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                          UNEARTHLY RETIREMENT
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       a one-act play by Joe Blevins (joeblev@concentric.net)
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                   based on the movie "The Unearthly"
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[Curtain rises.  Lights up.  The setting is a small, rather run-down
soundstage.  We see lots of movie equipment -- lights, wardrobe racks,
scenery, props, boom mikes, ladders, etc.  Various EXTRAS -- actors
and crew members -- mill around.  There are cracks in the plaster
walls in the background.]

[In the center of all this is legendary actor JOHN CARRADINE, now worn
and leathery with age, sitting in a collapsable chair.  A youngish
MAKEUP LADY is delicately applying powder to his weathered face, while
a STYLIST fusses over the actor's still-formidable hairdo.  The actor
is reading Daily Variety.  The script is on his lap.  Carradine has
tissue stuffed into his shirt collar to keep it clean.]

MAKEUP LADY: [starstruck] Gosh, Mr. Carradine, it sure is a thrill to
             work with a big movie star.
CARRADINE: Huh?  [penny drops]  Oh, you mean me.  Thanks... I guess.
           Listen, ladies, you want to hurry this along?  I've got
           eight more movies to star in today.  I'm due on the set of
           "The Blood Beast of Tucson" in 45 minutes.  And I'm supposed
           to play "The Unhinged Dr. Malcontenticus" after that.
STYLIST: I'm working as quickly as I can, Mr. Carradine.  I'm only one
         person.
CARRADINE: Yeah, yeah, cry me a river.  I've made 318 movies in the
           last five months, but you don't hear ME complaining.  Which
           one is this, anyway?  "The Thing Wore a Cardigan"?
MAKEUP LADY: Uh, no.  "The Unearthly."
CARRADINE: "The Unearthly," right.  And I play a zombie vampire...?
STYLIST: Mad scientist.
CARRADINE: Mad scientist, of course.  I play a mad scientist who
           invents a terrifying new serum...?
MAKEUP LADY: Gland.
CARRADINE: Gland, right.  I play a mad scientist who invents a
           terrifying new gland.  [a beat]  Gland?
MAKEUP LADY & STYLIST: Gland.
CARRADINE: What?  You've gotta be kidding me.  Let me see.  [He leafs
           through the script and reads to himself.]  Well, paint me
           yellow and call me a cab.  It does say "gland."  [rolls
           eyes]  Sheesh!  Who writes this stuff?  Oh well.  Work is
           work.  Who's my co-star in this thing?  Wait, don't tell me.
           I remember.  It's... Van Johnson.  Am I right?
STYLIST: Tor Johnson.
CARRADINE: Tor Johnson, of course.  [pause]  Little guy, lots of
           freckles, red hair...?
MAKEUP LADY: Big guy.  Swedish wrestler.  No hair.
CARRADINE: Oh.  Yeah.  Right.  [a beat]  Huh?

[An eager young production assistant runs in.]

ASSISTANT: Telephone call for you, Mr. Carradine.
CARRADINE: [bluntly] Who is it and what do they want?
ASSISTANT: It's your agent.  He wants to know if you'll play Professor
           Skullduggerus in "They Shaved Hitler's Legs."
CARRADINE: You tell Manny those cheap bastards have to throw in a
           bottle of Blue Nun and a book of green stamps, or it's
           no go.  You got that?
ASSISTANT: Yes, sir.  I'll relay the message, sir.
CARRADINE: See that you do.  And get me a sandwich or something.  I'm
           starving here!  What do they pay you people for?
ASSISTANT: Right away, sir.

[The assistant scurries away.]

CARRADINE: [grumbling] Damned amateurs, ruining the business.

[TOR JOHNSON, the hulking bald behemoth, enters.  He is wearing a
terrycloth robe, and there is a green beauty mask on his huge,
disturbing face.]

TOR JOHNSON: Tor specifically ask for gazpacho in dressing room!
             Where gazpacho?  Tell Tor that!  Where Tor's gazpacho?
             Tor no work without gazpacho.

[A FLUNKY nervously approaches the Swedish giant, holding a glass
of some reddish liquid.  A group of crew people and actors have
gathered around to watch what is quickly becoming a spectacle.]

FLUNKY: I-it's not gazpacho, Mr. Johnson, but I did get you this
        glass of lukewarm V8 juice.

[The flunky tentatively extends the glass of V8.  Tor slaps the glass
away.  It shatters on the floor.]

TOR JOHNSON: Tor not speak plainly?  Tor not make self understood?
             Tor say GAZPACHO!  [lets out bellowing growl]  Tor be
             in dressing room.

[He storms out.  An awed hush falls over the room for several moments.
Then Carradine breaks the silence.]

CARRADINE: That big ox gets a dressing room?
FLUNKY: He means the storage shed out back.
CARRADINE: Oh.  

[Carradine resumes reading Daily Variety.  The other actors and crew
members go back to their regular routines.]

[Lights dim.  Curtain falls.]

                            [THE END]