2008 class |
Theatre Lul Academe & directing
From Addis Ababa?
2007 -- Oedipus * Hamlet * ( Don Juan ) * 3 Sisters * Godot * [ for midterm ]
Broadway tickets at TickCo. Get the best available Mary Poppins tickets as well as tickets to Wicked and Disney's High School Musical tickets.
* scene study I (old page = classic?)
Theatre Directing related:
total directing files
... use scenes from acting classes database
plays.filmplus.org/mamet.html Oleanna (Mamet UAF 06)First scene assignment: classic
pomo.vtheatre.net -- postmodern theatre (summary from script.vtheatre.net/413) [dada and absurd]
Hamletmachine (Muller) 1975 (in class)
After Beckett (Godot in class -- when?) Ending.
... Williams [ in class ]
Glass Menagerie Scene Seven:
[ LAURAsits up nervously as he enters. Her speech at first is low and breathless from the almost intolerable strain of being alone with a stranger.
[THE LEGEND: "I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU REMEMBER ME AT ALL!"
[In her first speeches in this scene, before JIM'S warmth overcomes her paralyzing shyness, LAURA'S voice is thin and breathless as though she has just run up a steep flight of stairs. JIM'S attitude is gently humorous. In playing this scene it should be stressed that while the incident is apparently unimportant, it is to LAURAthe climax of her secret life.]
JIM. Hello, there, Laura.
LAURA [faintly]. Hello. [She clears her throat.]
JIM. How are you feeling now? Better?
LAURA. Yes. Yes, thank you.
JIM. This is for you. A little dandelion wine.
[He extends it toward her with extravagant gallantry.]
LAURA. Thank you.
JIM. Drink it--but don't get drunk!
[He laughs heartily. LAURAtakes the glass uncertainly; laughs shyly.]
Where shall I set the candles?
LAURA. Oh--oh, anywhere . . .
JIM. How about here on the floor? Any objections?
JIM. I'll spread a newspaper under to catch the drippings. I like to sit on the floor. Mind if I do?
LAURA. Oh, no.
JIM. Give me a pillow?
JIM. A pillow!
LAURA. Oh . . . [Hands him one quickly.]
JIM. How about you? Don't you like to sit on the floor?
JIM. Why don't you, then?
JIM. Take a pillow!
[ LAURA does. Sits on the other side of! the candelabrum. JIMcrosses his legs and smiles engagingly at her.]
I can't hardly see you sitting way over there.
LAURA. I can--see you.
JIM. I know, but that's not fair, I'm in the limelight.
[ LAURAmoves her pillow closer.]
Good! Now I can see you! Comfortable?
JIM. So am I. Comfortable as a cow! Will you have some gum?
LAURA. No, thank you.
JIM. I think that I will indulge, with your permission. [Musingly unwraps it and holds it up.] Think of the fortune made by the guy that invented the first piece of chewing gum. Amazing, huh? The Wrigley Building is one of the sights of Chicago.--I saw it summer before last when I went up to the Century of Progress. Did you take in the Century of Progress?
LAURA. No, I didn't.
JIM. Well, it was quite a wonderful exposition. What impressed me most was the Hall of Science. Gives you an idea of what the future will be in America, even more wonderful than the present time is! [Pause. Smiling at her] Your brother tells me you're shy. Is that right, Laura?
LAURA. I--don't know.
JIM. I judge you to be an old-fashioned type of girl. Well, I think that's a pretty good type to be. Hope you don't think I'm being too personal--do you?
LAURA [hastily, out of embarrassment]. I believe I will take a piece of gum, if you--don't mind. [Clearing her throat] Mr. O'Connor, have you--kept up with your singing?
JIM. Singing? Me?
LAURA. Yes. I remember what a beautiful voice you had.
JIM. When did you hear me sing?
[VOICE OFF STAGE IN THE PAUSE]
VOICE [off stage].O blow, ye winds, heigh-ho, A-roving I will go! I'm off to my love With a boxing glove-- Ten thousand miles away!JIM. You say you've heard me sing?
LAURA. Oh, yes! Yes, very often . . . I--don't suppose--you remember me--at all?
JIM [smiling doubtfully]. You know I have an idea I've seen you before. I had that idea soon as you opened the door. It seemed almost like I was about to remember your name. But the name that I started to call you--wasn't a name! And so I stopped myself before I said it.
LAURA. Wasn't it--Blue Roses?
JIM [springs up. Grinning]. Blue Roses!--My gosh, yes--Blue Roses!
That's what I had on my tongue when you opened the door! Isn't it funny what tricks your memory plays? I didn't connect you with high school somehow or other.
But that's where it was; it was high school. I didn't even know you were Shakespeare's sister!
Gosh, I'm sorry.
LAURA. I didn't expect you to. You--barely knew me!
JIM. But we did have a speaking acquaintance, huh?
LAURA. Yes, we--spoke to each other.
JIM. When did you recognize me?
LAURA. Oh, right away!
JIM. Soon as I came in the door?
LAURA. When I heard your name I thought it was probably you. I knew that Tom used to know you a little in high school. So when you came in the door-- Well, then I was--sure.
JIM. Why didn't you say something, then?
LAURA [breathlessly]. I didn't know what to say, I was--too surprised!
JIM. For goodness' sakes! You know, this sure is funny!
LAURA. Yes! Yes, isn't it, though . . .
JIM. Didn't we have a class in something together?
LAURA. Yes, we did.
JIM. What class was that?
LAURA. It was--singing--Chorus!
LAURA. I sat across the aisle from you in the Aud.
LAURA. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
JIM. Now I remember--you always came in late.
LAURA. Yes, it was so hard for me, getting upstairs. I had that brace on my leg--it clumped so loud!
JIM. I never heard any clumping.
LAURA [wincing at the recollection]. To me it sounded like--thunder!
JIM. Well, well, well, I never even noticed.
LAURA. And everybody was seated before I came in. I had to walk in front of all those people. My seat was in the back row. I had to go clumping all the way up the aisle with everyone watching!
JIM. You shouldn't have been self-conscious.
LAURA. I know, but I was. It was always such a relief when the singing started.
JIM. Aw, yes, I've placed you now! I used to call you Blue Roses. How was it that I got started calling you that?
LAURA. I was out of school a little while with pleurosis. When I came back you asked me what was the matter. I said I had pleurosis-you thought I said Blue Roses. That's what you always called me after that!
JIM. I hope you didn't mind.
LAURA. Oh, no--I liked it. You see, I wasn't acquainted with many-people. . . .
JIM. As I remember you sort of stuck by yourself.
LAURA. I--I--never have had much luck at--making friends.
JIM. I don't see why you wouldn't.
LAURA. Well, I--started out badly.
JIM. You mean being--
LAURA. Yes, it sort of--stood between met--
JIM. You shouldn't have let it!
LAURA. I know, but it did, and--
JIM. You were shy with people!
LAURA. I tried not to be but never could--
JIM. Overcome it?
LAURA. No, I--I never could!
JIM. I guess being shy is something you have to work out of kind of gradually.
LAURA [sorrowfully]. Yes--I guess it--
JIM. Takes time!
JIM. People are not so dreadful when you know them. That's what you have to remember! And everybody has problems, not just you, but practically everybody has got some problems.
You think of yourself as having the only problems, as being the only one who is disappointed. But just look around you and you will see lots of people as disappointed as you are. For instance, I hoped when I was going to high school that I would be further along at this time, six years later, than I am now-- You remember that wonderful write-up I had in The Torch?
LAURA. Yes! [She rises and crosses to table.]
JIM. It said I was bound to succeed in anything I went into!
Holy Jeez! The Torch!
[He accepts it reverently. They smile across it with mutual wonder. LAURA crouches beside him and they begin to turn through it. LAURA'S shyness is dissolving in his warmth.]
LAURA. Here you are in The Pirates of Penzance!
JIM [wistfully]. I sang the baritone lead in that operetta.
LAURA [raptly]. So--beautifully!
JIM [protesting]. Aw--
LAURA. Yes, yes--beautifully--beautifully!
JIM. You heard me?
LAURA. All three times!
JIM. All three performances?
LAURA [looking down]. Yes.
LAURA. I--wanted to ask you to--autograph my program.
JIM. Why didn't you ask me to?
LAURA. You were always surrounded by your own friends so much that I never had a chance to.
JIM. You should have just--
LAURA. Well, I--thought you might think I was--
JIM. Thought I might think you was--what?
JIM [with reflective relish]. I was beleaguered by females in those days.
LAURA. You were terribly popular!
LAURA. You had such a--friendly way--
JIM. I was spoiled in high school.
LAURA. Everybody--liked you!
JIM. Including you?
LAURA. I--yes, I--I did, too--
[She gently closes the book in her lap.]
JIM. Well, well, well!--Give me that program, Laura.
[She hands it to him. He signs it with a flourish.]
There you are--better late than never!
LAURA. Oh, I--what a--surprise!
JIM. My signature isn't worth very much right now.
But some day--maybe--it will increase in value! Being disappointed is one thing and being discouraged is something else. I am disappointed but I am not discouraged. I'm twenty-three years old. How old are you?
LAURA. I'll be twenty-four in June.
JIM. That's not old age!
LAURA. No, but--
JIM. You finished high school?
LAURA [with difficulty]. I didn't go back.
JIM. You mean you dropped out?
LAURA. I made bad grades in my final examinations.
[She rises and replaces the book and the program. Her voice strained]
How is-- Emily Meisenbach getting along?
JIM. Oh, that kraut-head!
LAURA. Why do you call her that?
JIM. That's what she was.
LAURA. You're not still--going with her?
JIM. I never see her.
LAURA. It said in the Personal Section that you were--engaged!
JIM. I know, but I wasn't impressed by that--propaganda!
LAURA. It wasn't--the truth?
JIM. Only in Emily's optimistic opinion!
[LEGEND: "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE SINCE HIGH SCHOOL?"
[ JIM lights a cigarette and leans indolently back on his elbows smiling at LAURAwith a warmth and charm which lights her inwardly with altar candles. She remains by the table and turns in her hands a piece of glass to cover her tumult.]
contemporary (living) playwrights (list)
... Pinter, Stoppard ... Late Stoppard (Utopia'08), Durang (Beyond Therapy) ...
2007 An online course supplement * Film-North * Anatoly Antohin * eCitations
© 2006 by vtheatre.net. Permission to link to this site is granted.
Theatre DIRECTING amazon Scene Study [SS]
american drama :
Tom Stoppard. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
Two ELIZABETHANS passing time in a place without any visible character. They are well-dressed - hats, cloaks, sticks and all. Each of them has a large leather money bag. Guildenstern's bag is nearly empty. Rosencrantz's bag is nearly full. The reason being: they are betting on the toss of a coin, in the following manner: Guildenstern (hereafter 'GUIL') takes a coin out of his bag, spins it, letting it fall. Rosencrantz (hereafter 'ROS') studies it, announces it as "heads" (as it happens) and puts it into his own bag. Then they repeat the process. They have apparently been doing it for some time. The run of "heads" is impossible, yet ROS betrays no surprise at all - he feels none. However he is nice enough to feel a little embarrassed at taking so much money off his friend. Let that be his character note. GUIL is well alive to the oddity of it. He is not worried about the money, but he is worried by the implications ; aware but not going to panic about it - his character note. GUIL sits. ROS stands (he does the moving, retrieving coins). GUIL spins. ROS studies coin. ROS: Heads. (He picks it up and puts it in his money bag. The process is repeated.) Heads. (Again.) ROS: Heads. (Again.) Heads. (Again.) Heads. GUIL (flipping a coin): There is an art to the building up of suspense. ROS: Heads. GUIL (flipping another): Though it can be done by luck alone. ROS: Heads. GUIL: If that's the word I'm after. ROS (raises his head at GUIL): Seventy-six love. (GUIL gets up but has nowhere to go. He spins another coin over his shoulder without looking at it, his attention being directed at his environment or lack of it.) Heads. GUIL: A weaker man might be moved to re-examine his faith, if in nothing else at least in the law of probability. (He slips a coin over his shoulder as he goes to look upstage.) ROS: Heads. (GUIL, examining the confines of the stage, flips over two more coins, as he does so, one by one of course. ROS announces each of them as "heads".) GUIL (musing): The law of probability, as it has been oddly asserted, is something to do with the proposition that if six monkeys (he has surprised himself)... if six monkeys were... ROS: Game? GUIL: Were they? ROS: Are you? GUIL (understanding): Games. (Flips a coin.) The law of averages, if I have got this right, means that if six monkeys were thrown up in the air for long enough they would land on their tails about as often as they would land on their - ROS: Heads. (He picks up the coin.) GUIL: Which at first glance does not strike one as a particularly rewarding speculation, in either sense, even without the monkeys. I mean you wouldn't bet on it. I mean I would, but you wouldn't... (As he flips a coin.) ROS: Heads. GUIL: Would you? (Flips a coin.) ROS: Heads. (Repeat.) Heads. (He looks up at GUIL - embarrassed laugh.) Getting a bit of a bore, isn't it? GUIL (coldly): A bore? ROS: Well... GUIL: What about suspense? ROS (innocently): What suspense? (Small pause.) GUIL: It must be the law of diminishing returns... I feel the spell about to be broken. (Energising himself somewhat.) (He takes out a coin, spins it high, catches it, turns it over on to the back of his other hand, studies the coin - and tosses it to ROS. His energy deflates and he sits.) Well, it was a even chance... if my calculations are correct. ROS: Eighty-five in a row - beaten the record! GUIL: Don't be absurd. ROS: Easily! GUIL (angry): Is the it, then? Is that all? ROS: What? GUIL: A new record? Is that as far as you prepared to go? ROS: Well... GUIL: No questions? Not even a pause? ROS: You spun it yourself. GUIL: Not a flicker of doubt? ROS (aggrieved, aggressive): Well, I won - didn't I? GUIL (approaches him - quieter): And if you'd lost? If they'd come down against you, eighty -five times, one after another, just like that? ROS (dumbly): Eighty-five in a row? Tails? GUIL: Yes! What would you think? ROS (doubtfully): Well... (Jocularly.) Well, I'd have a good look at your coins for a start! GUIL (retiring): I'm relieved. At least we can still count on self-interest as a predictable factor... I suppose it's the last to go. Your capacity for trust made me wonder if perhaps... you, alone... (He turns on him suddenly, reaches out a hand.) Touch. (ROS claps his hand. GUIL pulls him up to him.) (More intensely): We have been spinning coins together since - (He releases him almost as violently.) This is not the first time we spun coins! ROS: Oh no - we've been spinning coins for as long as I remember. GUIL: How long is that? ROS: I forget. Mind you - eighty-five times! GUIL: Yes? ROS: It'll take some time beating, I imagine. GUIL: Is that what you imagine? Is that it? No fear? ROS: Fear? GUIL (in fury - flings a coin on the ground): Fear! The crack that might flood your brain with light! ROS: Heads... (He puts it in his bag.) (GUIL sits despondently. He takes a coin, spins it, lets it fall between his feet. He looks at it, picks it up; throws it to ROS, who puts it in his bag.) (GUIL takes another coin, spins it, catches it, turns it over on to his other hand, looks at it, and throws it to ROS who puts it in his bag.) (GUIL tales a third coin, spins it, catches it in his right hand, turns it over on to his loft wrist, lobs it in the air, catches it with his left hand, raises his left leg, throws the coin up under it, catches it and turns it over on to the top of his head, where it sits. ROS comes, looks at it, puts it in his bag.) ROS: I'm afraid - GUIL: So am I. ROS: I'm afraid it isn't your day. GUIL: I'm afraid it is. (Small pause.) ROS: Eighty-nine. GUIL: It must be indicative of something, besides the redistribution of wealth. (He muses.) List of possible explanations. One: I'm willing it. Inside where nothing shows, I'm the essence of a man spinning double-headed coins, and betting against himself in private atonement for an unremembered past. (He spins a coin at ROS.) ROS: Heads. GUIL: Two: time has stopped dead, and a single experience of one coin being spun once has been repeated ninety times... (He flips a coin, looks at it, tosses it to ROS.) On the whole, doubtful. Three: divine intervention, that is to say, a good turn from above concerning him, cf. children of Israel, or retribution from above concerning me, cf. Lot's wife. Four: a spectacular vindication of the principle that each individual coin spun individually (he spins one) is as likely to come down heads as tails and therefore should cause no surprise that each individual time it does. (It does. He tosses it to ROS.) ROS: I've never known anything like it! GUIL: And syllogism: One, he has never known anything like it. Two: he has never known anything to write home about. Three, it's nothing to write home about... Home... What's the first thing you remember? ROS: Oh, let's see...The first thing that comes into my head, you mean? GUIL: No - the first thing you remember. ROS: Ah. (Pause.) No, it's no good, it's gone. It was a long time ago. GUIL (patient but edged): You don't get my meaning. What is the first thing after all the things you've forgotten? ROS: Oh. I see. (Pause.) I've forgotten the question. GUIL: How long have you suffered from a bad memory? ROS: I can't remember. (GUIL paces.) GUIL: Are you happy? ROS: What? GUIL: Content? At ease? ROS: I suppose so. GUIL: What are you going to do now? ROS: I don't know. What do you want to do? GUIL: I have no desires. None. (He stops pacing dead.) There was a messenger... that's right. We were sent for. (He wheels at ROS and raps out.) Syllogism the second: one: probability is a factor which operates within natural forces. Two, probability is not operating as a factor. Three, we are now within un-, sub- or supernatural forces. Discuss. (ROS is suitably startled - Acidly.) Not too heatedly. ROS: I'm sorry, I - What's the matter with you? GUIL: A scientific approach to the examination of phenomena is a defence against the pure emotion of fear. Keep tight hold and continue while there's time. Now - counter to the previous syllogism: tricky one, follow me carefully, it may prove a comfort. If we postulate, and we just have, that within un-, sub- or supernatural forces the probability is that the law of probability will not operate as a factor, then we must accept that the probability of the first part will not operate as a factor, in which case the law of probability will operate as a factor within un-, sub- or supernatural forces. And since it obviously hasn't been doing so, we can take it that we are not held within un-, sub- or supernatural forces after all; in all probability, that is. Which is a great relief to me personally. (Small pause.) Which is all very well, except that - (He continues with tight hysteria, under control.) We have been spinning coins together since I don't know when, and in all that time (if it is all that time) I don't suppose either of us was more than a couple of gold pieces up or down. I hope that doesn't sound surprising because it's very unsurprisingness is something I am trying to keep hold of. The equanimity of your average pitcher and tosser of coins depends upon a law, or rather a tendency, or let us say a probability, or at any rate a mathematically calculable chance, which ensures that he will not upset himself by losing too much nor upset his opponent by winning too often. This made for a kind of harmony and a kind of confidence. It related the fortuitous and ordained into a reassuring union which we recognised as nature. The sun came up about as often as it went down, in the long run, and a coin showed heads about as often as it showed tails. Then a messenger arrived. We had been sent for. Nothing else happened. Ninety-two coins sun consecutively have come down heads ninety-two consecutive times... and for the last three minutes on the wind of a windless day I have heard the sound of drums and flute... ROS (cutting his fingernails): Another curious scientific phenomenon is the fact that the fingernails grow after death, as does the beard. GUIL: What? ROS (loud): Beard! GUIL: But you're not dead. ROS (irritated): I didn't say they started to grow after death! (Pause, calmer.) The fingernails also grow before birth, though not the beard. GUIL: What? ROS (shouts): Beard! What's the matter with you? (Reflectively.) The toenails, on the other hand, never grow at all. GUIL (bemused): The toenails never grow at all? ROS: Do they? It's a funny thing - I cut my fingernails all the time, and every time I think to cut them, they need cutting. Now, for instance. And yet, I never, to the best of my knowledge, cut my toenails. They ought to be curled under my feet by now, but it doesn't happen. I never think about them. Perhaps I cut them absent-mindedly, when I'm thinking of something else. GUIL (tensed up by this rambling): Do you remember the first thing that happen today? ROS (promptly): I woke up, I suppose. (Triggered.) Oh - I've got it now - that man, a foreigner, he woke us up - GUIL: A messenger. (He relaxes, sits.) ROS: That's it - pale sky before dawn, a man standing on his saddle to bang on the shutters - shouts - What's all the row about?! Clear off! - but then he called our names. You remember that - this man woke us up. GUIL: Yes. ROS: We were sent for. GUIL: Yes. ROS: That's why we're here. (He looks round, seems doubtful, then the explanation.) Travelling. GUIL: Yes. ROS (dramatically): It was urgent - a matter of extreme urgency, a royal summons, his very words: official business and no questions asked - lights in the stable-yard; saddle up and off headlong and hotfoot across the land, our guides outstripped in breakneck pursuit of our duty! Fearful lest we come too late. (Small pause.) GUIL: Too late for what? ROS: How do I know? We haven't got there yet. GUIL: Then what are we doing here, I ask myself. ROS: You might well ask. GUIL: We better get on. ROS: You might well think. GUIL: Without much conviction; we better get on. ROS (actively): Right! (Pause.) On where? GUIL: Forward. ROS (forward to footlights): Ah. (Hesitates.) Which way do we - (He turns round.) Which way did we - ? GUIL: Practically starting from scratch... An awakening, a man standing on his saddle to bang on the shutters, our names shouted in a certain dawn, a message, a summons... A new record for pitch and toss. We have not been.. picked out... simply to be abandoned... set loose to find our own way... We are entitled to some direction... I would have thought. ROS (alert, listening): I say - ! I say - (GUIL rises himself.) GUIL: Yes? ROS: Like a band. (He looks around, laughs embarrassedly, expiating himself.) It sounded like - a band. Drums. GUIL: Yes. ROS (relaxes): It couldn't have been real. GUIL: "The colours red, blue and green are real. The colour yellow is a mystical experience shared by everybody" - demolish. ROS (at edge of stage): It must have been thunder. Like drums... (By the end of the next speech, the band is faintly audible.) GUIL: A man breaking his journey between one place and another at a third place of no name, character, population or significance, sees a unicorn cross his path and disappear. That in itself is startling, but there are precedents for mystical encounters of various kinds, or to be less extreme, a choice of persuasions to put it down to fancy; until - "My God," says the second man, "I must be dreaming, I thought I saw a unicorn." At which point, a dimension is added that makes the experience as alarming as it will ever be. A third witness, you understand, adds no further dimension but only spreads it thinner, and a fourth thinner still, and the more witnesses there are, the thinner it gets and the more reasonable it becomes until it is as thin as reality, the name we give to the common experience... "Look, look" recites the crowd. "A horse with an arrow in its forehead! It must have been mistaken for a deer." ROS (eagerly): I knew all along it was a band. GUIL (tiredly): He knew all along it was a band. ROS: Here they come! GUIL (at the last moment before they enter - wistfully): I'm sorry it wasn't the unicorn. It would have been nice to have unicorns. (The TRAGEDIANS are six in number, including a small BOY(ALFRED).my yahoo: theatre + Anatoly' blog RSS * Use http://vtheatre.net to link to Virtual Theatre pages!