Monologues from the works of

Playwright Todd McGinnis

INFO: www.playingafterdark.com

And

PLAYS AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE AT: www.lulu.com/playingafterdark

With thanks for his creativity!

Dramatic Monologues

5) TABITHA SMILEY, ON-AIR, DEFENDS HER LATE HUSBAND AGAINST A

TABLOID SMEAR-STORY

SMILEY

(Picks up the tabloid newspaper.) As most of our viewers probably know, my husband
Phil died six years ago. (Trying to stay composed.) He had an inoperable brain tumour.
We only had three years together. We married a year after we met and then a little more
than a year later we found out... (her control slips a little.) ...We found out that he was
going to die. (Through tears.) It was... very hard. You have no idea. Watching him... (She
literally waves the rest of that thought away, unable to complete it.) And all the while he
was so brave and so decent and so... funny and all he would do was worry about me.

(Smiley breaks down… It takes several moments to recover and carry on.)

Near the end, came the personality changes. The doctors had all warned us. Me. His
parents. But then, one night. About a month before he... (Chokes up.) ...Anyway, it was
really bad. He just went raging around the house like he was possessed and when I tried
to stop him he hit me. Several times. Quite hard. Like I said he was... It wasn't really even
him anymore. And then, two minutes later, he was this crying, terrified little boy who
couldn't remember his own name and he needed me to hold him. And I did. I never told
him what had happened. Because it wasn't him. And he couldn't have lived thinking that
he'd hurt me like that. (Holds up the paper.) This story says that my husband was abusive.
That he beat me up. And that is a lie! My husband was the best person I ever knew in this
world. And it hurts me more than I can tell you that because of this story, planted by
(points at Sincerity) my friend, there will be people in the world who will carry my
husband's name in the same thought with the word abuser.
Dramatic Monologues

6) TV-STAR/TALK SHOW HOST SINCERITY WEEKS COMES CLEAN

SINCERITY

["Why would I deliberately plant a story in the tabloids about my husband and how his
many… infidelities have humiliated me?"]

Well… Have you read Machiavelli? I suggest you do. The Prince is a great place to
start. It has to do with appearances being more important to people than--- (Stops herself
and cups a hand to her ear.) Oops. Here that, Doc? That's the sound of nearly a million
people changing the channel. Well, we can't really blame them can we? (In a Southern
U.S. drawl) We don't go in much for that fancy book learnin' these days! Anyway, blah,
blah, blah. I did it so no one would suspect me. Well, that and I was kind of hoping to
piss off my husband.

[Oh, but that’s still not explanation enough for you is it? Oh no. "Inquiring minds want
to know…" What kind of person does something like that in the first place?"]

Well, that's easy. You take an edgy, gutsy, smart, talented, headstrong, ambitious
woman and you throw heaps of money at her for pretending to be not quite so smart or
gutsy or ambitious but... (Adopts her TV persona for a moment.)...Really enthusiastic
(Back to herself.) instead. And you have her do that five days a week. Oh and don't
forget... (Persona again, dabbing at tears that aren't there.) ...sensitive. Oh yes. So
sensitive. (Drops the act.) Make me wanna puke. Anyway, after awhile she gets bored.
And worse yet, she starts worrying that she's turning into this thing she plays on tv.
Unfortunately, she's also quite used to the money and the influence celebrity brings so
there's no way she's going to just quit and do something meaningful with her life. So she
starts looking for something to hold her interest. Turns out, she finds money interesting.
She likes making it and making it grow... and given her husband's lack of interest it's
about the only thing she can make grow. So that's what she does. She schemes and she
plans and she invests and god help the person who gets in her way because she's a big fan
of Darwin. There. How's that? Everyone feeling enlightened now?
Dramatic Monologue

1) Harrison "SPARE ME THE BEST-OF-TIMES B.S."

HARRISON

Look, who's kiddin' who here? The lawyer told us how much we're getting. And it
wasn't much, was it? It wasn't nearly what I figured the old guy had to be worth. Now I
don't know what Old Scrooge did with the rest of it but I'm hoping that by the end of this
fiasco I'm gonna find out that he had a huge stash hidden away in a Swiss bank account
or something. I'm here for the same reason as you guys: to find out what I might get out
it! Or if there is anything left to get. So you can lay off with the "respecting our dear-old-
sainted- father's-final-wishes" crap. He was a pushy, controlling old jerk. Now, maybe
you've got nothing to complain about 'cause after all you got the farm handed to you on a
silver platter--- [OH! I know. I know. You "bought and paid for that place", right?] Yeah.
And the value of the real estate alone has practically... what? Doubled? Tripled? ...In the
last fifteen years? So I guess that was a real hardship wasn't it? But neither of us ever had
the chance to "buy" our share of the pie. We just have to wait and see if the old man left
us any more crumbs. That is if there is anything left, after six months a year in Vegas for
the last five years. Hey! Who’s to say we're not gonna go through all this crap only to
find out that dear old Daddy didn't have a penny left?

(Laughs derisively, giving up.) "One last wish." Ha. Yeah. Sure. Fine. Why not? It's not
like we haven't all spent our lives jumping through hoops for Dear Old Dad. So what's
one more? [I mean]come on, Pete. Don't you get what all this "final wish" crap is really
all about...? Isn't it obvious? This whole setup... it's a "control" thing. It's the old man
trying to show us he's still in charge. No, no! Think about it: A man dies. He's a widower
so he only has three sons to leave everything to anyway... But, before they can collect
their inheritance, they have to go fishing for cryin' out loud. Why? When was the last
time either of you went fishing? (He gets no answer.) [There! You see?] Exactly! And he
always knew I hated fishing. And the only reason to make someone do something you
know they'll hate is to prove that you still have power over them.
Dramatic Mologues

3) PETER’S "ANTI-CELL PHONE RANT"

PETER

[(Sneering, mimicking.)"I need to check my voice mail"] I don't believe it. It's four in
the morning, we're in the middle of a lake miles from nowhere and I still can't get away
from people with those friggin' phones.(Muttering.) "I need to check my voice-mail." I
am getting so sick of hearing people say that. What is it with everybody these days and
their stupid beepers and pagers and voice-mail and e-mail. You got somethin' to say? Wait
until the next time you're in the room with the person and say it. [Of course, everyone
always says they just "can’t afford to be out of touch that long."And] You know, I might
buy that argument if we were talking about a world leader, or a surgeon, or even ---I don't
know--- a volunteer fire-fighter who's on-call or something. But we're not. It's always
some stupid, snotty teenager who just has to take a phone call in the middle of the movie
at the movie theater.

Or it's the stupid blonde bimbo who's always sitting ahead of you at the stoplight
---smacking her friggin' bubble-gum and twirling her hair or doing her make-up---
gossiping-away with some other airhead even though the bloody light's been green for
almost a minute. OR... it's some idiot, nerd, moron who wants everyone to know he's got
the latest annoying musical tune for his cell-phone playing it over and over again at the
loudest volume possible while you're stuck waiting in line with him somewhere you have
to be ---like a bank or a grocery store--- so you can't just leave and you can't even kill the
stupid fart because there's too many witnesses!
Dramatic Monologue

4) HARRISON "THE DEAL"

HARRISON

Okay, okay. Fine. I'll tell you. I won't go into all the details because---

(Beat. Waiting impatiently.) Hey! Do you guys wanna know or don't you? (Beat.) Okay
then. What I was going to say was, I can't go into details. They're confidential. But
basically, I'm in a bit of a bind. My company's going to squeeze me out. It's not official
yet but I know it's coming. One of the owners has been fast-tracking her own kid up
through the ranks and the next stop is in my office. Only, there's no more room in my
office so somebody's gonna have to get the chop and I'm pretty sure she's planning on
giving the kid my desk. The other guys in my area are all either family members or have
way more seniority than me, so it looks like it's gonna be me. Sure. [I could complain,
but] it wouldn't do any good. That's not the way the world works. Basically, she hasn't
done anything wrong yet ---that anybody can prove--- and by the time she does, well, I
won't be around to complain. [But that] isn't the point [anyway]. I can look after myself.
The trick is: knowing when to move on. You overstay your welcome somewhere and
everybody'll know it forever after. They can smell it on you. It's like the... perfume of
defeat. And once people smell it on you... you can't get arrested. So I'm looking to get out
now, when I'm pretty much the only one who knows what's coming down the line and I'm
still a whiz-kid so far as everyone else is concerned. I've got feelers out to a few other
houses that have shown more than a little interest in my numbers over the years. A couple
have already shown... more active interest, which is good. But the one I want, the big one
I'm holding out for is still on the fence. They're waiting to see how a deal I've got going
right now is gonna go down. It's the biggest one I've ever put together and there's a lot
riding on it. If it goes down the way I think it's going to, I'll have my choice of top-floor
corner-offices before the week's out and everybody's happy. Especially the woman who's
looking to see me out the door, 'cause then she doesn't have to get her hands even a little
dusty. ---That's also good 'cause she's a heavy player and much better to have on your
side than against you. And as long as I get out soon enough, she'll be on my side.---So
anyway... the long and short is, the deal's going down this weekend, it touches four
continents and at last check it was a lock... which is the only reason I still agreed to come
on this weekend. I wasn't supposed to hear another thing about it until the news breaks
Monday morning that I'm a genius. No one concerned was supposed to call me for any
reason. At all. Unless something was wrong. So when my phone rings and it's Rick
Yohama, my guy in Tokyo, and he's in on the deal and the only words I can make out are
"...getting KILLED", can you understand why I might be a little stressed-out here?
Dramatic Monologues

6) HARRISON "ON WOMEN AND ‘MOTHERING’"

HARRISON

I'm not a freak. I just don't--- I don't like being treated like I'm four years old and not
allowed to tie my own shoes or cross the street by myself. Sounds to me like she's just
showing she cares about you. Oh yeah. Women are great at caring. Unfortunately, it's a
very short trip from caring to mothering and most women just love to make that little
journey as soon as they can. It's like... you've gone on three dates and all of a sudden
they're fussing all over you, fixing stuff that doesn't need fixing just so they can send you
the message. The message that it's a good thing they came along to take care of you
because clearly there's all this stuff you don't know how to do. Oh, they make it look all
cutesy and thoughtful when they straighten your tie ---even though it's already straight---
or fix your hair ---even though it looked just fine before--- but what they're really saying
is: Look how much fixing up you need. It's a wonder you survived this long without
them. That kind of help I don't need. I got enough of that crap from the old man. Look, I
don't like people trying to control me, that's all. It's like Amy with her tie-straightening, or
Dad always pushing me to join some stupid club or sports team. I hate being mothered,
alright? I had a mother. She was nice ---even if she was a bit of a hippie-flake--- but I
don't need to repeat the experience. Now you wanna fish? Let's fish.
Dramatic Monologues

13) MATT’S MOST PAINFUL MOMENT

MATT

I laid it all on the line for a woman once. Well, okay she wasn't exactly a woman. I was
thirteen and there was this girl in my class... Michelle. God, she was beautiful. I had the
biggest crush on her. Of course, so did almost every other guy. I knew I'd never have a
chance with her but I went to the grade eight dance anyway with only one purpose in
mind. Get Michelle to slow-dance with me. I figured if I could just dance with her once,
even if it was just that one time, well... Anyway, I went, figuring I'd have to fight my way
through a line of guys just to get close to her. But when I got there... I couldn't believe it.
Nobody was asking anybody to dance. The guys were all on one side of the gym,
combing their hair and checking their watches and trying not to look like they were
watching the girls. The girls were all on the other side of the gym, huddled in little
groups, whispering to each other and pretending not to care if the guys were watching
them or not. And there was Michelle. She was sitting there listening to some friends of
hers. She looked nervous and vulnerable, kind of lonely and just... irresistably beautiful.
And that was when I realized, this was my chance. All the other guys who were looking
at her the same way I was, were all too nervous to go near her. So I took a deep breath,
walked right over to her and asked her to dance. And she said, "No." Nothing else. Just
no. I've never felt so many different things at one time. It was like a kick to the stomach,
but also like a cold fist crushing my heart. I felt like I had a fever, like my skin was on
fire, but at the same time I felt frozen inside. My heart was broken. My pride was
shattered. And that was when I realized I was going to throw up... and that somehow I
had to make it back across the gym before that happened. So I turned and started walking
away. God, I felt awful. I knew it would be impossible to ever feel worse than I did at that
moment. And then I heard Michelle... laughing at me.
Dramatic Monologues

Bowling
by George Freeman

A few weeks ago, I was practicing on a Saturday afternoon like I do every week. While I
was there a mother brought in her son, who was about 9 or 10 years old, and they got a
lane a couple down from mine. Being as kids are, when he saw all my bowling bags
laying around he walked over and looked inside, and then came all the questions, "Why
do you got more than one ball?", "How do you make it curve like that?", "You ever do all
strikes?", things like that. I tried to answer the questions so a 10 year old could
understand them, which wasn't very easy since the inevitable "Why?" question kept
popping up.

The kid was a ball of energy, and while I kept practicing I watched him bowl. They had
the bumpers set out for him, and he was throwing ball after ball, smiling no matter what
happened.

Then, around his second game, he threw a shot that bounced about 4 times off of the
bumpers, and went slowly through the heart of the pins. They all went down. The kid
went nuts, jumping up and down and running back to Mom to tell her how it happened,
just in case she missed it.

I suppose that kind of thing happens a lot in bowling alleys around the country, but for
some reason it reminded me about another young kid a long time ago, that went bowling
with his mom. Back then they didn't have bumpers, so he threw an awful lot of zeros and
three counts, but it didn't really matter to him, he was having fun. Then on one shot, he
threw it pretty much down the middle of the lane. When it finally got to the end of the
lane, it hit the head pin pretty much dead on, and they did a domino fall. This kid threw a
strike!

In that one moment, the course of one child's life was changed forever.

For all the nonsense that goes on in the sport; all the controversy and the politics that
envelope the industry, we sometimes forget what makes the sport what it is. What makes
it special to us all, and why we do any of it in the first place. Neither this kid nor the one
30+ years ago cared about the righty/lefty issue, or the impact of technology on
equipment, or the scandals that involve the various bowling organizations. All these 2
kids cared about... EVER cared about, was seeing the last pin drop. I suppose adults can
learn a lot from children.

I'm not sure whether the kid I saw a few weeks ago will grow up to be a PBA member,
but he reminded me too much of the kid I had been 30-some years ago to dismiss it.
Even if he never picks up another ball, I took it as a reminder that no matter how
frustrated I get, I do it for the love of the game.
Dramatic Monologues

Darrow's Closing
from Never The Sinner
by John Logan

Darrow:Your honor, there has never been a case in Illinois where on a plea of guilty a boy
under the age of twenty-one has been sentenced to death. Yet this court is urged to hang
two boys contrary to the precedents; contrary to the acts of every judge who ever held
court in this state.

Why? Tell me the public necessity for this. Why should a court be urged by every
argument, moderate and immoderate to hang two boys in the face of every precedent in
Illinois and in the face of the progress of the last fifty years?

In the last six weeks I have heard nothing but a cry for blood. I have heard from the office
of the State's Attorney only ugly hate. I have heard precedents quoted that would be a
disgrace to a savage race. I have heard a court implored to hang two boys in the face of
science, in the face of philosophy in the face of humanity in the face of all the better and
humane thoughts of the age; all in the name of justice.

And what is my friend's idea of justice? "Give them the same mercy they gave Bobby
Franks!" He says we should strike out, blindly; just like them... drag this court down to
their insane level. Is that justice? Is that the law? Is this what a court should do? I say no.
The law can be vindicated without killing anyone else. If the state where I live is not
more humane, more considerate, more kind and more intelligent than the mad act of these
two boys... well, I am sorry I have lived so long.

It might shock the State's Counsel that Bobby Franks was put into a culvert and left after
he was dead. But, Your Honor, I can think of an equally shocking scene. I can think of
taking two boys and penning them into a cell, checking off the days and hours and
minutes until they will be taken out and hanged...

I can picture them wakened in the dim light of morning, furnished with a suit of clothes
by the State, led to the scaffold, their feet tied, black hoods drawn over their heads, stood
on a trap door, the hangman pressing a spring so that it gives way under them. I can see
them falling through space and stopped by the rope around their necks. I can see them
swinging back and forth in the gray morning's light.

Wouldn't that be a glorious day for Chicago? Wouldn't that be a glorious triumph for the
State's Attorney? Wouldn't it be a glorious triumph for justice in this land???

I ask you, were these boys in their right mind? Here were two boys with good intellect
and all the prospect that life can hold out for the young. Boys with all the world before
them. And they gave it up for nothing... nothing. That they were reasoning and sane and
sound is unthinkable! Why did they kill Bobby Franks? Not for money, not for spite, not
for hate. They killed him as they might kill a spider or a fly; for the... experience.

No... no... It's even simpler than that. They killed him because they were made that way.
Because somewhere, somehow, in the infinite processes that go into the making of a boy
or a man something... slipped.

(pause)

Your Honor, I have stood for three months as one might stand trying to sweep back the
tide. I wish to make no false pretenses to this court. The easiest thing and the most
popular thing to do would be to hang my clients. I know it. Men and women who do not
think will applaud. The cruel and thoughtless will approve. It will be easy, today. But
stretching out over this land more and more fathers and mothers, the humane, the kind
and the hopeful --- who are gaining an understanding not only of these two boys but of
their own as well --- they will join in no acclaim at the deaths of my clients. They would
ask that the shedding of blood be stopped!

Your Honor now between the future and the past. I know the future is with me and what I
stand for here. I am pleading for life and understanding. I am pleading for the infinite
mercy that considers all. I am pleading for a time when hatred and cruelty will not control
the hearts of men, when we can learn by reason and judgment and understanding that
mercy is the highest attribute of man. And it is all that will someday... someday... redeem
us.
Dramatic Monologues
Your Move, Chief from Good Will Hunting
by Matt Damon & Ben Affleck

Sean: I thought about what you said to me the other day, about my painting. Stayed up
half the night thinking about it. Something occurred to me and I fell into a deep, peaceful
sleep and haven't thought about you since. You know what occurred to me? You're just a
boy. You don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about. So if I asked you about art
you could give me the skinny on every art book ever written... Michelangelo? (beat) You
know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual
orientation, the whole works, right? But I bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the
Sistine Chapel. You've never stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. Seen
that...

If I asked you about women you'd probably give me a syllabus of your personal favorites.
You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me how it feels to wake up
next to a woman and be truly happy. You're a tough kid. I ask you about war, and you'd
probably--uh--throw Shakespeare at me, right? "Once more unto the breach, dear
friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in
your lap and watched him draw his last breath, looking to you for help. And if I asked
you about love y'probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and
been totally vulnerable. Known someone could level you with her eyes. Feeling like God
had put an angel on earth just for you... who could rescue you from the depths of hell.

And you wouldn't know how it felt to be her angel and to have the love to be there for her
forever. Through anything. Through cancer. You wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up
in a hospital room for two months holding her hand and not leaving because the doctors
could see in your eyes that the term visiting hours don't apply to you. You don't know
about real loss, because that only occurs when you love something more than you love
yourself. I doubt you've never dared to love anything that much. I look at you; I don't see
an intelligent, confident man; I see a cocky, scared kid.

But you're a genius, Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the
depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting
of mine and then ripped my stupid life apart.

You're an orphan right? [Will nods quietly] Do you think I'd know the first thing about
how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are because I read Oliver Twist?
Does that encapsulate you? Personally, I don't care about that, because you know what? I
can't learn anything from you I can't read in some stupid book; unless you wanna talk
about you, who you are. And I'm fascinated. I'm in. But you don't wanna do that, do you,
sport? You're terrified of what you might say.

Your move , chief [Sean stands and walks away]

Dramatic Monologues
What Do You Want?
from Talk Radio
by Eric Bogosian

Barry: Hold the calls I'm here, I'm here every night, I come up here every night. This is
my job; what I do for a living. I come up here and I do the best I can. I give you the best
I can. I can't do better than this. I can't. I'm only a human being up here. I'm not God,...
uh,... a lot of you out there are not...

I may not be the most popular guy in the world. That's not the point. I really don't care
what you think of me. I mean, Who the hell are you anyway? You..."audience"... You call
me up and you try to tell me things about myself... You don't know me. You don't know
anything about me. You've never seen me. ...You don't know who I am, what I want, what
I like, what I don't like in this world. I'm just a voice. A voice in the wilderness...

And you... like a pack of baying wolves descend on me, 'cause you can't stand facing
what it is you are and what you've made. Yes, the world is a terrible place! Yes, cancer
and garbage disposals will get you! Yes, a war is coming. Yes, the world is shot to hell
and you're all goners... Everything's screwed up and you like it that way, don't you?

You're fascinated by the gory details... You're mesmerized by your own fear! You revel in
floods and car accidents and unstoppable diseases... You're happiest when others are in
pain! And that's where I come in, isn't it? I'm here to lead you by the hand through the
dark forest of your own hatred and anger and humiliation... I'm providing a public
service! You're so scared! You're like the little child under the covers. You're afraid of the
bogeyman, but you can't live without him. Your fear, your own lives have become your
entertainment!

Tomorrow night, millions of people are going to be listening to this show, and you have
nothing to talk about! Marvelous technology is at our disposal and instead of reaching up
for new heights, we try to see how far down we can go...how deep into the muck we can
immerse ourselves!

What do you wanna talk about? Baseball scores? Your pet? Orgasms? You're pathetic. I
despise each and every one of you... You've got nothing. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No
brains. No power. No future. No hope. No God. The only thing you believe in is me.
What are you if you don't have me? I'm not afraid, see. I come up here every night and
make my case, I make my point... I say what I believe in. I have to, I have no choice; you
frighten me! I come up here every night and I tear into you, I abuse you, I insult you...
and you just keep calling. Why do you keep coming back, what's wrong with you? I don't
want to hear any more, I've had enough. Stop talking. Don't call anymore! Go away!
Bunch of yellow-bellied, spineless, bigoted, quivering, drunken, insomniatic, paranoid,
disgusting, perverted, voyeuristic little obscene phone callers. That's what you are. Well,
to hell with ya... I don't need your fear and your stupidity. You don't get it... It's wasted on
you. Pearls before swine...
(Catches his breath)
If one person out there had any idea what I'm talking about...
(Suddenly starts taking callers again)
Fred in Des Moines, you're on!
Dramatic Monologues

Time To Go
from Fences
by August Wilson

(Troy explains his hatred for his father.)

Troy:My daddy ain't had them walking blues! What you talking about? He stayed right
there with his family. But he was just as evil as he could be. My mama couldn't stand
him. Couldn't stand that evilness. She run off when I was about eight. She sneaked off
one night after he had gone to sleep. Told me she was coming back for me. I ain't never
seen her no more. All his women run off and left him. He wasn't good for nobody.

When my turn come to head out, I was fourteen and got to sniffling Joe Canewell's
daughter. We had us an old mule we called Greyboy. My daddy sent me out to do some
plowing and I tied up Greyboy and went to fooling around with Joe Canewell's daughter.
We done found us a nice little spot, got real cozy with each other. She about thirteen and
we done figured we was grown anyway. So we down there enjoying ourselves...

Well, Greyboy had got loose and wandered back to the house and my daddy went looking
for me. We down there by the creek enjoying ourselves when my daddy come up on us.
Surprised us. He had them leather straps off the mule and commenced to whupping me
like there was no tomorrow. I jumped up, mad and embarrassed. I was scared of my
daddy. When he commenced to whipping on me, quite naturally, I run to get out of the
way. Now I thought he was mad cause I ain't done my work. But I see where he was
chasing me off so he could have the gal for himself. When I seen what the matter of it
was, I lost all fear of my daddy. Right there is when I become a man, at fourteen years of
age. Now it was my turn to run him off. I picked up them same reins that he had used on
me. I picked up them reins and commenced to whupping on him. The gal jumped up and
run off and when my daddy turned to face me, I could see why the devil had never come
to get him 'cause he was the devil himself.

I don't know what happened. When I woke up. I was laying right there by the creek, and
Blue, this old dog we had, was licking my face. I thought I was blind. I couldn't see
nothing. Both my eyes were swollen shut. I layed there and cried. I didn't know what I
was gonna do. The only thing I knew was that time had come for me to leave my daddy's
house. And right there the world suddenly got big. And it was a long time before I could
cut it down to where I could handle it.
Dramatic Monologues

The Wonder Years

(series finale)
by Bob Brush

Adult Kevin: Once upon a time there was a girl I knew, who lived across the street.
Brown hair, brown eyes. When she smiled, I smiled. When she cried, I cried. Every single
thing that ever happened to me that mattered, in some way had to do with her. That day
Winnie and I promised each other that no matter what, that we'd always be together. It
was a promise full of passion and truth and wisdom. It was the kind of promise that can
only come from the hearts of the very young.

The next day Winnie and I came home. Back to where we'd started. It was the 4th of July
in that little suburban town. Somehow though, things were different. Our past was here,
but our future was somewhere else. And we both knew, sooner or later, we had to go. It
was the last July I ever spent in that town. The next year, after graduation, I was on my
way.

So was Paul. He went to Harvard, of course. Studied law. He's still allergic to everything.
As for my father...well...we patched things up. Hey, we were family. For better or worse.
One for all...and all for one.

Karen's son was born in that September. I gotta say, I think he looks like me. Poor kid.
Mom, she did well: business woman, board chairman, grandmother...cooker of mashed
potatoes. The Wayner stayed on in furniture. Wood seemed to suit him. In fact he took
over the factory two years later....when dad passed away. Winnie left the next summer to
study art history in Paris. Still we never forgot our promise. We wrote to each other once
a week for the next eight years. I was there to meet her, when she came home, with my
wife and my first son, eight months old. Like I said, things never turn out exactly the way
you planned.

Growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you're in diapers; next day you're gone. But
the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul. I remember a place...a
town...a house like a lot of other houses... A yard like a lot of other yards...on a street like
a lot of other streets.

And the thing is...after all these years, I still look back... with wonder.
Dramatic Monologues

The Cost of Money

from Lost In Yonkers
by Neil Simon

Eddie: It's so damn hot in here, isn't it...?

(gathers his courage)
So I just had a talk inside with your grandmother because I've had a problem. When your
mother and I had a problem, we always tried to keep it from you boys because we didn't
want to worry you. Well, you can't keep cancer, a secret forever. You knew without me
telling you, didn't you?

I did everything I could. The best doctors, the best hospitals I could get into... She had a
nice room didn't she? Semi-private, no wards or anything. We're not rich people, boys. I
know that doesn't come as a surprise to you, but I'm going to tell you something now I
hoped I'd never have to tell you in my life. The doctors, the hospital cost me everything I
had. I was broke and I went into debt. So I went to a man... a loan shark. A money lender.
I couldn't go to a bank because they don't let you put up heartbreak and pain as collateral.
A loan shark doesn't need collateral. His collateral is your desperation So he gives you his
money; and he's got a clock. And what it keeps time of is your promise. If you keep your
promise, he turns off the clock, and if not, it keeps ticking. After a while, your heart starts
ticking louder than his clock. Understand something. This man kept your mother alive. It
was his painkillers that made her last days bearable, and for that I'm grateful!

Jay, remember what I taught you about taking things from people? So you never take for
yourself... But for someone you love, there comes a time when you have no choice. This
man in New York... I owe nine thousand dollars. I could work and save four more years
and I won't have nine thousand dollars. He wants his money this year. To his credit, I'll
say one thing. He sent flowers to the funeral. No extra charge on my bill. There is no way
I can pay this man back. So what'll he do? Kill me? Maybe. If he kills me, he not only
loses his money, it'll probably cost him again for the flowers for my funeral. I needed a
miracle. And the miracle happened... this country went to war. A war between us and the
Japanese and the Germans. And if my mother didn't come to this country thirty-five years
ago, I could have been fighting for the other side. Except I don't think they're putting
guns in the hands of Jews over there. Let me tell you something. I love this country.
Because they took in the Jews. They took in the Irish, the Italians and everyone else...
Remember this. There's a lot of Germans in this country fighting for America, but there
are no Americans over there fighting for Germany. I hate this war, and god forgive me for
saying this, but it's going to save my life.

There are jobs I can get now that I could never get before. And I got a job. I'm working
for a company that sells scrap iron. I thought you threw scrap iron away. Now they're
building ships with it. Without even the slightest idea of what I'm doing, I can make that
nine thousand dollars in less than a year. The factories that I would sell to are in the South
Georgia, Kentucky, Louisiana, Texas, even New Mexico. I'd be gone about ten months...
Living in trains, buses, hotels, any place I can find a room. We'd be free and clear and
back together again in less than a year.

Okay? So now come the question, where do you two live while I'm gone?
Dramatic Monologues

Suicide
by Bobby Gaylor

Animals don't have a choice. If they're not happy with their place in the world... too bad.
They have to live the life they've been given. Humans, on the other hand, we have a
choice. If you don't like your place in the world you can get off anytime you want.

Suicide.

That's right. You don't like the way your life's going, well, like the song says: you can
check out anytime you like. Animals aren't allowed that thought. Believe me, if they
were, they'd use it. There'd be a lot of dogs and cats, owned by assholes that live in high-
rises, diving out the windows. Zebras... if they, even remotely, had that thought would
take a look at themselves and go, "What the Hell! Black & white in a green & brown
world... this blows. I'm just gonna jump in the river.... I don't have a thumb to work a gun
or hold a knife or even open a jar of pills. I'm just gonna dive into the next lion's mouth.
Why even bother?"

Now, monkeys have the opposable thumbs thing happenin' so they could kinda do it the
exact same way we do.

'Course, there's people that say, "Oh, it's against the law". Well, it's only against the law if
you do a crappy job. Other people say, "Oh, we should save them". Yeah, well you know
what? Not everybody wants to be saved. Not everybody should be saved. And who are
we to force our will upon them? I mean, isn't that one of the joys about being a human?
Freedom of choice?

Now, I'm not saying "Kill yourself". But if you're gonna be an idiot and do it anyway, it's
no sweat off of my back. There's a lot of good that could come from it a little bit of bad
thrown in. Some of the things: A job will open... An apartment will become available...
There'll be more air for me... They say there's two girls for every guy - if you're a man,
there'll be four chicks for me... There'll be more Ketel One Vodka for me... There'll be
one less idiot in line at the bank who gets up to the window without their crappy slips
filled out... I won't ever have to go to the store to buy my favorite Salt & Vinegar Chips
and have the clerk point at you and say, "They bought the last bag".... You won't help
change the McDonald's sign to a Hundred Billion Served... You'll never get AIDS... You
won't have to worry about calories ever... No more, "Hey, does this make me look fat?"...
There'll be one less polluting human...You won't have to recycle... There'll be more Ring
Dings for me... Fifty or so chickens' lives will be spared... Your fingers won't ever get red
from eating pistachios... You won't be forced to visit your Grandparents on Sundays
anymore... No more church... No more wet dreams about Supermodels... No more Barry
Manilow (for a few years anyway...) Say good-bye to crappy Xmas presents from Aunts
and Uncles... You won't have to suffer through a Motley Crue reunion... To hell with
flossing and brushing... You'll never lose sleep over a pregnancy scare... Adios, acne...
See ya later, homework... Schools out forever.... You'll never have to sit through another
movie brought to you by the creators of South Park... No more paying bills... You won't
have to do chores...

You won't be able to run over toads with the lawnmower though... You'll also miss
McDonald's French Fries... Bugs Bunny... The amazing electrifying feeling that surges
through your body when you kiss someone for the first time... You won't be able to watch
the letterbox director's cut of Jaws... Candy... Living above ground... Pudding crust...
You'll miss the rush of getting your first place... Getting to the point in your life where
you can tell your parents, "Aughhh! I gotta make my own mistakes....you did"... You'll
miss sex - you'll miss thinking about it, looking for it, sex by yourself, sex with a partner,
sex with multiple partners and power tools... No more summer nights that seem to go on
forever... Roller coasters... Naming your kid the name you always wanted... Making a
difference in the world... You'll miss the experience and pleasure of Hallucinogenics...
Watching your neighbor's wife change clothes with the blinds open... Watching your
favorite team sweep the series... Music... You will definitely miss music... Trying to sneak
into your house drunk - three hours past your curfew... You'll miss the blaze and glory of
the 4th of July fireworks... The taste of Captain Crunch... If you're a boy, you'll miss the
feeling the first time you reach up a girl's shirt... If you're a girl the first time a boy
reaches up your shirt... You'll miss your favorite coat... Waffles with whipped cream and
strawberries... Beating your friends at video games... You won't be around to see what
shape and color the new marshmallow in Lucky Charms will be... You'll miss the feeling
you get when reminiscing about your first love - thirty years after the fact... The joy of
giving and receiving at Christmas... Skinny dipping... Getting stoned, reading Green Eggs
& Ham, and eating like a horse that got loose in the grain bin... Flying cars...

Hey, you were born - finish what was started.

Dramatic Monologues

On Actors
by David Macfarlane

Let's talk about actors. I don't think they'll mind.

Just the other day, I was reading in a newspaper about how Tom Cruise attends to his
eyebrows. As informative as all this was from a personal-grooming perspective, it did
indicate to me that there is nothing more that I can possibly contribute to the astonishing
wealth of knowledge already at our fingertips. Somewhere out there, someone much
better informed about these things is probably writing about how Gwyneth Paltrow or
Ben Afleck trim their toenails.

But all this aside, I think we should make a point when next we enjoy a play, of not
rushing from our seats to get to our parked cars at the final curtain. We should take a
moment to thank actors. Real actors, if I might put it that way.

That is to say, actors who do not arrive at work in limos, but rather on bicycles, or on
foot, or in used cars that aren't paid for yet. Actors who don't fly Concorde but who still
know what buses and trains are, and who post notices in the Green Room asking if
anyone's driving to Edmonton next week. Actors who don't take a suite at the Four
Seasons, but who live in borrowed rooms -- in Stratford, in Toronto, Queens, Yonkers,
New Haven, Evanston, St. Paul or Lynnwood.

Actors who don't eat at Spago's or Tavern-on-the-Green, but who eat cold pizza in a
rehearsal hall or a bowl of cereal at the kitchen counter at midnight after getting back, too
tired to cook, from an evening performance. Actors who start off dreaming of doing
Hamlet or Cordelia on Broadway, and end up dreaming of doing Lear or Gertrude
anywhere, and in between live out of suitcases across the country for an entire career of
vulnerable auditions, drafty rehearsals, opening-night jitters and tearful, closing-night
goodbyes.

Actors who have worked their way through the eternity of summer stock and the brief
runs of winter; who have weathered both the stinging truths and the wildly unfair
misjudgments of critics; who have approached the classics with the care and focus of
surgeons preparing for a difficult operation, and who - a few weeks later, on the other
side of the continent, wrapped in sweaters and living on cold coffee and cigarettes, have
bravely thrown themselves into rehearsals of some young playwright's improbable, but
dramatically exciting experiment.

Actors who always weep; partly out of sentiment, partly out of sheer professional
admiration, when they watch Alistair Sims in A Christmas Carol, or hear Send in the
Clowns... Actors who, trying to find their marks in the pre-curtain darkness, who have
stuck their spears in a styrofoam Roman column, or who have taken a particularly wide
step while climbing the plywood ramparts at Elsinore and have heard the loud,
unmistakable sound of Danish breeches ripping from codpiece to hindmost. Or who, in
the very middle of a Lady Bracknell to end all Lady Bracknells, have stood, frozen, stage
right, as Algernon inexplicably shifts gears into a speech from Charley's Aunt. Oh, the
stories actors tell

These are the people who have bowed to packed audiences in big cities and small towns,
and who have soldiered on through the dead air of an almost-empty house; the cast
outnumbering the audience, and the polite, isolated clapping of a looming failure. They
learn more about triumph and disaster in a single season than most of us do in a lifetime.
Who among us throw themselves into work with more whole-hearted passion, more
commitment, more disregard for practical concerns and more undiminished, ever-
optimistic hope than an actor? They fall in and out of love on an endless tour of a
recycled Broadway hit that is as lucrative as it is tedious.

And while they're away from their apartments, their phones are disconnected and all their
plants die.
Dramatic Monologues

Imagination
from Six Degrees of Separation
by John Guare

Paul: The nitwit -- Chapman -- who shot John Lennon said he did it because he wanted
to draw the attention of the world to Catcher in the Rye and the reading of the book
would be his defense. And young Hinckley, the whiz kid who shot Reagan and his press
secretary, said if you want my defense all you have to do is read Catcher in the Rye. It
seemed to be time to read it again. I borrowed a copy from a young friend of mine
because I wanted to see what she had underlined and I read this book to find out why this
touching, beautiful, sensitive story published in July 1951 had turned into this manifesto
of hate.

I started reading. It's exactly as I remembered. Everybody's a phony. Page two: "My
brother's in Hollywood being a prostitute." Page three: "What a phony his father was."
Page nine: "People never notice anything."
Then on page 22 my hair stood up. Remember Holden Caulfield -- the definitive sensitive
youth -- wearing his red hunter's cap. "A deer hunter hat? Like hell it is. I sort of closed
one eye like I was taking aim at it. This is a people-shooting hat. I shoot people in this
hat." Hmmm, I said. This book is preparing people for bigger moments in their lives than
I ever dreamed of. Then on page 89: "I'd rather push a guy out the window or chop his
head off with an ax than sock him in the jaw... I hate fist fights... what scares me most is
the other guy's face..."

I finished the book. It's a touching story; comic because the boy wants to do so much and
can't do anything. Hates all phoniness and only lies to others. Wants everyone to like him,
is only hateful, and he is completely self-involved. In other words, a pretty accurate
picture of a male adolescent. And what alarms me about the book -- not the book so much
as the aura about it -- is this: the book is primarily about paralysis. The boy can't function.
And at the end, before he can run away and start a new life, it starts to rain and he folds.
Now there's nothing wrong in writing about emotional and intellectual paralysis. It may
indeed, thanks to Chekhov and Samuel Beckett, be the great modern theme.The
extraordinary last lines of Waiting For Godot -- "Let's go." "Yes, let's go." Stage
directions: they do not move.But the aura around this book of Salinger's -- which perhaps
should be read by everyone but young men -- is this: it mirrors like a fun house mirror
and amplifies like a distorted speaker one of the great tragedies of our times -- the death
of the imagination.
Because what else is paralysis? The imagination has been so debased that imagination --
being imaginative -- rather than being the lynchpin of our existence now stands as a
synonym for something outside ourselves like science fiction or some new use for
tangerine slices on raw pork chops -- what an imaginative summer recipe -- and Star
Wars! So imaginative! And Star Trek -- so imaginative! And Lord of the Rings -- all those
dwarves -- so imaginative --
The imagination has moved out of the realm of being our link, our most personal link,
with our inner lives and the world outside that world -- this world we share. What is
schizophrenia but a horrifying state where what's in here doesn't match up with what's out
there?

Why has imagination become a synonym for style? I believe that the imagination is the
passport we create to take us into the real world. I believe the imagination is another
phrase for what is most uniquely us. Jung says the greatest sin is to be unconscious. Our
boy Holden says, "What scares me most is the other guy's face -- it wouldn't be so bad if
you could both be blindfolded -- most of the time the faces we face are not the other guys'
but our own faces. And it's the worst kind of yellowness to be so scared of yourself you
put blindfolds on rather than deal with yourself..."

To face ourselves.

That's the hard thing.

The imagination.

That's God's gift to make the act of self-examination bearable.

Dramatic Monologues

Greed Is Good
from Wall Street
by Oliver Stone & Stanley Weiser

Gekko: Well, I appreciate the opportunity you're giving me, Mr. Cromwell, as the single
largest shareholder in Teldar Paper, to speak. Well, ladies and gentlemen, we're not here
to indulge in fantasy but in political and economic reality.

America - America has become a second rate power. Its trade deficit and its fiscal deficit
are at nightmare proportions. Now, in the days of the free market when our country was a
top industrial power, there was accountability to the stockholder. The Carnegies, the
Mellons, the men that built this great industrial empire, made sure of it because it was
THEIR money at stake. Today, management has no stake in the company! All together,
these men sitting up here own less than 3 percent of the company. And where does Mr.
Cromwell put his million dollar special? Not in Teldar stock - he owns less than 1
percent! YOU own the company. That's right, you the stockholder, and you are all being
royally screwed over by these, these BUREAUCRATS with their, their steak luncheons,
their hunting and fishing trips, their, their corporate jets and golden parachutes!

Mr. Cromwell, Teldar Paper has 33 different vice presidents, EACH earning over 200
thousand dollars a year. Now, I have spent the last two months analyzing what all these
guys do and I still can't figure it out! One thing I do know is that our paper company lost
110 million dollars last year and I'll bet that half of that was spent in all the paperwork
going back and forth between all these vice presidents!!! The new law of evolution in
corporate America seems to be Survival of the Unfittest. Well, in my book, you either do
it right or you get eliminated. In the last seven deals that I've been involved with, there
were 2.5 million stockholders who have made a pretax profit of 12 billion dollars.

I am not a destroyer of companies! I am a LIBERATOR of them! The point is, ladies and
gentleman, is that Greed, for lack of a better word, is good. Greed is right. Greed works.
Greed clarifies, cuts through and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Greed, in
all of its forms - greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge - has marked the upward
surge of mankind. And Greed, you mark my words, will not only save Teldar Paper but
that other malfunctioning corporation called the USA. Thank you very much.

Dramatic Monologues

Get To Work
from The Boiler Room
by Ben Younger
Jim: , you stupid guys. I'm gonna keep this short, okay? You passed your sevens over a
month ago. Seth's the only one that's opened the necessary forty accounts for his team
leader. When I was a junior broker I did it in 26 days. Okay? You're not sendin' out press
packets anymore. None of this "Debbie the Time Life operator" bull. So get on the
phones, it's time to get to work. Get off your ass! Move around. Motion creates emotion.

I remember one time I had this guy call me up, wanted to pitch me, right? Wanted to sell
me stock. So I let him. I got every stupid rebuttal outta' this guy, kept him on the phone
for an hour and a half. Towards the end I started askin' him buying questions, like what's
the firm minimum? That's a buying question; right there that guy's gotta' take me down.
It's not like I asked him, what's your 800 number; that's a stupid question. I was givin'
him a run and he blew it.

Okay? To a question like "what is the firm minimum", the answer is zero. You don't like
the idea, don't pick up a single share. But this putz is tellin' me you know, uhh, 100
shares? Wrong answer! No! You have to be closing all the time. And be aggressive, learn
how to push! Talk to 'em. Ask 'em questions... ask 'em rhetorical questions, it doesn't
matter, anything, just get a yes out of 'em. If you're drowning and I throw you a life jacket
would you grab it? Yes! Good. Pick up 200 shares I won't let you down. Ask them how
they'd like to see thirty, forty percent returns. What are they gonna say, no? Go to hell? I
don't wanna see those returns. Stop laughing, it's not funny.

If you can't learn how to close, you better start thinkin' about another career. And I am
deadly serious about that. Dead... stupid... serious. And have your rebuttals ready. Guy
says call me tomorrow? Bull! Somebody tells you their money problems about buyin' 200
shares is lying to you. You know what I say to that? I say, hey look, man, tell me you
don't like my firm, tell me you don't like my idea, tell me you don't like... my stupid neck
tie, but don't tell me you can't put together 2,500 bucks.

And there is no such thing as a no-sell call. A sell is made on every call you make. Either
you sell the client some stock, or he sells you on a reason he can't. Either way, a sell is
made. The only question is: who's gonna close? You or him?!

Now be relentless. That's it, I'm done.

Dramatic Monologues

For a Free Ireland

by Padrick Pearse

Pearse addresses a meeting of the Irish Republican Brotherhood

My name is Padrick Pearse. I'm the Headmaster at St. Enda's, and I used to edit The
Sword of Light for the Gaelic League. I agree that nothing but arms will win Irish
freedom!
(cheers)
However, I feel compelled to say something in the defense of John Redmond.
(grumbles)
I don't agree with him, but we have to remember we're on the same side.
(jeers)
Remember that the Home Rule movement has sustained Irish nationalism since the
Fenians were crushed.
(the jeers grow louder)
I once favored Home Rule myself
(someone shouts "sounds like you still do". PEARSE speaks louder to get over the noise.)
so I know the motives are pure!
("They'll leave us purely English")
Listen to me! We had to try political means first. Will you listen?! The IRB, the Home
Rulers, Sinn Fein, the Gaelic League, we're all seeking the same thing!
(PEARSE is having to work to get over the noise.)
So sit here and jeer then. What have you actually done? How about you or you? Done
anything but spew your palaver into your beer, you useless tavern rebels?! Do you sit
around singing songs of other people's glory!?
(The crowd has quieted during these last lines.)
I'll tell you what I will do. Give me a hundred men, and I will free Ireland!
(The crowd noise fades.)
In the name of God,
By Christ His only Son,
By Mary His gentle Mother,
By Patrick the Apostle of the Irish,
By the loyalty of Colm Cille,
By the glory of our race,
By the blood of our ancestors,
By the murder of Red Hugh,
By the sad death of Hugh O'Neill,
By the tragic death of Owen Roe,
By the dying wish of Sarsfield,
By the anguished sigh of Fitzgerald,
By the bloody wounds of Tone,
By the noble blood of Emmet,
By the Famine corpses,
By the tears of Irish exiles,
We swear the oaths our ancestors swore,
That we will free our race from bondage,
Or that we will fall fighting hand to hand. Amen
Dramatic Monologues

...and A Recipe
by Billy Crystal

(Lester talks to a visitor after the Rodney King riots in his neighborhood have resulted in
the destruction of his business)

Lester: This is my store. Pretty, ain't it? I sold chicken... barbecue chicken. Oh yeah,
barbecue! And I'd roast it and I'd broast it, whatever the hell that is anyway. Barbecue: the
real stuff, secret ingredients and everything. C'mon in, we're having a special on
'extremely well-done.'

It was my mother's recipe, see? Nobody's knows except me and her... and she's been dead
for ten years. I've been in this spot since 1967. Before that, we... we had a place in Watts.
Yeah. That one was burnt down too. I remember I was so angry that my own people had
burnt up our store. I said, mom, let's not build it back up, mama, let's not build it back up!
And she said, no son, be cool... it's gonna get better. (sighs) It's gonna get better.

I knew there was gonna be trouble, as soon as I saw the videotape, y'know, first time.
Then every day for a year, you see the tape, every day... wailing on Rodney. Two, three
times a day. Hell, you'd see it when it wasn't even on, you'd keep seeing it, you'd keep
thinking about it. It looked bad for the cops who did it. You'd figure, well, that's it, this is
an easy one, this is a no-brainer, that's it. But then... they were moving the trial to Simi
Valley. Uh-oh. Then you find out, there ain't no blacks on the jury. Bigger uh-oh. Then
the jury takes longer than five minutes to make a decision. WHOA. The news comes
down, not guilty, not guilty! Everything in me screamed: can't be true, can't be true!

I don't know what spread faster: the word or the fires. Blacks committing crimes on other
blacks, burning, looting, families taking stuff together, saying they had a right to it!
Everybody's doing it! It's free, they said! Using Rodney King as an excuse to steal...
greed! Families stealing together! All on TV for the world to see. I cried so many tears I
could have put all the fires out myself.

I been looking out that front window for thirty years in South Central. You see nice
people. That taco joint over there was once an Italian place, then it was a kosher butcher,
then it was a Korean stereo joint, but now...it's nothing. And I'm watching from my
window. Nice people. Good morning, mister, how are ya? Good to see you, hey, how're
ya doing? And then you look out and you see those people pulling that poor man out of
the truck and beating him. And I see people shooting at each other in the street like it was
the Old West!

The fire started down the block...in the vegetable market, that the Korean people own,
where I get my vegetables. Started coming fast like a rumor about your wife. Got here
real fast and before you could say Daryl Gates, it was here and gone......like my future. So
I run into the street, right?.....for help! And I seen all these people carrying TVs and
radios and clothes and furniture and I see people throwing rocks and bottles at the
firemen. The only thing I don't see is the police. Y'see, you can't talk to people, when
people get like that; you can't tell them to turn the other cheek... because they seen
Rodney King. Every time he turned the other cheek, they'd hit him! You can't tell people
to be cool when Mike Tyson goes to jail and the Kennedy kid gets off! You can't tell
people to be cool when the Korean woman shoots a little girl and gets a talking-to! You
can't tell people that! Step on somebody's face for awhile, they're gonna bite your foot
off. So it's been a lot of stuff!

Y'know, crying because the world was watching And they only see what they're told to
see! Blacks lighting fires and the world goes, (clicks his tongue disapprovingly), look at
them. And I get sad. Because I know, in my heart, how it should go down. Maybe I'm
soft, y'know, maybe I've just been through too much. But in my heart, folks, I really
believe that the four cops ain't all cops. The Korean woman ain't all Koreans. And those
black kids that beat that man... ain't all blacks.

Whatta we do now? I dunno. Don't know. Whattta we do now? Insurance man was here
the other day and he said, hey, Lester, you could rebuild, you could definitely rebuild but
you ain't gonna get no fire insurance. Well, that's cool. What do you do? What would you
do? I don't know. I know what my mother would do. Well, she'd build! She'd be out here
with a hammer right now if she could. And she'd say to me: don't forget son, you've got
pride you've got soul... and you've got the recipe.
Dramatic Monologue

Extra-credit

The Laramie Project serious, 1m

By Moises Kaufman and the members of the Tectonic Theater Project

A straight college student from Smalltown, Wyoming talks about how he earned his
theatre scholarship and became estranged from his parents.

JEDADIAH:

I've lived in Wyoming my whole life. The family has been in Wyoming, well... for
generations. Now when it came time for me to go to college, my parents can't - couldn't
afford to send me to college. I wanted to study theatre. And I knew that if I was going to
go to college, I was going to have to get on a scholarship - and so, they have this
competition each year, this Wyoming state high school competition. And I knew that if I
didn't take first place in, uh, duets that I wasn't going to get a scholarship. So I went to the
theatre department of the university, looking for good scenes, and I asked one of the
professors - I was like, "I need - I need a killer scene," and he was like, "Here you go, this
is it." And it was from Angels in America. So I read it, and I knew that I could win best
scene if I did a good enough job.

And when the time came, I told my mom and dad so that they would come to the
competition. Now you have to understand, my parents go to everything - every ball game,
every hockey game - everything I've ever done. And they brought me to their room, and
told me that if I did that scene, that they would not come to see me in the competition.
Because they believed that it is wrong - that homosexuality is wrong - they felt that
strongly about it that they didn't want to come see their son do probably the most
important thing he'd done to that point in his life. And I didn't know what to do.

I had never gone against my parents' wishes. So I was kind of worried about it. But I
decided to do it. And all I can remember about the competition is that when we were
done, me and my scene partner, we came up to each other and we shook hands and there
was a standing ovation.

Oh, man, it was amazing! And we took first place, and we won. And that's how I can
afford to be here at the university, because of that scene. It was one of the best moments
of my life. And my parents weren't there. And to this day, that was the one thing that my
parents didn't see me do.

And thinking back on it, I think, why did I do it? Why did I oppose my parents? 'Cause
I'm not gay. So why did I do it? And I guess the only honest answer I can give is that,
well, I wanted to win.
There are certain things when I sit in church. And the reverend will tell you flat out that
he doesn't agree with homosexuality - and I don't know - I think right now, I'm going
through changes, I'm still learning about myself and - you know I don't feel like I know
enough about certain things to make a decision and say, "Homosexuality is right." When
you've been raised your whole life that it's wrong - and right now, I would say that I don't
agree with it - yeah, that I don't agree with it but - maybe that's just because I couldn't do
it - and speaking in religious terms - I don't think that's how God intended it to happen.
But I don't hate homosexuals and, I mean, I'm not going to persecute them or anything
like that. At all - I mean, that's not gonna get in the way between me and the other person
at all.

My parents asked me "So, what plays are you doing this year at school?" And I was like,
"Angels in America," and I told them the whole list of plays. And they're like, "Angels in
America? Is that... that play you did in high school? That scene you did in high school?"
And I was like, "Yeah." And she goes: "Huh. So are you gonna audition for it?" And I
was like, "Yeah." And we got in this huge argument... and my best, the best thing that I
knew I had them on is it was just after they had seen me in a performance of Macbeth,
and onstage, like, I murdered like a little kid, and Lady Macduff, and these two other
guys, and she goes, "Well, you know homosexuality is a sin." - she kept saying that - so I
go, "Mom, I just played a murderer tonight. And you didn't seem to have a problem with
that..."

I tell you, I have never prepared myself this much for an audition in my life. Never ever.
Not even close.

One year later...

I didn't for the longest time let myself become personally involved in the Matthew
Shepard thing. It didn't seem real, it just seemed way blown out of proportion. Matthew
Shepard was just a name, instead of a person...

I don't know, it's weird. It's so weird, man. I just - I just feel bad. Just for all that stuff I
told you, for the person I used to be. That's why I want to hear those interviews from last
year, when I said all that stuff. I don't know. I just can't belive I ever said all that stuff
about homosexuals, you know. How did I ever let that stuff make me think that you were
different from me?
Dramatic Monologue

Serious, 1m

William Shakespeare - To be, or not to be (from Hamlet 3/1)

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? 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, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
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;
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,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
Dramatic Monologue

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

By Edward Albee

A great work of dark comedy, this play presents perhaps the most memorable of married
couples - George and Martha - in a searing night of dangerous fun and games with a
pawnlike other couple - Nick and Honey - who innocently become their weapons in the
savaging of each other and of their life together. By the evening's end, a stunning, almost
unbearable revelation provides a climactic shock of recognition at the bond and bondage
of their love. In its superlative construction, in its mastery of razor-honed dialogue and
emotional crescendo, and above all in its power to strip away layer after layer of a social
pretense to expose the naked nerve of truth, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? is one of the
most riveting and unforgettable experiences of American theatre.

In this monologue, George and Nick have been left alone together and George begins a
drunken rambling rant.

GEORGE:

Oh! OH! You're the one! You're the one who's going to make all that trouble... making
everyone the same, rearranging the chromosomes, or whatever it is. Isn't that right?

I'm very mistrustful. Do you believe... do you believe that people learn nothing from
history? Not that there is nothing to learn, mind you, but that people learn nothing? I am
in the History Department.

I am a Doctor. A.B... M.A... PH.D... ABMAPHID! Abmaphid has been variously

described as a wasting disease of the frontal lobes, and as a wonder drug. It is actually
both. I'm really very mistrusting... Biology, huh?

I read somewhere that science fiction is really not fiction at all... that you people are
rearranging my genes, so that everyone will be like everyone else. Now, I won't have
that! It would be a... shame! I mean... look at me! Is it really such a good idea... if
everyone was forty-something and looked fifty-five? You didn't answer my question
about history.

That's very upsetting... very... disappointing. But history is a great deal

more...disappointing. I am in the History Department.

I know I told you... I shall probably tell you several more times. Martha tells me often,
that I am in the History Department... as opposed to being the History Department... in
the sense of running the History Department.

Your wife doesn't have any hips, does she?

Later, George explains his bizarre fear to the entire group.

GEORGE:

It's very simple, Martha, this young man is working on a system whereby chromosomes
can be altered... the genetic makeup of a sperm cell changed, reordered, to order,
actually... for hair and eye color, stature, potency... I imagine... hairiness, features,
health... and mind. Most important... Mind. All imbalances will be corrected, sifted out...
propensity for various diseases will be gone, longevity assured. We will have a race of
men... test-tube-bred... incubator-born... superb and sublime.

But, everyone will tend to be rather the same... Alike. Everyone... and I'm sure I'm not
wrong here... will tend to look like this young man here.

It will, on the surface of it, be all rather pretty... quite jolly. But of course there will be a
dank side to it, too. A certain amount of regulation will be necessary... uh... for the
experiment to succeed. A certain number of sperm tubes will have to be cut.

Millions upon millions of them... millions of tiny little slicing operations that will leave
just the smallest scar, on the underside of the scrotum but which will assure the sterility
of the imperfect... the ugly, the stupid... the... unfit... with this, we will have, in time... a
race of glorious men. I suspect we will not have much music, much painting, but we will
have a civilization of men, smooth, blond, and right at the middleweight limit... a race of
scientists and mathematicians, each dedicated to and working for the greater glory of the
super-civilization.

There will be a certain... loss of liberty, I imagine, as a result of this experiment... but
diversity will no longer be the goal. Cultures and races will eventually vanish... the ants
will take over the world.

And I, naturally, am rather opposed to all this. History, which is my field... will lose it's
glorious variety and unpredictability. I, and with me the... surprise, the multiplexity, the
sea-changing rhythm of... history, will be eliminated. There will be order and constancy...
and I am unalterably opposed to it. I will not give up Berlin!

There is a saloon in West Berlin where the barstools are five feet high. And the Earth...
the floor... is... so...far... below you. I will not give up things like that. No... I won't. I will
fight you, young man... one hand on my scrotum, to be sure... but with my free hand I
will battle you to the death.