She stands in the middle of the empty stage, looking around. He enters.
Him – Ah, there you are! I was looking all over for you…
Her – That’s it, the last truck has just left with the final boxes.
Him – You checked everywhere? Nothing left in the house?
Her – Nothing. Except our memories…
He places a hand on her shoulder.
Him – Come on… We’ll make new ones!
Her – Of course… But plans don’t erase nostalgia.
Him – Any regrets?
Her – No…
Him – Do you remember the first time we walked into this house, to view it?
Her – It was empty then, too.
Him – And between those two emptinesses, we lived. We filled this house. With furniture. Paintings. Children…
Her – And it filled us. With joy. Happiness. Memories.
Him – We’re taking those with us.
Her – And we’re leaving this place almost as spotless as we found it.
Him – Much cleaner, if you ask me.
Her – I wonder who’ll come next… We know nothing about them.
Him – And they’ll know nothing about us.
Her – Just as we know nothing of those who were here before us.
Him – People come and go, houses remain.
Her – Until the houses crumble too. Or are demolished. To make way for blocks of flats.
Him – Some houses are haunted by bad memories.
Her – Yes… Every house has a story. Stories.
Him – Like the story of a crime, for instance.
Her – A crime?
Him – Not all crimes happen out in the open, you know. Most are committed at home. Often within families… And when it becomes a headline, the house becomes unsellable. Sometimes, I imagine, they end up demolishing it to build a new one in its place. A house without a past…
Her – Thank you, that’s very uplifting.
Him – Who knows… Maybe this house, before us, didn’t only witness happy times.
Her – Well, we never found any skeletons in the closets.
Him – Maybe if we’d dug around in the cellar…
Her – Right… Well, in that case, I think we should get going.
Him – See? You just had to ask…
Her – Thanks… I know I can always count on you in difficult times.
They head toward the exit. She bends down and picks something up from the floor.
Him – What is it?
Her – Looks like a manuscript.
Him – A manuscript?
Her – Seems to be a play.
Him – How can you tell?
She flips through the pages.
Her – People talking, if you like. Not like a novel.
Him – I see… Dialogues…
Her – Or it could be a film script.
Him – Is it about a crime?
Her – I don’t know.
Him – It must have been wedged behind a radiator, and with the move, it fell to the floor. The paper’s completely yellowed.
Her – But it’s still legible. After all these years. Can you believe it?
Him – What is it? A comedy? A drama?
Her – We’d have to read it.
Him – Who could have written this?
Her – Someone who lived here before us, I suppose.
Him – Incredible… What if it’s a masterpiece…
Her – It could just as easily be rubbish.
Him – Is it signed?
Her – No… I can’t see an author’s name.
Him – It might be unpublished. An anonymous manuscript, can you imagine? You could sign it and publish it… You’re a publisher. For you, it’d be easy.
Her – That would be plagiarism.
Him – If the author’s dead. And no one knows they wrote it…
Her – I’ll start by reading it…
Him – Isn’t it strange?
Her – What?
Him – We’re leaving this house, and we’re taking someone else’s story with us.
Her – I hope it’s not a tragedy…
Him – At least we didn’t find a body.
Her – It almost makes me want to search…
Him – You think?
Her – Maybe the author’s buried in the cellar…
They leave.
Blackout.

All the texts available on this website can be downloaded for free. However, performance rights, which constitute fair compensation for the author’s work, are a legal obligation. Whether you are an amateur or a professional, you must request authorization to perform the play and pay the corresponding royalties for the production.

To get in touch with Jean-Pierre Martinez and ask an authorization to represent one of his works: CONTACT FORM.

A sketch from the collection Dramedies
Link to the collection for free download (PDF)

Find all of Jean-Pierre Martinez’s plays on his website:
https://jeanpierremartinez.net

L’article Anonymous Author est apparu en premier sur La Sketchothèque.

He’s there, looking embarrassed. She arrives, ready to leave.
Her – Usually, it’s you waiting for me… You’re not ready yet?
Him – Yes, yes, I… I’m just putting on my jacket.
Her – Your leather jacket…
Him – I had it before I met you… It was a gift from my grandmother… No point in throwing it out now, is there? I mean… She’s gone, anyway.
Her – Your grandmother passed away?
Him – Not my grandmother! The cow! It’s made from cowhide…
Her – Yeah… The cow that was skinned in an abattoir so you could wear its skin…
Him – My next jacket will be made of plant-based leather, I promise. I hear they make lovely imitations now, from pineapple or mushrooms.
He reluctantly puts on his jacket.
Her – So, this is it, the big day?
Him – Yes, it seems so…
Her – I’m finally meeting your parents… I was starting to wonder if you were ashamed of me.
Him – What? No! If anything, it’s the other way around…
Her – The other way around? Why? Are you ashamed of your parents?
Him – No, no, but…
Her – So, what are you afraid of, then?
Him – Nothing, I assure you!
Her – If anything, I should be the one worried. You’re introducing me to your parents… This is official. It’s almost an engagement, isn’t it?
Him – Yes…
Her – Don’t sound too excited!
Him – Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.
Her – You’re scaring me…
Him – It’s about my parents, actually.
Her – Your parents? What about your parents?
Him – It’s not easy to say…
Her – Go on, I can handle it… If it’s important, I’d rather know now. I’ll feel less stupid…
Him – Let’s say this dinner won’t exactly be what you imagined. My parents are… How shall I put it…
Her – They’re deaf-mute. They communicate with sign language.
Him – No…
Her – Blind?
Him – No, not that either.
Her – They’re very short…?
Him – Worse than that… Well, for you, anyway.
Her – I see… They’re right-wing, and you didn’t dare tell me? Is that why you didn’t want me to meet them before now?
Him – No, it’s not that.
Her – Of course, silly me. You told me they were booksellers. You can’t sell books and vote right-wing!
Him – Don’t worry, my parents don’t vote at all.
Her – So what, then?
Him – It’s about… the dinner… Well, food, in general.
Her – Food…?
Him – I haven’t told you the whole truth.
Her – All right… Your parents are Jewish, and they eat kosher. So what? We can be vegan and eat kosher! It’s actually much easier. Mostly, it’s just meat that needs to be kosher, right?
Him – Yes… Well, I don’t really know…
Her – Fruits and vegetables are very ecumenical. I’m sure veganism could end all religious wars. At least at the table, which is a start… While we wait for a solution to the Middle East conflict.
Him – It’s a bit more complicated than that…
Her – What? The Middle East conflict?
Him – No, my parents.
Her – I get it… They’re very traditional. To please them, you let them believe their future daughter-in-law is Jewish. And now you don’t know how to tell them you’re dating a Gentile…
Him – Don’t worry, no one in the family is Jewish.
Her – What makes you think that would bother me? What do you take me for?
Him – No, the issue is that…
Her – Go on. This is getting weird.
Him – My parents aren’t really booksellers.
Her – What do you mean, “not really”? You’re either a bookseller or you’re not. How can you “not really” be a bookseller?
Him – They’re not booksellers at all… and they’re not as vegan as I told you.
Her – What do you mean, “not as”?
Him – They eat vegetables, of course, but…
Her – They’re only vegetarian? Well, that’s not a tragedy, is it? You think I’m that dogmatic? But why did you tell me they were vegan?
Him – I said it because… I knew it was important to you.
Her – I’m with you! You share my values, and that’s enough for me. You don’t choose your family, as they say. Or your in-laws…
Him – I don’t know how to say this…
Her – So, your parents aren’t booksellers. So what? What do they do, then?
Him – They run the butcher’s, just round the corner…
Her (stunned) – The butcher’s…
Him – The horse butcher’s… Between the cobbler and the tobacconist, you know?
Her – This is a joke, isn’t it?
Him – No.
Her – You told me your whole family was vegan except for your grandmother, and now you’re telling me I’m marrying a butcher’s son?
Him – I’m not a butcher! I’m only the butcher’s son…
Her – And when were you planning to tell me? At the wedding? During the reception! Between the donkey sausage and the horse steak?
Him – No! That’s why I’m telling you now…
Her – I’ll remind you, my parents are vegan. And they take it very seriously.
Him – Take it seriously?
Her – If you find it funny, I don’t… So what do we do now?
Him – I’m truly vegan! I mean, I became one after meeting you… That doesn’t change things for us, does it?
Her – It might not mean much to you, but to me, it means a lot…
Him – Are you mad at me?
Her – I need to think about all this, yes. (She hesitates) But I’m not going to do that right now. They invited us, didn’t they? So I’ll go… I’m not the type to run away. We’ll talk about all this later. Shall we go?
Him – The problem is…
Her – Oh, there’s another problem?
Him – I didn’t dare tell them you don’t eat meat.
Her – No, tell me you’re joking…
Him – I’m not sure they’d understand… They’re not young anymore… At their age, there’s no point in upsetting them… It could even kill them, you know. My dad’s heart isn’t great…
Her – You could have found a gentle way to bring it up with them…
Him – Let’s say I couldn’t find the right moment…
Her – Of course…
Him – You can just eat the vegetables… Just say you’re not very hungry… Or that you’re unwell…
Her – You know what? I think you’re the one who’s seriously unwell.
She takes off her coat.
Him – So, you’re not coming…
Her (horrified) – A horse butcher’s?
Him – So you’d rather abandon the butcher’s son, recently converted to veganism… Without you, I might go back, you know…
Her – Are you mocking me now?
Him – Don’t look at me like that, I feel like you’re going to kill me.
Her – I have to admit… I am feeling murderous.
Him – Calm down, please! Remember, you’re vegan… and the sixth commandment is the most sacred of the ten for you.
Her – The sixth…?
Him – Thou shalt not kill!
Her – I’ll strangle you, and confess later.
She moves towards him, threateningly.
Him – Don’t do this, please.
Her – I don’t know what’s holding me back…
Him – So, you actually believed all this?
Her – What?
Him – But come on… Horse butchers haven’t existed in ages! On the corner of our street, between the tobacconist and the cobbler, there’s a bakery! If you did the shopping more often, you’d know…
Her – Your parents aren’t butchers?
Him – My parents are booksellers, they vote left-wing, and they’re vegan. Just as I told you.
Her – You’re crazy! Why would you make up such a story?
Him – To see how much you love me… Now I know. So you’d have refused to marry the butcher’s son?
Her – I don’t know… Probably not. But I’d have ended up killing you, that’s for sure.
Him – So it would have been a tragedy, then? The Capulets the butchers and the Montagues the vegans…
Her – But in the end, it’s just another farce.
Him – Can’t change who we are…
Her – It’s not the end of the world.
Him – Right, shall we go? We’re going to be late.
Her – Let’s go. You didn’t forget the carrot cake…
Him – Don’t worry, darling, it’s already in the car.
Her – By the way, was that a proposal?
Him – Yes…
Her – It’s probably the most surprising one any woman has ever heard.
Him – I am a playwright, after all. I’ve been working on it all week. So, what’s your answer?
Her – I’ll wait until I’ve met your parents before deciding.
They exit.
Blackout.

All the texts available on this website can be downloaded for free. However, performance rights, which constitute fair compensation for the author’s work, are a legal obligation. Whether you are an amateur or a professional, you must request authorization to perform the play and pay the corresponding royalties for the production.

To get in touch with Jean-Pierre Martinez and ask an authorization to represent one of his works: CONTACT FORM.

A sketch from the collection Dramedies
Link to the collection for free download (PDF)

Find all of Jean-Pierre Martinez’s plays on his website:
https://jeanpierremartinez.net

L’article It’s not the end of the world est apparu en premier sur La Sketchothèque.

On a coffee table: a coffee pot, two cups, and a newspaper. Peter enters in his dressing gown. He pours himself a cup of coffee and picks up the newspaper to read. Mary, his wife, enters.
Mary – You all right?
Peter – I’m all right.
Mary pours herself a cup and observes Peter.
Mary – You look worried… Something wrong?
Peter – No… Well… I still don’t have any ideas for my new play.
Mary – Don’t worry, it’ll come… It always does, doesn’t it?
Peter – Yes… So far, at least…
Mary – Isn’t there a good story in the paper for inspiration?
He puts the newspaper down.
Peter – The news is getting more depressing by the day… I think I might stop reading it. I’ve already given up on TV and radio…
Mary – True, none of it’s particularly cheerful. On the other hand… that’s why we’ll always need writers like you.
Peter – Oh, really? And what’s a writer like me?
Mary – You know… Someone who makes us laugh… A comedy writer!
Peter – A comedy writer? So that’s how you see me?
Mary – Well, we need writers to create good comedies! Help us forget our worries… Give us a chance to have fun without thinking about anything…
Peter – Not think about anything?
Mary – Sorry… I mean… think about something else.
Peter – I see… So to you, I’m just an entertainer… someone who distracts, who diverts people’s attention from society’s real issues…
Mary – There you go with the big ideas… Entertaining people isn’t something to be ashamed of, is it?
Peter – I don’t know… Maybe it’s worth wanting more.
Mary – Like what?
Peter – To be useful…
Mary – To me, making people smile, helping them find a bit of joy, is very useful. And not everyone has that talent.
Peter – Yeah…
Mary – What?
Peter – I’ve written nearly a hundred comedies.
Mary – And they’ve all been big successes.
Peter – Yes, but I’m starting to run out of ideas. I wonder if I haven’t covered it all.
Mary – You want to stop writing?
Peter – I’m not sure I could do that either… No, I was just wondering if…
Mary – If what?
Peter – What if I tried another genre?
Mary – You mean a novel? I’ve been telling you for years you should try that. Some novels are funny, too…
Peter – Unfortunately, I’m not a novelist, I know that. Theatre’s all I know how to do.
Mary – Well, then, you just need to find a good subject for a comedy.
Peter – And what if I wrote… a different kind of play?
Mary – A different kind of play?
Peter – Something that doesn’t necessarily have to be funny, you see?
Mary – An unfunny comedy?
Peter – No, not a comedy!
Mary – You mean… a dramedy?
Peter – I mean, not a comedy at all!
Mary – You want to write a drama?
Peter – A drama, a tragedy… Call it what you like.
Mary – Right…
Peter – What?
Mary – I don’t know… (Silence) Are you sure you’re all right?
Peter – I’ve run out of ideas for comedies. I want to try something different. It’s not a tragedy!
Mary – OK… (Pause) Would you like some more coffee?
Peter – No, thanks.
Mary – Right, I’ll leave you to think… about your new play.
She exits. He sighs and opens the newspaper again. The phone rings. He answers.
Peter – Yes? Oh, yes… No, no, I was just about to call you, actually… Look, I don’t know yet… No, right now, I’m out of inspiration. Yes, I know, I always said that doesn’t exist. But you know, inspiration’s like God. You say it doesn’t exist until you really need it… And you, how are you? Right… I see… OK… Look, I’ll have to go now… Let’s call each other next week and try to plan a lunch? OK, let’s do that… Cheers, take care.
Mary returns, looking a bit awkward.
Mary – I need to run a few errands; I won’t be long. Are you all right?
Peter – Er… Yes. Things haven’t changed much since just now, but yes, I’m all right.
Mary – All right, I’m off then.
Peter – Right. See you later.
She exits. He resumes reading the newspaper, but barely starts before the doorbell rings. He steps out to answer and returns with a woman.
Alex – I hope I’m not disturbing you?
Peter – No, no, not at all, I was just… Want some coffee?
Alex – Thanks, I’m fine.
Peter – Nice of you to drop by like this unannounced.
Alex – When you live in the same building as your agent, there’s always the risk of them showing up uninvited…
Peter – I might have to move, then…
They share a smile, followed by an awkward silence.
Alex – So, what are you working on?
Peter – Nothing… I was on the phone with… What’s her name again… You know, that actress who was in… She’s become a publisher now.
Alex – A publisher?
Peter – You know how it is. Life’s cruel for actresses. Especially for ingénues. Once they’re over thirty…
Alex – Are you looking for a new publisher?
Peter – Not really… She’s the one who called. Just wanted to check in… It’s starting to worry me. Everyone’s asking if I’m all right today…
Alex – So… are you all right?
Peter – I’m fine, thanks… It’s ridiculous…
Alex – What is?
Peter – I ended the conversation with “Let’s call each other and try to plan a lunch” Just came out of habit. Might as well have actually had lunch at noon today.
Alex – What can you do… We’re all so busy…
Peter – Or we’ve got nothing to do and we pretend we’re busy…
Alex – Yeah…
Peter – Like you, for instance. Particularly busy today? (Silence) No, obviously not, or you wouldn’t be here. Imagine? You agree to lunch on a whim… The next day, everyone in the business will know you’ve nothing to do. That no one wants to work with you anymore. That you’re unemployed. Or worse, blacklisted… And then no one calls, and you’re really totally washed-up.
Alex – Yeah… (Silence) And… is she all right?
Peter – Who?
Alex – Your publisher!
Peter – I don’t know… You’re right… Maybe she’s the one who’s not all right. She called me because she needed someone to talk to. And I practically hung up on her… I should’ve suggested lunch… And you, are you all right?
Alex – I’m fine…
Peter – You’re sure you don’t want any coffee?
Alex – Positive… (Silence) Writing anything at the moment?
Peter – Not really. I think I’ve reached the end of something here. I need to change my style.
Alex – Yeah, I know. I ran into Mary on the stairs.
Peter – Don’t tell me that’s why you stopped by.
Alex – So, you want to write a drama.
Peter – Yes, well… Why not?
Alex – This is a joke, right?
Peter – See, Alex, that’s my problem. The mere idea of me writing something other than a comedy, and people think it’s a joke.
Alex – Let’s just say… it’s not exactly what people expect from you.
Peter – And?
Alex – It might surprise your audience… Maybe even disappoint them…
Peter – Disappoint them? I haven’t even written a line yet, and you’re already saying it’ll be disappointing. Thanks for the encouragement. Nice to know why I have an agent.
Alex – So… do you have a subject in mind?
Peter – No… It’s just an idea…
Alex – Right, so it’s just an idea.
Peter – That’s it…
Alex – Sorry, I might have jumped the gun a bit.
Peter – I don’t know… I was thinking of writing something about those migrants who end up washed ashore on our coasts. Assuming they haven’t drowned along the way, of course…
Alex – A comedy, you mean? (He gives her a disappointed look) Sorry, I don’t know why I said that… So you’re serious, you really want to write something…
Peter – I’m not twenty anymore… Neither are you… Maybe it’s time we started thinking about the world around us, don’t you think?
Alex – The world around us?
Peter – Imagine that after we die, we’re reincarnated. Just like that. By chance. The world is mostly filled with people who have miserable lives. If you can even call it living. When you think about it, apart from a small minority of privileged people, the luckiest of whom live in tax havens, Earth is a hellhole.
Alex – So what?
Peter – So what? Statistically, reincarnation means guaranteed hell… If we don’t change the world in our lifetime, we’re pretty much destined to live in hell when we’re reincarnated!
Alex stares at him, stunned.
Alex – OK…
Peter – I’ll let you think about that. I’m going to get dressed…
He exits. Mary enters.
Mary – Well?
Alex – He’s not doing well.
Mary – I told you.
Alex – He’s losing it. He’s talking about death, heaven, hell.
Mary – No?
Alex – He wants to write a play about refugees.
Mary – Tax exiles?
Alex – Economic refugees!
Mary – You mean… retirees who move to Portugal or Morocco because it’s cheaper there?
Alex – Migrants! In the Mediterranean!
Mary – No way… He told you that?
Alex – I tried talking to him, but he wouldn’t listen.
Mary – Where is he?
Alex – He went to get dressed.
Mary – I don’t understand… This morning, he was completely normal. Well… he was his usual self, anyway…
Alex – It might just be temporary. He’s probably a bit down. But we shouldn’t take it lightly.
Mary – Definitely… I hate to say it, but… I feel like he might have suicidal tendencies.
Alex – We should suggest he sees a doctor.
Mary – A psychiatrist, you mean?
Alex – I don’t know.
Mary – Sometimes a simple vitamin boost does the trick… Maybe a homeopath?
Peter re-enters.
Peter – Ah, you’re still here?
Alex – I’ll leave you two.
Peter – No, I’m not kicking you out.
Alex – I was about to go anyway. I’ve… I’ve got a big day ahead. Let’s call and have lunch together sometime?
She exits. Mary gives Peter an awkward look.
Mary – I just told her you were here and that if she fancied a coffee, she could come up…
Peter – She didn’t want one.
Mary – What?
Peter – Coffee. I offered her some, she didn’t want it.
Silence.
Mary – What are you looking for, Peter, really?
Peter – I don’t know…
Mary – Aren’t we happy, together?
Peter – Yes, of course we are. That’s not the issue.
Mary – You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?
Peter – No, not at all!
Mary – We’ve got the life we wanted, haven’t we? You’re doing what you love. You have no boss. You make a good living.
Peter – I know.
Mary – Then what’s going on?
Peter – None of it makes sense to me anymore. I need… to try something else.
Mary – But why?
Peter – I don’t know… So that, at my funeral, people don’t just say: “Well, he was just a joker.”
Silence.
Mary – Do you want us to move?
Peter – It would be the same anywhere else.
Mary – You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?
Peter – Something stupid? Like what?
Mary tries to hide her unease.
Mary – I’ll leave you to work…
She exits. He stands there, puzzled for a moment. He takes a notebook and a pencil and tries to write, but clearly, inspiration isn’t there. He picks up the phone and dials a number.
Peter – Yes, sorry, it’s me again… Listen, I managed to free myself for tonight. Could you come over for dinner? I’d like to talk to you about a new project… Yes, of course, bring your husband. Eight o’clock is perfect. Great, see you then…
He hangs up. He returns to the notebook and pencil, starting to write feverishly. He pauses and addresses the audience.
Peter – You’ll see. This time, you won’t be laughing.
He resumes writing.
Blackout.

All the texts available on this website can be downloaded for free. However, performance rights, which constitute fair compensation for the author’s work, are a legal obligation. Whether you are an amateur or a professional, you must request authorization to perform the play and pay the corresponding royalties for the production.

To get in touch with Jean-Pierre Martinez and ask an authorization to represent one of his works: CONTACT FORM.

A sketch from the collection Dramedies
Link to the collection for free download (PDF)

Find all of Jean-Pierre Martinez’s plays on his website:
https://jeanpierremartinez.net

L’article Fatally Funny est apparu en premier sur La Sketchothèque.