Exit Stage Rite
Chris Youngblood November 17, 2023
The crowd began slowly but surely dragging themselves towards the doors. The theater attendants smiled, as you do, and took tickets, authorizing where they could sit. The tickets themselves held no value, no particular resonance behind it, nor seat numbers. The crowd member simply presented their ticket and attendants whimsically whisked them off to a random seat. This was done throughout the lead up with three exceptions.
Norma Zeal, her husband, Max Synch, and their acquaintance, Alexander Holmes, all had special seats. They all knew the performer personally in some manner. However, the odd thing was they all had to sit alone. Norma was sitting on the left side of the theater, meaning the performer would see her to his right. Max was in the middle, probably the best seat in the house and Alexander on the right side of the theater.
All three were thrilled to be there while the rest seemed to just be curious; almost as if this were some side show. Apparently the play, which the first act being mostly a one man show, took some time to get off the ground. The rumor was that there was a whole different theme before, it lost out when presented to the board, and the performer had to scrap all his plans and start over.
“I heard that the rehearsal was so tragic and trashy that it was obviously not going to get picked up, there were stone reactions and the performer just aborted,” said Norma. Norma loved rumors.
“Interesting,” said Alexander, puffing on a pipe. “I heard that no one actually decided either way, not the elders (this is what the theater patrons called the board) or our boy. It’s as if the rehearsal theme didn’t work for anyone and simultaneously it stopped.”
“I don’t believe that. What poppycock!” Norma and Alexander were British. Max was American.
“Well that, my dear, is because you lack imagination,” Alex said grinning through his pipe.
“I do not, I have more imagination than the two of you combined. How do you think our boy came by his performance. He learned the art of the theater from me first Alex, remember that.”
“I’m not sure if his performance has anything to do with theater work per se, Norma. This is just his medium for now.”
“Hmmf. I guess we will see won’t we,” she said. “Let’s take our seats.”
As everyone filed in, the house began playing Charles Mingus’s Big Band performance of ‘C Jam Blues’ from Live at Carnegie Hall in 1974. A wild and fun number to get the crowd swinging and ready for the show. The audience would even clap while the audience on tape would clap, as if taking their queue.
The lights came down, C Jam Blues faded out and a deep voice, gripping in its tone and low as if coming from an ethereal plane spoke.
“Welcome to the show. This Stage 1 performance will be held solely in Born Theater. All contact with the outside world has been taken from you as there are other stages you must witness before posting your reviews. Instructions for cocktail hour, potential backstage passes and Stage 2 directions will be provided proceeding the performance. Thank you.”
The red curtains pulled back and the performer walked out. He looked disheveled, hurt, bewildered.
He began.
“A heart has no promise, no longer a beat. I cut it out, it still beats louder than a lumps war horn. A room full of metronomes, it is.
I walk with it bloody upon my wrists, exposed to heat so much it must FREEZE to make up the costs.
Would I not love to roam, be a traveling gypsy, drink and whores at my beck and call.
I have no more love to give, no songs which would uplift my swallowed shame.”
A woman in a red dress appeared on the stage. You could see the performer’s member start to grow. They embraced.
“Avail your troubles onto me,” she said, “and I will set you free. Furthermore, the sweet revenge and hate you purge will fill your loins for even more. MORE THAT YOU DESERVE!”
They had sex on stage. The audience seemed in a trance, almost mesmerized by this display whereas Norma, Max and Alexander wrestled in their seats.
They finished and stood up. The woman walked off immediately and he stood there, empty. Not raged, not fueled, stone.
“What have I forsaken? My soul is set apart. I must die to dissolve. May I go down to sleep? I have busted my loins, lower self, lust and all abandoned in the void. I can’t even grasp it back. I just want to go to sleep. Forget, forget, forget.”
He went down, down down. The lights went down. Norma stirred fidgeting in her seat. She closed her eyes.
Silence, you could hear a pin drop. A shadowy figure stirred on the stage. A woman wearing a blue dress and a bearded man in a boots and flannel approached. The bearded man in boots and flannel looked like a lumberjack with the exception that he had a Pharaoh neme on his head. The woman and man knelt down and whispered into the ears of the performer.
His eyes opened, he sat up and arose. He looked around and smiled. Then he laughed.
“I feel great. Swanky. Life is great! Where is this energy coming from?!”
C Jam Blues started again and everyone clapped as he spoke over it. The man and woman stepped back and stood in the background behind him.
“Spippity be bop pow,” he scatted. “I have pep in my step and gate in my walk, walk through gate, tempt fate and bring forth treasure, no measure of man will break me; the facts be that I am no longer trapped see. My heart is reopened, love isn’t for sale, no not now, but at least for rent. May the sun shine on a face full of immense joy. I feel like singing.”
He turned to the bearded Pharaoh and cooly said, “Hey Yul Brynner, hit me with a cane will ya!” The crowd laughed.
The man produced a gold plated Cobra King Scepter cane and slick Fedora. He donned the Fedora and grasped the cane.
The performer went into a rendition of David Bowie’s “Golden Years.” He danced oh so well, using that cane and footwork.
He sang, “Don’t let me hear you say life’s taking you nowhere, angel, come get up my baby. Look at that sky life’s begun, nights are warm and the days are young.”
“Golden Years, gold whop whop whop.”
When the song finished, through cheers he started speaking.
“I am reborn, like a thousand suns. I have only begun, I need no one but myself. The gold is there and I wish now to go into the labyrinth. This is where the Golden Years lie. I HAVE ARRIVED! I HAVE ARRIVED! I AM HERE!”
He kept spitting a choice soliloquy as C Jam Blues from Carnegie Hall came in yet again with about 6 minutes left a beautiful sax spraying over his words. Ecstasy!
At about 5 minutes left in the song when the last stanza comes in and breaks down, he finishes to a standing ovation, the crowd cheering, him smiling ear to ear. He takes three marvelous bows.
The band starts to break down even more, wailing, droning, a viciousness comes through and bassoon starts to play wildly, droning, as this happens the woman and man step up and whisper to him and it displays there whispers on the screen behind.
“You must go now.”
His face turns to fear. Darkness on the stage except a light shining on his face. His eyes go bold as the music coincides with his affect. He stands there naked, the avant garde sounds wailing and Mingus’s bass every few bars rolling a line that seems to take you down further with each bar.
The performer’s face is in sheer terror. He is frozen in time, just standing there, alone, vulnerable. He is contemplating depths which must be hollowed out. Down, down, down. Unspeakable but knowable. After an amount of time that cannot be calculated, he starts to turn a calmness every so slightly upon his mouth.
At that moment the man and woman present him with a white robe which he puts on. He closes his eyes and turns. Behind him a spiral hole opens up. The music is still playing. The man and woman walk about 7 paces in front of him into the spiral. He follows and they all dissolve.
Just before the spiral closes a woman wearing a dress that is white on one side and black on the other, comes off the side of the stage and walks slowly into the middle of the spiral. She turns around right before walking in and looks directly at Max.
“What the..” Max says. She turns and walks in. The spiral closes slowly behind her and before its eye shuts, a falcon flies out of it, up into the mezzanine. The falcon lands on the hand of a woman with gold dress and a sun disk on her head just as Mingus takes his last line. The crowd at Carnegie claps as does the crowd here in the Born Theater. The woman bows and exits stage right.
Everyone is stunned by what they just witnessed. As they clap, a shadow figure steps out from behind the curtain. He walks slowly just to the end of the stage where a light finally brings him into focus. He is wearing a mask and a 16th century get up. Very Francis Bacon like.
“Ladies and gentleman,” he says in his finely squired British tone. “We hope you enjoyed that first stage. I do hope those of you worth any sense of dignity will stay for the remainder of the drama. Critics of course cannot leave until they have witnessed the entire show. Those were the arrangements of course. For those of you who are not critics you are free to go if you choose. It is no matter.”
“The next stage show will be performed in Maat Hall, located in the Peace and Justice wing. The announcer will keep you abreast of the time. Refreshments and food is in the lobby. Feel free to partake. The performer will have time to meet backstage with critics after a three hour nap. At that time feel free to see him. If you are a critic and you are going to see him YOURSELF, enter through door 7. If you are a critic and are merely sending your representative, enter through door 3. This will facilitate the process and frankly is for your benefit. Oh and please, no cocktails backstage, it is forbidden.”
The lights were being brought up and the Exit doors shined brightly.
“Make your way to the Exits now. Lighted Exits. It is quite a thing that an invention of science can point the way towards the outer. But is it really needed and to what aim.”
The headed mask just hung there on this last statement, not moving. Was the man behind the mask contemplating this himself or leaving the question out to the audience?
“Well anyways,” he finally moved, “shall we get on? See you at the next show!”
People clapped and filed out. The three cohorts found each other in the lobby.
“By jove, that was quite the existential razzmatazz was it not?! Astonishing!” said Alexander Holmes as he smoked his pipe, deep in thought.
The other two agreed.
“It looks like the yin yang lady has something for you old boy,” Alex said to Max. “I saw that you dog.”
“I did too,” Norma said. “I hope you aren’t thinking of leaving our company to chase her when we get to Maat Hall.”
“Maybe, but if I do, we can all hang out and drink elixir. I’m sure we will have stimulating conversations.”
“Hmmf,” said Norma. “We have a good thing going here guys and..”
Alexander stopped a woman he recognized who knew someone on the board and asked her if she knew what the original act that got cancelled was like.
“Pretty much like the one you saw up until he went to sleep. That’s what I heard at least.”
“So what happened after his rest.”
“All I know is that red dressed girl still hangs with him, they get into all kinds of mischief and the script was that he was going to walk into a void, not a spiral.”
“Does she walk into the void with him?”
“Of course not silly, then it wouldn’t be a void.”
“Oh right,” they all shrugged at each other, so obvious.
“So at one point did he stop the performance in front of the board and did the board and him literally agree at the same time.”
“Yes, they agreed at the same time.”
“At what point did he stop and decide he needed a new act?”
“When he woke up dry and she wasn’t there.”
“Well thank you.”
The woman walked off.
“So Norma and Alex, you two are the only critics between us three. I mean you met that way right? Are either of you going to see him in three hours?”
“Not interested right now,” said Alex.
“I will!” exclaimed Norma Zeal. “I’m curious, he might have his hands on Yin Yang lady before you Max.”
“Oh Norma, always instigating” they said and they all walked over to the Hors d oeuvre bar.