-- Num ---- Username ---- Category ------------- Posted -- Expires --- Pages --- | 44550 | STU_RSFURR | STORIES | 12/17/92 | 12/24/92 | 31 | -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- | Description: killing kennedy | ================================================================================ Killing Kennedy Cast: Jim: An earnest, but slightly crazed man, apparently about 21. He should be casual upper-middle-class in appearance, neat, but slightly disheveled, if he hasn't had a chance to tuck his shirt in and comb his hair in the last couple of hours. Rich: An earnest, but slightly paranoid man, also about 21, with a fussy appearance and glasses. He's middle class, but should look more "professional" than Jim does. Set: A collegiate, sixth-floor apartment. There is a door to the outside hallway stage left with a chain and a bolt lock on it, and a window looking out over a street at extreme stage right. The sky outside is clear, and there is noon light coming in the window. Outside, cars can be heard passing the building. There is a large TV set against the rear wall, stage center, with a coffee table in front of it, and an armchair and ottoman stage center, facing the TV. (Yes, that's right. The armchair is facing away from the audience, turned about twenty degrees away from facing straight back.) There is a bookcase extending from the stage right window to extreme down stage, as well as a large bookcase along the rear wall, stage left. There are various posters on the walls, but these should not be political or text posters. Art reproductions are ideal. The floor is partially covered by two carpets. Props: a pistol. Any sort. Starts in the rear wall bookcase. a rifle. Very powerful-looking, preferably bolt-action, with a telescopic sight, the bigger the sight the better. (the telescop- ic sight is not optional.) Is brought on by Jim. Lighting: The window area should be brightly lit, with noonday sun-level lighting. The rest of the apartment is lit to represent normal incandescent lights. Rich is sitting in his armchair, feet up on the ottoman, reading. A loud knock on the door is heard. Rich starts, looks over at the door, then jumps up, grabs the pistol from the bookcase, and stands next to the door, holding the pistol up, as if he was about to swing around into the doorway and fire into the hallway. Rich (very emphatic): I don't want any. Jim: (through the door): You don't want any what? Rich: Jim? Jim: Yeah? Don't want any what? Rich: Well... Jim: Never mind. Can I come in? It's urgent. Rich: (pauses, then undoes the chain and the lock, then opens the door and steps back. The gun remains in his hand the entire time, as if he's forgotten about it.) Sure, come in. Jim: (steps in quickly. He is carrying the rifle.) Hi. Can I use your window? (walks past Rich quickly, pauses, then turns.) What's with the gun? Rich: What's with the gun? What's with the rifle, then? Jim: (Very casually, as if someone had asked him "what's with the shoes" or something like that.) Oh, the rifle? Well, I'm going to shoot the President. So, what's with the gun? Rich: Shoot the President? Jim: No, I'm doing that. Seriously, what's with the gun? Rich: Er, well, I've been having a problem with these insurance salesmen...they won't leave me alone. Jim: (now at the window, is examining it, checking angles out of it, obviously only half-listening.) Cool. Does this window open? Rich: (closes and locks the door, crosses to stand behind Jim, and drops the pistol in the armchair as he does so.) You're going to shoot the President? Jim: Yeah. Here, can you hold this for a second. (Hands Rich the rifle, and opens the window. Rich doesn't move during this, and Jim takes the rifle back.) Great. Do you know what time it is? Rich: It's a quarter after twelve or so. Jim: Okay. (Kneels down and looks through the telescopic sight at the street below.) Rich: Jim. Jim: (not turning around) Yeah? Rich: You're going to shoot the President? Jim: Yep. Rich: Which President? Jim: The one of the United States, dipstick. Who else would I shoot? Rich: The President of the United States. Jim: Uh-huh. (obviously becoming a little tired with Rich's inability to understand this simple concept.) Rich: Who is going to be driving past this building. Jim: At twelve thirty. Rich: This building which happens to be nowhere near anything of interest to the President. Jim: It's on his way to the Dallas Trade Mart. Rich: The Dallas Trade Mart. Jim: Yep. Rich: The Dallas Trade Mart. Jim: I said, "Yep." You got a hearing problem? Rich: This Dallas Trade Mart, would it be in Blacksburg, then? Jim: No, it's in Dallas. Geez. Rich: Dallas, Texas. Jim: (Getting very tired now) No, Dallas, New Jersey. Of COURSE, Dallas, Texas. Rich: That's a long drive from here. Jim: A few blocks. Rich: We're not in Dallas. Jim: Sure we are. Rich: We're in Blacksburg, Virginia. Jim: If we're in Blacksburg, then why is the President going to be driving past here in fifteen minutes, huh? Rich: What? Jim: (to himself.) Dumbnuts. Rich: Look, we're at least four states away from Dallas. We're in southwestern Virginia. Jim: Rich, have you been sniffing anything you shouldn't? Rich: No, I haven't. Have you? Jim: Today? Of course not! I wouldn't do anything like that today. Today's too important. Rich: What's so special about today? Jim: (leans the rifle against the window, turns around and sits against the wall, and looks at Rich.) Haven't you been listening? I'm going to kill the President today! (Rich pauses, then goes and pulls the ottoman around closer to the window, and sits down on it.) Rich: Jim, the President is in Geneva today. Jim: No, he's not. He's coming to address a luncheon at the Dallas Trade Mart. Rich: Jim, the President is in Geneva, and you are in Blacksburg, and the Dallas Trade Mart, whatever that is, is in Dallas. All clear on our geography now? Jim: Rich, I don't know what's wrong with you, but you're wrong. The President, you, me, and the Dallas Trade Mart are all in Dallas. Okay? (A pause, then Jim picks up the rifle again and turns back to the window. Another pause, then) Rich: Jim? Jim: What? Rich: Exactly what President are we talking about here? Jim: I already said, the President of the United States. Rich: No, I mean, which one of them? Jim: Oh! I see. (turns back to Rich:) Kennedy. Why'd you think I meant anyone else? When somebody says "the President," it doesn't mean "the ex-President who served eight years ago," it means the guy who's got the job now. Rich: And that's Kennedy. Jim: And that's Kennedy. Rich: John F. Kennedy? Jim: (stands up, leans the rifle against the wall, and begins leading Rich back to the armchair.) Rich, you're obviously not feeling all right, you just sit over here, and I'll call some- body, okay? Rich: (resists being led.) I am feeling fine. Jim: Then how come you don't know who the President is? How come you think you're in Virginia somewhere? You just sit over here, okay? Rich: Jim, I am fine. You are the one who's confused. You're saying you're going to kill a President who's been dead for decades! You think you're in Dallas! Hell, you probably think this is 1963! Jim: No, it's 1992. We are in Dallas and Kennedy is not dead. Rich: Kennedy is dead. Jim: Kennedy is not dead! Rich: Kennedy is dead. Jim: Kennedy is not dead! Rich: Kennedy is dead. Jim: (changing tactics) Alive. Rich: He died in 1963. Jim: He's alive. Rich: Just so we're all clear on this, this is 1992. Jim: Alive. Rich: And you are evidently loose in your flue. Jim: He's not dead. Rich: Ever hear of Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan? Any of these names ring a bell? Jim: He's not dead, and I'm going to kill him. Rich: You're not getting this, are you. Jim: I don't care who's been President before him, he's President now and I'm going to kill him, okay? Rich: (Turns and shouts at the door.) Go away! Jim: (slightly more to himself.) He's got to be alive. Got to be. Otherwise, I couldn't kill him. Rich: He was killed in Dallas in 1963 by Lee Harvey Oswald. Jim: Who? Rich: Lee Harvey Oswald. Jim: Never heard of him. Rich: He killed Kennedy, you know. Jim: No he didn't. Rich: Did. Jim: Didn't. Rich: Well, okay, maybe he didn't. Jim: Okay, then. Rich: But somebody did. Jim: What? Rich: Maybe Oswald didn't kill him, but the man is most definite- ly dead. Jim: Look, maybe I can clear this up. Bobby Kennedy was assassi- nated by Sirhan Sirhan, right? Rich: Yeah. So? (turns and shouts at the door, waves gun.) Go away and leave me alone! Jim: Look at the odds! I mean, what're the odds of two people in one family getting assassinated? Rich: Pretty damn good from the looks of things. Jim: What do you mean? Rich: Well, two people from the same family did get assassinated. Jim: No they didn't. I mean, just look at all the things that Kennedy accomplished! All the things that happened during his administration! The Cuban Missile Crisis! The Bay of Pigs! All that shit in Viet Nam! All the space stuff! How could he have fit all that into less than four years? Rich: First off, it worked out that way, and second off, how can he be President now if he was President in the early sixties? Jim: (getting a little tired of this.) He got reelected, I guess. Rich: He got reelected twenty years later? Jim: Why the fuck not? Rich: Because he's the fuck dead, okay? Jim: (stands very close to Rich, and is apparently barely pre- venting himself from killing Rich.) Rich, we've been friends for a while, and unless you want me to forget that, you better shut the fuck up! (Rich stands there facing Jim for a long pause, then suddenly breaks the stare, turns fast, grabs the gun from the armchair, and stands beside the door as he did earlier. He shouts:) Rich: I don't want any! Go away! (pause) I said, go away! I'm already insured! Jim: (staring at Rich) What was that? Rich: Didn't you hear? Jim: Hear what? Rich: The knock! The insurance salesman! Jim: You are sick! You've been babbling for the last, I dunno, ten minutes about Kennedy being dead and insurance salesmen. Goddammit, would you stop being so damn morbid? Rich: You didn't hear him? Jim: No! Rich: He knocked and said he had a great deal for me! You didn't hear him? Jim: No! Okay, look, You sit down and just as soon as I kill the President I'm gonna take you to the hospital. Oh, and gimme the gun. (advances and holds his hand out.) Rich: (aims the pistol at Jim.) You get back. You're crazy and I'm not giving up this gun while you've got that rifle over there. For all I know you'll decide that I'm Kennedy and shoot me! Jim: Why would I do that? You're not Kennedy, so give me the gun. Rich: No! Get back! I need this to protect me from the salesmen! Jim: (stops, drops his hand.) Okay. Fine. Just don't shoot me, all right? (turns and walks back to the window, picks up the rifle, and aims it out the window again.) There's not much time until the President's motorcade comes by. Rich: (leans against the door, lowers his pistol.) Why are you so set on killing Kennedy, huh? Jim: If I do, I'll be famous. Rich: huh? Jim: All the assassins are famous. I'll have my name in the history books forever if I kill him. He's already there, so I'm not taking anything away from him. Rich: Why do you need ... Jim: Because I'm not getting anywhere as it is. I'll never be famous. I'll never be creative enough to change the world. Hell, I'll never even leave a mark on the world. I'm a fucking B.B.A., for chrissake, and it looks like I'm gonna spend my fucking life balancing the books for some fucking company that's never going anywhere anyway. Even if I do my job as good as anybody's ever done it, nobody'll ever know. This is my only chance to let the world know that I exist, and I'm damn well gonna take that chance. Kennedy's changed the world, well, he's done enough. It's my turn, okay? It's my turn! Rich: Oh. Jim: Now you shut up, okay? He's coming by in five minutes, and I don't want to be talking to you when he does. It's my turn and I'm not going to miss this. Rich: Fine. (a long pause, during which Rich sits in the armchair.) Jim: (to himself) It's my turn. Rich: (loudly) But if you think you're the only one who's not going to be remembered, you're crazy. (pause.) Yeah. I mean, the only people who even care that I'm alive are all these insurance salesmen who keep coming by. Hell, if I dropped dead today, the only people who would notice are the salesmen, and they'd proba- bly be relieved 'cause then they wouldn't have to come by every ten minutes. Jim: If that last visit was an exhibit, these salesmen of yours wouldn't care one way or another, 'cause they only exist in your mind. You've lost it, okay? Now would you shut up? He'll be driving by any time and I don't want to be talking to you when he does, okay? Rich: (voice dripping with sarcasm) Sure they don't exist. They've been making my life a living hell, and they don't exist. They're more real than this Kennedy that's driving by. You're going to insure your eternal fame by shooting someone who's not even there, who's been dead longer than you've been alive, and you're giving me shit about what's real and what's not. Real good, Jim. Jim: (Sighs.) Look, if you won't gimme this shit about Kennedy being dead, I won't argue with you about your imaginary salesmen. Rich: They're not imaginary! Jim: All right. Whatever. Shut up, okay? (there is a long pause. Jim tenses, then begins to track on a target down on the street. Rich stares into space for a while, gradually becoming more and more dejected. Suddenly, Rich jumps up, grabs the pistol and dashes to the door with frantic, but confused, energy.) Rich: (demandingly) What? Jim: (very insistently) shut up! Rich: (not listening to Jim, despairingly) What? Jim: shut up! (Rich looks shocked and despairing. He lets the pistol drop to the floor and wanders slowly over to the window. At the same time the pistol drops, Jim fires the rifle three times. If possible, the three shots should be spaced over about eleven seconds.) Jim: I got him! I got the sunuvabitch! (He stands up and begins to exult.) Rich: (reaches the window, grabs the sill, leans on it in dejec- tion.) It was all a mistake. Jim: (coming down off of his excitement high) What? Rich: It was all a mistake. The agency really didn't mean to send all those agents by. They didn't really care if I bought insur- ance or not. They were supposed to be working the apartments down the street. They didn't care whether I was alive or not. Jim: (humoring him) Oh. But, hey, I got Kennedy! I got him! I got him! Look! See! There he is! Dead meat! (points out the window.) It doesn't matter any more whether he's been dead or not 'cause he's dead now! Rich: (looks out the window, says dully) You killed a Studebaker. Jim: What? Rich: (gestures towards the street) You killed a Studebaker. Jim: (turns quickly to the window.) I couldn't have! I killed Kennedy. Rich: You didn't kill Kennedy. You killed a Studebaker. Jim: I missed? Rich: You could say that. The Studebaker wouldn't. Jim: I won't make the history books? Rich: Not for killing Kennedy you won't. Jim: oh, no. (drops to the floor and sits, dejected.) (Rich drops to the floor next to Jim. They sit there for a time, each in his own sphere of depression. Rich looks at Jim, then at the floor. Jim looks at Rich, then back at the floor. They open their mouths to say something, but nothing comes out. They close their mouths, and turn slightly away from each other. They do not take any notice of each other during the following section.) Jim: I won't make the history books. I had a perfect opportunity to kill a President and I missed it. Rich: They didn't really want to sell me insurance after all. It was all a mistake. Jim: My only chance to make people notice me. Rich: The only people who noticed me. Jim: Ruined. By a Studebaker. Rich: They didn't care at all. Jim: My life. Rich: Nothing. (There is another pause, then Jim lifts the rifle and stares at it, turning it slowly. Meanwhile, Rich stands up, slowly, re- trieves the pistol, and returns to where he was sitting by Jim. Rich examines the pistol, just as Jim is examining the rifle. They simultaneously come to a conclusion, however this (and the following directions) are not to be paced the same. The two are doing the same thing, but they are not doing it exactly the same way, nor are they doing it at exactly the same time. They both turn their heads (towards each other, but still not looking at each other) and aim their respective weapons at their respective heads (that is, Rich points the pistol at his own head, and Jim points the rifle at his head.) They put their fingers on their triggers, tense, close their eyes, tense again, open their eyes, take a deep breath, tense one more time, and then suddenly notice each other. They both strike the weapon away from the other person's head.) Both: What the fuck do you think you're doing! (They both pause, then the import of what just happened sinks in. They look away, then look back, then both laugh nervously, then look away again. Jim begins to eye the pistol, and Rich's hand reaches out for the rifle. Jim snatches the pistol, and clutches it to his chest, while Rich slowly takes the rifle, and holds it to himself. A pause, then Jim stumbles intently towards the door, while Rich, with great care and precision gets into firing position near the window. When Jim reaches the door, he gets into the same standing-by-the-door-with-pistol-raised-in-two-hands posture that Rich was using earlier. A slow fade to black begins. Jim breathes heavily, and Rich tracks on a target moving along the street until total black is reached.)