Sunday, March 29, 2009

Fuck It, Let's Float

A FRONT YARD SOMEWHERE.

A Young Man drags a very large kiddie pool onto stage and sets it down. He walks off.
He returns with a hose, which he sets down in the pool. The hose stretches off offstage. He walks off.
There is a moment of silence, then the sound of soft, rushing water.
The hose goes violent as it is filled with water.

THE YOUNG MAN
(starting from offstage, running)
Shit shit shit shit shit.

He grabs the hose and aims it, adjusting the nozzle to something calmer. Once things are okay, he sets the hose down gently on the edge of the pool. He waits a second to make sure it won’t go haywire, then walks off.

From offstage we hear heavy dragging songs, and soft grunts. After a few beats, the young man emerges, dragging a large cooler behind him. He gets the cooler into position by the pool, opens it and takes out a beer, preferably a very large one. He opens it and drinks, satisfied. He watches the pool fill up, and nods in agreement.

After several beats of this, he walks offstage. He is gone a very long time. All we are left with is the sound of rushing water. For a very long time.

Hopefully the pool is filled just right, not too low, not overflowing. Because...

We hear the pad of joyous, jogging feet running in from offstage. Suddenly appears the Young Man, shirt off, holding some sort of inflatable chair. He dives in, chair first, creating a giant splash, continued by his explosive and boyish laugh. He gets himself seated in the chair, splashes a bit, then calms down. He floats around, towards the cooler, which he pops open, takes out another beer, and a pair of sunglasses, which he puts on.

He floats in quiet grace and splendor.

This is soon interrupted by the offstage click and clack of evil high heels.

A Young Woman, well dressed and sexy walks on. She has attitude and purpose. Her face looks like she just smelled a fart and it offended her to her very core. She walks over to the pool and stands by it, arms crossed, staring judgingly at our young man.

Long beat.

THE YOUNG WOMAN
Are you going to do this all day?

THE YOUNG MAN
(before she finishes)
Yes!

He splashes lightly in her direction.

THE YOUNG WOMAN
Don’t you even think about it?

THE YOUNG MAN
I didn’t. Don’t need to.

He splashes at her again, a little more intent.

THE YOUNG WOMAN
I’ll drown you. Are you going to work today?

THE YOUNG MAN
Don’t have work that needs doing. So I will not be going to work. There is no work.

The Young Woman gets irate, manifested in the tapping of her toe.

THE YOUNG WOMAN
Is this how things have devolved? You’re this guy now?

THE YOUNG MAN
Always was what I am. And now here I am. Floating.

He splashes at her again, this time water spilling out of the pool. The Young Woman has to step away slightly to avoid it.

She stands angry and hurt.

THE YOUNG WOMAN
Don’t you love me? Don’t you want to please me?

THE YOUNG MAN
Nope.

THE YOUNG WOMAN
But I love you.

THE YOUNG MAN
No you do not.

She thinks.

THE YOUNG WOMAN
You’re right. I don’t.

THE YOUNG MAN
Thank you. You’re missing everything.

THE YOUNG WOMAN
I’d rather.

THE YOUNG MAN
Sorry.

THE YOUNG WOMAN
Me too.

Silence.

THE YOUNG MAN
If you’re not in this pool in ten seconds, you’re going to wish you were.

THE YOUNG WOMAN
I can’t.

THE YOUNG MAN
...Nine...

THE YOUNG WOMAN
I won’t.

THE YOUNG MAN
...Seven...

THE YOUNG WOMAN
There isn’t a way.

THE YOUNG MAN
...Five...

THE YOUNG WOMAN
I have these shoes.

THE YOUNG MAN
...Three...

THE YOUNG WOMAN
I have some place I was supposed to be.

THE YOUNG MAN
...One...

THE YOUNG WOMAN
This will hurt.

THE YOUNG MAN
Yep.

And with that the Young Man splashes her. She is soaked and livid.

THE YOUNG WOMAN
YOU SON OF A BITCH!!! We are through!

She storms off, angry and wet.

The Young Man smiles and floats. If he needs to, he gets another beer.

The Young Man whistles/hums a tune of his own creation, starting soft and low, and gradually growing to full sung bombast. It is splendiferous.

A gruff and stout man, THE LANDLORD, waddles out towards the pool. He looks stereotypically of what you think a landlord should look like.

THE LANDLORD
So...you’s knows that's rents is twos weeks overdues?

THE YOUNG MAN
(Happy!)
Yes I do!

THE LANDLORD
Ands...yous knows that if I’s don’ts get its ins theses nexts weeks I’ms gonnas kick yous outs?

THE YOUNG MAN
I sure do!

THE LANDLORD
Alrights!

THE YOUNG MAN
Have a beer!

THE LANDLORD
I’ms onlys doin’s this becauses I’ms thirstys, ands nots becauses I’s likes you’s.

He takes a beer and goes.

The Young Man whistles his tune and drinks.

He reaches into the cooler again and pulls out fixin’s for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and begins to prepare himself one.

HIS PARENTS walks out, MOTHER and FATHER. They are attached to each other, but not in a weird way. They speak in chorus when they are attached.

HIS PARENTS
Hell son.

THE YOUNG MAN
Hello folks. Wanna’ sandwich?

HIS PARENTS
No, no. We already ate. We always already eat. Do you always eat?

THE YOUNG MAN
Mostly. Not always. When I need to sometimes.

HIS PARENTS
Well, that’s good. You know we only ask because we care.

THE YOUNG MAN
I know you guys do. Thanks. I don’t say that enough.

HIS PARENTS
And you don’t have to.

MOM breaks from DAD and goes to the Young Man with purpose. Dad, who has no purpose right now, kind of wanders and is confused. Mom kneels at the pool.

MOM
Honey, are you doing okay? You seem to be just drifting.

THE YOUNG MAN
That’s all I want to do right now.

MOM
So it’s a phase.

THE YOUNG MAN
If that’s what you need it to be. Yes.

MOM
So you’re okay? You don’t need anything?

THE YOUNG MAN
Nothing you’re not willing to give.

MOM
Okay, then. See you next week for Aunt Becky’s birthday. We’ll have cake!

THE YOUNG MAN
Thanks, Ma.

She kisses the top of his head.

MOM
Love you, sweetie.

THE YOUNG MAN
Love you too, Mom.

Mom goes and finds Dad, and points him towards the Young Man. He now has purpose. Mom does not. She stands still and quiet, looking a little sad and lost.

Dad kneels at the pool.

DAD
So, boy, how are things?

THE YOUNG MAN
Thingy.

DAD
You doing okay? You gettin’ out, making the scene.

THE YOUNG MAN
Maybe. If I knew what that was.

DAD
I mean, are you satisfied with how much you get outside?

THE YOUNG MAN
I’m outside, aren’t I?

DAD
Yeah. Yeah. That’s what I like to hear.

(beat)

You don’t, you don’t get sad too much, do ya’, boy?

THE YOUNG MAN
Not as much as some, but as much as the young are forced to.

Dad shakes his head in agreement.

DAD
How goes the job hunt?

THE YOUNG MAN
It’s not job season. Against the law to hunt ‘em.

DAD
So it’s just a phase.

THE YOUNG MAN
Sure, Dad, sure.

DAD
Do ya’ need anything?

THE YOUNG MAN
Wish I didn’t.

DAD
Well, it’s good we had this chat.

Dad gets up, squeezes the Young Man’s shoulder with great affection and wisdom.

DAD
See ya’ soon.

THE YOUNG MAN
See ya’, Dad.

Dad walks back to Mom, they attach, get really happy, and walk off.

The Young Man finishes his sandwich if he hasn’t already.

He floats for a minute, then reaches behind the pool, and pulls out a large water gun, of the pump action variety. He fills it up. He also finds a bucket, large enough to hold a lot of water balloons.

A Rider rides in on a fixed gear bike. While speaking, he never stops moving. He need not merely ride in circles. If he can do tricks, that would be better than not doing tricks.

RIDER
Hey, man, we’re going to the potluck later, wanted to see if you wanted to roll? Then we’re going to the coffee shop to see the open mic, Cassandra’s performing something? Then we were going to go raid the thrift shop for a fashion show anti-prom kinda’ deal. Then there is a house show later that someone’s band from some house Petey used to live in is playing at, vegan food galore. What say you? There’ll be anarcho-girls there, maybe some chick who runs a ‘zine that I’ve been trying to annoy lately. Maybe she’ll be my friend...

Before he can finish this, the Young Man has launched a water balloon at Rider, knocking him off his bike in a glorious crash.

RIDER
(lying on the floor)
Alright, well, gimme’ a call if you feel like doing anything later?

He gets up and wheels his broken bike off.

The Young Man floats around a little, aims his water gun straight up and fires a giant stream that come raining back down on him. He smiles and giggles.

A man in an old timey suit comes on, stick up his butt (maybe not literally, at least you shouldn’t be able to see it) walking frantically, constantly checking an pocket watch on a chain.

THE BOSS
You’re late young man! This will not, I say this will not stand! How do you ever expect to rise above the chaff in your chosen career if you constantly commit willful tardiness, even conscious absence?

THE YOUNG MAN
I don’t.

THE BOSS
Now you’re a good youngster. You have remarkable POTENTIAL. It’s time you started living up to it. Now, I am a magnanimous creature, and as such, I am going to allow you one more chance to prove yourself worthy of your own potential.

THE YOUNG MAN
It’s going to come back and bite you in the ass.

THE BOSS
I feel it’s going to pay great dividends. Very fiduciary.

THE YOUNG MAN
You’re not even using words anymore are you? Sad really. Such potential.

THE BOSS
Well then, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning then?

THE YOUNG MAN
Why, are you spending the night?

THE BOSS
Splendid! I’m off.

He leaves.

The Young Man pulls a popsicle from the freezer and enjoys it.

Two Sorority Girls in skimpy bikinis scamper on. They are giggly and bubbly and nauseating and boring.

SISTER ONE
Like, oh my God, I told you there was a pool here.

SISTER TWO
I never said there wasn’t a pool here, I said there wouldn’t be anyone at the pool here.

SISTER ONE
There is totally people here.

SISTER TWO
Who? Him?

The Young Man waves.

THE YOUNG MAN
How do?

SISTER TWO
He’s no one. You said there would be a ton of total bods here. And there are no fruit drinks. I need my berry and vodka combo.

SISTER ONE
Chill, bitch, chill. We’re just early. All the right people will be here later.

SISTER TWO
I hate being early.

There is an awkward silence.

THE YOUNG MAN
Want a popsicle?

The two girls look at him, make some sort of irritated clicking noise, roll their eyes, and walk away.

BOTH GIRLS
LAME!

THE YOUNG MAN
More for me.

He finishes his popsicle, sucks on the stick. The Girls are gone.

The Young Man sings himself an old song he loves.

THE YOUNG MAN
I am a bumblebee
Yep that’s me!
I am a bumblebee
That’s what I beeeeee...
And I’ll be a bumblebee forever, you see.
Unless I find something better suits me!

He smiles.

A very well dressed older man, wearing some sort of patriotic pin and a smile too big for Jesus strides in confidently. In his hand he carries a miniature American flag, which he never stops waving, unless he is very, very sad.

The Young Man does not notice him. He probably has his eyes closed or is taking a nap.

THE POLITICIAN
HELLO THERE, GOOD CITIZEN!

This scares the crap out of the Young Man. He splashes frantically. The Politician takes no notice of this.

THE POLITICIAN
You look like the kind of person who I’m after. You look like a young patriot who is tired of being bossed around, told what to do. Am I right? Of course I am? So, son, can I count on your vote?

He holds out his hand toward the Young Man. They both stare at each other.

THE POLITICIAN
Well?

THE YOUNG MAN
Who are you?

THE POLITICIAN
Haha! You’re a kidder, a wind up artist, I like that. This country could use more get up and go young people like you in this country. That’s why I know you’ll vote right. That’s why I know you’ll vote me.

THE YOUNG MAN
I don’t vote.

THE POLITICIAN
(suddenly very, very sad)
What?

THE YOUNG MAN
I’m not going to vote.

THE POLITICIAN
But you have to vote. It’s your sacred duty.

THE YOUNG MAN
No it’s not.

THE POLITICIAN
It’s not?

THE YOUNG MAN
No. It is a marker of confidence. I have no confidence in the things asking for my confidence. Therefore, I will give neither my confidence.

THE POLITICIAN
But one will be elected. There will be confidence shown.

THE YOUNG MAN
Will there? Is that really what it accomplishes?

(beat)

Would you vote for you?

The Politician completely freezes in fear.

The Young Man climbs back into his flotation device.

The Politician drops his miniature American Flag. The Young Man picks it up and begins to wave it, then affixes it to his flotation device.

The Politician begins to cry. An honest cry, however long that may take. He slowly walks off.

THE YOUNG MAN
Oh, the things that happen. Oh, the things that don’t.

A man dressed in some sort of official Judeo-Christian vestment, but not too ornamental, comes out.

THE PASTOR
Now, we didn’t see you in church, Young Man.

THE YOUNG MAN
I don’t go to church to be seen.

THE PASTOR
Quite. I meant, you haven’t been to church in a long, long time.

THE YOUNG MAN
It’s not much of a church.

THE PASTOR
Come again?

THE YOUNG MAN
I thought we already established I wasn’t going to.

THE PASTOR
I mean, would you clarify.

THE YOUNG MAN
No one likes each other there. They all plot. They all scheme. They treat things like a business. I’m not in business.

THE PASTOR
What are you in?

THE YOUNG MAN
This pool.

THE PASTOR
I think you and your soul are in dire trouble.

THE YOUNG MAN
Sure. Maybe. Prove it.

THE PASTOR
Can’t you have any faith?

THE YOUNG MAN
I do. But faith is free. Faith is not a book or a building. It’s not even this little kiddie pool. But it does the trick in a pinch.

THE PASTOR
Sounds like false idols to me.

THE YOUNG MAN
Well, you’re the one in the thousand year old cult. I’m the protesting. Kinda makes me a protestant, doesn’t it?

He smiles at the Pastor. The Pastor leaves.

A Teacher walks in.

THE TEACHER
Are you ever going to go back to school?

THE YOUNG MAN
Didn’t I waste enough time there?

THE TEACHER
But you had such potential.

THE YOUNG MAN
Haven’t I heard that before?

THE TEACHER
You were one of the most gifted people I ever met. You could have done anything.

THE YOUNG MAN
No I couldn’t.

THE TEACHER
What do you mean?

THE YOUNG MAN
How can I become anything, a number in the crowd, when all that matters is how many numbers there are, not what the individual numbers are doing. Only took me twenty years to figurer that out. I’m not an assembly line product.

THE TEACHER
But school provides the proper environment, for people to come together and discover.

THE YOUNG MAN
No school I ever went to. And I loved to read. No one told me I was special for that. No one told me I was exceptional. I had to figure it out for myself. School took credit for it. School copied off my paper.

The Teacher has nothing, and leaves.

The Bill Collector comes in.

THE BIL COLLECTOR
You’re overdue.

THE YOUNG MAN
(nonchalantly)
On what?

THE BILL COLLECTOR
On everything.

THE YOUNG MAN
Well...I’d better do something about that then.

THE BILL COLLECTOR
You don’t seem worried. Most people at least seem worried.

THE YOUNG MAN
I’m worried. Just not about the same things.

THE BILL COLLECTOR
This is serious. This could ruin your life.

THE YOUNG MAN
Anymore than life could ruin my life?

The two look at each other, smile.

THE BILL COLLECTOR
Okay then.

THE YOUNG MAN
Okay then.

The Bill Collector leaves, but first slaps a big foreclosure sign on the kiddie pool.

THE YOUNG MAN
Shit.

He stands up and actually leaves the pool.

He grabs another beer, but becomes frustrated, and throws it.

The sky blackens, and a white light appears upstage. A large, black hooded figure emerges. This is the ANGEL OF DEATH.

THE YOUNG MAN
Enough already.

THE ANGEL OF DEATH
No there is still more.

THE YOUNG MAN
Much?

THE ANGEL OF DEATH
Infinite much.

THE YOUNG MAN
Shit.

THE ANGEL OF DEATH
A day will come that is coming that has come when the sum total of all parts and more must be paid must be put in the black and ignorance and the ignoring will not account for what must be paid. Not choosing is a choice you will be reckoned for and with.

His Parents appear.

HIS PARENTS
We worry like you wouldn’t know.

The Young Woman appears.

THE YOUNG WOMAN
It’s love that makes us angry, and the fear of that which we let take it away.

THE ANGEL OF DEATH
(with all)
Claiming temporary repose without acknowledging an end, and a change and a beginning into matter, into road is an end-all.

The Politician appears. While he speaks, the Parents and Young Woman repeat there previous speeches in time, lower, so the new speaker can be heard. This will repeat and continue with each new cycle.

THE POLITICIAN
We wish you well and know you are with us, because how could you not be? You’re a patriot, temporarily distracted by your beliefs...

The Pastor appears.

THE PASTOR
Your beliefs are what you must cling to, they are all you have, but they must be the right beliefs...

THE ANGEL OF DEATH
(with all)
Blood churns and greases the wheels of time, time that is not slowing, that will not allow the tarrying of accomplishment. The beginning must begin.

The Landlord appears.

THE LANDLORD
You’s shoulds probably’s stops nots payings mes fors thes rents. Its gettin’s tos bes kinda’s a bothers.

The Boss appears.

THE BOSS
Lateness in all things will not be tolerated. There are consequences to our actions. Not one ever thinks of the consequences.

The Teacher appears.

THE TEACHER
Where have you gone? I know you’re in there? Come out. Come out.

Rider appears.

RIDER
It’s not enough to be seen, but how you are seen.

THE ANGEL OF DEATH
(with all)
We are coming we have come we are gone. And the dark and the dark and the dark consumes when allowed in apathy and apathy controls by apathy by acceptance by going along.

Everyone repeats the previous lines, though they are mixed up. It’s up to you who to assign which pieces. This keeps on until necessary.

The Angel of Death comes down and sits in the kiddie pool. He speaks over the chaos.

THE ANGEL OF DEATH
I am not here for you now but I am here for you and will wait until the time the time is what you have and are squandering. There will be no more time and your time has begun and your work has not. When will it begin when will it begin when will it begin when will it begin when will it begin?

THE YOUNG MAN
(not breaking stare, no frustration in his face)
STOP IT!!!

Everyone is silent and still. The Young Man rises.

THE YOUNG MAN
Can’t a guy just enjoy a day in a pool? It’s just a day. A day away. Away from all of you. A day spent not worrying or wandering or wondering. Only a day spent. A day when everything stops, a day when things don’t move for a time. Tomorrow they will start and tomorrow they will be dealt with and they will be succeeded and they will be failed and they will be, but for today they are nothing and I am in the pool! The pool where things are in stasis, but eventually the water drains or evaporates and you get all pruny and sunburnt and smelly and the beer runs out and you get sleepy but for a time, for a time, everything is still and no one bothers you.

(beat)

Doesn’t that sound nice?

Everyone looks at each other, tentatively considering.

They look at the Young Man.

ALL
YEAH!!!

THE YOUNG MAN
(with a big gesture)
Well, come on then! There’s still room. And there’s still time.

Everyone looks at each other again, big smiles all. Those that aren’t already, rip their clothes off, revealing swimsuits. They run and jump in the pool. Like I said, it needs to be kind of big. And if it’s not, all the better.

THE END

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Children’s Television Programming Guide For the First Week of April 2009

Weekdays
(ratings recommendations where appropriate)


Channel Zero
1:00 pm The Wacky Adventures Of Goebbels Armstrong of Star Democracy (contains dogma, not recommended for those who’ve been to school)

2:00pm The People’s Republic of Oregon presents Literacy for Reindeers (only available in central time zones)

Channel O
3:00pm Sex
4:00pm Violence (recommended all ages; excellent for parents to watch with kids)

Channel Ocelot
10am-8pm Amorphous Creature Singalong Sunny Time Funboree (not recommended for children with hope for future)

Public Broadcasting
2:55pm Books Am Gay (targeted at High School Students)
3:00pm Books Is Gay (targeted at Jr. College Students and their children)

Weekends
Commercials

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Brendan and Martin

This is a short, short one-act I wrote during my failed tenure in graduate school. However, it is being turned into a full length piece, and will receive a stage reading sometime in June (around Bloomsday) probably, presented by Alive Theatre in Long Beach. It will be called On a Fine Spring Evening.




William Butler Yeats, pint in hand, stands up precariously on a barstool, raising his glass.


YEATS
We hope to find, in Ireland, an uncorrupted and imaginative audience, trained to listen by its passion for oratory- we will show that Ireland is not the home of buffoonery and of sentiment, as it has been represented, but the home of an ancient idealism-

Suddenly, someone in the darkness hurls a bottle at his head. The bottle misses, but Yeats loses his balance, and goes arse over tit.

BRENDAN
Shut it old man!

YEATS
A terrible beauty is born...!

As he topples over, the lights quickly go out on him and simultaneously come up on two stout looking fellows the opposite side. One is young, well groomed, silver hair, very well put together. The other one not so much. He is portly from years of drink, and while he is younger, much so, than he appears, the drink has added decades to his visage. He could give a shit about any of that.

As the lights come up, these two gentleman are about carousing.

These two, are MARTIN MCDONAGH and BRENDAN BEHAN, respectively .

MARTIN
Brendan, don’t look now, but it’s the English!

Brendan jumps up with a yell, ready to fight. He sees there is no one there.

BRENDAN
Oh, you bastard. Carrying on when you know me health is in a delicate condition.

MARTIN
It’s in no delicate condition. Yer’ dead.

BRENDAN
And happier by it. I died the way I lived, in a terrible stupor, surrounded by typewriters and ignorant fucking people. Please don’t start counting yerself among them.

Martin concedes and they drink again.

BRENDAN
Martin, don’t look now, but here comes a herd of literary critics misinterpreting your work.

Martin whirls round behind himself.

MARTIN
Come on yeh bastards!

He leaps up, standing in fight mode, breathing heavily and deeply. He doesn’t come out of it.
Brendan, a bit worried, puts a hand on Martin’s shoulder.

BRENDAN
Calm it ta’ Hell down, boy. There’s nobody there. There are no critics in Heaven.

Martin comes out of it a bit.

MARTIN
Oh. Yes. I’d completely forgot.

Martin sits back down.

Brendan smiles devilishly then grabs another pint and downs the whole thing.

MARTIN
You know you have a problem...

BRENDAN
(finishing final swallow)
Oh, now don’t be starting that, you ol’ washerwoman. Moaning and keening on the state of meself and the things I do be putting into it. I had enough of that down there! “Stop it Brendan, yeh’ve had too much.” “Brendan, deary, you’ll wreck your liver.” “Mr. Behan, your weeing on the sergeant's boots.” What good did a healthy liver and a clean pair of boots ever get a man but boredom and heartache? None whatever. And don’t be lecturing me about getting too pissed and acting the fool, by and by, or have we forgotten what happened when you met that Scotsman...what was his name, Sean something...

MARTIN
(quietly)
Connery.

BRENDAN
Connery. Right. And what was it you told him to go himself, again?

MARTIN
I can’t remember.

BRENDAN
Have another sup and maybe your memory will be jogged. What’d you tell him?

MARTIN
I told him to go fuck himself.

BRENDAN
Yes you did. And didn’t that make you feel better?

MARTIN
Yes. Yes it did. Yes it very much fucking did. To be fair, he was being rather Scottish.

BRENDAN
They tend that way. Unwind yourself there, now. There’s no need to be so tense. This is a writer’s paradise. We have our own section here, y’know.

MARTIN
Really? How’d you all manage that?

BRENDAN
Mr. Joyce threatened to read Ulysses to God every hour of the day if he didn’t leave us to Hell alone. It’s amazing what a drunken Irishman with a pen can accomplish. Good one, Jimmy is. It’s because of him we have our section in Hell, too.

MARTIN
We do, now?

BRENDAN
Aye. Lucifer’s the only one could get all the way through Finnegan’s Wake. Thought it a scream. Said we were welcome any time.

MARTIN
Well, who’d a’ thought it? The devil himself, brimmin’ with as much charity as the baby Jesus.

BRENDAN
Well, y’know he’s a socialist.

MARTIN
Is he?

BRENDAN
Aye. Gives pennies to the poor and everything.

MARTIN
Is he?

Martin stares off into space, having become a bit maudlin.

BRENDAN
What’s wrong Martin? You seem to be staring into space, having become a bit maudlin.

MARTIN
Ah, was only thinkin’ about me old cat, I was.

BRENDAN
Is there something wrong with him?

MARTIN
Aye. He’s a bit off his food.

BRENDAN
Well, what steps have you taken?

MARTIN
Well, I’ve shot him in the head.

BRENDAN
Fair enough.

MARTIN
But don’t let that ruin the mood. Why don’t you finish that story you was telling earlier, before Mr. Yeats got on his high stool.

BRENDAN
All right.
(Brendan stands up, takes center stage)
My lord bishop, reverend fathers, reverend mothers ,your excellencies, my lord mayor, ladies and gentlemen, and fellow peasants...
(clears his throat loudly)
...And on the twenty-seventh day, or whenever it was he got ‘round to it, God created Ireland, a tiny uninhabitable shite stain of an island, according to him and those with stiff upper lips. But, in point of fact, it was actually a glowing green beauty called Erin, and Erin bore four children, Ulster, Leinster, Munster, and Connacht, and together, those four produced thirty two children, the Counties. And they did fight, and fuck, and drink, and drink, and drink, and occasionally they did get around to writing and singing, and doing it better than the rest of the world, so much so that they were generally ignored by the rest of the world and their “literary movements”, literary being another word for bowel. But all these children and their grand ol’ one didn’t care, for they knew they were better than the rest, and were content with that knowledge. And the Lord saw this and said this will not do, so he invented the English, who in turn invented literary criticism, literary still being a term for things to do with excretion. And the English did perpetually bother the Irish, with things like cannon fire, land seizure, and generally being English, English being a term for rancid wet-headed eejits. And these “critics” did read the work of the Irish, and they did get it wrong, as they generally do, not realizing some folks just want to tell a good story to folks who just want to hear a good story, that being the end of things. And these critics did frustrate the people who just wanted to hear a good story, as well as many a graduate student, until eventually the good people realized they did not have to listen to these critics, and the people rose as one and did slaughter the critics all in a grand and bloody show. And the world was much better for it.

MARTIN
That was a grand story, Mr. Behan.

BRENDAN
Why, thank you Mr. McDonagh.

MARTIN
You should write that one down.

BRENDAN
Ah now, wouldn’t it just go getting told wrong, even being written down. Besides, I’ve drinking to do.

The men resume drinking and laughing as the lights begin to dim.

A spotlight hits Yeats as he regains consciousness and stands.

YEATS
(rubbing his head)
A terrible beauty is born.

THE END

The Manifesto of Better Failures, or, Sammy Beckett says howdy...

Now is the time! For what we don’t know, but we have a pretty good idea!

We, as artists (we hope) and as humans (most of us), believe that only through art can the world be saved. But there is a problem. So much of what is considered art these days is boring, false, and downright pointless. We aim to change that, to transform the great things that have decayed through passage of time and woeful neglect through subversion, our own blissful ignorance, and by getting in way over our heads.

The old art is boring. The only solution is to create new art.

(At this point in our program, a member of the reading audience scratches their head,stands up, and speaks. This may seem unexpected, but we were prepared for it, because anything goes here*.)

But, idealistic manifesto writer, don’t you then run the risk of producing boring art.

Yes, dear reader, that is a possibility. But unlike most who create boring art, we already know that there is the possibility for failure, for not meeting our goals or clearly communicating our intentions. That is why the ability to FAIL BETTER is built into all we do. It is as worthwhile to watch a flawless performance as it is to watch someone fall flat on their ass. It’s only meaningless if the person on their ass doesn’t get up or pretends they didn’t just go ass over tit. Failing is learning.

We intend to produce art for those, who for whatever reasons, do not have art in their lives. We want to challenge these people while giving them reasons to choose us over the prevailing and growing forces of electronic and/or commercial “artforms”, but not forgetting or neglecting these things. (Let’s face it, we loved television before we loved theatre.)


We will not shy away from the difficult things, but we will not embrace them for the sake of their selves. Being provocative does not automatically a work of art make. No matter how absurd, how obscene, how reasoned, how pretty, or ugly a thing may be, it must have a purpose and not merely exist. Just existing is boring!

We want to be better, and if that means failing a whole bunch then so be it! One man’s failure is another man’s gain. Or woman’s. We are totally not sexist. Well...maybe a few of us. We can’t overlook the ugly things. That’s what makes us interesting.

This is not finished, and never should be. It should grow and change, while still keeping that original flame burning bright; the flame of discovery, of expression. We will grow and change and morph into something different with each new undertaking, always with purpose and failure and extreme joy.

Come the gathering storms, come the disagreements, come the fuck ups and forgotten lines, the missed cues and hellish roads paved with good intentions.

Bring it the fuck on.


*Earlier it was mentioned that anything goes. This may seem like a cop out so we can get away with doing anything no matter what the value or point is. Perhaps. But even perhapser we really do mean it. No matter how tightly realized a piece may be, the ability to change it or have it changed for you is inherent in theatre because theatre is living, it is happening right in front of you, behind you, on top of you, and inside of you. The audience should not feel trapped and silent in their attentiveness (especially if they’re bored, and especially not if they are affected by what they are experiencing, good or bad.), and neither should the performers. Being alive is being unpredictable, no matter how well rehearsed life becomes.