RATNER AND THE REDEEMER. by Ronald Micci

Transcription

1 AND THE REDEEMER by Ronald Micci Copyright 2006 by Ronald Micci

2 CHARACTERS, a man of 50 THE CREATOR, in the form of a shapely, beautiful, provocatively dressed woman, 20s/30s No stage props beyond a simple chair are required. The time is the present.

3 --1 The stage is occupied by two characters --, a balding, haggard-looking man of 50; and a very beautiful woman, our CREATOR, attired in a hot, tight-fitting, seductive outfit. At rise, faces us seated in a chair, scratching his chin in thought. When he finally reached 50, Ratner was worried about the future. He sat in his room all day, contemplating the quality of the leadership of the country. A speechifying idiot at the helm in Washington, driveling morons in the Congress who held endless hearings and debates over matters of trivial consequence, while everywhere the world seemed to crash down around him. (rising, pounding his fist in his hand) It's the economy, stupid! Then, like a bolt from the blue, a voice came to him -- (threading her way around him from time to time) The corporations, dummy. It's their fault, they're getting greedier and greedier. (re: her outfit) You like? The car companies -- we need a new business model. Of course. But no jobs, no pay raises for employees, no disposable income? Who can buy cars? (pause) Ratner was confused. He lit a cigarette. Even though Peter Jennings was dead and buried, he lit a cigarette. Sons and daughters dying in a senseless war, so one dictatorship could be replaced by another. Who were the morons who devised this strategy? Listen to me, Ratner, listen. Have you had your prostate exam? Have you taken your cholesterol pills?... Ratner's world seemed to exist solely so his arteries could harden... He felt glum. But the voice came to him again, clarion with reason. The Gentiles, dummy, it's the Gentiles who are to blame. The Gentiles had brought Katrina? Listen to me. Stupidity is at large in the world, Ratner, its goose step seeming relentless and unstoppable. It's the Gentiles, always the Gentiles.

4 --2 Ben Bernanke isn't a Gentile? Listen to me. (a beat) Ratner decided to embark on a weight-training program. He'd watch more television, which meant he'd think less. In middle age, a man's options and opinions, like his arteries, seemed to narrow... His mind felt clear again as he lifted weights, doing curls and deep thrusts, clean and jerks. He'd lift more weights, watch more television. ( mimes switching on TV) It was Sunday morning and Ratner was happy again. As he flipped through the TV channels, he felt comforted by the familiar embalmed faces, the ghosts of news commentators past, and a sweep of relief in the thought that each and every show, deep down, was brought to you by Halliburton. The debates were at times spirited, the corpses stabbing fingers in the air to make their points, but there was something sadly repetitious in the movement of these familiar drooping jowls, with their tired palaver, their shrinking bodies hunched forward in rumpled suits, desperate old shills draped on life's leftover wardrobe racks. Ancient-faced moderators who tried to smile, struggling to dance and dance around the topics of the day, but having left their common sense behind in the hair and makeup department. They leered and danced, ghostly images of congressional corridors past, eager to take refuge in the green room, where their souls would happily go to die... Get smart, Ratner, before it's too late. Need I remind you -- I know, I know -- it's the Gentiles. All right, maybe they are at fault. I need time to think about it. Ratner? (a beat) And it occurred to Ratner, after those Sunday morning shows, that perhaps he should have chosen carefully in naming his son. Archer Daniels Midland sounded about right, for this was the message of the zeitgeist. Yet the world kept turning, wheels were spinning, and the general population was going nowhere. What had ever become of "power to the people"? Ratner remained unconvinced. What if my hair falls out? Poo-poo. My teeth, they're rotting away. Oy. That atmospheric testing in the 50s -- it did things, mangled your leucocytes.

5 --3 Maybe so, but before you make yourself crazy, ask yourself -- who did that testing? No. You got it. END OF EXCERPT - 7-PAGE SCRIPT