===================================================================== THE DEATH SCENE THAT WOULDN'T END ===================================================================== a one-act play by Joe Blevins (joeblev@concentric.net) ===================================================================== based on the movie "The Brain That Wouldn't Die" ===================================================================== [Lights up. Curtain rises to reveal the dank basement laboratory of Dr. Bill Cortner, whose name isn't in capital letters because he isn't in this play. At stage left is JAN-IN-THE-PAN, a bodiless but still vivacious severed head attached to a bewildering maze of generic science stuff: pieces from an Erector Set, telephone cords, beakers with bubbling liquid, and some old Betamax VCRs. Jan rests in a lasagna dish filled with motor oil and speaks in a raspy, Peter Lorre- esque whisper.] [At stage right is a massive wooden door with a panel in the middle. In the background is a small staircase leading to the ground floor.] [Jan is talking to someone, but we can't tell exactly whom.] JAN-IN-THE-PAN: And so that's how I started collecting salt and pepper shakers. I mean, everyone needs a hobby, right? [pause] Knock twice if you agree that everyone needs a hobby. [There are two loud knocks on the wooden door.] JAN-IN-THE-PAN: So, do you like Jerry Vale records? [Two knocks.] JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Oh, that is great. We are going to be such friends. It just goes to show, you never can tell where you're going to meet people. Am I right? [Two knocks.] [We hear the sound of someone approaching.] JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Whoops. That sounds like Kurt. Time to go into the ol' "let me die" bit. [KURT, a middle-aged German man in a labcoat, hobbles down the stairs. His left arm is withered and deformed.] KURT: Good afternoon, fraulein Pan. And how are we doing today? JAN-IN-THE-PAN: [whining] Let me die! Let me diiiiiie! You shouldn't keep a person alive like this! It's inhumane! You'll burn for this, Kurt. You'll burn! I am the ultimate extreme in horror, and YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE! [A beat.] KURT: Well, it sounds like SOMEone woke up on the wrong side of the pan this morning. JAN-IN-THE-PAN: I'll have you know that I've been communicating telepathically with that... thing in the closet. KURT: Oh, good. It's nice to hear that you two are making friends. By the way, that "thing" has a name. Please, call him Devin. JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Together, we are powerful! More powerful than you or Bill, and together we shall have our revenge. KURT: Now that's what I call a can-do attitude. That's more like it! You've been moping around in that pan for days. I'm glad you're finally coming out of your shell. JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Uh, yes. By the way, Kurt, the thing... I mean, DEVIN has something he wants to show you. KURT: What is it? JAN-IN-THE-PAN: I'm not exactly sure, but I think he whittled you a new arm. KURT: He did? Oh, how sweet of him. And my birthday isn't until April. That Devin can be so thoughtful sometimes. JAN-IN-THE-PAN: He said he was very eager to give you your present, and that he wants you to reach through the panel in the door and take it. KURT: Well, then, I guess that's what I'll do. This doesn't seem the least bit suspicious. [calling] I'm coming to get my surprise present, Devin, you dear, sweet freak of nature you. JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Yes, Kurt! Do it! Towards the door! [Kurt crosses the room and carefully sticks his right arm through the small panel in the door.] KURT: All right, Devin, you can let me have it. [We hear furious grunting and growling coming from behind the door. Dramatic music blares over the sound system. We hear horrible tearing and snapping noises, like a body being torn apart by wolves. Kurt remains relatively motionless.] KURT: C'mon, Devin, if you're going to give me that new wooden arm, hurry it up. I mean, I appreciate the gesture and all, but I've got work to do. I've got to dust Dr. Cortner's knickknacks this afternoon. [Kurt gives up and walks away from the door. His right arm appears to be torn completely off, leaving only a bloody stump. (In reality, the actor is clearly hiding the arm inside his coat.) Jan-In-The-Pan laughs hysterically at this.] KURT: [to Jan] Well, Little Miss Knowitall, what are you laughing at? JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Kurt, you doofus, your arm's off! KURT: No it isn't. JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Look! KURT: [examining the bloody stump] Oh, so it is. [laughs] Well, this looks like the end for me. I guess all that's left to do is have a theatrical death scene where I stagger around in agony and get blood all over everything. [goes into throes of agony] OHHHHHH!!! AUUUUGGGHHHHHH!!!!! MY ARM!!!!! [He lurches wildly around the room, leaving a trail of blood all over the place. He stumbles toward Jan's table.] JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Hey, watch it, Stumpy. You're dripping blood in my neck juice. KURT: Oh, I'm sorry. I'll just do my theatrical death scene somewhere else. JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Please do. Some of us have to keep LIVING here, you know. [Kurt stumbles around the room and then up the stairs. He exits.] JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Can you believe that guy? Sheesh! What a nimrod! [Devin knocks several times on the wooden door.] JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Tell me about it! [Lights dim. Curtain falls. We hear stagehands frantically moving the scenery around.] [Curtain rises again to reveal living room set with the kind of furniture you'd find at your grandmother's house. Kurt lurches in with a feather duster clutched between his teeth. He tries to dust the knickknacks, but he only manages to get blood on them. He drops the feather duster and staggers out again.] [Lights dim. Curtain falls. More sounds of scenery being moved.] [Lights up.] [Curtain rises. There is now a painted backdrop of the Paris skyline on the stage. We hear that French-y accordion music. Kurt stumbles in and lurches around awkwardly and bloodily.] KURT: Sacre bleu! Mon bras! La douleur! [He staggers off again. Lights dim. Curtain falls.] [Lights up.] [Curtain rises. The Paris backdrop has been replaced by a huge map of Mexico. We hear mariachi music. Kurt enters, still bleeding and still dying.] KURT: Ay yi yi! Me duele el brazo! [He exits again.] [Lights dim. Curtain falls. A longish pause here.] [Lights up.] [Curtain rises. We are now watching a production of Henrik Ibsen's "A Doll's House." A comfortably and tastefully but not expensively furnished room. A bell rings in the hall outside. NORA, the wife of Torvald Helmer, enters. She is carrying a stack of parcels, which she sets down on a table. She leaves the hall door open. We see a PORTER carrying a Christmas tree and a basket. He gives these to the MAID, who has opened the door for them.] NORA: Hide that Christmas tree away, Helen. The children mustn't see it before I've decorated it this evening. [to porter] How much? PORTER: A shilling. NORA: Here's half a crown. No, keep it. [Suddenly, Kurt staggers onto the stage, still hemorrhaging. The "Doll's House" scene stops suddenly.] MAID: What the...? NORA: Who the Hell is that? KURT: Sorry, Ma'am. I'll be out of your way soon. Please, go on doing whatever it is you do. [He exits. The other actors watch him go, bewildered.] [Lights dim. Curtain falls. Huge pause here. We hear hammering, sawing, etc. as if sets are actually being constructed.] [Lights up.] [Curtain rises to reveal diner set. A group of REGULARS sits at the lunch counter, which a tough-looking WAITRESS is cleaning.] REGULAR #1: Could you refill my coffee, Edna? WAITRESS: Just a minute, Earl. I'm cleaning. REGULAR #1: No hurry. I ain't got nowhere to be. REGULAR #2: [to first man] Hey, Earl, don't you have to be in court this afternoon? REGULAR #1: Yeah, but that ain't til 3:00. REGULAR #3: Hey! I wonder where Kurt is. He's usually here by now. [At that moment, Kurt enters the diner. His arm stump is still bleeding badly, but he acts as if nothing is wrong. He seems to be in good spirits.] REGULAR #2: Well, speak of the devil! REGULAR #1: Hey, Kurt! We were just talking about you! KURT: Hey, Earl! Billy! Donny! And you, too, Edna. WAITRESS: [barely looking up] Oh, hey, Kurt. The usual? KURT: Nah, just give me a cup of java and a slice of apple pie. I'm in a bit of a hurry today. WAITRESS: We're all outta apple pie, hon. KURT: Well, what do you have today? WAITRESS: We got... uh, let's see... we got blueberry, custard, and key lime. KURT: I think I'll give the key lime pie a day in court. REGULAR #1: Hey, that's a line from that movie. Oh, what was it called? REGULAR #2: "Pulp Fiction"? REGULAR #1: Nah, that wasn't it. REGULAR #3: "Naturally Born Killers"? REGULAR #1: Yeah! That's it! "Naturally Born Killers." REGULAR #2: I think it's called "Natural Born Killers." REGULAR #1: Oooh, look who's the movie expert now! KURT: Movie expert? That reminds me! I've got a movie to get back to! Edna, you'd better cancel that order. WAITRESS: Whatever you say, hon. [Kurt dashes out the door.] REGULAR #3: Boy, he was in a hurry! REGULAR #2: I'll say. [They go back to eating their lunches and drinking coffee.] [Lights dim. Curtain falls. Yet another long pause. A JUGGLER comes out on the stage to entertain the audience during the lull. He juggles three of those Barbie Make-Me-Pretty dolls that are just a life-size head that you put makeup on. He ad-libs some lame patter and does a lot of puns, some naughty, on the word "head." "Hey, don't get aHEAD of me here, folks." Stuff like that. After a few minutes, he exits.] [Lights up. Curtain rises. We are back in the basement lab. And what do you know? It turns out DR. BILL CORTNER is in this play after all. He folds his arms and is tapping his foot.] BILL: [to Jan] Where is he? Where can he be? JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Like I should know! I never leave this lab, you moron! BILL: Well, you were the last one to talk to him. And I thought you said you had telepathic powers. JAN-IN-THE-PAN: That's only with the thing in closet. BILL: [to the monster] Hey, Devin, did Kurt tell you where he was going or anything? [A solitary knock.] JAN-IN-THE-PAN: That means no. BILL: Well, if Kurt doesn't get here soon, I'm going back to the Moulin Rouge and flirt with more strippers. JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Oh, that's great. That's just great, Bill. I spend the day cooped up in this muffin tin, while you're out having a good time. BILL: It's just till I get you a body, baby. JAN-IN-THE-PAN: How many times have I heard THAT story? [Just then, Kurt comes down the stairs to the basement, STILL bleeding badly from his arm stump.] BILL: Look who decided to show up! KURT: I'm sorry, Dr. Cortner. My death scene just got a little carried away. BILL: Well, could you just get it over with, Shatner? We've got a lurid potboiler to finish here. KURT: Oh, okay. [dramatically] Oh, you cursed brat! Look what you've done! [Kurt walks to center stage, apparently to a trap door. He is lowered slowly into the stage. Steam rises up.] KURT: I'm melting! Melting! Oh what a world! What a world! Who would have thought that a good little severed head like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness? [Kurt has completely vanished now, but his labcoat is left behind. There is silence for a moment.] BILL: [breaking character] That's it! I'm quitting the acting game! I'm going to barber college, where at least my work will make a difference in someone's life. [He storms off. We hear him offstage, talking to someone.] BILL'S VOICE: Nope, I'm not going back out there. [pause] You tell Bernie he can take this job and shove it. I'm gone! [We hear a door slamming, and the sound of a sports car revving up and driving away. A pause.] JAN-IN-THE-PAN: So, Devin, did you like the movie "Cinderfella"? [A single knock.] JAN-IN-THE-PAN: Yeah. Me neither. [Lights dim. Curtain falls.] [THE END] [There is a 15-minute intermission, and then it's time for the second play of the evening.] ===================================================================== THINGS TO DO IN DENVER WITH BILL'S DAD ===================================================================== a mini-one-act play by Joe Blevins (joeblev@concentric.net) ===================================================================== based on the movie "The Brain That Wouldn't Die" ===================================================================== [We are in a nice hotel room. BILL'S DAD, a cranky Hitler lookalike, is sitting on the bed, wearing an undershirt and boxers. A rather attractive young WOMAN wearing a silk robe is rubbing his shoulders. She wears a bit too much makeup, and a cigarette dangles from her lips.] WOMAN: So your son thinks you're here in Denver for a medical convention? BILL'S DAD: Yeah, that kid'll believe anything. You should hear the way he goes on all the time. "Limbs and organs! Limbs and organs!" That's all he ever talks about! Limbs and organs! I said to him, "Bill, if you paid as much attention to your golf game as you do to those experiments of yours, you could take ten strokes off your game." But he doesn't listen. WOMAN: Kids never do. BILL'S DAD: I just hope he doesn't get in too much trouble while I'm out of town on "business." But in the meantime, are you ready to play doctor with me, so to speak? WOMAN: Hey, it's your room, mister. [Bill's dad reaches over to the nightstand and turns off the lamp. There is a blackout. We hear giggling.] [Curtain falls.] [THE END]