STARRING MISS LEA SALONDA

(Dedicated to Koiné Theater Foundation)
by Njel de Mesa

CHARACTERS:
PRODUCER1/DIRECTOR/SORDID MARKETER
PRODUCER2/WRITER/CALLOW MORALIST
(*Both characters must be extremely tanned and must be ridiculously forcing a British accent throughout the duration of the play.)

(Interior of an old abandoned makeshift Theater. Onstage and Up Center, as if waiting for people to come in for audition, two tanned and intimidating young artsy theater pillars/charlatans are seen ensconced on rickety seats behind a long table. Producer1 passionately pounds on the calculator while Producer2 lightly taps on the keys of the typewriter on the table –stammeringly typing a script.)

PRODUCER 1: (Bursts.) It won’t sell!!

PRODUCER 2: (Apalled.) Good heavens! Must it really be the first line of the play?!

PRODUCER 1: First things first, old chap! The Box Office must precede the Divine Afflatus for it cannot descend from the heavens without transportation allowance.

PRODUCER 2: Very well, I’ll delay writing this. (Stops. Hesitates typing.) While you marinate on your marketing mix and I’ll just busy and burden myself with the casting for our play…(Inspects the audition forms on the desk.) Hmmm… Nympha Gonzalez, Mary Kate Mangilog, Loren Fontamillas, Cashlyn Cuarez, Karl Louie Marcelo, Kaneezha—

PRODUCER 1: (Goes to the table. Snatches the audition forms, throws them into the garbage can.) I can’t march confidently up to those bloody corporate sponsors with a bunch of incognitos in my deck! (In self-pity.) Those big-corporate-wigs will only snob our proposals and condescendingly see me as a small time circus act begging for money …sob.

PRODUCER 2: Get used to it!

PRODUCER 1: Unless…

PRODUCER 2: Unless?

PRODUCER 1: …We have a star! (Pondering.)

PRODUCER 2: Brilliant, we’ll make our set designer put one onstage… So it’s a Christmas show?

PRODUCER 1: Not THAT kind. (Clarifying.) A Star!!

PRODUCER 2: (Smiles excitedly. Pretending to resonate.) Oh, a STAR!!! That’s twinklingly brilliant!!

PRODUCER 1: And not just any star…

PRODUCER 2: (Getting it.) …yes… a star …not just any star… perhaps a retired one from the telly…trying desperately to save himself from the quicksand of obscurity…

PRODUCER 1: …we won’t settle for them…

PRODUCER 2: But they are the only kind of stars I know who’d be willing to do theater…

PRODUCER 1: (Dreaming passionately.) Well, we need a bigger one…

PRODUCER 2: The sun?

PRODUCER 1: Yes… the sun… the sun… yes… yes…

PRODUCER 2: (With some extra sensory perception.) Yes… the sun… the sun… yes… yes…

PRODUCER 1: The one that remarkably inspired theater to be professionalized in this country…

PRODUCER 2: The one who raised the benchmark…

PRODUCER 1: …the standards…

PRODUCER 2: …the esteem and dignity…

PRODUCER 1: …the quality and brought world class distinction to Philippine Theater…

PRODUCER 2: …the one…

PRODUCER 1: Yes… she’s the one…

PRODUCER 2: …the only…

PRODUCER 1: Yes… she’s the only…

PRODUCER 2: …The antidote to this Third World’s dying living art form…

PRODUCER 1: The movies will murder us… Unless…

PRODUCER 2: Unless…

PRODUCER 1: Yes… Yes… You see it?

PRODUCER 2: I see it! I see it…

BOTH: Starring Miss Lea Salonda!!

(Lights change. Miss Saigon’s “The Heat is On” plays. They both break into a jovial dance, laughing in celebration of their brilliant idea. They open a champagne bottle in merriment.)

PRODUCER 1: Hurrah! Hurrah! We’ll hale her in to do our play!

PRODUCER 2: (While proposing a toast.) Hail! Hail! Hail! Lea Salonda!

PRODUCER 1: All “Hail” will break loose this season!!

PRODUCER 2: I have to sit! (Laughing like a drunk.) I have to sit! I can’t believe it?!

PRODUCER 1: Can’t believe what?!

PRODUCER 2: I mean, are we really going to put her on the show? We obviously can’t afford her.

PRODUCER 1: There’s nothing a good material can’t do…

PRODUCER 2: Really?

PRODUCER 1: Not really. But a fine artiste like her would definitely grab this rare opportunity of being a part of the original cast to play OUR anonymous piece…pro bono.

PRODUCER 2: I bloody doubt it if any good can come out from these hands. Besides, I’d have to win a Tony or an Obie to be deserving to write her in for a play…

PRODUCER 1: Must I always be the one to uplift your plummeting self-esteem? Your father’s name is Tony, go ask him a favor to give you an award!

PRODUCER 2: What if she doesn’t agree?

PRODUCER 1: Your father’s a SHE?

PRODUCER 2: Shut up! I mean “her”…(Pause.) Lea will never agree. She won’t agree. I sense it.

PRODUCER 1: How do we bloody know that? We haven’t even bloody asked her!

PRODUCER 2: And if we are bloody going to…I won’t!

PRODUCER 1: You negative backbencher! Bloody chicken! (Teasing.) Why did this chicken cross the road? To be squashed by a bloody ten-wheeler!

PRODUCER 2: You don’t understand! I grew up with Lea by my bloody side…

PRODUCER 1: Perfect! Then you must be pretty close to her by now…

PRODUCER 2: Stop goofing around! (Beat.) When I was a little boy I used to sleep with her Small Voice and self-titled album ‘neath my bloody pillow hoping that one day I’d wake up beside her. I’d listen to her day in and day out…well, with ABBA in between… until that blasted player ate my prized analog recordings of her sweet gentle voice… Believe me…I bloody mourned that day.

PRODUCER 1: (Sarcastic.) My condolences. (Pauses as if for a prayer.) There that pause is long enough! (Gets Producer2’s glass. Puts it down.) Now move on and start writing!

PRODUCER 2: I’ll write rubbish… (Taps on the typewriter.)

PRODUCER 1: WHO CARES?!! Does it really matter? What matters is she’s in the play. OURs to be exact!

PRODUCER 2: Alright. Alright. But I’m only agreeing because here in our country nobody gives a damn about the material unless a star says it IS good. (Beat.) What if they find out it IS rubbish?!

PRODUCER 1: They won’t.

PRODUCER 2: How so? You’re exceptionally certain?

PRODUCER 1: Of course. It’s theater! The audience doesn’t really mind if they don’t understand the material! In fact, they don’t expect themselves to understand it even. They are enamored with the witty feeling of leaving the house baffled by the diarrhea of words we’ve constipated them with from prologue to curtain! Why, they’ll feel a lot like reading modern poetry!

PRODUCER 2: Reading Poetry?

PRODUCER 1: Yes. The wonderful wondering feeling of profound uncertainty in the face of performed Dada! They’ll all go home exclaiming, “Damn, I didn’t understand a Bloody thing…it must be good!”

PRODUCER 2: It must be ART!!! (Jumping up and down.) Yes! Yes! Yes! I see. I see. If indeed, the material IS rubbish—and some deviants would state the obvious, I presume—we shall call them morons!

PRODUCER 1: Charlatans!!

PRODUCER 2: Idiots!

PRODUCER 1: We’ll call them purists!

PRODUCER 2: Conservatives!

PRODUCER 1: Preservatives! Haha!

PRODUCER 2: We’ll call them the Minority!

PRODUCER 1: Or the unenlightened Majority!

PRODUCER 2: The uneducated mob!

PRODUCER 1: The common hoi polloi devoid of any distinction!

PRODUCER 2: And we shall extol OUR so-called ART as Avant-garde! (Beat.) But what of the critics?

PRODUCER 1: Bah!! Critics!! They make theater so high falluting that’s why everybody’s daunted to see it!

PRODUCER 2: But you do know without THEM…no bloody—I mean-- nobody WILL support us?

PRODUCER 1: Don’t kid yourself… NOBODY supports us!?!

PRODUCER2: …Oh, bugger…

PRODUCER1: Unless…

PRODUCER 2: (Thinking.) Unless…

PRODUCER 1: Yes…Yes… You see it?

PRODUCER 2: I see it! I see it…

BOTH: Starring Miss Lea Salonda!!

PRODUCER 1: It’s fool proof! However, we must take precautionary measures as to ensure that children will be disallowed to witness our modus operandi! Those honest midgets can bloody ruin our reputation!

PRODUCER 2: Why so? I have a six year old niece and she apparently doesn’t have a credible standard on what good art IS… Well… based on her annoyingly haunting, often twisted…, stick figure doodlings—

PRODUCER 1: --Because children tell the truth nonetheless! And they bloody do it so intelligibly loud! Horrible things… quite, quite horrible things they can say about US… about… (Threatening.) … YOUR bloody writing…

PRODUCER 2: (Threatened. In panic.) My writing!?! You’re absolutely bloody right! No children.

PRODUCER 1: We wouldn’t want to go parading obviously stark naked in front of the ogling public with our so called invisible cloak on like what I did for that bloody Emperor’s New Clo—wait, that means we wouldn’t be tapping into children’s theater… That’s a sizeable market we’re not going to be able to bloody scam…

PRODUCER 2: (Impulsively.) I’ll put the children back on our mailing list!

PRODUCER 1: Definitely. But we need to distract them during the show…

PRODUCER 2: One that can be easily remedied…children can get easily bedazzled anyway…

PRODUCER 1: …not only the children…generally… the bloody audience in this bloody country—of any age—can get easily bedazzled. Put a bloody Smoke Machine and two “moving heads” and our show instantly becomes a stupendous elaborate display of world class production value! It is all a façade! (Beat.) And that’s why we naturally have to speak in bloody British…

PRODUCER 2: Our shade of melanin doesn’t agree with the shape of our tongues. Either we toss this accent or shed this skin…

PRODUCER 1: No compromise. Either way we lose equal opportunity to become our glorious selves!!

PRODUCER 2: (Excited.) We are British?

PRODUCER 1: Does it matter if we are? What matters is that we sound like one. Competent people are most definitely expected to know English but only the reputably elegant ones speak it IN English!

PRODUCER 2: I don’t know but I feel eccentrically awkward saying ‘Bloody’ all the time. Feels like I’m hemorrhaging.

PRODUCER 1: Good. That way you’ll very much look like the garden variety anemically frosting Caucasian! Nobody will know the difference.

PRODUCER 2: Until they spot my nose!

PRODUCER 1: Oh, come on! Surely there’s simply nothing that the Avon ladies cannot cover up with a pound of powder and a dash of blush and shadow.

PRODUCER 2: Avon ladies?

PRODUCER 1: Yes. There you go my worried friend…that settles our melanin problem. With those very pleasant cheerful miraculous ladies and their bag of cosmetic tricks… we’ll be more at peace with ourselves!

PRODUCER 2: How will we get them to do make-up for us? We can’t even pay for a stage manager!

PRODUCER 1: Well… stage managers are not as crucial as make-up artists…you can’t see those people in black anyway…the only time you mind them is when something goes wrong! But obviously you aren’t really paying much attention to the economics behind our ploy…

PRODUCER 2: Play…

PRODUCER 1: Right. Play… We will get them to sponsor our show!

PRODUCER 2: And how is that possible?

PRODUCER 1: You’re forgetful, chap… It IS impossible! Unless…

PRODUCER 2: Oh, yes I forgot…UNLESS…

PRODUCER 1: (Schemingly.) Yes…Yes… You see it?

PRODUCER 2: I see it! I see it…

BOTH: (Dreamy.) Starring Miss Lea Salonda!!

PRODUCER 1: We get her. We get them. All of them. Battalions of them. From Infantry Plebes to Brass Hat Paratroopers. Don’t you miss the days of militarized set-ups and strike sets?

PRODUCER 2: Don’t flatter yourself. We came in all too late for that halcyon era…Unless you want to proclaim yourself way too older than I am, old chap! Acutely, I do look younger than you are and my nose? My nose is fine… Thank you. Who wants to be British anyway?!

PRODUCER 1: EVERYBODY?!!

PRODUCER 2: I’m not “everybody”…I’m in theater.

PRODUCER 1: Every theater wants to be “British”! Every theater wants to BE “Broadway”!

PRODUCER 2: Are you certain? I somehow feel quaintly different about your generalizations…

PRODUCER 1: Come now! Every local performer wants to go abroad…wants to perform on the West End…or at least have a gig at a pub theater in New York!

PRODUCER 2: Why don’t they just perform here? At home. I know a couple of local bars— (Contemplates.) —Hold it, that’s peculiarly redundant in British… but of course that’s an esoteric joke we theater people DO to make other people feel and look stupid—

PRODUCER 1: You were saying…

PRODUCER 2: A couple of locals… that can be converted into a pub theater…

PRODUCER 1: (Appalled.) You don’t know the difference???!!

PRODUCER 2: What is?

PRODUCER 1: Plenty! It’s way much colder out there. They naturally have centralized air-conditioning. I don’t suppose you have taken the trouble to note how much it would cost here?!

PRODUCER 2: (Seeing the other’s point.) Hmm… No wonder they have fatter talent fees …much is spared from the overheads…

PRODUCER 1: (Passionately dreamy.) Abroad …my old chap …If we want to be somebody… If we want to have the advantage of equity… or enlightened in our craft…we’d have to go…

PRODUCER 2: (Joining the dream.) …abroad… So when we come back…

PRODUCER 1: And even if we did NOT actually study there… our authentically fake British certificates of technical erudition on theater will be the stamp of competency on our résumés and our ticket to fame…

PRODUCER 2: …and clout!

PRODUCER 1: But until then…these people will never buy our show…and we will never see the light of duty free shopping… unless…

PRODUCER 2: Unless…

PRODUCER 1: Yes…Yes… You see it?

PRODUCER 2: I see it! I see it…

BOTH: Starring Miss Lea Salonda!!

PRODUCER 1: Now enough of this shilly-shallying, dilly-dallying skeptical inquisitions… (Shoves Producer2 on the typewriter.) Type! Type! Type!

PRODUCER 2: I am! I am! But I can’t bloody think of anything original if I’m pressured to say bloody all the time!

PRODUCER 1: Fine! Fine! We’ll drop the “bloody”! Now type! Type! Type!

(Producer2 starts typing. Tries to concentrate. Producer1’s cell phones rings.)

PRODUCER 1: Sorry. I have to get this one…client… (Turns around starts talking unintelligibly mumbling. Trying to hide the fact he’s on the phone.)

PRODUCER 2: Excuse me…

PRODUCER 1: Oh, sorry… Oh, alright. I’ll shut it off.

PRODUCER 2: (Peeved.) Thank you.

(Producer2 starts typing again. Phone rings again.)

PRODUCER 1: (Guilty.) It wasn’t me! Honest!

PRODUCER 2: I know! (Beat. Angrily.) … it was… (Points to a person in the audience.)…HIS cell phone…

PRODUCER 1: Oh, what’s all the fuss?! (Defiantly defensive.) We’re not even having a show right now…

PRODUCER 2: …And we expect the audience to shut them up during a show! I hate those Cell phones! What do we do with their cell phones?! Those bloody contraptions always ring at the most inopportune times! (Producer1 sits with the watching audience.)

PRODUCER 1: Let them fiddle with it. They obviously don’t understand the play anyway. Let them use it like a torch beaming rudely on their unglamorous faces in the dark…they paid for it. As long as we get them to buy a ticket… I’m totally fine with that.

PRODUCER 2: What of the other people who are really interested in watching our play? They might be annoyed by those people who aren’t…

PRODUCER 1: Never quite thought of that scenario as a possibility…

PRODUCER 2: That some people will be annoyed?

PRODUCER 1: That some people will actually be interested…

PRODUCER 2: Maybe we should cordon-off an area for people who are just pretending to be watching, or pretending to have a bit of quality time for themselves by pretending to be watching… you know how workaholics are busy, busy, busy! (Beat. Eureka.) Why not confiscate their cell phones before they enter the house!?!

PRODUCER 1: What for? They obviously would like to make a statement that they can’t live without it. Why deprive them of their attachments and distractions. Besides, they might be having a blast chit-chatting with that other person on the line… Pity if you end their conversation…

PRODUCER 2: Well if their story is more interesting than ours… Why not… let’s give them the floor (Picks a person from the audience to be cajoled to go up on stage.) …or the follow spots?! Everybody will think it’s a part of the show. The actors can rest. The audience feel involved. And our friendly annoyance becomes the star of our show!

PRODUCER 1: Brilliant! Everybody feels good about themselves! We’ll call the play “15 minutes of Fame”! It’s going to be a marketing success! (Lets the audience member go.) There now you have a title… Type! Type! Type!

PRODUCER 2: (Resists.) Trouble is… our sound system might get ruined…

PRODUCER 1: We HAVE a sound system?

PRODUCER 2: …well …we’ll rent…

PRODUCER 1: Nonsense. Those things are way too expensive.

PRODUCER 2: Indeed. But some people think it’s for free. (Grumbling.) …and then ask why theater shows are so expensive…

PRODUCER 1: So we’re agreed not to outsource any sound system?

PRODUCER 2: But how will our actors be heard?

PRODUCER 1: Well, expectedly the audience will refuse to turn off their cell phones…they know that as a given…and would assume they’re at fault that the sound system is acting against us… the blame would be entirely theirs without the extra cost on us!

PRODUCER 2: Well, what if they do?

PRODUCER 1: Do what?

PRODUCER 2: DO turn off their cell phones?

PRODUCER 1: Trust me, they won’t. Even if you tell them so. They won’t.

PRODUCER 2: Aha! Their stubbornness will be to our advantage!

PRODUCER 1: …Yes…even if you tell them twice, thrice,… do translations of it in all languages… and have a 20x20 advisory notice at the front-of-house… THEY WON’T! (Beat. Changes his mind.) Unless…

PRODUCER 2: Unless…

PRODUCER 1: Yes…Yes… You see it?

PRODUCER 2: I see it! I see it…

BOTH: Starring Miss Lea Salonda!!

PRODUCER 2: Finally, they’ll take us seriously!

PRODUCER 1: They have every reason to… Imagine, the title of our play in neon lights…

PRODUCER 2: What play?

PRODUCER 1: Doesn’t matter. (Beat.) Her name…glowing on the speckled tarpaulin background… stern and steady on the gargantuan billboard fronting the highway…

BOTH: Starring Miss Lea Salonda!!

PRODUCER 1: And our names…

PRODUCER 2: Oh, jolly, jolly…

PRODUCER 1: Our names…

PRODUCER 2:… under it…

PRODUCER 1: Written by you. Directed and Choreographed by me.

PRODUCER 2: So we’ll definitely have a song and dance number?

PRODUCER 1: Of course. Do you want a Broadway Musical star to be a fish out of water?

PRODUCER 2: I don’t write musicals…

PRODUCER 1: (Irate.) You do now…

PRODUCER 2: I don’t know how to…

PRODUCER 1: (Yells.) MUST I DO ALL THE CREATIVE WORK HERE! I’M ALREADY THE DIRECTOR!

PRODUCER 2: No need to yell.

PRODUCER 1: (Offended.) Why you…. (Furious. Pounces on or chases Producer2 around with a chair on hand.) I AM THE DIRECTOR! I AM EXPECTED TO YELL OR HAVE A TANTRUM OR THROW FIT EVERY SO OFTEN! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND!?!

PRODUCER 2: (Cowardly hiding underneath his writing table. Trembling.) But it’s not even technical dress rehearsal yet!

PRODUCER 1: (Realizing. Calm.) You do have a point.

PRODUCER 2: I do?

PRODUCER 1: No you don’t. It’s always my idea. I’m the director.

PRODUCER 2: Oh.

PRODUCER 1: (Indignantly commanding.) Now write me a musical…

PRODUCER 2: (Cautiously.) No, really…I don’t even know what a G-clef is…I heard Lea knows solfeggio… I mean what in heaven’s name is that…

PRODUCER 1: Can’t you open your mouth without sounding like a total nincompoop?! She knows solfeggio means she knows how to cook it! She’s world savvy! What do you expect, she circled Europe without learning a thing or two about Italian cuisine?!! Just toss a hackneyed Broadway song into the play…and we’ll tell the audience it’s a musical revue!

PRODUCER 2: That doesn’t change anything. I still feel extremely uncomfortable writing a musical for the first time.

PRODUCER 1: Goodness!! How hard can it be?!! Just put a song for an opening…another for a finale…and squeeze a dance number in between…voila, a musical!!

PRODUCER 2: What of the rest?!

PRODUCER 1: The rest are book scenes…

PRODUCER 2: Book scenes? I don’t know how to write book scenes…

PRODUCER 1: Augh! Then get a book by E.L. Doctorow and copy it!! You are an absolutely sad frustrating dead end! What do YOU know how to write?!

PRODUCER 2: (Proud.) Speeches. Realistic ones.

PRODUCER 1: (An idea.) Smashing. Write your speeches… We’ll call them MONOLOGUES!!

PRODUCER 2: (Skeptical.) Will that be interesting?

PRODUCER 1: (Certain.) Oh yes, especially if we make our privies do the talking!

PRODUCER 2: The monologues you mean?

PRODUCER 1: Yes…It’s going to be LOOOOONG RUNNING… (Devious.) you know what I mean… LoooooooOOOooooOOong running…

PRODUCER 2: Huh?

PRODUCER 1: We’ll have standing ovations! Get it… standing ovations…

PRODUCER 2: (Lost.) No.

PRODUCER 1: You pathetic-prudish-puritan! We’ll never sell with your prim priggish penning! I’m even more poetic by alliteration than you are…

PRODUCER 2: Do you think this country is even ready for something as appalling as that?

PRODUCER 1: There you go again with your morals! …Doesn’t matter if you’ll die and fail to hit heaven just as long as you’ll have a HIT before you do!

PRODUCER 2: Privies doing Monologues?! (Stroking the air. As if seeing a Billboard.) My Private’s Monologues… Ha!?! Even a ham would know it’ll never work! (Kidding.) …unless it’s a puppet show…

PRODUCER 1: Charming! That solves our children’s need for a distraction during our show…

PRODUCER 2: Puppets doing the Monologues?! Whatever happened to “the fish out of water”?

PRODUCER 1: Don’t panic! She’ll still get her song and dance…

PRODUCER 2:…you’ll choreograph?

PRODUCER 1: I’ll choreograph.

PRODUCER 2: Never knew you danced. (Reminiscing.) Always wanted to learn. Oh, can you teach me how to do a pirouette?

PRODUCER 1: Well… (Trying desperately to demonstrate.) …it’s like… a pirouette is… ahm…you see… the legs… I mean… the feet… on the sixth position… (Figuring out while executing.) Battenment!!! What about Battenment!?! Do you know what a battenment is?!

PRODUCER 2: No. But I don’t want to learn how to do a battenment. I want to learn how to do a pirouette!!

PRODUCER 1: You’ll have to learn how to do a battenment first before you can do a pirouette!!

PRODUCER 2: Oh. Is that so? Well, can’t you at least show me a nice clean one on a dime?

PRODUCER 1: (Proud. Trying to hide the lie.) I’ll show you when it’s time. (Beat.) When I see one…

PRODUCER 2: I thought you knew…

PRODUCER 1: I do. (Beat.) Did. I forgot already that I forgot already…

PRODUCER 2: (Smelling a rotten fish.) Your techniques…I see… You almost got me fooled there…

PRODUCER 1: At least…I’m humble enough to admit to my ignorance…

PRODUCER 2: Does this mean you’re not really going to be the choreographer? I’ll put a choreographer into our fixed costs right away!

PRODUCER 1: (Commanding.) NO.

PRODUCER 2: No?

PRODUCER 1: We’ll audition dancers…I’ll still pose as a choreographer… trying to develop a new dance style…I’ll tell them: no rules …no techniques …just pure catharsis of the heart and soul…

PRODUCER 2: (Sardonic.) …with a sense of urgency in motion…and a fire that consumes their morals from within…

PRODUCER 1: Yes, yes, I’ll tell them… “We will explore the movements”…soon enough…they’ll be dancing on their own… exploring on the rehearsal floor…consequently doing me a favor…by doing the most phenomenally acclaimed out-of-the-box, ground breaking, original choreography! All I have to do is pick which ones I like… put them together… and dub the new style with my name!

PRODUCER 2: Brilliant! So at least we don’t have to pay a choreographer for that!

PRODUCER 1: Of course you do. You’d have to pay me for that! I AM the choreographer, am I not?

PRODUCER 2: But I thought the reason…

PRODUCER 1: Don’t argue with me… I AM ALSO the Director… that means I am infallible.

PRODUCER 2: (Humbly sits and starts typing.) Very well… I’ll just focus on my writing…

PRODUCER 1: And to further the EXPOSition of our Art… we’ll make our dancers dance… topless…

PRODUCER 2: Topless? Now wait a minute… (Stops typing.)

PRODUCER 1: No minute to waste. That’s what you call value added service! Customers love that!

PRODUCER 2: You mean we’re putting up a glamorized strip show?!

PRODUCER 1: …And theater …all rolled into one!

PRODUCER 2: It’s debauchery!

PRODUCER 1: It’s ART! Einstein theory of relativity… You’re the only one with the dirty mind…all I see is Beauty!!

PRODUCER 2: (Sarcastic.) Topless beauty…

PRODUCER 1: Stop it with your overzealous saintly statements… your obviously a faggot…

PRODUCER 2: And what’s wrong with being one?

PRODUCER 1: Aha! You ARE one!! You’re in theater! And you’re a faggot! How common can you be!?!

PRODUCER 2: (Offended.) YOU’re the Director! You’re the Faggot!!

PRODUCER 1: (Consoling.) Putting nudity in our play only proves one thing…that we are serious about our craft…we are vulnerable, passionate, mature and seasoned…

PRODUCER 2: And indecent…

PRODUCER 1: See past the nudity…

PRODUCER 2: How can I…

PRODUCER 1: See the box office returns… and the buyer’s remorse after…there’ll be none… They will leave the house pleased… and / or talking about the nudity…

PRODUCER 2: …and not about the play…

PRODUCER 1: …and more and more people will curiously watch…

PRODUCER 2: (Correcting.) …peep…

PRODUCER 1: Imagine that. More people watching—

PRODUCER 2: --More men you mean—

PRODUCER 1: And women—

PRODUCER 2: (Correcting.) –angry women…

PRODUCER 1: Fine. Then we’ll make our hunkiest actors do a butt naked song and dance number. We’ll even make our audience participate if you like…and we’ll spit at them if they don’t!

PRODUCER 2: Profits based on Voyeurism…

PRODUCER 1: What’s wrong with that? Well isn’t that what the fourth wall’s for! In any case, some people get it for free from their neighbors…at least morally we make them pay…some even do it for charity—you know what I mean. (Thinking out loud.) Maybe we should do this play as a benefit…

PRODUCER 2: Well, SHE won’t do it even for the benefit of the U.N. if she knew you’d put in those Topless dancers…

PRODUCER 1: Then we won’t tell her…

PRODUCER 2: Ludicrous! She’ll see them in rehearsal…

PRODUCER 1: Then we won’t make her attend rehearsals…

PRODUCER 2: She’s too disciplined to do that…

PRODUCER 1: FINE! Fine! Let’s just fool the press we’re getting her in for a part!

PRODUCER 2: Then what?

PRODUCER 1: (Annoyed.) Then-what- then-what!?!

PRODUCER 2: When will she appear?

PRODUCER 1: She’ll never! It’s like Waiting for Godot. She’s Godot.

PRODUCER 2: But she’ll be the title role?

PRODUCER 1: Exactly like Godot.

PRODUCER 2: My, that’s absurd…

PRODUCER 1: A synonym to brilliance!

PRODUCER 2: I still don’t like the idea.

PRODUCER 1: (Charming.) My old chap…you don’t have to like the idea. What matters is that you’re going to earn from the idea… Isn’t that what every hungry theater artist would ever want…

PRODUCER 2: (Terrified. In the state of horror and disgust.) You’re the devil! GET AWAY FROM ME! Just because the rest treat our craft as a hobby doesn’t mean I compromise my values!! (Breaks the fourth wall. Goes down below stage. To the audience.) SOMEONE please break this cyclic CRUELTY IN THEATER?!!

PRODUCER 1: (Peeved.) Oh, hush!! Put back drama where it belongs… ONSTAGE… (Calls him back onstage. Sympathetic.) You know it’s true…

PRODUCER 2: (Goes back onstage. With a plaintive sigh.) I’m sad… that I would have to say yes… (Breaks down. Bawling.) WAAAAaaaaAAAAHhhHhH!!!! (Crying subsides. Producer1 empathetically.)

PRODUCER 1: (Waiting for his cue. After a long pause.) Now start writing.

(Producer1 gets his calculator and dumps it into the thrash can. Blackout.)

CURTAIN

* No part of these plays may be staged without a written permission from the author.
For performance rights and inquiries email ktfi2001@yahoo.com

or call 433.7886 /text (0917)9726514.

HULING ENSAYO PARA SA IYO

ni Njel de Mesa

TAUHAN:
NAGMAMAHAL
MAHAL

(Isang madilim na silid na puno ng kandila. Sa gitna ng entablado may lamesang katamtaman ang laki na puno ng simpleng pagkaing pinagarbo lang ng presentasyon nito. May mga lobong asul na nakatali sa dalawang upuang nasa magkabilang dulo ng lamesa. Sa ilalim ng lamesa, may isang regalong maliit na nakaantabay. Mag-aayos na tatayo ang NAGMAMAHAL sa gitna ng entablado, may dalang siyang birthday cake at wari’y may aawitan. Hihinga siya nang malalim at saka bibirit ng “Happy Birthday”.)

NAGMAMAHAL: (Paawit.) “Happy Birthday to you… Happy Birthday, Happy Birthdaaaayy… happy Birthday to yoooou!” (Pasigaw na panggulat.) SURPRISE!! (Sabay click sa camerang nakatutok sa bakanteng upuan.)

(Matitigilan. Hihinga nang malalim. Kinakabahan at kinikilig. Pautal utal na mageensayo.)

Ang saya, di ba? Nakakagulat, kahit parehong matalas ang ating pangamoy sa mga surpresang ganito… hindi pa rin tayo handa sa mga handaang ganito kahit gaano man kabusisi pinaghandaan ang handaan… O, ano’ng gusto mo’ng unahin?? (Mag-aabot ng pagkain nakahain.) ‘Yan? (Tinuturo ang isang pang putahe.) …o eto?

(Matitigilan. Iisipin kung may nakalimutang linya. Madramang magtatalumpati.)

Dumayo pa ako sa pinakamalayong lupalop at tinunton ang isang liblib na republika para maihain ko ngayong gabi ang ‘yong pinaka-paboritong Adobo mix… Sinuyod ko ang lahat ng palengkeng may PX, lumuwas tungong Europa para matunton ang iyong pinaka-aasam na tsokolateng pamutat galing Belhika… Nag-impok ng humigit-kumulang ‘sang daang ibinulsang pakete ng ketchap na hilig mong papakin,… (Ipapakita ang isang malaking bag na punung puno ng mga sachet ng ketchup.) …para malaman mo; bawat isa’y katumbas ng bawat sandaling naalala ka…

At kanina, gumising nang pagka-aga-aga para kulitin ang aking Inang ipagluto ka, mamili ng ‘san-damakmak na kandila’t magburo ng kapeng pampagising sa ating dalawa…

Mahal, buong taon… Buong taon… wala na akong inisip kundi ang araw na ito…
(Kunwari’y sisindihan ang mga kandila sa cake.)

Nag-ensayo pa ako ng kung anong sasabihin sa iyo’t baka sirain lang ng aking angking sakit ng pagkautal-utal-utal ang napakahalagang okasyong ito… Para sa akin… para sa atin… Ngunit higit sa lahat, para sa iyo… Sirain na ng ibang tao ang araw mo… Huwag lang ng padalos-dalos na dila ko…

Sana kahit ngayong gabi lang… Sana wala akong masabing mali… na ikasasama ng loob mo…

Sana buong gabi kang magsasaya...

(Magpapatawa.) At sana… maubos ko itong pagkarami-raming pagkaing nakahain. Alam ko namang… ako rin ang uubos nito, e.

Para sa taong ayaw tumaba, masyado yatang marami akong naihain. (Magbibiro.) Sabi na nga ba, dapat kinumbida ko ang buong kamaganakan mo para may katulong ako sa pagkain at… (Saglit.) …paghuhugas ng pinggan… Hahahaha!!

‘Di bale, huwag kang mangamba, sanay naman akong maghugas mag-isa. (Pabiro.) Alam ko namang hindi ka tutulong, e… hmp…

Pero ‘wag ka: Sinubukan ko pa ring yayain ang iyong Ama’t Ina sa salu-salo natin ngayong gabi… ang modus ko’y upang maipangalandakan ko sa kanila kung gaano kita kamahal… at sa gayon… kahit papaano… matutunan na rin nila akong mahalin.

‘Kaso mo’y may bigla daw silang gagawin.

Sayang.

Mabuti na rin ‘yun siguro, hindi nila alam na naghanda rin ako; baka isipin nanaman nilang nakikipagkumpitensya ako sa kanila… at ‘di ka nanaman tuluyang payagan makipagkita sa akin ngayong gabi…

Alam mo namang habang tumatagal, pahirap na nang pahirap ang pahirapan na ipaubaya ka nila sa akin nang kahit ilang saglit…

Pati nga ang mga matatalik mong kaibigan; isa isa kong kinumbidang makiisa, dahil ‘ika mo nga: Mas marami, MASaya…

Kaya lang, lahat daw sila may biglang gagawin din ngayong gabi…

Biruin mo? Lahat sila? Um-oo na. Tapos, biglang hihindi. Mga walang pakisama… Hmp.

May gagawin daw sila bigla… sa kaarawan mo… (Mangaasar.) Mga kaibigan mo nga silang tunay…

Kaya heto ako ngayon… mag-isa… may gagawin daw kasi sila.

Basta ako nandito ako… may kasama man o wala… para sa iyo…

(Hihinga nang malalim.) Buo na ang surpresa. Nasa piling ka na ngayon ng tunay na nagmamahal sa iyo…

(Kukunin sa ilalim ng lamesa ang isang kahon ng regalo. Marahang ilalapag sa gitna ng hapag kainan.)

Buksan mo. (Saglit.) Buksan mo. ‘Wag ako… ayokong maki-miron sa surpresa ng may surpresa… kasi nga, kadalasan, AKO pa ang nasusurpresa…

Ikaw ang magbukas.

Para sa iyo ‘yan. Hindi ako kasali d’yan… kunwari…

(Kunwa’y ilalabas ang mga pabango galing sa kahon.)

Isa, para sa iyo. Isa, para sa akin. Para sa tuwing di ka kapiling maamoy ang feeling… nating dalawa… Hehe.

O, masaya ka na? (Saglit.) Paminsan minsan naman… ako naman ang pasasayahin mo ha? (Naglalambing na tawa.) Hahaha!!

Masaya ako para sa ‘yo. Masaya ako’t kahit saglit napasaya kita. Sana nga lang maalala mong lahat ng ito parati… Ako… hinding hindi ko ito malilimutan…

Pupusta ako. Iiyak ka. (Saglit.) Dahil masaya ka. Iiyak ako. (Saglit.) Dahil hindi na ako mag-iisa. (Katahimikan.) Sabi ko na nga ba… pati ba yun nakabisa ko…

Mahal, ipadama man nila sa akin na hindi ako karapat dapat para sa iyo… Magmukha man akong tangang naghihintay sa iyo… dahil narito ka ngayon… kasama ko… kapiling ko… tumupad sa iyong pangakong kailanma’y di ako mag-iisa… Mali sila… at tama ka… kaya mahal kita.

Para sa ‘yo ang lahat ng ito… (Magsasalang ng tape o CD sa Komponent.) …pati ito… (Saka pipindutin ang PLAY. May tutugtog na “theme song”.)

(Matapos ang tugtog. Ibabalik ang regalo sa ilalim ng lamesa. Ngingiti. Kukunin ang cellphone.) Okay, here goes… (Hihinga nang malalim. Tatawag sa kanyang MAHAL.)

Mahal… (Malambing. Sa telepono.) Where you na po? (Sasagot ang nasa kabilang linya.) Aaa… I see… so you’ll be late… like how late is “really late”? (Sasagot ang nasa kabilang linya.)

O, ba’t ka umiiyak? Is there a problem? (Sasagot ang nasa kabilang linya.)

Talaga?? Surprise?!! Wow. (Makikinig. Magsisimulang maiinis ngunit magkukunwaring masaya.)

Sinong “sila”? Silang lahat? (Sasagot ang nasa kabilang linya.)

Aba, first time nakumpleto… (Makikinig. Maluluha.)

Mukhang matagal na nila ‘yang pinaghandaan… mahirap ‘yang grand ballroom na ‘yan ipa-reserve… (Makikinig.)

Awww… ang sweet naman nila… (Labas sa ilong.) …awww… (Makikinig.)

Me? No. Hindi na siguro, malabong makahabol pa… matrafik, e… (Makikinig. Namumula sa galit ngunit hindi maipahalata.)

It’s okay… it’s okay… I wasn’t invited in the first place… (Sasagot ang nasa kabilang linya.) …Where? Here?

‘Wag na… I can’t wait long din kasi, marami pa akong tatapusin, e… A, hindi na okay lang… hindi naman talaga ako naghanda, e… (Makikinig.) No, no, no, stay there… baka mamaya sabihin ng parents mo, I’m competing with them. Issue na naman.

Mabuti na rin ‘yan they’ll realize… (May galit bigla.) …na sila pa rin ang mas mahalaga sa buhay mo… (Pilit na tatawa.) Hahahaha!!

E, sino pa’ng nand’yan? (Sasagot ang nasa kabilang linya.)

Talaga?!

All the way from Hongkong? (Makikinig.)

What?! Pati SIYA nand’yan? They obviously sent invitations… (Mapapaupo sa selos habang nakikinig.)

Ano ba ‘yan… lahat ‘ata ng nagkagusto sa ‘yo… nand’yan… (Makikinig. Maiiyak.)

No, I’m not… (Magpupunas ng luha.) Okay I AM! Because I’m so happy for you… You see your parents really do love you… they wouldn’t have organized THAT if they— (Makikinig. Magpipigil umiyak.) Oh, …don’t worry about me… I’ll be fine.

Ano? Tinatanong nilang lahat kung ba’t wala ako diyan?!! Hahaha!!

Ya, ya, ya, I know… They expect me to be there… Hahahaha!! (Pipilitin magbiro.)

Sabihin mo na lang may mas mahalagang inatupag kaysa sa birthday mo… Hahaha!! (Saglit na katahimikan.)

Uy,… Joke lang… O, nagtampo naman agad ang baby ko… hindi na bagay sa iyo ‘yan, gurang ka na ngayon… hehe…

Uy, biro lang, e… (Katahimikan. Maiinis sa sarili.)

Mahal? (Matagal na katahimikan.) Mahal??

Uy, mahal… (Sasagot ang nasa kabilang linya.)

…Babay na? A, okay…

…Sige, mam’ya na lang… (Makikinig.) Yup, I’ll still be up…

Bye… (Matagal na katahimikan.) …

Galit ka?… (Katahimikan.)

Galit ka?… (Saglit.) Uy… mahal…

(Bubuntong hininga. Sasabog sa inis.) Sorry ha, IF I SPOILED YOUR BIRTHDAY SURPRISE!!!

(Saglit.) Hello? (Putol na ang linya.) Hello? (Galit na ibabato ang cellphone.)

(Galit.) SURPRISE!!?!

(Magwawala sa sama ng loob.)

Ang SAYA, di ba? Nakakagulat, kahit parehong matalas ang ating pangamoy sa mga surpresang ganito… hindi pa rin tayo handa sa mga handaang ganito kahit gaano man kabusisi pinaghandaan ang handaan… O, ano’ng gusto mong UNAHIN?? (Kausap ang cellphone.) ‘Yan? (Galit na kukumpas tinuturo ang lahat ng kanyang hinanda.) …o eto?!!

(Bagot.) Dumayo pa ako sa pinakamalayong lupalop at tinunton ang isang liblib na republika para maihain ko ngayong gabi ang ‘yong pinaka-paboritong Adobo mix… Sinuyod ko ang lahat ng palengkeng may PX, lumuwas tungong Europa para matunton ang iyong pinaka-aasam na tsokolateng pamutat galing Belhika… Nag-impok ng humigit-kumulang ‘sang daang ibinulsang pakete ng ketchap na hilig mong papakin,… (Dadamputin ang malaking bag na punung puno ng mga sachet ng ketchup.) …para malaman mo; bawat isa, BAWAT ISA (Galit na ibubuhos sa sahig ang mga ketchup sachets sa loob ng bag.) …bawat isa’y katumbas ng bawat sandaling naalala ka…

At kanina, gumising nang pagka-aga-aga para kulitin ang aking Inang ipagluto ka, mamili ng ‘san-damakmak na kandila’t magburo ng kapeng pampagising sa ating dalawa…

(Hahagulhol.) Mahal, buong taon… BUONG TAON… wala na akong inisip kundi ang araw na ito…

Nag-ensayo pa ako ng kung anong sasabihin sa iyo’t baka sirain lang ng aking angking sakit ng pagkautal-utal-utal ang napakahalagang okasyong ito… Para sa akin… para sa atin… Ngunit higit sa lahat, para sa iyo… Sirain na ng ibang tao ang araw mo… Huwag lang ng PADALOS-DALOS NA DILA KO!!!

Sana kahit ngayong gabi lang… Sana WALA AKONG MASABING MALI… na ikasasama ng loob mo…

Sana BUONG GABI KANG MAGSASAYA!

At sana…maubos ko itong pagkarami-raming pagkaing nakahain. Alam KO namang…AKO rin ang uubos nito e.

Para sa taong ayaw tumaba, masyado yatang marami akong naihain. (Pipiliting magbiro. Pupunasan ang luha.) Sabi na nga ba, dapat kinumbida ko ang buong kamaganakan mo para may katulong ako sa pagkain at… paghuhugas ng pinggan…

‘Di bale huwag kang mangamba, sanay naman akong maghugas mag-isa. (Bwisit.) Alam ko namang HINDI KA TUTULONG, e…

Pero ‘wag ka: Sinubukan ko pa ring yayain ang iyong Ama’t Ina sa salu-salo natin ngayong gabi… ang modus ko’y upang maipangalandakan ko sa kanila kung gaano kita kamahal… at sa gayon… kahit papaano… matutunan na rin nila akong mahalin.

‘Kaso mo’y may BIGLA daw silang gagawin. (Iiyak.)

SAYANG.

Mabuti na rin ‘yun siguro, hindi nila alam na naghanda rin ako; baka isipin nanaman nilang nakikipagkumpitensya ako sa kanila… at ‘di ka nanaman tuluyang payagan makipagkita sa akin ngayong gabi…

Alam mo namang habang tumatagal, pahirap na nang pahirap ang pahirapan na ipaubaya ka nila sa akin nang kahit ilang saglit…

Pati nga ang mga matatalik mong kaibigan; isa… ISA… ISA ISA… kong kinumbidang makiisa, dahil ‘ika mo nga: Mas MARAMI, MASaya…

Kaya lang, lahat daw sila MAY BIGLANG GAGAWIN din ngayong gabi… (Hihikbi.)

Biruin mo? Lahat sila? Um-“OO” na. Tapos biglang hihindi. MGA WALANG PAKISAMA… May gagawin daw sila BIGLA… sa kaarawan mo… (Maaasar.) Mga kaibigan mo nga silang tunay…

Kaya heto ako ngayon… MAG-ISA… MAY GAGAWIN daw kasi sila!

Basta ako nandito ako … may kasama man o wala… para sa iyo…

Buo na ang surpresa. Nasa piling ka na ngayon ng TUNAY na nagmamahal sa iyo…

(Kukunin sa ilalim ng lamesa ang isang kahon ng regalo. Padabog ilalapag sa gitna ng hapag kainan.)

Buksan mo. (Galit.) BUKSAN MO!! ‘Wag AKO…ayokong maki-MIRON sa surpresa ng may surpresa… kasi nga, kadalasan, AKO PA ang nasusurpresa… (Magdadabog.)

Ikaw ang magbukas.

PARA sa iyo ‘yan. Hindi ako kasali d’yan… KUNWARI…

(Sisirain ang pabalat ng regalo. Padabog na ilalabas ang dalawang pabangong magkatulad galing sa kahon.)

Isa, para sa iyo. Isa, para sa akin. Para sa tuwing di ka kapiling maamoy ang feeling… nating dalawa… (Aaksayahin ang kanyang regalo at pababanguhan ang paligid.).

O masaya ka na? (Saglit.) PAMINSAN Minsan naman… ako naman ang pasasayahin mo ha?

Masaya ako para sa ‘yo. Masaya ako’t kahit saglit napasaya kita. Sana nga lang maalala mo’ng lahat ng ito parati… Ako… (Habang pinupunit ang pabalat ng regalo.)… hinding hindi ko ito malilimutan… (Iiyak.)

PUPUSTA AKO. Iiyak ka. (Saglit.) Dahil masaya ka. Iiyak ako. (Saglit.) Dahil hindi na ako mag-iisa. SABI KO NA NGA BA… Pati ba yun nakabisa ko?

Mahal, ipadama man nila sa akin na hindi ako karapat dapat para sa iyo… Magmukha man akong TANGAng naghihintay sa iyo… dahil narito ka ngayon… kasama ko… kapiling ko… tumupad sa iyong pangakong kailanma’y ‘di ako mag-iisa… Mali SILA… at tama ka… kaya mahal kita. (Maglulupasay sa sobrang sama ng loob.)

Para sa ‘yo ang lahat ng ito… pati ito… (Saka pipindutin ulit ang PLAY. Muling tutugtog ang “theme song” nila. Tatayo sa lungkot at kukunan niya ng litrato ang sarili niyang umiiyak. Uubusin niya ang pelikula ng camera. Babagsak sa sahig at susubukang tipunin muli ang mga nagkalat na ketchup sachets. Crescendo.) Ayoko na! Ayoko naaaaa… AYOKO NA!!

(Matapos ang tugtog. May maririnig na doorbell. Magpupunas ng luha. Lalakad siya patungong pinto, offstage.)

MAHAL: (Offstage. Malambing.) …Surprise…

NAGMAMAHAL: (Gulat.) O, mahal… ba’t nandito ka?

TELON

* No part of these plays may be staged without a written permission from the author.For performance rights and inquiries email ktfi2001@yahoo.com or call 433.7886 /text (0917)9726514.

OVER. AND. OVER.

by Njel de Mesa

CHARACTER:
GUY

*Before the actual performance, 5 different Voice Over Cue cards must be made for distribution. Inscribed on each are excerpts from previous love letters of an ex-girlfriend:

CUE CARD1.

My dearest, I have been trying to hide in a façade of perfection which made me feel more imperfect than ever. I demand acceptance but I am never satisfied with me… until you came into the picture. You made life easier to live. I can never give you back what you have given me.
February 2002


CUE CARD2.

I want to share my whole self with you, but until I figure out how, all I can do is wish. I wish the world would hear what I don’t say and listen even in my silence. I wish the world would feel ‘me’…the ‘me’ it does not know and feel…the ‘me’ it doesn’t want to know and feel. Or maybe I’m just asking too much for a wish.
April 2002


CUE CARD3.

I know that things are just too much to bear. But I pray that you’ll never cease to walk with me. I don’t care if I’ll be the last person to believe in us. Let it be, if God wills, that the world may know how much I love you. Please believe with me. I’m yours forever.
March 2003


CUE CARD4.

I’m so afraid to lose you. What’s life without you? I’ve done so many wrongs to you, and wonder why you keep on putting up with me. But I will never give up because you never gave up on me. I have faith that you’ll always be with me. Thank you for having faith in me, trusting that I will always be with you.
April 2003


CUE CARD5.

For all the times you allowed me to help you, listened and tried to understand me, offered your shoulders for me to cry on to, reached out your hand for me to hold on to, made me feel beautiful, needed, and loved… made me laugh, suffered for me, endured the pain, fought the fears…the more I wanted to do to others what you’ve done to me…to make them smile…the more I wanted to love.
June 2003


OPEN HOUSE Before CURTAIN: The Director should talk to the audience about this featured interactive play and require their participation. The lines below may actually be used as an opening spiel by the Director (or Stage Manager) to brief the audience of the following mechanics:

DIRECTOR: Good evening. Our featured presentation tonight might somewhat, somehow be acutely familiar to most—although I hope not all of us. (To warm-up audience participation.) Well, we’ll see about that. Our play for this evening is rather personal, and since this is the case—Quid pro quo—I’d have to ask all of you some personal questions. So do emphatically exclaim “NO”, if your answer is “YES” and “YES” if “NO”. (Pause.) Have you ever truly, madly, deeply loved before? (They answer.) Have you ever truly, madly, deeply loved then lost before? (They answer.) Have you ever truly, madly, deeply loved, lost, then be haunted by it years after? (They answer.) Sadly we are on the same brutal page…And on this page… a letter… Tonight’s play will be about a young man, who, after 2 ½ years of being in a steady relationship with a young woman was tragically—pardon the euphemism –dumped. And yet, on the anniversary of their break up, she then writes to him a disturbing, disconcerting letter– exactly after a year of absolute silence, of no communication at all? And to give you a feel of how cumbersome this new letter is; we shall give five of you: Voice Over CUE CARDs with excerpts of the young woman’s previous love letters to our Romeo. These Cue Cards must be read consecutively at the sound of the message alert tone (SFX: Beeping sound played.). Hence, CUE CARD Holder no.#1 must read what is inscribed on the CUE CARD assigned to him/her, (Beeping sound.) CUE CARD Holder no.#2 follows, and so on to no.#3,4, and 5. Now near the end of the show, you will hear these Alert tones again (Beeping sound.)…only this time, CUE CARD Holder no.#1 will now be asked to give his/her own opinions regarding the letter that was read onstage, (Beeping sound.), CUE CARD Holder no.#2 follows, and so on to no.#3,4,5. Hopefully a lively, highly opinionated open discussion will ensue and anyone from the audience can just blurt out a comment or two. This… (Showing the CUE CARDs.) … is an integral part of the play’s interactive experience. So to resolve the conflict onstage, we will be very happy if you could read these cards for us tonight. (The Director starts distributing the 5 Cue Cards to respective members of the audience and thank them in advance for their participation.) Thank you and enjoy the show. (Exits.)

(National Anthem. Opening Music.)

*The letter reading may be presented with various interpretations. The actor may also be allowed to make some spontaneous side comments while reading.

(A young professional’s bedroom interior. There is a TV set at upstage right, a single bed at dead center, and a small table with a lamplight at downstage left. The silhouette of a young man shatters the pitch black room. Shortly after pacing inside the room and picking up the mail on the floor, he switches the pin lights on. Tosses and flails his attaché case near the edge of his bed. He then removes his tie and long sleeved shirt, exhausted from his long day. He switches on the TV and finds looping vignettes of familiar movies with the Lead Guy chasing the Lead Girl- e.g. How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Love Actually, Family Man, Hitch etc.)

GUY: (Changes garbs for sleeping. Makes himself a cup of coffee. Checks out his mail. Watches TV. Switching channels, he finds the movie Cinema Paradiso playing. First Message alert tone is played. Guy reminisces. Cue Card Holder no.#1 reads aloud his/her card. LCD projection may show the actual excerpted letter to the rest of the audience. Cue Card Holder no.#2,3,4,5 reads after. Switches the TV off after the Voice Over readings.)

Ugh. Sad Movies again. Bills. Bills. Bills… (Sees a letter with a clean white envelope.) Ahhh…an anonymous letter… (Opens the letter. Starts reading the letter aloud.)

“Hi there. You might be as surprised as I am that I’ve taken time out to write you this crucial letter. First of, I want to congratulate you. I’ve heard much of your great achievements without me: touring the country, the expansion of the company, and the inspiring progress of the kids. Obviously, you were able not to trim your sails in the light of our recent break up. (Pauses. Baffled.) I always knew you could do it. You might be wondering by now why I’m writing to you this late in the game. Well, I’m just happy to announce: I am officially Over you. I’m sure you’d be happy to hear that. You’ve always wanted the best for me.

Things have been pretty roughed up and, as usual, busy being caught in the hurly burly of my company since we broke up. Just for keeping up’s sake, I’m still with the same company you left me with—the same company you’ve always wanted me to quit because you thought it was making me high strung and stressed out. Just so that you know, I’ve never been this happy being in that same company. I have on me the very same responsibilities but they seem to be significantly lighter without you watching my back. I guess—in life—lighter is better. I’ve probably learned how to factor out complications in my life to make it more conveniently simple.

So since now I can breathe and confidently say I am Over you. I write to you now of what I’ve gathered between the year of respite after we recently broke up (Baffled. Repeats the line.).

Exactly a year ago, I recall vividly, I severed our three year relationship seasoned by a deep friendship after finding out that I can no longer tolerate the pain of us being together. It took months for the healing to take full effect and for your traumatic stains to be washed off my mind. Though I’ve not forgotten it, I certainly am Over. Surprisingly, I didn’t miss you at all.

We both know though that the dye that was cast would never be removed from my memory’s wool. And confused as I was, I finally decided last February to talk to you. Invited you for coffee, pulled you out of exile, and revealed to you the nauseous truth about how I really felt about my futile attempt for a closure that sad November, last year.

So, as you silently sipped your doubleshot coffee, I sent you with my confidence that I shall never give you a second chance ever—even if you asked for one.

As expected, since then, you’ve stopped nattering me, writing me, seeing me, or calling me. And I have you to thank for that reprieve of silence, because that’s how I got Over you. The disturbing truth is that I felt utterly delighted that you weren’t dogging me anymore.

And so I asked myself? Did I love you? That slight feeling of relief and euphoria made me think every moment of my waking hour. Perturbed, I had to inspect much more closely this time what really happened—what really went on between us.

I know we’ve been living disconnected lives and I for one am completely Over you. However, I feel I owe you something: the truth. Although it might rub salt in the wound--but I thought since it has been a year that we haven’t been in contact-- I thought it best to finally come forward with it.

It’s a truth I’ve refused to listen to as it was drowned by the cluttering noise of my passions and emotions for you back then. A truth you might not even like to hear… But as it is, there is no point in sugar coating this bitter truth, so here it is: I didn’t love you…and never did I.

At first I felt guilt and remorse realizing this fact. A fact that was incessantly pointed out to me by my closest friends and relatives but I stubbornly denied for years. Since you afforded me with much time to think this through, it resolutely dawned on me that it was only fear and pity that drove me to do the things I did that you misconstrued as love.

I feel bad knowing this but bad as I feel, I cannot and would not deny you the honest truth. I’m sorry to be too blunt for comfort. But since you answered the phone last night with the apparent tenor that you’ve erased me already from your vocabulary—I knew it was time to spill those beans knowing it won’t bring much discomfort on your part as before.

I am as shocked as you are, but do know that I didn’t mean any harm in writing this letter. All I have are good intentions necessary for us both to carry on with our renewed lives.

I have a new boyfriend. You probably heard because you obviously didn’t like him when he made a pass at me back then when we were still together. Evidently, I’m Over you and I’ve moved on. And I do suggest for you to do the same. For the best.

That’s what I wish for. I wish you all the best and luck for all the great things you are bound to do in the future. And though I’m not a part of that bright future anymore I am convinced and over the fact that I was not meant to be playing for any part in any part of that imminent future you’ve all written out for the both of us.

I’ve accepted the simple twists that had happened and am Over it. I hope in time you will be Over it as well as I have.

Your Boo.”

GUY: (Beat. Looks around. Distraught and in a quandary.) What’s this?! (Breaks the fourth wall. Asks the audience.) What’s this?! (The first message alert tone beeps. Then the second, third, and so on. The GUY can start moderating the discussion ad libitum. The player onstage must have a fixed opinion and must provoke the audience to validate or invalidate his opinion. Citing from the previous love letters should be promoted. The GUY can signal the end of the discussion by saying “Thank you” to the audience for the enlightening session. GUY breathes heavily. Laughs out heartily to tears. Scoffs at the idea of the letter. After smiling with a plaintive sigh, he incredulously giggles to himself.) There’s nothing more pathetic than re-runs of… (Sings.) Saaaaad Moviesssss... (Decides to sleep. Climbs to his bed and pulls up his blanket. Talking to himself.) Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. (Silently prays. Giggles.) You’re Over. (Pause.) I Copy. (Pause.) I’m Out. (Blackout. In the dark.) You’re mean. (Uncontrollable laughter is heard in the dark.).

CURTAIN

* No part of these plays may be staged without a written permission from the author.For performance rights and inquiries email ktfi2001@yahoo.com or call 433.7886 /text (0917)9726514.