Odd Assignment

Sherry Kramer gave us this rather odd and "pretentious" (Her word) assignment for last night. We were told to imagine that we were at the Superdome, or some such location, filled with evacuees suffering from the effects of Hurricane Katrina. What play could we write for these people? What would they need? Sherry gave us three titles of plays to choose from: 1. "The Tempest," 2. "The Flood," 3. "The Garden of Eden."

We had Friday night until Sunday (yesterday) at 7pm to write 3 pages max. In those days, I started over and over. I thought of a play about a young boy talking to a grandfather about storms, "Just the angels bowling." Bad idea. I started a play about a grandmother and a young boy. The young boy used words that a 5 year-old shouldn't know. He was growing up too fast. The play didn't go anywhere.

I made a list of qualities I thought would be appropriate for this play:

Humor, Spirituality, Familiarity, Comfort...

How could a play combine all of these things? I wanted something that engaged the audience, discussed the situation without being depressing, made people laugh without being empty, and, in the end, would give people peace. I wrote some quick phrases, What does the flood mean? The first thing that comes to mind is "punishment." It's awful to think that, but natural disasters are usually seen as punishments from God. And I've heard people make the case that God is punishing New Orleans for its debauchery. This is stupid. Very stupid that people would go along that line of thinking. I wanted my play to address that. It was clear that I was giving myself impossible goals to achieve. But, finally, I started writing. The first words were, "Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow..."

Here is the full scene that came from that spring:

(A MESSENGER enters. HE is exhausted.)
MESSENGER: Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow, nor... How does the rest of it go? Rain. Sleet. Snow. (Beat) Flood? Does it say flood? Maybe it should. Because here I am. Mail’s getting through. Special Delivery. Speedy Delivery. Like Mr. McFeely on Mister Roger’s. You know what I liked most about Mister Roger’s Neighborhood? Here was this guy who was just getting home from work, or so I imagined, who knew where he was coming from, but he was just getting home from work and what’s the first thing he does? He sings me a song! Just for me. And the next thing he did was change his clothes to make himself comfortable to just spend some time with me. Just me.

(Beat)

But you probably want the message! Right. Sorry. Got off topic there. I was sent to deliver this message to you all. And I know you’re all hoping it’s good news, but it’s not. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not bad news either. It’s just news. Nothing fancy. Nothing spectacular. Unlike Cable News, which is always spectacular bad news, right? Cable news all sucks. You see their coverage of what happened, right? No sensitivity. But me, I’m totally sensitive. I’m simply here to deliver this message without grotesque pictures or stupid commentary like, “God’s punishing us.” Or something. No, that’s not the message. God’s not punishing us. What would God be punishing us for? (Beat) “Debauchery?” What debauchery? Mardis Gras? (Beat) “Girls Gone Wild?” Oh please. God has bigger fish to fry than punishing us for some drunken teens on spring break showing their boobies. Yes, I used the word “boobies.” Why? Because I can’t stand the other words people use for them. Tits? Titties? Gives me shivers. Breasts? Well, they’re more fun than “breasts.” You need a word that shows just how fun they are, but still gives them the respect that they deserve. Because let’s face it, Boobies have never gotten very much respect. So, let’s not call them “Fun bags” or “Flapjacks” or “Jumblies.” Let them be called Boobies. For what is a “boob,” but a... (Beat) Stupid person. A Boob is a stupid person... I guess that’s not respectful at all. Okay, so we can’t call them “Boobies.” Anyone got a better word?

(The MESSENGER engages the audience in a discussion about what breasts should be called. After a time, the MESSENGER says:)

MESSENGER: Wait, wait. I think I have it. How about... “Mammies.” Since they’re Mammary glands, and Mommies use them. (As Al Jolsen)
“Mammies.”
(As himself)
Are we agreed? If you agree say it with me on the count of three. One. Two. Three. MAMMIES.
(Beat)
Okay, so I’ve lost some of you.
(Beat)
Anyway, back to the point I was trying to make before. God’s not punishing us. God cleansing the world with a flood. God promised that wouldn’t happen. Rainbows, remember?
(Sings)
“Someday we’ll find it.
The Rainbow Connection.
The Lovers, the Dreamers and Me!”
(Smiles)
That’s what we need right now! Kermit the Frog! He was from Georgia, you remember that, right? Hang on!

(MESSENGER takes off his shoe. HE takes off his sock. HE creates a sock puppet.)

MESSENGER: I know this isn’t accurate, but it’ll work for now.
(As “Kermit the Frog”)
Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog here.
(Laughs, no longer Kermit the Frog)
You all love Kermit, right? He’s the nicest frog in existence. I love that frog. I imagine God loves Kermit, too. Kermit’s probably God’s favorite. Am I right? Anyone disagree?

(MESSENGER engages the audience in a discussion about God’s favorite Muppet.
If the discussion leads to a Muppet other than Kermit being God’s favorite, the Messenger says:)

MESSENGER: Well, I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.

(If the discussion leads to a consensus of Kermit, the Messenger says:)

MESSENGER: Great, everyone’s in agreement.

(The MESSENGER continues.)

MESSENGER: What was I saying? OH! The message! I came all this way, I suppose I probably should deliver the message. Are you ready?
(Beat)
It’s from. God.
(Recites)
The Eyes of Hurricanes are not my eyes.
My eyes aren’t cloudy.
My eyes aren’t dark.
My eyes aren’t angry.
(Beat)
My eyes are clear.
(Beat)
And I see you.

(END)