Monologue Monday - Achewood by Chris Onstad

This Monologue Monday is a little different. It's not from a play, but from a webcomic by the name of Achewood. I'll be honest, I'm not generally a fan of Achewood. But, when I saw the following, I knew there was something to it. I've been told that I shouldn't use the monologue, because I'm not one who typically plays uneducated. I need to keep my mouth open more...

But, anyway, if I don't use it, perhaps you will, blogfriend!


Look, dude. I pay my bills. I ain't got pregnancies all over town. Where you get off actin' like I got to get up at six AM and eat a damn garbanzo bean? In fact, you know what? Screw you and all the rest of your self-righteous, "I-get-up-early" types! "Oooh, look at meeeee. I'm so raaad. I know what the gaaarbagemen look like." All my life I been gettin' shit for the hours I keep. I ain't understand why gettin' up early is so goddamned great. --- Yeah, I get that folks leave for work at seven 'cause we ain't used to have light bulbs at night, but it's been like a hundred damn years. I don't know, Pat. Maybe I'm progressive, but maybe, also you're old-fashioned, like all knowin' what it looks like for a horse to go to the bathroom start-to-finish. I ain't sure, but I'm almost sure, and the man who invented the future barely ever even had that.

From the comic The Farm Has a Nickname For Its Rooster.

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More updates later. The tumult in my life isn't exactly letting up. When I have something good to talk about, mark my words...you will be the first to know, blogfriend.

Monologue Monday - Measure for Measure by William Shakespeare

I've had some personal stuff happen, but I didn't want to go another Monologue Monday without a post, so here's something. It ain't much, but it's something. More eventually.

Angelo, "Measure for Measure"

ANGELO
Who will believe thee, Isabel?
My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,
My vouch against you, and my place i' the state,
Will so your accusation overweigh,
That you shall stifle in your own report
And smell of calumny. I have begun,
And now I give my sensual race the rein:
Fit thy consent to my sharp appetite;
Lay by all nicety and prolixious blushes,
That banish what they sue for; redeem thy brother
By yielding up thy body to my will;
Or else he must not only die the death,
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out
To lingering sufferance. Answer me to-morrow,
Or, by the affection that now guides me most,
I'll prove a tyrant to him. As for you,
Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true.

Monologue Monday - Macbett by Eugene Ionesco

I haven't been able to deliver a Monologue Monday in a bit, I've decided to give you a two-fer today. Both are from the play Macbett by Ionesco, which is a sort of bizarre retelling of Macbeth.

The first is one that I've actually used several times. It's the part of Soldier, who shows up for this monologue and that's about it. He's just coming from a battle. I feel like this one is pretty self explanatory.

I don't know. I was just coming out of the pub and a sergeant on horseback lassoed me. My mates were lucky. They got away. I tried to resist, but they hit me over the head, tied me up and carried me off. They gave me a sword. Oh, I seem to have dropped it somewhere. And a pistol. (He puts the pistol to his head and pulls the trigger.) Out of ammunition. Must have fired it all. There were a load of us out there on the field and they made us shout "Long live Glamiss and Candor."

And then they shot at us, and we shot at them.

And then they took us prisoner. And then they told me if you want to keep a head on your shoulders, you'd better join us. They told us to shout, "Down with Gandor, Down with Glamiss." And then we shot at them and they shot at us. I was hit several times, wounded in the thigh, and then I guess I fell down. Then I woke up and the battle was still going on a long way away. There was nothing but heaps of dying men all around me.
So, as I said, I started walking; and my right leg is hurting, and my left leg is hurting, and I'm losing blood from the wound in my thigh. And then I got here... That's all I've got to say --- except that I'm still bleeding.

The second one is Macbett himself during the analogue of the dinner scene from Macbeth. In this one, the ghost of Duncan appears to Macbett and all his party guests. Macbett is pretty nonplussed, but his guests are freaking out. This is his reaction to that. I've cut this one together, a but, but I think it flows pretty well, all things considered.

You didn't believe Banco was real, but you seem to believe that Duncan exists all right and is sitting there in the throne. Is it because he was your sovereign that you've grown used to paying him homage and holding him in awe? Now it's my turn to say, "It's only a ghost." (To Duncan) As you can see, I've taken your throne. And I've taken your wife. All the same, I served you well and you distrusted me. (To his guests) Get back to your places. (He draws his dagger.) Quickly. You have no king here but me. You pay homage to me now.
(To Duncan) I don't want to see you again till you've been forgiven by the thousands of soldier I slaughtered in your name, and till they have been pardoned in their turn by the thousands of women that they raped, and by the thousands of children and peasants they killed.

Go on, shoo! you silly old ghost.

Maybe that one is a little intense, but I love the juxtaposition of the rape and murder with the "Shoo, you silly old ghost." To me, hilarious.

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Today is Atlanta Unifieds! I love auditions. Today, I will be judged only by what I bring into the room. If you're following my Twitter, you've seen this already, but allow me to expound upon it a little.

At auditions, it doesn't really matter what you've done before. It doesn't matter what you can do, how well you can dress, what else has been going on in your life. None of that. All that matters is what you bring into the room. What you show them. I love that. I love the challenge. It's freeing. To be able to look a group of people who, in some cases, may have my financial future (Really, most certainly, my Atlanta future...) in their hands, and say, "This is what I am today. Nothing more. Nothing less." I love the calm that overtakes me. I love the sense of competition that I get. I love listening to music before I go on stage and I love the feeling of being wholly and 100% myself, while being wholly someone else. Someone who I'm not entirely comfortable with. Someone who hasn't had the chance to find out exactly who they are in the world with a month of rehearsal with a cast. It falls on my shoulders and mine alone. And I love that feeling.

Monologue Monday - Where's My Money by John Patrick Shanley

Not much to talk about, at least not at the moment. But, I didn't want to go another week without a monologue for a Monday, so here's one that I had sitting around by John Patrick Shanley from his play Where's My Money. You can find this play in his book Dirty Story and Other Plays. It's pretty solid.

So...what follows is a monologue about manhood. I generally even toss that word IN at the beginning of the monologue to clarify.

(Manhood.) It's a job. Done right, it's a tiring job. And women have a lot to do with what that job entails. Sure, women create. The womb. We all acknowledge the womb. But there's another side. And it's not pretty. There's a Hindu deity in India named Kali. The god of destruction. It's a woman. She's got a bloody sword and an appetite for decapitation. In the West, we call her "The Devouring Mother." Creation, destruction. Every woman has these two sides to her, and every man must deal with these two sides. Creation, destruction. You gotta orient a woman in such a way so as to be facing her creative parts. You want the creative parts. The destructive parts - you want those to be facing away. Towards a wall or an enemy or something. Women consume, and they must be directed what to consume, or they may identify you as lunch. You've gotta point them. Like you would a bazooka. Like you would a chainsaw. You wouldn't hold a chainsaw by the chain. Let me pull it together another way. Monogamy is like a forty watt bulb. It works, but it's not enough. Women used to come with goats and textiles. When they got upset, they worked on their textiles and they yelled at their goats. Now they look around, no goats, no textiles. All there is is some schmuck trying to read his newspaper. All right, all right, here it is boiled down to nothing. Don't bet the farm, Henry. That's what I'm trying to say. Cause if a woman smells that you're betting the farm on her, you're gonna lose the farm.

Monologue Monday - King John by William Shakespeare

I've got some pretty good news, but I think I'll wait until tomorrow to announce any specifics on here. I need the material.

So, this monologue is one that I've had in my head for a long time, but never really wanted to memorize until this year. It's Lewis, the Dauphin of France talking to Cardinal Pandulph. It's from a rarely produced play, so often times gets overlooked. I've had the good fortune to see this play twice, oddly enough during two apprentice years. Once this past year at the Tavern, the other during my time at Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey.

Also, this is going to be my companion piece to Hurrah at Last at UPTA. Both are pretty heavily cut, but I think that they retain their shape nicely. Especially this one. It's written in such a way that almost lends itself to cutting. If you can do the whole thing, that's icing on the cake. It's chock full of great stuff. But there's a lot here to pick and choose from.

Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back:
I am too high-born to be propertied,
To be a secondary at control,
Or useful serving-man and instrument,
To any sovereign state throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars
Between this chastised kingdom and myself,
And brought in matter that should feed this fire;
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of right,
Acquainted me with interest to this land,
Yea, thrust this enterprise into my heart;
And come ye now to tell me John hath made
His peace with Rome? What is that peace to me?
I, by the honour of my marriage-bed,
After young Arthur, claim this land for mine;
And, now it is half-conquer'd, must I back
Because that John hath made his peace with Rome?
Am I Rome's slave? What penny hath Rome borne,
What men provided, what munition sent,
To underprop this action? Is't not I
That undergo this charge? who else but I,
And such as to my claim are liable,
Sweat in this business and maintain this war?
Have I not heard these islanders shout out
'Vive le roi!' as I have bank'd their towns?
Have I not here the best cards for the game,
To win this easy match play'd for a crown?
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said.
(...)
Outside or inside, I will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified
As to my ample hope was promised
Before I drew this gallant head of war,
And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world,
To outlook conquest and to win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death.

He's even got one of the best putdown lines in all of Shakespeare. In this same scene, Phillip the Bastard comes into Lewis' camp and starts talking all this smack about how awesome the English are and how lame the French are. Lewis' response?

There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;
We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well;
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a brabbler.

"We grant thou canst outscold us." TOLD!

I mean, granted, the English end up winning. But, still...awesome line.

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Also, as an update to my last worried post, my family is making due. All is as well as can be expected. If you're the praying kind, my home could still use your prayers, though. As of today, there's still a quarter million people without power. Now, granted, they've made quick and amazing strides from even Sunday, when there were 400,000 some odd houses without power. From what my family says, it still looks like a warzone up there.

Also, this week I'll be doing some filming for reThink which is pretty exciting. I'm very happy to be in their rotation! Here's hoping for more. As time goes by, I really think that Kidstuf might be one of the best things to happen to me in Atlanta.

Monologue Monday - Rock 'n' Roll by Tom Stoppard

First off, hello Abby.

I saw this monologue in an odd place. I've never read the play, but I was cruising through websites, looking for places to audition for when I saw a spot that was going to do this play. They had some sides up for potential auditioners, and this monologue was crossed out. It caught my interest and I think it's pretty darn solid. I don't know that I'd ever use it for an audition, but I still like it quite a bit.

No, because the policeman insulted him. About his hair. Jirous doesn't cut his hair. It makes the policeman angry, so he starts something and it ends with Jirous in gaol. But what is the policeman angry about? What difference does long hair make? The policeman is angry about his fear. The policeman's fear is what makes him angry. He's frightened by indifference. Jirous doesn't care. He doesn't care enough even to cut his hair. The policeman isn't frightened by dissidents! Why should he be? Policemen love dissidents, like the Inquisition loved heretics. Heretics give meaning to the defenders of the faith. Nobody cares more than a heretic. Your friend Havel cares so much he writes a long letter to Husak. It makes no odds whether it's a love letter or a protest letter. It means they're playing on the same board. So Husak can relax, he's made the rules, it's his game. The population plays the other way by agreeing to be bribed by places at university, or an easy ride at work… they care enough to keep their thoughts to themselves, their haircuts give nothing away. But the Plastics don't care at all. They're unbribable. They're coming from somewhere else, from where the Muses come from. They're not heretics. They're pagans.

I'd like to read Rock 'n' Roll at some point. With music being such an intense interest in my life, I love plays that mix the two skillfully. I wish wish wish I could get my hands on a copy of Clay because I just know there's a monologue in there that would be perfect for me. If you know where I can get it, let me know...

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We've got another Monologue Monday supporter out there. If you're wanting to check out a couple of other monologues (since Frymire is being so slack), check out Old Ned's blog. He's had a couple up so far. We need more, folks. If you're interested in Monologue Monday, let me know! Our collective repertoire could be so powerful!

Monologue Monday - Henry V by William Shakespeare

For this edition of Monologue Monday, I'm doing an easy one. One that I don't have to think much about. As it is, I'm still at home and recovering from Christmas. I think we'll probably have more on that in the next post, since I've been thinking a lot about New Year's Resolutions. For the record, write more on my blog is not one. I tend to get very reflective around this time of year, as, I imagine, others do, and I'm looking forward to unpacking the soul searching I've been doing over the last week.

But, until then, here's Williams from Henry V by William Shakespeare. He's my favorite part in the entire play, no joke. It was one of my monologues from UPTA last year, and I'm sure I'll have it bouncing around in my head, but it isn't going to be what I show people. For that, I've got a couple of choices. All of which, I'm sure you folks will become familiar with.

But if the cause be not good, the king himself hath
a heavy reckoning to make, when all those legs and
arms and heads, chopped off in battle, shall join
together at the latter day and cry all 'We died at
such a place; some swearing, some crying for a
surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind
them, some upon the debts they owe, some upon their
children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die
well that die in a battle; for how can they
charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their
argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it
will be a black matter for the king that led them to
it; whom to disobey were against all proportion of
subjection.

See you on the other side.

Monologue Monday* - Hurrah at Last by Richard Greenberg

* From now on...I'll try to do these on a Monday. I just couldn't turn down the alliteration.

I've made a vow with fellow actor, Dennis Frymire to post a monologue that I like once every two weeks. Granted, these will probably tend toward monologues that I could do, but who KNOWS what will show up here. Maybe I'll be able to dig up 24 monologues that I like, maybe not. At the very least, it'll give me some food for though and hopefully expand my repertoire as I see what Dennis puts up there.

Also, naturally, if you like the monologue, I strongly encourage you to hunt down the play. The more stuff like this is seen and passed around, the better it is for all involved. And, I feel weird saying this, but if you happen to be a copyright holder for any material I use on here and you take offense, just let me know and I'll take it down. Weird.

The first one I'm going to use is from a play I recently discovered, called Hurrah at Last by Richard Greenberg. In this, Oliver (a playwright and occasional screen writer) is telling his friend, Laurie (a novelist) why it is going to be difficult to adapt his novel for the screen.

Oh darling - of course there's nothing wrong with the way you write. For a leisurely paced chronicle of rumination your style can't be beat. It's just that...well...your book is like the novels those English ladies write- where two hundred pages later they've poured the tea. I mean, it's virtually adaptable. You see, it comes down to the differences between the media. You've got Theatre, where I toil, which is totally irrelevant. Then you've got novels, which you do so magnificently, which are totally irrelevant as well as completely archaic. Then there are movies which, for the time being, people are still going to and, therefore, unlike those other media have to have some vitality. And I'm thinking that if I can just trump up a really strong opening shot, it'll trick people into thinking something is going to happen in the story. Which, of course, it does not.

I'm going to try and keep it around the minute / minute and a half line. If anyone else wants to join in, help yourself! I'd love to see your monologues on Monologue Monday, which won't always be on a Friday!