the day after the revolution

(two cool cats wearing shades, a shirt and a tie stand on opposing sides of the stage)

2: I think he's lost it.
1: You think?
2: I suspect.
1: It has been a while.
2: That it has.
1: You have to wonder.
2: You certainly do.
1: Seems plain as day.
2: The man is stuck.
1: Hasn't written a word.
2: No more fruit on the vine.
1: River run dry.
2: Drip dropped its last.
1: So it goes.
2: Couldn't keep on forever.
1: True. Though sometimes…
2: Yeah, sometimes…
1: If it could have been anyone…
2: It would have been him.
1: But in the end…
2: Ain't no lightning that goes on all night.
1: And when the sky goes dark…
2: It's time to say goodbye.

(JEAN-PAUL SARTRE enters and sulks. ANDRE rushes in)

ANDRE: Jean-Paul! I have news!
SARTRE: Andre, leave me. I am busy feeling nothing.
ANDRE: How much time do you need?
SARTRE: What?
ANDRE: To feel nothing. How long will it take?
SARTRE: I hate you.
ANDRE: No, really. I can wait…
SARTRE: I hope you die.
ANDRE: Enough with the pleasantries, Sartre. The university wants you to give a speech.
SARTRE: I don't want to.
ANDRE: They will pay a lot of money.
SARTRE: I will not candy-coat my words for their stupid ears. I will tell them they are all bullshit.
ANDRE: They know. They can't wait. They are all big fans of yours, Sartre.
SARTRE: I hate them.
ANDRE: That's fine. Also, the actors are here.
SARTRE: The actors?
ANDRE: For your play.
SARTRE: What? I don't have a…(pause, then slowly) Oh, my play.
ANDRE: It is done, isn't it?
SARTRE: (warily) Yes, of course.
ANDRE: Everyone is very excited. The final play of Jean-Paul Sartre…it will be a worldwide smash.
SARTRE: It will be fucking brilliant.
ANDRE: It better be. Can you tell me what it is about yet?
SARTRE: No.
ANDRE: Just a hint?
SARTRE: You get nothing, you motherless bastard.

(MILT and KAREN, two American actors, enter)

ANDRE: Ah! Here are the actors.
MILT: Hi! Are you (mispronounces) Jean-Paul Sartre?
SARTRE: Who the hell are you?
KAREN: We're the actors for your new play. I'm Karen and this is Milt.
SARTRE: (quickly) They are not fit to perform my work. They do not understand it. Get new ones.
MILT: Mr. Sartre, I just wanted to say, you've been a huge inspiration to me. What's that one play you did…I can't remember the name, it was the one about how everything is bullshit.
KAREN: Was it the one with the prostitute?
MILT: Do you remember the one I'm talking about?
SARTRE: Eh.
MILT: It totally influenced my acting.
SARTRE: I hate you.
ANDRE: See, Sartre? They know how to do your plays. Now stop delaying.
SARTRE: Eh.
ANDRE: Give them a scene to rehearse, Sartre.
KAREN: Yeah. What's my character in this play?
SARTRE: I don't want to.
ANDRE: Why not? You said the play was done.
1: Uh oh.
2: He's done it now.
1: Up against the wall.
2: They found him out.
1: No play in hand.
2: Big trouble.
1: What's he going to do?
2: I can't bear to look.
SARTRE: Um…(slowly) Your character…um…you are…a rock.
KAREN: A rock?
SARTRE: Yes. In the first scene, you are a rock.
MILT: What am I?
SARTRE: You are a tree.
MILT: Okay.
ANDRE: Let's see the scene, Sartre.
SARTRE: Fine. Places.
KAREN: Aren't we going to do any warmups?
SARTRE: You need to warm up to act like a rock?
KAREN: Of course.
SARTRE: Damn you.

(KAREN and MILT take a moment to get into character and then become a tree and rock)

MILT: What are our lines?
SARTRE: Um…the rock says to the tree "Tree. You are so high."
KAREN: Tree. You are so high.
SARTRE: And the tree says "Rock. You are so small."
MILT: Rock. You…I don't know. What's my motivation?
SARTRE: Your motivation is that you are very big and the rock is very small.
MILT: But…oh, okay, I get it. It's like…I'm saying that because she's not as big as me.
SARTRE: You are so stupid.
MILT: I'm a stupid tree?
SARTRE: Yes. Andre, you must leave. Your mercantile presence is like a cruel axe that murders my creativity by chopping it into bloody pieces and mailing them to Pittsburgh.
ANDRE: Alright, Sartre. Keep working and I will see you later. (exits)
1: Phew.
2: He pulled it out.
1: Got himself an extension.
2: Lives to play another day.
1: Made a good choice.
2: Trees are hot.
1: Big box office.
2: Kids dig leaves.
1: Rocks are cold.
2: Yeah, but you never know.
1: They might come back in.
2: Return of the rock.
1: Could happen.

(ELISE enters)

ELISE: Sartre, you must take out the garbage.
SARTRE: (to her) Eh. (musing to himself) I don't know what to do. I have written too many plays. I have none left. If I do not finish this play, that bastard Andre will take away the money. And I need it. This vile woman has squandered all of my money on pillows and wet naps.
ELISE: Sartre, the garbage smells bad. Take it out!
SARTRE: You cannot use your nubile temptations to make me do chores any more, fat woman! Do it yourself!
ELISE: I am not fat! I am pregnant!
SARTRE: What?
ELISE: Haven't you been paying attention for the last eight months?
SARTRE: No.
ELISE: What were you doing?
SARTRE: I was busy feeling nothing.
ELISE: I am about to have a baby, Sartre.
SARTRE: A baby?
ELISE: Yes.
SARTRE: But I am sixty years old.
ELISE: I know.
SARTRE: (glances down at the lower half of his body, looks up, and smiles) Wow.
ELISE: Yes.
SARTRE: I am potent!
ELISE: Now will you take out the garbage?
SARTRE: Eh.
KAREN: I think I'm off book for this scene, sir. Can we work on the next one?
SARTRE: Okay. In scene two, the tree takes out the garbage and the rock helps him.
MILT: I'm not sure if my character would do that.
SARTRE: I will kill you and send your soul to Hades on a flaming fucking chariot if you do not take out the garbage, Milt.
MILT: Okay.

(MILT, KAREN and ELISE exit)

SARTRE: A baby? I have no time for babies. I am a genius, but my children are idiots. Elise is so stupid. She makes the babies to be stupid too. Ah, hell.
2: She dropped a bomb.
1: Wasn't expecting that one.
2: Whoa, Johnny.
1: Still, our boy hasn't got a play.
2: The world premiere is coming soon…
1: And we're headed for disaster…
2: Cos the pages remain blank.
1: Later that day, at the university…
2: Our man's got a speech to make.

(SARTRE stands at center stage, finishing a speech)

SARTRE: So, in conclusion, I hate all of you and I hope you die.

(there is riotous applause from the audience. ANDRE enters)

ANDRE: And now we will have a panel discussion with Bob Morton, author of the book "The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Existentialists". We also have Jean-Paul Sartre and a chimpanzee.

(BOB, SARTRE, and the CHIMP sit at a table)

ANDRE: First question.
BOY: This question is for Bob. Bob, sometimes I catch myself thinking there is meaning in the universe. What can I do to get back on track?
BOB: Well, it's very important to set goals for yourself. Some people let the entire day pass by without finding a new example of how cruel and incomprehensible life is. Your local library has plenty of books on every topic under the sun. Why don't you resolve to spend an hour there each day? Of course, if you want to make the searching easy, my new book "Chicken Soup For the Existentialist Soul" has a great story about a cute duck that got run over by a car. That should have you feeling the cosmic absurdity in no time.
ANDRE: Next question.
GIRL: This question is for Sartre. Sartre, as the alpha male, will you pick my back?
SARTRE: What?
GIRL: Will you…(listens to a friend) Oh, I'm sorry. I meant the chimpanzee.
SARTRE: I hate you.
GIRL: Well?

(the CHIMP yells and motions for the GIRL to come onstage.
she sits down in front of him and he picks her back)

ANDRE: Next question.
MAN: This question is for Sartre. I hear you're writing a new play. What is it about?
SARTRE: It is a surprise.

(MILT enters)

MILT: We're ready to work on the next scene.
SARTRE: In scene twenty-three, you put your head in the toilet and flush it repeatedly.
MILT: Do I say anything?
SARTRE: You say "ouch".
MILT: (trying it out)"Ouch". "Ouch". "Ow-ch." Ouch. Got it. (exits)
MAN: Is that a scene from your new play?
SARTRE: Yes. It is brilliant.
ANDRE: The new play by Jean-Paul Sartre opens tomorrow. Tickets are on sale now. We have time for one final question.
PYOTR: This question is for all the panelists. Don't you think that a violent uprising is necessary to clear the world of all the bullshit?

(there is an uncomfortable silence. the CHIMP makes a noise and scratches his head)

BOB: (slowly)Well, it's good to set priorities for yourself. You might want to try declaring your community to be bullshit before you move on to the world.
PYOTR: Whatever, tin man. How about you, Sartre? You said you'd never sell out. What do you think? Will you stand behind your ideas when the revolution comes?
SARTRE: If you'll excuse me, I have to go hate God for a while.
PYOTR: Tomorrow! At the premiere of Sartre's new play! The revolution begins!

(ELISE runs onstage)

ELISE: My water broke!
SARTRE: What, you want to buy more wet naps? Fuck your wet naps!
ELISE: No, Sartre! I am having the baby!
SARTRE: Oh. Shit.

(the stage is clear and SARTRE stands in a hospital waiting room)

1: Baby's taking its sweet time.
2: Been waiting for hours.
1: Must enjoy the womb.
2: Well, you know.
1: One nervous dad-in-waiting…
2: And by the way, no play.
1: The crowd is restless.
2: Anything could happen.
1: Here we go…
2: It's the last stand of the last angry man.

(the DOCTOR enters)

DOCTOR: Still no baby.
SARTRE: Are you sure she is not making the baby up to excuse how fat she is?
DOCTOR: Positive, sir.
SARTRE: Eh.
DOCTOR: I wanted to say…while we have a moment…that I'm a great admirer of yours, Mr. Sartre. I wrote a book based on your work.
SARTRE: Whoopee.
DOCTOR: It's based on your theory that everything is bullshit. I took that idea and extrapolated that bullshit is the fundamental substance of the universe. Everything that we see around us, down to the subatomic level, is made of bullshit. Therefore, we can fill in the gaps of our understanding of matter by predicting how, say, a supercharged quark would behave if that behavior were to be bullshit. It's very exciting research.
ELISE: (from offstage)Bring me more wet naps, motherfucker!
DOCTOR: I've got to go. I'll keep you posted.

(the DOCTOR exits. SARTRE sulks. ANDRE enters)

ANDRE: Jean-Paul. There is an angry mob outside the theater. They are beginning to get violent. We must begin the play!
SARTRE: Okay. Come back in a moment and I will give you the ending.

(ANDRE exits)

SARTRE: Shit. I have no ending. I don't even have a play. This is clearly God's fault, even though he doesn't exist. What a fucker for not existing.

(SALVADOR DALI enters)

DALI: Hello, Sartre.
SARTRE: Hello, Dali. Why are you here?
DALI: My wife is giving birth!
SARTRE: Really? Mine too.
DALI: Are you nervous?
SARTRE: I can't feel anything.
DALI: I am. I'm worried.
SARTRE: Is your wife sick?
DALI: No. I'm afraid it's going to be…well, a baby.
SARTRE: You're afraid your baby is going to be a baby?
DALI: Yeah. I mean, think of all the possibilities. She could give birth to a flowerpot, or a door, or a floating head of Lenin. No one ever explores the possibilities. It's always a baby, every time. It's so mundane. Everyone will think I am a hypocrite if I have a boring old standard human baby.
DOCTOR: (from offstage)Salvador Dali! Jean-Paul Sartre! Your wives are going into labor!

(ELISE and MS DALI are pushed onstage lying on tables. the DOCTOR coaches them)

DOCTOR: Push!
ELISE: I am pushing!
DALI: Think about fish heads, infinitely!

(KAREN, MILT and ANDRE enter. the sound of violence outside is audible)

ANDRE: Sartre, there are riots in the streets! They have guns! We need your play!
SARTRE: I don't…
PYOTR: (offstage)What is everything?
CROWD: (offstage)Bullshit!
PYOTR: (offstage)What are we going to do?
CROWD: (offstage)Tear it down!
ANDRE: They're destroying the city, Sartre! We need the ending!

(MS DALI gives birth to a phone book)

DOCTOR: Mr. Dali, it's a phone book!
DALI: It's beautiful! (tickling the phone book)Coochy-coo!
SARTRE: (musing to himself) He gave birth to a phone book? Is that how it works? The baby is whatever you…does that mean…my baby will be bullshit? I don't want to give birth to bullshit. There's enough of that in the world already.
ANDRE: It is violent madness outside! Give us the final scene, Sartre!
SARTRE: Um…someone shoots Milt.
ANDRE: Yes?
SARTRE: And she has a baby.
KAREN: I do?
SARTRE: Yes. And the baby is not bullshit. That is how the play ends.

(PYOTR enters with a gun)

PYOTR: No, it doesn't.
SARTRE: What?
PYOTR: It can't end like that. You're the symbol of our uprising, Sartre. We thought your new play was going to be hardcore and tell it like it is. But you've gone soft. I can't let you end your play like that. You were the one who showed us the way. The world is bullshit and people need to know it.
SARTRE: So you're going to shoot me?
PYOTR: For your own good. And for the revolution.
SARTRE: I didn't mean it like that. I never meant everything was bullshit. Just…many things. And I didn't mean you shoot the bullshit. You yell at it so it stops being bullshit.
PYOTR: Too late to backpedal now, old man.
SARTRE: (pauses, shakes his head)Listen to me, you pantywaist lipstick-wearing useless philosophy degree-having motherfucker. I am Jean-Paul Sartre. I am the fucking alpha existentialist. I will tell you what is bullshit and what is not bullshit, when it is bullshit and you're just going to deal with it. I don't take orders from wannabe beat poet career grad students. Do I make myself clear?

(PYOTR shoots SARTRE)

SARTRE: Shit.

(MILT tackles PYOTR and wrestles the gun away. the DOCTOR rushes to SARTRE)

DOCTOR: We need surgeons in here stat! We have a an existentialist down!
SARTRE: I have been shot. (musing)Being shot in the stomach is not bullshit. I must remember this.
ANDRE: Jean-Paul. Your courage has saved the free world.
SARTRE: No I didn't.
ANDRE: You captured their leader and ended the violence. You are a hero!
SARTRE: Shut up.
ANDRE: This is better than a play! I am going to tell everybody! (exits)
SARTRE: I hope you die! (coughs)Said the gut-shot existentialist.

(KAREN, at ELISE's side, holds a baby)

ELISE: Sartre?
SARTRE: Elise. Is it a baby?
ELISE: Yes. It is smiling. It likes you.
SARTRE: Hello, baby. I am your father. Little baby, you are not bullshit.
ELISE: That's the sweetest thing you've ever said, Sartre.
SARTRE: This world is very difficult, baby. You have a brother and a sister. They are very stupid. So is your mother. Be careful. She will make you stupid. Fortunately, I have a plan. When I get better, I am going to hide you from your stupid mother.
ELISE: Sartre, I am right here. I can hear you.
SARTRE: There is one thing you must remember. Don't be like me. I spent all my time writing about what is bullshit. Don't do that. Write your plays about what is not bullshit.
ELISE: (smiling)Why? Because the world is not such a bad place after all?
SARTRE: No. Because it will save time. It's much quicker that way.
ELISE: I hate you.
SARTRE: No, seriously. He'll only have to write like one play. It'll be easy. Then he can spend all of his time with prostitutes. They are much better than plays.
ELISE: You are an evil man, Sartre.
SARTRE: Eh.
1: He's got no play…
2: But he's got a baby.
1: And that's okay.
2: Not a bad piece of work.
1: Had its moments.
2: Saved a lot of people.
1: Kept the peace.
2: Pretty heroic.
1: Made a better tomorrow.
2: Left behind a finer world.
1: You'd almost think he believed in something.
2: But we know better.
1: Of course.
2: To quote you…
1: Don't mind if you do.
2: I think it's time to say goodbye.


the day after the revolution by marc heiden april 2000