Plays and Screenplays - Excerpts    

Madelin de Rumba The driving sound of Latin music. Madelin appears, colorfully dressed, dancing with a male mannequin, a soft, floppy dummy dressed in a tuxedo without the bow tie. His feet are strapped to her feet. She holds "him" erect by the arms... among other places. They dance, she and her dummy, in frantic movements, huge sweeps to the floor, dizzying spins across the stage. Suddenly she stops, shifting her shoulders, rolling her hips, staring at her partner. Then she snaps her head to the audience. Madelin (in a thick, mocking Spanish accent) I am exotique... no? I am passionata... eh? I am a mujer without hair... I am desire with fire... I am woo-mahn... I am love... (hissing) I am sssex... (whispering) I am crazy... muy loca! (She dances off with her "man". At one point, she grabs his ass and makes his body bolt into the air. At another point, she drapes "him" over a chair and kisses "him" roughly, bites "him" in the neck, spreads her legs and his, and rhythmically pumps "him" up and back. She stops abruptly, whirls around, plops in the chair letting go of the dummy's arms. He falls over in a backward arch, his feet still strapped to hers.) (With no accent) Crazy... and tired. Hola, am I tired... of all the bullshit dripping from their faces. The two-faced looks... the two-faced talks... the this-is-the-way-I-am-today, and tomorrow-is-another-day. Oh yes... I'm tired, but not too tired to go on living, to go on dancing, to go on f... (She jumps up, lifts the dummy erect, and dances off.) You know, I got married once. He wasn't my first man and he sure wasn't my last. But I married him... tall, dark, handsome phoney-baloney who thought he was Orson Welles. No... that's not true. I thought he was Orson Welles. He thought he was god's gift to me. What a straight up married life we had. And there was some love in it. Then he got bored and I got boring. He was a dreamer and I was a sleeper. He was a rat and I was a mouse. He was smart and I was dumb. And when I got smart, he got numb. Ha! I got a life and he got a wife. Man, was I good looking... can't you tell... real good looking. So what's a girl gonna do. Hey, what is a man anyway? A hunk of meat, a stick of skin and blood? Does he make the sun come up? Hell no! But he sure can make it go down. Hey... how old do think I am? Pretty old? Older than you think? Yeah. The body wants to give up... wants to sag to the floor in a quiet mess. But not me. See... this is me inside. I'm in here kicking and juicing... I'm breathing hard and trying to breathe harder. And until this silly shell finally collapses, I'm a whirling, twirling, stomping, romping, kiss of a woman... a big, wet, kiss of a woman. Hey... want to know how to make time stand still? Keep moving! (Sings) Dancin', I'm dancin', my legs are in the air Movin', I'm groovin', there's color in my hair Isn't it exciting that I simply want your body dripping sweat You're panting. Isn't it exciting that you simply make my body very wet I'm panting. We're dancin', we're dancin', your balls are in the air We're movin', we're groovin'... phew, your dust is in my hair. (She stops and spits) How old am I? I'm older than my father was when he died. Man, there was a man. Gorgeous, a lover. He had it, he knew it, they knew it... he couldn't keep his pants on. He took every woman that came his way. He gave them what they wanted and they gave him every drop of passion they could squeeze out of their tongues. He left them dry because he drank them up like they were banana daiquiris. He was a vampire, a banana daiquiri vampire who left each victim in a glass full of crushed ice, with a smile on her face and a maraschino cherry between her legs. He was gorgeous. My mother didn't kill him. I didn't kill him. He married another woman, a gray-faced woman and gave her a daughter and set them up like a firing squad. They just shot at him and shot at him until they filled him with so many holes you couldn't see him any more. Why? Why did he do that? This Latin lover, this hunk of filet mignon, this woman's man. Why? Got afraid... that's what did it. Couldn't take his eyes off the clock. Stopped moving. But not me! I'm his daughter but I'm a lot further along than he ever was. And the only hole in me is the hole of holies, the pit of purpose, the cave of candy, the mouth of mystery, this garden of liquid gold. (Singing) Chika, chika, boom, chika, boom, chika, chika, chika Chika, chika, boom, chika, boom, chika, chika, chika Chika, chika, boom, chika, boom, chika, chika, chika Chika, chika, boom, chika, boom, chika, chika, chika  ©2005 Arthur Meiselman

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Laid The stage is black and bare. All the lights are focused on the center making a circle of light. As the scene plays out, the lights change color slowly, many colors, whatever you see. HE enters and stands at the edge of the circle of light. SHE enters and stands at the opposite side. HE I thought about you. SHE So did I – about you. HE I missed you all the time I was here. SHE And before that? HE I missed you more. SHE I can't stop thinking about you. HE It's bad, isn't it? SHE It's a good bad. It makes me hot and my skin gets wet. And I'm constantly rubbing my fingers together. HE Oh yes, my fingers and my lips and my legs. SHE What time is it? HE I don't know. SHE I don't care. HE Neither do I. SHE I don't know what to do. HE Neither do I. SHE I miss you, I want to stop missing you. I want to stop aching. HE So do I. SHE steps into the center of the circle and removes her clothes. She keeps the clothes pressed against her covering the front of her body. HE steps in and does the same. They stand there looking at each other. The lights keep changing colors.    ©2005 Iri Kopal

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The Wafer Scene 1. (There is darkness. A shaft of light outlines the top of a jagged, high wall. A man appears, walking slowly along the wall. He stops at the center and leans against it . ) VOICE: (whispering) Turn around! Turn around! OTHER VOICES: Turn around! (The voices repeat the phrase over and over each time more loudly. Suddenly, there is a scream. The whispers continue. Other screams are heard in the distance. The man does not move. A dull, mournful chant begins behind the incessant whispers. The piercing scream again, followed by sobbing. As the clamor builds, the man turns his face into the wall.) VOICE: (sharply) Turn around Juan Castia! (The voices stop. The man straightens up. As he slowly turns his head, a bright shaft of light covers him. He raises his hand in front of his eyes.)  Turn around! (He drops his hand, turns to face the light, and squints at its glare. He begins to sway, rolling his head. The chanting begins again.)  We are waiting. MAN: Waiting? VOICE: What are your words? MAN: (his speech slurs) Words? What words? (The chanting becomes louder.) VOICE: Have you nothing more to say... to the people? MAN: People? I don't see any people... I can't see anyone. (He tries to step forward.) Wait! Who are you? OTHER VOICES: (whispering repeatedly) Words...Words...Words! VOICE: Speak quickly, Juan Castia, the people are impatient. MAN: The people? The people? What should I say? SECOND VOICE: Say the truth! MAN: Yes...The truth. THIRD VOICE: Say guilty! MAN: Yes... guilty. (There are shouts and cheers.) WAIT! VOICE: You say, guilty, Juan Castia, to all the charges? MAN: Guilty to the charges? (He backs up against the wall.) Guilty? I don't know what the charges are. (There is jeering laughter from the crowd.) OTHER VOICES: The wall! The wall! (He feels behind him, turns frantically, runs his hands along the wall, then turns back.)  MAN: Wait, please... Why am I here? VOICE: You say you are guilty? MAN: Guilty? (He tries to peer into the darkness.) Please, of what? VOICE: Robbery,,, guilty! Rape,,, guilty! Murder...Guilty!  MAN: No... Please... No. OTHER VOICES: Say the truth. Say the truth. MAN: The truth, yes... I am guilty... No, not of those things. (The crowd hoots and jeers.)  WAIT! I've never murdered anyone. I'm guilty of murder, but I've never murdered anyone. I'm guilty of rape, but I've never raped anyone. Don't you understand? I've done nothing against the people, my crimes are...  VOICE: We've heard your confession, Juan Castia. JUAN: No, no confession... VOICE: We've heard your confession... of... treason! JUAN: What? How can you say treason...     OTHER VOICES: Treason! Guilty! Treason! MAN: I am Juan Castia, of the people... they love me... I am their hope...  VOICE: You are a traitor!     OTHER VOICES: (whispering) Traitor! Guilty traitor! Traitor!  JUAN: (screaming) I AM NOT A TRAITOR! (He searches the darkness desperately, trapped by the light and the confines of the wall, his face wrenched and tearstained.)  I'm guilty, yes, but not of any crimes, not of treas... I have given my life to give the people their lives. VOICE: The pride of a murderer. JUAN: (angrily) I am the people... (quickly) and they are me! (The chanting is heard again.)  VOICE: You and the people are one? Is that your defense? Then listen to them, listen to yourself. (The voices of the chanting crowd grow louder, more violent. Words are layered on top of each other: "guilty, pain, robbery, murder, traitor". Suddenly it stops . ) MAN: (quietly) Yes. (The crowd hoots and yells,) VOICE: Your words, Juan Castia, your last words. (The MAN begins to sob to the laughter and delight of the crowd.)  Where is your courage when faced with your guilt? Are you also a coward?     OTHER VOICES: (whispering) Say anything! Say anything. MAN: Yes, I will say anything... only... from the wall, take me away from the wall. VOICE: Are you also a coward? MAN: Guilty... yes, guilty of everything because I cannot stand... at the wall.      ©2005 Arthur Meiselman

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