Antics and Antipsychotics
4 Short Plays About Not-So-Stable People
By
Gavarre Benjamin
© BENJAMIN GAVARRE SILVA
Anthology Synopsis
Act I: The Flock in the Living Room
- Synopsis: A typical big-city living room transforms into a chaotic,
imaginary zoo when a father returns home from work. Convinced his sons are impudent little ducklings and
his wife is a dangerous, giant goose, he unleashes a frantic chase. His
family is forced to make a choice: try to pull him back, or dive
headfirst with him into the freezing waters. An
absurdist comedy about patience, family love, and the unexpected perks of
shipwrecking together.
Act II: Peter Pan’s Tape Deck
- Synopsis: In a cramped music rehearsal space, two young drummers
face the strangest generation gap of their lives: Benny, a 56-year-old man
who is absolutely convinced he is 19. Amid debates over modern slang and
Artificial Intelligence, reality filters through a laptop webcam.
A moving and poignant piece that explores the fear of aging and the tender complicity of a younger generation that
chooses to shelter the loose wires of the past.
Act III: Marlo Was Mistaken, Terribly Mistaken
- Synopsis: A bright, sunny park becomes the stage for Marlo’s
constant mix-ups— transforming a clientless lawyer into
a Greek dancer and a local butcher into Dr. Freud himself. Just as the
overwhelming speed of the world threatens to crush him, the park bathes in
magical realism to grant him a tender encounter with the memory of his
mother. A deeply poetic piece about the fragility of memory, the dignity revery, and the beauty of a world that chooses to smile and embrace
rather than judge.
Act IV: The Electric Guitarist with the Jitters
- Synopsis: A gray, mundane commute in a subway car is disrupted by
the chaotic arrival of Ray, a young musician whose tics episodes spark collective fear. However, what begins as a
flash of urban distrust transforms radically the moment Ray uncases his
guitar. To the beat of an energetic popular jazz, the artist manages to cure the passengers'
boredom. A rhythmic, vibrant, and celebratory play showing how music holds
the power to dissolve bad attitudes mens and stitch the human fabric back together.
Antics and Antipsychotics
By Gavarre Benjamin
Act I: The Flock in the Living Room
(Original:
La Corte de los Patos)
Characters
- DAD (45): Confuses his family with ducks, monkeys, and other species.
- MOM (40): A practical woman, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
- TEDDY (9): The oldest son, thoroughly amused by his father’s antics.
- GABE (8): The youngest son, always fiercely loyal to his dad.
Setting
The living room of a suburban house in a bustling
metropolis.
(TEDDY and GABE are happily jumping up and down on the living room couches. DAD enters holding a briefcase. He stops dead in his tracks, stares at them with absolute bewilderment, and grabs his head in genuine panic).
Dad: Quack! Quack! Well, heavens above! What are these two little ducklings
doing on the sofa? My dear Ducks, get off the furniture this instant! You’re
going to get feathers everywhere! Quack!
Teddy: (To Gabe, bouncing with pure joy) He says we're ducks! Quack,
quack! I’m a duck, I’m a duck! Quack, quack!
Gabe: (Flapping his arms) Quack, quack! QUACK!
Dad: (Indignant, waving his arms) Oh, so you think you can mock your
own father? Impudent little mallards! To the pond right now, march! Or I swear
tonight we are having roast duck with orange glaze!
(MOM enters wearing a kitchen apron. Dad spins around
to face her. His eyes go wide at the imposing sight of his wife, and he takes a
sharp step back, shielding himself with his briefcase).
Dad: By Jove! A giant goose! Good heavens! An oversized, territorial,
vengeful goose! Quack! Watch out, boys, run! She’s going to peck our heads off!
Both Boys: (Screaming and running around) QUACK, QUACK,
QUACK!
Mom: (Hands on hips, glaring at him) A giant goose? Well, at least
you didn't call me fat this time. Boys, let’s get him! Let's peck Papa Duck!
Don't let him get away!
(The boys throw themselves at their father, making
frantic duck noises. DAD runs for his life around the dining table, trips
clumsily over the rug, and falls flat on his back, hitting his head against the
floor with a loud thud. Sudden silence. He sits up slowly, rubbing his
forehead. His dazed look is gone; he is completely lucid).
Dad: (Groaning in real pain) Ow, my head... What on earth is wrong
with you guys? Why were you chasing me like a pack of wolves? It’s not funny,
you know. I almost broke my neck!
Teddy: (Sits on the floor next to him, giving his knee a sweet little pat)
Oh, Dad... this time we were ducks. Don't be mad. Last week we were monkeys and
you made us eat bananas off the floor.
Gabe: Yeah, Dad. Being a duck is fun, but... what if we turn into wolves
next? Or rats? We might actually bite you!
Teddy: (With a sweet but warning tone) And if you ever see Mom as a
rhinoceros, you better run, Pop. She will flatten you.
(Dad hugs his sons, shaken but deeply moved, glancing
sideways at his wife. Mom sighs with deep resignation, walks over, and hands
him an ice pack for the bump. Dad takes the ice pack, blinks three times,
completely disoriented, and looks at his wife in absolute awe).
Dad: (Moved to tears) Oh, thank goodness... my beautiful blue whale!
You always save us.
Mom: (Taking a step back, deeply offended) A whale?! Excuse me?! I am
not that big!
Dad: (Ignoring her, jumping onto the couch and pointing forward with his
briefcase) There is no time for domestic disputes! By the gods, look ahead!
An iceberg! We’re going down! (He points at the ice pack he left on the
table). The ship is sinking! Children, my brave little sharks... prepare to
dive into the freezing waters!
Gabe and Teddy: (Thrilled, climbing onto the couch with him)
Every man for himself! On three! One... two... three!
(The three of them take a massive leap off the couch
and land on the rug, frantically "swimming").
Dad: (Belly down on the rug, kicking his legs desperately) Ah, what a
magnificent dive!... (Dramatic) Wait, guys, I don't know how to swim!
Help! Help! I can't swim because I'm a camel! Help me! Somebody help!
(The kids start "rescuing" him by dragging
him by his ankles while Dad spits out imaginary seawater).
Mom: (Clutching her head, looking up at the ceiling) Lord, give me
strength... I would really really like to be a blue whale
(Fast Blackout)
[END OF ACT I]
Act II: Peter Pan’s Tape Deck
(Original:
Beto y el Nunca Jamás)
Characters
- BENNY (56): He is absolutely certain he is 19 years old, ignoring the 37-year
gap. He never sees his wrinkles in the mirror... except when he does,
sending him into absolute shock.
- JAX (23): A modern, slightly reckless, and laid-back young drummer.
- LEO (24): A fellow drummer, Jax’s somewhat irresponsible friend.
- AI VOICE: An artificial, impersonal, and omnipresent off-stage voice.
Setting
An makeshift music rehearsal space. Drums, cymbals,
and cables scattered everywhere, with a glowing laptop open on a table.
[SCENE START]
(JAX and LEO are sorting through drumsticks while
chatting. BENNY examines a heavy bronze cowbell with pure, youthful curiosity).
Jax: (Picking up a conversation) ...No way, man. His ride isn't a
junker. It's an old car, but he hooked it up nice. The AI design made it
look... I don’t know, totally sick.
Benny: (Setting the cowbell down, smiling with youthful swagger) Ah...
"sick"? Back in my day, we only said that when we had the flu. Or
when someone was twisted. "That's a sick mind, man!"
Leo: (Laughing, sharing a look with Jax) Come on, Benny. You’re
living in the past. "Sick" means cool. Dope. Fire. You know, awesome.
Benny: Oh, like "bitchin'"! Or "radical"? Yeah, I can dig
it! Hey, and what's this about "AI"?
Jax: AI? Artificial Intelligence, Benny. Look, it’s right here on our
laptop. The screen’s about to light up with the webcam active.
Leo: Wait, didn't you know about AI? Do you still listen to the radio or
something? Nobody our age does that. You're living in the last century.
Benny: (Proudly, arching his eyebrows) Well, you know me, don't you?
And I happen to love FM radio. I always listen to the latest, hottest hits from
the 80s and 90s. Pure gold.
Leo: (With a smirk) Right, okay! And what about the 2000s? Nothing?
Benny: (With a playful wink) Nice try, Leo. The next millennium is
still way off. What are you, a time traveler?
(Benny steps closer to the laptop out of curiosity.
The screen suddenly flashes bright, displaying the live webcam feed. Benny
takes a sharp step back, horrified, touching his own face).
Benny: Good God! Who is that old, wrinkled, grey-haired man?... Who put that
guy on the screen? Get him out of here!
Jax: (Worried by the extreme reaction, talking directly to the laptop)
Hey... AI... Who is the man reflecting on the screen in this video feed?
AI Voice: (Firm, neutral, digital, and impersonal) That is Benny. His mind
is like a movie with too many missing scenes. He believes his brain is a video
player that got permanently stuck exactly at minute nineteen. He does not know
that time moved on outside.
(The words of the artificial intelligence hit Benny
like a physical blow. His eyes widen with the horror of an unbearable truth.
His shoulders slump. He walks very slowly toward the darkest corner of the room
and sits on the floor, tightly hugging his knees).
AI Voice: When he sees his real reflection, the tape unblocks for a split second,
and it hurts him to discover the years he lost. But do not worry. This is
merely a temporary system glitch. Very soon, his mind will protect him again.
Tomorrow, upon waking up, his video player will reset to minute nineteen, and
he will be the same cheerful young man as always.
(Jax and Leo drop their drumsticks in complete
silence. They look at each other with deep sadness, but also with a sense of
relief from the AI's words. Softly, they walk over to the dark corner and sit
on the floor on either side of Benny. Jax places an arm around his shoulders,
comforting him in the quiet, while Leo gives his knee a supportive, friendly
pat).
(Blackout)
[END OF ACT II]
Act III: Marlo Was Mistaken, Terribly Mistaken
(Original:
Se equivocó Marcelino, se equivocaba)
Characters
- MARLO (40): An enthusiastic, deeply disoriented man. He constantly mixes up
people’s identities. He is vulnerable, deeply
endearing, and captivating.
- ARTHUR (35): A lawyer with very few clients. Formal
but patient.
- THE BUTCHER / DR. FREUD (55): A gruff blue-collar worker with a heart of gold.
When he "transforms" into the psychiatrist, he acts more like a
clueless, easygoing counselor than a strict doctor.
- THE MOTHER (75): A kind, elegant woman with a sweet voice and a touch of joyful,
distant distraction.
Setting
A bright, tree-lined park with benches. People are
reading or resting. The atmosphere is warm, relaxed, and
peaceful.
[SCENE START]
(MARLO spins around in circles in a peculiar way, as
if searching for true north. Nobody is frightened; the passersby watch him with
an accustomed, gentle smile. He finishes his spinning and approaches a MAN
reading a newspaper with overflowing enthusiasm).
Marlo: Arthur! What an absolute joy to see you again! We went to college
together, remember? All those tedious, dreadful theory classes we had to
endure... What we truly loved was acting and dance, not that mind-numbing
history of theater. The Greeks, the Middle Ages! What a total bore!
Arthur: (Awkward but polite, lowering his newspaper) Excuse me, sir, you
have the wrong person. My name isn't Arthur... Well, actually, it is
Arthur, but I studied Law. I'm a lawyer. And I barely have any clients, so
imagine if I had studied dance instead.
Marlo: Law? How does that work? Like, walking a straight line? Keeping on the
right path? (He bursts into loud laughter, all by himself. Arthur smiles,
caught up in it) Just a little joke, my friend. I bet you know everything
about Sophocles. The great Sophocles, the Greek...
Arthur: No, my friend. The only Greek I know is yogurt. Now, if you'll excuse
me, I need to go hunt for some clients... or practice a dance step, just in
case. (Gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder and exits cheerfully).
(The park lighting abruptly shifts to surreal
shades of magenta and neon green. The background extras transform: they don
faceless neutral masks or move in a stylized, robotic choreography. MARLO paces
frantically around the benches, completely thrilled by invisible events
happening in his mind).
Marlo: (Pointing in horror at the empty space) No way! That car almost
ran over that little old lady! Are you alright, ma'am?... Of course... Whew,
just a terrible scare!
(A SULLEN PASSERBY with a heavy stride
crosses the stage. Marlo slips right behind him, mimicking his heavy steps and
sour expression like a street mime).
Marlo: Look at you, Mr. Grumpy, walking down the street with that miserable
face… Oh! And you better watch out, because a piano is about to drop right on
your head… (Looks up, covers his ears, and makes an explosion sound).
The piano! The piano crushed him! Oh well… he had it coming for being so
unneighborly.
Marlo: What are you staring at, lover boy? Think I’m checking out your
girlfriend? You’re dead wrong... I’m just thinking about how she’s about to be
swarmed by bees… Run! Run, my friends! The killer bees are here! Run for your
lives! (The couple walks away, bewildered. Marlo swats at invisible
insects). Hey, where did you guys go?... And the bees?... Where are the
bees?
(The movement around him stops dead. The
faceless ensemble freezes in stylized poses. Marlo stands motionless in the
center of the stage, pacing in a slow, meditative circle).
Voiceover: (A deep, warm, soothing voice) Marlo stands there meditating,
pacing in circles. He knows perfectly well that everything that just
happened... took place solely inside his own head.
Marlo: (Stopping, looking at his hands and then at the audience with
genuine existential confusion) Right, I get it… all of this happened in my
head. But if it happened in my head, why did it take place out here, on the
street?
(The surreal lights snap back to a warm,
bright, golden afternoon sun with a quick drumbeat. The light percussions
resume. THE BUTCHER enters, sitting down while taking off a clean apron. Marlo
shakes off his trance and looks at him with excessive solemnity).
Marlo: If there is one thing I am deeply passionate about, it is the
well-being of the animal kingdom... Hey, you, the man in the apron. You should
feel a profound sense of pride and immense responsibility for being the
guardian of the ribeyes. It’s a real shame the cows don't appreciate your
service.
(The lighting shifts to a warm, bright, golden
afternoon sun. A light, almost comedic percussion rhythm plays. A BUTCHER
enters, sitting down while taking off a clean apron. Marlo stares at him with
excessive solemnity).
Marlo: If there is one thing I am deeply passionate about, it is the
well-being of the animal kingdom... Hey, you, the man in the apron. You should
feel a profound sense of pride and immense responsibility for being the
guardian of the ribeyes. It’s a real shame the cows don't appreciate your
service.
Butcher: (Surprised, but amused) The guardian of the ribeyes? Look, pal,
I don't argue with anyone’s tastes. To each his own stomach. But if you want a
solid piece of life advice, a good steak fixes any rough afternoon.
(The Butcher puts on a pair of reading glasses and
pulls out a notepad, fluidly transforming into DR. FREUD. The light focuses on
them. Marlo, exhausted from his overactive mind, lies back on the park bench as
if it were a couch, rubbing his temples with exaggerated theatricality).
Marlo: Dr. Freud... how wonderful of you to drop by the park. You see, I close
my eyes for a single second and the TV channels in my brain completely glitch
out. I lose track of where I am. Well, I think I know, but the world just moves
a bit faster than my conclusions.
Dr. Freud / Butcher: (Writing down notes in a slow, warm tone)
Well, let's see, my dear Marlo. Your case isn't a problem at all; it's simply
an excess of imagination. You don't confuse reality; you just provide different
subtitles for the people in it. What you need isn't a hospital; it's just a
good few minutes to breathe in this park air.
Marlo: (Sighing with immense relief) Really? I thought they were going
to lock me up in a boring room full of doctors with absolutely no sense of
humor.
Dr. Freud / Butcher: Not at all! Reality is already boring enough on its
own. Why would we lock up the only people putting some flavor into it? Stay
here, get some rest.
(The Doctor winks at him and walks away, whistling a
light tune. The light softens into a golden sunset. Marlo remains seated,
looking lost but peaceful, like a little child seeking comfort).
Marlo: Mom! Is school over yet? I forgot where I left my backpack... And the
kids in class say I play the game all backward. Mom... where is Dad? Why is he
taking so long to pick me up today?
(THE MOTHER, who was sitting on the adjacent bench
knitting or reading, approaches with infinite tenderness. She gently brushes
his hair back).
The Mother: (With a sweet voice and a comforting smile)
Oh, my sweet boy. Remember? Your father went ahead of us many years ago. He
went to open a new branch up in heaven, because earth was running out of room
for his jokes.
Marlo: (With wide eyes, taking in the information without any pain, only
nostalgia. He tightly embraces the empty air as she wraps her arms around him)
He left?... Is the weather nice up there?
The Mother: The most beautiful weather in the world, my darling.
And he is waiting for us with an immense amount of patience. But in the
meantime, you and I need to finish our stroll through this park—it looks
absolutely lovely today. Care to walk with me for a bit?
Marlo: (Smiling with bursting enthusiasm, standing up) I'd love to,
Mom. But walk straight... just like Arthur, the lawyer who used to dance with
the Greeks.
(The Mother laughs heartily, takes his arm, and they
begin to walk slowly under the trees. The PASSERSBY watch Marlo; to them, the
bench is empty and he is walking with the air, but far from mocking or being
afraid, they look at each other and smile with a deep, respectful tenderness.
Marlo extends his arm, perfectly holding onto his mother's invisible arm. The
golden light slowly fades to black, leaving a profound sense of warmth).
[END
OF ACT III]
Act IV: The Electric Guitarist with the Jitters
(Original:
El fascinante guitarrista de los tics)
Characters
- RAY (28): The jazz musician. Wears a slightly tattered jacket, has
a guitar slung over his shoulder, and radiates a nervous, electric energy.
He has Tourette’s syndrome, which he channels through his music.
- MARGARET (45): A distrustful passenger, heavily loaded with grocery
bags, fearful of the urban environment.
- NESTOR (70): A retired, serious elderly gentleman. Formal and
stern-looking at first.
- THE CHORUS: Diverse passengers. Everyday people commuting in the
big city; usually indifferent, but capable of being deeply moved.
Setting
The interior of a moving subway car. The
characteristic, hypnotic metallic rattling over the tracks echoes through the
space.
[SCENE START]
(RAY enters the train car a bit agitated, stumbling
slightly. He slumps heavily into one of the priority seats beneath a faded,
semi-graffitied transit sign. MARGARET eyes him up and down with disdain and
nudges NESTOR with her elbow).
Margaret: Look at him... Healthy, young, strong, and
able-bodied. And he just shamelessly takes the priority seat. Talk about a
complete lack of basic manners. Honestly.
Nestor: (Nodding with a bitter grimace) Youth
today is totally lost. They have no respect for anything anymore. Not for the
elderly, not for pregnant women... It’s like the rest of us citizens are
completely invisible.
Margaret: (Adjusting her shopping bags) Oh,
don't get me wrong, Nestor... I’m not expecting. This is pure belly fat, but
the outrage remains exactly the same.
(Suddenly and without warning, RAY is hit by an acute,
violent episode of uncontrollable tics. His entire body tenses up like a guitar
string. He lets out a deafening, sharp screech while his right arm jerks
spasmodically toward the ceiling of the car).
Ray: (Shouting mid-spasm, rhythmically banging his
hand against the metal wall of the train) Back off! Out of the way,
everyone! No way, don't even think about it! I am an artist!
(The entire subway car instantly freezes in silent
panic. Margaret gasps in terror, clutches her bags tight, and runs to the
opposite end of the car. Nestor jumps up instinctively, seeking shelter behind
a metal handrail. The rest of the passengers scatter, leaving Ray in an
isolated social island).
Passenger 1:
He’s crazy!
Passenger 2: He’s having a breakdown!
Passenger 3: He’s going to mug us!
Margaret: Someone pull the emergency brake! Call the police!
(A dramatic pause. The episode subsides as abruptly as
it appeared. RAY relaxes completely, lets his shoulders drop naturally, and
exhales a deep, relieved sigh. The storm in his head has cleared. He stands up
slowly, picks up his guitar with a smile, and looks at the passengers with a
mischievous, bright grin. He makes an exaggeratedly elegant bow, like a royal
court jester).
Ray: (In a delightfully theatrical, fluid, and
melodious voice) Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished and highly terrified
audience of Car Number Four! Do not fear, I swear on all that is holy that I do
not bite, nor do I intend to run off with your wallets. What you just witnessed
is not a criminal outburst... it is merely a tiny short-circuit in my internal
wiring.
(The passengers stare at him, still cautious, but
visibly magnetized by his charisma).
Ray: A spontaneous gift courtesy of destiny! I
happened to get the uncontrollable tics. That's just how the cookie crumbled.
But fortunately, nature is wise and always provides a release valve. I am a
guitarist by heart and by trade. And since my involuntary quirks gave you this
bizarre welcome show, allow me now to make up for the scare with a melody that
actually has rhythm, structure, and purpose. Pure music to dissolve the mental
fog of this beautiful, chaotic city!
(RAY strikes the guitar strings with undeniable
virtuosity. He stomps his heel firmly against the metallic floor of the subway
to set a fast, upbeat gypsy-jazz tempo. He begins to sing a beautiful, rhythmic
popular melody. The sound floods the entire car, drowning out the gray,
industrial noise of the train).
(As he sings, the rhythm becomes irresistibly
contagious. Ray moves with effortless grace. Nestor unconsciously begins to tap
his foot to the beat. Margaret cracks a shy smile, loosening her grip on her
bags).
(Ray concludes the piece with a nearly impossible,
clean, and brilliant guitar solo. The song ends. The car falls into a
split-second of breathless silence... and suddenly, unanimous applause and
cheers erupt).
Passenger 1: Now that’s what I’m talking about,
maestro!
Passenger 2: Wow, what a brilliant surprise!
Nestor: (Applauding enthusiastically) Bravo! Bravissimo! That is playing
from the soul, son! Forget about the priority seat, you’ve earned it a hundred
times over!
Margaret: (Smiling widely as she fishes around in
her purse) Such absolute talent! What a beautiful gift in the middle of
such a boring commute.
(RAY passes his hat around and gratefully collects the
coins. He takes another deep bow like a happy, blissful jester, acknowledging
the collective affection with his right hand over his heart—fully integrated
into the human fabric, free of tics, and undisputed master of the subway car
thanks to the healing miracle of his music).
(The subway lights begin to flicker festively as the
sound of the guitar blends into an upbeat, joyous musical theme that echoes all
four stories).
[FINAL CURTAIN FOR ALL FOUR PLAYS]
