Endings
Endings Characters: IBSEN, late 30s LINCOLN, 50s Setting: A tavern. Time: The evening of April 14th, 1865
2. Lights up on a tavern., looking ragged and worn out, sits alone in a corner, sloshed. He s turned away from the front door. The strongest man in the world is he who stands most alone! (beat) That is why I am alone! Hey, man, you got two seconds? He drinks hard. enters in a black suit and top hat. doesn t bother to look. I m busy. I need you to help me out. throws back a another drink. The proprietor is upstairs stripping the beds. He ll be down in a minute. Leave me alone. I don t need a drink. I ve got a crisis situation. (looking up) My eternal soul is in crisis! recognizes. (cont'd) (with derision) Well, well, if it isn t President Abraham Lincoln. Say, don t I know you? No, not yet. Weren t you running the half-man, half-horse exhibit at the circus last month? Get bent, bean pole. I m a writer!
3. Yeah, OK, but weren t you running the half-man, half-horse exhibit at the circus last month? You are so stupid, and yet, you are wise. Yes, that was me. No matter. Listen, I ve got two tickets to the theatre. I m one over the limit. You want me to go to the theatre with you? Not with me. My wife. As long as disappointment courses my veins, I shall never go to the theatre again. Private balcony, man. Primo seats. I ve got a primo seat right here, and a primo drink, too. Look, man, I m desperate. The show is in 30 minutes. Tonight? Go out the same way you came in. Ford s Theatre. Right down the street. Hottest ticket in town. Then sell it to someone else. I ve been trying to all day! Then it ain t so hot, is it? Look. Here s the deal. I used to get horizontal with the lead actress in this play. I mean, talk about emancipating my proclamation. Whew! But she s a tad unstable, so I broke it off. That was a week ago and she is super pissed. If she sees me in the audience she s going to go all open prairie on me. My wife is going to be there...you understand, right?
4. Oh, yeah. I ve dated a few actresses. Deranged, and yet irresistible. You in the theater? I m a playwright. You re shitting me. You have to go to the play, man. Why? Mary, my wife, loves to analyze the plays. It s like kitchen sink drama this, denouement that. It s excruciating. What s your name? You re not William Shakespeare, are you? Shakespeare has been dead for 250 years. All right, so not him. My name is Henrik. Henrik Ibsen. I am the father of realism. Or will be. wonders if the name rings a bell: Ibsen, Ibsen, Ibsen, Ibsen, Ibsen, Ibsen...yeah, never heard of you. Anyway, Henrik, would you please, please, please, please go to the theatre with my wife? sighs. Big. Americans are so goddamn pushy. Let me see the ticket. hands the ticket. Just don t expect a good night boink, OK? She talks a good game, but get her home and she s, like, honey, the beard is so scratchy! (reading ticket) Our American Cousin. By Tom Taylor.
5. Supposed to be awesome. What s it about? It s about an American who goes over to England to collect an inheritance. Deep. I like theater that obliterates societal conventions. This is the next best thing. It s a farce. Supposed to have people rolling in the aisles. Comedies are for men of low mind. Wow, you need to lighten up, Henrik. Would I have to pick Mary up or can she meet me there? You can take her there. She s outside. Outside? She thinks I ducked in here to drop a deuce. 50 bucks and the ticket is yours. 50 bucks? How about nothing? How about 25? I thought you were desperate. 10 bucks. 10 lousy bucks. The ticket is free or I won t even consider it. Fine! Take it! Jesus!
6. thinks about it. I don t know. Ah, for Christ s sake, man. I m hardly dressed properly. I haven t bathed in a month. Plus, I m working on this play and I can t get the ending right. Can I sit? Why? I just want to talk to you for a moment. I really need to explain my situation better. sits. (cont'd) Call me Abe, by the way. Love the accent, Henrik. What is that, Russian? Norwegian. Ooh, I was close. What brings you over here? Broadway. This is D.C., man. Tell that to the ship captain. Some day, Abe, I m going to be greatest Norwegian playwright who ever lived. Absolutely. You ll be towering over all those other Norwegian playwrights before you know it, I can tell. Anyway, Henrik, here s the deal. General Grant said he was coming. With his wife, Julia. She s a total shrew, Henrik. Seriously. And Grant s an egomaniac. He will spend all night long talking about how a couple days ago got Robert E. Lee to surrender. The guy s a total bore.
7. Wake me up when this gets interesting. OK. Here s the other thing. I had a dream, all right? About 10 days ago. I d been up half the night waiting on word from the front. I nodded off. I dreamt there was sobbing everywhere in the house. I went from room to room to find out who it was. I get to the East Room, and there, on the bed, is a corpse. At first, I thought it was Mary inviting me in to fool around, but then I saw the body was dead, and then I was sure it was Mary inviting me in to fool around. But it wasn t Mary. It was me. I d been shot. Killed by an assassin. And you feel like if you go to the theatre tonight, someone is going to shoot you? Bingo. And if I go, why wouldn t they shoot me, instead? You re a playwright. People don t shoot playwrights. They ignore them. Funny. If you re worried about getting shot, and you can t stand the idea of going to another play, why don t you tell your wife that? I did. She said, you re going. All right, let s say I go. What s in it for me? It s a rocking good play. So I hear. Uh-huh. Who s going to help me figure out the end of my play? What s the problem exactly? (doubtful) You think you can help me?
8. Look. I know theater, OK? I ve seen more shit than an Appalachian outhouse. Tell me the story. But make it snappy. Mary is outside. I ve got about two minutes before she calls the cops. She d call the police if she thought you were in the bathroom too long? I fell asleep in the garden one day and woke up with half the Union Army stampeding through my marigolds. All right. The play is about a family dinner. sighs. Huge. Are you sighing? No. (cont'd) You were sighing. I saw you sigh. Fine. I sighed. You sighed earlier. We re even. Why are you sighing? It s just that plays where people sit around a table, kind of like what we re doing right now, can get pretty dull. They get up. They move around. Really? They get up in the middle of dinner and just wander around? gets up and wanders as: (cont'd) Kind of like this? You have a scene at a table, but people just get up inexplicably like this? Does this make sense to you? You and I are having a conversation, but I m roaming because sitting still is too stagnate. Dinner takes place at a table. No one eats and strolls at the same time. The problem is the dinner!
9. sits again. The problem is not the dinner. It s the end of the dinner. I can t decide whether the young, idealistic couple should stay together or break up. (sarcastic) Yeah, you got a real dilemma there. How is this helping, Abe? Flip a coin, man! Who gives a crap? Boy, you really know how to give criticism, don t you? I m just being honest. Every artist needs an honest critic, otherwise he gets deluded. How can anyone know themselves and their work truly if everyone walks around gobpecking them in the ass?! This was about you helping me with my ending, not giving an oral dissertation on knowing thyself! I wanted the evening to be devoid of theatrical toe jam, Henrik, but here I am, standing in it up to my jowls! (standing up) That s it! We re done! The deal s off! Get out! forces the ticket onto. No, please, I m sorry! Get out of here, Abe! pulls out of his chair. I m sorry! I ve just been so stressed out because of this damned war! Not my problem!
10. Hey, let s secede from the Union because my life is not complete unless I m allowed to enslave another human being! Out, Abe! I mean, really! We preach freedom, freedom, freedom! Except if you happen to be black! What the hell, right?! Are we trying to be the biggest jerkwads on planet Earth or what?! I m going to get Mary. goes for the door. stops him, grabbing him. WAIT! breaks free. (cont'd) Wait. Please. Please, Henrik. I m sorry I said what I said about your play, OK? But I can t go to Ford s Theatre. Going to the theatre and being shot by an assassin should not be my ending. I want to change my ending. I want to change my ending, too. With my play. I tell you what. Take the ticket. Go to the play. And come by here on the way back. I ll talk with you as long as it takes. We ll talk endings all night long. Until we get the right one. offers the ticket. You will? As long as it takes, Henrik. Endings are important. Leave them with a good one. And if you can t do that, then make sure no one can find you after the show s over. And what do I tell Mary about where you are?
11. Tell her I ve got dysentery. More soldiers in the Union army have been taken out by dysentery then those piss-ant Confederates. No way. You tell her that. I don t know how to lie. I m always honest. I m Honest Abe. takes the ticket. (cont'd) You better get going. The show starts in about 15. I really appreciate you doing this. You re welcome. Go, man. You re going to be late. leaves. collapses, relived, in a chair. (cont'd) Sweet relief. I have changed my own ending! Now I can celebrate the tremendous victory over the south, maybe go for a second presidential term, then retirement, a book, grandkids, illness, death. Always ends in death, no matter what. That s depressing. looks up to the ceiling, as if looking upstairs. (cont'd) Proprietor! I need a drink! And keep em coming! I m getting hammered tonight! Lights out. THE END