about the (re)making project

Please feel free to take the plays from this project and use them freely as a resource for your own work: that is to say, don't just make some cuts or rewrite a few passages or re-arrange them or put in a few texts that you like better, but pillage the plays as I have pillaged the structures and contents of the plays of Euripides and Brecht and stuff out of Soap Opera Digest and the evening news and the internet, and build your own, entirely new, piece--and then, please, put your own name to the work that results.
But, if you would like to perform the plays essentially or substantially as I have composed them, they are protected by copyright in the versions you read here, and you need to clear performance rights. For professional performance rights, contact Thomas Pearson of International Creative Management at tpearson@icmtalent.com or 212-556-5600. For amateur performance rights, contact Libby Edwards at charlesmeeplays@yahoo.com.
- Charles Mee

-------------------------------------------


Vienna: Lusthaus
by C H A R L E S L . M E E

[Vienna: Lusthaus was a dance-theatre piece made in collaboration with Martha Clarke--so Vienna: Lusthaus, as a combination of movement and music and text, can't be done by anyone else. The text for the piece, however, can be taken (see HYPERLINK "http://charlesmee.org/html/about.html" about the (re)making project) and given a whole new title, produced, and billed as a play by Charles Mee.]





At the Cafe (Timothy Doyle and Brenda Currin)

HUGO
I was at a performance of Fidelio last night.

MAGDA
At the Hofoper.

HUGO
Yes. I was sitting in the stalls next to Leonard.

MAGDA
Leonard?

HUGO
Kraus's nephew, you know, a man who is, in fact, quite congenial to me.

MAGDA
I'm not sure.

HUGO
A man with whom, in fact, I have long felt I should like to make friends.

MAGDA
Leonard, of course. I understand.

HUGO
At any rate, I was sitting there, quietly enough, inoffensive really,
looking at my program, and all of a sudden, without any warning at all,
Leonard flew through the air across the seats, put his hand in my mouth,
and pulled out two of my teeth.



Aunt Cissi (Timothy Doyle's boudoir speech)

At night Aunt Cissi wore a face mask lined with raw veal.

In strawberry season, she covered her face with crushed fruit.

Always, in every season, she took baths of warm oil to preserve the
suppleness of her skin-though once the oil was nearly boiling, and she
nearly suffered the fate of a Christian martyr.

She slept on an iron bedstead. She took it with her wherever she went.
She slept absolutely flat. She scorned pillows.

Sometimes she slept with wet towels around her waist to keep her figure.

And in the morning she would drink a decoction of egg whites and salt.

Once a month, she had her hair washed with raw egg and brandy. And
then she put on a long waterproof silk wrap and walked up and down to
dry her hair.

She wore tight-fitting little chemises. And satin and moire corsets made
in Paris. She never wore a corset for more than a few weeks before she
threw it away.

She wore silk stockings attached to her corset by silk ribbons.

She never wore petticoats. In truth, in the summer, when she took her
early morning walks, she would slip her feet into her boots without
stockings on, and she wore nothing at all beneath her bodice and skirt,
and she would walk forever. She would walk for four or five hours,
every day.

She would walk forever and ever.

She could never get enough of walking.



India (Brenda Currin)

I was in India several thousand years ago fondling a horse.

(Silence. She checks to see if this is going to be believed. Proceeds.)

A blondhaired boy was on the horse. We were strangers. I was touching
the horse, and then I was touching him, and others were watching us.
And then he came down from the horse and kissed my quim.
Oh . . .
I thought . . .
Oh . . .
He is French, because . . .
because he . . .
because he knew how much I loved to have him . . .
kiss my quim.
And I was very glad. And so we danced.
And I saw that he was very strong, and hard as a rock.
His penis was small, but very firm and round and powerful, and I loved
it.
And I was ready to have him come inside me.
But he didn't.
I thought: perhaps this is the way it is in India.
Penetration is not important.
And I felt like a barbarian, expecting entry when he had something more