Текст книги "Theater Plays"

Автор книги: Valentin Krasnogorov

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Valentin Krasnogorov
Theater Plays

Valentin Krasnogorov and his plays

Krasnogorov’s plays have been performed in more than 400 theaters all over the wold and directed by many prominent theater directors. They are part of the permanent repertoire of many theaters, and several have been peformed hundreds of times, to rave reviews. The critical assessment that “Krasnogorov’s plays cross borders easily” is no empty praise: they have been translated into a number of other languages, and performed in Australia, Bulgaria, the Czech Republic, Cyprus, Estonia, Germany, Great Britain, India, Mongolia, Montenegro, Poland, Romania, Slovakia, Turkey, Ukraine, the USA, and elsewhere. Plays from the Krasnogorov catalogue have received numerous awards for best drama at various international theater festivals.

Krasnogorov’s theatrical mastery spans a wide range of unique talents and skills. It is the combination of biting satire, a keen sense of humor, the art of the grotesque and the absurd, tender lyricism, and a deep appreciation of human nature that makes Krasnogorov’s theater pieces so sought after, so delightful, so delectable. The conflicts in his plays are beautifully balanced out by their easy yet brilliant dialogue, lively dynamics, and gripping narratives. The author’s witty plots and paradoxical situations are quick to draw readers and audiences into the world created by his imagination.

In addition to drama, Valentin Krasnogorov has written novellas, short stories, and essays. His biography is included in the Marquis Who’s Who in the World (USA), the International Who’s Who of Intellectuals (Cambridge, England), and other publications.One Passion and Four Walls, Krasnogorov’s book on the essence of drama, has earned praise from notable figures in the theater. He is also the founder and first president of the Dramatists Guild of St. Petersburg.

Running the Show

Режиссер массовых зрелищ

A mysterious comedy in two acts

with no intermission

Translated from the Russian by Liv Bliss

Liv Bliss is a professional translator who resides in the United States and is certified by the American Translators Association for translation from Russian into English. She has a shelf-full of translated books, mostly fiction, and truly enjoys the challenge of academic translation and editing.

Synopsis

A unusual show goes into a mystifying, bizarrely amusing night rehearsal that ends with a twist. 2 men and 2 women. Interior.

CHARACTERS

DIRECTOR

CONSULTANT

MAN

WOMAN

The age of the characters is not critical. The men can be 40 to 60 years old; the women, 30 to 40.

An ordinary, unremarkable room. The actors are offstage as the play begins. After some time, a middle-aged man, the DIRECTOR, enters. He is accompanied by a beautiful, impeccably dressed woman, the CONSULTANT.

CONSULTANT: Here we are. After you.

DIRECTOR: Is this where we’re going to rehearse?

CONSULTANT: Yes. Do you have a problem with anything?

DIRECTOR: No. Why do you ask? What is this room?

CONSULTANT: A kind of recording studio. It’s nicely sound-proofed. If you close the door, no noises can get in or out. This is just what you need for your rehearsals. No one will bother you here. Do you like it?

DIRECTOR: (casually) It’s quite cozy. I don’t care, though. I can work in any conditions, even in a storm on the deck of a ship. But where are the so-called artistes? The rehearsal’s scheduled for ten p.m. sharp, and it’s already three minutes past.

CONSULTANT: They’ll be here soon.

DIRECTOR: (not pleased) What does that mean, “soon”? They should be here and ready at ten p.m. on the dot. My work doesn’t accommodate any deviations from the schedule. I’ll still have to pull an all-nighter after this rehearsal. And I have to have everything done by tomorrow at three p.m., come hell or high water. This isn’t some first-night premiere that can be postponed until whenever.

CONSULTANT: Take it easy, sit down. Would you like some coffee?

DIRECTOR: I’m not here for coffee, dearie, but to do my work. And who are you, by the way?

CONSULTANT: I’m a consultant.

DIRECTOR: I don’t need any consultants, sweet cheeks.

CONSULTANT: I’m not your consultant.

DIRECTOR: Then whose are you?

CONSULTANT: Not yours. I was sent to help you with the rehearsal.

DIRECTOR: Help me? I don’t need any assistants either. Do you know who I am?

CONSULTANT: You’re a renowned director. Everybody knows that. But surely you’re not going to pour your own coffee or find the right script pages? That’s why I’m here.

DIRECTOR: Well, if that’s why… I can’t stand having outsiders at my rehearsals.

CONSULTANT: Don’t worry. I’m only going to be your aide… or your associate director… I don’t know what the job’s called in the theater.

DIRECTOR: OK, stay. But don’t even think about tampering with my work. If you do, you’ll be out on your ear.

CONSULTANT: Very well.

DIRECTOR: If you’re somebody’s consultant, maybe you already know why this rehearsal – and, for that matter, all the work I’m doing – needs to be kept secret?

CONSULTANT: It must be because the client wants it that way.

DIRECTOR: A strange thing to want. Something’s wrong here.

CONSULTANT: Will you be paid for this project?

DIRECTOR: Sure.

CONSULTANT: Will they pay well?

DIRECTOR: Better than well. Anyway, that’s what they promised.

CONSULTANT: Then you should have no questions.

DIRECTOR: (paces the room impatiently) But where are those wretched artistes, damn them?

CONSULTANT: Why’re you going off on them all of a sudden? They’re respected people, eminent people…

DIRECTOR: That’s why they have to be put in their place right off the bat. As soon as an actor starts telling me about the prizes and awards he’s won, and how many times he’s been on TV, and all that, he immediately becomes impossible to work with. I can’t stand big stars. I boot them out on the spot.

CONSULTANT: These people have been on TV too, but I asked them to keep it low key here.

DIRECTOR: Just let ’em try any other key… So far, all I can see is that the show’s scheduled for tomorrow, but they’re not here. Do they know their parts, at any rate?

CONSULTANT: (unsure) They promised to learn them.

DIRECTOR: If they haven’t learned their roles by heart, I’ll send them back where they came from. I don’t have time to study the script with them. This isn’t a kindergarten.

CONSULTANT: I’ll pour you a cup of coffee anyway.

DIRECTOR: To hell with your coffee…

MAN enters. He is somewhat older than middle age, wearing a well-tailored dark suit.

MAN: Good evening.

DIRECTOR: At last you delight us with your presence.

MAN: Sorry, I’m a little late…

DIRECTOR: I don’t accept apologies. If you don’t value your own time, at least respect the time of others.

MAN: I’m a very busy person. Is that so hard to grasp?

DIRECTOR: I’m busier than you are, let me assure you. But I arrived on time, although every second’s precious to me. At this moment, hundreds of people are working on the show under my leadership, and everything will collapse without a clear-cut schedule. If I accept an apology from everyone instead of getting the work done, we’re in for a failure tomorrow.

WOMAN rushes in. She’s beautiful and dressed in a bright, provocative outfit. She’s trying to hide the fact that she’s tipsy.

WOMAN: Good evening. (Guilty) It seems I’m late.

DIRECTOR: To quote Hamlet: “Seems,” madam? Nay, it is. I know not “seems.”

WOMAN: (baffled) What are you talking about?

DIRECTOR: About you being late and me not putting up with it.

WOMAN: It just turned out this way. I don’t know why.

DIRECTOR: If anything else “just turns out” with you, nothing’s going to turn out for us. Is that clear?

CONSULTANT: Maybe we should start the rehearsal?

DIRECTOR: Are you giving me advice already, sweet cheeks?

CONSULTANT: But they’re here, they’ve apologized.

DIRECTOR: So sit quietly, and not another peep out of you. I want everyone to understand here and now: without iron discipline, we won’t get anywhere. My time’s very limited. Everyone has to obey me implicitly. I won’t tolerate any superstar-itis. I hope that’s clear to everyone.

Silence

Fine. Now, without wasting another minute… (looks at his notebook) The first to speak is our leading lady. The rest will sit quiet and stay out of it. (to WOMAN) Are you ready?

WOMAN: In a minute. I’m just going to make a call.

DIRECTOR: No calls! Everyone, turn off your phones!

WOMAN: I’ll be quick. It’s very important.

DIRECTOR: Nothing can be more important than this rehearsal.

WOMAN: Oh, all right. (puts the phone away)

DIRECTOR: I seem to recall asking if you’re ready.

WOMAN: Yes.

DIRECTOR: So begin. Come forward… By the way, why are you dressed like that? I asked everybody to report in costume.

WOMAN: I didn’t know we had to.

DIRECTOR: Get this into your head: everything I say, you have to do. Got it?

WOMAN: Yes.

DIRECTOR: Fine. You were supposed to come in full costume so you could get used to it, get comfortable in it, feel that it’s yours. But the most important thing is that it helps you to create the right mood.

WOMAN: I was afraid to stain or crush it.

DIRECTOR: Then the least you could have done is figured out that you needed to wear something a little more somber than that. You’re going to be portraying profound sorrow, while your skirt is, sad to say, barely hiding what’s not usually displayed in broad daylight. True, it’s almost night by now. Anyway, do you even have a skirt on?

WOMAN: Don’t you see it?

DIRECTOR: Almost.

WOMAN: But you’re taking a close look, aren’t you?

DIRECTOR: I’m afraid that if I look closely, I’ll see too much.

WOMAN: This is what people are wearing these days.

DIRECTOR: OK. Let’s not waste any more time talking. As they say in the theater, you’re on.

Pause. WOMAN obviously doesn’t know what to do.

So why are you standing there like a pillar of salt?

WOMAN: You didn’t tell me what to do.

DIRECTOR: First of all, step forward and face the audience.

WOMAN doesn’t move.

Well? What’s the problem now?

WOMAN: I don’t know how I’m supposed to walk.

DIRECTOR: You don’t know how to walk? Do you need to be taught that too?

WOMAN: I meant, quickly and energetically or the opposite – slowly?

DIRECTOR: Of course slowly. Do what Stanislavsky – he was a theatrical genius, you know – said, and let yourself sense what’s needed. Meaning that it all has to be done slowly and sadly.

WOMAN: Where’s the audience?

DIRECTOR: The audience is me.

WOMAN goes to stage center and again stands silent.

You have a rare gift, dearie. I love silent women, but silence isn’t always golden. Begin, before we’re too old to care!

WOMAN: One minute… (quickly trots back to her purse, opens it, takes out some sheets of paper, unfolds them, and again returns, slowly and sadly, to stage center.)

DIRECTOR: What’s that?

WOMAN: (guilty) My lines.

DIRECTOR: (exploding) What? You haven’t learned your lines yet? You undisciplined, disorganized… I refuse to work with you! Are you going to speak from a script tomorrow?

WOMAN: What if I do? We all speak from scripts.

DIRECTOR: That’s what you do. With me, you’ll speak without one, or we’re done. Your words should be born of feeling, not from a cheat sheet.

The seated MAN hurriedly takes some pages out of his pocket and starts learning his lines.

WOMAN: I’ll have it down by tomorrow.

DIRECTOR: And you think I believe you? Are you even capable of learning anything, never mind (mimicking her) “by tomorrow”?

WOMAN: I give you my word.

DIRECTOR: Oh, all right. Use the cheat sheet for now. (mocking) You can read, can’t you?

WOMAN opts not to react. She finds the right page and reads.

WOMAN: (cheerfully) Dear friend!

DIRECTOR: Stop!

WOMAN: What?

DIRECTOR: That’s how you tell someone happy birthday. You have to make your face and whole body mournful. Slow movements, shoulders lowered, arms dangling, disobedient lips pronouncing the words with difficulty. Get that?

WOMAN: Yes. (tries to speak sadly) Dear friend! (hitches up the bra strap that has just slid off her shoulder)

DIRECTOR: No, you’re not getting the mournful look. And how can you when your front’s open almost down to your waist, and your legs are on view up to… Well, I’d best not say up to where. How did you wind up here dressed like this?

WOMAN: The thing is, when I got the call to come here, I was… How can I put it?.. At a small party.

DIRECTOR: And you, of course, got a little bombed there.

WOMAN: A little.

DIRECTOR: And you were apparently so rushed, you left some of your clothes behind.

WOMAN: That’s not funny.

DIRECTOR: It’s very sad. But then you tried to assure me that you were late because you were very busy.

WOMAN: I’m entitled to have fun now and then. How did I know I was going to get an urgent call?

DIRECTOR: (gives WOMAN another critical once-over) There’ll be no extracting the correct intonation from you like this.

WOMAN: I’ve got the costume downstairs, in the car. Maybe I should go and do a quick change?

DIRECTOR: Wait, let me think… (eyes WOMAN closely) You still look… pretty good… And without clothes probably even better than fully dressed… Yes, perhaps we’ll shoot you without clothes.

WOMAN: On television?

DIRECTOR: No, first we’ll take your clothes off. And then we’ll tape you without them.

WOMAN: I don’t understand. You want me to perform in the nude?

DIRECTOR: Do you call this dressed?

WOMAN: (frightened) But I can’t appear in public without a stitch on.

DIRECTOR: Why not? First, you’ll look more decent that way than you do half-naked. Secondly, it’s just not a show these days unless somebody’s in the buff.

WOMAN: (frightened) You seriously want to undress me?

DIRECTOR: I can undress you frivolously, if you want.

WOMAN: But so many people will see me!

DIRECTOR: At worst they’ll get a kick out of our show.

MAN: And what’s the motivation going to be?

DIRECTOR: (surprised that MAN has butted in) Actually, that’s my concern, not yours. Still, the motivation’s obvious: a woman’s gone out of her mind with suffering, and she’s thinking not about decency but only about her grief. She collapses onto the coffin in despair. Only her long, flowing hair covers her nudity, like Lady Godiva…

WOMAN: My hair’s not long enough to cover my… you know… my nudity.

DIRECTOR: We’ll get you a wig. But OK. I’ll give that option more thought later. Consider it a joke. Meanwhile, let’s start over. Well? Don’t dilly-dally! Off you go!

WOMAN: Dear friend!..

DIRECTOR: Not like that, not like that! Grief, more grief! Drop a tear or two if you can.

WOMAN: (tries to squeeze out a tear, fails, feels guilty). I just can’t weep. I always can, but not this time.

DIRECTOR: Dammit, why not? Don’t you have any imagination? So imagine, for example, that your lover has dumped you. If you don’t remember the script, improvise for the time being.

WOMAN: (thinks for a second, then the expression on her face changes dramatically) Bastard! Son of a bitch! I always knew you’d dump me! But don’t worry, I’m not going to cry. And I won’t be alone for long, either… You’ll regret this…

DIRECTOR: Stop! Who are you talking to?

WOMAN: (embarrassed) To… to my lover.

DIRECTOR: Who’s lying dead in the coffin?

WOMAN: But he dumped me. I’m not about to call him “dear friend.”

DIRECTOR: (wearily) He didn’t dump you, he left you. Left you for a higher life, an eternal life, where you’ll be reunited with him one day. That’s how you categorize the image you’re constructing. And you mustn’t yell “I’m not going to cry.” On the contrary, you’re crying bitter tears… I’m sensing that your thoughts are still at your party. Sit down, learn your lines properly, and think about your role. And have some coffee, to sober you up a bit. (nodding to CONSULTANT sitting demurely in the corner) That girl will pour you a cup.

WOMAN: (with a wary glance at CONSULTANT) No, why bother her? I can go on just fine like this.

DIRECTOR: You’ve been told to sit down. In the meantime, I’ll work with the other actor. (to MAN) Take it away.

MAN: (goes to the center of the stage, stops, unfolds the paper with his lines; a pause) Should I portray sorrow too?

DIRECTOR: (sarcastically) No, unbridled joy. (fiercely) You’re standing over a coffin, damn it! Does this really need an explanation?

MAN: I get it. (portraying sorrow) Dear friend!

DIRECTOR: Stop! We’ve already had “dear friend.” Couldn’t you start with something different, for a change? At least “unforgettable friend”? Are you both delivering the same speech?

MAN: Sorry, I took her lines by mistake. (goes to the row of chairs, picks up the sheet with his lines, and returns to his place; another pause) Tell me, will I be speaking from a podium tomorrow or just standing?

DIRECTOR: There’s no podium near the coffin. So there’ll be nowhere to hide your cheat sheet.

MAN: Then I’ll have to learn my speech by heart?

DIRECTOR: You haven’t learned it yet?

MAN: I’m more used to reading from a script, you see. People of our standing aren’t allowed to improvise.

DIRECTOR: You’ll have to do it without your cheat sheet this one time.

MAN: I could get confused.

DIRECTOR: So long as you don’t get very confused, that’s no big deal. It’s even better, in fact. You’re sort of agitated, depressed by what’s just happened, the words aren’t coming easy.

MAN: I get it. (searches through the sheets of paper for his place and gets ready to start)

DIRECTOR: Don’t forget to look mournful.

MAN: (assuming a mournful look) Dear friend!

DIRECTOR: (exploding) Again with the “dear friend”? Are you jerking me around?

MAN: Sorry, that was a reflex. I’m a little flustered.

DIRECTOR: Very well. Start again.

MAN adopts a mournful pose and opens his mouth, but just then CONSULTANT’s phone rings.

CONSULTANT: Hello! Yes. Good. Is everything ready? When? In about an hour? Check again, Colonel. To make sure it all goes off without a hitch.

DIRECTOR: (fiercely) I thought I ordered everyone to turn off their phones. Why didn’t you do as I said?

CONSULTANT: I’m not authorized to turn off my phone. Especially on a day like this.

DIRECTOR: And I don’t care what you’re authorized to do. Here, the only important thing is the rehearsal. (pounds his fist on the table and glares at everyone) If anyone else’s phone rings, I… (to MAN) Continue.

MAN: (instead of starting his speech, starts rummaging through his pockets) Sorry…

DIRECTOR: (through clenched teeth) What now?

MAN: I can’t find my glasses.

DIRECTOR: To hell with your glasses! Tomorrow you’ll have no glasses and no script either. Speak, say something! Imagine yourself on a platform in the middle of a spacious square. An open coffin stands before you, the orchestra has fallen silent, the guard is motionless, dozens of television cameras are pointed at you, the whole country is watching you, waiting to hear what you’re going to say. Will you be rummaging around in your pockets then?

MAN: But I haven’t learned the speech yet.

DIRECTOR: I know you haven’t learned it. But for now don’t think about what to say, just how to say it.

CONSULTANT: (from her corner) The “what” is important too.

DIRECTOR: (threateningly) Nobody asked you.

MAN: And how must it be said?

DIRECTOR: Sincerely, with feeling. Your words should come from your very heart… Remember in Faust? “Let apes and children praise your art, if their admiration’s to your taste, But you’ll never speak from heart to heart, unless it rises up from your heart’s space.” Got it? Well! Off you go!

MAN: (reading from the paper in his hand) Dear brother!..

DIRECTOR: Don’t look at the paper but at the camera, right at the camera!

MAN: But there’s no camera.

DIRECTOR: Here, in rehearsal, I’ll play the role of the camera. And tomorrow, during the show, think of it the other way, that the camera’s your director. It’s me, your best friend. Looking into the camera’s eye – directly into the lens, that is – address it as if it were a living person. Keep this in mind: that way you’ll be looking into the eyes of millions of people, and they’ll be looking at you. Clear? Off you go!

MAN: (staring intently at DIRECTOR) Dear brother!..

DIRECTOR: Stop! You’re looking at the camera, and that’s good, but you’ve forgotten to portray grief.

MAN: It’s difficult to remember everything at once – my face, and the camera, and the words, and the grief. I’m afraid of losing the thread.

DIRECTOR: To hell with the words, then! Words are the least of your worries. If you can’t remember, don’t. Words aren’t important in the modern theater. The main thing is to express emotion.

CONSULTANT: (from her corner) All the same, it seems to me that the words are important too.

DIRECTOR: (to CONSULTANT) Should I kick you out now or wait for you to pipe up again? (to MAN) Continue. Your face should be sad but at the same time serene, inspiring energy and optimism. Yes, your best friend has left you too soon, but he will always stay with you, in your heart. He will not be forgotten. His work will never die. And you will be the one to carry it on. So, start over! Sobs constrict your throat…

MAN: (in a strangled voice, while unsuccessfully trying to create a mixture of sadness, energy, and optimism on his face) Dear brother!

DIRECTOR: What are you muttering there?

MAN: This sobbing’s making my throat tight.

DIRECTOR: So it’s tight, but you still have to speak clearly.

MAN: (in his own voice) All this is very difficult. How can anybody portray sorrow and optimism at once? This isn’t going anywhere.

DIRECTOR: (furious) It isn’t going anywhere because you don’t know how to put in the work, and you don’t even want to. I’m afraid I’m only wasting my precious time with you.

MAN: (unexpectedly gruff and arrogant) You forget yourself, my dear sir. Please watch your tone. Yes, we have no acting talent. What of it? We don’t have to. We’re busy with more important things. Politicians should never be actors.

DIRECTOR: You’re wrong. It’s actors who should never be politicians. A good politician ought to be an actor, though. But so be it. If I ever find the time, I’ll give you some private lessons. Provided you make it worth my while, needless to say. In the meantime, go run your lines in front of a mirror and learn the words.

MAN: (tightly wound now) You’re being way too familiar, and it’s unacceptable – do you hear me? We’re not floozies in vaudeville or wherever you normally do your thing, but upstanding, respected people. Conduct yourself accordingly.

DIRECTOR: Theater 101: the director is all, and the rest, whoever they may be, are nobody and nothing, empty suits, clothes hangers, dolls, and puppets. Is that clear?

MAN: And I say again: we will not tolerate being taunted just because we’re having trouble with one thing or another!

DIRECTOR: (mocking) “With one thing or another”… Such modesty! “One thing or another”! (ferociously.) You’re having trouble with everything! Do you hear? Everything! (thinks for a moment) This is what I’m going to do. Tomorrow I’m going to put a sniper in the window of the building closest to the square. And if you haven’t learned your lines, as soon as you make the first mistake, the rifle will make bang-bang. I’ll have the second coffin all ready. And your partner will double up on her speech over the twin graves. (to WOMAN) Won’t you?

WOMAN: With pleasure.

DIRECTOR: That will, I assure you, be one awe-inspiring show. It’s a pity that you won’t be there to enjoy it.

MAN: Your little jokes are stupid and out of place.

DIRECTOR: But I’m not joking at all. There’s less than twenty-four hours left before we thoroughly disgrace ourselves, so stop talking and buckle down at last. Every show demands hard work and preparation, and ours especially. It involves countless hordes of people, and we’re down to the wire.

CONSULTANT: You seem nervous. Afraid you aren’t going to make it?

DIRECTOR: I’m never afraid of anything. It’ll all be ready in time. I’ve staged spectacles on streets, and on squares, and in stadiums, and in swimming pools… And everything always went like clockwork. This is my profession. I work like a horse, but I demand the same attitude to the work from everyone else.

MAN: I’m not against work, but I do require respect. I’m not some whippersnapper – I’m a big deal. A very big deal.

DIRECTOR: And I require respect too. In your free time, away from rehearsals, by all means run the government or the country, I couldn’t care less. But here I’m directing this production, and you’re only actors in it and have to do what you’re told.

MAN: So stick to your business, but don’t forget who you are and who I am.

DIRECTOR: I’m not forgetting that you’re our prime minister, our fearless leader. Although the male lead in the seediest provincial theater would play that part in tomorrow’s performance far better than you. And you, in turn, don’t forget that I’m the one who forged your image when you were being groomed for the prime minister spot. I’m the one who taught you how to walk, talk, dress, carry yourself, so that you’d look every bit like a serious, intelligent, upstanding person. But now we’re in rehearsal, not at some government meeting. And in rehearsal, everyone obeys just one person. Namely, the director. And that director is me.

MAN: Permit me to…

DIRECTOR: (cutting MAN off) And I make so bold as to observe that when a minister is removed from his post, he becomes nobody, the “former,” the “ex” whatever. But no one will take my calling from me. I was, am, and will remain a top-flight professional.

MAN: But that doesn’t give you the right…

DIRECTOR: (cutting him off again) Wait, I haven’t finished yet. If you make a mess of tomorrow’s nationwide broadcast, it’ll be your mess, of course. Unfortunately, though, it will be mine too. You’ll probably be fired, but I’ll survive it. No one’ll fire me. Still, I value my reputation as the country’s best director, and I don’t want to lose it because of you. And I won’t let either of you go until you deliver your speeches the way you should. This is, first of all, in your own interests. How come you aren’t understanding that?

MAN: (less confident) I just wanted to say that I don’t like the way you rehearse.

DIRECTOR: Directing’s part of my job description, so leave that to me. If you let all the professionals do what they do the way they want to, as they know best, our country would have changed to the good long ago. But you interfere with everything and spoil everything. (pointing to WOMAN) Take your fellow member of the government as your example. She’s sitting quietly and not trying to stretch the rehearsal out with pointless bickering. (to WOMAN) Because you’re a minister, an elected representative, or something like that too, aren’t you?

WOMAN: What of it?

DIRECTOR: Nothing. So what are you running there?

WOMAN: What ministry would they give to a woman? Only what is considered the most unimportant, third-rate – health care, education, culture…

DIRECTOR: And which of those ministries do you head up?

WOMAN: Me…? (racking her brains) It’s… You know… Education, I think… Or no – Culture. I always get them mixed up. (to MAN) Do you remember? At present I’m Minister of what – Education or Culture?

MAN: (sullenly) Agriculture.

WOMAN: Right! For some reason I was thinking Culture.

MAN: You were head of Culture last time around.

WOMAN: Why didn’t you remind me before? At yesterday’s meeting, I kept saying that our main aim is to develop culture.

MAN: No big deal. They probably thought you were pushing them to improve crop cultivation or something.

CONSULTANT: Sorry to interfere, but the rehearsal’s fallen off the radar. Isn’t it time we got back to it?

DIRECTOR: My dear girl, it’s obvious that you don’t understand a thing about the theater. All rehearsals mainly consist of unnecessary chit-chat and people at each other’s throats. Without conflict, no show is ever born. But I wasn’t just wool-gathering. I’m feeling that tomorrow’s performance is missing something. Something that pops… It’s all boring, mundane. There’s nothing spectacular about it… It’s how anyone would do it… I need to come up with something – a discovery, a hook, a gimmick, a ploy… (thinks for a moment) Maybe our esteemed prime minister will ravish this fine figure of a woman on live TV.

WOMAN: Me?!

DIRECTOR: Who else?

MAN: You’re out of your mind!

WOMAN: What’s the big whoop? I don’t mind.

MAN: Neither do I, but why do it when the cameras are rolling?

DIRECTOR: For the scandal.

MAN: Why?

DIRECTOR: What d’you mean “why”? There can be no success without a scandal. Who’s interested in watching a funeral? It’s all pretty dreary, so been-there, done-that. I did instruct the designer to zhuzh it up as much as possible, and make it more festive and cheerful – but a funeral’s a funeral. Always the same thing – glum faces, phony eulogies… The viewers will click over, to a football game or their favorite soap. But if there’s a scandal, they’ll talk about it, interest will skyrocket, people will insist on reruns. My stagings always involve a scandal. The rest doesn’t interest me, or the viewers.

CONSULTANT: But what does physical violation have to do with a funeral?

DIRECTOR: Nothing. That’s the trick of it. One time I set up a welcome ceremony for a foreign leader, and do you know what I came up with? Naked girls with an obscene tattoo on their breasts came running out to meet him at the airport. That bit of film got airtime on every station worldwide.

MAN: And what did the foreign dignitary say?

DIRECTOR: He was very pleased. The girls were just what the doctor ordered, and he became a household name all over the world. And before that, no one had even heard of him. That’s how a success is made. And when I was directing an orchid festival in Singapore…

CONSULTANT: Sorry to interfere again, but this isn’t a stroll down memory lane. It’s a rehearsal.

DIRECTOR: The word “rehearsal” in Latin means “repetition,” my dear girl. With a real director, though, no rehearsal is ever a repetition of the same old thing. It’s a quest for, a promotion of, new ideas.

CONSULTANT: Setting someone up to be violated doesn’t strike me as a good idea.

DIRECTOR: First of all, pussycat, nobody asked you. Second, that’s exactly how the funeral should go, in my mind’s eye. As a great director once asked, “Where’s our next surprise coming from?”