www.dramavirtual.org: The Man in the Domino Mask: An Absurd Urban Farce in Two Acts.

jueves, noviembre 12, 2026

The Man in the Domino Mask: An Absurd Urban Farce in Two Acts.

The Man in the Domino Mask

(Adapted from "El hombre del antifaz" by Benjamín Gavarre)

An Absurd Urban Farce in Two Acts, Four Scenes, and Eight Beats

benjamingavarre@filos.unam.mx

CHARACTERS:

VANCE HUNTER (The Man in the Mask): Imposing presence. Out to reclaim his honor, recover fifty thousand dollars stolen by Farnaby, and humiliate him publicly.

Costume: Matte black everything. Fitted dark riding trousers tucked into heavy boots; rolled-up black linen shirt; thick, unpolished black leather vest; flat-brimmed hat and a classic Zorro-style domino mask.

FARNABY FILCH-STERLING: The Opponent. Smooth-talking gallery hustler, chronically in debt, and professional social climber.

Costume: Worn chocolate corduroy blazer, unbuttoned beige shirt, bone-white silk ascot, sockless loafers, rings on every finger, and a questionable gold pocket watch.

MATT FLINT: Vance’s Right-Hand Man (with barely contained heat). Broad-shouldered, anvil-built, a man of heavy silences.

Costume: Raw petrol-blue selvedge denim overshirt, burnt-brick tee, wide brass-buckled belt, and a switchblade used exclusively to peel apples with agonizing slowness.

JULIAN THORNE: The Fake Squire (saboteur out of spite). Sharp-tongued, razor-eyed.

Costume: Charcoal peacoat, smoke-gray shirt, plum wool scarf hanging to his waist, and a metal cigarette holder for dark tobacco.

NOLAN STERLING: The Referee and Object of Dispute. Refined, regular at quiet bars; looking for genuine backbone.

Costume: Navy wool three-quarter coat, dark green turtleneck, tortoiseshell glasses, and a silver flask.

ACT ONE

Scene One: The Leather Forge

A high-ceilinged, exposed-brick loft on Wythe Avenue, Williamsburg. Outside, the neon hum of Brooklyn at night. Inside, a wrought-iron mirror and a table with dark craft beers.

Beat One

(VANCE finishes cinching the buckle of his black leather vest, pulling his stomach in. MATT peels an apple with his switchblade, cutting long, unbroken ribbons).

VANCE: Not a single crease, Matt. The leather needs to snap dry, like a riding crop on a Sunday morning. How do I look?

MATT: (Without looking up from his apple) Like a high-end fetish model lost on his way to Hell’s Kitchen. With all due respect, boss, I still don’t get the theatrics. Give me twenty minutes, I’ll rearrange Farnaby’s ribs in alphabetical order and bring back your fifty grand.

VANCE: You lack dramatic vision. Broken bones heal with a cast, Matt, but public humiliation in Brooklyn follows you to New Jersey. Farnaby took my money promising a microbrewery distribution deal, and last night he was spotted buying overpriced martinis and playing oil baron in front of Nolan. Tonight, he meets the devil in cowhide. (He puts on the black domino mask and adjusts his hat).

MATT: (Looking him up and down) Well, if Farnaby doesn't have a heart attack, Nolan is definitely going to dehydrate from swallowing so hard. You look... formidable, boss. (He pauses, glancing toward the door). Crack a window. Cheap tobacco smoke is already creeping up the stairs.

Beat Two

(MATT pulls open the heavy door. JULIAN steps in with his hands in his pockets, adjusting his plum scarf shamelessly).

JULIAN: Flint. Still blocking the doorframe like a mahogany wardrobe. Are you going to let me in, or do I need a building permit?

MATT: Come in, just don't stand so close. You smell like a wet ashtray and bounced checks.

JULIAN: (Brushing deliberately against Matt’s chest as he passes) So touchy tonight, big guy. If only you knew how good smoke looks on me... (He spots VANCE and lets out a dry laugh). Well, well! Did underground wrestling just open in Williamsburg, or are you rehearsing for a bachelorette party?

VANCE: (In a cavernous, theatrical voice) Vance died last night in a duel of honor, emissary. Before you stands Lord Bayard of Blackwood, collector of grievances and scourge of swindlers.

JULIAN: (With biting irony) Lord Bayard... sounds like bootleg bourbon, honestly, but I’ll buy the bit. Farnaby is down at the tavern pretending he owns half of upstate New York; he’s feeding Nolan so much hot air it’s almost endearing. When you walk in like that, your ex-partner is going to choke on his espresso martini all the way down to his loafers.

VANCE: And you came here to roll out the red carpet for his downfall. What does the squire get out of selling out his own boss?

JULIAN: Farnaby isn't my boss; he's a parasite who owes me three months' rent and steals my lighters. Besides, I love a good show where tough men measure... their resolve. Let’s go, "Lord Bayard." I’ll walk right next to your human brick wall here to clear the path.

MATT: Walk in front, Julian. That way I can keep an eye on your hands... and anything else you decide to move.

Scene Two: The Whispering Taproom

Interior of "The Quiet Hop," an austere wood-paneled craft bar in Williamsburg. Dim amber lighting and spaced-out tables.

Beat Three

(At a back booth, FARNABY gestures wildly across from NOLAN, who sips a dark stout with elegant boredom).

FARNABY: I swear on my family crest, Nolan darling: fifty thousand in liquid cash is just the tip of the iceberg. Anyone afraid to put hard capital on the table ends up watching from the sidewalk.

NOLAN: Plenty of talk and plenty of shiny rings, Farnaby, but I’m not looking for someone to lecture me about money. My wallet is heavy enough on its own. I’m looking for a man with real spine—someone who walks into a room and makes the ice cubes stand at attention.

(At the bar, MATT and JULIAN drink shoulder to shoulder, entirely too close for the size of the stools).

MATT: (Through gritted teeth) Look at him, puffing out his chest with my boss's cash. Give me ten seconds and I’ll shake him until quarters fall out of his loafers.

JULIAN: Easy, tiger. Your arm is so tense you’re going to shatter that pint glass. (He lowers his voice, leaning near Matt’s ear). Tell me... is it the bar's radiator, or do you always get this hard when someone brushes your elbow?

MATT: (Turning his face just inches from Julian’s) If I’m stiff, it’s from putting up with your innuendos for six months, Thorne. Stay put on your stool before I lose my patience and take you outside for some air.

JULIAN: (Smirking wickedly) Ooh, what a promising threat. Let’s see if you deliver.

Beat Four

(The swinging doors burst open with a sharp crack. VANCE enters as LORD BAYARD, his leather vest creaking and his boots thundering across the floorboards).

FARNABY: (Going pale, choking on his drink) Good Lord! Did an extra escape from a spaghetti western, or are themed muggings trending now?

NOLAN: (Sitting up straight, visibly intrigued) Hush, Farnaby. That man has more presence in one bootheel than you have in that entire secondhand corduroy jacket.

VANCE: (Striding slowly to the table; he removes his hat with a sweeping bow to Nolan) Good evening to the gentleman of the table. They call me Bayard. I don't drink foam that wasn't paid for by the sweat of my own brow, Mr. Sterling.

NOLAN: Have a seat with us, Bayard. My companion here was boring me to tears with imaginary ventures, though he suddenly seems to have lost his color. What is it you do behind that mask?

VANCE: (Locking eyes with FARNABY) I hunt loose-wallet phantoms and rescue orphaned fortunes weeping in other men’s pockets. Doesn't black leather make you thirsty, Mr. Filch... Sterling? You’re sweating like a perjury witness.

FARNABY: (Fumbling with his silk ascot) I... that voice... I once knew a man named Vance who had that exact baritone... Bartender! Bring another round before I faint!

VANCE: Order four pints, Farnaby. And pay for them with the wad stuffed in your inside pocket—the one that still smells like an honest man’s hard work.

ACT TWO

Scene Three: The Fog on Berry Street

Sidewalk outside under leafy trees. Dim streetlights cutting through the mist.

Beat Five

(FARNABY stumbles out of the bar, tugging at his collar. JULIAN and MATT follow close behind).

FARNABY: That man is a psychopath with a leather fetish, Julian! Nolan didn't even glance at me when I stood up! What on earth did you dig up on him?

JULIAN: (Calmly lighting a cigarette) According to my sources, he’s the ghost of your unpaid creditors who bought a vest at a vintage market in Bushwick. He says if you don't confess your sins by midnight, he’s repossessing those sockless loafers.

MATT: (Stepping out from the shadow of a tree) And leaving you barefoot on the pavement. Bayard is waiting on the loft roof on Wythe to settle the score. Whoever holds his gaze without flinching gets the business partner and the cash.

FARNABY: (Puffing his chest out with false bravado) Tell your Brooklyn Zorro I’ll meet him up there! Nobody intimidates me in a Halloween mask! (He hurries down the block).

Beat Six

(MATT and JULIAN are left alone under the streetlight, silent for a beat).

JULIAN: "Leaving you barefoot on the pavement." Look at you turning into an urban poet, Matt. I’ve never heard you string that many words together without growling like a guard dog.

MATT: (Taking a step forward, gently pinning Julian against the tree trunk) I growl around you because if I spoke sweet, you wouldn't believe me, Thorne. Now spill it: why’d you sell out your friend so cheap?

JULIAN: (Not backing down, resting a hand flat on Matt’s chest) Because the man’s name is literally Filch, he’s a third-rate con artist... and because for the last six months, the only reason I’ve dragged myself to his dive bars is to watch you walk in wearing that scowl and a shirt two sizes too small.

MATT: (Letting out a low laugh, his eyes dropping to Julian’s lips) Six months of playing hard to get? I only signed up for this masquerade because I knew you’d be right on his heels. Start walking toward the loft before I forget my boss's orders and show you right here who runs this corner.

JULIAN: (Teasing) Then walk behind me, big guy—wouldn't want me getting lost on the way.

Scene Four: The Trial of Leather and Masks

The rooftop terrace on Wythe Avenue. Planters with ornamental grasses and warm string lights.

Beat Seven

(VANCE waits by the railing. FARNABY bursts through the rooftop door panting, followed by NOLAN, MATT, and JULIAN).

FARNABY: (Tossing a thick envelope onto the table) Enough with the amateur theater, "Lord Bayard"! Here’s your precious fifty grand! Take it and vanish—Nolan and I have an empire to build!

NOLAN: (With icy elegance) I wouldn't build a lemonade stand with someone who throws money around like trash, Farnaby. This masked gentleman has more class in his silence than you have in a three-hour pitch.

FARNABY: He’s a fraud! A coward! Take that rag off your face if you’re half a man!

Beat Eight

(VANCE walks slowly to the table. He picks up the envelope, thumbs the bills, and tucks it inside his vest. Then, calmly, he removes his hat and domino mask).

VANCE: Here’s my face, Farnaby. And here’s my fifty thousand dollars, intact and ready for real business.

FARNABY: (Eyes bulging, stumbling back) Vance?! Impossible! You’re a respectable man—you wear pale linen and drink chamomile tea! Julian, do something, tell them it’s a setup!

JULIAN: (Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed) Leave me out of it, Farnaby. I switched sides ten minutes ago on Berry Street. Besides, black leather looks infinitely better on Vance than that corduroy jacket begging for retirement.

MATT: And thank your lucky stars this is a civilized farce, because if it were up to me, you’d be hunting for your teeth in the planters.

NOLAN: (Stepping toward Vance with a genuine smile) Reclaiming what’s yours with this level of staging... now that is backbone, Vance. I have a winery up in the Hudson Valley looking for a partner with your nerve. Care for a real drink to talk terms?

VANCE: I’ll take the drink and the partnership, Nolan. (He turns to FARNABY and holds out the black domino mask). But since nobody leaves my house empty-handed, take a souvenir. Put it on.

FARNABY: (Taking it with trembling fingers) What on earth am I supposed to do with this?

VANCE: Walk straight back down to the taproom, tell the bartender you’re scrubbing all four hundred pint glasses behind the bar to cover your open tab, and let all of Williamsburg watch you wash dishes in a Zorro mask. Consider it a lesson: in this city, if you steal for sport, you work for penance.

(FARNABY exits defeated, the mask crooked across his forehead as he trips over his own loafers).

JULIAN: (Watching him go, then turning to Matt with a raised eyebrow) Well... the thief has a night shift. What are we doing with the rest of the morning, Flint?

MATT: (Grabbing him firmly by the waist and pulling him toward the stairs) We’re heading downstairs to test how well leather holds up... against raw denim. Excuse us, boss. Goodnight, Mr. Sterling.

VANCE: (With a half-smile) Be careful, boys. Don't break anything you can't afford.

(MATT and JULIAN exit together amid low laughter. NOLAN pulls out his silver flask, pours two small glasses, and hands one to VANCE. They clink glasses overlooking the Manhattan skyline as the curtain falls).

THE END