Last edited by napalmerski on Sat Nov 06, 2010 5:18 am, edited 1 time in total.
she got a dazed impression of a whirling chaos in which steel flashed and hacked, arms tossed, snarling faces appeared and vanished, and straining bodies collided, rebounded, locked and mingled in a devil's dance of madness. Robert Howard
Even in scripts, the beginning is supposed to pull the reader, or audience in this case, into the story. I could only read 'til Max comes in.
(1) The exchange between the King and Percy doesn't make much sense. It's also very drawn out. Maybe if you shorten it, that part might work.
(2) The parts where you introduce a new character should be in italics.
(3) The space between each line is a tad annoying because I was mostly focusing on scrolling down than reading your story.
Scripts are hard to do, and I know I could never write them myself. You're doing a good job; keep at it!
Once you make those changes, PM me and I'll read this again. mj
Writing once a day keeps the voices away, and I've created a blog all about it: Daily Dose. ...and I'm now trying to create a user group based on the idea! Tell me if you're interested!
Yo moonjumper thank you for your goodwill, but obviously this is not for you. Saying that it does not make much sense is like saying that there are far too many repetitions This is why it's called the 'absurdist' genre. Which I didn't specify, my fault, but should have been obvious. Anyway, thank you for the feedback
she got a dazed impression of a whirling chaos in which steel flashed and hacked, arms tossed, snarling faces appeared and vanished, and straining bodies collided, rebounded, locked and mingled in a devil's dance of madness. Robert Howard
I'm not quite sure what you're writing, but I think it would be appropriate for a Monty Python sketch, or something on Family Guy. It makes no sense. I like it. It's definitly funny. But you can't have something be all jokes, jokes, jokes. You have to add background, and realistic scenes, and that's the basis of where all your vomit jokes come from. Keep writing, but improve this, please.
And the angel said unto him, “stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself.” But lo, he could not stop, for the angel was hitting him with his own hands.
Hiya, Me and my friends read this script out loud and we all literally laughed out loud! We didn't really get it but thought it was really funny. We hope that was the purpose of it. It doesn't make much sense but what in life does. Anyway we really enjoyed this piece and hope you write more so we can all have a good time reading it.
'Are you saying Ni to that old woman?' 'Yes' 'Oh, what sad times are these when passing ruffians can say Ni at will to old ladies. There is a pestilence upon this land, nothing is sacred. Even those who arrange and design shrubberies are under considerable economic stress in this period in history'
Yo, Apple96, Vasticity, I'm glad the play made you laugh. As soon as I have another absurdist fit, I'll make something similar
she got a dazed impression of a whirling chaos in which steel flashed and hacked, arms tossed, snarling faces appeared and vanished, and straining bodies collided, rebounded, locked and mingled in a devil's dance of madness. Robert Howard
Huzzah for absurdist theatre! However, maybe it's just me, but I wasn't really sure what was going on. I mean, e.g., Samuel Beckett, the great absurdist playwright, made an entire play in which nothing happens (twice), but it did have a premise to it. Likewise, some play I haven't read by Ionesco has everyone turn into rhinos for no reason at all, but, even if the plot doesn't make sense, there is one. I just wasn't too sure whether these were sketches or part of a whole. I mean, even sketches need some kind of clarity as to what's going on in order to make it amusing; that is, in my opinion, the best comedy: when someone painstakingly normal is done in a way that is completely absurd.
This guy is so evil you could put him in between two slices of bread and call him an evil sandwich.
The uderlying theme of this play, as far as I myself can make head or tail of the outpour of barely conscious material, is structured along: a) phonetic linguistical puns b) vaguely hinted freudian mechanism c) repetitions which relate to each other, but not to anything external.
Here are examples of Kharms's super fast and conscice absurdist stuff, which is partial influence on the above play. its underground soviet stuff from the 1930's/
Anton Mikhailovich spat, said "yuck", spat again, said "yuck" again, spat again, said "yuck" again and left. To Hell with him. Instead, let me tell about Ilya Pavlovich.
Ilya Pavlovich was born in 1893 in Constantinople. When he was still a boy, they moved to St. Petersburg, and there he graduated from the German School on Kirchnaya Street. Then he worked in some shop; then he did something else; and when the Revolution began, he emigrated. Well, to Hell with him. Instead, let me tell about Anna Ignatievna.
But it is not so easy to tell about Anna Ignatievna. Firstly, I know almost nothing about her, and secondly, I have just fallen of my chair, and have forgotten what I was about to say. So let me instead tell about myself.
I am tall, fairly intelligent; I dress prudently and tastefully; I don't drink, I don't bet on horses, but I like ladies. And ladies don't mind me. They like when I go out with them. Serafima Izmaylovna have invited me home several times, and Zinaida Yakovlevna also said that she was always glad to see me. But I was involved in a funny incident with Marina Petrovna, which I would like to tell about. A quite ordinary thing, but rather amusing. Because of me, Marina Petrovna lost all her hair - got bald like a baby's bottom. It happened like this: Once I went over to visit Marina Petrovna, and bang! she lost all her hair. And that was that.
An amazing thing happened to me today, I suddenly forgot what comes first - 7 or 8.
I went to my neigbors and asked them abou their opinion on this matter.
Great was their and my amazement, when they suddenly discovered, that they couldn't recall the counting order. They remembered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6, but forgot what comes next.
We all went to a commercial grocery store, the one that's on the corner of Znamenskaya and Basseinaya streets to consult a cashier on our predicament. The cashier gave us a sad smile, took a small hammer out of her mouth, and moving her nose slightly back and forth, she said:
- In my opinion, a seven comes after an eight, only if an eight comes after a seven.
We thanked the cashier and ran cheerfully out of the store. But there, thinking carefully about cashier's words, we got sad again because her words were void of any meaning.
What were we supposed to do? We went to the Summer Garden and started counting trees. But reaching a six in count, we stopped and started arguing: In the opinion of some, a 7 went next; but in opinion of others an 8 did.
We were arguing for a long time, when by some sheer luck, a child fell off a bench and broke both of his jaws. That distracted us from our argument.
Once Orlov had too much crushed beans and died. And Krylov died too, when he found out about Orlov. But Spridonov died of no reason. And Spridonov's wife fell off a kitchen cabinet and died too. But Spridonov's children drowned in a pond. Meanwhile Spridonov's grandmother became an alcoholic and went on the tramp. But Mikhailov ceased combing his hair and got ill. And Kruglov sketched a lady with a whip and went mad. And Perehvostov received a wire for four hundred roubles and became so uptight that they fired him.
Good people are not capable of getting a good foothold in life.
Because of her excessive curiosity, an old lady fell out of the window and smashed into the ground.
Another old lady looked out of the window, staring down at the one who was smashed, but out of her excessive curiosity she also fell out of the window and smashed into the ground.
Then the third old lady fell out of the window, then the fourth did, then the fifth.
When the sixth old lady fell out of the window, I got bored watching them and went to Maltsev market where, they say, someone gave a woven shawl to a blind.
****
Acquittal Without boasting, I can tell you that, when Volodya struck me across the ear and spat in my face, I really got him, so that he won't forget it. It was only after that that I hit him with his primus and it was evening when I hit him with the iron. So he didn't die straight away by any means. This doesn't prove that I cut his leg off as early as the afternoon. He was still alive then. Whereas Andryusha I killed simply from inertia, and I can't hold myself responsible for that. Why did Andryusha and Yelizaveta Antonovna fall into my hands anyway? They had no business springing out from behind the door. I am being accused of bloodthirstiness; they say I drank blood, but that is not true: I licked up the pools of blood and stains -- it is a man's natural urge to wipe out the traces of even the most trivial of crimes. And also I did not rape Yelizaveta Antonovna. In the first place, she was no longer a virgin; and secondly I was having dealings with a corpse, so she has no cause for complaint. What about the fact that she just happened to have to give birth? Well, I did pull out the infant. The fact that he was not long for this world anyway, well that's really not my fault. I didn't tear his head off; it was his thin neck that did that. He was simply not created for this life. It's true that I stomped their dog to a pulp around the floor, but it's really cynical to accuse me of murdering the dog when in the immediate vicinity, it might be said, three human lives had been obliterated. The infant I don't count. Well, all right then, in all this (I can agree with you) it is possible to discern a degree of severity on my part. But to consider it a crime that I squatted down and defecated on my victims -- that is really, if you'll excuse me, absurd. Defecation is an urge of nature and consequently can in no sense be criminal. All things considered, I do understand the misgivings of my defence counsel, but all the same I am hoping for a complete acquittal.
***
Unsuccessful Show, An On to the stage comes PETRAKOV-GORBUNOV, who wants to say something but hiccups. He starts to throw up. He leaves. Enter PRITYKIN. PRITYKIN: Our esteemed Petrakov-Gorbunov has to ann . . . (He throws up and runs off stage.) Enter MAKAROV. MAKAROV: Yegor . . . (Makarov throws up. fife runs off.) Enter SERPUKHOV. SERPUKHOV: So as not to be . . . (He throws up and runs off.) Enter KUROVA. KUROVA: I would have . . . (She throws up and runs off.) Enter a LITTLE GIRL. LITTLE GIRL: Daddy asked me to let you all know that the theatre is closing. We are all being sick!
she got a dazed impression of a whirling chaos in which steel flashed and hacked, arms tossed, snarling faces appeared and vanished, and straining bodies collided, rebounded, locked and mingled in a devil's dance of madness. Robert Howard
This is why it's called the 'absurdist' genre. Which I didn't specify, my fault, but should have been obvious.
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