I was concerned this time because I felt as though I didn't flush out the characters as much as I would have liked. I don't think I differentiated them as much as I could have, and that's something I prided myself on in previous plays.
This play was a different beast. The heart of the story was driven more by the situation than by the characters. And I really wanted none of the characters to learn anything or grow or change, so then of course, none of them did. I think because of that, it felt shorter. Snappier. Less of a pivotal moment in a character's life and more of a stupid thing that happened once.
Which, I've decided, is fine. It worked. The actors and director were amazing and they did brilliant things. The ending I'd written was weak. I knew it was weak. But they made it work, given great stage direction decisions and a change of props. Also, when the father was telling one of his many stories, the kids would mouth along with him, doing the same hand gestures as if they'd heard it a million times before. Brilliant! That gave it history and tied the characters together.
So now that I've alerted you to all the nit-picky things I don't like, here's the script for you to read! Enjoy.
DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES
SETTING:
We are in a church, at a funeral with a
coffin stage center and two chairs off to the side as if part of the
congregation, but still facing the audience.
AT
RISE:
DAD lies in a coffin. SON and DAUGHTER
sit in the chairs.
(SON
walks to the front to address the audience.)
SON
Summing
up my father's life is a tall order. He
seized every opportunity, climbed every mountain, fell out of every
tree. So if there's one thing to say about him, it's that he was
full of love. Full of life.
(DAD
groans and sits up, rubbing his head.)
DAD
Who
hit me?
DAUGHTER
Shh.
We're at a funeral.
DAD
(lowers
his voice) Oh. Oh. Sorry.
SON
(nostalgic)
I remember once we went on this family vacation to the beach. He
wanted to show us the ocean, and I remember the waves and the color
of the sea shells we found and I remember his smile. He let us eat
the lime wedges out of his beer, and when I got sun burnt he laughed
and laughed.
DAD
(whispers)
Whose funeral are we at?
DAUGHTER
Yours.
DAD
Ah.
Okay...Wait. What?
DAUGHTER
Shut
up. You're dead now.
DAD
I'm
not dead.
DAUGHTER
Yes,
you are. (gestures) We're at your funeral.
SON
He
had the most amazing laugh. It was warm like a fresh grilled cheese.
God, Dad loved grilled cheese. He liked to eat it in front of us
and...he'd say these things—oh, they were so dad—like, “What am
I, your fucking chef? Make your own. Oh you can't because we're out
of cheese? Ha! Nerd!”
DAD
Heh.
Nerd.
SON
He
taught me that I needed to make my own grilled cheese. That I needed
to be my own man.
DAD
Oh
God, really? You nerd. Sit down.
SON
Dad.
Shut up.
DAUGHTER
You're
interrupting.
SON
Even
in the afterlife, you're still invalidating my opinions. I don't
believe this.
DAD
How
is this the afterlife? I'm not dead.
SON
Yes,
you are.
DAD
Then
how am I talking?
SON
Because
you're a asshole enough to interrupt my eulogy from beyond the grave.
DAUGHTER
And
I think you're a ghost or something.
(DAD
pats his chest to check that he's solid.)
DAD
Am
not.
DAUGHTER
All
ghosts think that.
SON
Pretty
sure you're a ghost.
DAD
Pretty
sure you're just having a funeral for me even though I'm not dead.
SON and DAUGHTER at the same time
No.
What? Never. We wouldn't do that.
DAD
Alright.
Alright. You want to have my funeral. Go on. Talk about how great
I am. I want to hear. Talk about that time I wrestled that
alligator. Unless it doesn't fit into one of your cheesy metaphors.
DAUGHTER
Grilled
cheesy metaphors.
DAD
Hey-o!
SON
(clears
throat.) My father's good mood was contagious. I remember, at a low
point in my life, my dad drove me to school to move me into my dorm.
And I was scared and embarrassed and just a stupid freshman, but my
dad pulled this bullhorn out of the back of the car, climbed up on
the hood and shouted--
DAD
Safety
school! Woooo!
SON
Uh.
Yeah. That was just the kinda guy he was.
(SON
takes a seat, DAUGHTER takes his place at the front.)
DAD
Come
on, baby girl. Do me proud. Talk about that time I was a god damned
hero and fell off that cliff. I was on the news and everything. I'm
a celebrity.
DAUGHTER
Okay,
dad. Well. Over the last couple of days, I've tried to stand
strong. I've tried to remember the good times, full of love and
joy—moments that I can hold in my heart forever. I've been asking
myself, “What would dad do?”
DAD
Did
you change my clothes?
SON
Yeah.
We had to. Yours were burnt. They had holes and charred bits.
DAUGHTER
We
tried to make you look nice. You can't wear burnt clothes to a
funeral.
SON
And
you had vomit and glitter on your shirt. Can't wear that to a
funeral either.
DAUGHTER
It
wasn't appropriate. We're in a church for fuck's sake. You can't
have glitter in a church.
DAD
Why
the hell not? That's a fucked up rule.
DAUGHTER
I
know! But shut up. You're still dead, and I'm in the middle of
something here.
DAD
Yeah,
yeah. Carry on. Boo hoo, and all that.
DAUGHTER
So
anyway, I've been asking myself, “What would dad do?” And I
thought about all the times he's bound this family together. The
times he held us when we fell off our bikes.
DAD
Your
bikes? First grilled cheese and now bikes. What about my CD rental
business? That's taking off.
DAUGHTER
That
time we had Thanksgiving.
DAD
And
you screwed up the cranberry sauce? It comes in a can!
DAUGHTER
(Growing
more frustrated.) The times he locked us in the attic until we
Battle Royaled out our differences.
DAD
And
yet you're both still alive.
SON
Dad.
DAD
And
so am I! How about that?
DAUGHTER
The
times he went partying with us and stole my girlfriends.
DAD
Meghan!
(To SON) Remember Meghan? Good times.
DAUGHTER
Yeah.
He was a character. I'll, uh, I'll miss you, daddy.
(DAUGHTER
takes her seat.)
DAD
(He
waits for a second for them to say something more) Seriously?
That's my funeral? That was awful.
SON
It's
not over yet. They're gonna play a hymn I think.
DAD
Oh
are they? Well that makes it all okay then, doesn't it?
SON
Dad...
DAD
No!
What about how I invented mint milano cookies but then those
dipshits stole my idea? What about how I caught that four foot bass
and then released it (because I'm kind!)
and the pictures of it didn't turn out. And what about my hair? You
didn't even mention my hair.
DAUGHTER
I
think we talked about those before you woke up.
SON
And
by “woke up” she means...
DAUGHTER
Became
a ghost.
DAD
I'm
not a god damned ghost, you nerds.
SON
Well,
I don't know what you are then, but you're definitely dead. It's not
like we knocked you unconscious and were going to bury you alive or
anything.
DAUGHTER
(Nods
enthusiastically) Yeah, you're definitely haunting us.
SON
(makes
ghost noises) I'm afraid!
DAD
Fine.
Fine.
You want to talk about hugs
and family.
I'll show you how it's done. (clears throat and pushes back
sleeves) Here lies Tucker Wimberly Hatfield. Twenty-five years
young—shocking I know, since I'm such an upstanding member of the
community. And with the most gorgeous head of hair you've ever laid
eyes on.
SON
You're
dead! You're really going to focus on this?
DAD
(holds
up a finger to silence him)
He
was the everyman. A farmer at times. A pizza delivery man at times.
A drug mule at other times. Always a class act. Always a rascal.
Always the envy of every mailman, parole officer, and assistant
principal he ever met. And then slept with.
DAUGHTER
We
didn't even have to have this funeral, you know!
SON
We
could have just buried you! That would have been better.
DAUGHTER
We
wouldn't have to remember all your stupid, drunken crap. We wouldn't
have it rubbed in our faces again how...how skewed
your view of reality is. How you lied to us every chance you got.
SON
Yeah,
you damned ghost.
DAD
(talking
over his children) But his greatest accomplishment, his living
legacy, the fruit of all his sweat and devotion and toil: is his
beautiful, intelligent, awe-inspiring...coffee making skills. The
pinnacle of his achievements. Oh fuck yeah, he could brew a cup of
coffee. The light of his life. May it carry on his memory forever.
(Long
beat of silence.)
SON
Okay.
Let's kill him.
(There's a scuffle. SON and DAUGHTER
slam the lid closed on the coffin and roll it off stage while DAD
bangs on it. They all exit.)
DAD
Why
didn't anyone bring flowers?
(End scene)
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