One character (man or woman) is there. Another arrives (also gender-neutral).
Two – You look awful… Are you alright?
One – It’s the scene where I die…
Two – Sorry?
One – The scene we’re about to perform. It’s the one where my character dies of a pulmonary embolism.
Two – OK… And has your doctor diagnosed you with a risk of pulmonary embolism? I mean in real life…
One – No. Not that I know of.
Two – So?
One – I don’t know… Dying on stage always gets to me. Doesn’t it affect you?
Two – No.
One – OK, I’m only pretending, but… What if I actually died for real?
Two – Are you feeling unwell?
One – No, no, I’m fine, but… I feel such a strong connection with my character… What if, in the moment they die, I die with them?
Two – That would be taking your craft a bit far. Even at the Actors Studio, they never expected actors to identify with their characters to the point of dying on cue.
One – I know it’s irrational, but I’m scared to death.
Two – Theatre isn’t the bloody Colosseum. We don’t swap out actors every time someone gets stabbed or eaten by a lion. In theatre, the swords are wooden and the lions are cardboard.
One – You never know… All it takes is once…
Two – Exactly. And this is the fourth show. Your character has already died three times. He dies every night at around ten thirty-five. And yet, here you are.
One – That must be it, then. Fourth show syndrome.
Two – Fourth show syndrome? What’s that supposed to be?
One – Molière died after the fourth performance of The Imaginary Invalid. And do you know what he died of?
Two – The lung.
One – Exactly. The lung.
Two – Yes, well… we’re not in the seventeenth century anymore.
One – You think people don’t die of pulmonary embolisms these days?
Two – They do. But at least actors don’t get excommunicated anymore. You’ll get a proper burial among good Christians.
One – That’s a comfort, thanks…
Two – I’m joking. But I didn’t know you were so superstitious.
One – I should just stop playing characters who die, that’s all.
Two – In every tragedy, the hero dies at the end. Doesn’t leave you many options.
One – Then I’ll only do comedies.
Two – The Imaginary Invalid is a comedy. Argan isn’t meant to die in the end. And yet Molière still died playing him.
One – You’re right. I’d better give up comedy too.
Two – If you give up tragedy and comedy, what’s left for you in theatre?
One – Film.
Two – People don’t die in films?
One – At least you only die once. In theatre, you die every night.
Two – Even in film, it depends.
One – What do you mean, it depends?
Two – If they get the shot in one take, you only die once. But if they do multiple takes…
One – Right…
Two – If they do four, you could still die on the fourth. Like Molière…
One – I’ll try to get it right first time, then.
Two – That’s optimistic…
One – I know…
Two – Or there’s always television.
One – Television?
Two – On telly, it’s low-budget. They can’t afford to do lots of takes. Usually the first take is the one they keep.
One – Television? Me? I’d rather die.
The other checks their watch.
Two – Well, perfect timing. That’s our cue. Ready?
One – OK…
Blackout.

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

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L’article Scared to Death est apparu en premier sur La Sketchothèque.