Please God, No Wedding…”(Sunde's) clever conceit worthy of Stoppard provides an immensely entertaining evening. This hilarious yet also touching tour de force…ought always to accompany Chekhov's <The Seagull>” PLAYS INTERNATIONAL
Please God, No Wedding… “Anton’s tiny gesture of refusal to aid his lover sets off reverberations of lost connections and ultimate tragedy … Sunde stealthily plants her emotional bomb, camouflaged under the verbal dazzle of Shakespeare and Chekhov’s words, and when it detonates at the end, the effect is quietly shocking.” Tim Cusack NYTHEATRE.COM Reviews
“Much of (the Festival's) interest is due to Anton Himself and Masha,Too...Masha becomes a woman of real substance and no little humor, a rounded portrait of someone worth knowing. ... Vaguely echoing The Seagull itself, (Anton, Himself) is ingeniously assembled. ... It takes a certain chutzpah to write a play more or less in the voice of thatmaster of indirection and self-absorption, Anton Chekhov. It takes chutzpah squared to write two of them. That, however, is what Karen Sunde has done... We'd owe Sunde a measure of grudging admiration merely for the attempt, but in fact she has succeeded in illuminating Chekhov and his sister Mariya, or Masha, at a critical juncture of their lives.” Clifford A. Ridley PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER
“Simplicity stretched to its limits is what makes this production so appealing. ...an evening in the mind of...Chekhov. ...beautifully sublime portrayal of a man.” CFRO 102.7 FM Vancouver
“...torn between his passion and his pragmatism...an intensely personal side of the author is revealed...a well-crafted play...a real treat.” TERMINAL CITY, Vancouver
"While viewers need know nothing about Chekhov to enjoy these three (To Moscow; Anton, Himself; Masha, Too) Sunde interlards the action with jokes about the stories and plays especially intriguing to knowledgeable viewers," CONTEMPORARY DRAMATISTS London
“You don't have to like Chekhov to love Anton, Himself ...Sunde credibly takes us to 1896...polished, compelling...The audience loved (it).” THE FRINGE REVIEW Vancouver
TAGS. Anton Chekhov, Maria Pavlovna Chekhova, Isaac Levitan, Lika Mitzinova, Hamlet, The Seagull, Melikovo, writing process, plays by women, ensemble plays, writers and reviews, plays about Chekhov, 19th century Russia
CHEKHOVS AT HOME
A Trilogy
PLEASE GOD, NO WEDDING OR SHOOTING AT THE END!
ANTON, HIMSELF
MASHA, TOO
By
Karen Sunde
Smashwords Edition
Copyright Karen Sunde
For rights to perform these plays, apply to:
130 Barrow #412
New York, NY 10014
tel/fx 212/366-1124
INTRODUCTION – A passionate affair with no end in sight.
PLEASE GOD, NO WEDDING OR SHOOTING AT THE END
PRODUCTION NOTES – How to do these crazy plays.
OTHER PLAYS AND SCREENPLAYS by Karen Sunde
PRODUCTION HISTORY
PLEASE GOD, NO WEDDING OR SHOOTING AT THE END! was commissioned by Tisch School of the Arts, NYU, and first performed by Table And Chair Handmade Theatre at HERE Theater, New York, directed by Richard Levine.
MASHA, TOO was commissioned by The People’s Light and Theatre Company to be produced together with ANTON, HIMSELF, directed by Abigail Adams. Both plays were subsequently directed by Roger Ellis in Grand Rapids, MI, and by H. Lee Gables for the Washington Shakespeare Company in DC.
ANTON, HIMSELF was commissioned and first produced by Actor’s Theatre of Louisville, published in Moscow Art Theater, a monograph, and performed at Yalta Festival in Russia. and at the Moscow Art Theatre, Moscow, at CHEKHOV NOW Festival in New York, and The Fringe Festival in Vancouver, BC.
Selections from both ANTON and MASHA, as well as from Sunde’s TO MOSCOW appear in SCENES AND MONOLOGUES FROM THE BEST NEW PLAYS, Meriwether Publishing.
I fell in love with Chekhov by acting him, having had the luck to play in four of his major plays. Then when I quit acting, I found myself sending a farewell “valentine” to that life by writing To Moscow, which wound Chekhov’s life and loves (Olga Knipper) with the birth of the Moscow Art Theater (Stanislavsky). It was well-received, produced (as far away as Turkey), and published…but then a funny thing happened: people kept wanting more.
First, Actor’s Theatre of Louisville asked me to write a one-man play about Chekhov to producein their Russian Classics in Context Festival. I wrote Anton, Himself, and To Moscow now had an off-spring. Then, most thrilling, the real-live Moscow Art Theatre witnessed it (they’d brought a play to the festival, too), and their legendary artistic director, Sergei Yefremov then took Anton, Himself to be performed in its actual setting – at their Yalta Festival in Russia, and then at the real Moscow Art Theatre.
Still that wasn’t the end: Abigail Adams of Peoples Light & Theater, PA, saw Anton, Himself at Louisville, and lobbied me to write another play to accompany it, “for Anton’s sister Masha.” so that the two could make a whole evening’s entertainment: I wrote Masha, Too so that it leads into Anton, Himself, and the scene they both speak of can imaginatively take place during the intermission. (in To Moscow this same scene, which Masha relates, is pivotal)
You’d think that would have been enough, but no: enter Carol Rocamora, who saw both these plays together at PLT’s Short Stuff Festival, then hired in-class reprise performances (by actors Edith Meeks and Frank Wood) for her Chekhov Workshop at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts. And then, Carol got a bright idea: would I please write a play about Chekhov for her whole workshop to perform – there must be sixteen roles in it – et voila: Please God, No Wedding or Shooting at the End!
And that is why three plays, all offspring of To Moscow, are presented here in Chekhovs At Home. But please note that their order is last first: although the easiest sequence for the reader to meet them would be Masha,Too (a breeze), then Anton, Himself (complex), and only then Please God... (an extravaganza). Alas, the chronology of their action is the opposite: Please God begins when Chekhov is beginning to write The Seagull, whereas Masha and Anton take place the day after Seagull’s opening night. Though time passes, loved ones remain, and some close to the heart in the solo plays come to life in the big play.
Feel free to read them in any order you like. And welcome! KS
PLEASE GOD, NO WEDDING OR SHOOTING AT THE END!
Photo of Melikovo by Seifkin DR
This play is a dance into life of the writer with his creation.
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It needs an open stage.
Piled on one side: a trunk with props, writing table, two chairs, paper, pens, a candle.
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ANTON and his sister MASHA are real; all the other characters exist in Anton’s mind:
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LIKA and ISAAC are family friends, but the rest are characters from The Seagull (created as we watch), and Hamlet, which Anton’s just seen.
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ANTON’s mind-characters interact with one another, but MASHA is unaware of, and does not see them.
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CHARACTERS: 6 w, 8 m total.
ANTON immortal writer, fallible man
MASHA warm, wise, forgetful of self
LIKA devilish, with angelic aspirations
ISAAC flamboyant, sensitive, impossible
TEN “MIRROR” ROLES (characters from The Seagull and Hamlet):
KONSTANTIN (mirrors) HAMLET
NINA (mirrors) OPHELIA
DORN (mirrors) POLONIUS
ARKADINA (mirrors) GERTRUDE
TRIGORIN (mirrors) CLAUDIUS
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The Hamlet characters’ mission is to help birth the Seagull characters, but both only speak lines from their extant plays. As Anton begins to write The Seagull *, he has snatches of characters, plot and themes with which he will wrestle as he finds his play.
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* Lines from The Seagull are an English version by Karen Sunde; those from Hamlet are by Shakepeare.
PLEASE GOD, NO WEDDING OR SHOOTING AT THE END!
As the play begins, a performance of Hamlet is ending, with our actors onstage – as performers in Hamlet or as audience – but this scene will immediately cross-fade to Anton’s study at home. In other words, time and space are leapt, and we’re instantly somewhere else, hours later. We achieve this by the happy magic of theatre (audience and players) creating together any reality we need.
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On “stage” - The Hamlet characters dressed in black, are all dead, except for CLAUDIUS (saying Horatio's lines), who cradles the dying HAMLET:
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Hamlet: ...The rest is silence. (He dies)
Claudius: Good night, sweet Prince. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. (He dies)
(ANTON in “audience”, slams his notebook shut, leaves amid applause and cheers for end of Hamlet.)
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(Cross-fade: MASHA hurries “on” creating “the study,” followed by Anton, who hangs his coat on DORN’s head that’s poking through a curtain. It’s midnight. Home from an emergency medical call he got after Hamlet, Anton and his sister set up a place for Anton to work.)
(Dead HAMLET characters stay strewn about the stage. Anton’s brimming with ideas and eager to write, but Masha’s alarmed by the emergency call– )
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Masha: Did Isaac actually shoot himself?
Anton: Idiot. Here. By the window.
(They are placing the writing table)
Masha: But it's not bad?
Anton: You ever known him to shoot straight?
Masha: Oh my god.
Anton: Good. Now paper, pens. It's women again.
Masha: Oh no...
Anton: Two at once. Mother and daughter.
Masha: No!
Anton: You should have married him, Masha.
Masha: That's not funny. A mother and daughter?
Anton: It's for the best. Without the shock he gave them, they'd have scratched each other's eyes out.
Masha: Over Isaac? Oh my god.
Anton: Idiot.
Masha: (Musing) It's like something from Ibsen.
Anton: (Annoyed) Ibsen?
Masha: Like Hedda Gabler.
Anton: Ooo, pardon my yawn.
Masha: They all want her. And she shoots herself.
Anton: (Opening his writing pad) Except, Isaac Levitan is all passion – his groin pumps straight to his brain. Ibsen wouldn't know a passion if it bit off his noodle.
Masha: (Laughing) Anton.
Anton: (Preparing his pen) In fact, I'm fairly sure he doesn't have one.
Masha: You're jealous.
Anton: Of what? A pompous, preaching stick? If Ibsen wants to wallow in the sleaziest of arts, let him. Theatre mangles everything!
Masha: Is Isaac safe now? (Lighting candle)
Anton: (Working himself into a rage) What do they do there? They take the utmost care to obliterate every last syllable it takes me two years to write!
Masha: Anton. Isaac won’t try it again?
Anton: And do critics blame the actors? Of course not! Only the author!
Masha: (Smiles) I’ll fix you some tea.
Anton: (Jerks round to go on– ) And besides that...
(But Masha slips out, is gone. Anton's left with his mouth open. Rather than be caught off-balance he stares at the audience, says to them– )
Anton: Can you imagine, I'm writing a play.
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(Anton seems about to say more, but he's only a writer concentrating on the space we happen to occupy, as he formulates the words he will, in the next instant, write. But without breaking his gaze, he speaks– )
Anton: There's a young man...who wants, desperately, to...
Masha: Excuse me, Anton. I forgot your overcoat.
(Masha takes coat off head of Dorn sticking through curtain. Anton holds, trying to preserve his inspiration till she’s gone, but– )
Masha: How was Hamlet?
Anton: (Lost) What?
Masha: Hamlet. The performance you just saw.
Anton: (Amazed) I’ve forgotten it.
Masha: You’d better not!
Anton: Well, you took me off, talking about Isaac.
Masha: They expect your review by morning.
Anton: Of course, of course. (But Anton’s staring hard at the audience)
Masha: I’ll leave you to it then.
Anton: There is a young man...
(Hamlet – the character – stirs into life, stands ready behind Anton)
Anton: ...who wants desperately...to write plays.
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(As Anton conjures Konstantin in his mind's eye, Konstantin – dressed in white like all Seagull characters – emerges in aisle moving toward Anton)
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Konstantin: And who am I. What am I. Nobody.
(Anton eagerly watches Konstantin, writes down his words, as Hamlet begins to advise Konstantin– )
Hamlet: To be or not to be...
(Anton's listening, smiling, copying all he hears)
Hamlet: ...that is the question.
Anton: Yes...
Konstantin: I left the university in my third year...
(Anton's writing fast, transcribing everything. Konstantin and Hamlet blend like a duet, or the two heads of one mind)
Hamlet: Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune...
Konstantin: ...have no talent, no money, and my passport reads simply...
(As the two overlap, Anton stops writing, and looks up, puzzled)
Hamlet: ...Or to take arms against a sea of troubles...
Konstantin: ...citizen of Kiev.
Hamlet: ...And by opposing end them.
Anton: "To be or not to..." No. I've heard that before.
(Anton scratches out what he's written, Konstantin and Hamlet look at each other, puzzled, while Anton starts over, to the audience– )
Anton: There is a young woman.
(Ophelia stirs, stands, smiles sweetly at Konstantin and Hamlet)
Anton: Who wants, desperately...
(Ophelia moves toward both young men, but Nina comes running down the aisle)
Anton: ...to act.
Nina: (Bursts on stage, scoots past Ophelia) I'm not late... Say I'm not late...
Konstantin: No, no, no.
(Konstantin kisses Nina’s hands, Hamlet circles Ophelia, while– )
Nina: All day I’ve been terrified father wouldn't let me come...but at last he’s gone out.
(Polonius stirs at the word "father," and listens. Anton transcribes what he hears, as the two couples entwine in an intimate quartet– )
Hamlet: Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
Nina: I raced my horse faster and faster.
Ophelia: No, my lord.
Nina: I’ve only half an hour.
Hamlet: I mean, my head in your lap.
Nina: They're afraid I'll become an actress...
Ophelia: Aye, my lord.
Nina: ...but I'm drawn to your lake like the gulls. My heart is full of you.
Konstantin: (Holds her) We're alone.
Hamlet: Do you think I meant country matters?
Konstantin: What if I follow you home, Nina?
Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord.
Nina: No, Trezor doesn't know you yet – he'd bark.
Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs.
Konstantin: I love you.
Nina: Hush!
Polonius: Do not believe his vows!
Konstantin: Who's there?
(Anton protests, but Polonius angrily separates the couples, taking Nina and Ophelia each by an arm)
Anton: Wait a minute...
Polonius: They are panders breathing like sanctified and pious bawds the better to beguile.
Anton: Who's this?
Polonius: From this time be something scanter of your maiden presence.
Anton: Wait a minute.
Polonius: (Moving off with Nina and Ophelia) Look to it, I charge you. Come your ways.
Anton: No fathers. I won't have any fathers.
(Polonius bewildered, but at that cue Claudius stirs– )
Claudius: But you must know your father lost a father. That father lost, lost his.
(Claudius rises and moves, speaking to both Konstantin and Hamlet)
Claudius: Think of us
As of a father, for let the world take note
You are the most immediate to our throne
And with no less nobility of love
Than that which dearest father bears his son
Do I impart toward you.
Anton: No, no, no!
Hamlet: A little more than kin, and less than kind.
(Suddenly, Dorn’s head grabs focus, speaking to Anton– )
Dorn: And another thing. A work of art needs a clear idea. Know why you're writing, or else you have no goal, you lose yourself, and your talent will destroy you.
(All are dumbfounded)
Nina: It’s a strange play, isn't it?
Dorn: Yes it is. Of course I haven’t seen the end, but it made a deep impression on me. You have real talent; You must continue your work.
Anton: (Eagerly, as he writes) Who are you?
Dorn: I am fifty-five years old. It’s too late to change my ways.
Anton: But who are you?
(Polonius pops up to Dorn, happy to have something to say– )
Polonius: This above all, to thine own self be true.
Anton: I said no fathers! Absolutely no fathers. But there will be...(To audience)...a mother.
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(Grand entrance. When they see who's coming, the characters bow, curtsy; Nina pulls a chair into place for the queen – Arkadina in a robe and crown. Suddenly, she lets her robe fall, flops into chair with a groan, yanking off crown, kicking off shoes – like an actress finally offstage)
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(Ophelia scoops up the robe and crown, and waits on Gertrude, who’s risen quickly, with no affectation, and now stands quietly behind Arkadina, while Ophelia dresses her in the robe and crown Arkadina wore)
(The seated mother, Arkadina, leans in, as though facing a mirror, to primp. The standing mother, Gertrude, extends a graceful arm– )
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Gertrude: Hamlet...
Anton: (Like a shot) No!
Arkadina: What's the matter with my son?
Gertrude: Let not thy mother lose her prayers.
Arkadina: Why is he so depressed?
Gertrude: I pray thee, stay with us, go not to Wittenburg.
(Hamlet refuses, muttering, while Arkadina primps– )
Hamlet: O that this too too solid flesh would melt, thaw, resolve itself into a dew...
Arkadina: I never think of old age or death. I’m in good shape.
Hamlet: (To Konstantin) A little month, or ere those shoes were old, With which she followed my poor father's body, Like Niobe, all tears...
Arkadina: Kept my looks, never let myself go, like some women.
Hamlet: ...why she, even she – married with my uncle.
O most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
Arkadina: (Hands on her hips, prances) See, light as a bird.
Konstantin: (To Hamlet) My mother is a psychological marvel. Without a doubt brilliant, talented, capable of sobbing over a novel, nursing the sick like an angel...
Arkadina: I could play fifteen.
Hamlet: (To Arkadina) Frailty thy name is woman!
Konstantin: ...but just try praising Duse to her! Oh no! She alone must be raved over, written about, sung to the skies.
Hamlet: Have you eyes?
(Hamlet’s directing Arkadina toward Trigorin who’s moving in from the audience, jotting in a notebook)
Hamlet: You cannot call it love, for at your age
The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble
And waits upon the judgement.
Arkadina: (To Hamlet) That may be so in France, but it’s certainly not our way. Here, the woman is head over heels in love before she moves for the kill. Look at Trigorin and me.
Trigorin: I have no will of my own. I never had.
Konstantin: He’s not even forty, but already famous and sick of it.
Trigorin: I'm lazy, passive, submissive... No woman wants that! So take me. Take me away with you, but never let me out of your sight.
(Trigorin's falling on his knees before Gertrude. Arkadina yanks him away)
Anton: Who's this supposed to be?
Trigorin: (Answering Anton) ...I have to write, write, write! As soon as I finish one story, something compels me to write another, and a third, and a fourth – I never stop, it’s like I’m racing without a finish. I’ll see that cloud, there, that looks like a camel...
(Polonius jumps up, hearing his cue)
Polonius: By th' mass, and 'tis like a camel indeed.
Trigorin: And I think – I have to put that in a story...
Hamlet: Methinks it is like a weasel.
Polonius: It is backed like a weasel.
Trigorin: (Writing) ...that a cloud was sailing by...
Hamlet: Or like a whale.
Polonius: Very like a whale.
Trigorin: ...that looked like a camel.
Hamlet: Then I will come to my mother by and by.
Polonius: I will say so.
Hamlet: 'By and by' is easily said.
Anton: (Beside himself) Stop everything!
(Masha knocks, anxious– )
Masha: Is everything all right?
Anton: No, it's not.
(Masha slips in, passing in the midst of characters without seeing them, carrying a tray to Anton's table. The tray has tea, newspapers, accumulated mail. Masha pours a cup for Anton, who ignores it)
Masha: I was afraid you'd wake Mama. The guests are all dead to the world. The place is full of musical snores.
(Anton has his head in his hands, in full mental constipation. He groans. The characters regard him fondly, amused. Masha pulls a chair next to the table, and sits to sort the mail)
Masha: God, I'm tired. Haven't been off my feet all day. Didn't even get to the mail. I was hoping your proofs would come from the editor, so we'd get paid.
Anton: Uuuuh.
(Masha has found a rose-colored envelope, and, seeing its handwriting, looks up at Anton, startled)
Masha: Oh.
(She begins to hand it to Anton, but, seeing his condition, thinks better of it, puts it in her apron pocket, and proceeds to "handle" her brother)
Masha: Did you start?
(Anton shakes his head "No," glumly)
Masha: So what's the matter.
(Instead of answering her, he sighs, drinks his tea. Masha watches him, and, getting no answer, looks at the last sheet he wrote, starts to read it, then breaks off confused– )
Masha: This is a play, Anton. You're supposed to write a review!
Anton: No point. It was hideous.
Masha: (Laughing) Hamlet was hideous?
(Hamlet characters alarmed, cluster at foot of the table to hear)
Anton: No. Hamlet was sublime. I had hopes it would rub off, inspire the actors. But can you imagine, Masha – he whined! Give us the sublime, and that's what we do to it – make a whining Hamlet!
(Hamlet characters collapse in a pile, discouraged)
Masha: Better than no Shakespeare at all.
Anton: But they squeeze him, till there's no blood, no life, no passion left. Our theatre is so shallow, we've got to drag even Hamlet down. We've got no way to portray the grandeur of a human's connection with infinite power and grace. We need new forms!
Masha: And you're going to make them? You're dizzy from watching Shakespeare.
(Ignoring her, Anton reaches for the pile of mail)
Anton: Did we hear from Isaac?
Masha: He's coming for supper tomorrow, so you can change his bandage.
Anton: Tomorrow? You mean tonight.
Masha: (Yawning) That'll make fourteen at table. (Watching him) You said you weren't going to do this again. Why aren't you satisfied? Everyone loves your stories. All Moscow's waiting for the next.
(Trigorin by Anton’s ear, like his mind arguing – a lively exchange grows)
Trigorin: Either you exaggerate my fame, or I can’t feel it. I’ve never liked my own writing.
Anton: So I know how to make them laugh? Silly sketches, vaudevilles, one-act farces...
Nina: (To Anton) So what if you’re dissatisfied with yourself; to others you're a great and splendid man!
Anton: I spout petty entertainment. How can I call myself a mature artist?
Trigorin: I feel that as a writer, it’s my duty to speak for my people – about their sorrows, their future, about science, and the rights of man.
Masha: But you get so upset, Anton, every time, with these long plays.
Dorn: (Topping everyone) A work of art must present a great idea. Only in depth can you find beauty.
Trigorin: I’m a detestable fake, through and through.
Masha: Long plays take everything out of you. You go crazy. And no one understands them.
Trigorin: Everyone writes what he wants as well as he can.
Arkadina: Let him write what he wants, but don’t make me look at it.
Konstantin: (Overhearing Arkadina) She knows I despise today’s theatre.
Masha: Why put yourself – and me – at the mercy of the theatre!
Konstantin: She adores it, and thinks she's serving mankind through her sacred art, but our theatre is nothing but formulas and prejudice.
Masha: Look what imbeciles you have to depend on – two days rehearsal? They don't learn their lines. They listen to nothing you say.
Dorn: We can’t live without theatre.
Masha: You're an important writer. Why go through this pain?!
Anton: Because I love it! Can I help that?
Konstantin: But we must have a new form. If we can’t, let’s have nothing at all.
Anton: My plays were bound to fail. I was trying to fit a form I despise – all inane prattle and hysterics, not what I believe. I want to put life – full, breathing life – on the stage. With – Please God, no wedding or shooting at the end! If I can dream up a new ending, I'll open a whole new era in theatre!
(Worried, Masha looks again at what Anton's written so far)
Anton: Just think what would happen, Masha – if the air between actors and audience trembled with life, rich and deep, for them to share.
(Masha, moved by his feeling, decides she must help him)
Masha: Well. So far...you've got a young man and woman in love...
(Konstantin pulls Nina forward, and they do a little bow. Hamlet and Ophelia mimic them, like shadows)
Masha: ...and your young man's mother has a lover he disapproves of...
(Arkadina puts a hand on Trigorin's cheek, as Gertrude does with Claudius)
Masha: And your young woman has a father who disapproves.
(Polonius jumps up, eager for action)
Anton: No. No fathers.
Masha: (Carefully) Anton. I think you're writing Hamlet.
Anton: No, I'm not!
Masha: (Amused) Uhuh...I see.
Anton: I'm writing about writing. And theatre.
Konstantin: (Excited) You meant it? I should keep writing?
Masha: (Hoping she hears wrong) What?
Dorn: I love writers, my boy.
Anton: I want to write about writing.
Masha: (Groan) Oh nooo...
Anton: Why not?
masha: Who'd want to see it?
(Dorn and Nina respond, talking at once. Anton drops his lines in the midst)
Dorn: If I could feel, just once, the high an artist feels in the moment of creation, I’d give up my body, and everything on earth, and fly away.
Anton: It’s romantic.
Nina: For the joy of being a writer or an actess, I'd stay in a garret, and live on black bread.
Anton: Everyone dreams about it.
Dorn: Once I passionately desired two things: to get married, and to be a writer.
Masha: But it’s nothing like going to sea.
All: (Beat) What?
Anton: What are you talking about?
Masha: There's no action!
(Konstantin groans. She's punctured his balloon)
Masha: What does a writer ever do? You just sit here groaning.
(Anton rises to argue; Konstantin takes Anton’s seat, writing at table)
Arkadina: (Regarding Konstantin) What's the matter with him. What did I say?
Anton: You think Hedda Gabler has action?!
Dorn: You hurt his feelings.
Masha: Well...
Arkadina: He said his play was just for fun.
Hamlet: What a piece of work is a man...
Anton: It's all about how bored Hedda is, and some wandering manuscript!
Arkadina: Now it seems he's written a masterpiece.
Claudius: ...how noble in reason...
Masha: I just think writing’s a bad subject,
Hamlet: ...how infinite in faculties...
Masha: It’s the opposite of life!
Claudius: ...in form and moving how express and admirable...
Trigorin: (Referring to Konstantin) A young writer, when he’s had no success, feels clumsy, anxious, useless to the world.
Anton: Writers suffer...
Claudius: ...in action how like an angel...
Trigorin: ...his nerves are strained to breaking, but he’s drawn irresistably to other writers and artists, and hovers about them unacknowledged...
Anton: ...pain drives them...
Hamlet: ... in apprehension how like a god...
Trigorin: ...afraid to look them in the eye, like a compulsive gambler who has no money.
Anton: ...just like Hamlet.
Hamlet: ...the beauty of the world...
Claudius: ...the paragon of animals!
Masha: Maybe Hamlet’s not a good example.
(Then tide turns on Konstantin, becoming more than he or Anton can bear, a clump tightens round him – Trigorin, Arkadina, Dorn)
Hamlet: And yet to me what is this quintessence of dust?
Trigorin: There's a strange vagueness about his writing, like delirium.
Anton: Writers have to listen to idiots!
Hamlet: Man delights not me.
Arkadina: See – he's angry.
Dorn: It's a pity he doesn’t have a clear purpose.
Hamlet: ...nor woman, neither.
Anton: Sometimes it’s so painful...
Dorn: He creates an impression. How far will an impression get you?
Anton: You just want to run off and hide.
Arkadina: I haven't read a thing he’s written.
Nina: It's so dull.
Konstantin: (Yelling) Aaaaah!
(Konstantin covers his head, crawls under Anton's writing table)
Anton: (Stunned, bleakly) I keep hearing Hamlet.
Masha: I knew it.
Anton: It's the damndest thing.
Masha: Well, in Hamlet, there is not a single...writer.
Anton: But it's the best.
Masha: Writing is not a good subject, Anton. Too close to the bone.
(The characters, put down, sink back. Masha's drawn out the rose envelope, deciding whether to give it to Anton)
Anton: Maybe I've got to scrape my own bones for a change to really get at life.
Masha: Maybe you ought to get at life by living it.
(Masha places the rose envelope on the pile of mail. Anton sees it and freezes. Ophelia, in Anton's ear– )
Ophelia: My lord, I have remembrances of yours
that I have longèd long to re-deliver.
(Masha's watching Anton, but pretends non-concern, yawning)
Masha: Better sleep on it. You can write the review in the morning.
(Anton reaches for the envelope, warily)
Ophelia: I pray you now, receive them.
Anton: (Frightened) Lika.
.
(Lika appears mysteriously – "materializing" through the audience. Masha's unaware, for Lika exists only in Anton's mind – playful, teasing– )
Lika: Sorry I'm late. You started without me? How could you, Antosha, when I'm your faithful muse. Ah ah ah, you were going to call me unfaithful? Because I've run off with another writer – who writes and writes: Potopenko. Are you really truly jealous now? Good! Because it's lonely being your muse...the more your teasing words ensnare me, the more I need arms, Antosha, flesh and blood arms, to release me. My lover doesn't want me for a muse; he wants my flesh.
(Anton's helpless, listening; Masha's pretending to read, but sneaking glances at Anton. Lika may put her arms around Masha, who’s unaware of her)
Lika: Now poor Masha's afraid it's her fault, because she brought me to you, and I met my lover in your house, and it's so so sad that he's already married. Be nice to Masha. And forgive me that I ran off with Potopenko to Paris. You know I have to study opera. You never take me seriously, but you know how desperately I want...to sing.
(On "sing," she mischievously spins round to focus on Nina)
Lika: ...And to go on the stage.
(Nina wary, realizing she is Lika. Konstantin peeks from under table)
Nina: That's my dream. But it won’t come true.
(Ophelia scuttles next to Nina, also wary of Lika)
Lika: Ooo, look at all these girls! Poor Anton, you're confused. Good thing I got here. Which one is me?
(Nina's studying Lika, beginning to echo Lika's bearing and gestures)
Lika: And what will I do with her?
(Lika takes Nina by the hand, drawing her to Konstantin; Ophelia tags along, a delicate presence – hovering, inevitable. Other characters are alert, happy for some action)
Lika: This is the writer you inspire?
(Tender moment for Nina and Konstantin, but Lika is surveying the others)
Lika: But where is there a writer to inspire...you?
(Lika has found Trigorin. Arkadina puts a wary hand out, but Trigorin slips out of her reach)
Anton: What are you doing?
(Like a minx, Lika leads Nina – with Ophelia – to stand opposite Trigorin, across the whole width of the stage. Anton is frightened, but stays poised to write. Masha assumes he’s mumbling lines to himself)
Nina: I'm terrified.
Anton: Lika, behave.
Lika: Stay in my box, you mean?
Nina: Trigorin's here. Such a famous writer...
(Anton writes. Lika’s steering the scene to mirror Anton's jealousy)
Konstantin: (To Nina) Is he? I never read him.
Anton: Oh no.
Lika: (Checks that Anton's writing what they’re saying) That's it, that's it.
(Trigorin smiles, and bows to Nina across the stage)
Nina: (Embarrassed) I'm delighted. I've read all your books.
(Konstantin crosses the stage between Nina and Trigorin)
Konstantin: That's enough. Performance over. Curtain!
Anton: Good. Be decisive.
(Konstantin folds, begging Hamlet– )
Konstantin: What am I going to do?
(Hamlet leaps to show Konstantin how to handle a fickle woman, buzzing at Nina and Ophelia, who clings to Nina like her shadow)
Hamlet: Ha, ha! Are you honest?
Ophelia: My lord?
Hamlet: Are you fair?
(Konstantin circles outside, to watch Nina. Trigorin speaks to Nina, from way across– )
Trigorin: (To Nina) It’s not often I get to meet a pretty young woman.
Anton: Old lecher.
(Trigorin and Nina move slowly towards each other. Ophelia is Nina's tail. Lika watches gleefully)
Polonius: (To Nina) Then weigh what loss your honor may sustain, if with too credent ear you list his songs, or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open to his unmastered importunity.
Trigorin: I'd love to change places with you, just for an hour, to see the world through your eyes, and learn what sort of creature you are.
Anton: That’s it, pile it on.
(Masha wonders what Anton's writing, takes another sheet from his pile)
Lika: Got things moving for you, didn't I?
(Anton looks sharply at Lika, lets his pen drop. Hamlet characters race on– )
Polonius: Fear it, Ophelia, fear it my dear daughter.
Hamlet: Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners?
Ophelia: What means your lordship?
Hamlet: Get thee to a nunnery!!
(Anton picks up the rose envelope, and looks at it. Hamlet strides to Konstantin, flops on floor in front of him)
Anton: Got to get this damned Hamlet out of my head.
Masha: (Watching Anton with the letter) Better take a rest.
Lika: No use hoping, Masha. He won't open my letter.
Masha: What does Lika say? Maybe she's coming home.
(Lika approaches Anton, teasing, and hovers near his ear)
Lika: He's afraid I’ve written that I’m happy.
Anton: (Waving Lika away) You said Isaac's coming to supper?
Lika: Right, Antosha?
Masha: Yes.
Anton: (Trying to ignore Lika) Well? Is he behaving himself?
Masha: I don't think he's shot himself again.
Lika: (In his face) You’re talking of Isaac, but you're thinking of me.
(To sweep away both women, Anton closes his eyes, drops the envelope back on the pile, and picks up his pen)
Masha: You're going to sit up all night?
Lika: (Prancing away) You're afraid I'm enjoying my lover.
(When Nina and Trigorin meet they slowly circle in the center. Arkadina moves down to comfort Konstantin, but Konstantin's on fire, watching. The whole is a cauldron coming to boil)
Konstantin: His books make me sick.
Arkadina: You’re jealous.
Anton: I can’t leave them like this.
Lika: Open my letter, Anton. You needn't worry.
(Anton writes. Masha sighs, frustrated, and gets to her feet. Hamlet, flat on his back, launches into his depression soliloquy, and it's taken up as a murmur by others)
Hamlet: I have of late – but wherefore I know not – lost all my mirth...
Masha: You're going to be exhausted.
Anton: I have to do something with this pitiful fellow.
Konstantin: (To Anton) You see – my mother doesn't love me.
Hamlet: ...forgone all custom of exercises...
Anton: Fight back!
Konstantin: (In his mother's ear) I don't respect him.
Anton: That’s a start.
Claudius: ...and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition...
Masha: You won't get the review written...
Konstantin: You want me to call him a genius as you do, but I can’t.
Anton: Some genius.
Hamlet: ...that this goodly frame the earth seems to me a sterile promontory.
Masha: ...and you'll be miserable anyway.
Konstantin: ...I can't lie. His books make me sick.
Anton: That’s it, woman. Now say it.
Arkadina: What’s left for people with no talent, but to condemn those who have some!
(Konstantin in agony. Anton writing furiously)
Masha: Are you listening to me?
Anton: (Writing) Go to bed, Masha. Whatever Lika wrote is two weeks old. If I read it now, it'll just keep you awake.
Hamlet: O most pernicious woman!
Konstantin: She loves me, she loves me not...
Anton: Now, turn the knife.
Arkadina: (Stroking Trigorin) You're so brilliant, so wise, the best among all living writers.
Claudius: O villain...villain...
(Masha, helpless to do more, moves to the door. Lika sinks into Masha's chair, pouting)
Hamlet: Meet it is I set it down that one may smile and smile and be a villain.
Arkadina: (To Trigorin) ...and so fresh, so simple, such rich humor... Your characters are alive!
(The last straw – simultaneously– )
Anton: Disgusting! (At the same moment as– ) Konstantin: (Up to run off) AAaaH!
Anton: No, wait...wait!
.
(Anton swings out of his chair to face his characters. Strange squawking cry off-stage. The clump of Seagull characters scatter to the stage edges, as Isaac Levitan bursts on, with a bandage round his head, a shotgun, and a winged seagull flopping in his hand)
(Konstantin almost crashes into him, but spins and dodges. Masha, not seeing either of them, bustles straight to the door, barely missing both, and stops short a quarter inch from Isaac. Anton sinks into his chair, disbelieving)
.
Anton: Isaac! What are you doing here?
(Masha, distressed that Anton's in a creative daze, shouts back as she leaves– )
Masha: Not only is Hamlet not about writers, it's all about revenge!
(Masha's parting shot swipes all the characters, who tumble into each other from the force of it, and spins Isaac– )
Isaac: Whhee, sweet Masha's in a tizzy. Glad I'm not really here.
Anton: (Warning him) Get out of my mind, Isaac. I'm trying to work!
(But Isaac's absorbed by the flopping, squawking, bloody bird in his hand. The characters huddle, wary of Isaac and wide-eyed at the ugly spectacle)
Isaac: Help, Antosha. The poor seagull! Look...
Anton: No! I've been through this once already.
Isaac: Look...!
Anton: What are you doing with a gun? You can't hit anything properly. Not even your own head!
Isaac: Kill her, Antosha. I can't do it. Look at her poor wing. I can't bear it...
Anton: Then why did you shoot at her!
Isaac: Do it for me. You've got to. The poor seagull. Please, please shoot her!
Anton: Devil!
(Anton grabs the shotgun from Isaac, and shoots the bird. It flops once and is still. Everyone is stunned and depressed. Silence)
Anton: Now get out.
Isaac: A beautiful soul, gone. And for nothing.
Anton: That's right.
(In the silence, the characters examine Isaac and his head injury curiously. Annoyed, he'll brush them away like creeping cats. They'll also inspect the bird, the seagull and the gun. Only Lika is still)
Isaac: I should shoot myself all over again.
(Isaac turns shotgun to shoot himself, but Anton leaps, grabs shotgun away, and places it on floor by his table)
Anton: And give me the honor of finishing the job? Leave me alone, Isaac!
Isaac: I'm truly sorry to disturb you, my friend, but after what happened the last time...
Anton: What last time?
Isaac: The last time you were privy to my private affairs with a certain...lady.
Lika: And this time it's two at once, right Isaac?
Anton: That had nothing to do with me.
Isaac: Ah. Only with your publisher?
Lika: Like mother, like daughter? Oooo, Isaac.
(Lika takes Isaac's arm; he pats her hand, affectionately)
Anton: It was a brilliant story. Even Masha said so.
Isaac: About me and my mistress?!
Anton: And her husband. It was brilliant. Masha said as an artist, you should forgive me.
Isaac: You can't use people like that.
Anton: Do you leave weeds out of your paintings, just because they're in my lawn? Especially interesting weeds. Or the horse dung you see drop on my drive? No you don't. That's nature. And it's beautiful. And profound. So you picture it. Truth in art.
Isaac: (Wryly) And then there's loyalty.
Anton: Loyalty. Well.
Isaac: Antosha, if you ever even dream of using this mother and daughter...
Anton: Lovely women, both.
Isaac: Whose guest you were...
Anton: Who summoned me, desperately...
Isaac: By whose lake you were entertained...
Anton: Who begged me to prevent you from shooting yourself again.
Isaac: If you should stoop so low as to picture them in a story...
Anton: I?
Isaac: And publish it all over Moscow...
Anton: Would I do such a thing?
Isaac: I'll be honor bound to...
Anton: Is this why you're here?! You barge in, force me into this grotesque act – this murder, just because you're afraid your latest antics might be scandalous enough to make a story. The nerve, when other people are laboring at art!
Isaac: Aaah, you're writing?
Lika: Of course he is. Why do you think I'm here.
Isaac: Why didn't you say so. How's a fellow supposed to know. I mean, it's clear enough when I trot out my parasol, my easel, my tin of paints, but you, monstrous Turk, if you so much as wrinkle your nose, it could mean you're drunk, or it could mean you're molding a masterpiece.
Anton: You see paper, you see pens...
(Isaac is stepping among the characters, appraising his fellow "thoughts")
Isaac: I see a hen's coop of likely characters... I say, what's Hamlet doing here? Oh-oh, you are in a mess, aren't you.
Anton: (Threatening) Do you mind?
Isaac: So sorry, quite right. I'll be a mouse.
Anton: Out!
(Isaac stretches out on the floor downstage with a sly smile. Lika settles beside him, smiling up at Anton)
Isaac: Oh, but that's more than we can do. If you want us out of your mind, you'll have to put us there.
Anton: Isaac, I'll ask you politely.
Isaac: Now, now...you know that won't help. Not until you truly stop thinking of me. Relax. I'll just float here, light as a breeze.
(Anton sighs, because he has no choice, and focuses, taking stock, while each character straightens, bows, somehow acknowledges she's ready to go to work)
Anton: All right. Here's the young woman, Nina.
(Nina stands for inspection, shyly)
Lika: (Trying out the name) Nina. Nina... I like it.
Anton: And the mother...
(Arkadina displays herself)
Anton: Her name will be Arkadina. Her lover is called Trigorin.
(Trigorin joins Arkadina, with affectionate display)
Anton: And the sort of...counsellor is...
(Polonius presents himself hopefully over Anton’s shoulder)
Anton: (Realizing who this character is– ) ...Doctor Dorn.
(Dorn pops in immediately; Polonius is rejected again)
Dorn: It’s true women are drawn to me. But what they like best is that I’m a good doctor.
Isaac: (Applauding) The roué of a doctor, of course, that’s you.
(Anton raises a warning finger at Isaac)
Dorn: Ten, fifteen years ago, I was the only decent obstetrician in the whole district.
Lika: That rascally Doctor Chekhov!
(Anton ignores Lika as he transcribes Dorn, and moves on– )
Isaac: Oh, you must have another woman. Let her be a “Masha,” Mashenka, my darling!
Anton: (Trying not to lose it– ) That’s all I can handle right now.
(Lika, as she speaks, picks up her rose envelope to draw hearts on it)
Lika: Poor Isaac. For your sake, I wish Masha would have you. But not for hers, not in a million years.
Masha: (Enters, ready for bed) Excuse me, Anton; I’m sorry to disturb you.
Isaac: Oh my bliss. I speak your name and you appear.
Anton: Yes.
Masha: I won’t sleep at all if I don’t... Forgive me for arguing. You must write whatever you must.
Anton: Thank you.
Masha: I was wrong. And come to think of it, Hamlet’s always been with you.
Anton: Please could we stop with this Hamlet?
Masha: Your heros have all been “out of joint”. Maybe you do need to...go into your own heart, if you want to put life on stage.
(Anton sits staring)
Masha: I’m sorry. I’ll go to bed, now.
Isaac: Oh grace, magnificence. (Kisses Masha’s hem as she goes) And you keep her under lock and key, refusing all suitors. That’s how you want them, isn’t it? Chaste, under your roof, and obedient.
(Anton sunk in gloom. Nina suddenly flashes bright, moved by Isaac’s passion)
Nina: (Realizing) I love Konstantin.
(Lika perks up, delighted)
Isaac: Who?
Anton: That’s my young man – Konstantin Gavrilovich Treplev.
Isaac: Ah! The artist. He must be an artist.
Anton: Like you? He’s insecure enough. Now where is that boy?
Dorn: How nervous you all are! And all this love...
(Isaac cranes, looking for Konstantin)
Isaac: Is he that scrawny one over there?
(Konstantin huddled in far corner, with his notebook, tries to disappear)
Anton: Yes, and he needs work. The rest of you... (Addressing clump of Hamlet characters) ...thank you very much, but you're free. I won't be needing you.
.
(Alarmed, the Hamlet cast edges as a group toward the door, but with the reluctance of actors who hope the casting director will give them one last glance if they linger, they protest with their bits of lines, simultaneously– )
Claudius: What dost thou mean by this?
Gertrude: Have you forgot me?
Polonius: My lord, I have news to tell you.
Ophelia: Say you? Nay, pray you mark.
Hamlet: You are welcome, masters, welcome all.
Gertrude: To whom do you speak this?
(Anton protests, until he finally stops them cold– )
Anton: Thank you. I’ve seen what you can do. I’ll call you. Thank you. No. The rest is indeed silence.
Ophelia: Here’s rosemary.
Anton: Hold on to it. (Concentrating) Now – Konstantin... If you’re my hero, let’s take a look at you.
Isaac: Bad case of pouts. What is he, a melancholiac?
Anton: Like you? If he is I'll shoot him and be done with it.
(Isaac signals that his mouth is shut, while SEAGULL characters find Konstantin and consider him. Dorn is closest– )
Dorn: Ooo, how sensitive you are.
Anton: Bound to be.
(From disgruntled and plotting huddle of Hamlet characters in far corner, Polonius raises his voice– )
Polonius: He does confess he feels himself distracted...
(And, happy to be overheard, Polonius leads other characters right back into play– )
Polonius: ...but from what cause 'a will by no means speak.
Arkadina: I’m just sorry to see a young man wasting his time. I didn't mean to hurt him.
Anton: How do you know he’s wasting it?
Claudius: What he spake, thou it lacked form a little was not like madness.
Dorn: Here you have a bright young man, stuck in the country, with no money, no occupation, no future, and nothing to do.
Anton: So what do you expect?
Claudius: There's something in his soul o'er which his melancholy sits on brood.
Trigorin: Try jealousy. (The others turn and stare at him)
Anton: Of what, you?
Trigorin: Sorry, it’s none of my business.
Gertrude: I doubt it is no other but the main, his father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage.
Arkadina: And his constant jabs and swipes at me – I’m sick of it.
Polonius: I do believe the origin and commencement of his grief sprung from neglected love.
Anton: Not that, please, not...
Dorn: Oh no, you're in tears. And so pale.
Claudius: Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.
Trigorin: He sulks, he sneers, he preaches new theatre...
Isaac: Oh no, don’t tell me.
Gertrude: How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
Arkadina: But now my conscience is jabbing me.
Anton: As well it might.
Arkadina: Why did I hurt my poor boy? I'm uneasy about him.
Hamlet: I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a hand saw.
Arkadina: How he torments me.
Gertrude: Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off.
Arkadina: He's a bad, egotistical boy.
Anton: Is he.
Gertrude: Let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Dorn: Your mother's waiting for you – she's upset.
Polonius: My lord, the queen would speak with you, and presently.
(Konstantin can't take any more, lurches to his feet)
Hamlet: It is not nor it cannot come to good.
Konstantin: Tell her I’ve gone. And all of you, please, leave me alone!
Anton: No, that won’t do.
(Konstantin lurches away from the pack, but they stick right with him)
Hamlet: But break my heart for I must hold my tongue.
Dorn: He’s afraid and ashamed of having no work. It's his pride.
Hamlet: But I have that within which passeth show.
Konstantin: Please! Stop following me.
Anton: Stand up, you mouse!
(But the train continues, chattering along behind Konstantin)
Hamlet: These but the trappings and the suits of woe.
Dorn: He's heartsick. (Calling to Nina) Please recite something from his play.
Isaac: A play?
Nina: You want me to? It's so dull.
Isaac: He’s writing the great Russian play!
Lika: With lovers in it!
(Lika begins to trail Konstantin, lovingly)
Isaac: This Konstantin is you.
Dorn: When he reads from his play, his eyes shine, his face grows pale…
Hamlet: The time is out of joint.
Dorn: ...his voice is so beautiful, so sad. Like a poet.
Arkadina: Maybe he should get a job.
Anton: Good god!
Dorn: It wouldn't hurt him to have a little fun.
Hamlet: O cursèd spite...
Dorn:. Go abroad, or something.
Lika: How about to Paris?
Hamlet: …that ever I was born to set it right.
Anton: (Getting up, stopping the parade in its tracks) Halt! Let's set this straight right now. (Takes Konstantin aside, like a coach) You are no Hamlet. Hamlet is a prince, the very apple, the center of everything, and your problem is precisely that you are not the apple. You understand?
Isaac: You’re wrong. Sorry, but you’re wrong. Their problems are the same. Hamlet’s in a tizzy for precisely the same reason. He’s supposed to be Prince – or apple if you must – and nobody’s paying any attention to what he thinks. Not his mother, not his lover, certainly not his mother’s lover...so when does he get his due? Same play.
(Anton simply stares at Isaac until he’s intimidated)
Isaac: I’ll be quiet. (Aside) All plays are the same. (Slaps hand over his mouth)
Anton: Thank you. (To Konstantin, holding his temper) Just tell me, what’s on your mind.
Konstantin: Women can't forgive failure. Oh, if you knew how unhappy I am.
(Anton sinks – it’s hopeless – hand to his face. Ophelia urges Nina to join scene, murmuring helpful lines in her ear)
Ophelia: With his doublet all unlaced, no hat upon his head, his stockings fouled...
Nina: You aren’t yourself anymore.
Ophelia: Pale as his shirt.
Konstantin: Yes, I’ve changed. Since you have toward me.
Ophelia: And with a look so piteous in purport
As if he had been loosèd out of hell
To speak of horrors – he comes before me.
Konstantin: Your eyes are cold now. You don’t want me near you.
Anton: You’re going all limp again. Leave love out of it!
Ophelia: He took me by the wrist and held me hard...
Nina: You're so irritable.
Ophelia: At last, a little shaking of mine arm, and thrice his head thus waving up and down...
Konstantin: Your coldness is terrible, unbelievable, as if the lake was suddenly dry, or drained into the earth.
Nina: (Ecstatic) Ooooh.
Anton: All right. That’s better.
Ophelia: He raised a sigh so piteous and profound...
Nina: I can't understand you.
Lika: I can.
Ophelia: As it would seem to shatter all his bulk and end his being.
Konstantin: What's there to understand?
Anton: (Leaps up, energized– ) Wait, wait, wait! Hamlet is not helping!
(Ophelia wilts, rejected. The other Hamlet characters clump, to caucus)
Anton: I'm sorry, but this is theatre. Our problem is Action. And my dear sister is dead wrong – Hamlet is not full of action. It's all about not acting. So here's what you've got to do, you've got to...
Isaac: (Languidly, from his lounging position) Could I say something here?
Anton: No.
Isaac: I admit I know nothing about Hamlet, but you, I know.
(Anton throws up his hands in frustration, sinks into his chair)
Isaac: You hunger after greatness. And what are our new plays? Paper-thin garbage–
(Konstantin jumps in, instantly on fire, lively– )
Konstantin: The curtain goes up; we see people in a three-sided room who eat, drink, love, walk, and wear their coats – then try to extract a tiny moral from their insipid conversation, one that goes down easy, won’t smudge the carpet.
Hamlet: (Cool, knowing his line is spot-on) Anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing,
Isaac: That's right. Thank you.
Polonius: ...whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature...
Isaac: Precisely!
Claudius: ...to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image...
Isaac: Shakepeare is IT - deep and exciting.
Hamlet: ...the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.
Anton: (Weary) Isaac...
Isaac: The plays we rave about are just tired renditions of the commonplace lives we approve.
Konstantin: (Fiery) When I see again and again for the thousandth time, all these plays are the same...
Isaac: You run screaming?
Konstantin: Like Maupassant fled the Eiffel Tower, because it was so trite.
Isaac: (Winding up, triumphant) You flee, you long for something new, but you're haunted by...
Gertrude: Hamlet, Hamlet.
Isaac: (Finger kiss to Gertrude) Exactement.
Anton: All right, all right, no doubt! Could we please get on with it?
(Isaac bows, shakes hands with Konstantin and Hamlet, and cedes the floor. The others nod, back down)
Anton: Good. Thank you. Let's just...go easy. It doesn't do any good to work up a rage if you don't have anywhere to go with it, Konstantin. Just keep in mind, what we have to find is the action. So. What that means is...you have to take things into your own hands and...solve them.
.
(Anton has no idea what he means, and neither do the characters. They look at each other, worried. Konstantin is still worked up, and stomping about like a caged stallion. The others jostle a little, but come to another standstill. Finally, Konstantin groans, and twists himself sideways, burying his head in his arms, and Ophelia blurts– )
Ophelia: O what a noble mind is here o'erthrown
Gertrude: Look here, my lord.
(Anton starts to react, about to toss Ophelia out, but Konstantin stamps his foot, picking up the cue she's given him– )
Konstantin: It's like a needle has pierced my brain...
Anton: All right, go with it.
Ophelia: Like sweet bells jangled...
Gertrude: Oh, my son.
Konstantin: and it’s sucking my life, like a vampire...
Ophelia: ...out of time and harsh.
Gertrude: Alas, he’s mad.
(Konstantin finally, under pressure, takes a leap into action– )
Konstantin: Here comes the real literary genius!
(Konstantin pulls Trigorin center to provoke a confrontation, shoves a book into his hands. They circle each other. Gertrude decides she can help)
Anton: All right! Stand off, and...action.
Gertrude: But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading.
Polonius: What do you read, my lord?
Konstantin: (Mocking Trigorin) "Words, words, words..."
(Nina is nervous, but eager. Konstantin faces her)
Konstantin: Already you feel his warmth, you smile, you melt in his rays.
(Hamlet has stepped forward, hearing "Words, words, words." He whispers in Konstantin's ear)
Hamlet: What would he do had he the motive and the cue for passion that I have?
(Trigorin and Nina confront each other shyly)
Anton: Don’t let them shut you out. Do something!
Nina: (Holding out to Trigorin a hand clenched into a fist) Odd or even?
(Tormented, Konstantin buries his head. As though time stops, Nina and Trigorin freeze in a tableau, Trigorin with his hand out, about to choose)
Lika: (To Konstantin) Claim her yourself, idiot.
Hamlet: Am I a coward?
(Konstantin looks at Hamlet, desperate, then as Hamlet flings himself into his next fit, Konstantin mimics him, trying to work up a passion to take action)
Hamlet: Bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! O vengeance!
(Polonius pushes Arkadina into the fray, Gertrude follows)
Polonius: Your noble son is mad.
(Hamlet glares at Arkadina. Konstantin tries to mimic him)
Hamlet: Leave wringing of your hands. Peace, sit you down.
(Arkadina's confused. Gertrude will guide her in what to play)
Anton: Wait. What are you...?
Hamlet: What devil was't that thus hath cozened you at hood-man blind?
Anton: No, you’re way off now.
Nina: (To Trigorin, wanting to play their scene) Odd or even?
Konstantin: (To Arkadina) Why do you let this man control you?
Anton: All right, see where it goes. Showing spine, in any cause, is an improvement.
Polonius: (To Arkadina) Pray you be round with him.
(Arkadina is speechless, so Gertrude, over her shoulder, speaks for her– )
Gertrude: What have I done that thou dar’st wag thy tongue in noise so rude against me!
(Hamlet's pleased, lays heavily into Arkadina and Gertrude at once, showing Konstantin how to do it. Polonius gets overwhelmed, hides himself behind something)
Hamlet: O shame where is thy blush?
Konstantin: (Angry) I am more talented than all of you!
Anton: Good!
Hamlet: (Showing off) Rebellious hell, If thou canst mutine in a matron's bones...
Anton: (Wits end) Hamlet...!
(Arkadina terrified, reaches for Gertrude. Ophelia, alarmed at violence, scuttles in, clings to Gertrude's skirt, but Konstantin’s flying now– )
Konstantin: You and your gang have overrun the temple – you ordain that only what you create is real art, all the rest you trample and suffocate!
Gertrude: These words like daggers enter in mine ears. No more.
Konstantin: I reject all of you!
Anton: (Applauding) All right!
(Arkadina finally feels more anger than fear. She begins to rise up)
Gertrude: Have you forgot me?
Konstantin: You and him!
Arkadina: (Finally devastating, imperious) Decadent!
Hamlet: God hath given you one face and you make yourselves another.
Konstantin: Go back to your precious stage; act in your mediocre little plays!
Anton: (Gleeful) Aha!
Arkadina: I have never acted in a mediocre play!
Anton: Of course not.
Hamlet: I say, we will have no more marriage.
Arkadina: Leave me alone!
Claudius: What, Gertrude?
Arkadina: You parasite!
Claudius: How does Hamlet?
Konstantin: Miser!
Gertrude: Mad as the sea and wind.
Arkadina: Nobody!
(Konstantin wails, drops to his knees, cries. Arkadina drops to cradle him)
Anton: Oh no. No, no.
Arkadina: Don't cry. You mustn't cry... (Cries, Kisses his forehead, cheeks, head )
Anton: Oh my god. (Head in his hands)
Gertrude: (In tune with Arkadina) Thou hast cleft my heart in twain.
Arkadina: My darling child, forgive me. Forgive your wicked mother.
Gertrude: (To Konstantin, quoting Hamlet) O gentle son, upon the heat and flame of thy distemper sprinkle cool patience.
Konstantin: (Embraces Arkadina) I've lost everything. She doesn't love me. I’ll never be able to write. All my hopes are gone.
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(Pages 1-41 show above.)