by Paula Vogel
V.O.
—“Don’t—”
THE VOICE: —“Don’t Move.”—
V.O.
(Seductive whisper)
CUT TO: FLASHBACK—FIVE YEARS AGO.
(Blue Light comes on. The Man turns on his back, and The Woman straddles him. They start to make out.)
THE VOICE (As Krafft-Ebing; through following, Voice-Over breathes heavily): “Case 103. Mr. C., aged thirty-six; an unemployed steel worker of hereditary taint, asymmetry of the skull and other signs of degeneration. Mr. C. evidenced constant alteration of exaltation and depression. The subject, as a schoolboy, faced disciplinary action due to hyperesthesia sexualis—Masturbatio Coram Discipulis in Schola.” (Voice-Over giggles) “Subject, as an adolescent, showed enormous development of the zygomae and inferior maxilla.”5
(Voice-Over is impressed.)
V.O.
(Erotically)
“Ooooh.”
(Back to her screenplay/dominatrix voice)
“CUT TO:—”
(Abrupt lighting change: Back to bright stage lights. The Woman stands over The Man, now on his stomach again, with bandages, tape and antiseptic.)
WOMAN: I said Lie There! You’re gonna mess up my sofa! Thank God for Scotch-guard…There. That’s better. You might not need stitches.
THE VOICE (In a thick Scottish dialect): “Tha’s got such a nice tail on thee. Tha’s got the nicest arse of anybody.”6
WOMAN: I’m going to put some antiseptic on it now; it’s gonna be cold.
(The Woman pours on liquid from the bottle; The Man roars.)
MAN: AAHHH!!
WOMAN: It’s not supposed to sting like that—
MAN: Don’t You Tell Me How It Feels! You Ain’t My Butt!!
WOMAN: Compliments will get you nowhere. I can’t do anything with you when you get in moods like this.
(The Woman efficiently bandages him; tears the tape with her teeth. She whiffs the air.)
WOMAN: Hooey! God, Clyde. You can’t afford ta buy yourself bvd’s, but you can throw it away on alcohol.
MAN: It’s my money.
WOMAN: I’m getting you some coffee before we go to the hospital. Sit up slowly. And sit on the towel.
(Like a man missing a limb, The Man tentatively feels his behind. Slowly, he pulls up his underwear. He tries to pull up his jeans, winces, and leaves himself undone. He sits up penitently, like a little boy, on the towel, favoring his good cheek.)
WOMAN (Offstage): There’s no milk in the house! So you haveta drink it black!
(Blue Light. While The Voice narrates, The Man slowly reaches into the back of his pants, wetting his hand with the blood. Hypnotically, he stares at the red on his hand, either getting faint or aroused. The Man closes his eyes, bringing his hand closer to his face. He breathes in the scent of the blood, and then almost tastes his hand.)
THE VOICE: “Case 103 continued. Although subject continued self-abuse through his adolescence, authorities noticed nothing unusual at the time. C. married early, a woman of his own age from the same village. At first, he fulfilled his marital duties in a typical if somewhat energetic manner, not yet exhibiting the traits of hysteria virilis that led to the breakdown of said marriage.”
(In a change of voice from Krafft-Ebing to porno film director; the lights change back to stage lights.)
THE VOICE: Jump Cut!
(The Woman hands coffee to The Man.)
WOMAN: Jesus! How did you get blood all over?
MAN: I guess I sprayed a bit when…the shot…hit me.
WOMAN: Drink this. Slowly. Then we’ll go.
MAN: Okay.
(The Man and Woman sit at opposite ends of the sofa, sipping their coffee.)
MAN: Good coffee.
(The Woman looks suspiciously at him.)
MAN: You’re looking good. Filling out a little bit?
WOMAN: I’ve quit smoking. Or I’m trying to—
MAN: It looks good on you…really…So—this is like old times, huh? Us sitting up, drinking coffee—
WOMAN: Forget it, Clyde. Whatever you’re thinking, forget it.
THE VOICE: CUT! Take two.
MAN: So this is like old times, huh. Us sitting up, drinking coffee—
WOMAN: Forget it, Clyde. Whatever you’re thinking, forget it.
(Pause)
How does it feel?
MAN: The more coffee I drink, the more it throbs.
THE VOICE: I want you to—
WOMAN: “I want you to feel it. Maybe then you’ll—”
THE VOICE: —listen.
(The Woman just hears what she has said.)
WOMAN: Jesus. That sounds like something you would say.
(Pause.)
MAN: Say, uh, what happened to the—?
WOMAN: Don’t worry about the gun. I know what I’m doing. Just behave yourself, and it won’t go off.
MAN: Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer the days when havin’ protection in the house meant your supply of birth control.
WOMAN: You’re a laugh riot tonight.
MAN: Seriously, Charlene, I don’t like thinking about you havin’ that kind of shit in the house—
WOMAN: It’s my house.
(The Man stands with some pain.)
WOMAN: Where are you going?
MAN: I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.
THE VOICE: CUT! Take three.
MAN: I came to talk and you shut me out.
WOMAN: You’re about ten years too late.
THE VOICE: Jump Cut!
MAN: So. How’s work?
WOMAN: I was on page twenty-nine when you arrived. I’m behind deadline. The shoot’s scheduled on location for Monday morning. I guess I can always fax it.
MAN: How are…the “gals?” At work?
WOMAN: The women?
MAN: Right. Are you starting to turn a profit at—? I don’t remember the name of your production company.
(The Boy goes to the booth upstage where Voice-Over is caged, and begins to funnel quarters in. Voice-Over moves, obligatorily erotic, for ten seconds each time The Boy feeds the slot, abruptly stopping.
Again, Voice-Over moves, almost mockingly, and then stops. The Boy searches his pockets for change and, frustrated, starts to shake and kick the booth, in silent mime. Voice-Over laughs at him.)
WOMAN: Gyno Productions.
MAN: Right. I knew it rhymed with wino. I never can remember it.
WOMAN: It’s the root for “woman.” In Greek.
MAN: I can see that’s important. But it’s still hard to remember.
WOMAN: Yeah. It is. But we just designed a new logo, for our stationery and business cards—want to see it?
MAN: Sure.
(The Woman goes to her desk, opens the middle drawer and takes out a business card—she gives it to The Man.)
MAN: Wow. Charlene Dwyer. Story Editor, Gyno Productions. They promoted you. That’s really nice, Charlene.
WOMAN: No, not that—what do you think of our new mascot?
MAN: Well, I’m not sure—what is that thing on here? What is it doin’—it’s dancing?
WOMAN: It’s a Rhinoceros—“Rosie the Rhino.” She’s dancing.
MAN: Uh-huh. That’s…cute. But, don’t you.think. Those pink… pasties…are goin’ a bit far?
(Looks closer) And the G-String? A Rhino in a G-String does not inspire me. I mean, as well you know, I like my women with flesh on their bones, but this mascot looks a little like you—before Weight Watchers. But what do I know? Maybe I’m not your average guy on the street.
WOMAN: I like the G-String. It was my idea. And it’s supposed to be…funny. For women.
MAN: I don’t know. It looks like a stripper in a lesbo bar to me who’s just taken off her flannel shirt.
WOMAN: Oh, forget it. Are you done with your coffee?
MAN: Look, do you want to talk? Talking involves disagreement. Or do you just want me to nod my head, yes, sure, that’s great, Charlene—if I don’t tell you what I’m thinking, eve
n if it’s ignorant, how can I learn anything about what you’re doing when you say you’re working.
WOMAN: Yeah? Like what do you want to know?
MAN: Well—do you ever think you’re gonna run out of words when you’re writing like that?
V.O.
She thinks about it all the time.
(The Woman stares at The Man.)
WOMAN: I think about it all the time.
(By this point, The Voice becomes a bouncer, crosses the stage and stops The Boy from beating up Voice-Over’s booth.)
WOMAN: Forty, fifty pages a day, seven days a week—it’s a lot like the Victorian theory about masturbation and young boys.
THE VOICE (To The Boy): Ya gotta have money to be a player.
WOMAN: They believed that men only had so much semen; over the years, men could spend all the pennies they had in the bank.
(The Boy reluctantly digs in his pants for change. The Voice gives him quarters; The Voice and Voice-Over try not to laugh. The Voice leaves. The Boy slowly slips in another two bits.)
MAN: Huh. That’s funny.
WOMAN: Yes, it is.
(They giggle; The Woman a lot more than The Man, who looks a bit worried.)
MAN: But it’s not true.
(Quickly) Is it?
WOMAN: No, of course not.
(Pause)
Can I have my business card back, please?
MAN: I’d like to keep it, if I may. As a…memento. I know it has…your work number on it—but I won’t use it. Okay?
WOMAN: Right.
V.O.
Shit, that was dumb, Charlene.
(The Woman sits tensely.)
MAN: Just relax, will ya? So where do all these words come from?
WOMAN: I don’t know. When I really get going, it’s like a trance—it’s not me writing at all. It’s as if I just listen to voices and I’m taking dictation.
THE VOICE: “Case 103 continued. Subject, however, experienced constant excitation, due to what the subject described as inner ‘voices’ usually urging him to erotic acts.”
MAN: Doesn’t that spook you? I mean, whose voices are these? Who’s in control?
V.O.
But she was in control.
WOMAN: Well, they’re the characters speaking, or the script itself. I mean, I know it’s me, but I have to get into it. At first it spooked me a little. But now I know when I hear them, it’s a good sign. And I am in control.
MAN: I used to think that porno flicks were all pictures and no words—
WOMAN: Look, Clyde, I don’t write porno. I didn’t appreciate you telling Leslie Ann that.
(The Boy, out of pocket change now, starts to rattle the booth again. A silent fight erupts with Voice-Over.)
MAN: Well, what do you call it? What was the title of your last opus? Moonfuck?! So what is that—Bergman?
WOMAN: It was a critique and satire of Moonstruck.
MAN: Uh-huh.
WOMAN: Gyno Productions is a feminist film company dedicated to producing women’s erotica.
MAN: Erotica is just a Swedish word for porn, Charlene. Just face what you’re doing. Take pride in it.
WOMAN: What’s the use? Are you through with your coffee?
(By this point, The Voice becomes a bouncer, crosses the stage and seizes The Boy. The Voice roughs up The Boy and throws him out.)
MAN: Look, this is what happens every time I challenge you. You just.shut.down. As if I’m bullying you. And it’s just my way. Of showing interest. A burning interest, as it happens. It’s the way men learn to argue through contact sports. As if words were body grease, so you gotta grab hard to pin your opponent. And I’m stuck here, feeling stupid and cut off, because you won’t explain things in plain English. You speak in a code. A code designed for signals between members of the female sex. Well, pardon me, but I did. not. go. to college.
WOMAN: In plain English: I am not a pornographer. I write erotic entertainment designed for women.
MAN: Yeah. So to return to what I was askin’: What’s the big difference?
(The Voice and Voice-Over begin to make orgiastic noises when The Woman says “aroused. “)
WOMAN: For one thing, desire in female spectators is aroused by cinema in a much different way. Narrativity—that is, plot—is emphasized.
MAN (Stares at her): Yeah. There are lots more words. So what else?
WOMAN: The “meat shots” and “money shots” of the trade flicks are not the be-all and end-all of Gyno Productions.—Why are you laughing?
MAN: I seen one of your movies—and it had tits and ass just like DEEP THROAT.
WOMAN: Physical expression is the culmination of relationships between characters. Most importantly, we try to create women as protagonists in their own dramas, rather than objects. And we try to appreciate the male body as an object of desire.
MAN: Now you’re talking!
(In his enthusiasm, The Man moves too much and flinches.)
MAN: Oh, suffering Jesus on the cross!
WOMAN: Is it bad?
MAN: Yeah.
WOMAN: Come on, let’s go—
MAN: No, wait a minute, wait a second. I’m a…little woozy. Do you have anything in the house. For the pain?
WOMAN: Whatd’ya mean, for the pain?
MAN: I could use a shot of something.
WOMAN: You want me to give you a drink, Clyde? Are you insane?
MAN: One drink is not gonna hurt. In fact, it will dull the throbbing in my butt. And since it was your bullet that’s in my butt, I think you owe me. One.
WOMAN: You get mean when you drink. I don’t want to participate in enabling behavior.
MAN: Goddamn Oprah Winfrey! Just get me something, will ya, Charlene? My Butt is bitchin’…
WOMAN: One shot. That’s all. I’ll get some for me.
(The Woman exits. While she is out of the room, The Man quickly searches under the sofa pillows and cushions for the gun. She returns with a bottle and two shot glasses. The Woman pours them drinks and hands The Man his glass.)
MAN: Wow. That’s nice.
WOMAN: It’s Remy.
MAN: It’s been a while…since I had Remy. Well—let’s toast. To love and success and a long film career—to you.
WOMAN: To…to you. To you, Clyde.
(They sip. Pause.)
THE VOICE: Jump Cut!
WOMAN: You’ve got to let go now.
MAN: I…kinda lost my head when I got that restraining order today, Charlene. Some things will never be over. Like everything you taught me.
WOMAN: What did I teach you?
MAN: You taught me all about desire. That’s not over. I think about you all the time. I have since high school.
WOMAN: You’re not thinking about me—you’re obsessing. On me. It could have been anything, just as long as it kept your mind off of your job. And now that you’ve lost your job, you’re obsessing about me to keep your mind off the fact that you don’t have a job.
MAN: No—I think differently than you do. That’s all…And because you can never understand what’s going on inside a man’s head, you imagine the worst.
THE VOICE (Krafft-Ebing): “Case 103 continued. However, in time the constant excitation of hysteria virilis leads in turn to paresthesia sexualis. The subject became convinced in his mind that only violence done to his fetishized obsession could restore him to his former virility.”
THE VOICE: Jump Cut!
MAN: I’m gonna put myself together—get retrained in something. Maybe go back to school like you did. It really changed you, Charlene, when you went back to school.
WOMAN: I think that would be wonderful.
MAN: I have to work out my “karma.” Because I really fucked it up in this lifetime. And I have to pay for that by trying.
WOMAN: I don’t believe in “karma.”
MAN: I do. I believe in it. There’s no other way to explain stuff like high school proms…
(The Woman laughs. The Man smiles.)
WOMAN
: I forget sometimes how unique you are. When you’re not drinking.
THE VOICE (Brooklynese): “She will embrace me warmly, as if we had never embraced before. We will have only a couple of hours together and then she will leave—to go to the dance hall where she still works as a taxi girl. I will be sound asleep when she returns at three or four in the morning…I love her, heart and soul. She is everything to me.”7
MAN: You’re everything to me.
THE VOICE: Jump Cut!
WOMAN: I…think about you. I try to figure it out. All the time. Why I stayed with it so long. And then one day, I realized that every dish in the house had been replaced with plastic ones. Part of me got off, living on the edge like that. But I was losing control.
THE VOICE: Jump Cut!
MAN: I never stop thinking about it. It’s this tape loop. It’s torturing me. I’m standing outside my body, watching this actor doing that to you. A stunt man who’s got my face.
THE VOICE (Krafft-Ebing; as lyrical as a German sexologist can get): “Woman is a harp who only yields her secrets of melody to the master who knows how to handle her…the husband must study the harp and the art of music…”8
WOMAN: Try to make the next woman in your life lucky. It will be better, the next time.
V.O.
She can…smell…his sweat. So warm, she can smell—
THE VOICE: “So close, she can almost taste—”
V.O.
Smell. His.—
THE VOICE: “Sweat.”
(A blue light fills the stage again. There is a rustling at the sliding glass window. We see The Boy against the glass, watching. He stretches his arms against the frame.)
MAN: It will never be as good as it is with you.
THE VOICE: “CUT TO: INTERIOR. THE WOMAN closes her eyes.”
(The Woman closes her eyes.)
THE VOICE: “CLOSE-UP on her lips as she kisses THE MAN, hard, on the mouth.”
(The Woman sits by The Man and gently kisses him. They look at each other. Then they kiss again—a long, hard kiss, breathing each other in.)
V.O.
“VOICE-OVER: What are you doing, Charlene?”
THE VOICE: “THE MAN and THE WOMAN look at each other for a long time.”
V.O.
“VOICE-OVER CONTINUED: This is not a movie, Charlene.”
THE VOICE: “THE MAN and THE WOMAN move toward each other, lips parted.”
V.O.
(Urgent)
“CUT TO: EXTERIOR. We see the door of the house burst open and—”
