The Salon: The Play

The stage is set up to look like a large computer screen, through which we see a library, every shelf stuffed with books, books stacked on the floor, books stacked on the tables. There are a number of props about the room to be used by the various players, but in most cases they are on, under or behind stacks and stacks of books.

Enter, stage left, a crowd of demons of all shapes and sizes, some with tridents and tails, others with ghastly shaped bodies and faces, still others taking the form of Norse, Greek and Indian Gods and Goddesses. Some of the demons are cataloguing books at terminals.

Enter, stage right, Dr. Fausturania, M.D., Ph.D., Th.D., D.M.D.

Fausturania is approach by the first demon, A_Musistopheles.

Fuasturania: You come bearing books?

A_Musistopheles: Books for you,
I have what you want and desire -
Frilly romance? Begone. Not that!
Worldly knowledge? Mundane. No way!
This book, right here, dispels romance,
Rejects facile answers and salves,
Gives it to you straight, unadultur'd
Without easy answers to questions
Some wished were never asked

Fausturania opens the book, flips pages, reads, finally, she looks up, staring dreamily into space, and says:

Is this the boy whose dreams were crush'd
Whose thinker's pose I found absurd?
Sweet Clarel, make me immobile -
You need some sex! Saucy or naught!
His dreams suck forth all joy and glee,
Come Clarel, give me joy, redeem!
Dwell us not in Dusty Salem,
But return to Tennessee!
For all is dross but my Clarel!

Fuasturania turns to the next devil:

What book bring you for me?

Great minds....

Not realizing you were creating a new thread, A_Musing, I took a stab (I have to watch those metaphors) at something on the earlier thread. Here it is in all its glory. Perhaps a combination of the two ideas???

Opening scene a tap-dancing Chorus, mumbling and interrupting each other about the dire events we are about to see. Interrupted by Maria from Sound of Music singing about being Maria. A narrator out of Thornton Wilder wanders in, telling us about Main Street.

Casca and Brutus come in, muttering about the perfidy of Caesar and who is about to get murdered on the Ides.

A musical number, perhaps a cancan.

Then Titus Andronicus comes in accompanied by the Ghost of Hamlet's father.

My goodness this is flowing for me.

Work with me here, folks. What do you think?

Well, I think this sounds like fun, but who gets to play Rodrigo, our narrator who may or may not exist? Is that Enrique?

Mayhaps every book read in the Salon needs a scene somewhere. The Les Mis can can for an intro? Perhaps also for the big finale? Or do we need to finish with a fat lady singing?

Should we wiki the actual play?

>1 A_musing: Very a_musing A_musing.

Unfortunately, I have no gift for Melvillain verse, nor can I write like Marlowe. Moreover, I piqued, quite piqued that you present with a present to assuage my boredom, ennui, lassitude, and deep despair, and then you hijack the idea to your thread. Hurtful, very hurtful. I feel another episode coming own. Andruska, my smelling salts please.

Smelling salts, ma'am.

Herring.

Vodka.

Sari.

Bath is ready.

Young men, suitably robed or not, ready to wash your toes.

I SAID TOES!

Oh, my, I imagined this play as it's own separate homage and entertainment for your benefit, not a thread that would in some way be "mine". After all, I had started that other thread, too. Consider it two homages for the price of none.

Should we post discussion over there and work on the script here? So postings here would be actual lines for the play? That was my initial conception. Otherwise, we could merge threads. No need for it all to be in iambic either pent- or tetra- meter, since I don't think either would work well for a cancan (though the tetrameter works for most hymns - maybe sing all the Melvillain lines to the tune of Amazing Grace? come on, sing it - "Is this the boy whose dreams were crush'd..." - now imagine singing all of Clarel in a hymn -hmmm!?); I'd even suggest some need not be in meter at all.

The stage is a library, every shelf stuffed with books, books stacked on the floor, books stacked on the tables. There are a number of props about the room to be used by the various players, but in most cases they are on, under or behind stacks and stacks of books.

Enter, stage left, a select group of comrade peasants, salonistas, musicians, librarians, Tennesseans, Al Gore, a cat, and some guy who thinks he's Ulysses. Each is holding Lispector's The Hour of the Star like a hymnbook

Comrade Peasant 1: The Hour of the Star! Praise it!

Al Gore: Wow!

Salonista 1: Awesome.

The Cat: Vote Al Gore for Brazil.

Comrade Peasant 2: Beautiful! Amazing!

Chorus: All praise to urania for bringing us Hour of the Star. Praise her with many songs. Praise her.

polutropos (under his breath): Perfidious wench. I'll see her to her doom

Enter stage right, The Dictator (long may he live) and A_musing. The Dictator's physique is, too say the least, magnificent. He is wearing a hot pink bikini with élan and eclat. A_musing is dressed in black - black turtle neck, black jeans, and a black beret. He carries an oversized black volume of Clarel in one hand and a pitchfork in the other. Lighting: The dictator is bathed in bright light. A_musing is always in the shadows. The two are having a heated discussion.

The Dictator: Leave us not A_musing, but demand not that we read Clarel. I fear this experiment will lead us into damnation and will hand us over to evil.

A_musing: Grant not my wish and the Salon perishes. I will leave.

Enter stage left, urania dressed as the goddess of wisdom. She rushes to The Dictator.

urania: Listen not to the foul fellow. He portends no good for our glorious State, The Salon. Let him leave.

The Dictator: to urania Umm, is my bikini top on straight?

polutropos walks over to A_musing and whispers something dire and dangerous in his ear. Both men cackle like evil, maniacal hens.

A_musing (to The Dictator): Ignore this wench and grant me my demand, or I thy bikini collection will take.

The Dictator (to urania): Alas, I have no choice. Clarel it will be.

Demons and imps of hell enter and distribute oversized volumes of Clarel to all. A_musing and polutropos do a Cossack dance to a twelve tone song of their own devising. The group begins to read.

Comrade Peasant 1: Woe!

Al Gore: Ouch!

The Cat: Vote Al Gore for . . . something, anything.

Comrade Peasant 2: Something wicked doeth this portend. My heart it slows. My breath comes faintly now.

The Chorus: Foul is foul and Fair is Fair. Nevermore! Alas. Nevermore . . .

urania: It is finished.

All fall dead except for the cat, A_musing and polutropos

polutropos (looking down at urania's body): No roses for you . . . wench.

A_musing: Today Le Salon!!

polutropos: Tomorrow the Globe!!!!

Both: Bahaha!!!!

They exit exit cackling vilely

The Cat: The rest is silence. (to the audience) Herring anyone?

Highly amusing, perhaps even A Musing!

The only slight addition I would suggest is songs, and tap-dancing.

"I'm The Top, I'm Mahatma Gandhi" perhaps as some of the mutterings are heard.

But a new society, one without hope, without faith, ah, without hope, will rise, Phoenixlike, from the ashes! Paradise regained, indeed!

Bollywood dancing for all: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktQOLO4U5iQ

Now that's a thought: what about a Bollywood production of Clarel?

Dammit. I posted in the wrong thread. All my creativity gone to waste.

Not at all, I'm trying to think of the next act for Andronicus.

Act II,
Enter Orestes (played by booksfallapart), pursued by a nude Pylades (played by Slick) carrying a spear...Then follows a scene of mother son incest with Orestes and his mum, (played by Wisewoman and Enrique, both in drag.) to the accompaniment of a ballet performed by the Salonistas to music, composed by Medelia and performed by her, Lola, Porius and I, (which quartet is affectionately known as "The Four G Strings" in MU circles) with decor by David X. Urania will, in the middle of said incest scene, descend from a wire clad in veils and wearing a pair of wings...

Curtain. End scene 1 Act II.

exit pursued by a bear

enter the duchess in bed

Medellia?

Where's the Duke?

Urania, you naughty creature, you.

Balcony scene? "O Freeque, Freeque! Wherefore art thou Freeque? Because Tim says you can't be anyone else. Apparently a rose by any other name is a sockpuppet."

Oh, sockpuppets! Now there's a good idea...

"Where's the Duke?" could be a refrain, like in French farce. Every so often someone walks though, calling "Where's the Duke?" And other people walk around carrying assorted phallic symbols, waving them appropriately.

The Duchess: But I ALWAYS call him The Duke.

Heh. I am flattered to be cast in this drama, but *that* part I most vehemently decline! ;)

Enter John Wayne(dressed in a giant penis costume).

John Wayne(to Urania): I'm the duke!

Urania: No, you're just a dick!

Urania pulls out a sword and chops off John Wayne's head, which is still inside the "head" of the penis costume, it rolls across the stage and blood spurts everywhere.

The chorus: The duke was not a duke at all, but just a dick instead. Urania heroically chopped off his penis head.

A group of thirteen naked blood nymphs rushes unto the stage and starts lapping up the blood which is still spurting from John Wayne's neck(shaft).

You guys just made my life better.

In response to >16 Medellia::

Alas, poor Freeque! I knew him, Medellia: obsessed
With Infinite Jest, prone to overwhelming tomes; he hath
Made me laugh a thousand times; and now, how
forgotten to the Salon's wits he seems to be!
Here hung those lips you haven’t kissed you know
not how oft. Where be his posts now? His
dictates? His songs? His flashes of befuddlement,
that were wont to set the Salon on a roar? Not one
now to give me a Clarel thread. He read not the Star!
Now get you to Urania’s profile, and tell her no
Episodes shall mar his memory, she must
come; make her laugh at Duke Freeque.

The Duchess, who has fallen asleep in her bed, awakes and notices John Wayne's head lying in the center of the stage in a large pool of blood which the blood nymphs are still lapping hungrily.

The Duchess: What the hell is going on around here and where is the Duke?!!

There is a sudden flash of lightning followed by loud rumbling thunder. The floor center stage opens up revealing an enormous vagina. The head and body of John Wayne and the thirteen blood nymphs fall into the enormous vagina which belches fire and smoke and then disappears.

Enter Antonin Artaud(played by DavidX) dressed as a janitor carrying a mop and mop bucket. He begins mopping up the blood on the stage.

Antonin Artaud(to the Duchess, sheepishly): Sorry about the mess.

The Duchess: Who cares you idiot! Where is the Duke?!!!

I have deleted posts 19 and 22 because they were completely misunderstood. I have no knowledge of whatever drama is apparently going on and was only being silly and making fun of John Wayne, because his nickname was "the duke".

Goodbye.

Oh that's just great David! Now my post doesn't make any sense! Do I have to edit you out of it?!

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Who thought there would be drama in a play?

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

Heads.

David, I removed your speaking part from post 23. Please feel free to put your post back.

GIVE THE SALON BACK, DAVIDX, IT'S RIGHTFUL HEADS-CHOPPED-OFF-OF REPRODUCTORY-APPENDAGES POSTS!!! You had no right to delete those beautiful posts!

Everyone, in unison, at David:

"Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back; "Put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the posts back; put the post back; put the posts back;

@ A_musing:

Why?

Exactly.

Exactly what?

Exactly why.

Exactly why what?

What?

Why?

Why what, exactly?

Why is he mad?!

I don't know!

The old man thinks he's in love with his daughter.

Good God! We're out of our depth here.

>27 absurdeist: - Finally Polutropos gets his can-can!!

Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Aye
Put Back the Posts Today
Put Back the Posts Today
Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Aye

Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Aye
Put Back the Posts Today
Put Back the Posts Today
Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Aye

(Ok now, everyone, sing and kick!):

Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Aye!!
Put Back the Posts Today!!
Put Back the Posts Today!!
Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Aye!!

Allright already!

I wish to clarify that in said posts John Wayne does not represent any persons living or dead, or their penises, other than John Wayne himself and his penis, which I am sure was of legendary proportions, judging from the funny way he walked.

I used profanity because I was trying to imitate Antonin Artaud's play The Spurt of Blood.

The Spurt of Blood:

http://www.spurtofblood.org/

A_musing,

I told you nothing good would come of reading Clarel. I have just finished canto 2 of book 1 (17,760 lines to go). I return to Le Salon and what do I find? My modem is vexed. Everyone here is clearly mad. To what have we all come. Something is rotten in the pickled herring. I think I'll go have some much needed absinthe and chocolate.

P.S.

Thank you Davushka for the only sane comment I have read today.

But the play is coming along nicely, no?

Duke?

Stella?

Enter Duke Ellington with a grand piano and orchestra playing "It don't mean a thing" for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDQpZT3GhDg

Exuent Omnia.

>36 A_musing:.

Is that a spell from Harry Potter?

(I assume it is needless for me to say this, but the previous statement was intended as a joke)

Stage direction: Exuent Omnia = They all leave the stage.

But of course, in the Salon, it's like an invitation to crowd the apron in front of the curtain for another act....

golly, what have they put in the water here....

All enter at once. Because the blood had not been cleaned up properly, (damn it's hard to get good help these days, every stagehand is unionized), there is a lot of shoving and tripping. Many are hanging onto each other: mothers and sons, sons and mothers, mothers and sons, is this EVER Oedipal. (This is working on setting the world record for stage direction.) Flying above all is urania, flapping those damned wings like crazy, throwing her veils this way and that. From offstage a deep booming voice booms: Get on with it, already. An awful lot of throat-clearing, then they finally manage to organize into two more or less straight lines right across the stage, one behind the other. The conductor in the pit raises his baton. It is the opening of Beethoven's Fifth. But there is an oboe, totally off. The conductor throws his baton at the oboeist. All sound ceases. The two chorus lines call out plaintively, in unison: "We are so wretched, so so wretched. Anton Pavlovich is wretched. Lev Nikolayevich is wretched. Fyodor Michailovich is wretched. We are so, so wretched. We are the Hollow Men. Not with a bang... A huge bang is heard from off-stage. The chorus repeats, quite emphatically, "NOT with a bang..."

A cat meows. Hearing, the TomCat starts. Another meow from offstage. Tomcat answers. One by one all the characters onstage join in. A long cacophony of mewling.

Meow.

The crowd assembled on the stage scatters in all directions. Remaining on the stage is the oboeist lying dead in a pool of his own blood, impaled by the conductor's baton.

A scream is heard off stage right and a stage hand runs out unto the stage.

Stage hand: The conductor shot himself! He's dead!

Noh exit?

No, Noh Exeunt!

(Sometimes I just slay myself. I have tears running down my cheeks and am rolling on the floor.)

No Noh. Just five characters in search of a dictator.

Stage Hand: The conductor did it.

Second Oboeist: No you fool, the butler always does it.

The Cat: With whom.

First Violinist: Is the Butler cute?

Enter Inspector Butler

Just cover your face before you lose your footing. Sometimes you can have just too many turns, noh?

The lights go down. A single spotlight settles on Inspector Butler (aka Porius). He walks around the stage, carefully inspecting each of the four other characters. Finally, he steps forward, facing the auidence. The light shifts through the spectrum before settling on blue. All the other characters look at him. The orchestra looks at him. He motions to the conductor, who taps his baton. Inspector Butler goes down to the pit and inspects the baton. He then returns to his place, center stage. The conductor taps the baton again. Inspector Butler sings:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u2gvaDTpKMk

While Inspector Butler sings, Enrique slowly descends from above behind him. At first Enrique is in the shadows but a white light slowly comes up on him. He is dressed in a white bikini and has large angel wings. The near corpse of the oboe player (because he's just mostly dead) is in a bed in the background, with all white sheets. The year is 1984.