Gone in 60 Seconds (2012).
Chicago’s 2nd Annual One-Minute Play Festival took place at Victory Gardens this past April 15-16, and below are the plays I wrote for same. My understanding is that the entire Monday evening performance was live-streamed via NEWPLAY TV, but due to a technical glitch the broadcast didn’t make it into the archives. That means you must simply assume that the show went perfectly and that the below plays were staged and performed in their most perfect manner and aren’t you sad you missed it.
These are also the UNCUT versions of these one-minute plays. Yes, it IS exciting.
Men of God, Gods of Men was directed by Jaime Totti; No. 12, by way of explanation was directed by Tim Speicher. As usual, the whole shebang was curated by Dominic D’Andrea.
(If you’re interested, you can read the three plays I wrote for last year’s Festival here.)
* * *
Men of God, Gods of Men
SAUL
VULCAN
A public park. SAUL sits on a bench, breaking pieces of bread from a baguette and tossing them in front of him. VULCAN sits next to him, a hunchbacked individual carrying a small twist hammer.
VULCAN
You’re disappointed.
SAUL
Of course I am. Vulcan? Like the…? (He flashes a Live-Long-and-Prosper salute.)
VULCAN
No. Not. Like that. And you were expecting—
SAUL
—I was expecting my Lord and Savior. Not some false, twisted…
VULCAN
Hey. You’re upset and I know you’re upset and that’s why I’ll forgive that. But hey.
SAUL
I don’t understand. The dream was very clear. The message was very clear. It was delivered by some kind of a, a two-headed gorilla on fire, but it was very clear.
VULCAN
What was the message?
SAUL
And I remembered it when I woke up! I never remember my dreams when I wake up!
VULCAN
The message?
SAUL
“Lafayette Park. Eleven AM. The carpenter returns to Earth.”
VULCAN
Aha.
SAUL
What else am I supposed to think?
VULCAN
Hm. Bad translation. (He holds up his hammer.) “Blacksmith.”
SAUL
Blacksmith.
VULCAN
I’ll admonish Mercury.
SAUL
I’m not hearing any of this. I don’t believe in you. Any of you. You are blasphemy and nonsense and I do not believe in you.
VULCAN
(stands, stretches)
Heh. Funny. I remember my people, the Romans…I remember them saying the same thing about your guy. So. What are you going to do now?
SAUL
What does it matter? I ask heaven for salvation and they send me fairy tales.
VULCAN
Oh. Oh I see, you’re just gonna…sit here and sulk. Well, enjoy that. I’m going to go build something. You should try it. Maybe if this place weren’t such a mess all the time He’d be more interested in coming back to it.
VULCAN walks away, whistling. SAUL sits there and sulks.
The End
* * *
No. 12, by way of explanation
RED
BLACK
WHITE
GREEN
RED, BLACK, WHITE, and GREEN stand on chairs, or a bench. Each performer wears their corresponding color. Their bodies are arranged in whatever manner is desired; all four may stand with arms in legs and bodies in a tangle or they may stand next to each other as solid bands of color. The dialogue has no spaces.
There may be people studying the painting, as if in a gallery.
RED
He added me first.
BLACK
He added me last.
GREEN
He wasn’t sure about adding me.
WHITE
He avoided me entirely.
RED
Number eleven was blue.
BLACK
Blue and yellow.
GREEN
He was conscious of that.
WHITE
Number twelve, he decided.
RED/BLACK
No blue.
GREEN/WHITE
No yellow.
RED
His mother was dying.
BLACK
He awoke from a dream.
GREEN
A homeless veteran hacking lungs out on Wabash.
WHITE
There was silence on the other end of the line.
(The dialogue overlaps; each performer begins to speak on the bolded lines of the previous performer.)
RED
She had been going for some time it was true but this was different and final in ways he could not process. Every brushstroke was an urgent telegram to his loneliness, to come soon, come quickly, there is no time for us to get to know each other. We are to be married, you and I.
BLACK
After she was gone and the earth had settled he had night terrors of drowning in obsidian oceans, darkness like the eyes of ravens, amid the distant sounds of boys’ choirs singing old Welsh lullabies.
GREEN
And the man’s beard was as brown and as brittle as medicine bottles and the stains on his jacket were of blood or of vomit and his illness felt familiar and it felt mocking and it felt somehow perversely comforting.
WHITE
His lover is sorrow and regret. This is too much pain to bear. Too much to be around. “Leave room,” says his lover. “Leave room for me and I may one day return. “ So he does. He leaves room.
WHITE
But that doesn’t matter.
BLACK/GREEN
None of that matters.
ALL
What do you see?
The End
Creative Control 