photo by Joe Mazza and Brave Lux

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Killing David Mamet

To hold you over during my July vacation, here's a play produced by The Mill Theatre as part of their 2008 Et Cetera VII evening of shorts in Chicago.

Killing David Mamet
By Jacob Juntunen

(JACOB is onstage wearing an aluminum foil hat and carrying a cap pistol.)
            JACOB
Fucking Mamet! Fucking Mamet! Fucking Mamet! I’m gonna kill that fucking fuck!
(MOLL enters carrying The Reader)
            MOLL
Honey, look! You’re in the paper again!
            JACOB
(to audience members, waving his cap pistol at them ominously) Are you a playwright? Are you? What about you? Hey, you there—you a playwright?!
            MOLL
(reading) “The mysterious killing spree of playwrights across the country continues. The body of Sam Shepard was recently found in a remote Western cabin.” Yeah, he was hard to find, wasn’t he baby?
            JACOB
Fuck yeah, the reclusive son of a bitch. But I got him. (to audience) You there, you a playwright?!
            MOLL
(reading) “FBI officials warn all remaining American playwrights to be on the lookout for a thirty-five-year-old playwright known to the public thus far only as the Son of Ed because of his suspected mentorship by the recently murdered Edward Albee. Reached for comment just before his untimely death, Albee said, ‘Don’t call me Ed.’” Gee, honey! You’re famous!
            JACOB
But not yet America’s Greatest Living Playwright. One man stands between me and that fucking title. And second prize is a set of steak knives.
            MOLL
I don’t know why you always gotta talk like the next playwright you’re gonna knock off.
            JACOB
What paper’s that?
            MOLL
The Reader.
            JACOB
The Reader? The motherfucking Reader? You read me an article from the fucking Reader? Who gives a shit what The Reader says. What’s the New York Times got to say about me?
            MOLL
I didn’t see nothin’ in the New York Times.
            JACOB
You didn’t see nothin’? Did you read it? Did you take those pretty little baby-blues and turn them towards the country’s fucking Paper of Record and read it? Or did you just look at it?
            MOLL
I read it, baby. Don’t get mad.
            JACOB
And it didn’t say nothing about the 367 playwrights I killed in the last two months?
            MOLL
No.
            JACOB
That’s a helluva killing spree to just be ignored by the fucking Paper of Record.
            MOLL
Well, we ain’t killed no one in New York since we got Adam Rapp last month. You know they don’t cover regional theatre.
            JACOB
I fuckin’ killed Sam Shepard!
            MOLL
Then he ain’t gonna be America’s Greatest Living Playwright, is he baby?
            JACOB
No.
            MOLL
You almost got all of ‘em. You just gotta get Mamet.
            JACOB
Yeah. And I’m ready for him.
            MOLL
But how you gonna get him? You can’t even go outta the motel room with the FBI after you.
            JACOB
I invited him here for a speaking engagement.
            MOLL
He ain’t gonna fall for that! He knows playwrights are gettin’ killed left and right!
            JACOB
No playwright’s gonna turn down a speaker’s retainer.
            MOLL
But this is a skuzzy motel room!
            JACOB
I told him it was an urban development grant that was paying him! A speaking engagement for at risk youth! I said we were gonna give him a fuckin’ plaque and everything! A retainer and a fucking plaque! No playwright can resist a plaque.
            MOLL
Oh, baby! You’re a genius!
            JACOB
It ain’t for nothing that I’m gonna be the fucking Greatest Living American Playwright.
(A knock at the door)
            JACOB
That’s him! Just follow my lead!
(DANATURG enters)
            DANATURG
(to audience) Hello! I’m Dan, dramaturg extraordinaire, known to my friends as: THE DANATURG!
            MOLL
(as they fist-bump) Hey, Danaturg.
            JACOB
Fuckin’ Mamet.
            DANATURG
Ah, are we down to Mamet?
            MOLL
Yeah.
            JACOB
I’m gonna fucking kill that fucking fuck. (to audience) You there—you a playwright?!
            DANATURG
You know, technically if he’s supposed to be talking like David Mamet he doesn’t need to swear that much. I feel like this sketch is confusing a playwright’s characters with the playwright himself. Does Mamet really swear like that?
            MOLL
I don’t know nothing about that, but at least he ain’t talking like Paula Vogel no more. It was like I was dating a fucking driver’s manual.
            DANATURG
Another thing I don’t understand: why save Mamet for last? I mean, there was just that big Mamet Festival in this city. Chicago loves their Mamet.
            JACOB
So they’ll fucking notice! You don’t flush someone’s goldfish down the toilet to make ‘em sit up and pay attention to you; you kill their fucking dog and leave its rotting carcass on their porch and then give ‘em a fucking puppy! That’s my play! The fucking puppy! The fucking puppy is my play! You get it? My play’s a fucking puppy!
            DANATURG
I grabbed your mail from the front desk on my way up. There’s a letter here from the New York Theatre Workshop—
            JACOB
Gimme that! Gimme!
            MOLL
What’s it say, baby? They wanna do your play?
            JACOB
(reading) “Thank you for submitting your play to the New York Theatre Workshop. The work of a playwright is vital and we applaud your creativity and resolve in writing and submitting this play. We have decided not to pursue your script for production at this time. Thank you for thinking of us. Though all other American playwrights are dead and we are committed to producing new work by living playwrights, we have decided to devote our next season to new material from David Mamet. We wish you luck in finding other venues for your work.”
            MOLL
But look, it’s a real signature, not just a photocopy.
 (A knock at the door)
             JACOB
That’s him! Follow my lead!
(DAVID MAMET enters)
            DAVID MAMET
Hello, I’m David Mamet.
(Applause.)
            DAVID MAMET
Recently hailed as “King David” by the Chicago Sun-Times.
            JACOB
Fucking Mamet.
            DAVID MAMET
Excuse me?
            JACOB
Welcome!
            DAVID MAMET
This is a skuzzy motel room.
            JACOB
Yes, yes it is, but we’ve got you a little podium set up over there.
            DAVID MAMET
Where are all the at risk youth?
            JACOB
They’re all around us.
            DAVID MAMET
Oh. We’re supposed to acknowledge the audience?
            DANATURG
It goes in and out. It’s very undisciplined. No real dramaturgical sense to it.
            DAVID MAMET
Are those dead bodies in the audience?
            JACOB
I doubt it. Okay, so just go on up to the podium there.
            DAVID MAMET
Are these at risk youth actors or at risk youth playwrights? I was going to do my whole “you should act like you’re reading from the phonebook” speech, but if they’re playwrights I can do my fucking “olley olley ocean free” bit from Writing in Restaurants.
            JACOB
See? He does fucking swear.
            MOLL
You’re so smart, baby.
            DAVID MAMET
Aigh! What’s that?
            JACOB
What?
            DAVID MAMET
That! Over there! It just talked!
            JACOB
That’s Moll.
            DAVID MAMET
Who let a woman in here?!
            DANATURG
Now, come on. That’s not fair. Mamet has some very strong woman characters. Lesbians, even.
            MOLL
Yeah, I did a Mamet monologue in school once.
            DAVID MAMET
Are you an… actress?
            MOLL
Sure.
            DAVID MAMET
Well. Okay, then. You want me to just stand at the podium here?
            JACOB
This is taking way too long.
(JACOB shoots DAVID MAMET.)
            MOLL
Baby! You killed David Mamet!
            DANATURG
That was terrible! What kind of arc was that? Where was the conflict?! The rising action?! The negotiation between characters?! You can’t just shoot someone during the central conflict!
            JACOB
I… I’ve killed David Mamet. Does that mean that now… Now I’m… Dare I say it?
            MOLL
Go ahead, baby. Say it.
            JACOB
Now I… I am America’s Greatest—
(BRETT NEVEU enters wearing a tuxedo with a gun trained on JACOB.)
            BRETT NEVEU
Hold it right there!
            JACOB
Who are you?!
            BRETT NEVEU
Neveu. Brett Neveu. Recently heralded by the Chicago Tribune as theatre’s “Chicagoan of the Year.”
            JACOB
Do you want to give a speech? We’ve got a podium all set up. We have a plaque for you.
            BRETT NEVEU
Your little tricks won’t work on me.
(JACOB tries to shoot BRETT NEVEU, but BRET NEVEU shoots first. JACOB falls.)
            MOLL
Baby!
            JACOB
(as he dies) Curse you, Neveu! Curse you!
(JACOB dies. Blackout.)

Read full lengths by Jacob Juntunen here!

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