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Bus Stop (1955)

William Inge

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Kenned ys Children (1975)

Robert Patrick

Carla-I wanted to be a sex goddess. And you can laugh all you want to. The joke is on me, whether you

laugh or not. I wanted to be one -- one of them. They used to laugh at Marilyn when she said shedidn't want to be a sex-goddess, she wanted to be a human being. And now they laugh at me when Isay, "I don't want to be a human being; I want to be a sex-goddess." That shows you right there thatsomething has changed, doesn't it? Rita, Ava, Lana, Marlene, Marilyn -- I wanted to be one of them. Iremember the morning my friend came in and told us that Marilyn had died. And all the boys werestunned, rigid, literally, as they realized what had left us. I mean, if the world couldn't supportMarilyn Monroe, then wasn't something desperately wrong? And we spent the rest of thegoddamned sixties finding out what it was. We were all living together, me and these three gay boysthat adopted me when I ran away, in this loft on East Fifth Street, before it became dropout heaven -- before anyone ever said "dropout" -- way back when "commune" was still a verb? We were all --old-movie buffs, sex-mad -- you know, the early sixties. And then my friend, this sweet little queen,

he came in and he passed out tranquilizers to everyone, and told us all to sit down, and we thoughthe was just going to tell us there was a Mae West double feature on somewhere -- and he said -- hesaid -- "Marilyn Monroe died last" -- and all the boys were stunned -- but I -- I felt something suddenand cold in my solar plexus, and I knew then what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be thenext one. I wanted to be the next one to stand radiant and perfected before the race of man, toshed the luminosity of my beloved countenance over the struggles and aspirations of my pitifulsubjects. I wanted to give meaning to my own time, to be the unattainable luring love that drivesmen on, the angle of light, the golden flower, the best of the universe made womankind, the livingsacrifice, the end! Shit!

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Sister Mary Ignatious Explains it all for you (1979)

Christopher Durang

DianeWhen I was sixteen my mother got breast cancer, which spread. I prayed to god to let her suffering

be small, but her suffering seemed to me quite extreme. She was in bad pain for half a year, andthen terrible pain for much of a full year. The ulcerations on her body were horrifying to her and tome. Her last few weeks she slipped into a semiconscious state, which allowed her, unfortunately, towake up for a few minutes at a time and to have a full awareness of her pain and her fear of death.She was able to recognize me, and she would try to cry, but she was unable to; and to speak, but shewas unable to. I think she wanted me to get her new doctors; she never really accepted that herdisease was going to kill her, and she thought in her panic that her doctors must be incompetent andthat new ones could magically cure her. Then, thank goodness, he went into a full coma. A nursewho I knew to be Catholic assured me that everything would be done to keep her alive - a dubiouscomfort. Happily, the doctor was not Catholic, or if he was, not doctrinaire, and they didn't useextraordinary means to keep her alive; and she finally died after several more weeks in her coma.

Now there are, I'm sure, far worse deaths- terrible burnings, tortures, plague, pestilence, famine;Christ on the cross even, as sister likes to say. But I thought my mother's death was hard enough,and I got confused as to why I had been praying and to whom. I mean, if prayer was really this sortof button you pressed- admit you need the Lord, then He stops the suffering- then why didn't italways work? Of ever work? And when it worked so-called, and our prayers were supposedlyanswered, wasn't it as likely to be chance as God? God always answers our prayers, you said, He justsometimes says no. I became angry at myself , and by extension at you, for ever having expectedanything beyond randomness from the world. And while I was thinking these things, the day that mymother died, I was raped. Now I know that's really too much, one really loses all sympathy for mebecause I sound like I'm making it up or something. But bad things happen all at once, and thisparticular day on my return from the hospital I was raped by some maniac who broke into the

house. He had a knife and cut me up some. Anyway, I don't want to really go into the experience,but I got really depressed for about five years. Somehow the utter randomness of things- mymother's suffering, my attack by a lunatic- this randomness seemed intolerable. I blamed myself ofcourse, for letting all of this get to me..... But now, I think it is childish to look for blame, part of therandomness of things is that there is no one to blame; but basically I think everything is your faultSister.

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Angels In America (1993)

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Oleanna (premiered 1992)

David Mamet

CAROL: How can you deny it. You did it to me. Here. You did You confess. You love the Power. Todeviate. To invent, to transgress to transgress whatever norms have been establ ished for us. And

you think its charming to question in yourself this taste to mock and destroy. But you shouldquestion it. Professor. And you pick those things which you feel advance you: publication, tenure,and the steps to get them you call harmless rituals. And you perform those steps. Although yousay it is hypocrisy. But to the aspirations of your students. Of hardworking students, who come here,who slave to come here you have no idea what it cost me to come to this school you mock us.You call education hazing, and from your so -protected, so-elitist seat you hold our confusion as a

joke, and our hopes and efforts with it. Then you sit there and say what have I done? And ask meto understand that you have aspirations too. But I tell you. I tell you. That you are vile. And that youare exploitative. And if you possess one ounce of that inner honesty you describe in your book, youcan look in yourself and see those things that I see. And you can find revulsion equal to my own.Good day. (She prepares to leave the room.)

[ p28 ]

Carol: Why do you hate me? Because you think me wrong? No. Because I have, you think, powerover you. Listen to me. Listen to me, Professor (pause) It is the power that you hate. So deeply that,that any atmosphere of free discussion is impossible. It s not unlikely. It's impossible. Isn't it? Now.The thing which you find so cruel is the selfsame process of selection I, and my group, go throughevery day of our lives. In admittance to school. In our tests, in our class rankings Is it unfair? I can'ttell you. But, if it is fair. Or even if it is unfortunate but necessary for us, then, by God, so must it befor you. (pause) You write of your responsibility to the young. Treat us with respect, and that willshow you your responsibility. You write that education is just hazing. (pause) But we worked to getto this school. (pause) And some of us. (pause) Overcame prejudices. Economic, sexual, you cannotbegin to imagine. And endured humiliations I pray that you and those you love never will encounter.(pause) To gain admittance here. To pursue that same dream of security you pursue. We, who, whoare, at any moment, in danger of being deprived of it. By the administration. By the teachers. By you.By, say, one low grade, that keeps us out of graduate school; by one, say, one capricious or inventiveanswer on our parts, which, perhaps, you don t find amusing. Now you know, do you see? What it isto be subject to that power. Who do you think I am? To come here and be taken in by a smile. Youlittle yapping fool. You think I want revenge. I don t want revenge. I WANT UNDERSTANDING.

scene 3.

CAROL: As full well they should. You dont understand? Youre angry? What has led you to thisplace? Not your sex. Not your race. Not your class. YOUR OWN ACTIONS. And youre angry. You askme here. What do you want? You want to charm me. You want to convince me. You want me torecant. I will not recant. Why should I? What I say is right. You tell me, you are going to tell me thatyou have a wife and child. You are going to say that you have a career and that youve worked fortwenty years for this. Do you know what youve worked for? Power. For power. Do you understand?And you sit there, and you tell me stories. About your house, about all the private schools, and aboutprivilege, and how you entitled. To buy, to spend, to mock, to summon. All your stories. All your sillyweak guilt, its all about privilege; and you wont know it. Dont you see? You worked twenty yearsfor the right to insult me. And you feel entitled to be paid for it. Your Home. Your Wife Your sweetdeposit on your house

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Cigarettes and Chocolate (1988)

Anthony Minghella

Gemma When you stop speaking, its like stopping eating. The first daytheres something thrilling, and new, before the pain begins. Thepain where you want to give up, where you can think of nothingelse.Then the second day, you feel wretched, the third delirious, andthen suddenly theres no appetite, it shrinks, it shrinks, until theprospect of speaking, the thought of words retching from themouth, how ugly and gross it seems.Nothing changes.How to stop people in their tracks, and make them think. Only if

youre starving, if its your son lying in your arms, or you think hemight be in that discarded pile of mutilated bodies, or theres nomilk in your breast and the babys crying, or the radiation is leakinginto your childs lungs, or the le ad or the nitrates or the, or the, orthe and all the while skirts get longer, skirts get shorter, skirts getlonger, skirts get shorter, poetry is written, the news is read, I buya different butter at the store and have my hair permed,straightened, coloured, cut, lengthened, all the while my hair keepsgrowing, I throw away all my skirts, a black bag to Oxfam, latelyIve been at Oxfam buying back my skirts, Ive stripped the pineand painted the pine, pulled out the fireplaces and put them back

in, Im on the pill, Im off the pill, Im on the pill, Im off the pill. Imlistening to jazz, swing, jazz, swing, Im getting my posters framed.Im telling my womens group everything. Im protesting. Improtesting. Ive covered my wall with post cards, with posters, withpostcards, with posters. No this. Out them. In these. Yes those. Nothis. Out them. In these. Yes those. The rows. The rows with myfriends, my lovers. What were they about? What did they change?The fact is, the facts are, nothing is changed. Nothing has beendone. There is neither rhyme nor reason, just tears, tears, peoplespain, peoples rage, their aggression. And silence.

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Junk (adapted for the stage) (1999) John Retellack/ Melvin Burgress

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The madness of Esme and Shaz (1994)

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Grace Notes (1999ish)

Rachel Rubin Ladukte

Page 45 Emily -

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GN Page 46 Catherine

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GN Page 86 Samantha (cut Eriks lines)