Frankenstein: A Ghost Story by Kyle Hatley with Dana Omar and Joanie Schultz Adapted from Mary Shelley’s novel, DRAFT , . .20
Part I: Watchful Attendance We are in an old bar. Music plays through the speakers. Good music. Bar music. PRESHOW: As we enter we see that the bar stage i ha f- e a ed The e a a onstage, off to the side, almost in the wings, just sitting there. Eventually a man enters with a clipboard. He busy. He wears a stocking cap of some kind on his head. He tends to the musical instruments, runs a few cables, arranges equipment, puts away unused cables into one of the road cases. He leaves the stage every now and then to retrieve things, or look for things, as needed, often leaving her alone on stage. He might focus a few lights, maybe. Eventually, he does a sound check. And when he does, the woman takes notice of the man. She recognizes him. And can be ie e he fucking eyes. She runs to him and speaks! B he ca hea he a d neither can we. She follows him as he walks off stage, but something keeps her from leaving the age I i e he a ed He c e bac i a d c i e i g through his list. As he does, she follows him, occasionally trying to get his attention. But nothing works. And though WE can see her, HE cannot. When she touches him. He cannot feel her. Defeated, she just sits and watches him work through his pre-show list. Sometimes he runs lines under his breath while he works, and sometimes he briefly works through a moment that needs more polish. She just watches. There is a strange anger in her sadness. CURTAIN Whe i i e a he retrieves a few final things from the wings. Lastly, he enters with a bag and a coat. He checks to see that there are b in the bag. There are. And then he locates a small bottle of bourbon within, pulls it out, uncorks it, sneaks a heavy swallow, and puts it back inside the bag. He throws on his coat, and steps up to the microphone. He gives a quick nod to the back of the house. The music fades and the lights form a look. He smiles, and begins. She watches, and a he ea i da he ha he e i g She dumbfounded. She stares at him, a quiet rage in her eyes. STORYTELLER Good evening everyone! I am your storyteller. A few things I feel you should know before we get started: One, there was no Igor. Two, Victor never said, “It’s alive!” Three, the Mel Brooks film is the best adaptation to date, despite the last two things I just said. Lastly, we tell stories because they teach us that we are not alone in our fear – or in our misery – or in our joy. And, yeah, this story is fictional. But it comes from a place of real pain, real loneliness, real confusion over what it means to be alive. Okay. Let’s … He h
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a e a b ea h a d begi He a i e di ac ed b he he c sses away from him, not willing to participate.
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