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.

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A sketch from the collection Dramedies
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