11 Variations on Friar John's Failure (1st ed. - 08.09.03)
Copyright © 2003 Yuri Baranovsky
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Cast of Characters (in order of appearance)
FRIAR JOHN
VOICE
JULIET
TOM SAWYER
DUNCAN
WITCH 1
WITCH 2
WITCH 3
LADY MACBETH
SERVANT
BANQUO
MACDUFF
MALCOLM
TOWN CRIER
MAN
ROBIN HOOD
MAID MARIAN
KING CLAUDIUS
QUEEN GERTRUDE
POLONIUS
LAERTES
OPHELIA
HAMLET
MESSENGER
ROMEO
ROSALINE
SHAKESPEARE
LORD CAPULET
SAMPSON
GREGORY
LORD MONTAGUE
BENVOLIO
BALTHASAR
Setting
Early evening, a path in the forest
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Acknowledgements
11 Variations on Friar John’s Failure was first produced at the
College of Marin (Kentfield, California) in March 2002, with
the following cast and staff:
Friar John................................... Francis Serpa
Romeo ........................................ Ryan Naumann
Juliet ........................................... Ishiah Benben
Shakespeare............................... Yuri Baranovsky
Rosaline ..................................... KT Cockle
Gregory...................................... Will Guerin
Man ............................................ Claudio Brescia
Voice, Macduff,
Lord Montague................ John Wright
Tom Sawyer, Samson,
Malcolm ............................ Hugo Martin
Duncan, Lord Capulet,
Robin Hood ...................... Dustin Toshiyuki
Lady Macbeth, Maid Marian,
Voice 2............................... Gail Jones
Servant, Benvolio ..................... Zean Perez-Travis
Town Crier, Messenger
Balthasar ........................... H.D. Sutherland
Director ...................................... Yuri Baranovsky
Assistant Director..................... KT Cockle
Light Designer .......................... Zach Alexander
Sound Designer ........................ Hannah Williams
5
11 VARIATIONS ON
FRIAR JOHN’S FAILURE
by Yuri Baranovsky
Variation 1
(FRIAR JOHN rushes onstage, tightly clutching a letter. He stops,
looks around, and speaks to the audience.)
FRIAR JOHN. What horrid place be this, that no light shineth ’pon
my sweated brow, and no road marks the dirtied ground ’pon
which I stand? What foul plague hath befallen the streets of Verona,
from which I came but hence, to carry for dear Romeo a letter of
utter importance? This letter…this letter which I do hold so bravely
in my hand might mean the life or death of the Montague. This letter, with its daring words that spake so verily, they spake as such,
they say… (Frowns, looks at the letter.) Well. I have no idea what they
say. Something…something dearly important I imagine. (Takes a
step forward.) Of utter privacy. As such, I, Friar John, have no right
to open such a letter. (Takes another step forward.) But what is in a
letter…it is neither hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other
part belonging to a man. (Takes another step forward.) So…letter
would, were it not letter call’d, retain that dear perfection which it
owes, the perfection of secrecy! And without that title, letter, doff
thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee, I will take you
all myself. (Rips letter open.) What! Romeo and Juliet? Who would
have thought? Perchance I would have guessed Juliet and Tybalt,
they are cousins and both well-bred. Or Romeo and Mercutio, who
both drinking and dancing heavy with revelry would one night fall
into the other’s arms and cry: I love thee! Let us to a nunnery! But
Romeo and Juliet. No. No, it can’t be. After all, he is a Montague, a
dirty, ugly, fat Montague. And she. She a beautiful, young, very,
very, young, beautiful, did I mention young? Girl! How could that
lout, that vagabond, that dizzy-eyed codpiece appreciate the love of
such a woman? Of my Juliet! He will not have her! My solution is
simple. Yes… I will not deliver the letter, he will hear of her death,
and will move on to bigger and better things, such as gardening,
perhaps. Whilst Juliet awaken in her crypt, with me standing o’er
her sweet body. She will think me Romeo, for, while the lady is
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unrivaled in beauty, she is easily rivaled by all in wit. And thus will
we marry, and unite the houses of Montague and Capulet! And
never will anyone hear this tale of woe, instead ’twill be the tale of
Juliet, and her Friar Johnaro!
(Blackout. Rewind.)
Variation 2
(The stage is dim, and empty. There is a VOICE.)
VOICE. …In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, shall Romeo
by my letters know our drift, and hither shall he come: and he and I
will watch thy waking, and that very night, shall Romeo bear thee
hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame.
Good plan, eh?
JULIET. I don’t know… Will Romeo get the letter in time? The plan
is risky, Father.
VOICE. Trust me, dear Juliet, trust me. ’Tis God’s will that this tale
of woe end with happiness. I’m a Priest, I know these things. We’re
magic.
JULIET. Well…
VOICE. Friar John is more than capable of bringing such a letter. It
is but a simple jog to Mantua.
JULIET. But Father, I heard a most shocking rumor—’twas said that
plague abounds in those woods! Be it true, or be it a tale of farce to
which no heed should be pay’d?
VOICE. Plague? Nay! (Pause.) Okay, maybe. But Friar John is a man
of God, and such a man shall have no fault ’gainst such a thing.
JULIET. (Sighs.) I suppose I’ll have to trust thy judgment, then. It is
well, father, that thou dost meddle, else I fear this tale would not
have a happy ending as the one I foresee thusly.
(The lights fade up. FRIAR JOHN enters, walking swiftly from
stage right, and off, to stage left. A teenager sits near a fence, and
paints it quietly on the opposite side of the stage. FRIAR JOHN
slowly backs up, and looks at TOM SAWYER with curiosity.)
11 Variations on Friar John's Failure
9
FRIAR JOHN. Good day, sire. What doest thou ’pon this road?
TOM SAWYER. Ain’t it obvious, mister?
FRIAR JOHN. Nay, nay, ’tisn’t.
(TOM SAWYER ignores him, continues painting.)
I shall say it again, sire, for thou didst hear me not. Nay, I do not
understand thine activity.
TOM SAWYER. I’m whitewashin’ this ’ere fence, mister.
FRIAR JOHN. Whitewashing? Thou dost speak of things which I
have yet to hear, art thou mad or simply dumb?
TOM SAWYER. You ain’t from ’round here, are ye?
FRIAR JOHN. I hail from Verona.
TOM SAWYER. Long way away from home then.
FRIAR JOHN. Aye. The duties of a Friar do often take him places
that only God has seen!
TOM SAWYER. And the people livin’ in those places.
FRIAR JOHN. Pardon?
TOM SAWYER. God, and the people livin’ in those places.
(There is a pause; they stare at each other.)
FRIAR JOHN. Right.
(There is more silence. TOM shrugs, and begins to paint the fence
again. FRIAR JOHN watches him curiously.)
An interesting activity, that. (Pause.) One I have yet to attempt in
mine busy life, busied as I am with chores, blessings…baptizing
stuff. (Pause.) I wonder if such a skill is taught in Verona, or if thou
didst acquire it in thy short youth, and didst develop such a knack
that thou dost do so for a living.
TOM SAWYER. (Looks up at him:) Are you still talkin’? Why, I ain’t
even notice ye, so involved am I in th’fence. Th’fence is fun. I love
this fence. If I was older, an’ my aunt let me, I’d marry it.
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FRIAR JOHN. The fence?
TOM SAWYER. Yeah.
FRIAR JOHN. Yes…well… I would be on my way, then. I shall deliver this letter thusly and return to my duties—I can see thou’rt the
busy lad, working as you are. Adieu. (Begins to walk off.)
TOM SAWYER. Work? Whattaya call work?
FRIAR JOHN. Why, good sir, do not you, with thy well-worn
practitioner’s hand know the likes of work? (Points at the fence:)
That, sir, is work!
TOM SAWYER. Well, maybe it is. And maybe it ain’t. You’ll never
know though, ’cause you ain’t ever gonna do it. (Suddenly very excited:) Oh!
FRIAR JOHN. What!
TOM SAWYER. Didja see that?!
FRIAR JOHN. Nay, what?!
TOM SAWYER. Aw. Nevermind. Ya gotta be paintin’ t’see it. It
was real neat though.
FRIAR JOHN. (Looks at him skeptically:) Surely, sir, you do not
speak of liking such a task! Verily, ’tis one of little diversity, and indeed, a matter of much tedium.
TOM SAWYER. Liking it? How many days does a boy jus’ get to
whitewash a fence? Normally, you’d say, what, three? four days?
But you’d be wrong. It’s one. Just one.
FRIAR JOHN. (Watches TOM SAWYER silently.) Good sir, what
would it take thee to allow me feel of such a fence, and indeed, perhaps spend a bit doing thine own task?
TOM SAWYER. Mm. I dunno if I can let ye do that. M’aunt’s particular ’bout her fence. ’Specially ’bout the people who do it. See, I
got a practiced hand, and one outta a thousand others can do it the
way she wants it t’be done. And frankly, we don’t often trust weird
speakin’ folks from…Veroner?
11 Variations on Friar John's Failure
11
FRIAR JOHN. Dear sir, how thou dost tease me with thy cruel
words. It is as if thou didst unleash thy very blade ’pon my heart,
and struck me thus—an old man Friar—’pon my dignity. Surely,
you would allow me to prove that I am capable of such a task as
you yourself perform forthwith!
TOM SAWYER. Mm. It’ll cost ye…
FRIAR JOHN. This robe? I’d gladly—
TOM SAWYER. Nah. Nah.
FRIAR JOHN. My shoes, here, here—
TOM SAWYER. Nah! No shoes.
FRIAR JOHN. (Sighs.) My hair then, aye. ’Twill be but a moment.
(Takes out a knife and puts it against hair.)
TOM SAWYER. Nah! Nah. I just want th’letter.
FRIAR JOHN. Oh, sir, I cannot—
TOM SAWYER. Then no deal.
FRIAR JOHN. How unfairly the fates do rule this land! Come, sir.
Another offer?
TOM SAWYER. Letter, or you ain’t got a deal.
FRIAR JOHN. Alack, alack, I am undone! Here, sire. Take it. Take
it. Take it!
(FRIAR JOHN hands TOM the letter, TOM hands FRIAR JOHN
the paintbrush.)
TOM SAWYER. Top o’ the morn t’ye then. (Exits.)
FRIAR JOHN. (Kneels next to fence, begins painting. A moment
passes—to audience:) This isn’t so fun. (Pauses, in thought.) Methinks a
piece of particularly horrid tomfoolery hath befallen me. I’ve been
made a tomfool! (Sighs, and continues working.) Woe is me.
(Fade out. Rewind.)
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Variation 3
FRIAR JOHN. Fleeting day, begone thou moon! The night comes
hither, and yet my time doth wane with the sun. Oh, Romeo, dear
Romeo, I shall be thy savior, or thy murderer. For if I do fail such
complexities to which I have been assigned, forthwith will I be
named at fault for the demise of the love shared ’tween these
youths.
(DUNCAN enters; seeing FRIAR JOHN he immediately walks over
to him.)
DUNCAN. Good day, worthy thane, what news of the war?
FRIAR JOHN. The war ’tween the houses? I daresay it grows
worse by the moment, dear sir.
DUNCAN. ’Tis as I feared. In any case. I did prepare my speech.
Quiet, thou, whilst I speak.
FRIAR JOHN. Er, aye, sire. ’Twill be as you say.
DUNCAN. (Clears his throat.) My plenteous joys, wanton in fulness,
seek to hide themselves in drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes,
and you whose places are nearest, know we will establish our estate
upon our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of
Cumberland. Which honor must not unaccompanied invest him
only, but signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine on all deservers.
From hence to Inverness, and bind us further to you.
FRIAR JOHN. ’Tis well, sire. I suppose I will be on my way. I bid
thee adieu…
(THREE WITCHES enter.)
WITCH 1. One and one and one make three!
WITCH 2. King Friar John will you be.
WITCH 3. All it takes, is a kill, prithee!
(They exit. DUNCAN and FRIAR JOHN look at each other.)
FRIAR JOHN. That was strange.
(LADY MACBETH enters, with a knife.)
11 Variations on Friar John's Failure
13
LADY MACBETH. Art thou not jealous, husband?
FRIAR JOHN. Pardon? I am a Friar, dear madam, and am no one’s
husband ’cept God’s! And he, dear madam, is a fickle mistress.
LADY MACBETH. Was the hope drunk wherein you dress’d yourself? Hath it slept since? And wakes it now, to look so green and
pale at what it did so freely? From this time such I account thy love.
Art thou afeard to be the same in thine own act and valor as thou
art in desire? Wouldst thou have that which thou esteem’st the ornament of life and live a coward in thine own esteem, letting ‘I dare
not’ wait upon ‘I would,’ like the poor cat i’ the adage?
FRIAR JOHN. Prithee, peace! I dare not e’en pretend to know of
what you speak.
LADY MACBETH. What beast was’t then, that made you break
this enterprise to me? When you durst do it, then you were a man;
and, to be more than what you were, you would be so much more
the man. Nor time nor place did then adhere, and yet you would
make both: they have made themselves, and that their fitness now
does unmake you. I have given suck, and know how tender ’tis to
love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my
face, have plack’d the brains out, had I so sworn as you, have done
to this.
FRIAR JOHN. (Stares at her wide-eyed:) Dear God! Thou’rt mad!
Nay, madder than mad! Thou’rt insane. Insanely mad!
LADY MACBETH. We fail! But screw your courage to the stickingplace, and we’ll not fail. When Duncan is asleep—whereto the
rather shall his day’s hard journey soundly invite him—his two
chamberlains will I with wine and wassail so convince that memory, the warder of the brain, shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason, a limbeck only: when in swinish sleep their drenched natures
lie as in a death what cannot you and I perform upon the unguarded Duncan? What not put upon his spongy officers, who shall
be the guilt of our great quell?
DUNCAN. Uhh. I’m still here… I can hear you—
LADY MACBETH. Do the deed, man!
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(LADY MACBETH throws FRIAR JOHN the dagger; he catches it,
and stabs DUNCAN. DUNCAN dies.)
FRIAR JOHN. Ay, me. I fear there shall be dire consequences to
this.
(PEOPLE enter and drop to their knees as LADY MACBETH puts
a crown on FRIAR JOHN’s head.)
PEOPLE. All hail King Friar John! All hail King of Scotland!
LADY MACBETH. Look what we have accomplished, dear Husband! (She exits.)
(SERVANT runs onstage, and falls to his knees next to FRIAR
JOHN.)
SERVANT. Sir King, have thou any orders?
FRIAR JOHN. I have no orders which my mind doth wish to voice,
but which do rise aloud nonetheless.
SERVANT. What words, sire?
FRIAR JOHN. I wish to kill a man.
SERVANT. Who, sire?
FRIAR JOHN. A friend of mine, perhaps…
SERVANT. Banquo?
FRIAR JOHN. (Shrugs.) Sure.
SERVANT. (Yells:) Kill Banquo!
PEOPLE. Kill Banquo!
(BANQUO enters.)
BANQUO. I am Banquo.
(SERVANT stabs him.)
FRIAR JOHN. I was not appeased by that death, do kill but all
those who would dare oppose me!
(SERVANT goes back and forth, killing people. There is a pause.
And LADY MACBETH enters; she is sleepwalking.)
11 Variations on Friar John's Failure
15
LADY MACBETH. (To FRIAR JOHN:) Yet here’s a spot!
FRIAR JOHN. (Stares at her:) What?
LADY MACBETH. Out, damned spot! Out, I say—One: two: why,
then, ’tis time to do’t.—Hell is murky!— (To FRIAR JOHN:) Fie, my
lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it,
when none can call our power to account?—Yet who would have
thought the old man to have so much blood in him!
FRIAR JOHN. (Near tears:) I am so confused!
LADY MACBETH. (Yelling at him:) The thane of Fife had a wife:
where is she now?!
FRIAR JOHN. Lost, perhaps?
LADY MACBETH. What, will these hands ne’er be clean?
FRIAR JOHN. Nay, water shall cleanse them. Thou’rt mad! All of
you! Leave me be!
(He tries to walk past; she doesn’t let him.)
LADY MACBETH. No more o’ that, my lord, no more o’ that: you
mar all with this starting. To bed, to bed! There’s a knocking at the
gate: come, come, come, come, give me your hand.
(She tries to take FRIAR JOHN’s hand; he backs away quickly.)
What’s done cannot be undone.—To bed, to bed, to bed! (She exits.)
(There is a long silence; SERVANT and FRIAR JOHN look at each
other.)
FRIAR JOHN. That was odd.
SERVANT. She’s been at it all day, mi’lord. Shall I kill her too?
FRIAR JOHN. Nay!
(There is a woman’s scream offstage.)
What was that?!
SERVANT. (Peeks offstage:) The queen, mi’lord, is dead. That was
easy.
FRIAR JOHN. I told you to not kill her, fiend!
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SERVANT. Mi’lord, it wasn’t—
FRIAR JOHN. Bah! She should have died hereafter. Tomorrow,
and—
(MACDUFF charges on stage, shrieking a battle cry, and stabs
FRIAR JOHN in the back. MALCOLM enters cautiously behind
him.)
MACDUFF. Here lies the usurper’s body! (Picks up the crown and
lays it on MALCOLM’s head. Kneels in front of him.)
PEOPLE. All hail the new King! All hail King Malcolm of Scotland!
MALCOLM. Thank thee, Macduff.
MACDUFF. ’Twas nothing, dear friend. (Beat.) Mi’lord?
MALCOLM. (Looks at MACDUFF:) Methinks, fair Macduff, that we
did enter the stage too soon, this does not look like Scotland t’all!
Rather, rather the road ’tween Verona and Mantua!
MACDUFF. (Takes the letter from FRIAR JOHN, reads it.) Aye, King.
I fear we did intrude ’pon another drama.
MALCOLM. Bah! What’s done is done. Surely, no harm can come
from this.
(TOWN CRIER walks on.)
TOWN CRIER. Hear ye, hear ye. The Lady Capulet Juliet and the
Lord Montague Romeo have perished. Rumor speaks of an undelivered letter, a meddling priest, much misunderstanding, and
plenty of hilarity! In other news, the Kingdom of Denmark is wiped
out by mass suicide. That is all.
MALCOLM. I could, of course, be wrong.
(Blackout. Rewind.)
11 Variations on Friar John's Failure
17
Variation 4
(FRIAR JOHN walks forward intently, then stops, center stage, and
looks at the audience.)
FRIAR JOHN. What am I doing?! I feel like such a tool! I have not
e’en been seen in this story prior to this “important” letter which
the Father has me bring. And now the fate of these two children
rests ’pon MY shoulders? This is nonsense! I rebel! (Throws the letter
down.) I do not get paid enough to be an errand boy. I beseech thee,
stars, give me a better job!
(MAN enters, wearing a Starbucks apron.)
MAN. Hi. Want a job?
FRIAR JOHN. Where, sir?
MAN. A little place called Starbucks.
FRIAR JOHN. Starbucks? I’ve ne’er heard of such a thing!
MAN. We just opened two in Verona, and thirty-eight thousand in
Mantua. Interested?
FRIAR JOHN. I do not know if I am skilled enough to aid thee.
MAN. It’s okay. We take anyone.
FRIAR JOHN. Then lead the way, sir.
(Blackout. Rewind.)
Variation 5
FRIAR JOHN. Life is but a stage. And we are but actors. Actors
who must repeat the scene periodically. ’Tis a hard life, I assure
thee, dear audience.
(ROBIN HOOD runs onstage, with an arrow nocked into his bow,
and pointed at FRIAR JOHN. He speaks with a heavy British accent.)
ROBIN HOOD. Stop, man, and give me all your gold and jewels!
FRIAR JOHN. A thief, a thief, I bid thee away foul man!
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ROBIN HOOD. My name? You want to know my name! My name
is Robin Hood. I rob from the rich, and give to the poor! It’s all
dreadfully virtuous of me.
FRIAR JOHN. I am but a friar, a man carrying no penny but the
penny of God’s love.
ROBIN HOOD. A friar, you say? Friar Tuck?
FRIAR JOHN. Nay, Friar John.
ROBIN HOOD. Little John?
FRIAR JOHN. Nay, FRIAR John!
ROBIN HOOD. I don’t understand. You’re not Friar Tuck or Little
John?
FRIAR JOHN. Nay, sir, nay!
ROBIN HOOD. Oh. (Pause.) Stop joking around, Tuck!
FRIAR JOHN. I do not joke, I speak the truth, sir. I am Friar John of
Verona.
ROBIN HOOD. (Pause.) Are you Little John’s and Friar Tuck’s son?
FRIAR JOHN. Nay!
ROBIN HOOD. Oh. Well then, you should join my band of merry
men.
FRIAR JOHN. Ah, dear man, how may I be merry when two children’s lives are at stake!
ROBIN HOOD. Children’s lives at stake! …Are they rich children?
FRIAR JOHN. Relatively…
ROBIN HOOD. Let us rob them!
FRIAR JOHN. Nay!
ROBIN HOOD. Oh, we’ll only take a penny!
FRIAR JOHN. Nay!
ROBIN HOOD. A pence?
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FRIAR JOHN. Nay!
ROBIN HOOD. A copper?
FRIAR JOHN. Get thee gone, thou inconceivable man!
ROBIN HOOD. How old are these children, then?
FRIAR JOHN. Sweet Juliet doth reach the tender age of thirteen,
whilst dear Romeo is ’round eighteen summers. Their love is tragic,
for they are of warring families. ’Tis a very sad tale of woe, I daresay. It makes me weepy but speaking of such a thing.
ROBIN HOOD. That is sad. That is sad. They should give me all
their money. So…I could, you know…give it to the poor. That’s
right. Nothing else. The poor. Just them.
FRIAR JOHN. O lamentable man, let me pass so I can save these
dear children and these dreadful families could be united!
ROBIN HOOD. Mmmmm. No! Give me your money!
FRIAR JOHN. I told thee, I’ve got neither pence nor copper, neither
gold nor silver, neither paper nor plastic.
ROBIN HOOD. Then give me the letter!
FRIAR JOHN. You’re not even holding up with thy ‘robbing the
rich’ motto!
ROBIN HOOD. Yes, yes I know. Come on, move out, let’s go. Give
me the letter then.
FRIAR JOHN. (Sighs.) You will pay for this. (Hands him the letter
and leaves.)
ROBIN HOOD. (Reads the letter and frowns.) Oops.
(MAID MARIAN walks on.)
MAID MARIAN. Hello, Robin. What’s that?
ROBIN HOOD. Oh nothing, nothing.
MAID MARIAN. Robin. What’s that?
ROBIN HOOD. Honestly, dear, it’s nothing!
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MAID MARIAN. Oh, yeah? (She snatches the letter, and reads it.)
ROBIN HOOD. It’s not mine, I swear. I was going to give it to the
poor!
MAID MARIAN. Juliet? Who is Juliet? I’m not Juliet. I’m Maid
Marian.
ROBIN HOOD. And yet, a rose by any other name would smell as
sweet…
MAID MARIAN. Well then, find another rose to sleep with.
(Storms out.)
ROBIN HOOD. Forsooth, this letter brings me naught but harm!
(Frowns.) I’ve really got to stop reading Shakespeare. (Looks offstage:)
Maid Marian! Maid Marian, wait! (Runs off.)
(Blackout. Rewind.)
Variation 6
(A GHOST blocks the FRIAR’s way.)
FRIAR JOHN. What manner of beast are you?
(GHOST stares, then exits.)
’Twas naught but the thoughts of an addled brain. I am in need of
rest surely.
(FRIAR JOHN takes another step; GHOST enters.)
FRIAR JOHN. Nay, I see thee still. Speak, devil! What dost thou
wish?
(GHOST stares at him, then exits.)
What games are these! Is this a sign? Doth death haunt the future,
yet?
(FRIAR JOHN takes another step; GHOST enters, staring at
FRIAR JOHN.)
FRIAR JOHN. Where wilt thou lead me? Speak; I’ll go no further.
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GHOST. Mark me.
FRIAR JOHN. What with?
GHOST. My hour is almost come, when I to sulphurous and tormenting flames must render up myself.
FRIAR JOHN. A pity. Good day!
(FRIAR JOHN tries to walk past; GHOST doesn’t let him.)
GHOST. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing to what I shall
unfold.
FRIAR JOHN (Sighing:). I have very little time. I shall give thee a
moment, but no more.
GHOST. So art thou to revenge, what thou shalt hear. I am thy father’s spirit.
FRIAR JOHN. My father is still alive, devil!
GHOST. I see. (Beat.) I am thy father’s spirit. Doom’d for a certain
term to walk the night, and for the day confined to fast in fires. Till
the foul crimes done in my days of nature are burnt and purged
away. But that I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison-house, I
could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul,
freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from
their spheres, and so on and so forth, until you die!
FRIAR JOHN. Sir, my father is alive and well. I saw him but hours
ago before my leaving to Mantua.
GHOST. Nay, I was murdered! ’Twas murder most foul, strange,
and unnatural.
FRIAR JOHN. Murdered! By whom?
GHOST. By my brother, who did marry the Queen, my wife, thy
mother thereafter. He did creep ’pon me whilst I lay in the garden
and did pour poison in my ear. And now I cannot hear! (Beat.) Oh.
And I’m dead, too.
FRIAR JOHN. I am oddly intrigued by thy tale. What wish you of
me?
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GHOST. I wish vengeance, dear Hamlet.
FRIAR JOHN. I might aid thee, yet I am no man named thus. I am
Friar John.
GHOST. Friar John Hamlet, aye. My dear son. I wish death ’pon
the man who did do this to me.
FRIAR JOHN. How will I find him?
GHOST. Here he comes thence! (Exits.)
(KING CLAUDIUS, QUEEN GERTRUDE,
LAERTES, and OPHELIA enter in a rush.)
POLONIUS,
KING CLAUDIUS. Hamlet!
FRIAR JOHN. Ay, me. I fear a grave misunderstanding.
OPHELIA. Hast thou gone mad, my dear Hamlet?
FRIAR JOHN. Oh, leave me be! I wish not thy games ’pon any living soul. (Draws his sword.) Come, back away, or I will run thee
through.
(POLONIUS runs at FRIAR JOHN and impales himself on the
sword.)
KING CLAUDIUS. Polonius!
QUEEN GERTRUDE. Hamlet, thou cad, you slew thy lover’s father!
KING CLAUDIUS. Get thee gone, thou’rt exiled from Denmark!
FRIAR JOHN. Then I am in good shape, for I am ’tween Mantua
and Verona. Nowhere near thy Denmark.
OPHELIA. He is mad! Mad! He slew my father! He is exiled! Now I
am mad, mad! (Sings) “You must sing a-down a-down, An you call
him a-down-a. O, how the wheel becomes it! It is the false steward,
that stole his master’s daughter.”
FRIAR JOHN. (Stares at her:) Okay.
OPHELIA. There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. (Throws
rosemary at him.) Pray, love, remember. And there is pansies.
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(Throws pansies at him.) That’s for thoughts. And now, dear sir, I go
to drown myself. (Dives offstage.)
FRIAR JOHN. Dear god, the last time I’ve been similarly confused
was when I smoked the Father’s herbs.
LAERTES. Hamlet!
FRIAR JOHN. Would I respond to that name, I could aid thee.
Alack, I know it not, and therefore shall ignore it. Farewell. (Attempts to get past them.)
LAERTES. I wish a friendly duel, Hamlet! ’Tis all I wish.
FRIAR JOHN. Wouldst thou leave me alone then?
LAERTES. Aye! Aye, I would.
FRIAR JOHN. En garde, then, en garde!
(They fight.)
QUEEN GERTRUDE. I am thirsty. Would I had but a drink.
KING CLAUDIUS. Here is one for Hamlet, Queen, though you
shouldst drink it not.
QUEEN GERTRUDE. Hamlet, I have thy drink!
FRIAR JOHN. I am no man named thus, leave me be, woman!
(They continue to fight. FRIAR JOHN is stabbed.)
Alas, I am hurt. But ’tis thou whose life shall end!
(They continue to fight. In the fight, their swords are switched;
FRIAR JOHN stabs LAERTES.)
LAERTES. A hit!
FRIAR JOHN. A very palpable hit!
LAERTES. I am hurt!
FRIAR JOHN. Indeed, thou’rt slain!
LAERTES. (Coughing:) Quiet, all. I have an existential question.
(Pauses, looks at all of them.) To be or not to be. (Beat.)That is my
question.
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FRIAR JOHN. Hm. A curious question. I think— Aye! ’Tis noble in
the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
LAERTES. Or is it to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by
opposing them end them?
KING CLAUDIUS. To die: to sleep: no more; and by a sleep to say
we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is
heir to.
QUEEN GERTRUDE. ’Tis a consummation, devoutly to be wish’d.
To die, to sleep; to sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub.
FRIAR JOHN. (Nodding in agreement:) For in that sleep of death
what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
must give us pause: there’s the respect, that makes calamity of so
long life.
LAERTES. Aye, for who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
the oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, the pangs of
despised love, the law’s delay, the insolence of office and the spurns
that patient merit of the unworthy takes…
QUEEN GERTRUDE. …When he himself might his quietus make
with a bare bod—oh but how thirsty am I! (Drinks the wine.) The
drink, the drink. I am poison’d! (Dies.)
LAERTES. Verily, thou’lt die in less time than you would have
hoped, for my blade was similarly poisoned, dear Hamlet. ’Twas
the King’s fault, the King! The King’s to blame! (Dies.)
FRIAR JOHN. I do not feel well. (Looks at the KING, and the sword.)
The point envenomed too? Then venom to thy work! (Stabs him.)
KING CLAUDIUS. Oh, treason! Treason! (Dies.)
(GHOST enters.)
GHOST. You have done well, son, I— Oh, my. I seem to have made
a mistake! Thou’rt not Hamlet! (Laughs, uncomfortably.) I’m terribly
sorry. Oh, my, would you look at the time? Adieu! (Exits, swiftly.)
FRIAR JOHN. (Looks around at the bodies:) I fear this tale of woe did
turn into a tale of tragedy. Whoever this Hamlet be, a sad man is he.
But sadder am I still, for now do I die for him! (Dies.)
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(HAMLET walks on.)
HAMLET. (Loudly:) The noble Hamlet has arrived! Pardon me for
being so late, dear Laertes. I had other business to attend this eve.
But I am quite ready to duel now! (Looks at the dead bodies.) Oh. Look
at that. Everyone is dead. What’s this then? (Sees the letter, opens and
reads it.) Hmm. The beautiful Juliet? That sounds promising. (Looks
at the bodies.) Well…carry on then! (Exits.)
(Blackout. Rewind.)
Variation 7
(FRIAR JOHN and MESSENGER run by each other, then, as if
realizing, they jog backwards and meet in the middle. They talk as
they jog in one place.)
FRIAR JOHN. Ho there, what man is this?
MESSENGER. A message, sire, to be delivered hence to Verona.
FRIAR JOHN. A message to Verona? To whom addressed be such
a thing?
MESSENGER. Friar John, called he.
FRIAR JOHN. (Gasps happily.) A man of such a name shalt thou
surely find in me!
MESSENGER. A message, sir Friar, from the Priest who doth reside in fair Mantua.
FRIAR JOHN. What says he? Come, give it here. (Takes the letter.)
“Dearest Friar, thy maiden, sweet Isabelle, doth reside in a tomb
thus laid here in Mantua. Though, dead is she not. A potion I have
given her, that which will make her appear dead, but ’tis a trick,
and her life will still be her own. ’Twill last but an hour’s worth. Go
thou to her, meet her ’pon her awakening and take her to fair Verona, where thy rivaling families, the Catholics and the Protestants
hold no reach. Thy friend, Pope John Paul the Third.” (Looks at his
letter, then at the new letter, shrugs.) What news is this that lays fire to
mine eyes! I have but two tasks now, one a messenger, two a lover.
What do I, dear friend?
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MESSENGER. I am, myself a messenger, so I suggest you message.
It is a fun activity, one I do enjoy much. It lets thee get out, see the
stars, see the rivers, see the world. Quite the fun occupation. One
time, on the road to—
FRIAR JOHN. Yes, yes, enough. I but feign interest whilst think I of
my love. My sweet. My dear Isabelle! If I could but hold thy hand,
thy golden hand in mine.
MESSENGER. She is indeed a man’s treasure. For I did give her
suck ere last eve and a wild maiden she did prove to be!
FRIAR JOHN. What words speak thou? I beseech thee sire, speak
again so that my ears would hear thy devilry! Speak, thou cad, thou
slime, thou sloth, thou cad! I did repeat myself so shocked am I!
MESSENGER. Heard thou me quite properly, good sir. I did bed
thy Isabelle, and would do so twice more, nay thrice, thrice more
than thrice and thrice more still, and then once after, for good luck.
FRIAR JOHN. Draw thy blade then, thou ill-mannered twit. Thou
lout. Thou inconceivable man! En garde!
MESSENGER. Touché!
(They duel. FRIAR JOHN stabs him.)
FRIAR JOHN. Ahha!
MESSENGER. Alas, thy blade did pierce mine breast.
FRIAR JOHN. What have I done! God shall look down ’pon me
and think me a murderer, a bastard, the devil himself.
MESSENGER. You’ve slain me! ’Tis a small wound, but ’twill do…
’twill do. A curse on both thy houses! (Dies.)
FRIAR JOHN. How will I live with such a crime, ’twas jealousy
that did compel me to strike thus, ’twill be wit, then, that shall possess me to avenge the murder which I’ve performed! Come, gentle
hands, avenge the loss of life, and take from me my blood, my
strife. (Raises sword to his breast.) Forthwith I die, and leave the Lady
Isabelle a widow, and yet she, who will awake thus ’pon the
crypted vault will cry out loud: “Where lie thou, husband? Where
be thou when need I thee the most!” but there I shan’t be. And
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27
thusly will she take a rock and with her own hand crush her skull.
A tragic death, and yet…somehow an epic tale of woe that is only
foreshadowed by that of Juliet, and her Romeo. (Stabs himself, and
dies.)
(Blackout. Rewind.)
Variation 8
(ROMEO sits writing on a table. The lights slowly dim, and music
begins playing. It is music like that in the beginning of ‘Lord of the
Rings.’ A VOICE speaks in a hushed eerie whisper. ROMEO becomes progressively more confused as the VOICE speaks.)
VOICE. The world is changed. I feel it in the waters. I feel it in the
earth. I smell it in the air. Much that once was is lost. For none now
live who remember it. It began with the writing of the great letters.
One letter for Father Laurence, immortal, wisest and fairest of all
the citizens in Verona. One letter for the Montagues, great miners
and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine. Nine letters that
were, in fact cute doodles of ducks were gifted to the Capulets. Who
above all else desire power. For within these letters was bound the
strength and will to govern each family. But they were all of them
deceived. For another letter was made. In the land of Verona, in the
fires of a cauldron, the drunk lord Mercutio forged in secret a master letter to control all others. And into this letter he poured his insanity, his Queen Mab speech, and his will to dominate all life. One
Letter to Rule them all, One Letter to find them. One Letter to bring
them all, and in the darkness bind them.
(A spotlight comes up on a pedestal with a letter on it. FRIAR
JOHN sneaks onstage, and steals it. Lights up, and FRIAR JOHN
enters.)
ROMEO. Friar John! What, doth the good Father send me tidings in
Verona?
FRIAR JOHN. Er, yes. Yes. I fear he does, all lie in this letter.
ROMEO. Ah! Then hold me no more so rapt, and give me the
news!
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FRIAR JOHN. Peace, good Romeo, peace. This letter belongs to my
family thence, an heirloom by the very right.
ROMEO. A letter? Come thou, Friar! You jest! A letter an heirloom?
’Tis but written moments hence, it is neither old nor meaningful to
thee. But to me, to me it is but heaven!
FRIAR JOHN. Aye, aye. But my trip to thee have had many-a
unusual encounter. I have bonded with this letter. ’Tis my own!
ROMEO. But Father Laurence did write it to me, to Romeo! Why
else didst thou journey all the way from Verona herein to Mantua?
To deliver THAT letter! Now give it to me, man, ’tis my property!
FRIAR JOHN. (Sighs:) Here it is, then.
ROMEO. Finally! Thank thee, good sir.
(FRIAR JOHN stares at ROMEO, not moving. A moment passes.)
Well? You say but one thing and do it not! Give me the letter!
FRIAR JOHN. Did…did I not give it to thee already? (Clutches his
pocket.) Nay. Halt. ’Tis here… In my pocket. (Frowning, almost in a
trance, he takes out the letter.) Why—isn’t that—isn’t that odd, now?
Aye. After all that, why not… (Whispers:) Why shouldn’t I keep it?
ROMEO. Sir, thou dost speak in riddles, riddles of a diseased mind
no less! Come come, give me the news, Friar!
FRIAR JOHN. Nay…nay! Now that it doth come to it, I do not
wish to part with it! It is mine, I found it, it did come to me!
ROMEO. Come now, good man, there is no need to get angry.
FRIAR JOHN. Thou cad! If I am angry, ’tis thy fault. The letter is
mine, my own…(Almost hissing)…my preciousss.
ROMEO. Dear Friar, art thou mad?! The letter is not thine to keep!
It brings news of my beloved! Come now, you piteous man, hand it
to me!
FRIAR JOHN. Nay, youth. Begone! It is mine. I have decided to
keep it. My own!
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ROMEO. Friar, you shall make me kill thee as I did Tybalt, my own
kin!
FRIAR JOHN. Come now, fool, this letter doth give me the power
to unite thy families, and Verona will be saved! Will thou stand in
the way of peace?
ROMEO. Peace? Thou dost speak crazy speak, as Mercutio doth
with his tales of Queen Mab!
FRIAR JOHN. Ah! Queen Mab, I know of her. She doth come ’pon
her chariot of spider legs and—
ROMEO. Yes yes, I heard it all. Now give me my letter, or I shall
give thee my blade! (Draws his sword.)
FRIAR JOHN. Have at thee, then, child!
(They duel. FRIAR JOHN stabs ROMEO.)
ROMEO. Alack, I am slain. Thou’rt well-trained.
FRIAR JOHN. Nay, ’tis thou that are poorly so.
ROMEO. And yet to my deathbed I carry such words as this: The
letter is mine yet, and thou didst perform a murder. The letter is
mine, sir! Written to me. And you didst kill and steal for it. God
shall punish thee. And so that said, I die, I die. (Dies.)
FRIAR JOHN. Nay! ’Tis not thine. ’Tis mine! It came to me. ’Tis my
own, ’tis my love, ’tis my own, ’tis my preciousss.
(The lights begin to fade, except for a spotlight on FRIAR JOHN.)
It came to me…’tis my own…my love…my own…my preciousss…
(It is completely dark, with a spotlight remaining on FRIAR JOHN.
As he speaks the last words, the lights fade, and “precious” is heard
in the dark.)
It came to me…my own. My love. My own. My…PRECIOUS…
(Blackout. Rewind.)
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Variation 9
(ROSALINE walks, literally, in FRIAR JOHN’s footsteps; he walks
half the stage, then whirls around.)
FRIAR JOHN. Madam, thou didst follow me from dear Verona, tell
me thy reasons, or begone from mine sight!
ROSALINE. I was but curious, dear Friar. For I did hear mention of
Romeo in connection to thy letter.
FRIAR JOHN. Didst thou spy on me in the Father’s cell!
ROSALINE. Aye, sire, but ’twas an accident. I did slip and fall into
that forsaken confession booth. I could not exit whilst both thou
and the Father were conversing, thus, I hid and listened. Pray tell,
Friar, who is this Juliet?
FRIAR JOHN. Juliet? Why, crazed woman, she is Romeo’s wife.
And who’rt thou!?
ROSALINE. His…wife?! I am the Lady Rosaline. A woman whom
Romeo did preach his utmost affection to! That slut of a man, he did
beg me for a chance to love. And when I myself did fall for the passionate youth, he did leave me for that Capulet whore!
FRIAR JOHN. Thou’rt his lover?
ROSALINE. Nay, his love!
FRIAR JOHN. A difference that, for I’ve no doubt Juliet and he did
consummate their wedding.
ROSALINE. That man! That horrid beast! That gutless swine! That
meandering wolf-dog! Was he but here, I would bite my thumb at
him. With much anger. Like so!
(She bites her thumb viciously and FRIAR JOHN recoils in shock.)
But, what is it the letter doth say then, Friar?
FRIAR JOHN. A matter for Romeo’s eyes and naught else.
ROSALINE. And were but I his love, mine eyes would be his own!
Curse thee, Friar, I wish to see the letter in thy hand. Give it to me! I
have been known to kill men for lesser things.
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31
FRIAR JOHN. Thou’rt a banshee! Begone, I beseech thee, else I will
kill thee. I assure you, I am good with the blade.
ROSALINE. A Friar a master swordsman? That I doubt, who
would have taught such a man?
FRIAR JOHN. ’Twas God!
ROSALINE. (Pulls out a knife.) Damn thee, Friar. The letter!
(JULIET walks on, her hair is ruffled, as if she just woke up.)
JULIET. Good day, Rosaline. Good day, Friar. What doest thou?
FRIAR JOHN. Juliet? I thought thee in the Capulet vault!
JULIET. Aye. ’Tis true. I was in there, but quickly did the potion’s
effect leave me. I decided, knowing well that my dear Romeo is
held in Mantua, to visit him therein.
ROSALINE. THY dear Romeo?
JULIET. Indeed, MY sweet Romeo.
ROSALINE. Speak not that accursed word “my” or will I with my
blade run thee through.
JULIET. Temper, temper, woman. I might be young of age, but I am
strong of heart! If but one move with that knife thou take, O what a
monster of thee I will make. Thine eyes clawed out, thy face destroyed—thou wouldst lose Romeo and any man with eyes to see
what I would have done to thee!
(FRIAR JOHN sneaks offstage quietly.)
ROSALINE. Thou’rt full of threats. I fear thee little, for ’twould
take one well-placed stab to take care of this young upstart. I shall
let thee live if you do relinquish thy hold ’pon Romeo! He is mine!
JULIET. Thine? Thine?! You ne’er did appear in any part of this
forlorn story. Ne’er once didst you make an appearance. And yet,
you speak of some claim to my love, my heart, my life?
ROSALINE. Why, thou inconceivable woman! I have been seen! I
have been there! The scene of Mercutio’s murder I did yell most
profoundly ’pon the balcony floor.
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JULIET. Yell?
ROSALINE. Aye. Like this: OH NO. MERCUTIO. MERCUTIO IS
DEAD!
JULIET. I heard thee not, and saw thee not.
ROSALINE. Well, I did exaggerate the truth a bit, I did simply
shriek. Like so: AAH! But ’twas enough. Enough! And Romeo before he met thee did preach his love to me, and send me letters proclaiming it thusly.
JULIET. Thou’rt either a liar, or a whore. Or a lying whore!
ROSALINE. Hardly either. Besides, thou’rt too young to marry
Romeo, what is thine age?
JULIET. I am soon fourteen summers!
ROSALINE. And I am soon nineteen winters! How could Romeo
love a woman so younger than he? Thou’rt still a babe, a child. Such
a love should be made illegal for he did quite simply rob the Capulet cradle!
JULIET. Oh, thou wretched woman. I will kill thee now!
(She is about to leap at ROSALINE when ROMEO runs in.)
ROMEO. Juliet!
(He runs to her, pushing ROSALINE out of the way.)
Thou’rt alive! (Looks back.) Rosaline! Heeey! (Gives her a high-five, and
then punches her shoulder.) Thou’rt here…as well. Fantastic.
JULIET. Romeo, make this woman gone, she is half-crazed. (Pulls
him toward her.)
ROSALINE. Romeo, dost thou love and leave so quickly? (Pulls him
toward her.)
ROMEO. Nay. Aye! But ’twas the Fates who did draw myself and
Juliet thence, whilst you, the ne’er appearing Rosaline was’t similarly drawn away.
JULIET. Love you me more, dear Romeo?
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33
ROSALINE. Of course not, thou little wretch. He loves me yet!
JULIET. Choose between us, my love, but carefully do so, for thy
happiness is at stake.
ROMEO. (Looks from one to the other, thinking:) Could we not all
three be married and love?
ROSALINE & JULIET. NAY!
ROMEO. (Yelling at the stars:) THEN I DEFY YOU, STARS! (Sighs
deeply.) I suppose I shall choose Juliet. Whom I do love deeply, and
who comes from a much richer family.
ROSALINE. ’Tis a regretful choice, thou cad! (Stabs him.)
ROMEO. Alas! I am slain! Would you have slain me but yesterday,
there would have been a time for such a word. To-morrow, and tomorrow, and to-morrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day.
To the last syllable of recorded time, and all of our yesterdays have
lighted fools the way to dust death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but
a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon
the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full
of sound and fury. Signifying nothing. And so I die. But with my
death I leave a legacy. A legacy of love, of passion, and of delivering simply fantastic speeches. (Dies.)
JULIET. Romeo! (Falls on ROMEO, then rising:) A curse on thee,
woman! A pox on thine offspring! Die! Die! Die!
(She flings herself at ROSALINE. ROSALINE moves, and JULIET
falls over. Noises of people coming closer are heard offstage.)
ROSALINE. A noise? Then I’ll be brief. (Looks at the dagger:) O
happy dagger! This is thy sheath!
(She stabs JULIET and throws her on top of ROMEO.)
There rust, and let her die. (She stares at them with pity.) O sweet
Romeo! Thou didst bring this ’pon thyself with thine accursed
tongue and indecisive heart! ’Twas not my fault! I am a woman of
love! I am a woman of PASSION! Nay, I am a woman that not only
loves, but is loved. (Grabs them and shakes them.) LOVE ME! LOVE
ME! Oh. They are dead and hear me not. Heh. Heh. Heh.
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(More voices offstage.)
Oh, but I cannot let myself be caught. Ah ah, as I stand a plan doth
form in my head. Yes, yes, ’twill be terribly ironic. (She takes the knife
and stabs herself.) Trusty dagger, thou didst find thyself another
sheath. (Looks at ROMEO and JULIET.) ’Twill be as you wished,
dear Romeo. The three of us. For all eternity! (She falls dead on them.)
(FRIAR JOHN runs onstage.)
FRIAR JOHN. Romeo! Romeo, I have news, news from Verona, I—
(Stares at the three of them.) Perhaps I’ll come back at a better time.
(Runs off.)
(Blackout. Rewind.)
Variation 10
(FRIAR JOHN walks onstage. He looks around, shrugs, and keeps
walking, making it across and walking off stage right. A moment
passes, and he slowly backs up, with his arms raised in the air. A
man with a gun pointed at the FRIAR follows.)
FRIAR JOHN. Alack, what doest thou, fiend?!
SHAKESPEARE. I’m stopping you.
FRIAR JOHN. And how do you intend to do so, hast thou seen me
fight? If not, I beg thy leave else I stab thee wildly.
SHAKESPEARE. With this.
(MAID MARIAN runs onstage.)
MAID MARIAN. No, Robin, no!
(ROBIN HOOD runs after her.)
ROBIN HOOD. Maid Marian! Maid Marian! I’m sorry! Maid—
SHAKESPEARE. (Shoots ROBIN HOOD, explains:) It’s a gun.
FRIAR JOHN. Alas, I am undone, I am undone! Wherefore dost
thou not allow me passage?
SHAKESPEARE. Well, because that would ruin the entire play.
11 Variations on Friar John's Failure
35
FRIAR JOHN. Play? Play? What speakest thou of, and who is to
whom I speak?
SHAKESPEARE. Who am I? I am Shakespeare. I am Marlowe. I am
the Earl of Essex. I am Queen Elizabeth I. But that doesn’t matter.
What does matter, however, is that if you pass you would ruin the
entire purpose of my play. And we can’t have that, can we?
FRIAR JOHN. Shakespeare? (Scoffs.) An unheard name spoken by
an unheard mouth. Thy plea falls deaf ’pon my ears, I have a quest,
and I must complete it, begone.
SHAKESPEARE. Your quest is written to fail, and so you’ll fail it.
It’s the way things go, Friar, it’s the way the wheel turns. For every
success there must be a failure—for this show to succeed, you have
to fail.
FRIAR JOHN. And the death of two young lovers brings success?
What sick man are you!
SHAKESPEARE. Of course. You give the people what they want—
there isn’t a single thing that appeals to people more than sex and
violence. I’m not doing this for myself, I’m doing it for the public!
Everything I do, I do for the people! I am the greatest businessman
of all time.
FRIAR JOHN. Verily, if thou didst write me, thou wouldst speak a
tongue more similar to my own, rather than thine own lax un-poetic
jargon.
SHAKESPEARE. No. I don’t speak like you because no one speaks
like you. You’re a piece of work. You are a poem. Half of what you
say is composed of words I made up. You want to know how I
make up words? I take other words, and I combine them. Like
hereafter. Or forthwith. And bologne. Did you know I made up
“bologne”?
FRIAR JOHN. Didst thou?
SHAKESPEARE. No. But I can say that about any word and people
will believe me. It’s really great being me.
FRIAR JOHN. You gave me many names by which to call thee, but
which one art thou truly?
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Yuri Baranovsky
SHAKESPEARE. Does it really matter? Does it really matter what
my real name is, or if I ever really existed? Does it matter if I was
born in Stratford-upon-Avon, or if I was a rich Earl who wrote under a pen name? People will turn anything into a battle of classes.
All that matters is that I wrote these plays, that I remain a part of
history. In Art, truth is a backseat driver to imagination. You see?
Even my analogies are beyond my time—why? Because I am timeless. I am Shakespeare. I AM literature.
FRIAR JOHN. Thou’rt quite the arrogant little cad!
SHAKESPEARE. Yeah, well. Out of everyone in history, I of all
people should be arrogant. Anyway, move on. Go back. I’ll write
you some explanation to tell Father Laurence.
FRIAR JOHN. And what’ll thou do if I refuse?
SHAKESPEARE. I’ll kill you. And write in a better character.
FRIAR JOHN. Nonsense! Impossible! Impossible nonsense!
SHAKESPEARE. Oh really?
(He begins to write in his notebook. Suddenly, ROBIN HOOD
springs up, gasping and looking confused. MAID MARIAN walks
by.)
ROBIN HOOD. Maid Marian! Maid Marian, wait!
SHAKESPEARE. (Looks up from his notebook, with an inquisitive look
at the FRIAR:) Try me.
FRIAR JOHN. But, sir! Thou must think of these children, thy cruelty is immeasurable! Their love is in its purest form, they are the
best of us for they are willing to die and kill for each other. How
couldst thou do this, how have you the strength to hold these children apart, verily, sire, thou’rt no poet, thou’rt no artist, for love is
the purest form of art, and you seek to stop it. To destroy it. If this
play doth end thy way, ’twill surely live for ages past thy life, but in
infamy. For ’twill be the greatest hope of every reader for the love
of Romeo and Juliet to succeed, but ’twill ne’er be, because of thee!
Thou’lt be William Shakespeare, the author of the saddest tale in
history. Do you accept this fate? This future?
11 Variations on Friar John's Failure
37
SHAKESPEARE. (Stares at him, obviously indecisive. Finally:) Yes.
Now go away.
FRIAR JOHN. You will live to regret thy decision, sir. And then
you will die, and regret it more. (Exit.)
SHAKESPEARE. Change Romeo and Juliet? But it was a masterpiece. It is a masterpiece. It WILL be a masterpiece. How could I
change it…? No. He’s wrong. Wait, I wrote him. Then I’m wrong.
It’s fine the way it is. I’m Shakespeare, I wrote thirty-seven amazing
plays. It should be left the way it is, who am I to tinker with my
own masterpieces? No. No, I can’t. I can’t do that. It’s perfect. Perfect! (Shakes his head.) Enough of this. (Snaps his fingers.) Blackout!
(As the lights are fading, he looks at his notebook indecisively, then looks
back up.) But then again… Rewind.
(Blackout. Rewind.)
Variation 11
ROMEO. Good Friar, thou dost come!
FRIAR JOHN. Indeed, sir. I bring thee tidings from Verona. Father
Laurence sends his blessings, and this letter.
ROMEO. A letter! Come, dear man, hand it here.
FRIAR JOHN. Here, good Romeo, do read it to thy heart’s content.
ROMEO. (Looks through the letter:) Oh Father, thou cleverest of men,
thou saint of saints! Thy plan, though at high risk, shall unite myself
and my love. Thank thee, dear Friar, now to Verona to see my love!
(Exits.)
FRIAR JOHN. I am successful in my quest. What consequences
would be if it had happened any other way than this? I suppose we
shall ne’er know. (He exits.)
(Blackout.)
(JULIET lying atop a pedestal, with a blanket over her.)
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Yuri Baranovsky
ROMEO. Ahha! The vault in which I did send my cousin, Tybalt.
With one life gone, I will reclaim another; that of my dear Juliet.
Come, awake, my love!
(JULIET sits, then rises weakly.)
JULIET. Romeo! Thou didst come! I was afeard for I did dream a
horrid dream in which thou didst know naught of my sleeping
draught. And thus, did with a manly gulp drink a potion of deadly
sort. And died, dear Romeo, died ’pon this very floor. And I myself,
who could not handle such a loss did follow thee to thy grave anon.
And both did we bring sadness to those our kin we call.
ROMEO. But distraught dreams, dear Juliet, and naught else. Such
worries are of a poisoned mind, thou’rt awake now, kiss me so I can
feel thy breath, alive and well. (They kiss.)
JULIET. But soft, men do come!
ROMEO. Ay, me. We are caught.
(LORD CAPULET, SAMPSON, and GREGORY walk onstage.)
LORD CAPULET. What disturbs the crypt of the Capulets!
SAMPSON. ’Tis Romeo, that devil Romeo which did with his
bloody hand defile the heart of noble Tybalt. I bite my thumb at
thee, sir! (Bites his thumb.)
GREGORY. Sampson, cease thine incessant thumb-biting. ’Twas a
good laugh at first, much less the second, and simply dull the third.
SAMPSON. Nonsense, sir, I bite my thumb—
GREGORY. Don’t say it, man!
SAMPSON.—at THEE, sir! (Bites his thumb.)
(GREGORY glares at him.)
LORD CAPULET. Speak no more, thou children. There is trouble
abroad!
(Enter LORD MONTAGUE, BENVOLIO, and BALTHASAR.)
THIS PLAY IS NOT OVER!
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