HOMECOMING PLAYERS AUDITION MONOLOGUES 2016 SEASON
SIDES TO BE PROVIDED AT THE AUDITIONS
MYRA BRUHL (Deathtrap)
Mr. Anderson, Sidney is bursting with creative ideas about your play! I’ve never seen him so enthusiastic! He gets plays in the mail very often , finished plays that are ready for production supposedly; from his agent, from producers, from aspiring playwrights; and usually he just laughs and sneers and says the most disparaging things you could possibly imagine! I know he could improve your play tremendously! He could turn it into a hit that would run for years and years and make more than enough money for everyone concerned! (addressing SIDNEY and putting aside her needlework) I won’t be quiet! I’m going to say something that’s been on my mind ever since your phone conversation. (Rising, advancing on CLIFFORD) It’s very wrong of you to expect Sidney to give you the fruits of his years of experience, his hard-won knowledge, without any quid pro quo, as if the seminar were still in session! (Turning on SIDNEY) And it’s very wrong of you to have offered to give it to him! I am the one in this household whose feet are on the ground, and whose eye is on the checkbook! Now, I’m going to make a suggestion to you, Sidney. It’s going to come as a shock to you, but I want you to give it your grave and thoughtful and earnest consideration. Will you do that? Will you promise to do that for me? (SIDNEY, staring, nods) Put aside the play you’re working on. Yes, put aside the play about Helga ten Dorp and how she finds murderers, and keys under clothes dryers; put it aside, Sidney, and help Mr. Anderson with his play. Collaborate with him. That’s what I’m suggesting. That’s what I think is the fair and sensible and rational thing to do in this situation. Deathtrap, by Clifford Anderson and Sidney Bruhl. Unless Mr. Anderson feels that, in deference to your age and reputation, it should be the other way around.
HELGA TEN DORP (Deathtrap)
I am Hega ten Dorp. I am psychic. For hours now I feel the pain from here. And more than pain. Since eight-thirty, when begins the Merv Griffin Show. I am on it next week; you will watch? Thursday night. The Amazing Kreskin also. What they want him for, I do not know. I call the information but the lady will tell me not your number. I call Paul but he is not at home; he is in place with red walls, eating with chopsticks. I call the information again. I say, “Is urgent, you must tell me number; I am Helga ten Dorp, I am psychic.” She say, “Guess number.” I try, but only I see the two-two-six, which is everybody, ja? So I come here now. (Looking sympathetically at MYRA) Because pain gets worse. And more than pain… (SHE moves away and wanders the room, a hand to her forehead) Ja, is something else here, something frightening. No, it will interfere. (pause) The drink you would give me. Must keep unclouded the head. Never drink. Only when images become too many. Then I get drunk. Must speak. Is why God gives gift. Is danger here. Much death in this room. Is something that—invites death, that carries death…Deathtrap? This is word in English, “deathtrap?”
PORTER MILGRIM (Deathtrap)
I’ve always envied my writer clients on that account. I tried a play once. About the Supreme Court justice I most admire. But even the title was a problem. Frankfurter… Anyway, I’m glad to see you looking so well. That’s the main reason I’ve come. I was delegated by Elizabeth and the Wessons and the Harveys. That young man has been discouraging all callers and we were afraid you might be in worse shape than he was letting on. But obviously that’s not the case. Tell me, is it true what everyone’s saying, that—do you mind talking about this? Is it true that Helga ten Dorp actually pointed to the spot on the floor where Myra was going to fall? It’s uncanny being able to sense things that way. I would think you’d be able to write a very fine thriller on the subject. Yes. Well. The very first item on the agenda is your will. Now that Myra’s gone you ought to look it over. As it stands, if anything should happen to you your cousin in Vancouver would inherit. Do you want to leave it that way? Think about it. Don’t put it off. (hands papers to SIDNEY) It’s only approximate, because I don’t have up-to-date appraisals on the real estate yet, but that’s roughly what you can anticipate, give or take a few thousand dollars.
MEG (Crimes of the Heart)
I don’t know, Doc. Things got worse for me. After a while, I just couldn’t sing anymore. I tell you, I had one hell of a time over Christmas. I went nuts. I went insane. Ended up in L.A. County Hospital. Psychiatric ward. I don’t really know what happened. I couldn’t sing anymore; so I lost my job. And I had a bad toothache. I had this incredibly painful toothache. For days I had it, but I wouldn’t do anything about it. I just stayed inside my apartment. All I could do was sit around in chairs, chewing on my fingers. Then one afternoon I ran screaming out of the apartment with all my money and jewelry and valuables and tried to stuff it all in one of those March of Dimes collection boxes. That was when they nabbed me. Sad story. Meg goes mad.
LENNY (Crimes of the Heart)
I’m sizzling. Oh, I just can’t help it! I’m sizzling! My one birthday present, and look what she does! Why, she’s taken one little bite out of each piece and then just put it back in! Ooh! That is just like her! I can’t help it! It gets me mad! It gets me upset! Why, Meg’s always run wild—she started smoking and drinking when she was fourteen years old, she never made good grades—never made her own bed! But somehow she always seemed to get what she wanted. She’s the one who got singing and dancing lessons; and a store-bought dress to wear to her senior prom. Why do you remember how Meg always got to wear twelve jingle bells on her petticoats, while we were allowed to wear only three apiece? Why?! Why should old Grandmama let her sew twelve golden jingle bells on her petticoats and us only three!!! I can’t help it! It gets me mad! I resent it. I do.
BABE (Crimes of the Heart)
Then I called out to Zackery. I said, “Zackery, I’ve made some lemonade. Can you use a glass?” He didn’t answer. I poured him a glass anyway and took it out to him. And there he was; lying on the rug. He was looking up at me, trying to speak words. I said, “What? …Lemonade? …You don’t want it? Would you like a Coke instead?” Then I got the idea, he was telling me to call on the phone for medical help. So I got on the phone and called up the hospital. I gave my name and address and I told them my husband was shot and he was lying on the rug and there was plenty of blood. (pause) I guess that’s gonna look kinda bad. Me fixing that lemonade, before I called the hospital. I tell you, I think the reason I made up the lemonade, I mean besides the fact that my mouth was bone dry, was that I was afraid to call the authorities. I was afraid. I—I really think I was afraid they would see that I had tried to shoot Zackery, in fact, that I had shot him, and they would accuse me of possible murder and send me away to jail. In fact, that’s what did happen. Yes, here I am just practically on the brink of utter doom.
CHICK (Crimes of the Heart)
Oooh, Lenny! (SHE enters the room dramatically; dripping with sympathy) Well, I just don’t know what to say! I’m so sorry! I am so sorry for you! And for Little Babe, here, too. I mean to have such a sister as that! (pause) Oh, you don’t need to pretend with me. I saw it all from over there in my own backyard; I saw Meg stumbling out of Doc Porter’s pickup truck, not 15 minutes ago. And her looking such a disgusting mess. You must be so ashamed! You must just want to die! Why, I always said that girl was nothing but cheap Christmas trash! (pause) Oh, come on now. Lenny, honey, I know exactly how you feel about Meg. Why, Meg’s a low-class tramp and you need not have one more blessed thing to do with her and her disgusting behavior. (pause) Well, my goodness gracious, Lenora, don’t be such a noodle—it’s the truth! (pause) Why, I never in all my life—This is my Grandfather’s home! And you’re just living here on his charity; so don’t get high-falutin’ with me, Miss Lenora Josephine Magrath! What makes you think you can order me around? Why, I’ve had just about my fill of you trashy Magraths and your trashy ways; hanging yourselves in cellars; carrying on with married men; shooting your own husband! And don’t think she’s not gonna end up at the state prison farm or in some—mental institution. Why it’s a clear-cut case of manslaughter with intent to kill! That’s what everyone’s saying, deliberate intent to kill! And you’ll pay for that! Do you hear me? You’ll pay!
BARNETTE LLOYD (Crimes of the Heart)
(Disgustedly) Oh, bluff! He’s bluffing! Here, hand me the phone. (HE takes the phone and suddenly becomes cool and suave) Hello, this is Mr. Barnette Lloyd speaking. I’m Mrs. … ah, Becky’s attorney… Why certainly, Mr. Botrelle, I’d be more than glad to check out any pertinent information that you may have… Fine, then I’ll be right on over. Goodbye. (HE hangs up the phone) He wants me to come see him at the hospital this evening. Says he’s got some sort of evidence. Sounds highly suspect to me. I have a solution. From now on I’ll handle all communications between you two. You can simply refuse to speak with him. (pause) My personal vendetta with Zackery? Oh, it’s—it’s complicated. It’s a very complicated matter. The major thing he did was to ruin my father’s life. He took away his job, his home, his health, his respectability. I don’t like to talk about it. I’d better get over there and see what he’s got up his sleeve.
DOC PORTER (Crimes of the Heart)
Well, it’s been a long time. Let’s see—when was the last time we saw each other? Wasn’t it in Biloxi? And wasn’t there a—a hurricane going on at the time? Yes, there was. One hell of a hurricane. Camille, I believe they called it. Hurricane Camille. We had a time down there. We had quite a time. Drinking vodka, eating oysters on the half shell, dancing all night long. And the wind was blowing. Goddamn, was it blowing. Oh, God, Meggy. Oh, God. I felt like a fool. I just kept on wondering why. Ah, hell. (pause) Are you still singing those sad songs? Wanna go take a ride in my truck and look out at the moon? (Pause) Who says we’re gonna start up? We’re just gonna look at the moon. For one night just you and me are gonna go for a ride in the country and look out at the moon.
MRS. GIVINGS (The Vibrator Play)
My God. When I first met you and was nothing more than a girl I wrote my name in the snow outside your window -- I would have done anything for you to notice me -- you were older, and seemed so wise, so calm -- and so marvelously indifferent to me. I don’t know if you ever saw -- it melted -- no matter, if you saw my name in the snow all you’d see was a natural substance -- it was an unnecessary gesture, childish, a name in the snow, but a gift must be unnecessary -- for it to be good -- but you want it to be useful -- you wouldn’t say -- well, it’s useless -- but you made it for me alone. And so it will never melt. It will exist for all time. Uuugh -- how ridiculous I sound. My hat please.
MRS. DALDRY (The Vibrator Play)
The house where I grew up my mother would wash the curtains every week, she beat them with a stick, and there were no ghosts in them. There was a beautiful view of a grape arbor and when the curtains were cleaned you could see right through to the grapes, you could almost watch them growing, they got so plump in the autumn. My mother would make loads of jam -- my mother was not a nervous or excitable woman. It was jam, it was laughing, and long walks out of doors. We haven’t a grape arbor here -- I am full of digressions these days Dr. Givings -- but the point is I haven’t the strength to wash the curtains every week and beat the ghosts out of them. You think I am talking like a madwoman but if you could see the curtains you would see that I really am very logical. They’re horrible.
ELIZABETH (The Vibrator Play)
My mother told me to pray each day since I was a little girl, to pray that you borrow everything, everyone you love, from God. That way your heart doesn’t break when you have to give your son, or your mother, or your husband, back to God. God must have this huge horrible cabinet -- all the babies who get returned -- and all those babies inside, they’re all crying even with God Himself to rock them to sleep, they still want their mothers. When I first met this baby, your baby, all I could think was: she is alive and Henry is not. I had all this milk -- I wished it would dry up. The more healthy your baby got, the more dead my baby became. I thought of her like a tick. I thought -- fill her up and then pop! But she would look at me, she would give me this look -- I do not know what to call it if it is not called love. I hope every day you keep her -- you keep her close to you -- and you remember the blood that her milk was made from. The blood of my son, my Henry. Good-bye, Mrs. Givings.
LEO (The Vibrator Play)
I love incomplete paintings -- why do painters always insist on finishing paintings? It’s unaccountable -- life is not like that! And the ones Michaelangelo never finished -- do you know them? -- ghosts of lines hovering in the background. Have you ever seen Virgin and Child with the Angels? Oh you must see that painting -- the incomplete lines of God -- they cannot be filled in because they would be too beautiful, they would shock the senses, and so they are almost there -- women or angels -- exchanging confidences -- coming into being. A woman who is two-thirds done is nearer to God! A young woman on the verge of knowing herself is the most attractive thing on this earth to a man for this very reason.
DR. GIVINGS (The Vibrator Play)
Are you warm enough? Mrs. Daldry, the congestion in your womb is causing your hysterical symptoms and if we can release some of that congestion and invite the juices downward your health will be restored. Thanks to the dawn of electricity -- yes, thank you Mr. Edison, I always tip my hat to Mr. Edison -- a great American -- I have a new instrument which I will use. It used to be that it would take me or it would take Annie -- oh -- hours -- to produce a paroxysm in our patients and it demanded quite a lot of skill and patience. It was much like a child’s game -- trying to pat the head and rub the stomach at the same time -- but thanks to this new electrical instrument we shall be done in a matter of minutes.
I will tell you an amusing story. Dr. Benjamin Franklin once decided to electrocute a bird for his turkey dinner on Christmas Eve. But, by mistake, he held onto the chain, completing the circuit, and couldn’t let go. He described violently convulsing until he was able by sheer force of will to let go of the chain. He was perfectly fine! Do you feel calmer?