MONOLOGUES FOR AUDITION
OF THE FIELDS, LATELY by David French
MALE-DRAMA
BEN (talking to the audience)
He rushed out the door and down to the school-yard, the first game he had ever come to, and my
mother put his supper in the oven, for later … I hadn’t reminded my father of the game. I was afraid
he’d show up and embarrass me. Twelve years old and ashamed of my old man. Ashamed of his
dialect, his dirty overalls, his bruised fingers with the fingernails lined with dirt,
his teeth yellow as old ivory. Most of all, his lunch pail, that symbol of the working man. No, I wanted
a doctor for a father. A lawyer. At least a fireman. Not a carpenter. That wasn’t good enough … And at
home my mother sat down to darn his socks and watch the oven … I remember stepping up to bat.
The game was tied; it was the last of the ninth, with no one on base. Then I saw him sitting on the
bench along third base. He grinned and waved, and gestured to the man beside him. But I pretended
not to see him. I turned to face the pitcher. And angry at myself, I swung hard on the first pitch, there
was a hollow crack, and the ball shot low over the shortstop’s head for a double. Our next batter
bunted and I made third. He was only a few feet away now, my father. But I still refused to
acknowledge him. Instead, I stared hard at the catcher, pretending concentration. And when the next
pitch bounced between the catcher’s legs and into home screen, I slid home to win the game. And
there he was, jumping up and down, showing his teeth, excited as hell. And as the crowd broke up
and our team stampeded out of the school-yard, cleats clicking and scraping blue sparks on the
sidewalk, I looked back once through the
wire fence and saw my father still sitting on the now-empty bench, alone, slumped over a little,
staring at the cinders between his feet, just staring… I don’t know how long he stayed there, maybe
till dark, but I do know he never again came down to see me play. At home that night he never
mentioned the game or being there. He just went to bed unusually early…
THE LAST BUS by Raymond Storey
MALE-DRAMA
ROBERT (The death of a childhood friend brings Robert back to his home town where he forms an
uneasy relationship with his dead friend’s outcast girlfriend. Together they try to come to terms with
past, present and future. Here he talks to his dead friend)
You were standing on the other side of the highway. There was a picnic or a field-day or something, I
was trying to hold on to my mom. I was hot. She was wearing shorts and stepping on me. Tripping
over me. She didn’t want a mamma’s boy underfoot. Didn’t look good. When they said that there was
going to be a race for boys my age and prizes, I didn ’t want to. I was the shortest and I knew I’d lose.
I’m running across this field. It’s rough and bumpy and sometimes there’s rocks and the other boys
are away, away ahead of me. And I know I can’ t win. And I can’t keep running, so I throw myself on
the ground. Everybody came over. They all thought I was hurt, because I was crying. So I figured I
better pretend that I was. They gave me a rubber man on a tractor so that I would feel better. I could
see in the set of Mom’s face that she knew I was faking and she said, “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
And I started crying and limping more so that she would know that I really was hurt. And the other
kids and mothers were following us, saying is he okay? And my mom is getting red in the face and
yanking me by the arm. Yanking me forward, not looking at me, and I hated her. And I hated those
other kids. Pressing. And those other mothers. My mom’s yanking me by the one hand and I got this
stupid green-rubber man on a green-rubber tractor in the other hand and I just wanted to fold into
myself until no one could see me anymore. And then she let me go. Everybody let go of me. They
forgot about the falling-down kid with the green-rubber tractor and they went to the edge of the
highway. Because
somebody yelled that a little boy had gone across. People were yelling. Get back here where you
belong. And I saw you. Marty. Hair like corn silk. Trucks barrelling past you. Yanking the air, pulling
at your hair and your clothes, almost tugging you along with them. And you looked at me and smiled,
like as if to say, “I’ve done it once, we can do it again. You and me.” You were looking at me. Why did
you do that? Why did you pick the falling-down kid with the green-rubber tractor? Why did you take
him in, just to shove him out again? Why did you hold us here?
BILLY BISHOP by John Gray
MALE-COMEDY
BISHOP (talking to the audience, playing all parts and becoming all the characters)
Well, Jeez, that old girl must have known something I didn’t, because, two weeks later, I’m released
from hospital. Promptly, at three o’clock, I find myself in front of her door at Portland Place, in my
best uniform, shining my shoes on my pants. The door is opened by the biggest butler I have ever
seen. (he looks up) Hi!
CEDRIC: (Bishop as the butler, Cedric, looks down and away in distaste) Madam, the Canadian is here.
Shall I show him in?
LADY ST. HELIER: (Bishop as Lady St. Helier) Yes, Cedric, please. Show him in.
CEDRIC: Get in!
BISHOP: (to audience) I’m shown into the largest room I’ ve ever seen. I mean, a fireplace eight feet
wide and a staircase that must had had a hundred steps in it. I’m not used to dealing with nobility.
Servants, grand ballrooms, pheasant hunting on the hearth, fifty-year-old brandy over billiards,
breakfast in bed … shit, what a life!
CEDRIC: Madam is in the study. Get in!
BISHOP: The study. Books, books … more books than I’ll ever read. Persian rug. Tiger’s head over the
mantle. African spears in the corner. “Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the…” I stood at the door. I was
on edge. Out of my element. Lady St. Helier was sitting at this little writing desk, writing.
LADY ST. HELIER: Very punctual, Bishop. Please sit down.
BISHOP: I sat in this chair that was all carved lions. One of the lions stuck in my back.
CEDRIC: Would our visitor from Canada care for tea, madam?
LADY ST. HELIER: Would you care for something to drink, Bishop?
BISHOP: Tea? Ahhh, yeah … Tea would be fine.
LADY ST. HELIER: A tea for Bishop, Cedric. And I’ll have a gin.
CEDRIC: Lemon?
BISHOP: (disappointed) Gin! I wonder if I could change … No, no. Tea will be fine.
THE ODD COUPLE by Neil Simon
MALE-COMEDY
OSCAR (talking to Felix)
I’ll tell you exactly what it is. It’s the cooking, cleaning and crying…. It’s the talking in your sleep, it’s
the moose calls that open your ears at two o’clock in the morning…. I can’t take it anymore, Felix. I’m
crackin’ up. Everything you do irritates me. And when you’re not here, the things I know you’re
gonna do when you come in irritate me…. You leave me little notes on my pillow. I told you a
hundred times, I can’t stand little notes on my pillow. “We’re all out of Corn Flakes. F.U.”…. It took me
three hours to figure out that F.U. was Felix Unger…. It’s not your fault, Felix. It’s a rotten
combination.
Intervening speech. Felix: I get the picture.
OSCAR (cont’d.)
That’s just the frame. The picture I haven’t even painted yet…. I got a typewritten list in my office of
the “Ten Most Aggravating Things You Do That Drive Me Berserk”…. But last night was the topper.
Oh, that was the topper. Oh, that was the ever loving lulu of all times.
SISTER JUDE by Dave Carley
MALE-COMEDY
WESLEY (Wesley, in his mid-twenties, is engaged in a mighty wrestling match with his personal
demons. He has climbed the highest point in his town and stands with coat hangers in both hands, arms
raised, inviting the wrath of God in an electrical storm) (muttering)
Rain. Come on rain. More lighting. (looking up) Make it rain hard. (pausing) More electricity! Good. I
have to tell you this out loud. This hill is as close as I can get to you. There’s nothing between us God.
It’s just me, then sky, then you. So show me what to do. (seeing lightning) That’s good. Forgive me for
I have sinned. I have sinned repeatedly and with ingenuity. I have gone out of my way to sin. I have
slow danced with the Devil. Every Friday since my late teens I have put buttons the size of dimes in
Globe and Mail honour boxes and then I have removed not one but two papers so that Mom and I
could do the Jumbo Crosswords separately. I told her I paid for the Globes out of my own pocket and I
have knowingly accepted her gratitude. These’s worse.
(rapidly) I broke the Crown Derby gravy boat accidentally and then begged Jude to glue it back up
before Mom could see. I crumpled somebody’s bumper in the K-Mart parking lot and I didn’t leave a
note on their windshield. I have drunk Shooting Sherry to excess. (pausing) Seven times. I have never
smoked a cigarette but I have wanted to. OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD I lie even to you. I have smoked a
cigarette! I found it on the street and I lit it – knew how from watching Jude – I lit it and then I walked
down Monroe Avenue and I felt … virile. There’s worse.
I come up here often. I come up here on Armour Hill every night there’s no moon. This is where Jude
and Billy used to come and park. I saw them here. Once. Twice. More than that. Many more times. I
saw them and I saw others. This is where everyone else from school comes to park and pet and feel
and fornicate and I came up here too – I still come up here – and I sneak from car to car and I look in
the windows, sometimes they’re too steamy to see anything but God it’s true and I do this night after
night after night. I don’t want to do it! I just do it! I like doing it! I don’t want to like doing it but I do
and I can’t stop! (raising coathangers in each hand) Now you know it all.
Everything I do and everything I think. They aren’t the thoughts and actions of a worthy man, are
they. (raising arms higher) You’ve got to let me know. You’ve got to send me a sign.
(throwing his arms high) STRIKE ME DOWN OH MIGHTY HEAVENLY FATHER STRIKE ME DOWN
WITH A BOLT OF LIGHTNING I DON’T HAVE RUBBER-SOLED SHOES ON HIT ME HIT ME HIT ME I
AM THE WILLING VESSEL OF YOUR WRATH HIT ME HIT ME HIT ME … Strike me down … smite me
… (pausing; lowering arms slowly; joy in face and voice) Why haven’t you … struck … me down… Am I
a worthy man? Are my sins forgiven? Hallelujah.
Plays and monologues are available at the following locations:
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For more monologues you can also visit:
Dramatic Publishing:
Dramatists:
Samuel French:
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