The Shadow Box - Michael Cristofer

Once in a blue moon, you get to audition for a character whose age spans 30 years over the course of the play.  If you are under thirty, this is the only occasion I would ever recommend using this monologue.  (There is a good monologue for a young woman as well- Agnes.)

Also, the description below includes SPOILERS.  There are some fantastic reveals in this play, so if you want to read it or see it first, skip this bit!  (Don’t worry, if you want to watch the video or read the text, the monologue is safe.)

THE SHADOW BOX by Michael Cristofer

The setting is a comfortable, beautiful resort where people with an unnamed terminal illness go to die.  There are three stories-

Joe, Maggie, and Steve-  Joe is the most recent arrival.  The play begins with him being interviewed.  The interviewer is heard but never seen, and these interviews allows  the subjects to express what they are unwilling to say to other characters. Maggie is Joe’s wife, Steve’s his son.  Joe asked Maggie to explain the situation to Steve before they arrived, but she couldn’t do it.  Steve arrives, equipt with his guitar, ready and excited for a family vacation.

Brian, Mark and Beverly- Brian is sick, but doesn’t want to accept it.  He’s living life to the fullest, never missing a sunrise, writing terrible poetry, and painting because the meds make fruit look awesome.  Mark, Brians lover, has trouble understanding Brian’s joy and even more trouble accepting that Brian is going to die.  The worse Brian gets, the more Mark hurts.  Beverly, Brian’s ex-wife arrives, drunk and covered in cheap jewelry (each piece signifying a different man she’s slept with.)  Brian finds comfort in Beverly’s entertaining, drunken extravagance, but it infuriates Mark.  They fight, but unite in their love for Brian.  Despite their reconciliation, their ending isn’t pretty and it isn’t happy.

Felicity and Agnes- Felicity is a sick, old woman.  She should have died a long time ago.  But, she is bargaining with death, refusing to die until she sees her daughter Claire, she wants to meet her grandchildren.  Her other daughter, Agnes, has been taking care of her mother.  We later learn that Claire died years ago, and Agnes has been writing her mother letters “from Claire,” because Felicity couldn’t cope with the loss.

The Monologue

This monologue is pieced together from two parts of an awesome scene between Mark and Beverly.  Mark tells Beverly how he met Brian, then tells her how hard it is to be with him.  Later in the scene, Beverly accuses Mark- “You don’t need to dirty your hands with that kind of rotten, putrid filth.  Unless of course you need the money.  What does he do- pay you by the month?  Or does it depend on how much you put out.  Mark suddenly hits her in the face.  Beverly quickly slaps him back- hard.  Mark is stunned.  Beverly hits him again.  Mark still doesn’t move.  Almost as if he doesn’t feel anything.  Beverly continues to slap his face until he connects with the pain.  He lets out a pure cry and breaks down.

Mark: I don’t want him to die.  I don’t… Please Beverly puts her arms around him.  I don’t want him to die.

Here is the dialogue leading into and the text of the monologue-

Mark-...Some of us are here for the duration.  And it is not easy.

Beverly- And some of us wouldn’t mind changing places with you at all.

Mark- And some of us just don’t care anymore.

Beverly- You’re cute, Mark.  But next to me, you are the most selfish son of a bitch I’ve ever met.

Mark- Oh wonderful!  That’s what I needed.  Yes sir.  That’s just what I needed.

Beverly- You’re welcome.

Mark- Look, don’t you think it’s time you picked up all your little screwing trophies and went home?

Beverly- Past time ... way past time. The sign goes up and I can see 'useless' printed all over it. Let me tell you something, as one whore to another-what you do with your ass is your business. You can drag it through every gutter from here to Morocco. You can trade it, sell it, or give it away. You can run it up a flagpole, paint it blue or cut it off if you feel like it. I don't care. I'll even show you the best way to do it. That's the kind of person I am. But Brian is different. Because Brian is stupid. Because Brian is blind. Because Brian doesn't know where you come from or who you come from or why or how or even what you are coming to. Because Brian happens to need you. And if that is not enough for you, then you get yourself out of his life-fast. You take your delicate sensibilities and your fears and your disgust, if that's all you feel, and you pack it up and you get out. Yes. That simple. A postcard at Christmas, a telegram for his birthday, and maybe a phone call every few years . . . if he lives. But only when it gets really bad. When the money and the time and the people are all running out faster than you care to count, and the reasons don't sound as good as they used to and you don't remember anymore why … why you walked out on the one person who said yes, you do what you have to because I love you. And you can't remember anymore what it was you thought you had to do or who the hell you thought you were that was so goddamn important that you couldn't hang around long enough to say goodbye or to find out what it was you were saying goodbye to . . . Then you phone, because you need to know that somewhere, for no good reason, there is one poor stupid deluded human being who smells and rots and dies and still believes in you. One human being who cares. My God, why isn't that ever enough?
He needs somebody.  Yeah.  That was my answer, too.  'Bye baby.  I've got a plane to catch.  i want to get to Hawaii before the hangover hits me.  It's funny, he always makes the same mistake.  He always cares about the wrong people.