Plays and Screenplays - Excerpts    

About the Play

A one act play set during London's "killer fog" of Dec. 1962

One set; three characters

Working off the following three news reports:

"London offices emptied early today as a dense fog settled over The City.  The thick blanket, which has paralyzed much of Britain, is expected to continue unabated for another several days.  The Air Ministry has called today's fog, combining high levels of sulphur dioxide and smoke, the worst since the killer fog of December 1952.  Fog belts begin as far south as the Hampshire coast and as for north as the Clyde..."

                  BBC report, Dec. 4, 1962

"Dangerous and disrupting though it was, the fog gave London a weird beauty.  The bulk of the great buildings dissolved into misty outlines."  

                  New York Times, Dec. 6, 1962

"London police reported 106 persons were known to have 'died suddenly' between midnight Monday and Friday morning as a killer fog hovered over the city.  The great sulphurous pall was as thick and polluted as the smog that killed at least 4,000 persons exactly 10 years ago."

                     AP, Dec. 8, 1962

Characters:

  Mrs. Rac—widow, late 40s

  Mr. Palmston—suburban home owner, mid 40s

  Mr. B—quiet, powerfully built, 35 years old

Setting:  Living room, lit by kerosene lamp and coal fire in the fireplace; the electricity is out

. . . . . . . . .

Mrs. R: Yes, Mr. Rac liked a spot of brandy after his tea of a foggy evening.  I'll just be a moment, then.

(She rises, exits to kitchen. He rises; once again hefts the knife, smiles, puts it down; returns to telephone alcove, lifts the receiver.)

Mr. P: (mutters) Still dead.

(He flicks the cut-off, jiggles it, then notices something; pulls on the cord; lifts it from the floor; it is not attached to anything. Mrs. R. re-enters carrying a tray with decanter and one glass.)

Mr. P: Well, look here, Mrs. Rac.  This phone's not even connected to the line.

Mrs. R:  (without surprise)  Come have a touch of brandy, James.

(He moves toward her, holding the phone out, puzzled but turning aggressive)

Mr. P: How this, then?  Something rather peculiar here.

Mrs. R: Must have come loose.  I shall have to arrange for a repair.

Mr. P: Come loose?  Accidentally, do you mean?  Not likely.  Do you take me for a fool?

Mrs. R:  (casually)  No one calls.  Possibly the char-lady did it sweeping out the corners. She was here just day before last.  Do relax, James.  Here (pours brandy) have a sip.

(He studies her, hesitates, places phone on table, accepts the glass)

Mr. P: None for you?

Mrs. R:  I don't use spirits, James.  These are for guests.  Not that we have many—as you can see, the bottle's barely begun.

Mr. P: Quite.  Cheers, then.

(He takes a sip, approves, takes more, finishes off the glass; she watches him closely; when she's sure he's imbibed it all, she pulls her shawl closer about her.)

Mrs. R: It's grown chilly of a sudden.

Mr. P: Again. Well, you do seem very sensitive to changes in temperature.

(Mr. P. moves toward her and begins to circle his arm about her shoulders; she pretends not to notice, glances toward window, then turns to him.)

Mrs. R: Would you mind stirring the fire, James? Add a touch more warmth to the room.

Mr. P:  (moving toward fireplace) Not at all.  Glad to.  A slight service in return for your hospitality.

(He begins to stir the fire, his back toward the kitchen door, which begins to open very slowly; Mr. B. enters quietly, stands just inside the door looking to Mrs. R.; she nods.)

Copyright © 2005 Rich Yurman

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Author's Preface

Perhaps once in every author's life, he has an idea of pure genius.  While I am no genius author, I hope this work at least reflects an idea of genius.  From the moment that the idea of this play came into my head, it has consumed me until I had no choice but to present it to the rest of you.

This play is the second completed play (of at least three, there is one in between this play and The Flight) in the Sydney Matthias series.  The play exists on two time levels.  That is the fundamental clue to solving the riddle posed by the title. Why is a play about two sets of lovers called Even After All These Years?  If one bothers to read through to Scene Twenty-Two, the answer is provided. Despite the fact that the two timelines are separated by over 2850 years, they still love and have many of the same things happen to them.

This has been one of my most enjoyable plays to write.  Where it took me was a beautiful place where two innocent and intelligent people can love without sinning, can make their world a better place while also enriching their own lives.  This is a play about four people, two couples, separated by time but not a lot of space, whose love reflects a godliness in each of them.

If everyone has at least one fairy tale to give to the world, this is mine.  I must thank many people for their help to me in making this play possible.  I am part Jewish myself, but not enough for me to know the language or culture.  For that I have been helped by a few websites as well as a friend of mine, Mark Kaplan, who is Jewish himself.

I have also been helped concerning the chronology and location of the events of this play by several friends whose knowledge about the Bible exceeds my own. For all of these friends, as well as for Sarah at USC Hillel who gave me some help in Hebrew, I give my sincerest thanks.  This play is fundamentally about love and the constancy of human nature despite the long passage of time.  A future play that I hope to write in three parts will make this more explicit.  I hope that this is an enjoyable play to read or watch.

I have no doubt that there is much here that people will analyze to death, especially concerning the ferocity about land in this play.  There will be some who complain that I am pro-Israeli, but let them complain.  This is a play about success, and as such, it could not be a play about narrow-  minded Palestinians with bloodthirsty thoughts of revenge.  It had to be about a Jew and an American who love each other and who do not hate those who hate them, even if it is necessary to stand by and watch one's enemies get slaughtered.  There are two ways in this world, love and hate.  Hate and you end up like the Palestinians and Nabal.  Love and you end up like Joshua and Ishi and like Sydney and Hadassah.

As a writer, all I can do is paint a story and hope that it excites (such as the events of Mount Carmel as well as the fight in Ein Helweh), entertains (such as the events where Sydney and Hadassah make out on Mount Carmel only to have someone ask them a history question), and enlightens (such as the historical, cultural, and biblical knowledge present in this play).  I have done the best I could to make this a wonderful play.  May you do the best you can in enjoying it yourself.

Scene One

Scene:  It is the ruins of Samaria, the capital of the biblical kingdom of Israel.  It is a dry Israeli day, with few clouds in the sky, and two archeologists are digging on the site of the IvoryPalace, which was the palace of the dynasty of Omri.  After some digging, the two archeologists find a stone tablet.  They are dressed plainly, in baggy and comfortable clothes, to keep the desert sun at bay.  Both of them are westerners, British.

Archeologist #1:   Come here, Harry.

Archeologist #2: Yes, old chap?  What do you have there?

Archeologist #1: I have found some kind of stone tablet underneath all of this rubble.

Archeologist #2: Can you read it at all?

Archeologist #1: Not right now, could you brush it off and let us see if we can make out the Hebrew characters.

Archeologist #2: [brushing it off]:  How about that?

Archeologist #1: That is much better, thanks.

Archeologist #2: This looks like some kind of court tablet.

Archeologist #1: Yes, like the court records of King Ahab.  It appears that the tablet records some kind of petition from a subject in the Kingdom of Israel concerning a family farm in Abel Meholah.

Archeologist #2: This looks interesting.  What should we do with it?

Archeologist #1: Well, let us translate it as best as we are able and publish it.

Archeologist #2: This could cause a firestorm.

Archeologist #1: Yes, it names Ahab as well as the words Abel Meholah and Carmel.

Archeologist #2: What could Carmel have to do with anything?

Archeologist #1: I do not know.  Perhaps after translation we could make more sense of it.

Archeologist #2: Is the scribe named?

Archeologist #1: Not that I can see offhand, there appears to be some lacunae.

Archeologist #2: What a shame, but that is par for the course. 

Archeologist #1: Yes, it is, but this is the most interesting thing we have found yet.

Archeologist #2: You know how those yankees say publish or perish?

Archeologist #1: Yes?

Archeologist #2: Well, at least we won't perish. This could get us some major publicity and fund our work for a long time.

Archeologist #1: Quite true.  Let's get going.  We have a lot of work to do.

Copyright © 2005 Nathan Albright

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ACT ONE

FADE IN:

EXT. FRONT YARD - MORITA HOUSE - 10AM

We see Mr. MORITA, a 40 year-old Japanese man with his daughter, MEKA, 17 year old, very beautiful and curvy moving their belongings into their house (which is located in a black slum) from a U-Haul truck. A few of the new neighbors are gazing in disbelief as they watch moving lazily about.

Mr. Morita waves at them and smiles.

MR. MORITA
We make lots of friends here.

Meka struggles to get a grip on a box.

MR. MORITA
(smiles)
You get to know boy and he will be doing lifting.

EXT. ACROSS THE STREET

We see T.J. and SNOW, black men in their twenties, both having the street toughness which is common in the slums, drinking beer and watching Mr. Morita from a street corner.

T.J.
Why you think he moved over here?

SNOW
Don't know!

He takes a gun out of his jacket and whirls it around.

T.J.
(laughs)
But we gonna kick his butt!

SNOW

Show him who run the hood . . .

T.J. gets a match out of his pocket.

T.J.
You like fire?

He strikes a match and Snow nods.

CUT TO:

EXT. THE MORITA HOUSE - NIGHT

There is a silence about the neighborhood as there was no one on the street, with only the sound of crickets.

INT. THE MORITA HOUSE - LIVING ROOM

Mr. Morita and Meka are seated in the living room almost in total silence. Mr. Morita has a notebook in his hand.

MR. MORITA
Pen wa doko desuka.

Meka walks over to the television and picks up a pen.

MEKA
Koko desu.

She hands him the pen.

MR. MORITA
Domo arigato.

There is a sudden sound of a window breaking in the bedroom and we hear a car engine screaming with the tires burning rubber. There is a big flame coming out and Meka sees it.

MEKA
(screams)
Father, the house is on fire!

She grabs his arm, Mr. Morita moves her arm away and goes quickly to the bedroom.

MR. MORITA
(excitedly)
Go get a bucket of water!

Meka departs hurriedly and returns with a bucket of water in her hands, Mr. Morita grabs the bucket and throws it on the flame. He hands her the bucket.

MR. MORITA
(continuing)
Get another!

Meka departs and returns, Mr. Morita sees the fire is out of control.

MR. MORITA
(continuing)
Lets get out of here, there's nothing we can do!

. . . . . .

Copyright © 2005 Gregory Walker

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About the Play

The Characters

      Stanley Dubois                   An English instructor, 30s
      Stella Dubois                      His wife, 30
      Blanche Kowalski              Stella's sister, late 30s
      Harold Twitch                    Stanley's colleague, 40
      Pablo Villareal                    A Spanish instructor, 30S  

The Place

       Stella and Stanley's Living-Room

      A MidwesternCity of 160, 000

 The Time

       Recently

                                     Act One

 (A middle-class living-room; 'Arty' in that it might be decorated with the art work of friends.

STELLA pours ice-tea for BLANCHE)

                  BLANCHE
It's so good to see you, sweetie.

                                    STELLA
It's wonderful to see you, Blanche. Here's your drink.

                                    BLANCHE
(Sips it, makes a face) What the heck is this?

                                    STELLA
Iced-tea.

                                    BLANCHE
Honey, I said I wanted a drink.

                                    STELLA
I'm sorry. I think we have some wine.

                                    BLANCHE
That's more like it. (STELLA finds some wine in the refrigerator, pours a glass for BLANCHE) I know it's early for a drink, but I am worn out from that lousy bus ride and it's so hot, and I'm nervous about being here, so I need this to calm my nerves. Okay?

                                    STELLA
Of course. But why would you be nervous about being here, Blanche?

                                    BLANCHE
Well, I'm nervous about meeting your husband under these circumstances.

                                    STELLA
But that's foolish. Where else would you go at a time like this?

                                    BLANCHE
That don't make it any less an imposition.

                                    STELLA
I mean we know you lost everything. You did lose everything, didn't you?

                                    BLANCHE
Of course I did. Is that some kind of accusation?

                                    STELLA
Blanche, I'm only saying that Stanley understands this is where you belong.

                                    BLANCHE
Where is your husband?

                                    STELLA
He's still at the college.

                                    BLANCHE
Oh yeah. What's he teach again?

                                    STELLA
I told you. He teaches poetry mostly.

                                    BLANCHE
Yeah, and you also told me he likes his privacy.

                                    STELLA
He does when he's writing. Stanley is also a poet.

                                    BLANCHE
You really think we'll get along okay?

                                    STELLA
Of course you will. But just try to remember there are a few things Stanley is very sensitive about.  

                                    BLANCHE
Meaningyou're warning me about the way I talk.

                                    STELLA
No, No. I was only going to say he's very sensitive about his eyesight. He's really almost blind and his glasses are thick.  

                                    BLANCHE
Thick glasses? (She laughs) Hey, remember ol' Iguana-eyes Jackson?

                                    STELLA
Blanche! That's exactly the sort of thing I'm talking about. Now listen, Stanley is very kind and considerate and I'm sure you'll get along fine.

                                    BLANCHE
Hey, sweetie, I try to get along.

                                    STELLA
Not always.

                                    BLANCHE
No? Maybe not. I try to get along, but there are some folks who won't let you. I mean they are nitpicky and they're always finding fault.

                                    STELLA
Have I gotten you angry?

                                    BLANCHE
No!

                                    STELLA
I'm sorry, Blanche. I know you're a good person.

                                    BLANCHE
I know, I know. When I wannabe.

                                    STELLA
You said it. Not me.

                                    BLANCHE
It's okay.

                                    STELLA
And I'm really happy you're here.

                                    BLANCHE
So can I ask. You said your husband knows I lost everything. I mean there's nothing left. He wouldn't think I was cheating you, would he?

                                    STELLA
Blanche,Stanley is a very kind and trusting person. He'd never suspect you of doing anything underhanded. You're being unfair.

                                    BLANCHE
I'm sorry, sweetie, but everybody ain't trusting. In fact, just the opposite. Now I don't wanna sound like I'm feeling sorry for myself, but you don't know what it was like. Everyone was dying on me. First Pa, then Ma.Then the cows, then the chickens. You only came home for the funerals. Well, let me tell ya, funerals are easy! Dying's the hard part, and damn, is it expensive!

                                    STELLA
Blanche, try to forget all that. And remember you're welcome here as long as you care to stay.

                                    BLANCHE

You know, I think I'd like to rest for a while.

                                    STELLA

Of course. I'll get your room ready.

(When STELLA exits, BLANCHE goes to pour herself another wine. STANLEY enters, only sees BLANCHE from the rear)

                                    STANLEY
(Thinking BLANCHE is STELLA, he grabs her from behind)   Hello, I'm home.

. . . . . .

Copyright © 2005 George Freek

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