Theatre poster of the week, Duke Ellington’s Sophisticated Ladies
No Shame Theatre post of the week.
Ali – A smart and thoughtful young woman – principled and straightforward.
Johnson – A slightly sputtery authority figure.
Eric – A cool young man.
(lights up full)
Ali: You wanted to see me?
Johnson: Yes, Alison, I did. Have you reconsidered my offer?
Ali: (stern) Yes, Sir, I have.
Ali: And I’m afraid I still can’t accept.
Johnson: (surprised) …because?
(slightly longer pause)
Ali: Because it’s Fascism, Sir, plain and simple. I refuse to be involved with anything so morally bankrupt.
Johnson: (in total disbelief) …Morally bankrupt? …Fascism? I’m not sure I—
Ali: (interrupting) Don’t patronize me, Sir. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. (begins to rant). Fascism is extreme right-wing ideology that celebrates conformity to a mythical standard of “normalcy”. It cuts through all other notions of what is right or natural. It attempts to lull us into a false sense that there is no death or decay, just your perfect – and perfectly artificial – status quo. Any natural tendencies toward variety or individualism threaten your perfect organic community and must be crushed beneath your jack-booted feet.
Johnson: (getting a word in) Now look here, I don’t even wear boots and you know—
Ali: (cuts him off, continues ranting) Your sort of Fascism promotes the idea of (counting them off on her fingers) class superiority, hybrid inferiority, persecution, territorialism, expansion, and – of course – (her sixth finger raised is a forefinger that she points accusatorily at Johnson) genocide. Oh, it wears the face of a socially acceptable, politically correct movement. Of course it claims a noble pedigree, but please! It’s a Procrustean hotbed of senseless conformity that flies in the face of science and nature. It’s a violent and elitist tradition that has traditionally be the province of pampered young men. You feel that I’m lucky to even be offered this job, because I’m a girl – a woman, but the truth is no one is lucky to have this job. This job – this working for the man, for the Fascist pig dog – this job sucks! I pity you, Sir. I really do. Good day.
(Ali turns and walks to the door. Eric enters as Ali exits. She gives him a dirty look as she passes.)
Johnson: (turns to Eric and sighs) Well… your sister still won’t mow the lawn. I guess I’ll need to raise the price after all.
Eric: A cool 20, minimum.(pause) Ya big Fascist.
(quick fade to black.)