Dress
Rehearsal for the End of the World (with Canapés and an Existential Crisis)
A
meta-theatrical play in one act
By Ben Gavarré
This work has been published for free and open dissemination, although all intellectual property rights are reserved. Public use of this work requires permission from the author and for permission contact bengavarre@gmail.com or gavarreunam@gmail.com (Reg. Prop. Int. Expte. Inbox)
"The
Actors" and their Characters
- CLARA: (Plays LIMANTOUR)
The group's unofficial director.
- SOFÍA: (Plays POLANCO)
Energetic and intuitive.
- ANA: (Plays ESCANDÓN)
Insecure, but deep down empathetic and stubborn.
- LEO: (Plays HERNÁNDEZ)
Thoughtful and grounded.
- MATEO: (Plays ALFARO)
Charismatic and provocative.
- MR. BENÍTEZ: A confused old
neighbor.
SETTING
A rehearsal
space that could be the living room of an apartment. It is an ordered chaos: a
pair of designer chairs cast aside, a coat rack with a few costume pieces, a
table with half-drunk coffees and highlighted scripts. In the center, a pair of
rehearsal blocks. There is a main door leading to an outside hallway, which is
slightly ajar.
(The scene
begins. CLARA, SOFÍA, and ANA are on their feet, fully in their characters of
LIMANTOUR, POLANCO, and ESCANDÓN at an exclusive party.) (The other actors, LEO
and MATEO, maintain a low profile, observing the rehearsal or studying their
scripts.)
SOFÍA (as
POLANCO): Well,
changing the subject to more important things... Have you seen you-know-who's
cousin? Poor thing, ever since her marriage fell apart, it's like she's
invisible. Nobody even says hello to her. Anyway... didn't the same thing
happen to Lulú De la Lama? It's just to die for. I
think she signed checks or promissory notes... something from, like, the last
century... I bet she still used a fax machine and a landline.
CLARA (as
LIMANTOUR): (Tasting an imaginary canapé with disdain) Is this about the
divorce, or is it something new? Gossip, like fish, must be served fresh,
darling. And remember the first rule of this world: either you're the one
eating the canapé, or you are the canapé. Our dear cousin
chose to be a forgotten hors d'oeuvre.
ANA (as
ESCANDÓN): Yes!
That divorce thing is so intense! I saw them at the club two weeks ago, and
they looked so... like nothing was wrong!
SOFÍA (as
POLANCO): (Interrupting
her with a gesture) That's just the tip of the iceberg! It turns out the
husband didn't leave her for another woman... He left her for the tennis coach.
A twenty-five-year-old stud! A total gym shark, literally.
CLARA (as
LIMANTOUR): Predictable. Mr. De la Lama always had that... knack for showing
his preference for young men and his distaste for being in a forced marriage...
And you know, he's not the only case of men or women with triple lives. They
should just declare themselves polyamorous instead of looking like complete
idiots trying to be something they're not. I mean, if you're going to marry for
the zip code, at least go to acting school to pass for straight. Or just come
out of the closet already. No one is shocked these days if you're a faggot or a
lesbian.
ANA (as
ESCANDÓN): You
can't use those words anymore. They told me they're inappropriate and
offensive. Now you have to say LG... T-U-V-X-Y-Z.
CLARA (as
LIMANTOUR): No, darling, as usual, you're misinformed. And if I want to call
them whatever I please, I have every right and freedom to do so, and that's
that.
SOFÍA (as
POLANCO): But
wait, Clara! You don't know that Lulú—you know, the Lulú—got
her face done by the "Butcher of Bogotá"... (She pauses dramatically
and touches up an invisible lipstick). And she's pulled so tight that when she
smiles, her left eyebrow shoots up and her lip twists... Tragic.
CLARA: And... Cut!
(The three
instantly break character. The energy shifts.)
CLARA: Good. The venomous
synchronicity is there. Ana, I liked your attempt at naivete, but I need you to
be even more of a doormat. Your character doesn't have the right to an opinion
yet. The character's profound ignorance can be fun, but that's not the point
here. It's not about making the characters likable; it's about being a mirror
of the reality they believe they live in.
(As they
talk, Ana glances toward the main door, which is ajar.)
ANA: Hey... did someone
leave the door open? I could have sworn I saw a shadow pass by.
CLARA: (Without looking)
It's a draft, Ana. Focus. Alright, Leo and Mateo, you're up. From the top of
your scene.
(LEO and
MATEO get up and do warm-up movements. MATEO stretches like a gazelle,
emphasizing his physique. LEO makes facial movements, opening and closing his
mouth to prepare to speak.)
MATEO: Brutal, ladies. Now,
for our entrance. Let's discuss strategy. My Alfaro isn't a seducer; he's an
anthropologist. His goal is to study this tribe of elegant savages.
LEO: And my Hernández is
the counterpart. We're a team. Alfaro is like my battering ram and my shield...
MATEO: And Hernández is my
All-Access Pass into this world of soulless vultures who either want to screw
me or kill me... I mean, Alfaro.
CLARA: Correct. Let's go.
From the introduction. Action!
(The
lighting changes subtly. LEO and MATEO enter the "party.")
LEO (as
HERNÁNDEZ): Well, well. The whole conclave. May I ask who you're
excommunicating tonight? I'm sorry to interrupt what was undoubtedly a
dissection-without-anesthesia of some mutual friend. Allow me to introduce a
man whose talents are inversely proportional to his modesty: Braulio Alfaro.
MATEO (as
ALFARO): A
pleasure. Though I'm afraid I'm interrupting a conversation of the utmost
importance.
CLARA (as
LIMANTOUR): We were discussing the pros and cons of modern servitude.
MATEO (as
ALFARO): Really?...
I'm sure if it's not high-society gossip, it's the inconveniences of the lower
classes... Ah, the classic dilemma: do we respect those who serve us, or do we
pay them enough to keep their mouths shut? My opinion? Loyalty is earned, not hired.
Or is that idea too... revolutionary for this room?
(He says
this with a smile so charming that the women laugh, nervous and disarmed.)
SOFÍA (as
POLANCO): Oh,
how profound! Let's talk about something trivial instead! Culture, for example!
(Clara
blows a whistle... The light turns the characters into silhouettes making
elaborate movements... The dialogues overlap. The following are suggestions,
but they are improvised quickly and cacophonously):
ANA (as
ESCANDÓN): ...Osho just changes your
life.
CLARA (as
LIMANTOUR): Life is Elsewhere, by Kundera, or The Unbearable Lightness of Being... What a title! So
long...
LEO (as
HERNÁNDEZ): I prefer Murakami. Tokyo Blues is
a masterpiece.
SOFÍA (as
POLANCO): Oh,
no! How cliché! Poetry is better. Octavio Paz!
CLARA (as
LIMANTOUR): You're all talk, Polanco. Don't be such a snob.
MATEO (as
ALFARO): (Smiling) T. S. Eliot is the best... It
must be pronounced Tee... Ess... Eliot... with an English accent.
(The light
returns to normal. Clara is no longer using the whistle; it's Sofía (as
Polanco) who interrupts forcefully:)
SOFÍA (as
POLANCO): Enough
about culture! I don't want to anymore! I said so!
LEO (as
HERNÁNDEZ): I want to do a cultured podcast, really cultured.
MATEO (as
ALFARO): I
want to do an OnlyFans, or if not, a pornoentucasa... (Falsely,
with affectation) the app, you understand, right?
SOFÍA (as
POLANCO): I
want my ten seconds of fame! Not even the fifteen minutes that guy talked
about!
ANA (as
ESCANDÓN): Who?
CLARA (as
LIMANTOUR): Warhol, Ana. Andy Warhol.
ANA (as
ESCANDÓN): Oh!
Phew, I'm not that old. He's from the 60s, right? I wasn't even born!
CLARA (as
LIMANTOUR): It shows, darling. Your ignorance is insultingly young.
MATEO (as
ALFARO, to CLARA/LIMANTOUR): Madam, you insult the uncultured lady so often, it
would seem you wish to court her...
(CLARA (the
actress and de facto director) GETS ANNOYED BY THE LAST COMMENT AND BLOWS THE
WHISTLE)
CLARA: Cut! It's not
working. Mateo, what's with you? This isn't a Spanish Golden Age play! And what's
this about me wanting to court her?... Ana is foolish, we know that, I mean,
her character Escandón is not very believable. It needs something more organic,
more... more... skin. Five minutes. Just five.
(The actors
relax. MATEO takes off his rehearsal shirt.)
MATEO: Phew, I was roasting
in here.
SOFÍA: (Without looking up
from her phone) You're not fooling anyone, Mateo. Rehearsal is just an excuse
for your strip show. Tone down the ego.
CLARA: (With a weary sigh)
Same old story, Mateo. If you're not the center of attention, you don't exist.
(Ignoring
her, Mateo goes to the Bluetooth speaker and puts on a very sexy song, an icon
of male striptease. He performs his act with virtuosity; everyone feels a mix
of admiration and annoyance, especially Clara. Mateo turns up the volume. Now
he begins to move slowly, exaggeratedly. He poses, flexes his muscles, and
looks directly at Clara and Sofía with a provocative smile.)
CLARA: Can you turn that
crap off, please? This is a rehearsal, not a strip club in Acapulco.
MATEO: (Dancing) I'm
exploring my character's erotic range! Alfaro is a peacock, he needs to show
off his feathers!
SOFÍA: Well, your
"peacock" looks more like a small-town fighting cock. It lacks class.
(Ana,
uncomfortable, sits in a corner. Leo watches Mateo with a mixture of amusement
and annoyance. While Mateo continues his "show," Ana approaches
Sofía.)
ANA: Your hair got a
little tangled in the back with all the movement. Need help?
(Ana gently
begins to untangle a lock of Sofía's hair. It's a gesture of camaraderie amid
Mateo's chaos.)
MATEO: (Lowering the music
but still posing) Ah! I knew it! Observe the grooming ritual. What's happening
is that little Escandón doesn't just admire the great Polanco... she likes her!
She's in love with her!
SOFÍA: (Unfazed) So what if
I am? You got a problem not being the center of attention?
MATEO: Not at all. In fact,
now everything makes sense. (He turns to Leo). And you... it's not that you
admire my character. It's that... You want a piece of me.
(Mateo
approaches Leo, wraps an arm around his neck, and gets very close in a parody
of seduction.)
LEO: (Laughing at first)
Get off me, you idiot.
MATEO: (Persisting, using a
jokingly seductive voice) Come on, don't play hard to get. I know you're dying
for this... tempting body.
SOFÍA: (Shouting from
across the room) Careful, Leo! His nose is turned up and his smile is wide!
That's the sign he's serious!
(Mateo
smiles even wider, accentuating the turned-up nose gesture as he looks to the
sky. But the joke has gone too far for Leo.)
LEO: (In a firm, low
voice, shoving Mateo's arm away) Alright, Mateo. Knock it off. Seriously. Not
everything's a joke. I'm warning you.
MATEO: Is this really
happening? I can't believe it.
(The
atmosphere freezes. The shift in Leo's tone is real. Mateo takes a step back.
There is genuine tension between the two friends.)
CLARA: (Clapping once,
sharply) Perfect. Five minutes are up. Since our colleague is so... inspired by
his body, let's do an exercise. It's called the "Power Walk." Imagine
it's the red carpet of the most exclusive event. Your walk defines your status.
Who dominates and who is invisible. I want to see the characters, not you.
Sofía, you start. You are Polanco, the queen of the socialites. Devour the
world.
(Appropriate
music, like from a cosmopolitan fashion show, plays. Sofía transforms. She
walks through the center of the room as if on a runway. Her gaze is haughty;
she blows kisses into the air, pulls out an imaginary phone for a perfect
selfie. It is a masterclass in charismatic superficiality.)
CLARA: Yes! That's it!
Fake, plastic, perfect! Next. Mateo, your turn. You are Alfaro, the alpha male
who knows he owns the place.
(Mateo
accepts the challenge. His theme music plays... something like house music...
His walk is a display of arrogance. He walks slowly, hands in his pockets,
looking down on everyone. He stops midway, laughs to himself, and shakes his
head, as if everything seems mediocre to him. He is obnoxious and magnetic.)
CLARA: Good. Project that
effortless power. Ana, you're up. You are Escandón, desperate to fit in. But
you are gray.
(Carnival
music plays. Ana tries to walk, but she looks small, hesitant. Her shoulders
are slumped, her gaze seeking approval. She is painfully vulnerable.)
CLARA: (Mercilessly) No,
Ana. Not like that. You look like you're asking for permission to exist. It's
pathetic. Off. Sit down.
(Ana,
humiliated, retreats to a chair. Her eyes fill with tears. She opens her mouth
to retort, a tremor of rage running through her body, but in the end, she
closes it, swallowing her words in a gesture of defeat.)
CLARA: Leo. You close. You
are Hernández. You've just seen your friend Alfaro humiliate everyone and
watched this poor girl get torn apart. Use that rage. Show me the power of
moral indignation. Walk!
(Tribal
music, drums. Leo stands up. There is real fury in his eyes. He begins to walk.
But it's not a character's walk. It's his own. His steps are heavy, his jaw is
tight. He doesn't project power; he projects pain, frustration. It is a moment
of brutal honesty from an actor who can no longer pretend. He stops and looks
at Clara, defiant.)
CLARA: (After an icy
silence) CUT!
(The shout
is sharp, full of disappointment.)
CLARA: No,
Leo. Just no. What was that? That's not power, it's a tantrum! You looked like a lost
kid looking for his mom in the supermarket. Zero status. Zero control.
Pathetic!
LEO: (Exploding, all the
pent-up tension surfacing) I was being honest! I was using what happened right
here, what you yourself asked for!
MATEO: (Intervening,
furious at the attack on his friend) He was doing it incredibly, Clara! For the
first time, someone achieves something meaningful, and you sabotage it out of
envy.
CLARA: (Confronting Mateo)
This isn't your group therapy session, Mateo! It's my vision! It's done my way,
period!
MATEO: Oh, really? The
"unofficial director" has spoken? How convenient! You're a theater Karen, you know that? You
always have to be right, even when you're wrong! Such basic narcissism.
CLARA: You're a mediocre
provocateur! An exhibitionist who thinks he's an artist! The only thing you
care about is your damn perfect abs!
MATEO: Do you hear
yourself? You're contradicting yourself: am I mediocre or am I perfect? You
want a real analysis, "director"? You don't hate me, you desire me.
And since you can't have me, you try to destroy me. It's the most basic
narcissism there is. Study yourself, you witch!
(In a fit
of rage, Mateo grabs a script from the table and throws it at Clara. It misses
her, but the script explodes into a shower of pages. Ana stifles a scream. Leo
steps between them.)
LEO: THAT'S ENOUGH! BOTH
OF YOU, STOP!
(There is a
dense, heavy silence. They all look at each other, breathing heavily. The real
fight has left them exposed.)
LEO: (Calmer, taking a
step back and observing them) ...You see. Right there. That's the moment you
got lost in your roles. You, Clara, became Limantour: controlling, cold,
dictatorial. And you, Mateo, you got carried away by Alfaro's bravado. You let
the characters eat you alive. The point isn't just realizing it... it's
changing your attitude.
CLARA: (After a pause, her
mind processing. She nods slowly) He's right. The power struggle... it's the
same one from the play.
SOFÍA: (Stepping forward,
taking control with a new, decisive energy) Okay, yes, he's right. But we can't
just stand here resenting each other. Let's use this energy. Let's use this...
crap. I have an idea for a new scene. One that's not in the script.
(Everyone
looks at her, expectant.)
SOFÍA: We're going to
improvise. Our characters, Limantour, Alfaro, all of them... they're going to
therapy. Or something like it. An "intervention" in a neutral space.
A park. To "raise consciousness."
MATEO: (Skeptical) Therapy?
Our characters? They'll eat each other alive.
SOFÍA: Exactly! That's the
drama! Let's see what happens when these narcissistic monsters are forced to
"share their feelings." Clara, Mateo, the rage you're feeling right
now... don't let it go. Give it to Limantour and Alfaro. Let's go.
(Sofía
begins to reconfigure the space. She moves two blocks to resemble a park bench.
She places a prop plant nearby.)
SOFÍA: Here. This is
a zen garden. Or a discreet corner of
a beautiful park. There are trees, birds, peace. We are in a safe space. I, as
Polanco, will guide the session. Because, of course, Polanco just took a
weekend diploma course in mindfulness and now she thinks she's a therapist. Ready?
From... now. Action!
(The
lighting changes slightly, becoming softer. The actors assume their characters
again, but with the real tension still vibrating underneath. They sit in a
circle in the "park.")
SOFÍA (as
POLANCO): (With
a soft, slightly affected voice) Well, it's just divine that we're giving
ourselves this space to connect. I feel like lately, there have been...
conflicting energies. And I want us all to validate our feelings. Escandón,
darling, why don't you start? Share with us how Limantour makes you feel.
ANA (as
ESCANDÓN): (With
trembling sincerity, looking at Clara) Well... sometimes I feel... like you
don't see me. That no matter what I say, it's always going to be wrong. I feel
like to you... I'm a nobody. And that hurts.
(It is a
moment of real vulnerability. Leo nods, moved.)
CLARA (as
LIMANTOUR): (Instead of responding, she analyzes coldly) Fascinating. A
textbook manifestation of an inferiority complex projected onto an authority
figure. Dramaturgically speaking, it's a bit cliché, but as a starting point
for your character arc, I suppose it works.
ANA: (As Ana, hurt) It's
not a character arc, Clara! That's how you make me feel!
SOFÍA (as
POLANCO): (Intervening
quickly) Thank you for sharing, Escandón! Clara, thank you for that...
feedback. Alfaro, your turn. How do you feel in this ecosystem?
MATEO (as
ALFARO): (He
smiles, predatory. He doesn't look at Sofía, but directly at Clara) I feel...
very stimulated. I feel a fascinating tension in the air. Especially from
Limantour. I sense a need for control that is so... palpable. It's like armor.
I wonder what would happen if someone found a crack in it. If someone helped
her... relax. To release all that contained energy.
(The
insinuation is both personal and part of the character. The line has been
completely blurred.)
CLARA: (Abandoning
Limantour completely, her voice pure ice) Don't you dare psychoanalyze me,
Mateo. Not me, not the character. You're not as smart as you think you are.
MATEO: (As Mateo, but with
Alfaro's arrogance) See? Right there! You're hiding behind the character! You
can't stand someone seeing the real you! The great Clara, the intellectual, the
perfect director! You're terrified that people will find out you're nothing
more than an insecure control freak!
CLARA: And you're an empty
peacock! A textbook narcissist who needs everyone's approval because deep down
you know you have nothing to offer but a pretty body!
(The
"intervention" has failed spectacularly. The energy is now uglier
than before, colder and more calculated. Leo stands up.)
LEO: That's enough.
Sofía, it didn't work. This just made it worse.
(The
exercise dissolves. They sit in a hostile, defeated silence. The spiral has led
them to a dead end. It is at this precise moment of total failure that the main
door opens completely.)
(MR.
BENÍTEZ enters. He is a confused old man. He is in pajamas and slippers,
completely lost. His appearance is simultaneously pathetic, comical, and
absurd.)
MR.
BENÍTEZ: Excuse
me... Is breakfast ready yet? Marta told me to wait here.
(The five
actors freeze. The contrast between their complex, toxic drama and the old
man's simple, human need is brutal.)
MATEO: (In a low voice) Who
is this guy?
ANA: (Approaching
cautiously) Sir, are you alright? Who is Marta?
CLARA: (Annoyed, but her
hostility now sounds hollow, almost ashamed) Sir, you can't be in here. We're
rehearsing.
MR.
BENÍTEZ: (To
Clara) Are you the new nurse? You have an unfriendly face.
SOFÍA: (Trying not to
laugh) I think the gentleman is a little disoriented.
LEO: Here, sir, sit down.
(He guides him to a chair). Would you like some water?
(Leo gives
him a bottle of a sports drink. Mr. Benítez takes a long drink. He seems to
come to his senses.)
MR.
BENÍTEZ: Ah...
thank you. How kind. I must have gotten the wrong floor. My apartment is 502.
It happens sometimes.
SOFÍA: We're 602. You're
our downstairs neighbor.
ANA: We've never seen you
before.
MR.
BENÍTEZ: (Smiling
sadly) Nobody sees old people. We're invisible. Well, I won't take up any more
of your time. Thanks for the drink, really.
(Mr.
Benítez stands up and exits as quietly as he entered. The five actors remain in
a silence even deeper than before, but this time it isn't hostile. It's
reflective. Humble.)
MATEO: (Breaking the
silence, softly) Well... now that was a turning point.
CLARA: (She looks at the
mess of pages on the floor. Her voice has lost all its harshness. For the first
time, she smiles genuinely) Let's forget about performing our drama for now.
It's a minor issue... compared to how truly hard reality can be. Let's forget
everything. Let's go to the finale.
ANA: (Excited, with a new
light in her eyes) The musical number?
SOFÍA: (With a renewed,
healing energy) Yes! The musical number!
MATEO: Now that's a tango
I'll dance to.
LEO: No doubt about it.
The cosmos sent us a message.
(Mateo runs
to the speaker and puts on an 80s pop song at full volume. The
light changes. The five, completely as themselves, look at each other, share a
knowing laugh, and launch themselves into the center of the stage.)
(They begin
the musical number. Now it's not just a happy ending; it's a catharsis. It's
the recognition of their own ridiculousness and the celebration of their
imperfect, resilient connection.)
ALL:
(Singing)
If life is a
rehearsal and the world a giant hall,
And a neighbor
might appear, looking for the dining call!
If your ego
starts to rule you, or a Karen you become,
Just take a
breath and see your silly dramas leave you numb!
This was the
end of the world with canapés and with all spite!
But at the end
of the day... it's just theater and friendship's light! Thank you!
(They end
in a final pose, sweaty, happy, and looking at the audience. They laugh, not as
actors, but as people who have just survived something together.)
(END)
