HOWARD FINE ACTING STUDIO SUGGESTED AUDITION PIECES FOR MALES APPLYING IN 2013 TO ENROL IN 2014 You must prepare two audition pieces – both must be from the selected list below: JULIUS CAESAR by William Shakespeare MARCUS ANTONIUS Act III Scene 1 O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers! Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, – Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue, – A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; Blood and destruction shall be so in use, And dreadful objects so familiar, That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quarter’d with the hands of war; All pity choked with custom of fell deeds: And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, With Ate by his side come hot from hell, Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice Cry ‘havoc,’ and let slip the dogs of war; That this foul deed shall smell above the earth With carrion men, groaning for burial. HENRY VI PART III by William Shakespeare Duke of Gloucester Act V Scene 6 What, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster sink in the ground? I thought it would have mounted. See how my sword weeps for the poor King’s death, O, may such purple tears be always shed from those that wish the downfall of our house! If any spark of life be yet remaining, down, down to hell; and say I sent thee thither – I that have neither pity, love, nor fear. Indeed ‘tis true that Henry told me of: for I have often heard my mother say I came into the world with my legs forward. Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste and seek their run that usurp’d our right? The midwife wonder’d, and the women cried ‘o Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!’ And so I was, which plainly signified that I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog. Then, since the heavens have shap’d my body so, let hell make crook’d my mind to answer it. I have no brother, I am like no brother; and this word ‘love’, which greybeards call divine, Be resident in men like one another, and not in me: I am myself alone. Clarence, beware; thou keep’st me from the light, but I will sort a pitchy day for thee; for I will buzz abroad such prophecies as Edward shall be fearful of his life; and then, to purge his fear, I’ll be thy death. King Henry and the Prince his son are gone; Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest, counting myself but bad till I be best. I’ll throw thy body in another room, and triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. HAMLET by William Shakespeare HAMLET Act I Scene 5 O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? And shall I couple hell?–O,fie!–Hold, hold, my heart; And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee! Ay, thou poor ghost, whiles memory holds a seat In this distracted globe. Remember thee! Yea, from the table of my memory I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, That youth and observation copied there; And thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmixt with baser matter: Yes, by heaven!– O most pernicious woman! O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain! My tables, –meet it is I set it down, That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain; At least I’m sure it may be so in Denmark: [Writing. So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word; It is, ‘Adieu, adieu! Remember me:’ I have sworn’t. OTHELLO by William Shakespeare IAGO Act II Scene 1 That Cassio loves her, I do well believe it; That she loves him, 'tis apt, and of great credit: The Moor–howbeit that I endure him not– Is of a constant, loving, noble nature; And I dare think he'll prove to Desdemona A most dear husband. Now, I do love her too; Not out of absolute lust,–though peradventure I stand accountant for as great a sin,– But partly led to diet my revenge, For that I do suspect the lusty Moor Hath leaped into my seat: the thought whereof Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards; And nothing can or shall content my soul Till I am even’d with him, wife for wife; Or failing so, yet that I put the Moor At least into a jealousy so strong That judgment cannot cure. Which thing to do, If this poor trash of Venice, whom I trash For his quick hunting, stand the putting on, I'll have our Michael Cassio on the hip; Abuse him to the Moor in the rank garb,– For I fear Cassio with my night-­‐cap too; Make the Moor thank me, love me, and reward Me, For making him egregiously an ass, And practising upon his peace and quiet Even to madness. 'Tis here, but yet confused: Knavery's plain face is never seen till used. KING LEAR by William Shakespeare EDMUND Act 1 Scene 2 Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law My services are bound. Wherefore should I Stand in the plague of custom, and permit The curiosity of nations to deprive me, For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon– shines Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base? When my dimensions are as well compact, My mind as generous, and my shape as true, As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base? Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take More composition and fierce quality Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, Go to th’creating a whole tribe of fops, Got 'tween asleep and wake?–Well, then, Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land: Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund As to th’legitimate: fine word,–legitimate! Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed, And my invention thrive, Edmund the base Shall top th’legitimate–I grow; I prosper:– Now, gods, stand up for bastards! THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA by William Shakespeare LAUNCE Act II Scene 3 Nay,’twill be this hour ere I have done weeping; all the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial’s court. I think Crab my dog be the sourest-­‐natured dog that lives: my mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-­‐hearted cur shed one tear: he is a stone, a very pebble-­‐stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog: a Jew would have wept to have seen our parting; why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I’ll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father;–no, this left shoe is my father;–no, no, this left shoe is my mother;–nay, that cannot be so neither;–Yes, it is so, it is so,–it hath the worser sole. This shoe, with the hole in it, is my mother, and this is my father; a vengeance on’t! there ‘tis: now, sir, this staff is my sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily, and as small as a wand: this hat is Nan, our maid: I am the dog, no, the dog is himself, and I am the dog,–O, the dog is me, and I am myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father; ‘Father, your blessing!’ Now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping: now should I kiss my father; well, he weeps on. Now I come to my mother;–O, that she could speak now, like a wood woman!–Well, I kiss her; –why, there ‘tis; here’s my mother’s breath up and down. Now come I to my sister: mark the moan she makes. Now the dog all this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word: but see how I lay the dust with my tears. MACBETH by William Shakespeare MACBETH Act I Scene 7 If it were done–when ‘tis done–then ‘twere well It were done quickly: If th ‘assassination Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, With his surcease, success; that but this blow Might be the be-­‐all and the end-­‐all here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, We’d jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have judgment here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return To plague th’inventor: this even-­‐handed justice Commends the ingredients of our poison’d chalice To our own lips. He’s here in double trust: First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, Strong both against the deed; then, as his host, Who should against his murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office, that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-­‐tongued, against The deep damnation of his taking-­‐off; And pity, like a naked new-­‐born babe, Striding the blast, or heaven’s cherubim, horsed Upon the sightless couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears shall drown the wind,–I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o’erleaps itself, And falls on th’other. THE LIBERTINE by Stephen Jeffreys ROCHESTER: Allow me to be frank at the commencement: you will not like me. No, I say you will not. The gentlemen will be envious and the ladies will be repelled. You will not like me now and you will like me a good deal less as we go on. Oh yes, I shall do things you will like. You will say ‘That was a noble impulse in him’ or ‘He played a brave part there,’ but DO NOT WARM TO ME, it will not serve. When I become a BIT OF A CHARMER that is your danger sign for it prefaces the change into THE FULL REPTILE a few seconds later. What I require is not your affection but your attention. I must not be ignored or you will find me as troublesome a package as ever pissed in the Thames. Now. Ladies. An announcement. (He looks around.) I am up for it. All the time. That’s not a boast. Or an opinion. It is bone hard medical fact. I put it around, d’y know? And you will watch me putting it around and sigh for it. Don’t. It is a deal of trouble for you and you are better off watching and drawing your conclusions from a distance than you would be if I got my arse pointing up your petticoats. Gentlemen. (He looks around.) Do not despair, I am up for that as well. When the mood is on me. And the same warning applies. Now, gents: if there be vizards in the house, jades, harlots (as how could there not be) leave them be for the moment. Still your cheesy erections till I have had my say. But later when you shag – and later you will shag, I shall expect it of you and I will know if you have let me down – I wish you to shag with my homuncular image rattling in your gonads. Feel how it was for me, how it is for me and ponder. ‘Was that shudder the same shudder he sensed? Did he know something more profound? Or is there some wall of wretchedness that we all batter with our heads at that shinning, livelong moment.’ That is it. That is my prologue, nothing in rhyme, certainly no protestations of modesty, you were not expecting that I trust. I reiterate only for those who have arrived late or were buying oranges or were simply not listening: I am John Wilmot, Second Earl of Rochester and I do not want you to like me. SEXUAL PERVERSITY IN CHICAGO by David Mamet BERNIE So all of a sudden I hear coming out of the phone: “Rat Tat Tat Tat Tat, Ka POW! AK AK AK AK AK AK AK Ka Pow!” So fine. I’m pumping away, the chick on the other end is making airplane noises, every once in a while I go BOOM, and the broad on the bed starts going crazy. She’s moaning and groaning and about to go the whole long route. Humping and bumping, and she’s screaming “Red dog One to Red dog Squadron”… all of a sudden she screams “Wait.” She wriggles out, leans under the bed, and she pulls out this five-­‐gallon jerrycan. Opens it up … it’s full of gasoline. So she splashes the mother all over the walls, whips a fuckin’ Zippo out of the Flak suit, and WHOOSH, the whole room is in flames. So the whole fuckin’ joint is going up in smoke, the telephone is going “Rat Tat Tat,” the broad jumps back on the bed and yells “Now, give it to me now for the love of Christ.” (Pause) so I look at the broad … and I figure … fuck this nonsense. I grab my clothes, I peel a sawbuck off my wad, as I make the door I fling it at her. “For cab fare,” I yell. She doesn’t hear nothing. One, Two, Six, I’m in the hall. Struggling into my shorts and hustling for the elevator. Whole fucking hall is full of smoke, above the flames I just make out my broad, she’s singing “Off we go into the Wild Blue Yonder,” and the elevator arrives, and the whole fucking hall is full of firemen. (Pause) Those fucking fireman make out like bandits. (Pause) FOOL FOR LOVE by Sam Shepard EDDIE And we walked right through town. Past the donut shop, past the miniature golf course, past the Chevron station. And he opened the bottle up and offered it to me. Before he even took a drink, he offered it to me first. And I took it and drank it and handed it back to him. And we just kept passing it back and forth like that as we walked until we drank the whole thing dry. And we never said a word the whole time. Then, finally, we reached this little white house with a red awning, on the far side of town. I’ll never forget the red awning because it flapped in the night breeze and the porch light made it glow. It was a hot, desert breeze and the air smelled like new cut alfalfa. We walked right up to the front porch and he rang the bell and I remember getting real nervous because I wasn’t out for a expecting to visit anybody. I thought we were just out for a walk. And then this woman comes to the door. This real pretty woman with red hair. And she throws herself into his arms. And he starts crying. He just breaks down right there in front of me. And she’s kissing him all over the face and holding him real tight and he’s just crying like a baby. And then through the doorway, behind them both. I see this girl. She just appears. She’s just standing there, staring at me and I’m staring back at her and we can’t take our eyes off each other. It was like we knew each other from somewhere but we couldn’t place where. But the second we saw each other, that very second, we knew we’d never stop being in love. THE SEAGULL by Anton Chekhov KONSTANTIN TREPLEV KONSTANTIN (picking the petals from a flower) She loves me -­‐ she loves me not, she loves me -­‐ she loves me not, she loves me – she loves me not. (Laughs) See – my mother doesn’t love me. Why should she? She’s desperate to believe she’s still the same woman she was a decade ago -­‐ the star of her day – but all of a sudden I’m twenty-­‐five – the hard-­‐to-­‐hide evidence that she’s no longer very young. When I’m not around she’s still forty-­‐something, but when I am around, she’s joined the over-­‐fifty club and she hates me for it. Plus she knows I think theatre’s dead. A middle-­‐class mausoleum. She still believes in it, of course. Says she loves it – even imagines it serves a function – that she actually has some effect on people’s lives. She can’t see that it’s a dead form that people only cling to out of nostalgia. It’s got nothing to do with reality. With being alive now. May as well be television – it’s equally as banal, deadly and meaningless. All we ever get is the same sentimental, self-­‐congratulatory shit masquerading as reality. Or secondhand ideas dressed up as cutting fucking edge. When I see actors on stage pretending to be real – pretending to eat, drink, walk, talk, love – wear jackets – I want to scream: STOP. STOP TRYING TO MAKE ME FEEL YOUR FAKE FEELINGS. STOP TRYING TO TRICK ME. STOP TREATING ME LIKE A CHILD. YOUR REALITY IS NOT MY REALITY. YOUR DEAD WORLD IS NOT MY WORLD. When I see the same clichés – the same reheated lies over and over – I want to run screaming from the theatre and bury myself in life. DEATH OF A SALESMAN by Arthur Miller BIFF BIFF Now hear this, Willy, this is me. You know why I had no address for three months? I stole a suit in Kansas City and I was jailed. I stole myself out of every good job since high school. And I never got anywhere because you blew me so full of hot air I could never stand taking orders from anybody! That's whose fault it is! It's goddamn time you heard that! I had to be boss big shot in two weeks, and I'm through with it! Willy! I ran down eleven flights with a pen in my hand today. And suddenly I stopped, you hear me? And in the middle of that office building, do you hear this? I stopped in the middle of that building and I saw -­‐ the sky. I saw the things that I love in the world. The work and the food and the time to sit and smoke. And I looked at the pen and said to myself, what the hell am I grabbing this for? Why am I trying to become what I don't want to be? What am I doing in an office, making a contemptuous, begging fool of myself, when all I want is out there, waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am! Why can't I say that, Willy? Pop! I'm a dime a dozen, and so are you! I am not a leader of men, Willy, and neither are you. You were never anything but a hard-­‐working drummer who landed in the ash-­‐can like all the rest of them! I'm one dollar an hour, Willy! I tried seven states and couldn't raise it! A buck an hour! Do you gather my meaning? I'm not bringing home any prizes any more, and you're going to stop waiting for me to bring them home! Pop, I'm nothing! I'm nothing, Pop. Can't you understand that? There's no spite in it any more. I'm just what I am, that's all. Will you let me go, for Christ's sake? Will you take that phoney dream and burn it before something happens? THE GOLDEN AGE by Louis Nowra FRANCIS: Are you looking at the sunset? (Startled BETSHEB turns around. Smiling) I’m not a monster… No more running. Look at us reflected in the water, see? Upside-­‐down. (He smiles and she smiles back. Silence) So quiet. I’m not used to such silence. I’m a city boy, born and bred. You’ve never seen a city or town, have you? Where I live there are dozens of factories: shoe factories, some that make gaskets, hydraulic machines, clothing. My mother works in a shoe factory. (Pointing to his boots) These came from my mother’s factory. (Silence) These sunsets here, I’ve never seen the likes of them. A bit of muddy orange light in the distance, behind the chimneys, is generally all I get to see. (Pause) You’d like the trams, especially at night. They rattle and squeak, like ghosts rattling their chains, and every so often the conducting rod hits a terminus, and there is a brilliant spark of electricity, like an axe striking a rock. ‘Spiss!’ On Saturday afternoon thousands of people go and watch the football. A huge oval of grass. (Miming a football) A ball like this. Someone hand passes it, ‘Whish’, straight to me. I duck one lumbering giant, spin around a nifty dwarf of a rover, then I catch sight of the goals. I boot a seventy-­‐yard drop kick straight through the centre. The crowd goes wild! (He cheers wildly. BETSHEB laughs at his actions. He is pleased to have made her laugh.) Not as good as your play. (Pause.) This is your home. My home is across the river, Bass Strait.(Silence) What is it about you people? Why are you like you are? Don’t go. I was watching you pick these. My mother steals flowers from her neighbour’s front garden so every morning she can have fresh flowers in her vase for Saint Teresa’s portrait. She was a woman centuries ago. God fired a burning arrow of love into her. (Smiling) When it penetrated her, Saint Teresa could smell the burning flesh of her heart. THE MATCHMAKER by Thornton Wilder CORNELIUS CORNELIUS Isn't the world full of wonderful things. There we sit cooped up in Yonkers for years and years and all the time wonderful people like Mrs Molloy are walking around in New York and we don't know them at all. I don't know whether -­‐ from where you're sitting -­‐ you can see -­‐ well, for instance, the way (pointing to the edge of his right eye) her eye and forehead and cheek come together, up here. Can you? And the kind of fireworks that shoot out of her eyes all the time. I tell you right now: a fine woman is the greatest work of God. You can talk all you like about Niagara Falls and the Pyramids; they aren't in it at all. Of course, up there at Yonkers they came into the store all the time, and bought this and that, and I said "Yes, ma'am", and "That'll be seventy-­‐five cents, ma'am"; and I watched them. But today I've talked to one, equal to equal, equal to equal, and to the finest one that ever existed, in my opinion. They're so different from men! Everything that they say and do is so different that you feel like laughing all the time. (He laughs) Golly, they're different from men. And they're awfully mysterious, too. You never can be really sure what's going on in their heads. They have a kind of wall around them all the time -­‐ of pride and a sort of play-­‐acting: I bet you could know a woman a hundred years without ever being really sure whether she liked you or not. This minute I'm in danger. I'm in danger of losing my job and my future and everything that people think is important; but I don't care. Even if I have to dig ditches for the rest of my life, I'll be a ditch-­‐digger who once had a wonderful day. BOYS LIFE by Howard Korder PHIL I would have destroyed myself for this woman. Gladly. I would have eaten garbage. I would have sliced my wrists open. Under the right circumstances, I mean, if she said, "Hey, Phil, why don't you just cut your wrists open," well, come on, but if seriously ... We clicked, we connected on so many things, right off the bat, we talked about God for three hours once, I don't know what good it did, but that intensity ... and the first time we went to bed, I didn't even touch her. I didn't want to, understand what I'm saying? And you know, I played it very casually, because, all right, I’ve had some rough experiences, I'm the first to admit, but after a couple of weeks I could feel we were right there, so I laid it down, everything I wanted to tell her, and ... and she says to me ... she says ... "Nobody should ever need another person that badly." Do you believe that? "Nobody should ever ... "! What is that? Is that something you saw on TV? I dump my heart on the table, you give me Joyce Dr. Fucking Brothers? "Need, need," I'm saying I love you, is that wrong? Is that not allowed anymore? (Pause. Jack looks at him,) And so what if I did need her? Is that so bad? All right, crucify me, I needed her! So what! I don't want to be by myself, I'm by myself I feel like I'm going out of my mind, I do. I sit there, I'm thinking forget it, I'm not gonna make it through the next ten seconds, I just can't stand it. But I do, somehow, I get through the ten seconds, but then I have to do it all over again, cause they just keep coming, all these ... seconds, floating by, while I'm waiting for something to happen, I don't know what, a car wreck, a nuclear war or something, that sounds awful but at least there'd be this instant when I'd know I was alive. Just once. Cause I look in the mirror, and I can't believe I'm really there. I can't believe that's me. It's like my body, right, is the size of, what, the Statue of Liberty, and I'm inside it, I'm down in one of the legs, this gigantic hairy leg, I'm scraping around inside my own foot like some tiny fetus. And I don't know who I am, or where I'm going. And I wish I'd never been born. (Pause.) Not only that, my hair is falling out, and that really sucks. (Pause.) FAT PIG by Neil LaBute CARTER Dude, I understand. Like, totally. (Beat). I used to walk ahead of her in the mall or, you know, not tell her stuff at school so there wouldn’t be, whatever. My own mom. I mean … I’m fifteen and worried about every little thing, and I’ve got this fucking sumo wrestler in a housecoat trailing behind me. That’s about as bad as it can get! I’m not kidding you. And the thing was, I blamed her for it. I mean, it wasn’t like a disease or like some people have, thyroid or that type of deal … she just shovelled shit into her mouth all the time, had a few kids, and, bang, she’s up there at 350, maybe more. It used to seriously piss me off. My dad was always working late … golfing on weekends, and I knew it was because of her. It had to be! How’s he gonna love something that looks like that, get all sexy with her? I’m just a kid at the time, but I can remember thinking that. Yeah, it’s whatever, but … this once, in the grocery store, we’re at Albertsons and we’re pushing four baskets around – you wanna know how humiliating that shit is? – and I’m supposed to be at a game by seven, I’m on JV, and she’s just farting around in the candy isle, picking up bags of “fun size” Snickers and checking out the calories. Yeah. I mean, what is that?! So, I suddenly go off on her, like, this sophomore in high school, but I’m all screaming in her face … “Don’t look at the package, take a look in the mirror, you cow! PUT ‘EM DOWN!” Holy shit, there’s stock boys – bunch of guys I know, even – are running down the isle. Manager stumbling out of his glass booth there, the works. (Beat) But you know what? She doesn’t say a word about it. Ever. Not about the swearing, the things I called her, nothing. Just this, like, one tear I see … as we’re sitting at a stoplight on the way home. That’s all. STICKS AND STONES by Drew McSweeney and Scott Swan DI PALMA Random act of violence, spur of the moment. He did it without thinking, the way he did everything ... He robbed an old woman ... Italian lady, about seventy-­‐years-­‐old. Rolled up on her while she was pullin' money out of an ATM. She probably never saw him comin' ... He pushes her down from behind. She probably breaks something when she hits the pavement, so she's no threat. All this is gain' on right out in the open ... but nobody cares. The kid takes the money from her. All he has to do is take off, the money's his. He can't do that, though. No ... he has to hurt her. He has to mark her, just to prove that the whole thing was real. Otherwise, it could just be something he remembered from TV. So ... he sticks a knife into her face and pulls it down, along the line of her nose, then over through one of her eyes. Now a few people are looking, startin' to pay attention, and this old woman is screaming, crying for help. He ... steps on her until she stops making noise ... then walks away, like nothing ever happened. That's how I saw him. He was strolling, like he had nowhere to go, not a worry in the world. He's got this old woman's blood all over his shoes, and he's leavin' these marks everywhere he steps ... He felt good. You could see it on him, like he'd just gotten laid. He hurt her because it made him feel alive. You tell that to the jury. She never even made it to the hospital. .. and I'm the animal? I'm the bad guy? You don't know what it's like. Everything slows down. Every noise fades out. All you can hear is your own breathing. The kid turns around, and the look on his face, it's like sornerhin' aura some horror movie. Cold, man. Ice fuckin' cold. I don't even remember pulling my gun out ... it's just in my hand, pointed at that kid's heart. "Freeze, you fuckin' nigger! I'll blow you away~ -­‐He:-­‐;-­‐;smiles~Like-­‐he-­‐din't scared of me at all .. .like he don't even see the gun. He takes a step back ... plants himself, like he's getting ready for a duel. My hands are slick with sweat.. .I can barely keep 'em still. "Don't fuck with me, kid. Don't do it." He's rnovin' his hands, reachin' behind him, and I'm screamin' "Put your hands on your head, nigger! I'll shoot you if you don't!" He keeps reach in', and reachin', and I think to myself, fine ... this is what you want, then it's what I want too. Give me a reason. One little bit of the problem down, and all I have to do is pull the trigger. I squeeze off three shots, and the kid drops without a sound. He's layin' on the ground, and time comes crashin' back all around me. I hear the sound of sirens getting closer. I hear people yellin'. I can smell gunpowder burning my nose, feel it burning my eyes. I bend down to look at the kid's face... all that menace, all that cold pourin' offa him ... there's nothin' there now. He's gone. (Slowly, Sal comes back to the present, seems to snap out of it. He looks over at Klein, angry tears in his eyes.) You tell me, Klein ... if you were in that alley, just you and that kid, what would you have done? Would you let him shoot you? Everybody wants to judge me. Here's your chance. You tell me ... him or you? What would you do? Don't just sit there srarin' at me! TELL ME! WHAT THE FUCK WOULD YOU HAVE DONE?! WOULD YOU HAVE SHOT HIM?! YOU OR HIM?! YOU TELL ME! THE MAN WHO COULDN’T DANCE by Jason Katims ERIC I don't know why I can't dance. But it's-­‐I can't. I can't make my body move in these ways that the music is demanding that I move. It's just so goddamn embarrassing. The situation. I mean, standing in public around hundreds of people who are displaying their purist, truest selves. I mean, it takes them no more than two drinks and their souls are out there on the dance floor. Their goodness. Their sensuality. They're sharing and loving. I watch that, look at that. But my body fights it. I start to analyze the music. The rhythm. The time signature. I understand the theory of dancing. The idea of spontaneously sharing in this moment that exists now and only now. The give and take with your partner. Two mirrors on a land where gravity holds you to this point and then leaves you free. And that the universe happens right there and then. Like, truth. I understand this intellectually. But Gail, I never have experienced it. I can't dance. Because it was the dam holding the water. If I let that out. That one thing, everything would follow. I couldn't dance. I couldn't have a normal talk about the weather with a neighbour without getting into a conversation about God, love and eternity. I mean, after all, the weather has these huge connotations. I couldn't act correctly in social situations. I couldn't sacrifice truth for a relationship. I couldn't hold you when you needed to be held because I wanted you to be stronger. Because I wanted to be stronger. I couldn't ask you for the warmth of your touch out of need. I couldn't let myself. I would only ask for your touch out of strength. Out of something that wouldn't become sick and interdependent and symbiotic. I wasn't able to do these things. I don't know, Gail. I mean, you marrying Fred didn't really say anything to me. It was like something in this continuum. This cycle. I mean, it was this thing that happened in my life. The love of my life got married to another man. It didn't seem permanent. But the fact that Elizabeth ... The fact that this angel ... this unbelievable gift isn't mine. And will never be mine. This is killing me. HOME FRONT by James Duff JEREMY Yes, I do. One of them was named Brady. Brady was my friend. From Mobile, Alabama. We were a lot alike, Brady and me. He was drafted, just like I was. Came from the same kind of family, I think, nice people. We were both getting ready to come home about the same time. And a month before we were supposed to get out, Brady got wounded. And when he left the hospital, this was in California, when he got out of the hospital, he called his parents, you know, to say he was on his way and would they mind if he brought a friend home with him. He had met him in the hospital or something, I don't know. And his mother said fine. Then Brady, he said, this guy's gonna need a little help because he doesn't move around very well yet, and his mother asked what was wrong with him, and Brady said he's lost an arm and a leg; he’s probably going to need a little help. Well. His mother just lost it. I mean, she couldn't handle that at all. So she put his father on the phone and his father really gave it to him. How could you do something like this to us? That's what he said. His father. Don't you know how much we've been looking forward to this? Why are you trying to ruin everything for us? Brady apologized and when he got off the phone, he went and checked into a Holiday Inn and hung himself in the bathroom. They shipped the body to Mobile. I've tried to picture the expression on his parents’ faces when they went to pick up Brady at the airport. The expression on their faces when they saw their little soldier boy was missing an arm and a leg. So. I don't go along. I don't care about any of it anymore. And you can take your social responsibility and your traditional values and shove them up your ass. I'm a survivor. And I got that way by not giving a shit over things that are not worth giving a shit over. And if that's too much for you to handle, then too fucking bad.