[blackout]

Ellie Plachinski, '16

 

[lights up, single chair center stage]

 

These things are supposed to start with a punch, I think. Something to knock the audience off of their game, to captivate them well enough that they actually listen to you for the next five minutes, despite how dreadfully boring the minutes will prove to be. That’s why monologues, soliloquies, whatever you want to call them, are one of the worst parts of acting. There’s no one to cover my ass if I screw this up, to make up a line and get the dialogue back on track, and these long ramblings are usually supposed to be poignant and meaningful and all of that shit. Let’s be honest: no one really cares about that stuff, unless they’re trying to be ‘deep’ or something. Intellectuals always quote Shakespeare with ‘to be or not to be’ or ‘these violent delights have violent ends,’ but the general public only sits through those boring parts to get back to the penis jokes and sword fights.

 

Shit. That’s the other thing about this… it always gets so horribly off-topic. I’m supposed to be shaking my fist in anger and crying at how much I hate this profession, but instead I’m talking about Shakespeare. Okay, I’m going to start over now. Pretend that this never happened.

 

Time to start it off with a punch… wait, you want me to tell this story?

 

[glance offstage] Do I have to? [sigh] Fine.

 

[lights out, single follow spot on center stage]

 

I was twelve when my older sister killed herself. It was a long affair, and I can remember every minute of it. She was seventeen and took an entire bottle of ibuprofen, but it didn’t kill her right away. She went to the hospital and got her stomach pumped and came home again. My role in that act of the play was mostly crying and trying to understand, and holding my sister’s hand in the hospital and on the couch. But then, too late, we found out she’d been hiding that her stomach had been hurting, probably really badly, and she had to go back. There was nothing the doctors could do. I refused to leave her side after that, and I remember holding her in my arms and her shaking and crying and saying she didn’t want to leave me but she had to. When she finally did die, I didn’t have any tears left. Part of me left with her, and crying wouldn’t do anything to bring it back.

 

But this isn’t about Taylor, or anyone else I’ve lost. That was just to get your attention. This is about acting and anger and me. I think they only wrote in that beginning to push me into talking about how I got into this godforsaken business. It’s quite simple; after Taylor died, my parents were worried about me. Apparently they didn’t want another one of their children to off themselves. So they kept sending me to this counselor, who wanted me to cry and tell her all about my feelings. I’ve never been one for feelings, to be honest. Eventually, the lady, who had this mole that covered up half of her face, got frustrated and suggested an extracurricular activity, one that would [make air quotes] ‘release your feelings, James’ [stop air quotes and cross stage left]. So I was shipped off to theater camp, and I don’t think I’ve ever actually left.

 

I had talent, they told me. Now, almost fifteen years later, I wish I would have told that therapist to shove it. Because acting isn’t about releasing emotions; it’s about making it up and forcing people to buy into the act. [run hand through hair] Listen, I’m not trying to make fun of you guys here, but it’s true. I don’t believe anything that I’m telling you, I’m using a fake name, and you all are sitting there thinking ‘poor James.’ That old lady in the second row is even crying. I guess I must be giving a pretty good performance. [cross to downstage center]

 

That’s what bothers me. You all believe that I’m James, and maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Would it matter if I was a Colin? Or a Brad? Or even a Mary or Rose? No. All you want is the story... [start yelling] the story that doesn’t fucking exist!

 

[point to random audience member] I’m sorry if I’m offending you, ma’am in the green jacket, but it’s true. I am nothing but a speck of a person preaching to an audience that won’t remember what I was talking about two months from now. Because none of this is real; it’s an illusion. I’m pretending that I’m not the screwed up kid that I was, and I’m pretending that Taylor wasn’t the only friend I’d ever have, and I’m pretending that none of this affects me. I’m trying not to be myself, because that’s what you want. You want the perfect character that’s screwed-up enough to be a good character but not so much that you’re uncomfortable. Well, I hate to break it to you, but dealing with the shit characters do in plays isn’t nearly as pretty in real life. It’s uncomfortable and messy and no one dares to call it ‘beautiful.’ In the theater, though… it has to be beautiful. It has to be magnificent enough to make your hearts bleed for us—I mean for our characters. So that means [hold hands up mockingly] spoiler alert: everything is fake.

 

The bullet wounds are filled with zesty-mint flavored ‘blood’ and the scars will wash off with a little water and soap. Those injuries disappear the minute we step off the stage, to fade back into real people. They aren’t ingrained in our skin, in our being, for the rest of our life; the real scars are hidden by make-up. Because they’re not beautiful. Remember what I just said about real life being ugly?

 

Well, people aren’t beautiful, either. Characters are beautiful because they’re perfectly designed and molded to be exactly what the director wants them to be. People aren’t so easily changed: they’re stubborn and angry and generally uncooperative. That begs the question… where does that leave actors?

 

We’re real people, but we can be molded into someone who’s the complete opposite of who we are. My first real role out of high school was a suicidal teenager. As you can imagine, those three months I was in that role were some of the worst of my life, right after the ones after Taylor’s… after her death. [sit down in chair, hands folded] Despite having lived close enough to the situation to do the role well, it was hard. I wasn’t Taylor—I was angry, not defeated—and that was the first time I questioned why I chose this as a career.

 

I’ve been a prostitute, a trans-girl, an alcoholic, a con artist, a soldier, and about five hundred other things, and each one has drained something out of me. After the curtain falls, I find myself finding less of myself to become again, and it’s terrifying. These characters are taking over every part of who I am, and I’m worried that there’s not enough person underneath the character anymore. The funny part about that is the fact that we don’t even have the liberty to play the characters how we want. We are but mere pawns in the director’s chess game. [beat]

 

Hmm… I don’t like that metaphor; it implies that I actually still exist after the applause ends. I believe a better way to explain it would be to compare me to a marionette, or a puppet. As soon as the curtain falls, the strings are cut, and I’m left sitting there until the curtain rises again.

 

Yes, that sounds right.

 

See? I could never be a playwright… I suck at this kind of thing. I’ve spent the last few minutes rambling and blubbering at you about my dead sister, and the rest of the time I’ve just complained about my life. That can’t be interesting to you. [beat, thinking]

 

Remember what I said about going off topic? It appears I did that again. [beat, standing up and walking back upstage]

 

You know how I’m kind of meandering about the stage? That’s not true. Every single step has been choreographed by the director, as well as the words that I say, and how I say them. I’m not the talented one: I’m the earthly vessel of the god that is my director, merely performing the movements he can not in his ethereal form.

 

I might like that metaphor better than the marionette one. Let’s keep going with that train of thought… it’s bringing me to the penultimate moment, and then I can get off this goddamn stage.

 

[clear throat, doing a stuffy, vaguely Shakespearean impersonation] If an actor falls onstage, but there is no one in the audience, does the actor truly fall? [end impression]

 

That is the question, isn’t it? [rock backwards on heels slightly] Luckily, you’re all here to listen to me, so it’s not a problem. And let me tell you, this is going to be a big fall from grace. I’m warding off the godlike figure taking control, I’m cutting my own marionette strings… that’s right.  

 

[beat] I’m going to ignore whatever was next in the script.

 

Really, all of this comes full circle to Taylor, which is why I even brought her into this monologue. She got me into this terrible mess that has slowly sucked who I am right out of my body, and now she’s going to get me out of it. I just need a minute to draw together whatever part of me that’s left back into myself. [kick chair out of the way, sit cross-legged on the stage, head in hands]

 

I don’t even know if there’s enough left in me to do this. I told you that I wasn’t like Taylor, but there’s only one way to get off of this stage.

 

This monologue was named ‘A Fifteen Year Double Suicide’ for a reason. Enjoy the rest of your penis jokes and swordfights.

 

[blackout]

 

[a single gunshot rings out over the applause]