Three Openings
Three short openings based on a writing exercise where the class was given a scenario and exposition that had to be smuggled in.
OPENING NUMBER 1 – THE TELEPHONE CALL
CHARACTERS
Her
SETTING
A telephone booth.
Her: Graduation Day tomorrow!
The Other Side:
Her: Excited. Nervous.
The Other Side:
Her: Yeah. Hey, you’ll get to see all my work at last. Now that it’s finally marked. I’ve got my own gallery.
The Other Side:
Her: Yeah. Oh, and we looked at Van Gogh the other day. I love him. His story’s so sad.
The Other Side:
Her: I’m putting on my favourite dress. It’s hanging up ready.
The Other Side:
Her: No, the red one.
The Other Side:
Her: Yeah, that one.
The Other Side:
Her: Yeah, I wish he could, too.
PAUSE.
SHE LOOKS AROUND.
Her: Alright, I think it’s secure. If anyone was listening in, then they’d have gotten bored by now.
The Other Side:
Her: Yep. I’m in position to infiltrate the communists.
The Other Side:
Her: Yes, they bought it. They think that my father died in a mining accident when I was eight. I told them that he lobbied for workers’ rights. He’s a martyr to them.
The Other Side:
Her: They trust me.
The Other Side:
Her: Tomorrow. Graduation Day.
OPENING NUMBER 2 – THE WAKE
CHARACTERS
Walter – the father of Jesus, the man that they are talking about.
Dennis
SETTING
A pub.
It is a funeral wake. The atmosphere is calm, mingled with the voices of sombre
conversation.
A table of prosecco and cold quiche looks melancholic in the corner.
Dennis: Beautiful speech, wasn’t it?
Walter: (WIPING TEARS FROM HIS EYES) Yeah, he did a really good job.
Dennis: I – I was surprised. Didn’t think he had something like that in him. A lot softer than those terrible songs he used to write.
Walter: Well, he’s always been capable – he – he just doesn’t apply himself.
Dennis: Hmm.
AN AWKWARD PAUSE.
Dennis: I remember when he was little, you know. He used to play just as he said. When Maggie came round with him, he’d get up to all sorts. Always fidgeting. Always a cheeky one, taking an extra biscuit or two when my back was turned, but… I didn’t expect it to – to
HE GIVES UP ON FINDING THE RIGHT WORD AND GESTURES WITH HIS EYES
TOWARDS JESUS, OFFSTAGE.
Dennis: I know he’s your son, but…
Walter: (SCRATCHING AT HIS NECK) Yeah, I know.
When she was diagnosed, it hit him hard. He lost himself for a while. Left college to try and figure it out. I was angry then, but I understand now. I don’t blame him. And she didn’t either. She understood. No son wants to see their mother like that.
Dennis: Still, a funny way of grieving.
Walter: He did what was best for him.
Dennis: Walter, he changed his name to Jesus and became a rock singer.
Walter: We all cope in different ways. He chose a diet of cheese and onion crisps; Me, I went the other way. I couldn’t leave her. I used to sit there, every morning, and do the crosswords with her. You know, it was the one time in the whole day that she lit up. When I went in the bedroom with the pen on my ear and the book in my hand. It’s strange what they remember. What triggers the moment. Because she was always better at them than I was. And that’s how I knew that day – when she – when she… slowed. She… didn’t – she didn’t – didn’t light up. Didn’t know any answers. Was just… blank.
HE WIPES HIS EYES AGAIN.
Walter: And so, I’m glad that he wasn’t there to see that.
HE SOBS. HIDES HIS FACE.
Walter: Sorry, just excuse me for a moment.
Dennis: Take all the time you need.
OPENING NUMBER 3 – BON APPETITE!
CHARACTERS
Clara
James
Waiter
Writer
SETTING
A Parisian restaurant.
A table for two. Delicately ornated with crystal glass and a singular rose in a vase. To the side, a fish tank containing lobsters.
There are other tables, but they are in darkness. We can see the silhouette of someone, their back to the audience.
The Last Time I Saw Paris, Pierre Felere, plays in the background. It creates a contrapuntal atmosphere to what is to come.
NOTES:
-
Denotes an interruption.
CLARA AND JAMES ARE AT THE TABLE. THE WAITER BRINGS IN A SILVER TRAY.
Waiter: (REMOVING THE SILVER LID) Bon appetite!
Clara: No! I didn’t order that. I asked for the Hercule Poirot pizza, not this.
Waiter: (FLUSTERED) Oh, I am so sorry, madame. I will – er – go and speak to the
chef.
Clara: (MUMBLED) Yeah, that’d be good.
Waiter: (TO JAMES) And, sir, while I am here, what lobster would you like?
JAMES POINTS ON THE MENU.
James: That one.
Waiter: No – er, sir. (GESTURES TO THE FISH TANK) Which lobster?
James: Oh, erm… That one?
Waiter: Ah, very good choice, sir.
THE WAITER STRIDES OVER TO THE FISH TANK, THRUSTS THEIR HAND IN, AND GRABS THE LOBSTER. BRINGING IT OVER, THE WAITER WHACKS THE LOBSTER’S HEAD ON TABLE.
CLARA AND JAMES JUMP.
THEN, THE WAITER SETS THE LIMP LOBSTER IN FRONT OF JAMES, MAKING SURE TO STRAIGHTEN THE PLATE.
CLARA AND JAMES LOOK AT EACH-OTHER, THEN AT THE WAITER.
Waiter: Oh, yes, the champagne. Sorry. (THEY FIGHT WITH THE CORK) Only – the – er – finest.
THE CORK SHOOTS OFF, STRIKING THE FISH TANK. THE GLASS CRACKS.
CLARA AND JAMES ARE STARTLED. THE WAITER SIMPLY POURS THEIR DRINKS.
Waiter: I will be back with your dinner in one moment, madame.
WAITER EXITS.
Clara: (AS SHE TUCKS A NAPKIN IN) Waiters. I never had any issues when I was
away. You come back home and it’s all a mess.
James: Hmm. (HE POKES THE LOBSTER) So, err… how was it? Travelling, I mean?
Clara: Amazing. I got a whole new fresh perspective of things. I tell you, James, it
changed my life. You should try it. (SHE TAKES A SIP OF CHAMPAGNE)
James: No, I’ve never really liked the sea –
THE FISH TANK SHATTERS. WATER GUSHES OUT, FLOODING AROUND THEIR ANKLES. THE LIBERATED LOBSTERS SCUTTLE ABOUT.
THE MUSIC STAYS AT THE SAME NONCHALANT REDOLENCE, AS THE SCENE CONTINUES AS IF NOTHING HAS HAPPENED.
Clara: You don’t have to go by boat.
James: I know, but the thought of being away, I don’t like it. And the sea – urgh –
there’s all sorts of weird stuff in the sea.
Clara: You ordered lobster, James.
JAMES LOOKS FROM THE DEAD LOBSTER TO THE CRAWLING, INQUISITIVE AND VERY MUCH ALIVE LOBSTERS AROUND HIS FEET.
James: Yes, it’s quite a big portion… Erm, how is the business?
Clara: (CAUTIOUS) Well, I can’t say too much, but I got a promotion. You’re
speaking to the new executive.
James: Well done! (RAISES A GLASS) A toast.
Clara: Ssh! (SHE LOOKS AROUND, PARANOID) You know what they’re like here. If
they get wind of a Capitalist, they’ll hunt me down.
James: Golly, it’s like one of those man on the run stories you like.
Clara: Detective novels, James.
James: Yes, after the Communists took over, they banned those. Did you know that
they started from a college back in the day. All sorts of spies and detectives
couldn’t stop them then.
Clara: Ssh, James. Too much exposition.
James: Sorry. It’s just that you’ve been away for several years. A lot has happened.
Clara: James! Be quiet. They could be anywhere. (SHE SCRUTINISES A LOBSTER
SUSPICIOUSLY) They’re masters of disguise.
James: They’re murderers.
Clara: Yes, anyway, can we change the topic? Whilst I was away, I saw Agatha. We
used to chill together in writers’ circles. Here, I’ve got a photograph somewhere.
CLARA REACHES DOWN FOR HER MOBILE. SHE PRODUCES A LOBSTER INSTEAD.
Clara: (SHOCKED, SHE PUTS THE LOBSTER DOWN) Never mind, I’ll show you another
time.
James: What did you talk about?
Clara: Well, I told her that I love her books.
James: Gosh, I bet that went down a treat.
Clara: Yeah, we mostly spoke about her newest one – it’s about this woman
named Claire who returns home to find it taken over by Fascists.
James: That’s nearly familiar. (HE SCRATCHES HIS HEAD) My favourite one of hers is
about the serial killer disguised as a wai-
THE WAITER ENTERS WITH A SILVER TRAY.
Clara: Oh good, the food. I’m starving.
Waiter: Your pizza, mon ami.
THE WAITER REMOVES THE LID, REVEALING A REVOLVER.
Waiter: (GRINNING) Yes, I am the murderer.
FREEZE-FRAME.
A SPOT-LIGHT COMES UP ON THE SILHOUETTE. WRITER PUSHES AWAY FROM THE
TABLE; STRETCHES HIS ARMS.
Writer: I am a genius. Wait until my agent gets this. Pure dynamite.
THE END.