Dry Martini
Vintage drama
by Benjamin Gavarre
Dramatis Personae
- FRANKIE: The
bartender. A wannabe crooner who idolizes Frank Sinatra. Prefers drinking
the inventory and singing a cappella over wiping the counter.
- DINO: The eternal
patron. Possesses the charm, cynicism, and charisma of a Rat Pack member.
Watches the world burn with a drink in his hand and constantly breaks the
fourth wall.
- EDGAR: Agent for
the Activities Committee. Clumsy, paranoid, and bureaucratic. Wears a
trench coat, a fedora, and sometimes a fake mustache over his real one.
- J.P. (The Tycoon): The money
man. Oilman, casino mogul, and mine owner. A megalomaniac with absurd
projects to privatize even outer space.
- AVA: The
ultimate femme fatale. Fashion icon and lethal seductress. So smart she always plays three sides at
once.
- ELVIS: The boy of
the hour. Young, gorgeous, magnetic, and full of promise. A hurricane of
rhythm and innocence in a cynical world.
Setting
An elegant, bohemian
speakeasy in 1953. Mahogany bar, leather stools, thick cigarette smoke in the
air. A massive vintage tube radio sits in the center of the
bar. There is no trace of modern
technology.
ACT I
(OPENING MUSIC: A languid
jazz trumpet. FRANKIE is behind the bar, humming "I've Got You Under My
Skin" while pouring himself a drink. DINO sits impeccably dressed, smoking
a cigarette. The tube radio buzzes with static, followed by the deep, theatrical
voice of an announcer.)
RADIO VOICE: "...And
remember, citizens, according to the latest edition of our only official
newspaper, 'The Only Truth', starting tomorrow, public kissing is strictly
forbidden as it constitutes a fluid exchange of ideologies. Maintaining eye
contact for more than three seconds will be penalized with heavy fines. And by
decree of moral health, red-headed characters are banned from Hollywood films.
Red is suspicious, citizens. Have a good night, and watch your neighbors!"
DINO: (Exhaling
smoke and looking directly at the audience). Welcome to 1953. The
golden age of jazz, tailored suits, and institutional paranoia. In this
country, if you scratch your left ear, they open a file on you. If you order
your steak rare, you're a bloody subversive. And if you breathe too hard, they
send you to the new re-education camps in Alaska to make ice cubes for the
Senate.
FRANKIE: (Pouring
Dino a drink). You gotta be careful, Dino. Nowadays, even the walls
have ears. (Sings into his ear, Sinatra style) 🎵 And the
spies are everywhere... 🎵
DINO: Frankie,
if you sang as fast as you drink my inventory, you'd be selling out the Sands
in Vegas by now. Give me a Dry Martini. And make sure you use your right hand
to squeeze the lemon. We don't want any "southpaws" in this bar. You
know... the ones who use the sinister hand for their collective business.
FRANKIE: (Laughing
and pouring). You got it. A 100% right-handed Martini.
(The bar door bursts open.
Enter EDGAR. He wears a trench coat buttoned to the neck, a pulled-down fedora,
and dark sunglasses, despite being indoors. He walks hugging the wall, as if
dodging invisible bullets, trips over a coat rack, and falls flat on his face.
He quickly gets up, pretending it was intentional).
EDGAR: (Loudly
whispering). The bald eagle has landed in the crow's nest. I repeat:
the eagle is in the nest.
DINO: Edgar,
you’re talking to a lamp.
EDGAR: (Adjusting
his hat). Silence, civilian! This is a covert op. I have intel that
this bar is a gathering spot for sympathizers of... (looks around) ...the
sickle and the other farming tool.
FRANKIE: The
hammer?
EDGAR: Don't
say it out loud! (Pulls out a red notebook, realizes the color,
screams, and throws it on the floor). The witch hunt is at its peak.
Did you read The Only Truth? Chaplin has fled. But that’s nothing. We suspect
the flawless Mother Martha Magdalena—yes, the little Sister of Charity—is an
undercover spy! Her orphanages are actually training centers to brainwash
babies. And don't get me started on that French singer, the guy with the
accordion! Turned out to be a Soviet snitch!
DINO: Marcel
the Mime? The guy who never speaks is the biggest snitch in the world? That’s
poetic. How does he rat people out, blinking in Morse code?
EDGAR: Mock
me all you want. But fake news is the only truth we have left. (Sits
down heavily). Give me a Raleigh Martini, Frankie. The one with
tobacco soaked in gin. And an olive.
(Enter AVA. Dead silence.
She is stunning, walking with a magnetic confidence that paralyzes the bar.
Tight dress, long gloves. She approaches the bar. Pulls out a long cigarette
holder and a Raleigh cigarette).
AVA: Fire.
(Edgar, Frankie, and Dino
pull out lighters at the exact same time and burn each other's hands in a
slapstick tangle).
AVA: Boys,
such kindness overwhelms me. (Lights her own cigarette with a gold
lighter). A Dry Martini, darling. And give me the special olive. The
one that goes "tick-tock".
EDGAR: (Jumping
off the stool). Is that you, Agent Carmine? The Spanish model?
AVA: I
am many things, Edgar. I am a Vogue cover girl, the lover of three Hollywood
directors, and the only person who knows who really owns this country. And I
assure you, it’s not those senators chasing after redheads.
(The door opens. Enter
J.P., The Tycoon. Silk suit, gold rings, smoking a cigar the size of a
missile).
J.P.: Exactly,
gorgeous! The owners of this country are the ones paying the White House’s
electric bill. (To Frankie). Pour me something that costs more
than your mother's mortgage, kid.
FRANKIE: (Pouring
whiskey). Right away, Mr. J.P. How are the oil wells in Texas? And the
casinos?
J.P.: Boring.
Money doesn't excite me anymore, boys. I've been thinking about the future. I
already own the banks, the gold, and the congressmen. Now I want to put a
network of satellites in space to broadcast commercials for my casinos straight
into people's dental fillings. Think about it: Columbus discovered America, I
will discover extraterrestrial advertising! Though those weeping bureaucrats
from the Committee are bleeding my wallet dry funding their ridiculous
re-education camps in Bermuda.
DINO: (To
the audience). There are men who want to conquer the stars before
making sure we all have hot water. Such is the 20th century... and I have a
feeling the 21st will be just the same. (To J.P.). J.P., you
fund the right-wingers and the "sinister hand" at the same time,
don't you?
J.P.: It's
capital diversification, Dino!
AVA: (Playing
with her olive, which emits a very faint electrical buzz). It's all a
game of shadows. You men think you control the world, but the world is just a
bad joke. Want to hear a story?
DINO: Please.
Anything is better than listening to Frankie try to hit the high notes in My
Way.
FRANKIE: Hey! (Mumbles). 🎵
Regrets, I've had a few... 🎵
AVA: (With
a hypnotic voice, pacing the bar). Once upon a time, there was a very
patriotic eagle who was so terrified of the color red that it banned sunsets.
It forced all the animals to look at the ground so they wouldn't see the orange
sky. The animals obeyed, because the eagle had sharp claws and an Avian
Activities Committee. But one day, the eagle saw its own blood, got so scared
of being a closeted "lefty," that it plucked out all its feathers.
And it froze to death in the middle of summer, surrounded by blind animals. The
moral: paranoia is a poison you drink yourself, hoping the other guy dies.
(Slow, cynical applause
from Dino. Suddenly, the door flies open. Enter ELVIS. He is young, wearing a
leather jacket and the perfect pompadour. He radiates an electric, vital
energy).
ELVIS: Man,
it's raining cats and dogs out there, and there are more cops on the street
than girls at my shows. Can a guy get a soda?
FRANKIE: (Drops
his glass). The King!
ELVIS: Not
yet, buddy. I'm just a southern boy who moves his legs when he hears a good
guitar. But they wanna draft me into the army. They wanna cut my hair and put
me in a uniform because they say the way I dance threatens good morals and
corrupts the youth.
EDGAR: (Pulling
out his notebook and a pen that is secretly a camera; he blinds himself with
the flash). Aha! Pelvic thrusts. Clearly a hypnosis technique from the
Eastern bloc to corrupt our women.
ELVIS: Man,
I just feel the music. Watch. (Approaches Frankie). Give me a
beat, barkeep!
(Frankie starts snapping
his fingers and slapping the bar off-beat. Elvis begins to move. It is a
spectacular, bold, rhythmic dance, full of grace and savage power. There is no
music, just Frankie's percussion. The bar erupts in real applause; even Edgar
claps before realizing it and slapping his own hand).
AVA: Heavens.
If you let the government put you in a uniform, art is officially dead.
ELVIS: (Standing
up, smiling with humble charm). Thank you, ma'am. I promise I'll keep
dancing, even if they have to ban Tuesdays to stop me.
EDGAR: (Regaining
his composure). Enough frivolity! Agent Carmine... (Looking at
Ava). I know your olive is a microdot transmitter with cutting-edge
Soviet tech. You are under arrest for being a double agent!
AVA: (Letting
out a genuine laugh). Double? Please, Edgar. What an insult to my
intelligence. I am a triple agent. I work for the left, the Committee, and
Paramount Pictures. And if you eat that olive, you'll broadcast your gastric
ulcers live to central intelligence in Moscow.
DINO: (Taking
Ava's glass and pulling out the olive with a toothpick). Let me see
this. (Holds it to his ear. A clear telegraph sound is heard:
Beep-beep-beep). Well, it's broadcasting the melody of La
Marseillaise. This olive is more cultured than half the Senate.
J.P.: Offer
the olive ten thousand dollars to work at my casinos!
FRANKIE: (Shaking
a cocktail shaker like maracas). Gentlemen, I think the world is going
crazy. If mimes are snitches, nuns are spies, and olives speak Morse code, I
propose we declare this bar an independent republic.
DINO: (Stepping
towards the proscenium, Martini in hand, lights dimming to a single spotlight
on him). And so, ladies and gentlemen, while the world played spies
with fake identities and the money men planned to sell them the moon, we
decided to order another round. Because when history turns into a farce
directed by madmen... all you can do is laugh, find good company, and make sure
your Martini is ice cold. Cheers!
(Elvis does one last pelvic
thrust. Frankie hits a sharp Sinatra-style high note that shatters a glass. Ava
blows a lethal kiss to the audience. Edgar, amidst the confusion, accidentally
swallows the transmitter olive. His stomach begins to loudly beep "Beep-beep-beep"
as he runs around the stage in panic).
(The tube radio emits a
deafening emergency beep. The actors freeze in grotesque positions. The lights
flicker frantically and everything cuts to PITCH BLACK).
ACT II:
The On the Rocks Loop
(The Chordettes' "Mr.
Sandman" plays at full volume, sweet and cheerful. The lights snap on.
Everyone is in their exact starting positions from the beginning of the play).
LOOP 1:
The Lapsus Brutus
(The song cuts off abruptly
with the sound of a needle scratching a vinyl record).
FRANKIE: (Pouring
a drink into the air, before anyone speaks). And make sure you use
your right hand to squeeze the lemon... Wait. Why did I say that? I don't order
the drinks.
DINO: (Blinks,
disoriented. Looks at his unlit cigarette). Welcome to 1953. The year
when... when I feel like I've already smoked this cigarette. (Looks at
Frankie). Give me a Dry Martini. I think.
(Enter EDGAR. Instead of
tripping, he enters tiptoeing, exaggeratedly slow).
EDGAR: The
bald eagle has landed... and has a terrible sense of déjà vu. I feel like I've
already swallowed something indigestible today.
(Enter J.P. and AVA at the
same time, clumsily colliding at the door. They do a little "after you,
no, after you" dance, until J.P. enters first).
J.P.: The
owners of this country are the ones paying the electric bill for... for... for
the dry cleaners! No! The White House. (Touches his head). My
blood sugar is low.
AVA: (Walks
to the bar, but missteps and almost falls). Fire. And someone explain
to me why I have a feeling my olive has a Soviet transmitter in it.
EDGAR: (Jumps
off his stool). Aha! I knew it! You are under arrest for being a
triple agent!
(Edgar dramatically reaches
into his trench coat. He pulls out a squeaky rubber chicken. He raises it with
authority. The chicken goes: "Squeeeak!").
EDGAR: (Trying
to maintain his dignity). Anything you say can and will be used
against you in an avian... I mean, martial court.
DINO: (Rubbing
his eyes). Once upon a time, there was an eagle who was afraid of the
color red... And it choked on a rubber chicken. There, I skipped the moral. I
just want this scene to be over.
(The door bursts open.
Enter ELVIS).
ELVIS: Evening,
cats. I heard they serve... (Tries to do his pelvic thrust. His shoe
slips comically on the floor. He loses his balance and falls hard on his behind
with a dull thud). Ouch, my subversive hips!
(Everyone stares at him in
a prolonged silence).
J.P.: (Breaking
the silence). I am not paying that boy's medical bills.
(PITCH BLACK. Brutal static
noise).
LOOP 2:
The Upside Down World
(Plays "Mr.
Sandman" at double speed. The lights come on with a sickly greenish tint.
Actor role swap. Edgar is now leaning on the bar trying to be a ladies' man.
J.P. enters hunched over, acting like a beggar).
EDGAR: (With
a husky, seductive voice, failing miserably). Welcome to 1953, dolls.
The year when... uh... arresting people is my passion. Pour something strong,
barkeep. Malted milk. On the rocks.
J.P.: (Approaching
Dino, with a whiny voice). Spare a dime, mister? Would you sign a
petition for the oppressed tycoons' union? The government wants to take away my
monopoly. Have mercy!
DINO: (Clinging
to his glass, sweating cold, the only one retaining his personality). J.P.,
get up off the floor, you're ruining my crocodile shoes. What the hell is
happening to all of us?
(Enter AVA. She wears a
white nun's habit, but walks with the same overflowing sensuality and is
smoking a huge cigar).
AVA: (Puffing
the cigar). The Lord works in mysterious ways, boys. But the Soviets
pay in cash. Who wants to confess before I sell their secrets to the FBI?
FRANKIE: (Pouring
the nun a drink). Mother Magdalena, you always know how to liven up a
wake.
DINO: (Yelling). Once
upon a time there was a fox! Who cares about the fox! Why is there a tycoon
begging for change and the femme fatale is an undercover nun! Barkeep, give me
formaldehyde!
(Enter ELVIS. He has his
rocker pompadour, but wears a ballet tutu over his pants. He walks on tiptoe).
ELVIS: (With
a high-pitched voice). Cats, I've discovered that rock and roll is too
aggressive for my aura. I demand Tchaikovsky. (Starts doing clumsy
pirouettes all over the stage). Look at me, I'm a swan! A white swan
persecuted by the Committee!
AVA (Nun): (Pulls
a black plastic machine gun from under her habit. Aims at Elvis). Nobody
does ballet in my parish, commie! (Ava makes the sound effects loudly
with her mouth). Pew-pew-pew-pew!
(Elvis takes the invisible
bullets, does a grand jeté in the air and falls to the floor in a perfect
ballet pose, faking his death).
(PITCH BLACK. Deafening
static).
LOOP 3:
The Plastic Excess
("Mr. Sandman"
plays in reverse and very slowly. It sounds demonic. The lighting flickers
violently. All characters are disheveled, hysterical, sweating).
DINO: (Grabbing
Frankie by the lapels). Do not pour me another Martini! If you give me
another olive I will strangle you with the microphone cable!
FRANKIE: (Yelling
back, losing his temper). It's not my fault! I just wanted to sing
like Sinatra and I'm trapped in this existential hell repeating the same joke!
J.P.: (Standing
on a stool, banging his shoe on the bar). I'll buy the time loop! I'll
buy the rights to this nightmare! Everything has a price!
AVA: (With
her mascara running, screaming at J.P.). Shut up, you old miser! Your
money is worthless if the clock resets every three minutes!
(Enter ELVIS. He comes in
screaming incomprehensible southern gibberish, like a possessed man. He jumps
onto the center table. He takes off his jacket. He starts rubbing himself
rhythmically against the giant tube radio).
ELVIS: Aaah!
The system is oppressing me! The radio is whispering in my ear! I'm gonna
impregnate this tube radio with the power of the blues!
EDGAR: (Completely
unhinged, rips off his trench coat). Diplomacy is over! Get off that
table, you degenerate, or I'll burn your pompadour in the name of the free
world!
(Edgar dramatically pulls a
NEON PLASTIC FLAMETHROWER out of his pants. Takes a combat stance).
DINO: (Looking
at the audience, completely defeated). Once upon a time, there was a
damn fox who went crazy because he'd been trapped in a bar for four hours with
a guy holding a pool toy flamethrower. Please, just kill me!
EDGAR: Purifying
fire! (Pulls the trigger. A ridiculous, weak little squirt of water
comes out, barely wetting J.P.'s face, who closes his eyes in resignation).
(PITCH BLACK. Abrupt cut of
the music).
THE
DEFINITIVE CLIMAX
(The bass line of "Mr.
Sandman" plays, but hyper-distorted. The singers' voices are deep wails.
Rotating red emergency lights flood the bar. Outside the stage, real, deafening
POLICE SIRENS blare. Violent banging is heard on the theater walls: BAM! BAM!).
(The chaos vanishes. The
actors are frozen in genuine terror. They look up, towards the theater walls,
breathing heavily).
DINO: (Stands
up slowly. Looks at his trembling hands. The cynicism is gone, replaced by
absolute panic). It broke. The joke completely broke.
FRANKIE: (Trembling,
dropping his glass). Dino... those sirens... they're not from the
sound booth. They're coming from the street.
AVA: (Tears
off her gloves in desperation). They're surrounding the theater.
They're really coming. Someone ratted us out!
ELVIS: (Speaking
normally, without the fake accent, almost crying). Man, I don't even
know anything about politics! I only took this role for the union pay! They're
gonna make me disappear!
EDGAR: (Runs
to the edge of the stage). It's the riot squad! They brought tanks!
This isn't script paranoia, this is way beyond the limit! We're all screwed!
J.P.: (Pulling
handfuls of real cash from his pockets, throwing it in the air). Take
it all! It's worthless in here! If we don't evacuate the stage, nobody will
ever see the light of day again!
DINO: (Runs
to the edge of the proscenium, speaking directly to the audience with vital
urgency, almost begging). And what are you waiting for?! They're
coming for us, but you're accomplices just for watching! Get up! Let's go,
everybody out through the emergency exits!
(The actors fall into total
panic. They run across the stage. Elvis picks up his jacket whimpering. Ava
looks for her keys. Frankie hides behind the bar).
DINO: (Desperate,
on the verge of tears, screaming at the audience). This is not a damn
joke! This went way beyond the script! The play is over! Please, save your
lives! (Pause, an idea hits him). Applaud! If you applaud, the
government will think it was just theater and they'll let us go! Come on,
applaud! Applaud, for the love of God!
(The actors run to the
front, joining the plea with faces of absolute dread).
ALL: "Please,
applaud!", "Leave now!", "Save yourselves!",
"Clap, lady, please!".
(The audience, out of
inertia, discomfort, or infected by the tension, will begin to applaud. The
exact second the applause grows strong, the sirens cut off sharply. The red
light disappears. A bright, warm, general white light illuminates the stage
instantly).
(The panic vanishes from
the actors' faces as if they've taken off a mask. All actors quickly and
gracefully line up at the proscenium. Their postures relax instantly. They show
broad, professional, and radiant smiles. They take an elegant, synchronized theatrical
bow).
DINO: (With
his usual charming, cynical smile, winking at the audience). You
really fell for it, didn't you?
ALL ACTORS: (In
unison, taking one last deep bow). Thank you! Thank you very much!
(QUICK CURTAIN OR FINAL
BLACKOUT)
