The Pearl Hunters
The Pearl Hunters
setting : 70s apartment, tall curved walls, peach pink hues, wall paper with one large corner curling down dramatically, pale yellow mound which is a bed and layers of quilts, deep red plastic 70s dial phone [perhaps oversized], 2 windows with a view of video background of moving sky and cloud, bright blue and white to contrast with interior set, see René Magritte interior paintings for inspiration, fanciful, vaguely ominous, largely unidentifiable vibe or character
costumes are pale, layered with pale prints that are bland, blank and chic
characters are 2 elderly hulking dangerous people, the beast and the blob
1 animation of a cartoon baby, silent, proportions and movements or actions projected around the stage and or onto the 2 speaking characters and are variable with each performance and designed to the projectionist or director's taste, optional chance-directions for the baby, suit yourselves. ^^Consider outsourcing animation + actions to a local animator or artist per each production
^^I consider the phone to be a fourth character, but I know that is pretentious, so I will leave this up to the pretentious director's ability to amp this up or conceal this completely, however barely. Free will. Whatever the case, consider the same type of local artist outsourcing for construction of the phone and perhaps its actions, as I, being undebatably pretentious, consider the phone to be a lively potent piece of Pop Art. Proceed without caution.
Act One
The ragged singular beast : Discontent. restless, I are both happiness and index of a scarcely seeming though hard-though marriages.
The blob that is blob from up the hill now really a bed lay in a bed can be mistaken for not being : Ho ho. Well I will have out-made a call with a flair for both women.
[starts to fumble then dial a number on the large red phone from the bed]
The beast : White devil, your unique condition is not your mind. You've in the hull of a bear. And the bull by its, well. This hall, this bedroom score -
[music swells then cuts short on seconds. maybe use a radio random channel, audio only seconds-long]
The blob : The sore.
The beast : The bedroom bed sores. Hmm are prim. Part piano tinkling by here and there and here -
The blob : Near.
The beast : Nearby. We are announced as, well, er, are olde. Olden gold. And glum. Olde as the hill, this hill [points waves around The blob's bed-mound] The same olde, in the same olde space in between transitions to some cloud-heavy province or another. Life’s pure pleasures are over. Now. We preside over this child. He is our home. A multisensory Harlem Renaissance stage for us to -
[The blob crank calling grunting fussing fumbling with the phone in the bed making disturbing primal sounds]
The beast : For us to do something stagelike like to it.
[phone rings while The blob is wrestling with it, The blob and The beast freeze then dive into the bed onto the baby which is jettisoned straight up like a geyser, all stagelights turn off while baby is in the air, silence mainly or soft static radio while video clouds roll by outside the 2 windows, cloud directions may be at odds with each other]
End Act One
