script excerpts for your approval

I just noticed I haven’t been posting much lately (save for the Feminist Theories responses, which are, as you guessed, coursework). That’s because any writing time I’ve had, I’ve been working on my script.

It’s called “It Adds Up” and it’s my senior project. Well, part of it. The other part is to direct it. It’s a 10-minute play I wrote almost a year ago that I’m developing into a one-act (30-50 minutes). You can read a little bit more about it in the blog I’m keeping as the reflection part of the project.

Here are some parts of the script. Some I think of as done, others as draft. Let me know what you think!

OLIVIA. I think I’m going to be a lonely spinster my whole life.
MARIE. Oh. What makes you say that?… Wait never mind. Stupid question.
OLIVIA. You know though, most of the time I think it’s ok.
MARIE. To be lonely?
OLIVIA. The spinster part. Like Vanessa Redgrave in that movie, Deja Vu, you remember that one? The vagabond spinster.
MARIE. (Dreamily.) The gadabout.
OLIVIA. Mmm… “gadabout”!? What the hell does that mean.
MARIE. Like a traveling hedonist, a pleasure-seeking vagabond.
OLIVIA. Wow. Good one. Did you learn that at college?
MARIE. She was hot in that, ole Vanessa.
OLIVIA. She sure was. (Pause.) Spinster.
MARIE. (Pause.) “Spinster”. That is pretty cool.
OLIVIA. It’s very cool. I want to go all postmodern and identity politics and reclaim that word.
MARIE. (Laughs.) Even though it hasn’t really been offensive for like fifty years?
OLIVIA. Yes.

[…]
OLIVIA. Dad. I really hate my job.
JIMMY. Why?
OLIVIA. It’s just so… tedious. And pointless. And exhausting.
JIMMY. So why don’t you try and find something else?
OLIVIA. We’ve been over this. I try to. I’m always looking in the papers. But it’s either the same kind of crappy work or else—
JIMMY. —Do you want a beer?
OLIVIA. No thanks. Or else—
JIMMY. —Mind if I get one?
OLIVIA. No.
JIMMY. (Gets up and goes to get beer.) Keep talking, I’m listening.
OLIVIA. Or else I need a college degree. Once in a while I do find something but I can’t find time to get an interview, everything like that always happens when I’m at work.
JIMMY. (Returns and sits.) Won’t work give you time off?
OLIVIA. Oh God no. They depend on me too much. It’d have to be an emergency and they’d have to have proof.
JIMMY. Bunch of fascist pigs.
OLIVIA. Well yea. I mean I did have an interview the other day but I don’t think it went well at all. You need better jobs to move up but you need to move up to get better jobs. And these people… How do you deal with your employers and stuff?
JIMMY. You know I get a lot of leeway, union stuff and all. But I just do it because I have to. I have no choice. I never did, especially after you were born. And you get used to it after a while. You’re just spoiled—all you kids. Everyone your age, they’re just so… unhappy. You all want a good job and a good education and a good lot in life but it just doesn’t happen that way. Not for working people like us.
OLIVIA. Come on Dad, give me a break. It’s not that I want a huge house or a maid or anything. Yea I want to be happy. Why is that too much to ask? Why am I spoiled because I don’t have a family or a huge amount of debt to worry about? I feel like I’m lucky that I have some opportunity, and that I should be taking advantage of it while I can.

[…]
JIMMY. (Pause. Looks at blank TV then at OLIVIA.) I think about bowling sometimes.
OLIVIA. You wanna go bowling?
JIMMY. Remember that time we went bowling, the three of us, and your mom broke a nail picking up a ball, you remember the fuss she made? (Laughs.) You remember? And the next day, the next day, she left us.
OLIVIA. (Pause.) So no bowling then.
JIMMY. No.

[…]
OLIVIA. Well, I’m sobering up, and that’s bad. Where to next, Little Miss Marie? How about Ri Ra, the one I was telling you about, near Waterplace Park?
MARIE. You and your frickin Irish bars. Isn’t one enough?
OLIVIA. Are you serious? Finnegan’s is so not a real Irish pub. They don’t even have Guinness on tap.
MARIE. Is that the mark of a “real” Irish pub?
OLIVIA. Yes.
MARIE. You don’t even drink Guinness.
OLIVIA. That’s not the point.
MARIE. So why do you want to go to Ri Ra then?
OLIVIA. There’s more to an Irish pub than Guinness!
MARIE. You just said that was the most important thing!
OLIVIA. I did not. I said it was the mark of an Irish pub.
MARIE. So what are these other things, then, that make an Irish pub?
OLIVIA. Oh you know. The bartenders, how they treat the customers, whether or not they have tables, the lighting, uh…
MARIE. You’re talking out of your ass, aren’t you?
OLIVIA. I am not! It’s also the whiskey.
MARIE. Fuck Irish bars. Let’s go to Bobo’s, that’s where it’s at.
OLIVIA. You talk about me and my Irish pubs, what about you and your Italian Mafia “social clubs”? They’re so sketchy. I prefer that my drinking establishments have signs outside saying that they exist.
MARIE. Bobo’s isn’t a Mafia bar anymore.
OLIVIA. That’s only because Bobo is in jail.
MARIE. They’re all in jail.
OLIVIA. Even the major. Are any of your family with them?
MARIE. Fuck you. Not all Italians are in the Mafia.

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