2008 class
iPod pages? directing slideshow [photobucket.com/anatolant]
Glass Menagerie & R/G are Dead (samples)



... groups.google.com/group/directing

Theatre Lul Academe & directing

Lul-ONLINE (?)

From Addis Ababa?


TOPICS: drama + comedy + postmodern + time + space + show + spectacle + audience + theory + public +
2007 -- Oedipus * Hamlet * ( Don Juan ) * 3 Sisters * Godot * [ for midterm ]
[ advertising space : webmaster ]

Broadway tickets at TickCo. Get the best available Mary Poppins tickets as well as tickets to Wicked and Disney's High School Musical tickets.

Stage Directing Theory
Directing Theory: pre-text, text and super-text
THR221 Intermediate Acting students to work with!

* scene study I (old page = classic?)

Theatre Directing related:

total directing files

directing theory






Lesson 1. Directions: script vs. theatre (stage)





... use scenes from acting classes database

Directing Index * Part I * Part II * Part III * Part IV * Part V *
* Thr w/Anatoly * 200 Aesthetics * Acting * Script * Books * Film Directing * Theatre Theory * Write * Spectator * Classes * Plays * Students * Virtual Theatre * FILM-NORTH * BioMechanics * SHOWS * Bookmark vTheatre! METHOD Acting for Directors * HAMLET * Mailing List * Anatoly's Blog *


character + situation ...
plays.filmplus.org/mamet.html Oleanna (Mamet UAF 06)

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.


[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?

LAURA. What?

JIM. A pillow!

LAURA. Oh . . . [Hands him one quickly.]

JIM. How about you? Don't you like to sit on the floor?

LAURA. Oh--yes.

JIM. Why don't you, then?

LAURA. I--Will.

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].

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!

JIM. Aw!

LAURA. I sat across the aisle from you in the Aud.

JIM. Aw.

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!

LAURA. Yes--

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. No!


JIM. All three performances?

LAURA [looking down]. Yes.

JIM. Why?

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!

JIM. Yeah--

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!



[ 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) ...

First scene assignment: classic


2007 An online course supplement * Film-North * Anatoly Antohin * eCitations rate
2006 by vtheatre.net. Permission to link to this site is granted.

Next Theatre DIRECTING amazon Scene Study [SS]

stage directing home: 2007 GROUP * appendix * biblio * books * reading * references * links * faq * new * glossary * forum * students * notes * list * archive * keywords * swicki + theatre-swicki.eurekster.com * flickr * virtual theatre domains * calendar * popup * sum * video * store * my notebook * [ I ] [ II ] [ III ] [ IV ] [ V ] + amazon.com/kindle | * my live.com/theatre
See who's visiting this page.
film house vtheatre books acting pen map-mining movies-forum

american drama :
From Playwrights

Tom Stoppard. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

Act One

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.)
     ROS: 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.)
     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
     ROS: Heads.
     GUIL: Would you? (Flips a coin.)
     ROS: Heads.
     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).
Up-level my yahoo: theatre + Anatoly' blog RSS diigo it * Use http://vtheatre.net to link to Virtual Theatre pages!
Links to Site
Live Writing Advice

* All scripts and texts on this site are intended for educational purposes only * contents * google.com/group/directing * my director's notes blog * directing (google reader) * my notebook THEATRE * my.times * igoogle * my.yahoo * my spaces * groups.myspace.com/stagematrix | knol.google.com/k/anatoly-antohin

igoogle.com | my.yahoo.com | my.live.com | my.msn.com
Anatoly Antohin