The final section of this volume is dubbed “Fresh Looks,” and here we have three diverse, challenging pieces that cast three of the most influential masterworks in the Western canon in riveting new light. Bald Diva: The Ionesco Parody Your Mother Warned You About, by David Koteles, Jason Jacobs, and Jamee Freedus, is just what its title implies—a dead-on parody of Ionesco’s seminal absurdist work The Bald Soprano. But look beneath the glossily hilarious surface and you’ll see that there’s as much astute and incisive commentary about the state of the world today as there was in the original.
DAVID KOTELES was born in New Jersey and raised in Los Angeles, California. He graduated Phi Beta Kappa and summa cum laude from Queens College, where he received a B.A. in English. He also holds an M.F.A. in Playwriting from Columbia University. JAMEE FREEDUS was born on March 28, 1969 in Buffalo, NY. She graduated from Columbia University with an M.F.A in Dramaturgy. JASON JACOBS is a director, writer, and the co-artistic director of Theatre Askew. He was born in Los Angeles. He holds a B.A. in English from Yale College, and an M.F.A. in Theatre Directing from Columbia University.
EXCERPT
Scene: New York. A typical Chelsea interior, with typical Chelsea modern Italian armchairs from Soho. A Chelsea evening. Mr. Jim Jackson-Smith, a club boy, seated in his armchair and wearing club wear, is channel surfing the television set. Beside him, in another typical Chelsea modern Italian armchair from Soho and also wearing club wear, Mr. Tim Jackson-Smith, a club boy, is holding a cosmopolitan cocktail. A clock bongs eighteen and a half times.
TIM - It's nine o'clock. It's too early to go out. You can't really be seen before eleven-fifteen. Except at the gym, of course. Or dining out. Or if you're cruising D'Agostino's. We've already had dinner. And we gave up desserts five years ago. The dogs have been walked. We have two Jack Russell terriers, Judy and Liza. That's because we live in Chelsea and because our names are Tim and Jim Jackson-Smith.
JIM continues to watch TV.
TIM -"Will and Grace" is a repeat.
JIM continues to watch TV.
TIM -"Queer As Folk" is a repeat.
JIM continues to watch TV.
TIM - Mary did the pumpkin ravioli really well tonight. Last time she didn't really do them well. I don't like them when they're really well done.
JIM continues to watch TV.
TIM -"Dynasty" went off the air in eighty-nine. I miss Alexis Carrington.
TIM makes a catfight sound. JIM looks and then continues to watch TV.
TIM - I should have told Mary to add a smidgen of cream. Next time, I'll know.
JIM continues to watch TV.
TIM - In our house, we seem to be seasonal drinkers. In winter time, cocktails are scotch or dry martinis. As summer drifts into autumn, nothing satisfies like a vodka gimlet on the rocks. The lime juice makes you feel like you could still be at the beach, while the smooth rich vodka reminds you you're holding a serious cocktail, simple and sophisticated. Bartender guides will direct you to fresh lime juice and powdered sugar. We prefer Rose's lime juice. It's far easier, keeps in the fridge for weeks, and makes the gimlet a pearly chartreuse. Beautiful. Essential tip: use a good vodka. It matters to the gimlet. Ice, three ounces of Stoli and start pouring the Rose's. Once it's the right color, you're good to go.
JIM continues to watch TV.
TIM -"Sex In The City." Repeat. Sean and John Paxton-Rodriguez drive a car all the way to Fairway to buy imported biscotti. They don't eat biscotti. John Paxton-Rodriguez is over forty and works out five times a week to keep his waist at an attractive thirty. But how lovely to open your cupboard and see a box of imported Italian biscotti. Of course John's afraid he'll have to undergo liposuction. Poor Sean Paxton-Rodriguez, last winter he ballooned up to a thirty-two and had to visit Park Avenue. He thinks no one knows. Everyone knows.
JIM continues to watch TV.
TIM - Microdermabrasion and Laser Hair Removal are one thing, but liposuction is quite another. Doctors Dan and Stan Johnson-Cummings told me about Sean Paxton-Rodriguez. They are the ones who sucked the nasty bulge off him. They're good doctors. They can be trusted. Of course I only know the doctors socially and have never visited their practice. But they tell me wonderful things about themselves. Dan never prescribes any drugs before he's tried them himself... at the Roxy. Before operating on Sean Paxton-Rodriguez, Doctors Dan and Stan Johnson-Cummings operated on each other. One doctor receiving liposuction and the other a buttock enhancement with his lover's fat. Although neither was in need of the operation, because they're world-class body builders in addition to being respected surgeons.
JIM - Ha!
TIM - Excuse me?
JIM - Hello, the doctors survived but Paxton-Rodriguez died? What's that about?
TIM - That just means the operation was a success in the doctor's case and I guess it wasn't in Paxton-Rodriguez's.
JIM - Then the Johnson-Cummingses just aren't good doctors. I mean, make up your mind. Don't you think both should have lived or else both should have died?
TIM - Which both do you mean?
JIM - A good doctor should die with his patient if they can't get better together. Like a captain and a ship. He doesn't survive alone, a captain goes down on his ship.
TIM - I don't think it's ethical for a doctor to go down on his patient. Besides, it's silly to talk about patients in nautical terms.
»
John Clancy’s Fatboy aims to be as unsettling and profane and sensational as Alfred Jarry’s Ubu the King was a century ago, and I think it succeeds brilliantly; I started my review of the show by noting the number of times that “fuck” appears in the script (139). Clancy, more than anyone else in this book (or anywhere, for that matter), is one of the seminal figures in the indie theatre movement that this collection celebrates.
JOHN CLANCY was born on October 7, 1963 in St. Louis, MO. He received a B.A. in Theatre from Oberlin College. He is the founding Artistic Director of The Present Company and the founding Artistic Director of the New York International Fringe Festival, North America’s largest theater and performance festival. He was awarded The New York Magazine Award in 1997 for “creativity, enterprise and vision.” In 2006 he received an Obie Award for Sustained Excellence in Direction.
EXCERPT
FUDGIE: THERE IS NO MONEY FOR FOOD! OR CLOTHING OR SHELTER OR HEAT! We spent our last dime last night throwing it at the clowns.
FATBOY: Scattered them good, though.
FUDGIE: O yes, they scampered.
FATBOY: Filthy white-faced fucks.
FUDGIE: Outcasts and freaks of the world.
FATBOY: A clown is an abomination.
FUDGIE: A warning to the rest not to stray.
FATBOY: Sit here on my lap, dear, and let’s pretend we’re young.
FUDGIE: Haul your fat ass up, dear, and go and bring back coin.
FATBOY: Dance for me, my pumpkin.
FUDGIE: Make some money, pig.
FATBOY: Is that all you can talk about? Money money money money? Is that all there is to this life? What of art? Beauty? Truth?
(They laugh hugely at the joke, wiping tears from their eyes)
FUDGIE: (recovering) Ah, you fat fucker, you can still make me laugh.
FATBOY: Wait. Justice! Honor! Love!
FUDGIE: No. Better the first way.
FATBOY: MUST YOU ALWAYS CRITICIZE?
FUDGIE: FAT UGLY STUPID MAN!
FATBOY: Every day. Every day the same. No peace. No quiet contemplation. No chance for a moment to gather slowly and present itself to me. Always cursing. Always raised voices and clenched fists and this caterwauling wretch of a wife stomping about and this second-rate wreck of a life spooling away and always the same, day after day after day after day after-wait, what’s the date today?
FUDGIE: The first.
FATBOY: Of the month?
FUDGIE: Yes.
FATBOY: It’s check day.
FUDGIE: No.
FATBOY: It is. The check comes on the first of the month.
FUDGIE: That’s today!
FATBOY: I know!
FUDGIE: We’re saved!
FATBOY: HA! And you were suggesting I work.
FUDGIE: The check. My god. I had forgotten.
FATBOY: You must have faith in this world and its ways. You must never, never despair.
FUDGIE: We can eat. Turn the phone back on. Buy things from the television.
FATBOY: I myself am a fortress of faith. I believe. I believe in all things.
FUDGIE: We’ll re-decorate. Throw out all this trash and wreckage and create a paradise.
FATBOY: All sects, all dogmas, all opinions and gossip. All is true, if you believe.
FUDGIE: (sweetly) About the check, dear Fatboy?
FATBOY: What of it, harpy?
FUDGIE: What is it for, again?
FATBOY: Royalties.
FUDGIE: But your blood is common.
FATBOY: Now, yes, but once it was rare and it boiled from my veins out onto the page and I spattered masterworks all day.
FUDGIE: You’re a writer, then?
FATBOY: DON’T INSULT ME! I was young and knew no better.
FUDGIE: When I was young I was wise.
FATBOY: You were never young, you horrible cow.
FUDGIE: I HAVE PHOTOGRAPHS!
FATBOY: FORGERIES!
FUDGIE: FAT BASTARD!
(They rush at each other in mortal combat, grapple and then are interrupted by a call from the door)
MAILMAN: (OS) Special delivery!
FATBOY: Hush.
FUDGIE: My god.
MAILMAN: (OS) Special delivery for Fatboy! Royalty check for Fatboy!
FATBOY: The check.
FUDGIE: Sweet holy crippled Christ.
(FATBOY disengages from FUDGIE, opens door. MAILMAN with envelope)
FATBOY: (deeply suspicious) Yes?
MAILMAN: Fatboy?
FATBOY: Perhaps.
FUDGIE: It’s him, it’s him.
(FATBOY spins and glares at FUDGIE, she drops her gaze)
»
Persians, a play with five songs, is the final selection. Created by the rising young theatre troupe Waterwell, it starts with Aeschylus and then riffs on it masterfully, translating it into a surreal, off-kilter vaudeville that nonetheless retains the majesty and potency of the original in chronicling the horrors of war.
HANNA CHEEK was born in New York City on February 6, 1979, and grew up in both New York and Los Angeles. She attended Sarah Lawrence College and the British American Dramatic Academy. RODNEY GARDINER is an actor-writer. He was born in the Turks & Caicos Islands in 1979, and grew up in Miami, Florida. He is a graduate of the actor training program at the State University of New York at Purchase. ARIAN MOAYED is an actor-playwright-creator. He was born in Tehran, Iran on April 15, 1980, and grew up in the suburbs of Chicago. He received a B.A. in Theater from Indiana University-Bloomington. Actor, writer, and singer NICOLE PARKER was born and raised in Irvine, CA. She received a B.A. in Theater from Indiana University. TOM RIDGELY is an actor, writer, and director. He was born on July 9, 1979 in Indianapolis. He attended Indiana University and graduated with a B.A. in Theatre & Drama. He also studied at the Atlantic Theater School in New York, NY.
EXCERPT
(A match is struck. A tight spot comes up SC on HANNA. She’s dressed impeccably in a fedora, suit and tie. A cigarette case appears, is opened, a cigarette removed and placed between her lips. The match moves to light it for her. She takes a drag. A high-hat sets the tempo.)
RODNEY: (Entering HANNA’s special over her right shoulder, sings the bass line) (The lights come up just enough to reveal TOM and ARIAN standing on her right and left, respectively. Like HANNA and RODNEY, they’re looking sharp in their fedoras, dark suits and ties. The whole scene suggests an evening at the Sands, c. 1960.)
TOM: (singing) Before Islam came along
Iran wasn’t called Iran
It was called the Persian Empire
(The group starts to rotate clockwise as they snap their fingers to the beat)
So let’s go back
To when Persia was where it’s at
When Persia was called the Persian Empire
ARIAN: (in counterpoint, while TOM repeats)
I am from Iran
And later on
I’ll sing a song
All about how…
HANNA: (also in counterpoint, while ARIAN and TOM repeat)
Listen close so the names don’t confuse ya
I play the queen, play the queen, Queen Atossa
Wife of the late, great King Darius-uh Oh!
(The circle becomes a line as they go into the chorus…)
ALL: This is the oldest play as far as we know
We bring you stories now two-thousand years old
Watch the Persian fleets get clobbered, clobbered by the Greeks
Aeschylus, we beg your pardon; we made a couple tweaks
(cool, Fosse-esque choreo)
Welcome, welcome to the Persians
You have chosen right
Welcome, welcome to the Persians
You won’t forget tonight
We got a king, a queen and armies galore
About the details we can’t really be sure
Watch the Persian fleets, get clobbered, clobbered by the Greeks
Aeschylus, we beg your pardon; we made a couple tweaks
(Back into the round, the group starts to break apart)
HANNA: Listen close so the names don’t confuse ya
I play the queen, play the queen, Queen Atossa
Wife of the late, great King Darius-uh Oh! (exits)
ARIAN: I
Am from Iran
And later on
I’ll sing a song
All about how… (exits)
TOM: So let’s go back to when Persia was
Where it’s at when Persia was called the Persian Empire (exits)
RODNEY: (sings the bass line. Exits.)
TOM: (off stage as announcer) And now ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for the star of our show…direct from the bar…Rodney Gardiner.
(Entrance music. RODNEY, sans fedora, runs out tipping everybody. $20s for the band, the audience? Finally he comes to rest DR)
RODNEY: Here it is and here it is…Ladies and Gentlemen, you are about to embark upon a journey never to be forgotten. I’m talkin’ about The Golden Age of Persia. Don’t ask me when that was, but I can tell you where: somewhere over there near Avalon, Atlantis, and Shangri La. (rimshot) I like this guy; he’s gettin’ good. Now the cats takin’ you on this journey are pretty easy to find. Smack dab right in front of ya, is the man who will play the late, great King Darius. The one who built the Persian Empire, the man with the plan, I’m talkin’ smooth like buttermilk, crisp like fried chicken and slicker than a grease monkey wearin’ leather pants. Now as for my supporting cast--
ALL: (from backstage) Whoa! Hey! Rodney! Supporting?