, it went into the coffin. (pause) You said it would look pretty.
Chloe- We did? (Pause) I said that? (pause) My god, I forgot that. (Pause) How could I forget that? (Pause)
She stops going through the boxes.
Chloe- How could I forget such a thing? Why am I forgetting this stuff? (pause) What kind of mother was I?
Aeron- It’s a horrible trauma to suffer a loss of like this. It will be a while before you feel normal again.
Chloe- normal? NORMAL? You think what we are doing is normal?
Aeron- that is not what I said. (pause) Maybe we should just stop here and I’ll come back tomorrow by myself. (pause) You wanna do that? (pause) Stop here and go home? (pause) We have plenty of time to finish this.
Chloe- yes, that sounds like a good idea. (pause) I guess I wasn’t ready. Do you mind if I wait in the truck?
Aeron- of course not, go rest. I’ll just be a few more minutes.
She goes back to truck. He watches her go and takes a moment to look around. Takes a deep breath and goes to the boxes and starts to clean them up. He is able to get all of the boxes on the ground into the unit by the time she comes back wearing a jacket.
Aeron- what are you doing?
Chloe- I was lonely... and chilly.
Aeron- I’m sorry, come here. (pause) I wish there was a better way. I wish I could just wiggle my nose and it could be fixed.
Chloe- Like bewitched?
Aeron- yeah.
Chloe- I don’t think I could deal with you wiggling your nose all the time. I wouldn’t be able to tell when you were doing magic or smelling something terrible. (pause)
Aeron- feeling better?
Chloe- yes, I am. Thanks.
Aeron- well good. Go back to the truck I’m almost finished here. Just need to lock up.
Chloe- Wait… (Pause) we’re all ready here, let’s just finish this tonight!
Aeron- you wanna finish? Are you sure? (pause) I can come back tomorrow.
Chloe- I’m fine, Let’s just do this.
Aeron- good. I really didn’t want to come back here. I want to be out of state by the weekend.
Chloe- Jerk.
Aeron- help me with the crib?
Chloe- Sure.
They walk off stage to get the crib. They continue back and forth till the entire crib is placed in the unit.
Chloe- ha.
Aeron- what’s so funny?
Chloe- nothing, I was just thinking of something.
They continue to work. Chloe giggles periodically. They have brought in a Rocking chair, and a shelf or two. Aeron finally gives in to her giggles.
Aeron- what the hell is so funny?
Chloe- nothing.
Aeron- Nothing is pretty fucking funny?
Chloe- you promise you won’t get mad?
Aeron- (pause) I promise.
Chloe- (pause) you’re a cheap bastard.
Aeron- What? (pause) That’s what’s so funny?
Chloe- no not exactly, I was just thinking about this place. (pause) With all of the money we have now, you couldn’t have spent a few more nickels on a better unit? (pause) First off, who the hell puts an arch right there where you can’t get near the units and second, it smells like piss around.
Aeron- (pause) you’re right, it does smell like piss. Oh, well, too late now.
They continue to unload the truck. A changing table and other large misc. stuff have been put outside the truck.
Aeron- Shit! Looks like we need a bigger unit.
Chloe- What if we re-arrange a few things that might help.
Aeron- sounds like a plan.
They begin to pull stuff out of the unit to make it all fit better. After everything is out, they stand there looking at the empty unit. He begins to hum something.
Chloe- what are you humming?
Aeron- the theme to Tetris.
Chloe- Why?
Aeron- it helps me think faster.
Chloe- Fucking weirdo, I married a fucking weirdo.
Aeron- You married worse than that. (slapping her on the ass) and you love it!
Chloe- you think I do. (pause) and that’s what counts.
They kiss.
Chloe- I am going to find us some coffee.
Aeron- (pause) ok.
Chloe- you going to be all right here, alone?
Aeron- (pause) ah, yeah.
Chloe- Ill just be a minute.
He watches her leave again, shakes his head and turns upstage to the unit. Starts putting stuff in the unit then decides its not going to work. He pulls it out again. He stands there looking upstage scratching his head. He gets an idea. He is in a groove and continues to sing the theme to Tetris. He comments on his own work with lines like “there ya go”, “take that little box” or “thought I forgot about you didn’t you?” Have fun with this, he should act like he is really playing Tetris. Chloe has come back with two bottles of water and finds Aeron’s game playing amusing. She watches till he has everything in the unit. He is jubilant that it all fit.
Aeron- Take that storage unit #1606! I win you lose! Looser! LOOOOOOOSSSER!!!!!!
Chloe- Nice Job! (clapping)
Aeron- AAAAHHHH! Jesus Christ, you scared the living shit out of me!
Chloe- Sorry, Didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to ruin your concentration.
Aeron- Thanks for that. Look I did it. All done.
Chloe- nice job.
They both turn upstage with arms around each other looking at the unit with true accomplishment.
Chloe- Aeron?
Aeron- What?
Chloe- Why was this one so hard?
He walks away.
Aeron- I don’t know Chloe, why was it so hard? (pause).
Chloe- I did everything you said. (pause) I Ignored it. (pause) I didn’t feed it. (pause) I didn’t sing to it. (pause) I don’t think I ever picked it up but once or twice to change it.
Aeron- You touched it!? (pause) You weren’t supposed to do that! (pause) I told you to stay away from it, let the nanny take care of it. The moment you touched it, you involved yourself! (pause) You’re a fucking idiot! Why didn’t you tell me you touched it?
Chloe- I am not a fucking idiot. (pause) I didn’t think it would do any harm. (pause) I was alone one night, the Nanny was late and she had been crying for hours I had to do something for her.
Aeron- it
Chloe- What?
Aeron- it, it! (pause) It is not a she or her, it is a thing, (pause) it’s an it.
Chloe- How can you be so callus?
Aeron- Callus? You have to be callous to do what we do! (pause) You told me you were ok with this.
Chloe- I am.
Aeron- are you? (pause) are you?
Chloe- yes!
She starts to walk away from him. He grabs her.
Aeron- Look at me. (pause) Look AT me!
Chloe- let me go.
Aeron- no.
Chloe- Let me go. I’m fine. (pause) Let me go!
Aeron- NO! You are not fine. (pause) You loved that thing didn’t you? (pause) DIDN’T YOU?
Chloe- (pause) yes…
Aeron- What!?
Chloe- Yes, I loved HER. (pause) And I didn’t bury the purple barrette either.
Aeron- What are you talking about? (pause) I saw it.
Chloe- you saw the pink one. The purple one is right here. (pulls it from jacket pocket) I thought I had packed it.
Aeron- I’m speechless. (pause) I am absolutely speechless. (pause) What do we do now? You’re attached, we won’t be able to move, (pause) change our names, (pause) Oh god! (pause) You’ll wanna visit the fucking grave won’t you? (pause) You’ll want to go every Sunday and blubber over something you were never supposed to love. Do you know what you have done? (pause) Do you realize how You have fucked us?! (pause) You have single handedly screwed us both. We will never be able to do this again. You had the easiest job in the book. (pause) All you had to do was get pregnant and have a child. (pause) How did this happen? (pause)
Chloe- I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would do any harm to hold her.
Aeron- Well you thought wrong. (pause) Never mind, (pause) I’ll figure something out. (pause)
Chloe- Should we finish this?
She turns toward unit
Aeron- Of course.
He walks up behind her and snaps her neck and stuffs her in the unit. It is now full. He closes the door and locks it.
Aeron- Done!
5x10
By William Salmons
A play of Love, Loss and murder in 2 acts.
The set is a line of 5x10 storage units. Both acts use the same Unit #1606. The units need to be functional as you need to be able to store stuff in them.
There should be at least three units numbered 1605, 1606, and 1607. More is ok, simple is best.
A married couple is placing baby Clothes/furniture into a storage unit.
Take as long as needed to unload the truck and feel the pauses.
Aeron-30’s, any race or size
Chloe 30’s, any race or size.
The entrance of Aeron and Chloe is heard. You hear the sound of a truck backing in from SL. Chloe is seen backing in directing the truck. She is lit by the trucks backup lights.
Chloe- Left, left!
Aeron- (off stage) Who’s left?
Chloe- Mine. LEFT! Stop! STOP!
We hear truck turn off and a door slam. Aeron enters.
Aeron- What? Why did you stop me?
Chloe- You were about to back into that arch.
Aeron- What the…? (pause) Who the hell puts an arch right there? Idiots!
Chloe- I told you we needed a smaller truck.
Aeron- this size is just fine. The bed wouldn’t have fit in the smaller truck. It’s the god dam arch that’s the problem.
Chloe- it’s never your problem.
Aeron- What?
Chloe- Nothing.
Aeron- Problem?
Chloe- No.
Aeron- Sure?
Chloe- Just talking to myself. Let’s get this done It’s getting late and I am hungry.
Aeron- Whose fault is that?
Chloe- what are you talking about?
Aeron- you said you were hungry. I told you to eat before we left.
Chloe- I wasn’t hungry then.
Aeron- I told you it would be a good distance.
Chloe- I didn’t realize you got a unit an hour away from the house. (pause) A good distance (pause) a good distance? What the hell does that mean? Why couldn’t you just have said it was an hour away?
Aeron- I did. I said it was a good distance. (pause) I didn’t say it was up the road.
Chloe- never mind. Forget it.
Aeron- fine.
Chloe- fine. (pause)
Aeron- fine, I wasn’t the one who brought it up.
(Pause)
They begin to unload the truck. They are unloading a Child's room. Crib, toys, clothes. There is no speaking just a few trips back and forth from the truck to the unit. After many boxes have piled up you begin to see Chloe slow down and look at things. Aeron has noticed, but cannot bring himself to say anything to her. Chloe stops and opens the top box. She has pulled out a small article of clothing. She stares at it then bringing it to her face to smell it. Aeron has stopped moving stuff and has moved to watch her.
Aeron- you promised.
Chloe- I promise a lot of things. (pause) I just can’t let it go.
Aeron- do you want to take a break? I’ll find us some coffee or something. You still hungry? You want some coffee?
Chloe- No.
Aeron- No?
Chloe- No.
Aeron- No what? No Coffee? No you’re not hungry?
Chloe- No to everything. Just leave me alone.
(Pause, he goes back to packing, she stares at him.)
Aeron- What?
Chloe- Nothing
Aeron- don’t forget, this was your idea.
Chloe- what the hell are you talking about? You found this place. I wanted to burn it all.
Aeron- Of course that would have solved everything. (pause) I’m gonna keep going. We have a lot more stuff than I realized.
He goes back to unloading the truck; she is now opening another box looking for something. He is annoyed. She continues opening boxes and he continues emptying the truck when he finally has had enough.
Aeron- Chloe that’s enough. Stop it!
Chloe- Where is it?
Aeron- Where is what?
Chloe- (opening boxes) Aeron, I can’t find it! (pause) Where is it? (pause) I thought it was with the clothes. (pause) I don’t see it in here. I can’t believe I lost it.
Aeron- Chloe. Chloe, Stop!
She is now frantic looking for something, tearing all of the boxes open. He has to wrestle her away from them to calm her.
Aeron- Jesus Christ Chloe stop it! Stop! Stop! Stop!
Aeron has Chloe from behind, she has completely lost it. He is whispering in her ear. She slowly begins to gain control.
Aeron- What are you looking for?
Chloe- The purple barrette. You know, the one we got from the France.
She goes back to looking in the boxes.
Chloe- It’s the one with the big flower on top. (pause) I can’t find it. (pause) I want to keep it.
Aeron- Chloe, don’t you remember? (pause) It’s gone, it went into the coffin. (pause) You said it would look pretty.
Chloe- We did? (Pause) I said that? (pause) My god, I forgot that. (Pause) How could I forget that? (Pause)
She stops going through the boxes.
Chloe- How could I forget such a thing? Why am I forgetting this stuff? (pause) What kind of mother was I?
Aeron- It’s a horrible trauma to suffer a loss of like this. It will be a while before you feel normal again.
Chloe- normal? NORMAL? You think what we are doing is normal?
Aeron- that is not what I said. (pause) Maybe we should just stop here and I’ll come back tomorrow by myself. (pause) You wanna do that? (pause) Stop here and go home? (pause) We have plenty of time to finish this.
Chloe- yes, that sounds like a good idea. (pause) I guess I wasn’t ready. Do you mind if I wait in the truck?
Aeron- of course not, go rest. I’ll just be a few more minutes.
She goes back to truck. He watches her go and takes a moment to look around. Takes a deep breath and goes to the boxes and starts to clean them up. He is able to get all of the boxes on the ground into the unit by the time she comes back wearing a jacket.
Aeron- what are you doing?
Chloe- I was lonely... and chilly.
Aeron- I’m sorry, come here. (pause) I wish there was a better way. I wish I could just wiggle my nose and it could be fixed.
Chloe- Like bewitched?
Aeron- yeah.
Chloe- I don’t think I could deal with you wiggling your nose all the time. I wouldn’t be able to tell when you were doing magic or smelling something terrible. (pause)
Aeron- feeling better?
Chloe- yes, I am. Thanks.
Aeron- well good. Go back to the truck I’m almost finished here. Just need to lock up.
Chloe- Wait… (Pause) we’re all ready here, let’s just finish this tonight!
Aeron- you wanna finish? Are you sure? (pause) I can come back tomorrow.
Chloe- I’m fine, Let’s just do this.
Aeron- good. I really didn’t want to come back here. I want to be out of state by the weekend.
Chloe- Jerk.
Aeron- help me with the crib?
Chloe- Sure.
They walk off stage to get the crib. They continue back and forth till the entire crib is placed in the unit.
Chloe- ha.
Aeron- what’s so funny?
Chloe- nothing, I was just thinking of something.
They continue to work. Chloe giggles periodically. They have brought in a Rocking chair, and a shelf or two. Aeron finally gives in to her giggles.
Aeron- what the hell is so funny?
Chloe- nothing.
Aeron- Nothing is pretty fucking funny?
Chloe- you promise you won’t get mad?
Aeron- (pause) I promise.
Chloe- (pause) you’re a cheap bastard.
Aeron- What? (pause) That’s what’s so funny?
Chloe- no not exactly, I was just thinking about this place. (pause) With all of the money we have now, you couldn’t have spent a few more nickels on a better unit? (pause) First off, who the hell puts an arch right there where you can’t get near the units and second, it smells like piss around.
Aeron- (pause) you’re right, it does smell like piss. Oh, well, too late now.
They continue to unload the truck. A changing table and other large misc. stuff have been put outside the truck.
Aeron- Shit! Looks like we need a bigger unit.
Chloe- What if we re-arrange a few things that might help.
Aeron- sounds like a plan.
They begin to pull stuff out of the unit to make it all fit better. After everything is out, they stand there looking at the empty unit. He begins to hum something.
Chloe- what are you humming?
Aeron- the theme to Tetris.
Chloe- Why?
Aeron- it helps me think faster.
Chloe- Fucking weirdo, I married a fucking weirdo.
Aeron- You married worse than that. (slapping her on the ass) and you love it!
Chloe- you think I do. (pause) and that’s what counts.
They kiss.
Chloe- I am going to find us some coffee.
Aeron- (pause) ok.
Chloe- you going to be all right here, alone?
Aeron- (pause) ah, yeah.
Chloe- Ill just be a minute.
He watches her leave again, shakes his head and turns upstage to the unit. Starts putting stuff in the unit then decides its not going to work. He pulls it out again. He stands there looking upstage scratching his head. He gets an idea. He is in a groove and continues to sing the theme to Tetris. He comments on his own work with lines like “there ya go”, “take that little box” or “thought I forgot about you didn’t you?” Have fun with this, he should act like he is really playing Tetris. Chloe has come back with two bottles of water and finds Aeron’s game playing amusing. She watches till he has everything in the unit. He is jubilant that it all fit.
Aeron- Take that storage unit #1606! I win you lose! Looser! LOOOOOOOSSSER!!!!!!
Chloe- Nice Job! (clapping)
Aeron- AAAAHHHH! Jesus Christ, you scared the living shit out of me!
Chloe- Sorry, Didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to ruin your concentration.
Aeron- Thanks for that. Look I did it. All done.
Chloe- nice job.
They both turn upstage with arms around each other looking at the unit with true accomplishment.
Chloe- Aeron?
Aeron- What?
Chloe- Why was this one so hard?
He walks away.
Aeron- I don’t know Chloe, why was it so hard? (pause).
Chloe- I did everything you said. (pause) I Ignored it. (pause) I didn’t feed it. (pause) I didn’t sing to it. (pause) I don’t think I ever picked it up but once or twice to change it.
Aeron- You touched it!? (pause) You weren’t supposed to do that! (pause) I told you to stay away from it, let the nanny take care of it. The moment you touched it, you involved yourself! (pause) You’re a fucking idiot! Why didn’t you tell me you touched it?
Chloe- I am not a fucking idiot. (pause) I didn’t think it would do any harm. (pause) I was alone one night, the Nanny was late and she had been crying for hours I had to do something for her.
Aeron- it
Chloe- What?
Aeron- it, it! (pause) It is not a she or her, it is a thing, (pause) it’s an it.
Chloe- How can you be so callus?
Aeron- Callus? You have to be callous to do what we do! (pause) You told me you were ok with this.
Chloe- I am.
Aeron- are you? (pause) are you?
Chloe- yes!
She starts to walk away from him. He grabs her.
Aeron- Look at me. (pause) Look AT me!
Chloe- let me go.
Aeron- no.
Chloe- Let me go. I’m fine. (pause) Let me go!
Aeron- NO! You are not fine. (pause) You loved that thing didn’t you? (pause) DIDN’T YOU?
Chloe- (pause) yes…
Aeron- What!?
Chloe- Yes, I loved HER. (pause) And I didn’t bury the purple barrette either.
Aeron- What are you talking about? (pause) I saw it.
Chloe- you saw the pink one. The purple one is right here. (pulls it from jacket pocket) I thought I had packed it.
Aeron- I’m speechless. (pause) I am absolutely speechless. (pause) What do we do now? You’re attached, we won’t be able to move, (pause) change our names, (pause) Oh god! (pause) You’ll wanna visit the fucking grave won’t you? (pause) You’ll want to go every Sunday and blubber over something you were never supposed to love. Do you know what you have done? (pause) Do you realize how You have fucked us?! (pause) You have single handedly screwed us both. We will never be able to do this again. You had the easiest job in the book. (pause) All you had to do was get pregnant and have a child. (pause) How did this happen? (pause)
Chloe- I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would do any harm to hold her.
Aeron- Well you thought wrong. (pause) Never mind, (pause) I’ll figure something out. (pause)
Chloe- Should we finish this?
She turns toward unit
Aeron- Of course.
He walks up behind her and snaps her neck and stuffs her in the unit. It is now full. He closes the door and locks it.
Aeron- Done!
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
There Are No Small Parts . . .
Heather Raffo wrote that at the core of her play lie the voices of Layal, Huda, and the American. In terms of stage time, she is correct: these three women command the majority of the audience’s attention because they have the bigger parts in 9 Parts of Desire. For me personally, however, these three women were overshadowed by the characters who we only met once or twice, and always briefly: the doctor; Nanna, the peddler; Umm Ghada, the childless mother; the Iraqi girl; and Amal, the romantically unlucky Bedouin. It was these women that haunted me; it was these characters that I longed for and hoped would receive more stage time so that I could hear more of their stories. Layal, Huda, and the American were interesting women but they didn’t move me as Raffo’s more minor characters did.
As a writer, I’ve been repeatedly told that my minor characters are so interesting, so funny, so much more vibrant than my main characters. I must admit: it can be terribly annoying to have peer review sessions focus more on characters who only grace at most twenty pages of my tale, leaving those main characters who are the story to sit quietly in the corner. To have my main actors complain that the roles I wrote for them aren’t as powerful or amusing as the minor roles that I wrote is frustrating. Yet I understand why this happens. I get so invested in my main characters who are, in so many ways, pieces of me, that I forget that I must work just as hard to make them real to the outside world. When I write minor characters, I think. When I write major characters, I feel. I think that’s why I don’t react as strongly to Layal, Huda, and the American. They have such emotional force for Raffo that I think a small, subconscious part of her (one that lies in all writers) forgot that these women might not have that same emotional force for others. In other words, writers often invest so much of themselves into their major characters that they can’t see these characters through the objective gaze a writer needs.
As a diatribe on writing, this blog is a great reminder that we must analyze even those characters closest to us with the same scrutiny we so easily apply to our more minor characters so that all of our characters, especially the heroes and heroines, pack a great punch. How one might ask, however, does this apply to playscript interpretation? I think for starters that it raises some interesting ideas for study and staging. When I directed Twelfth Night, the characters that were the strongest and shined the brightest were not the lead love roles but Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Malvolio. These were the characters that audiences came back night after night to see. These were the characters that reminded me why we can’t set aside Shakespeare. And yet, by default of stage time (and in this case talent), these were the characters that often had the fewest rehearsals.
But what if instead we, as directors and actors, constructed the entire show around the minor characters? What if the majority of staging, blocking, and costuming was focused intentionally on these smaller roles? Thus, instead of simply stealing the show, these smaller roles would be purposefully given the show. I don’t know what this would do or if it would even work without manipulating the script beyond the appropriate level. Yet as a I think about the characters who move me the most, as a director, as an actor, as an audience member, and as a writer, I can’t help but wonder if it might not be exactly what is needed. Perhaps then the old adage “There are no small parts, only small actors” would cease to be a placating expression and become instead a new vision for theater.
As a writer, I’ve been repeatedly told that my minor characters are so interesting, so funny, so much more vibrant than my main characters. I must admit: it can be terribly annoying to have peer review sessions focus more on characters who only grace at most twenty pages of my tale, leaving those main characters who are the story to sit quietly in the corner. To have my main actors complain that the roles I wrote for them aren’t as powerful or amusing as the minor roles that I wrote is frustrating. Yet I understand why this happens. I get so invested in my main characters who are, in so many ways, pieces of me, that I forget that I must work just as hard to make them real to the outside world. When I write minor characters, I think. When I write major characters, I feel. I think that’s why I don’t react as strongly to Layal, Huda, and the American. They have such emotional force for Raffo that I think a small, subconscious part of her (one that lies in all writers) forgot that these women might not have that same emotional force for others. In other words, writers often invest so much of themselves into their major characters that they can’t see these characters through the objective gaze a writer needs.
As a diatribe on writing, this blog is a great reminder that we must analyze even those characters closest to us with the same scrutiny we so easily apply to our more minor characters so that all of our characters, especially the heroes and heroines, pack a great punch. How one might ask, however, does this apply to playscript interpretation? I think for starters that it raises some interesting ideas for study and staging. When I directed Twelfth Night, the characters that were the strongest and shined the brightest were not the lead love roles but Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Malvolio. These were the characters that audiences came back night after night to see. These were the characters that reminded me why we can’t set aside Shakespeare. And yet, by default of stage time (and in this case talent), these were the characters that often had the fewest rehearsals.
But what if instead we, as directors and actors, constructed the entire show around the minor characters? What if the majority of staging, blocking, and costuming was focused intentionally on these smaller roles? Thus, instead of simply stealing the show, these smaller roles would be purposefully given the show. I don’t know what this would do or if it would even work without manipulating the script beyond the appropriate level. Yet as a I think about the characters who move me the most, as a director, as an actor, as an audience member, and as a writer, I can’t help but wonder if it might not be exactly what is needed. Perhaps then the old adage “There are no small parts, only small actors” would cease to be a placating expression and become instead a new vision for theater.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Inspiration: Something to see and something to talk about
I was rather blown away by this piece. What struck me at first about this one woman show was the questions that popped into my mind. Plays that inspire more questions than answers are the best in my opinion.
First: The how? How does she do it. I think I would need to see this work in action in order to appreciate the full magnitude of what is being performed. How does one slip from one character to another? How do the characters differ? It's quite a challenge to perform one complex character but to create and perform nine different distinct people from one body and soul...now that is an accomplishment.
Second: The When? Many of the plays this semester have caused us to think. But none have provoked or been written about current affairs. Will this play still have meaning 50 years from now? Or will it simply become an interesting museum piece? It speaks to us now and is not only powerful because of the writing but because our feeling on the this region of the world, nuclear warfare, bombing of Baghdad, 9/11, and of course Bush. It begs questions that are on everyone's mind. Do the Iraqi people look at liberation from Saddam as a blessing or a catastrophe? We don't know we only know what we see on TV. So even if these arent' the views of every Iraqi they are something that we can see and understand. Does that make sense?
Third: Is anyone thinking of doing this as a thesis? I think it would be a wonderful thesis role for a woman.
Fourth: The best thing I think about this play is that it gives us (Americans) some idea of what the other side is thinking. When we look at the media (Medea, meh!) all we see are the negative consequences of foreign intervention. (Now i sound like a republican) It educates those of us who are not familiar with the politics and history of the Saddam's reign. It puts things into perspective for us Bush haters.
Sixth: This play inspires people into realistic discussion that takes place long after the play has been finished. In short: It inspires us to talk.
First: The how? How does she do it. I think I would need to see this work in action in order to appreciate the full magnitude of what is being performed. How does one slip from one character to another? How do the characters differ? It's quite a challenge to perform one complex character but to create and perform nine different distinct people from one body and soul...now that is an accomplishment.
Second: The When? Many of the plays this semester have caused us to think. But none have provoked or been written about current affairs. Will this play still have meaning 50 years from now? Or will it simply become an interesting museum piece? It speaks to us now and is not only powerful because of the writing but because our feeling on the this region of the world, nuclear warfare, bombing of Baghdad, 9/11, and of course Bush. It begs questions that are on everyone's mind. Do the Iraqi people look at liberation from Saddam as a blessing or a catastrophe? We don't know we only know what we see on TV. So even if these arent' the views of every Iraqi they are something that we can see and understand. Does that make sense?
Third: Is anyone thinking of doing this as a thesis? I think it would be a wonderful thesis role for a woman.
Fourth: The best thing I think about this play is that it gives us (Americans) some idea of what the other side is thinking. When we look at the media (Medea, meh!) all we see are the negative consequences of foreign intervention. (Now i sound like a republican) It educates those of us who are not familiar with the politics and history of the Saddam's reign. It puts things into perspective for us Bush haters.
Fifth: Maybe its my inner feminist but it's refreshing to see a piece written by a woman about woman, but not necessarily for women. When I first heard about the play I was thinking that I would have very little in common with the action being that I have not experience trials and hardship from a female point of view. But I found myself thinking of each character as a I would view a niece, wife or daughter. I found my empathy in this form.
Sixth: This play inspires people into realistic discussion that takes place long after the play has been finished. In short: It inspires us to talk.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)