The AW Play Contest Entries

The Judges are now reading the ten entries. They have until April 25th to make their decisions. Winners will be announced April 26th.

Here's what they will be looking at.

Each of the five elements below will be scored on a 1-5 point scale.

1. PLOT DEVELOPMENT
2. CHARACTER (This will be done on an average...as each character will be given a rating.)
3. THEATRICALITY
4. CONFLICT/RESOLUTION (If it is a slice of life play, without conflict/resolution, it will be rated on clearly defined beginning/middle/end)
5. OVERALL RATING OF THE PLAY

MAXIMUM POINTS: 25


As for the general AW population...please feel free to give your opinions on your favourites...and discuss the plays. Dialogue is encouraged.

PLAY #1 - The Sex Addicts

TITLE: THE SEX ADDICTS
GENRE: COMEDY
CHARACTERS: Baseball Hall of Famer Wade Boggs, Pro Golfer Tiger Woods, and TV personality/motorcycle lover Jesse James.
DESCRIPTION: Tiger Woods and Jesse James, two well-known, self-acclaimed sex addicts attend their first meeting of Sex Addicts Anonymous.
SETTING: Florida. A room in the house of Wade Boggs.

BOGGS: [Stands behind podium in front of room; addresses audience of two.] Good evening. Welcome to Sex Addicts Anonymous. I'm Wade Boggs and I'm a former sex addict. [Pauses.] Well, technically I suppose I'm a recovering sex addict. [Pauses again while scratching his head.] Man, I don't know if that's even what it is either. Anyway, I've got some experience with this kind of stuff, so I'll be your instructor for the next couple of weeks. Or months. Or years. [Looks down at roster then up at the mostly empty seats in front of him.] I see that a number of people haven't shown up for our first meeting. Okay, whatever. When I call your name, just raise your hand.

TIGER: [Raises his hand.] Um, hold on a minute.

BOGGS: [Looks at Tiger.] Yeah?

TIGER: I think you must know who we are. [Looks at the guy seated next to him.]

BOGGS: [Rolls his eyes.] O----kay. Let's go in alphabetical order. Jesse James?

JESSE: [Laughs.] Here.

BOGGS: Tiger Woods?

TIGER: [Rolls his eyes.] Here. Obviously. Even though I don't want to be.

JESSE: Tell me about it. What a freakin' waste of time.

BOGGS: [Bangs gavel.] Quiet, you two. You've been ordered to attend these meetings as part of your therapy. Now I think we'll start with you, Tiger. Come on up here and tell us all about your addiction.

TIGER: Why?

BOGGS: Because I said so.

TIGER: I think YOU should go first. Show us how it's done.

JESSE: [Leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head.] Yeah, he's right. Spill it, Boggs.

BOGGS: [Glares at Jesse, then shrugs it off.] All right. Why not. As I said I'm a recovering sex addict. I cheated on my wife for 4 years with a chick named Margo Adams. She went on road trips with me. Then she made up shit about me in Penthouse Magazine. Big media circus. But hey, at least it was only one chick. Now it's your turn, Tiger.

JESSE: [Whistles.] Wow, we're gonna be here all night.

TIGER: [Shoots Jesse a look.] What's that supposed to mean?

JESSE: How many is it up to now, Tiger? Fourteen? I think maybe I've lost count. [Laughs.]

TIGER: You shut your mouth. Last I heard you've been doing plenty of screwing around yourself.

JESSE: [Sits up straight, looks Tiger in the eyes.] You gonna make something of it?

BOGGS: [Bangs gavel again.] Guys, guys! Knock it off. We're supposed to be here to support each other, not to fight.

TIGER: HE started it.

JESSE: Wuss.

TIGER: Excuse me? You think you're so tough just because you're covered with tattoos? I might not be as menacing as you are, but at least I'm a better lover.

JESSE: The hell you are!

TIGER: Believe me, I've had no complaints. [Smiles devilishly.]

JESSE: Oh yeah? Well maybe you're just practicing on all those women until you can get it right.

TIGER: I've got it perfect! You're the fool who needs to practice. You've got a fine woman like Sandra Bullock and you're running around with that tattoed bimbo Bombshell who looks like she belongs in a freak show.

JESSE: Don't you talk about her like that! [Pushes Tiger off his chair.]

BOGGS: [Starts to bang gavel, then tosses it over his shoulder.] Guys! Please!

TIGER: [Grabs a driver out of the golf bag beside his chair, stands up and prepares to hit Jesse.] I'm gonna lay some wood on you!

JESSE: [Has already jumped out of his chair and is dodging to avoid being clobbered with the golf club.] Did ya learn that move from your wife?

BOGGS: Hey, come on, you two! You're acting like children.

TIGER AND JESSE: [Look at Boggs.] STAY OUT OF THIS!

JESSE: [Sneaks around behind Tiger and grabs and holds him by the throat with one arm.] Put down that club and fight like a man.

TIGER: [Struggles to free himself with one hand and lift his club with the other.]

BOGGS: Come on, guys. Hey look! I've got beer. [Points to little fridge over in corner.] And chicken. Mmmm. Beer-battered chicken, my favorite. Let's take a little break, okay?

[TIGER lands a blow to JESSE in the groin, gets free, but trips over his golf bag and falls on the floor. JESSE holds his groin, bent over, turns to look at Tiger who is starting to stand up still holding the driver. JESSE decides to back away and runs out of the room.]

TIGER: [Chases after Jesse.] You want to see me fight like a man? [Offstage yelling.] I've got your back, Jesse! I've got your back!

BOGGS: [Stands there shaking his head. Then he walks over to the TV set/DVD player at the front of the room next to the podium, turns on TV and inserts a DVD into the player. He presses play and watches the naked couple on the screen. Moaning sounds are heard.] Ah, Debbie Does Dallas, my favorite. Those guys are missing the best part. Oh well. More porn for me.


THE END

PLAY #2 - Enlightenment

Title: Enlightenment
Genre: Expressionistic dramedy?
Characters: Gabriel (blasé, weird and a tad angry man), Melody (perky, curious and a bit pushy woman) and the light (incorporeal, mute and yet pivotal follow spot)
Description: Though he wished he didn’t have to listen to it, Gabriel accepts the light’s request to help Melody.
Setting: The scene takes place at a street corner of an unnamed city. In the down-stage house right corner, there are a few tables and chairs representing a coffee shop terrace. The background can showcase buildings to strengthen the location but it is not obligatory for the scene to work.

[In total darkness]

GABRIEL : Crap. It’s on again. I thought I was clear when I said I didn’t want any of it anymore.

[Bright light shines on Gabriel. The rest of the set remains in the dark.]

GABRIEL: [shielding his eyes] Oh yeah! Real mature! A warning would have been nice.

[The light turns red and a little dimmer. From this point on, Gabriel pauses when the light changes, as if he was listening. He looks slightly upward, in the general direction of the light’s origin.]

GABRIEL: You’re the one who nearly blinded me. Why the hell are you pissed?

[The red light intensifies.]

GABRIEL: Yeah right! And what about your attitude? I’m sick of this. And I’m busy! Busting my chops ain’t changing my mind.

[The red light turns blue.]

GABRIEL: [sighs] I know that jazz. I’m unique, I’m special, some dude has a plan for me, blablabla. Save me the broken record.

[The blue light turns a softer blue.]

GABRIEL: Well, it’s not like I can get out of this any other way. [sighs] Apologies accepted! [smiles a fake grin] What can I do for you today?

[The light flickers and changes color every time it lights up. Warm colors only.]

GABRIEL: Wait a minute! Slow down! You’re giving me a headache. What about the girl with a musical name?

[The light turns a violent and dancing orange.]

GABRIEL: Why does that matter?

[The light shuts off. Back to total darkness.]

GABRIEL: Oh… I see.

[Small spots of white light dance around Gabriel.]

GABRIEL: Got it. I’ll do what I can.

[The light shines pink.]

GABRIEL: Don’t thank me just yet. I still don’t know how I’ll find her.

MELODY: [invisible and distant] Sir?

[The light shines a brighter pink.]

GABRIEL: Follow my heart? Well, it happens to guide me to the restaurant where a very beautiful girl awaits. Do you happen to remember my fiancée?

[The light turns a redder shade of pink.]

GABRIEL: She feels the same way about you. She’s going to be pissed you made me late again.

MELODY: [invisible and closer] Sir? Are you okay?

[The pink light flickers than dies.]

GABRIEL: [hurt] You’re kidding, right?

[Stage lighting turns on revealing the stage and Melody.]

MELODY: [grabs Gabriel’s arm] Sir? Is every thing okay?

GABRIEL: [stunned] My fiancée invited me at a perfectly neutral public place to break up with me. I’m reddish gray.

MELODY: Reddish gray?

GABRIEL: [snaps out of it] Oh, sorry! I’m a synesthete. I have a…

MELODY: [cuts him off]… a neurological condition that mixes sensitive and cognitive pathways.

GABRIEL: [drops his jaw] I think it’s the first time I don’t have to explain for hours.

MELODY: [fakes a salute] Neurosurgeon grad to the rescue. [smiles] Let me guess: your perception of colors triggers the perception of feelings and vice versa?

GABRIEL: [adds wide-eyes to the dropped jaw] Yes. That’s golden!

MELODY: That sure explains the whole “talking to the TV screen”. [laughs] Is golden good or bad?

GABRIEL: Good, good. I mean… That’s excitement, happiness, cherish the moment!

MELODY: All rolled into one?

GABRIEL: Yes!

MELODY: [barely pauses] Can I buy you a cup of coffee?

GABRIEL: [ill at ease] Actually…

MELODY: [cuts him off] I’ve never met someone like you and… just call it professional curiosity!

GABRIEL: But…

MELODY: [cuts him off] Oh right, we don’t know each other! [extends her hand] I’m Melody!

[Gabriel looks at the hand, looks at Melody, and then looks upward as when he was talking to the light. Melody starts to fidget.]

GABRIEL: [shaking Melody’s hand] Melody? [sets his eyes on her] How purple with orange polka dots, I mean, appropriate!

MELODY: [raises an eyebrow] “Purple with orange polka dots” hardly sounds “appropriate”…

GABRIEL: To a color blind, it could be. [fake laugh] I’m Gabriel. [releases Melody’s hand] I have time for coffee.

MELODY: All righty then!

[They cross the street to the coffee place.]

MELODY: Just sit. I’ll get the hot goodness.

[Melody exits.]

GABRIEL: [to himself] Purple with orange polka dots. What was I thinking? Adjectives, Gabriel, feelings are better expressed with adjectives, not colors. Predictable and dangerous. No, I shouldn’t have said that either.

[All lights close abruptly.]

GABRIEL: [annoyed] What now? I’ve got the girl. I’ll keep her safe. Shoo!

[The light turns a dark pink.]

GABRIEL: I can’t believe you, of all people, are asking that.

[The light turns blue.]

GABRIEL: I don’t care if it’s what a gentleman would do. She invited me to the restaurant to dump me. I’m beating her to the punch. She doesn’t deserve a call. Period.

[The light returns to the stage as Melody enters with two foam cups.]

MELODY: Talking to the billboard again!

GABRIEL: Yeah! Advertisements are a chatty bunch.

MELODY: [laughs] Is this place too distracting for you? Or too public to talk about your condition? [pointing up-stage house left] My place is just around the corner…

GABRIEL: [worried] No! No! Here is fine.

MELODY: [sits and gives Gabriel his coffee] Who is she?

GABRIEL: Sorry?

MELODY: [mimicking Gabriel] “She doesn’t deserve a call. Period.”

GABRIEL: My fiancée.

MELODY: The one who dumped you?

GABRIEL: Intends to dump me. Pretty much the same. [sips]

MELODY: She doesn’t understand?

GABRIEL: Nope. I used to wish I was a mild case of synaesthesia…

MELODY: [cutting him off] Like associating colors and letters?

GABRIEL: Yeah! I’d rather read rainbow books…

MELODY: [cutting him off] Than talk to giant digital billboards?

GABRIEL: It’s a habit of yours to cut people off, isn’t it?

[Melody sips coffee.]

GABRIEL: That’s what I thought.

MELODY: Sorry…Curiosity’s side-effect. [shrugs]

GABRIEL: And loony’s is losing fiancées. Gives me the blues.

MELODY: What’s that color meaning?

GABRIEL: I meant it as the usual idiom. [sips]

MELODY: Oh! [sips]

GABRIEL: It’s ok. I know I’m confusing.

MELODY: Huh… Has synaesthesia caused you lots of break-ups?

GABRIEL: [laughs] You could say that. I just drown today in a few drinks, crash at a motel and deal tomorrow.

MELODY: You can handle clubs?

GABRIEL: Oh hell no! Strobe lights kill me. [sips]

MELODY: So a pub kind of guy. [sips] I meant to ask…

[A huge explosion sound and screams cut off Melody. An orange flickering light at up-stage house left accompanies the sound.]

MELODY: [screams and jumps from her chair] What the hell was that?

GABRIEL: [completely calm] Gas leak. Your apartment. [sips]

MELODY: What?

GABRIEL: [rising from his chair] You’re alive. You’ll save lives. My job’s done. Thanks for the coffee. I’ll get something stronger now.

MELODY: Wait! Are you serious? How did you know?

[Gabriel points in the general direction of the light/billboard while finishing his coffee.]

MELODY: So you’re some kind of messenger of God?

GABRIEL: [setting his cup down] Not unless publicity created the world in seven days.

[Melody looks around, distressed, and finally collapses on her chair. Meanwhile, Gabriel begins to head off stage. Before he exits, he glances back at Melody. Then, he turns around, goes back to her and offers up his arm. She stands up and grabs it. They both head off stage. As they exit, Melody gives the finger to the billboard.]
[Lights out]
[The End]

PLAY #3 - Cutter

CUTTER

Genre: Drama

Characters: Jasmine: 20's. Wearing shorts and “T” shirt, no shoes. Her arms and legs are covered with scars. The colors range from pale white scars to bright red. There is one open cut on her thigh that is bleeding.

Brief Description: A young woman talks to a deceased friend about life.

SET: A simple straight backed chair and a small table with a large knife, a razor blade and a cordless telephone on it. There is a cardboard box five or six feet from the chair. The box is open but we can’t see into it. Jasmine holds a “T” shirt with a bladder inside that will continue to ooze blood during the monolog.

AT RISE: Jasmine is sitting on the chair holding the wadded up “T” shirt against the cut on her thigh.

JASMINE: [As if she is in a group therapy session.] Hi, I’m Jasmine and I’m a cutter. [To George:] Remember that from group therapy? I remember that deep voice of yours when you used to say “I’m George and I cut myself.” We all miss you at therapy. No one sat in your chair. Like we were waiting for you to arrive. But we all knew you wouldn’t. Therapy isn’t the same without you there. Most of the people are just assholes with a lot of scars.

I should know better by now, but I’m still surprised that people think we cut ourselves because we want to die. I know you didn’t want to die. None of us wants to die. I’m really afraid of dying. Afraid the pain might go on forever. I want the same thing you wanted: for the pain to go away. I tell them that I cut myself ‘cause it helps ease the pain. You know: when the pain on the outside’s the same as the pain on the inside, they cancel each other out for a few minutes.

My mother always worries that I’ll cut a major vein or deep artery and bleed to death. We know where to cut, don’t we? They said you committed suicide but I know better. It was an accident, wasn’t it?

[She examines the cut on her thigh.]

This one’s still bleeding a lot.

[Pause. She reminisces.]

I never told you about my scars, did I? Remember the time I got in trouble? That’s this scar here. It bled a lot and by the time I realized that I needed help, I was almost too weak to get to the telephone. I fainted before the ambulance got here. I was so afraid I might die and the pain would never stop. Now I keep the telephone right next to me.

[Points to a large scar.] This is from when my daddy died. He understood me and didn’t hassle me. [Pause.] He was the one who named me Jasmine. When momma was pregnant, they were very poor and it was a big dinner when they could afford a few extra pennies for jasmine rice. My momma loved how it smelled while it was cooking. [Pause] My daddy called me Jazz. He’s the only one I ever let call me Jazz. No one else. Not even Nancy or my mother.

[Points to a smaller scar.] This one is from when Nancy and I had a fight. You remember Nancy, don’t you? She’s my best friend. She told me that the guy I was seeing was only after sex and really didn’t care for me. We made up and she’s my best friend again but I can’t undo the scar. I wish I could. It’s the only one I wish I didn’t have. Weird, isn’t it?

[Points to an even smaller scar.] I cut myself here when he dumped me. It wasn’t a big deal because I was ready to dump him but he dumped me first. Asshole.

[Long pause as she looks at her cut then decides to tell the rest of the story.]

My little dog Bo died today. When I put him out to do his doggy stuff, I put him on a long rope tied to a stake in the front yard. It’s funny. When he was a little puppy, he didn’t understand the rope and would run at top speed like he was making a jail break. Until he ran out of rope. It would jerk him to a stop. I thought he’d break his neck. He learned to stop just a foot before the rope ran out. I never figured out how he knew when he didn’t have any rope left.

Until today. Today, he ran and ran and when the rope got tight, his collar broke. All of a sudden he was free. He ran around the yard at top speed like he was crazy. When I went out to get him, he ran away from me. Right into the street and . . . he was hit by a car . . . the vet said he was killed instantly. He’s over there in the box. I need to bury him.

Think how exciting it must have been for him. To be totally free. Free to do whatever he wanted. Free to go wherever he wanted. I wouldn’t mind dying if I could be free . . . free from all the pain inside . . . free from all the pain outside.

George, does the pain stop when you die?

[Jasmine starts to droop as if she was very tired.]

I don’t know what I’m going to do without Bo. He was always there for me . . . He’d sit with me for hours at a time . . . He loved me . . . He never wanted me to be something I’m not. Unconditional love, they call it. My dad loved me that way but I’m not sure about my mom. She always wanted me to be something I couldn’t be. I don’t know why.

I’m not feeling so good. I think I’ll call Nancy. She’ll take care of me.

[She reaches for the phone and knocks the table over. The phone falls on the stage, several feet from her and shatters. Jasmine moves from the chair to the phone and picks it up. It is clear that the phone will never work. Jasmine looks at the audience as the realization dawns.]

The lights fade rapidly.

END.

PLAY #4 - A Change of Perspective

Title: A change of perspective
Genre: Drama
Characters: Jacob and Sophie, married
Brief description: Jacob arrives home with bills to pay and a letter regarding money he expected to receive. When his wife tells him she’s pregnant, his attitude changes from stress about their financial situation to happiness.
Setting: The shabby living room of the apartment where Jacob and Sophie live.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[JACOB enters the living room through the front door at center stage left, a stack of letters on his hand, a worried expression. Throws overcoat on the couch, leaves keys on the table. Stops in front of the couch, opens the first letters.]

JACOB: Phone bill, electricity bill, water bill. [Sighs and opens another letter.]

SOPHIE [from offstage]: Jacob? Is that you?

JACOB: In here, sweetheart.

[SOPHIE walks in from kitchen at center stage right, cleaning her hands on an apron. Moves to JACOB and gives him a quick kiss.]

JACOB: Dinner ready yet?

SOPHIE: Yes. [Takes a small step back.] You look so worried. What’s wrong?

JACOB [Sits down on the couch and stares at the last letter in his hand.]: Nothing’s wrong darling. I’m just …

[SOPHIE sits down next to him, takes the letter from his hand and reads it.]

SOPHIE: We’ll get through this. I know how much we needed this money, but we’ll manage without it.

[JACOB buries face in hands. SOPHIE wraps arm around his shoulder.]

SOPHIE: Sweetheart …

JACOB [Looks up at SOPHIE.]: I’m so sorry, Sophie. I should be a better husband to you. I should take care of you better. I promised you I would.

SOPHIE: You love me, that’s more than he ever did. You don’t beat me, you don’t abuse me, you don’t make me cry. Love is all I asked of you and it is all I need.

JACOB: I can’t even make enough money to support us.

SOPHIE: I’ve told you that’s not important.
[JACOB stands up and takes a few steps forward.]

JACOB [without looking at Sophie]: I don’t know what I’ll do if anything unexpected comes up.

[SOPHIE grimaces and caresses her belly.]

JACOB: I might have no choice but to leave and look for a better job.

SOPHIE: [Stands up and embraces JACOB from the side.]: I’ll go with you. I’ll follow you wherever you go.

JACOB: You know you can’t leave your job. [Turns around slightly to place arms around SOPHIE’s waist.] I just hope nothing new comes up, no surprises, no added expenses.

[JACOB caresses SOPHIE’s face as they stare at each other for a few seconds.]

JACOB: You look so tired. Did you have a rough day?

[SOPHIE places both her hands on her belly and looks at JACOB in silence. He alternates looking at her hands and her face as a smile forms slowly.]

JACOB: I said I didn’t want any surprises, my beautiful darling.

[SOPHIE smiles.]

JACOB [Grabs SOPHIE and swings her around once.]: I love you.

SOPHIE: I’m sorry.

JACOB: For what?

SOPHIE: The surprise. The added expense.

JACOB: You’ve given me something much more important along with that baby in there.

SOPHIE: What?

JACOB: A new perspective.

[The couple embrace with wide smiles as the lighting fades to black. End scene.]

PLAY #5 - The Abduction of Homer Winslow

TITLE: The Abduction of Homer Winslow

GENRE: Comedy

CHARACTERS:

HOMER WINSLOW, an old farmer

TYKOL, the leader of the aliens (male or female)

ZERK, second alien (male or female)

DESCRIPTION: Aliens from a distance planet abduct an old farmer named Homer Winslow in order to study the primitive earth people. After hearing Homer's homespun philosophy, the aliens begin to question just which is the more advanced civilization.

SETTING: A room onboard an alien spacecraft.

RUNTIME: Approximately 9 - 10 minutes.

NOTES: It is anticipated that the play will be staged with simple costumes and makeup. The aliens can be costumed in long robes. Their makeup can consist chiefly of face paint of an unnatural tone. The old farmer is dressed in bib overalls and a cap commonly worn by farmers. The set can be stark and furnished with one or two pieces of modernistic furniture.

[Homer is standing frozen in an area marked with a circle. A blue spotlight shines down on him.]

[Tykol and Zerk enter and approach Homer. Zerk quickly scans Homer with a small handheld device]

ZERK: [speaking in his native language] Natu ack yoto.

TYKOL: Eck. Baala er twock.

ZERK: Urto. [pushing a button on his device, the light above Homer fades] Natu eero.

[Homer awakens slowly, then suddenly regains his awareness.]

HOMER: What? Oh, Lordy! I been hit by lightning! Done been hit [quickly glancing at the strange surroundings] and gone to heaven.

TYKOL: [speaking in a precise but monotone voice] Do not be alarmed. You have not ceased to be existent. [to Zerk] Ba quato.

[Zerk bows slightly and goes to a nearby table which holds a carafe and glasses. Homer steps forward a bit unsteadily.]

HOMER: Whoa. I don't think I've felt this woozy since I got kicked in the head by Uncle Jasper's mule.

[Zerk returns with a tall glass tube filled with a pinkish liquid and gives it to Homer.]

ZERK: Drink this fluid. It will help you to regain your cognitive skills.

HOMER: [after drinking] Tastes like pink lemonade. [handing the glass back to Zerk] Could use a tad more sugar.

TYKOL: You will regain all mental and physiological functions momentarily.

HOMER: I don’t believe I know you fellas. You two must be strangers round here.

TYKOL: We are from another world, many light-years distant from your own.

HOMER: That's a right far piece, I reckon. I thought you must be foreigners from the way you talk.

TYKOL: We have learned your language from monitoring your electromagnetic transmissions. We come as emissaries to your planet.

HOMER: Well, howdy, I'm Homer Winslow. Glad to meet you.

TYKOL: Our own names cannot be translated into your language. You may call me Tykol. This is my second in command, Zerk.

HOMER: [to Zerk] Howdy.

ZERK: [mimicking Homer] How-dy.

HOMER: How'd I get here anyhow? Last thing I remember I was going out to the barn. Then, all of a sudden like, it was as bright as daylight.

TYKOL: We used an immobilization beam, then brought you aboard our transport craft.

HOMER: You ain't gonna probe me, are you? I've heard of you aliens doing that to folks.

TYKOL: You will not be harmed. We seek your help. You were chosen because of your experience with other life forms not of your type.

HOMER: Other what?

ZERK: The large ravenous creatures with limited vocal skills you supply food to.

HOMER: Oh, you mean the pigs. Yes, sir, I try to fatten 'em up real good. Well, now, We try to be neighborly round here. What can I do for you fellas?

TYKOL: There are things about earth people we do not comprehend. We believe direct communications with a human is the best way to complete our knowledge base.

HOMER: [hooking his thumbs in the bib of his overalls and taking the stance of a man who can tell you just about anything] You've come to the right man then. Ain't much I don't know about what goes on around here.

TYKOL: [to Zerk] Begin data record.

ZERK: [pressing a button on his handheld device] Et natur om yocto. [distinctly] Hom-er Wins-low.

HOMER: Now, what is it you fellas want to know?

ZERK: From the transmissions we have monitored, earth seems to be in constant state of chaos. Daily, there are reports of crime and violence committed by one human against another.

TYKOL: We do not understand why there is so much discord amongst earth people. No other species in the galaxy is as violent towards their own kind as are earth people.

HOMER: I know what you mean, know exactly. It's a shame when folks can't get along. I declare, sometimes people don't act much better than a bunch of chickens after a junebug.

TYKOL: [glancing at Zerk and back to Homer] Urt? We do not understand.

HOMER: It's like this. One old hen will catch her a junebug. Then all the other hens decide they want the junebug too. Pretty soon they're all chasing after each other over that one junebug, trying to take it away from whichever one has it. Sometimes they get so busy chasing each other that the junebug gets plumb away.

TYKOL: Humans are like this as well?

HOMER: They are when you get right down to it. Some folks can't stand for someone to have something they don't have, or to have more 'an they do. If everyone would take care of his own business and let the other fella alone, well, everybody would be a sight better off, you see.

TYKOL: Yes, we understand.

ZERK: What of the wars on your planet? What is the cause of such conflicts?

HOMER: [warming to his role as guest lecturer] That's kind of hard to explain now. Sometimes it's just like them hens I was telling you about, but sometimes wars are caused by disagreement over nothing. It's just like Clyde and Roy down at the barber shop. Roy will say something like "My dog Beauregard is the best coon dog in the state." Then Clyde Hawkins will fire back that he reckons his Rex is the better dog. Then they start arguing back and forth, getting madder and madder until they're ready to fight about it. The worst thing is there ain't a hair's worth of difference between them two dogs if truth be told.

TYKOL: Ah, this explains the thing called human nature we have heard of.

HOMER: You see, it ain't so much what the argument is about. A man has a natural tendency to think his side is better 'an the other--whether it's his country, or his religion, or who's coon dog is better.

TYKOL: Can such irrational thought processes be corrected?

HOMER: Now, I can't say about that for sure. See, you can't teach some people nothing. It's just like what President Roosevelt said, you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink.

TYKOL: Yes, we now understand.

ZERK: While earth remains primitive, we have noticed humans have made many technological advances in the past few years.

HOMER: We done got too advanced if you ask me. Everything's got too darn complicated.

TYKOL: But technology has made life on your planet better, has it not?

HOMER: I ain't so sure. Now I ain't saying all these new gadgets are bad, but sometimes I wish they would stop fiddling around with things. It's like the new television set we got for Christmas. You have to have a college education to work the thing. Then, when you finally figure out how to turn it on and change the channel, you find ain't nothing on worth watching anyway these days.

ZERK: It is the same on our planet. The top-rated entertainment transmission is about a group of people trying to survive on the desert moon of Urktor.

HOMER: People don't even talk to one another anymore. They all want to send them e-mails and argue about stuff on that Internet. I never seen much use for it myself. You got to look a man in the eye to tell whether he's telling the truth or not.

TYKOL: I something think our own people rely too much on their androids.

HOMER: I can't even talk to the grandkids anymore. When they come over they've all got those pod things stuck in their ear. Else they're talking on their cell phone or playing on their computer.

TYKOL: Yes, it is the same with the clones of our planet.

HOMER: You need to take 'em fishing. Best way in the world to teach a youngster about things.

TYKOL: Eck. I had not thought of that.

HOMER: Yes, sir. Fishing is about the best thing there is. A man can do a lot of thinking when he's fishing.

TYKOL: Relaxation. I must do more of that.

Homer: A fellow needs to slow down sometimes, sit on the porch, maybe have a glass of that lemonade and just enjoy life.

TYKOL: [wistfully] How easy is it to overlook the simple things.

ZERK: [to Tykol] We have misunderstood the earth people. They are more sophisticated than our initial reports indicated. We can learn much from those such as Homer.

TYKOL: I agree. We must return and report to the Supreme Council.

ZERK: They will be much interested in our findings.

TYKOL: [to Homer] We will return you to your home now. We must depart for our own planet. Thank you, Homer. You have given us [sounding like an alien Homer] a right smart to think about.

HOMER: Shucks, it weren't nothing. Y'all come back some time. Next time you come through, I'll take you down to the barber shop and introduce you around. They'd be tickled to meet a couple of you extra-terrestrial. We might even go fishing.

[Tykol and Zerk bow deeply to Homer as the lights dim.]

PLAY #6 - The Tree

TITLE: The Tree.
GENRE: Not Specified
CHARACTERS: The traveler, the farmer.
BRIEF DESCRIPTION: A traveler and a farmer argue about life, dogma and which fruits are better.
SETTING: An open field, with nothing withstanding except a tree.

[A humble-looking farmer works the field under the shadow of a tree, enter a well-dressed man carrying a suitcase looking idly around, the former is THE FARMER and the later is THE TRAVELER.]

TRAVELER: Good morning, sir.

FARMER: [Not paying much attention to him] How do you do?

TRAVELER: [Between cocky and amicable] Doing fine, doing fine… but seems that I got lost. Could you tell me how can I get to the main road?

FARMER: [Pointing out OFF STAGE while paying attention to his work.] Sure, just keep walking that direction for a mile or two. Hard to miss.

TRAVELER: [Swiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, looking up.] My, my. What a scorching summer we have, don’t we? Say, old man, would you mind if I stay here a minute or two?

FARMER: [Still distracted] Suit yourself.

[The TRAVELER sits under the tree, putting his suitcase aside.]

TRAVELER: Say… this is a lovely tree, isn’t? It’s amazing there aren’t any other trees in this field.

FARMER: [Stopping working and looking at the TRAVELER in the eyes] That’s because no other trees are needed, young man.

TRAVELER: [Confused.] Well, that doesn’t sound, you know, productive, but what do you mean by that?

FARMER: [Leaning his tool against the tree, deadpan serious.] I mean, we don’t need no other tree around here, since this is the best tree there is. You just have to taste the fruits that provide to see that.

TRAVELER: [Skeptical] Sure… So, how can you be so sure about that… I mean, in the last town they sold me some peaches and I must say they were pretty good.

FARMER: [A bit irritated] Bah, they can’t compare to the apples of this tree.

TRAVELER: [Curious] How do you know that these fruits are the best, again?

FARMER: My father told me.

TRAVELER: And how did he know that?

FARMER: [blankly] His father told him.

TRAVELER: And his father told his?

FARMER: [Nodding.] Yes, sir. That’s what I think.

[The TRAVELER stands up]

TRAVELER: [Exasperated] But… you know, back in the city. You can find fruits of any type from around the world. Mangoes, papayas, kiwis and who knows what else. And in the Tropics and the farewell coasts at the edge of the world, unimaginable fruits! Have you tasted them? Have you compared them? Can a pearl be compared to a grape? Or a grape be compared to date?

FARMER: [A bit annoyed but mostly indifferent] I really can’t say, young man. I have never tasted any of your fancy fruits from exotic lands, in matter of fact. I have never left this valley. But I do know that for me, this tree is the best tree in the world and its fruits are the best and one in a kind.

TRAVELER: [Looking at his watch] Well, I better be going. They are waiting me for an important meeting tomorrow morning.

[The TRAVELER walks to the other side of the stage.]

FARMER: [Picking up his tool and working on the land again] Take care, sir. Hope you find the way.

TRAVELER: [To the audience]: Look at him, he’s wrong. Not only wrong, he talks nonsense! But yet… there’s something, something in his humbleness I find irresistible. I know… [chuckles] that this little tree can’t be the best tree in the world, seriously… but the unshakable faith this old man protects his tree. The assurance he defends it, it’s something so simple, yet, so enviable.

[The TRAVELER sighs and exits the stage. We see the FARMER stopping his choir and looking thoughtful toward the audience.]

FARMER [Thoughtful with his hand on his chin]: What if… my tree is not the best tree after all?

THE END.

PLAY #7 - Lounge Act

TITLE: LOUNGE ACT

GENRE: Drama

CHARACTERS:
DAN DELUCA, a handsome, successful forty-something actor at the peak of his career, nicely dressed, his Yankees cap an incongruous accessory
ELI, a too-pretty actor in his mid-twenties, wearing a long-sleeved shirt
SHANNON, a beautiful bartender

BRIEF DESCRIPTION:
A young actor whose absence has disrupted a movie’s filming schedule buys its star a drink. His apology and the explanation stun the older man--whose theatrical skills hide what he knows.

SETTING:
The lounge of an elegant hotel, featuring both a bar and tables occupied by people unseen by the audience. Throughout the play, Shannon provides service and silent chitchat to the invisible patrons at both tables and the bar.

[Curtain rises as DAN and ELI enter and seat themselves at the bar, Eli at the far end. Dan removes his baseball cap and sets it on the empty barstool next to him.]

DAN: Good evening, Shannon. The usual. And a beer for my friend? [Looks to Eli for confirmation. Eli nods.]

SHANNON: Right away, Mr. DeLuca.

DAN: It’s ‘Dan,’ sweetheart. I keep telling you that.

SHANNON: I’ll try harder to remember, Mr. DeLuca. You know I can’t think straight around hunky movie stars.

DAN: Do you believe the lip on this woman? If she wasn’t such a gorgeous broad, I’d never take it.

SHANNON: If I wasn’t such a gorgeous broad, I’d never have the nerve. [To Eli.] Sir? I’ll need to see some ID, please.

[Eli takes out his wallet and offers a driver’s license. Shannon studies it briefly, then returns it. Eli leaves the wallet on the bar.]

SHANNON: Thank you, sir. On tap, we have Sam Adams, Sam Adams Cherry Wheat, Bass, Boddingtons, Blue Moon, Brooklyn Post Road Pumpkin Ale, Coors Light, Dos Equis, Guinness, Harp, Kirin--

ELI: [Holds up one hand, palm out, stopping her recitation.] What do you have in the bottle?

SHANNON: Labatt Blue, Killian’s, Anchor Steam, Sam Adams Double Bock, Beck’s, Heineken, Corona, Michelob Ultralight, Coors Light, and Victory Prima Pilsner. Oh, and Bud.

ELI: Too many choices. What do you recommend?

SHANNON: Can’t go wrong with a Sam Adams.

ELI: Done. Leave the cap on, please.

[Shannon busies herself with the drinks.]

DAN: [Observing the back of Shannon.] That’s my kind of woman. Hips you can grab and hold on to. So, did you see how I did that?

ELI: Did what?

DAN: Got us to the right seats. You go very far in this business, you either learn or become a hermit. Or travel with a posse, which is okay for a young guy but not after a certain age. Anyway, first you scope the place out, pick the seat where it’s hardest for people to bother you. Pull down your handy Yankees cap--

ELI: You mean my faithful Red Sox cap.

DAN: Don’t make me hurt you. You pull down your cap and lower your head a little, so you only see people from the shoulders down. You won’t bump into anybody, and they can’t see your face. You sit so your companion’s against the wall, and put your cap on the empty seat next to you. Turn to talk to your buddy, and you’ve got yourself a little island of privacy. People see your back, so you could be anybody. A man can get a drink in peace.

ELI: What a hassle, though. I don’t get recognized often enough for it to be a problem.

DAN: Not in bars, anyway. Your fans are, what, fifteen, sixteen?

ELI: About that. I get free fries instead.

DAN: Which isn’t so bad. You’re still young enough to eat that crap and not balloon up. You work out?

ELI: Three-four times a week is all, unless a role wants me all buff, or bulked up.

[Shannon brings a bottled beer, a frosted mug, and a martini.]

DAN: Thanks, gorgeous.

SHANNON: You’re welcome, Mr. DeLuca. Run you a tab tonight?

ELI: [Removing his beer’s cap.] On me. What do I owe you?

DAN: I got it.

ELI: I asked you if I could buy you a beer, talk to you about something.

DAN: I can afford it. You read in Variety what they’re paying me for this role? What are you getting, scale?

ELI: A little better. Not much. It’s more about the transition to adult roles than the money.

DAN: Shannon, honey, charge it to the production company. Put my name next to it and they’ll just pay up. Give yourself a good tip.

SHANNON: Yes, sir, Mr. DeLuca.

DAN: Please, it’s ‘Dan.’

SHANNON: I’ll remember it this time for sure, Mr. DeLuca.

[Dan and Eli raise martini glass and bottle in salute to one another, then drink.]

DAN: Two parts gin, one part vermouth--that’s the way to end a hard day.

[Eli pours the remaining beer into his frosted glass.]

ELI: Man, you made it look so easy, like you were just as happy doing twenty perfect takes as one.

DAN: Twenty-seven. That Michelle, huh? Wow. Drop-dead gorgeous isn’t enough. I swear she didn’t know what half her lines meant.

ELI: Maybe she was having an off day or something.

DAN: Could be malnutrition. I am not looking forward to the love scene, tell you that. Great legs, but any higher, she’s all bones and implants. Hips like a lizard. I prefer Shannon, here.

SHANNON: Oh, am I on the menu?

DAN: You should be, sweetheart. Saucy and spicy both.

ELI: [Drinks deeply, covers a burp with one hand.] Good beer. Thanks for the recommendation, Shannon. [To Dan.] It’s probably even harder than working out all the damned time, starving yourself so you look good on camera. I bet Michelle never has a beer.

DAN: Considering the way I put on weight these days, it’s just as well I never developed the taste for it. [Pats his own midsection.]

ELI: You look great. Not just great for your age. Great, period.

DAN: You think? I’ve done enough curl-ups that I sure hope so, but the years show.

ELI: Bullshit. You know, besides working with you and Umberto, one reason I was so glad to get this part is by the time they’re done with makeup, I look pretty bad. It’s liberating, not to have to be all about looks. I want to act, not model.

DAN: That’s good to hear. To tell you the truth, when they told me who they cast and I looked you up, I wasn’t exactly thrilled. Your work’s been all about that face. You’re cute, you’re vulnerable, you’re angst-y--it’s always about how you look. Not a thing about transforming yourself into somebody who isn’t you. Not that it’s not a good face.

ELI: Thanks. I think.

DAN: Even though your fans are little girls, there’s some big girls who’ll give you whatever you want, because of that face, huh? Bet you get plenty.

ELI: Enough. When my agent told me I got the role, I swore to myself that I was going to work my butt off. Everybody who thought I was cast because of the way I look was going to be surprised.

DAN: And how. That scene with the gun? Real closed, everything going on behind those eyes, and then they just go flat. Perfect, take after take. I don’t know how the hell you even do that. And the little twitch of the lip? I might have played it just the same way, twenty years ago.

ELI: Coming from you, that’s a huge compliment. Huge. Thank you.

DAN: Just calling them as I see them. So, you wanted to talk to me about something? I don’t have a thing to do with casting. My time’s spoken for, the next two-three years, pretty much, and nobody’s asked me who I see in the other roles.

ELI: Nothing like that. I wanted to apologize, explain where I’ve been, since me being gone screwed up your shooting schedule.

DAN: And Umberto’s. He was pretty pissy about having to swap things around on short notice, took it out on everybody.

ELI: My agent told him I had gastroenteritis, from a sushi place. I don’t even like sushi.

DAN: The rest of us thought that story was fishy. We had some other theories.

ELI: I figured. Let me guess. Rehab?

DAN: That was Michelle’s favorite. Go with what you know, huh?

ELI: The gossip’s true?

DAN: Whatever drug makes her happy and not hungry at the same time. People were guessing all kinds of stuff. Nobody knows you, so you’re a blank canvas for their own temptations.

ELI: Interesting. Like what?

DAN: A fight, maybe a black eye or a split lip we had to wait on, until makeup could cover it. Possibly over an underage kid, her dad giving the beat-down.

ELI: Ugh. No. Never.

DAN: A drug binge, that was a popular speculation. I didn’t buy it, though. Me, I put five bucks on you holing up with some pretty girl who’d do anything, and had cocaine in the house, but it wasn’t about the coke alone. Or maybe some pretty boy, eh?

ELI: Neither. I’m straight, not that it matters.

DAN: Shannon, you gorgeous thing, another martini. And another beer for my friend here. Eli. [To Eli.] So, where were you?

ELI: The Mandarin.

DAN: Nice. You have a suite? [Eats the olive in his drink.]

ELI: Just a room.

DAN: So you hid out at the Mandarin because...

[Eli doesn’t answer immediately. He finishes his beer and burps politely behind one hand. Shannon brings the martini and a bottle of beer. Its cap is gone.]

ELI: No. With the cap on. I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass. You can charge me for this one.

DAN: Charge the studio, Shannon.

[Eli opens his wallet and sets a bill on the bar. Shannon takes it and the opened beer bottle.]

DAN: First-rate bartender would have had that down pat. Wouldn’t have looked like Shannon, though.

[Shannon sets a capped beer in front of Eli.]

ELI: Thank you.

SHANNON: You’re very welcome. I should have remembered.

[Eli opens the beer and pours it into his glass. He drinks, pauses for a breath, then drinks again. He burps politely, and stares at the glass.]

DAN: Not something easy to tell, then. You spend last week in jail?

ELI: [Speaks low, almost mumbling] I was assaulted. Raped.

DAN: What? I can’t hear with background noise. Welcome to my forties, huh?

ELI: [Louder.] I was raped.

DAN: Raped, some woman forcing herself on--

ELI: By a man. Or men. [Eli gulps his beer.]

DAN: Holy shit. Are you all right?

ELI: I will be.

DAN: Sweet Jesus, raped. You call the cops?

ELI: Want to know how serious I am about acting? First person I called was my agent. It wasn't even five yet in L.A. Woke her up, told her what happened, and asked her what to do. She said not to call the police.

DAN: Why the hell not? Listen, you should talk to my agent, he’ll--

ELI: [Interrupting.] It could ruin my career. You know how the rumors would spin it.

DAN: Pretty boy’s gay, got himself a little rough trade.

ELI: Exactly. A career like yours could survive that kind of gossip, but mine can’t.

DAN: It helps that I’m married, and have been with hundreds of women. Thousands.

ELI: Thousands?

DAN: Well, I don’t know about the ‘s,’ but at least a thousand, easy. No man alive would turn down some of the offers I get. Pretty women, smart women, rich women, exotic women, kinky women, women with girlfriends. My wife starts giving me attitude, I get out the pre-nup, point out what she can take when she moves into a two-bedroom apartment.

ELI: Why get married? Sorry, that was tactless. None of my business.

DAN: I like having somebody who’s glad to see me when I get home, enough for five marriages. I’m up-front about how it’s going to be, these women throwing themselves at me, but that’s always what ends it. Who’d say no every single time?

ELI: Not me. Some of these girls are outrageous, but some are--okay. Better than okay.

DAN: So we like the ladies. How’d you hook up with the guy who raped you?

ELI: [Studies his beer, sips before answering.] I don’t know.

DAN: You know who it was, right? I mean, you saw him and all.

ELI: No. I woke up-- No, I don’t know who did it. [Drinks deep, sets the empty glass on the bar.]

[Dan signals Shannon to bring another beer. She brings it quickly, the cap on, along with a fresh frosted glass.]

SHANNON: Can I open that for you?

ELI: Okay.

SHANNON: [Uncaps the beer bottle and pours down the side of the glass.] There you are, sir. Enjoy. Another martini, Mr. DeLuca?

DAN: ‘Dan.’ No, thanks. These pack quite a wallop, and I’m working early. [To ELI] Drink. Sometimes a little numb is a good thing.

[Eli chugs about half his beer.]

DAN: Attaboy. So you woke up raped, at the Mandarin, and you don’t even know who it was?

ELI: No idea. I don’t remember anything after dinner at the hotel.

DAN: This was when, Tuesday? Right, because Wednesday’s when Umberto imploded. You remember me coming up to your table, talking a few minutes while you ate, right?

ELI: Not really.

DAN: It wasn’t any big deal. It’s always half dinner, half schmooze. I just said something about what good work you did, in that gun scene. Offered to buy you a drink after dinner. You don’t remember any of this?

ELI: No, sorry. Did we have a drink?

DAN: You took a rain check. Last I saw, you were waiting for the elevator.

ELI: I don’t even know if I made it to the room. Completely blank.

DAN: Date-rape drugs. Did you watch your drink at dinner?

ELI: I thought so, but now I guess not. By the time I saw the doctor, too much time had passed for them to test my blood for what it was.

DAN: You didn’t go to the ER?

ELI: My agent caught a red-eye and had a doctor who can keep his mouth shut lined up before her cab even reached the Mandarin.

DAN: Bet that was a fun exam.

ELI: Total blast. Stitches and everything.

DAN: Ow. How many?

ELI: Eight. Got them out this morning. That was fun, too.

DAN: You’re young, still heal pretty fast.

ELI: I guess.

DAN: I don’t get how this happened. These drugs, they don’t knock you out. Look at you. You’re young, you’re in shape. You’d have fought back.

ELI: [Shows his wrists.] Rope marks.

DAN: My sweet Lord. And nobody heard?

ELI: I had a sore throat, like from yelling? My agent’s good, went with me to the front desk the next night, so the same people would be working. Made it sound like I’d had a party and was there to apologize about noise, but there wasn’t a single complaint. Somebody should have heard.

DAN: You’d think.

ELI: I think I was gagged. My underwear was gone, so that’s probably what he used. Took it with him when he left. A souvenir. [Drinks beer.] We saw my registration information. It was my signature, for sure. The clerk remembered me, said I was alone, didn’t act stoned or drunk or anything, just tired.

DAN: Bastard’s a smooth operator. At least you’re okay now.

ELI: Physically, yeah. Ready to work.

DAN: Maybe you should get some, you know, counseling. They have rape support groups.

ELI: And tell the world about it? [Shakes his head, rejecting the idea.] The doctor told me I could expect to have trust issues. I’m not supposed to withdraw my trust from people who’d already earned it.

DAN: You trust me, then.

ELI: You’re Dan fuckin’ DeLuca. Studio trusts you to carry a two hundred million dollar movie, I guess I can trust you with how I spent Tuesday night.

[They laugh.]

DAN: You really can trust me. I won’t be telling anybody.

ELI: Thanks. [Sips beer.] I was kind of scared to ask you to come. Not just scared to say it out loud, but to you. Why would you even go out for a drink with a guy like me, who’s just getting started?

DAN: I used to be a guy like you. It’s good to be reminded of that by spending time with my former self. [Eats the olive from his martini.] Except my former self never went through anything like that, thank God.

ELI: Anyway, I want to apologize for the huge inconvenience. I hope to work with you again. You needed to know I’m serious, a professional, with a work ethic.

DAN: I’m just glad you’re all right.

ELI: Yeah, me too. Do you know where the Men’s is? Beer. I love it, but...

[Dan turns in his seat, scanning the lounge’s corners, then spots it and gestures stage left. Eli exits stage left. Dan raises his glass to Shannon, at the far end of the bar. A white light illuminates Dan’s face.]

SHANNON: [To stage right.] No pictures. Did you see the sign?

[The white light flashes again, twice, in rapid succession.]

SHANNON: [Picks up a phone behind the bar, talks into it.] Security to the lounge. [To Dan.] Sorry, Mr. DeLuca. I’ll get rid of him. [Shannon strides to exit stage right.]

DAN: Go get him, tiger. [Dan turns on the bar stool, facing away from the other patrons. He pours something into Eli’s beer, swirling it to mix.]

ELI: [Returns, unconsciously patting his fly, checking that it’s zipped. Stops to peer toward stage right.] What’s all that about? [Sits.]

DAN: About over. You missed all the excitement. Paparazzi. Shannon’s throwing him out. A beautiful thing to see, a woman strong like that. Bet she’s an animal in the sack. [Sips his drink.] It got me thinking how a distraction might be one way somebody could slip something into a man’s drink. I don’t remember anything at dinner Tuesday, but the nights kind of run together. I guarded your beer. And your wallet. [Slides wallet to Eli.]

ELI: Thanks.

DAN: You’re welcome. [Raises his glass in a silent toast. Both men drink.] I don’t know about you, but I’ve got to head up, get myself some wind-down time and some sleep.

ELI: I should, too. I’m a little buzzed. Three lousy beers.

DAN: Cheap date, huh? Let’s drink up, then.

[They drain their glasses. Dan puts his arm around Eli’s shoulder as they leave the bar and exit stage right.]

[Curtain down.]

PLAY #8 - Service

TITLE: Service
GENRE: Tragicomedy
CHARACTERS: Man on Table 6, Man on Table 5, Waiter.
BRIEF DESCRIPTION: Man on Table 6 is eating out with his wife whilst wishing his life wasn't so dull.
SETTING: A cheap restaurant, modern day. 8pm. Only Table 5 and 6 are occupied by characters- the audience are sat on tables around. The waiter treats them as if they are customers.


Waiter: That enough sir?

Man on Table 5: (holds up hand to indicate he doesn't want any more poured) Yes, thank you.

Waiter: Enjoy your drink (waiter leaves to clean the other tables)

Man on Table 6: (looks at his watch) What the hell is she doing in there? Reconstructing her face?

(waiter comes over and man on table 1 smiles)

Man on Table 6: I'll have the spaghetti Bolognese and my wife (points to the empty chair) wants a green salad.

Waiter: Shouldn't you wait for your wife to return?

Man on Table 6: I know what my wife wants, thank you very much.(waiter takes order and leaves)

Man on Table 6: (to audience) A green salad. She always orders that; what colour salad does she expect will turn up. Purple?
(sighs) And I always order the bolognese. That's what it's been like for 18 years- we've been married 18 years, can you believe it? Neither can I.
I've wasted my life- look at me. 45 looking 75 and nothing to show for those 45 years except two bratty children.
Having children ruined her looks- she's had 16 years to get rid of that pregnancy fat and she still hasn't. (his mobile beeps. He reads the text) 'Did you know Mrs Jones is having it off with *missing text*' Why does she send me these stupid texts about stupid gossip from her stupid friends? Ah well, at least someone's getting some. Mrs Jones, I envy you.



Waiter: (to the man) Where is your beautiful wife?

Man on Table 6: She'll be back! It's not like her food's going to get cold.
(waiter leaves to go to Table 5)

Man on Table 6: Everybody's looking at me as if I've been stood up. The pathetic husband waiting for his wife to come back and apologise for being late so loudly that everyone sniggers.(looks at man on Table 5) What's he looking at?...a photograph. Of a woman, a very nice one from what I can see. Or at least one who isn't a baby machine. I'm not sure Barbara ever used to look like that.

(Man on Table 5 signals to waiter)

Man on Table 5: Another coffee, please. Black, with sugar.
(waiter takes order and leaves)

Man on Table 6: He's waiting for her I bet. Look at the way he looks at her, she's not his wife. She's his lover and...she's going to meet him. Here. And he doesn't drink alcohol because people would assume things.
She's a bit younger than him, I'll say- he must be my age. Maybe I should... no, that would be crazy...so what? Maybe I should have an affair- these days no one stays faithful for 2 minutes, let alone 18 years.
But how? How does one find a lover?

Waiter: Phone the local *****house

Man on Table 6: What?!

Waiter: 'Would you like dessert now?'

Man on Table 6: Oh...
(to audience) Fine, I'm crazy. What women half my age do I know that might fancy me? What women my age fancy me? Barring the boss's daughter, who I'm pretty sure is a prostitute, I can't think of anyone willing to devote more than 5 minutes to me. (pause) What about Polly in Accounting? She's always had a thing for me, bringing me my coffee...what 21st century woman would bring a man coffee?! And she seemed up for it at the office party...well, she was drunk but it's a victory of sorts.
(rings his wife. Call connected) Barbara, I'm leaving. I'm leaving the restaurant and I'm leaving YOU. (triumphantly hangs up. to waiter) Waiter, the bill!

Waiter: Yes, sir. (he goes off to bring the bill)

Man on Table 6: I've never done something like that before! Maybe if I had the guts I wouldn't have to wait half an hour to even get the bloody attention of one!
(Waiter returns with bill. Man triumphantly slams down a couple of notes and exits) Mrs Jones won't be the only one who's getting some now.

(The waiter picks up the money)

Waiter: Can't anybody control themselves these days? You get all sorts in here. (he sees that Man on Table 5 has finished. He goes over and picks up the coffee) Caffeine fiend, are you?

Man on Table 5: Yeah, something like that.

Waiter: (points to photograph) Who's the woman?

Man on Table 5: I have no idea. I found it in a car park. (tosses it on the table) Anyway, I'm off to find some real beautiful women. I don't want to masturbate my life away, waiting.

Waiter: The way I see it, life's like one big restaurant. You wait hours to get served and finally someone turns up with your food. And you're telling your partner it's delicious...then you see the bill. You got ripped off- you could complain to the staff but then you're just another customer.

THE END

PLAY #9 - We Play, Therefore We Are

TITLE: We Play, Therefore We Are
GENRE: Comedy
CHARACTERS: LUCY, a housewife in her early 30's and her husband FRANK, also in his early 30's.
BRIEF DESCRIPTION: The characters in the play become aware that they're characters in a play.
SETTING: A small dining room, morning. A round dining table sits center stage, with four chairs arranged around it. A stove sits stage right, with a pot and frying pan on top. When lights come up, LUCY stands at the stove, dishing breakfast from the frying pan onto a plate. FRANK sits at the table, reading a newspaper.

LUCY: [Carries the plate from the stove and sets it on the table in front of FRANK.] I'm telling you, it's true!

FRANK: [Picks up a fork but doesn't eat.] What, that we're characters in some play?

LUCY: Yes!

FRANK: No we aren't.

LUCY: All right, fine. If we're not characters in a play, then where did all these people come from? [Waves a hand, indicating the audience.]

FRANK: What people?

LUCY: All those people. Out there. In the dark.

FRANK: [Peers out at the audience.] Oh, yeah. [Sets newspaper down on the table.]

LUCY: You see them?

FRANK: Yeah. Hey! You people get off my lawn!

LUCY: We don't have a lawn!

FRANK: What?

LUCY: I said, we don't have a lawn.

FRANK: Of course we do. I mow it every day, don't I?

LUCY: No, you don't. Because it isn't there.

FRANK: Oh, well, I suppose this food isn't here either.

LUCY: It's here.

FRANK: [Points his fork at her.] Aha!

LUCY: But it's fake.

FRANK: [Slaps fork down on the table and throws his hands up.] Oh, for cryin' out loud.

LUCY: It is. Try a bite.

FRANK: Look, this is all in your head, Luce. We're not characters, we're people. That weird friend of yours put this idea in your head.

LUCY: Dr. Descartes is not weird!

FRANK: What's that thing he said last week?

LUCY: 'And so something which I thought I was seeing with my eyes is in fact grasped solely by the faculty of judgment which is in my mind.'

FRANK: Like I said, weird.

LUCY: He is not weird! He also said 'I think, therefore I am,' which got me thinking --

FRANK: Always a dangerous exercise...

LUCY: -- got me thinking, and that's when I realized we have no control over our lives. We're just characters in someone else's play.

FRANK: Oh, this again.

LUCY: It's true!

FRANK: Look -

DIRECTOR (offstage): "Cut! Great scene, but we need to go back to the Descartes bit. It needs a little something. Take five and I'll get you new pages."

[While DIRECTOR speaks, FRANK looks up at the ceiling, then glances all around the stage and under the table.]

LUCY: [Crosses her arms.] Well?

FRANK: Okay, we're characters in a play. But we do have a lawn! [There is a pause. LUCY crosses her arms and stares at him.] I'll just...go mow it now.

[Lights dim as FRANK exits right.]

PLAY #10 - April Fresh

Title: April Fresh

Genre: A comedy

CHARACTERS:
PAOLO (loser)
SUZANNE (his paramour)
ROLANDO (PAOLO's brother, a mailman)

A couple shares some light banter. Mail is delivered.

EXT. Mid-morning; Springtime. A backyard flagstone patio. Downstage is a flower bed filled with, let's say, phlox. Stage right and stage left backdrop is a red brick wall topped with white-painted concrete. Crepe myrtle, etc., whatever necessary to suggest a garden. Centerstage is square flagstone patio extending downstage from sliding glass door. Round table/umbrella combo, with white-painted wrought iron chairs.

Seated at the table stage left is PAOLO, a salty-haired man of indeterminate middle age. His Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt belie the gargantuan weight of sadness and self-doubt he carries around like a mailbag full of undelivered letters to Santa from dying children. He's methodically scanning a newspaper, sipping from a coffee mug.

The sliding glass door opens and SUZANNE enters, carrying her own mug and a coffee airpot. Early middle aged, pleasant features, not overly concerned about hair and makeup. Wearing men's pajamas, a bathrobe and large sunglasses.

SUZANNE: More coffee, Hon?

PAOLO [Looks up with an expression of harried bafflement]: You call me a fucking German?

SUZANNE [Sits down and tops his mug off]: Why do I even talk to you in the morning? Why do I keep trying?

PAOLO: Daddy issues. [Sips coffee.] Good coffee.

SUZANNE: It's half Jameson's.

PAOLO: Nice job. [Abruptly crumples up newspaper section and hurls it away.] Christ! I shoulda been a mailman like my brother Rolando. At least that prick gets steady work. [Sound of a cellphone; ringtone is Siegfried's Funeral March. He hurriedly pulls it out of his pocket.] What? No, thank you. No. No. Stop it. I know they tell you to keep talking even after I say no, but I swear to Christ if you don't shut up right now I'll find out where you live and burn your house to the fucking ground. Fine, you too. [Hangs up.]

SUZANNE [Reading the Home & Garden section]: Was that Luis?

PAOLO: Who?

SUZANNE: Your cousin Luis?

PAOLO: My cousin, yes, my mother's sister's kid, why not my cousin Louis? I need him to help me haul something. I mean, no, it wasn't him, obviously, it was a telemarketer, but I'm waiting for a call back from my half-wit cousin Louis. Did you say Luis?

SUZANNE: Isn't that his name?

PAOLO: No, Luis is not his name, it's Louis. My mother is the one who gave her whole brood Latino names because she's nuts. My cousins are Lou and Al and Benjamin, like that. [Puts his head in his hands, rubbing his temples.]

SUZANNE: But isn't your aunt Latino too? Like your mother?

PAOLO [Raises his head]: What? Why are you torturing me? Nobody's Latino. My dad was German-Irish, my mother is a Jew from Connecticut. I've told you all this before, for Christ's sake.

SUZANNE: Take it easy, Honey.

PAOLO: I don't have to take it easy. That was our deal, we always can say what we want, just let it out, blow off steam and shout and yell and spout gibberish if we feel like it. You can be a bitch to your heart's content, I can rant and rave and that's why we're so good together. Fuck, don't take that away from me, Baby please, I've lost so much, I've got nothing left, I pissed it all away, don't just impulsively shitcan a beautiful relationship that's worked so well for so long, for -- what, how long now?

SUZANNE: Two weeks today! Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart. [She beams at him.]

PAOLO: Feels like goddamn years. I mean, yes! Two weeks! Have you any idea what a record that is for me, how amazing it is that you're still talking to me? I know it's partly the medication keeping you on an even keel, but I'll take what I can get.

SUZANNE: Feel better!

PAOLO [considers it, then scowls]: Rolando's a prick! [Drinks coffee.] No, I'm a prick.

SUZANNE: Nature "prick'd thee out for women's pleasure."

PAOLO: Really?

SUZANNE: Sure. Why not?

PAOLO: Thanks. Okay, you take your turn, go ahead and go off on me about my cousin.

SUZANNE: I thought you didn't like him, that's all.

PAOLO: Doesn't matter, I'm in a goddamn corner and he's the devil I know. [Puts his head down on the table. Muffled.] The only member of my insane fucking family who won't hang up on me. I'm scraping bottom. I'm at the fucking bottom of a fucking barrel full of fucking bad apples.

SUZANNE: Okay. Bottom of the barrel.

PAOLO: I'm through the bottom. I'm in a stinking black underworld inhabited by verminous, drug-addled cretins the likes of my cousin Luis.

SUZANNE: Louis.

PAOLO: My last hope, God help me. And he's got a van.

SUZANNE: Like your friend from college?

PAOLO [Baffled again]: What, you mean Van? No, that's just a guy called Van. Where are your pills?

SUZANNE [Laughing]: No, Sweetie, that girl who made a sculpture out of you.

PAOLO [Stares at her wordlessly for a few beats, breathing a little heavily]: You mean Monica? Baby, if I hadn't sold my gun long ago my brains would be decorating the wall right now. I can't take this today. What the hell are you talking about? She opens her mouth, but he explodes -- Jesus Christ, I told you she was avant-garde? Is that it, I told you about her found art installations and you just pulled out the word van? Louis has a van. What is wrong with you?

SUZANNE [Takes off her sunglasses]: Sweetie, what about your first sexual experience? You spent three hours talking about it.

PAOLO: I did?

SUZANNE: A strange thing to talk about on our first date, I thought, but I forgave you, which set up the pattern for our entire two-week romance. Fourteen days I'll never get back.

PAOLO: You're not saying it's over, are you?

SUZANNE: So your first time was with Monica, and it was on the patchouli-reeking shag carpet of Monica's van, which half the boys on campus referred to as the Vaginamobile. Monica's van.

PAOLO: Technically it was a Microbus.

SUZANNE: Artists who really are avant-garde probably don't call themselves that.

PAOLO: That's the one time you actually listened to me.

SUZANNE: Did you know you're the first man who made me feel like a complete woman? I can't be whole without being a vessel for your manseed.

PAOLO: Really?

SUZANNE: No. Hey -- what's my middle name? You don't know, do you?

PAOLO: Huh.

SUZANNE: Do you?

PAOLO: No.

SUZANNE: I've listened ad nauseum to more details than anybody should ever have to know about your entire twisted life, and you've never asked me a single question about myself because you don't care. Because I'm not your favorite subject, which is you.

PAOLO: Huh. Guess so.

SUZANNE: The next guy I'm involved with -- let's call him Samuel -- Samuel's going to be interested in all aspects of my life because he'll find me fascinating -- that's what I'm holding out for from now on. But I'll edit out these last two weeks from my bio, because Samuel will think so highly of me, I won't want him to know that I spent almost three hundred hours in your company.

PAOLO: That much?

SUZANNE: With luck I'll block out the whole period. That's right, asshole, I was just pretending not to know all about your congenitally defective family. Just to torture you.

[By now they're both standing, the table-cum-umbrella between them, PAOLO open-mouthed.]

SUZANNE [After a few beats]: Say something! [He meekly sits back down, and SUZANNE tromps back into the house, leaving the sliding door open.]

PAOLO [Distractedly]: One afternoon it was warm and I slept on a rubber air mattress floating on a lake, and it was like being in the womb but knowing you're in the womb. Self-awareness unburdened by identity. Rocking on the edge of warm oblivion. Pure… [From beyond the brick wall, suddenly we hear ROLANDO.]

ROLANDO: Hey Paolo! Here's your mail, bitch! [A box marked "FRAGILE" comes hurling over the wall, falling crumpled on the flagstones with the sound of something rare and lovely and brittle being abruptly transformed into trash, to hold company with cigarette butts and fish heads. You know the sound.]

PAOLO [Mechanically]: Thanks. [Turns to call into the house.] Packing, Babe?

SUZANNE [From within]: Just a sec! [She emerges, dressed, with an overnight case.] Been packed for a week.

PAOLO: So, where are you off to?

SUZANNE: Anywhere else. I hear it's nice this time of year. Bye! [Vanishes back into the house. Momentarily we hear the front door opening and slamming.]

[PAOLO gets up, finally, goes over to crumpled box of broken pretty things. Stares at it.]

PAOLO: Prick.

END

Okay. That's all 10 entries. And I posted them randomly, mixed them up a bit from the order in which they were received.

Enjoy.

And thank you to all the playwrights for taking the chance and hitting send!

Thanks, all...but really, I just had an idea. Everybody rushed to support...including the judges. I merely did some administration work. It was fun...and also fun bringing some interest into the playwriting forum. I hope that other members here are reading and enjoying your works! This is a great community...you just have to have a kernel of an idea...and the whole community gathers around it and suddenly it's aflame. You should be clapping for AW and voluntary judges and people brave enough to step into the scary waters of competition. Cheers all!

Oh, the fun of it all!

This just in from one of the judges:

I invited a couple of my actor buddies over for wine and cheese and we read these aloud so I could get a good sense of the run time and how the dialogue worked with a little color to it.

Click to expand...

Your plays have been performed! What an evening that must have been. Gives me a thrill just thinking about it!

I agree...this is a fabulous way to get a leg up in theatre. And you have to get the leg up if you have any hope of breaking it on opening night! When I'm writing, I'm constantly walking back and forth around the room talking out my lines. Don't forget this asset you have whenever you sit down and write a play...to constantly perform it out loud. Your ear is your friend when you're writing your play (truth be told, it's your friend no matter what you write...but particularly in playwriting).

I wonder...how many of you read your lines out loud while writing?

(Doesn't it just give you a thrill to know your work was performed...what a fun evening exercise. Don't be afraid to organize one yourself, with your own friends, while playwriting.)