Two Monologues of Mrs. O'Reilly
Mrs. O’Reilly, Children’s Theatre Director, Implores her Young Lead to Heed the Voice of Experience
Couldn’t you just turn and flee?
I asked you to flee – not dart, not dash, not make a clumsy run for the wings like a hound with heatstroke and a thorn in its paw.
Do you know what it is to “flee”? Perhaps not, since all of your ilk are transfixed by screens and it’s doubtless difficult to animate a first-class flee, though I suppose some brainy little git is even now adjusting his quadrants and trying. You have no range yet, nor do you have the historical reach essential to the finer aspects of theatrical flight. Flouncing you do well enough. I’ve admired your overblown, hand-to-forehead imitation of Jo March’s triumph of overacting. The trouble is, you don’t know that it’s a parody. Pa.ro.dy. A kind of in-joke that you’re not yet in on. Jo didn’t know this either, of course, but she’s a fictional character and so can be excused. Now, look: the villain is coming at you – you know, like a stranger going to pull you into his car. You spy him. He’s creepy but he looks like your brother. You let him approach, though you’re a tad dubious. Du.bi.ous. Oh, it’s my cute teenage brother. I wonder why he’s wearing that sinister cape. Sin.is…. It means icky. And scary. Icky-scary. Closer, closer… Hi, Older Brother, what’s going on? Why is your face so white? Why do you have such a sin.is.ter aspect? Such a glint in your eye? (And, yes, we’ll be rehearsing the theatrical glint, you can be sure, Ryan Koplik, don’t be looking so smug. Smmm.ug). Closer…. And Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am! Oh, my, this isn’t my brother. This isn’t my brother at all…. but someone DISGUISED as my brother, wishing to do me in. Do. Me. In. And before you can whisper, arched eyebrows, you’re off the stage, Missy, and into the arms of Miss Jeannie, who will give you your apron and bucket and cue Mr. Dee for the musical interlude while Ryan completes his hideous transformation. Hid…. forget it.
Yes, this was better, but when you flee – don’t hurl yourself chest forward, legs lolloping as if they belonged to different behind. And make sure you face the audience when you flee. Let’s try that again, shall we? No, no, no. Don’t sidle like a palsied peekytoe, just, for Lord’s sake, flee. A crab, Liam Capelli, a species of crab. And there’s nothing to titter about, Mackenzie Gottleib and the rest of you royal undead. Your turn will come. TIT.er. Er….. Ryan Koplik, please speak to Miss Jeannie about your fang problem. Those of you playing household items, on stage now. Plates, cups, and cutlery, stage right. Miss Jeannie is waving from the wings. Footstool, rug, armchair and the rest of the furnishings, stage left. Miss Jeannie is not waving from stage left. Tristan C., are you a spoon? Do spoons belong with furniture or dishes? One of these things doesn’t belong. Thank you, Miss Jeannie. Ok, now, enchanted domestic objects, start your dance. Mr. Dee? Angelique Z. and Jaxon Ramirez, stay in character! That’s it, forks and spoons make way for the knives. Now, you enter, unwittingly, intent on your routine cleaning tasks. Don’t you ever dust and de-clutter your room? Help tidy around the house? No, of course you don’t. Well, you are still a little shaken from seeing your murderous un-brother, and you are trying to solace yourself with routine. So.lace. Like having cookies and milk after a bad day at school. It doesn’t matter that you’re lactose intolerant. The milk and cookies aren’t mean to be literal. LIT.ER.AL. Just like you’re pretending to be frightened of Ryan who is pretending to frighten you by pretending to be your brother. Yes, and by pretending to have fangs. Now, drop your bucket, lift the corners of your apron as you curtsey to the armchair. Show a modicum of surprise. Mod….You find yourself – think about it – forced to do the cha-cha with the furniture. This isn’t an everyday occurrence. A certain show of surprise is called for. Miss Jeannie, I think Kacey with a K needs some help with her snaps; she seems to need the rest room. Tristan W., Angelique M., and the rest of the Hounds of Heck, start howling offstage. No, you’re not to sound like a raggedy troop of flatulent baboons…. Flat….Must we really practice howling? The moon is out – Casey with a C. will be holding the eerily bright full moon over the backdrop with a long stick – Eer….Just hold a pretend stick up for now, Casey with a C, Miss Jeannie still has to finish painting the props. The hounds come closer…. Closer….Who meowed? Miss Jeannie, who was that who meowed? Whoever that was who meowed is going to lose his speaking part. No, at this juncture, you are not going to attempt to flee. Actually, fleeing will be futile at this juncture – Junc – since you are completely surrounded on all sides and there’s really no earthly way out.
