Fourplay

By D. Scott Apel

A Comedy Tonight! Treat yourself to a quartet of comic plays you’ll never see on stage (unless you attended an early performance). “Fourplay” collects scripts for two three-act comedies and two one-act farces (“A Pair of Shorts”) first staged by San Jose’s famous Stage One performance company in the early ‘90s. Bonus material includes the script for a never-performed fifth play—a one-act farce to be staged in the theater of your mind. If you’re a fan of The Marx Brothers, you’ll love “A Night in the Graveyard,” an original homage to the films of the boys’ early years. And if you hate PBS pledge breaks, you’ll love “Pledge Night!” which reveals what might be going on behind the scenes and off-screen. “Fourplay” also includes introductions and numerous production photos. Uh-oh...the curtain’s going up on these lively reads—better get a copy and take your seat!

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. Scott Apel
• Release date: Dec 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781886404243

Book preview

Sometime in 1989 or ‘90, I decided to take an acting class. My motives were numerous. As the proud owner of a useless degree in Psychology, I wanted to see how professionals who dealt with emotions actually dealt with emotions. As a writer, I wanted to expand my repertoire to see how plays were staged and performed. But—full disclosure—my primary goal was as a bachelor: I wanted to meet women...and where better to seek out attractive, talented women than an acting class?

I was living then in Silicon Valley and found a small theatrical training and performance company in San Jose: Stage One, owned and operated by Dennis Sakamoto, himself a working character actor whose credits included roles in films like Eyewitness and Gung Ho. I found Dennis to be a brilliant acting coach; I found the atmosphere congenial; and I found my fellow students friendly, supportive and committed, so I continued to sign on for additional classes.

What I did not find, much to my disappointment, were any attractive, available females. Oh, there were plenty of attractive young women, certainly—but they were either spoken for or there was no spark of mutual interest. But the consolation prizes were abundant. I enjoyed the classes and the students, for one, so I stayed with the group—even though it became abundantly clear to me that I had the psychology of a writer and would never (for better or for worse) be the kind of person who thinks like an actor.

The real consolation prize, however, came after I’d been attending classes for about a year. Dennis Sakamoto recognized that I was committed to being around for a while, and asked if I’d like to direct a play. He regularly staged performances to showcase his students and expand their skills by directing plays of their choice, in a performance space modeled after the legendary 99 seater theaters prevalent in Los Angles. I jumped at the opportunity.

And so began my nano-career in micro-theater. During the next three years I would write and direct two full-length plays and a pair of one-acts, which are collected here. All four were performed at Stage One, and each ran about a dozen performances, including one invitation only performance staged solely for the purpose of videotaping. (I was working in Lockheed Sunnyvale’s Video/Film department at that time, and had G-job access to professional editing equipment, thanks mainly to my good friend Curtis Brown.) Once I edited the shows, I gifted each performer a copy for his or her résumé reel. And I still watch them myself on those rare occasions when I doubt my own creativity.

My brief, non-illustrious time spent in The Theatuh is one of the high points of my writing career...and of my life. As a writer, I’m used to working internally—writing and reading are both solitary and inner-directed experiences. So it was a pleasant shock to sit in the audience at these performances and watch my words come to life. It was, I realized, like seeing my own brain turned inside out: What I’d once only visualized was now actualized.

So take a peek inside my head, if you dare. It is my sincere hope that you will be amused by these works.

Finally, I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the high-spirited, high-energy, highly creative collaboration of the actors who contributed so much to these meager efforts.

D. Scott Apel

Pahoa, Hawaii

December 2018

PRODUCTION NOTES

1) TEXT: While every effort has been made to preserve the standard playscript format (each new scene begins on a new page, for instance), some liberties have been taken with this format in order to conform to ebook publishing requirements.

2) PHOTOS: The photos in Fourplay were drawn from a variety of sources, including staged shots from the productions and screenshots from DVDs of the performances. Due to these limitations some images might appear a bit grainy or blurred. We felt, however, that their inclusion, even when less than optimal, would enhance the text and provide some sense of the stage sets, as well as giving the actors an excuse to purchase the book.

A

NIGHT

IN THE

GRAVEYARD

A

NIGHT

IN THE

GRAVEYARD

Introduction

I grew up loving comedy—The Three Stooges, Abbott & Costello, Laurel and Hardy, Buster Keaton, Looney Tunes, It’s A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World and The Great Race—the wilder and more slapstick the better. But when I was a young teen, I discovered the comedy ensemble that blew all others out of the water: The Marx Brothers. (Be aware that this was in the mid-1960s, long before home video, DVD and Blu-ray, or streaming media; the only place to see something like A Night at the Opera or A Day at the Races was when some local UHF channel ran one of these ancient flicks, often late at night or just to fill dead air time.)

Groucho quickly became my culture hero and role model, and I sought out All Things Marx for many years after that. Apparently, I was not alone in this obsession, as Groucho experienced a well-deserved revival in the ‘70s, making appearances on college campuses and late night talk shows. (I still have a videotape of Groucho conversing with two of his biggest fans, Dick Cavett and Woody Allen.)

At some point, I discovered that my brother John, six years my junior, had been similarly bitten by the Marx Bros. bug, and we began performing Groucho and Chico dialogs together for one another’s amusement. At some point one of us threw in a new joke that the other approved—and soon we were writing our own original Marx Bros. dialogs. Eventually, I gathered our jokes together, added a plot, and wrote a film script for a new Marx Brothers movie—one that would employ contemporary actors to portray the Brothers as characters in a faux-’30s recreation of a Marx script. (Turns out we were not the only people who dreamed of a Marx Bros. revival—in the 1960s, for instance, famed film director Billy Wilder conceived the grand scheme of getting the band back together for a new Marx Bros. movie where the trio would wreak havoc at the United Nations.)

Fast forward a decade... After taking acting classes for a year at Stage One, a theatrical training and performance company in San Jose, Dennis Sakamoto, the owner and operator, asked if I’d like to direct a play in his little theater. I jumped at the opportunity. My suggestion was one of the Marx Bros. early Broadway productions, Animal Crackers (which was turned into their 1930 film), but that idea was abandoned when he discovered that the music rights alone would cost several thousand dollars. Fortunately, I had a backup suggestion. How would you like to stage an original production? I inquired. I explained my Marx Bros. movie script and suggested it could easily be translated to the stage with minimal revision. He agreed, and I set about rewriting the film script as a play. (The few scenes that could not be translated from screen to stage are included in this volume as Bonus Material after the script.)

Stage One was a zero budget playhouse; the actors, directors and crew (often just a single stage manager) were all volunteers and were expected to purchase their own costumes and props. Due to this limitation (and the small scale of the performance space), furniture, set locations, and even props had to be kept to a bare minimum. In this regard, I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the debt this play owes to its Groucho, a brilliant actor named Richard Montalvo, for building the single most important prop in the play: the fake coffin.

Speaking of Richard Montalvo, I would also like to mention his brilliant interpretation of Groucho Marx. Even though Richard was rather round and dark-skinned, his Groucho had the voice, the attitude and the moves necessary to pull off the role. (After our production ended, I put an old Marx Bros. movie in the VCR, and when Groucho came onscreen my reaction was, Nah. He’ll never work. Too thin; too pale.) In one performance, Richard dropped a line and just couldn’t seem to spit it out. He ad-libbed, Has anyone seen my lips? and the audience roared. I was in the audience and I roared along with them. Your ad lib was brilliant, I complimented him following the performance. At that moment, you were just like Groucho Marx. He stared at me intently. No, man, he replied. "At that moment I was Groucho Marx!" Richard Montalvo died unexpectedly and tragically a couple years later. I told that story at his funeral. He had the last laugh.

As much as I wanted to promote this play, publish the folio, encourage wider performance, and so on, our production had to fly beneath the legal radar, since the image and act of Groucho Marx (like that of Marilyn Monroe and Elvis) is copyrighted and requires a license to employ—a license far too expensive for the low budget likes of me. I have, however, for several decades now looked forward to the kind of desktop computer technology that will allow one to cut and paste elements from various film sources (like the original Marx films) and combine this with voice actors performing new dialog to digitally resurrect the Brothers and create an actual film of this play. Maybe this advanced deep fake tech will occur sometime during my lifetime, but unless it hurries the fuck up, I’ll be too old to do the work, or to care anymore...and the world will lose this lost (and digitally recreated) Marx Brothers movie. In the meanwhile, if you’re a Marx fanatic, you can visualize the characters in your mind’s eye and hear the voices in your mind’s ear. Hopefully, that will be sufficient for the true believer—and it will certainly beat Minnie’s Boys or A Night in the Ukraine.

The first performance of this play took place at Stage One, San Jose, California, on November 15, 1991.

A

NIGHT

IN THE

GRAVEYARD

A Farce in Three Acts

by

D. Scott Apel & John S. Apel

© 1991 by D. Scott Apel

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Julius T. Barrymore (Groucho) – Owner of Barrymore’s Funeral Parlor

Verminelli (Chico) – A Bum

Rusty (Harpo) – Another Bum, and Partner of Verminelli

Mrs. Martha Bornworthy – A Dowager and Recent Widow

Baxter Bornworthy – Mrs. Bornworthy’s Ne’er-Do-Well Brother-in-Law

Jeeves – The Bornworthy Butler

Rita/Madame Olga – A Con-woman and Fake Medium

Lawyer #1 – A Lawyer

Lawyer #2 – Another Lawyer

Lawyer #3 – A Redundancy of Lawyers

A Cop – An Officer of the Law

Act I. The Barrymore Funeral Parlor

Act II. The Bornworthy Mansion

Act III. The Barrymore Funeral Parlor

NOTE: To avoid confusion, the dialog for all three Marx Brothers characters is indicated by their Marx Brother name rather than by their character name in the play.

ACT I

As the CURTAIN RISES, we see the showroom of Julius Barrymore’s (Groucho’s) funeral parlor. A display casket sits center stage, flanked by tall flower arrangements near the left and right portals. On the back wall is a sign reading Barrymore Funeral Parlor — Where our smiles aren’t just sewn on.

SCENE 1

JULIUS BARRYMORE (GROUCHO) is busily dusting the casket with a huge feather duster and singing to himself in a comic falsetto.

JULIUS/GROUCHO is the archetypal Groucho Marx of the films: greasepaint mustache and eyebrows, wire-rimmed glasses, hair parted in the middle and sticking out to the sides like wings, dressed in a frock coat, vest and tie.

The DOORBELL RINGS, playing the first four notes of the Funeral March (Chopin’s Second Piano Sonata). Groucho whips around, tosses the duster into the coffin, and duckwalks to the front door.

VERMINELLI (CHICO) ENTERS, dragging the sleeping HARPO.

VERMINELLI/CHICO is the archetypal curly-haired Chico Marx of the movies, dressed in a coat a couple sizes too small for him and wearing an odd, nearly pointed hat.

RUSTY/HARPO is the archetypal Harpo Marx of the films, with a head of curly red hair topped by a battered top hat, wearing old pants with a rope for a belt and a long, bulky trenchcoat.

Throughout this scene, Harpo remains asleep, hanging on Chico and responding to the dialog with faces and gestures, almost as if he were awake — or dreaming this whole conversation.

GROUCHO:

They usually deliver those in the rear.

CHICO:

He’s-a not dead. He’s-a just takin’ a catnap.

GROUCHO:

Catnapping, eh? He could get ten years for that in this state.

CHICO:

Hey, don’ be crazy! He’s-a not even in this state for ten years. Only about ten minutes.

GROUCHO:

Where’d you pick up that baggage, anyway?

CHICO:

He’s-a no baggage. He’s-a my brother.

GROUCHO:

If he were my brother, I’d give him poison.

CHICO:

If he were your brother, he’d take it.

GROUCHO:

Well, I don’t know, but I still say we ought to hold him a wake.

CHICO:

Sure. I’m-a tired of holding him asleep.

GROUCHO:

Well, if you’re not here for a burial, why are you here?

CHICO:

We see your ad in-a the newspaper. We’re-a very hungry, boss. We need a job.

GROUCHO:

I see. Well, what kind of work experience do you boys have?

CHICO:

We got-a plenty! We work in a quarry once, but that was the pits.

GROUCHO:

Rock bottom, eh?

CHICO:

Then we run a elevator, but-a we get fired...We forget the route.

GROUCHO:

So they gave you the shaft.

CHICO:

Then-a we work in a lumber mill... But we couldn’t cut it.

GROUCHO:

So they gave you the ax.

CHICO:

One time-a we work in a bakery...

GROUCHO:

I’ll bet you were rolling in dough then.

CHICO:

No, we didn’t make enough bread.

GROUCHO:

Well, at least you weren’t fired for loafing.

CHICO:

Gestures toward Harpo

But-a Rusty here, he get a job as-a the Village Idiot. But he’s-a not as dumb as he look—

GROUCHO:

He couldn’t be!

CHICO:

He save-a his money and go into business for himself. He’s-a more on the ball than you think!

GROUCHO:

Well, I’d have to agree with that! ... You know, you boys may be just what I need around here. Someone to step into my shoes.

CHICO:

Why? What did your shoes step into?

GROUCHO:

Ignoring Chico

Gentlemen — and I use the term ironically — after careless consideration, I think I can use you.

Points to Harpo

But I’m afraid he’s a little too rambunctious.

CHICO:

But, boss! He’ll make a good display!

Harpo shoots a gookie. Groucho looks over at him.

GROUCHO:

Yes, a face like that could scare up a lot of business.

Lilting

He looks so natural!

The doorbell rings again.

GROUCHO:

Uh-oh... Shoppers

He rushes them through the right portal

Here...You boys hide in this broom closet. If anyone sees you here, they’ll think I’m behind in my work.

Groucho pushes them through the LEFT portal where they’re hidden, and duckwalks to the front door. He admits MRS. MARTHA BORNWORTHY and her brother-in-law, BAXTER BORNWORTHY.

MARTHA is the Margaret Dumont type: the sheltered society matron, the dowager, the grand dame of another era: poised, full of her own upper-class image — and not too terribly bright.

BAXTER is the typical Marx Bros. nemesis: tall, thin, slick; a haughty, snooty upper-class twit with slicked-back hair, a pencil-thin mustache, and mountains of contempt for his inferiors.

Groucho gives them the once-over, then ushers them in with a sweeping bow.

GROUCHO:

Won’t you...step into my parlor?

They ENTER. Mrs. Bornworthy is obviously distraught.

GROUCHO:

And in what manner may I be of service, in this, your hour of tragedy?

Looks Martha up and down

Of course, you’re a pretty big woman. You might be in for ninety minutes of tragedy.

MARTHA:

Distraught

My dear Harold passed on last night, and I am in need of the full range of your services.

BAXTER:

Snottily

That is, if they meet our standards.

GROUCHO:

Well, I’d like to meet your standards. You must bring them over sometime to meet my standards. Then we’ll have a double standard. And who knows, maybe they’ll get married and raise a family of sub-standards.

To Martha

Speaking of substandards, whose misfortune do I have the misfortune of addressing?

MARTHA:

I am Mrs. Martha Bornworthy, and this is my brother-in-law, Baxter — Harold’s brother.

GROUCHO:

Well, I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances.

BAXTER:

I’m sorry we have to meet under any circumstances.

Looking around, disgusted

What a hideous profession. But I suppose you enjoy dealing with death.

GROUCHO:

Brightly

It’s a living. And what do you do to keep yourself nearly alive?

BAXTER:

I’m an accountant.

GROUCHO:

Then how do you account for yourself?

MARTHA:

Gentlemen, please! Let us not quarrel on such a somber occasion! Can’t you just bury the hatchet?

GROUCHO:

I’d rather bury him. But I’m game.

Groucho offers his hand to Baxter, who crosses his arms defiantly and turns away. Groucho withdraws his hand.

GROUCHO:

I’d give you a hand, but it would cost you an arm and a leg. Speaking of an arm and a leg, let’s discuss my fee.

MARTHA:

Well, if your work is good, I’ll give you a thousand dollars.

GROUCHO:

Well, if your check is good, I’ll take it.

MARTHA:

Of course it’s good! My late husband was the wealthiest man in town, and the Bornworthy millions are known throughout the world.

GROUCHO:

Oh, you’re that Mrs. Bornworthy! Well, you could strike me dumb!

Chico and Harpo ENTER Harpo is now awake and frisky after his nap. He’s wearing a pail on his head.

CHICO:

Hey, boss, we hear you call us.

Harpo saunters around and begins circling Martha and Baxter with a manic look on his face. He moves to shake hands with Baxter but puts his leg in Baxter’s hand instead.

CHICO:

He’d shake-a your hand, but he’d rather pull-a your leg.

GROUCHO:

I think the shoe’s on the other hand.

MARTHA:

Who are these men?

GROUCHO:

Gestures to Chico

This is my new janitor...

Gestures to Harpo

...and this is his mop.

HARPO smacks lips to make mop sound

CHICO:

He looks a little pail. He needs-a something to eat.

GROUCHO:

To Martha

Pay no attention to him. He’s recently suffered a terrible loss...

MARTHA:

Oh, the poor man...

GROUCHO:

Yes, he’s lost his mind. And there’s no sense in looking for it in this crowd.

To Harpo and Chico

Why don’t you two go lie out back and feed the vultures?

CHICO:

Suspicious

Anything to eat out there?

GROUCHO:

Just the vultures.

Gestures at Harpo

But with that bait you should catch a feast.

CHICO:

How’re we supposed to catch ‘em?

GROUCHO:

Well, just say the secret word and the duck will come down and you’ll split $100 between you, you go to the diner and get something to eat. It’s a common word; something you find around the house every day.

Chico and Harpo EXIT, with nasty backward glances.

GROUCHO:

Watching them leave

Tell ‘em Groucho sent ya!

Back to his clients

Now, where were we before we were so crudely interrupted?

He sidles up to Martha

BAXTER:

Here now!

GROUCHO:

Yes, I know we were here now.

Smoothly, to Martha

And I know where I wish some of us were...

Wags his eyebrows at Martha, then peers over at Baxter; nastily

And that goes double