One-act mini-play for 4 characters. Comedy plays for the theater

Play

Alexander Volodin, 1958

About what: Finding himself in Leningrad on the occasion of a business trip, Ilyin suddenly decides to go into the apartment where seventeen years ago, when he went to the front, he left his beloved girl, and - lo and behold! — his Tamara still lives in the room above the pharmacy. The woman never married: her student nephew, for whom she replaces his mother, and his eccentric girlfriend - that’s her whole family. Wading through the fear of misunderstanding, insincerity, quarrels and reconciliation, two adults eventually realize that happiness is still possible - “if only there was no war!”

Why it's worth reading: The meeting between Ilyin and Tamara, stretched over five evenings, is not only a story about the late, restless love of the foreman of the Red Triangle factory and the work manager Zavgar- garage manager. northern village of Ust-Omul, but the opportunity to bring real, not mythical Soviet people onto the stage: smart and conscientious, with broken destinies.

Perhaps the most poignant of Volodin’s dramas, this play is filled with sad humor and high lyricism. Her characters are always not saying something: under the speech clichés - “my job is interesting, responsible, you feel needed by people” - there is a whole layer of difficult questions driven deep inside, related to the eternal fear in which a person is forced to live, like a prisoner in a huge camp called "homeland".

Next to the adult heroes, young lovers live and breathe: at first Katya and Slava look “unafraid,” but they also instinctively feel the fear that eats the souls of Tamara and Ilyin. Thus, uncertainty about the very possibility of happiness in the country of “victorious socialism” is gradually passed on to the next generation.

Staging

Bolshoi Drama Theater
Directed by Georgy Tovstonogov, 1959

You can imagine a little of the shock that this performance was for the audience, thanks to a radio recording from 1959. The audience reacts very violently here - they laugh, get excited, and calm down. Reviewers wrote about Tovsto-Nogov’s production: “Today’s time - the end of the 50s - revealed itself with amazing accuracy. Almost all the characters seemed to come onto the stage from the streets of Leningrad. They were dressed exactly as the spectators who looked at them were dressed.” The characters, riding from the back of the stage on platforms with partitions of poorly furnished rooms, played right under the noses of the first row. This required precise intonation and absolute pitch. A special chamber atmosphere was created by the voice of Tovstonogov himself, who delivered the stage directions (it’s a pity that in the radio play it’s not him who reads the text from the author).

The internal conflict of the play was the contradiction between imposed Soviet stereotypes and natural human nature. Tamara, played by Zinaida Sharko, seemed to be peeking out from behind the mask of a Soviet social activist before throwing it off and becoming herself. From the radio recording it is clear with what inner strength and amazing richness of nuances Charcot played her Tamara - touching, tender, unprotected, sacrificial. Ilyin (played by Efim Kopelyan), who spent 17 years somewhere in the North, was internally much freer from the very beginning - but he did not immediately manage to tell the truth to the woman he loved, and pretended to be the chief engineer. In a radio play today, Kopelyan’s performance can be heard with a lot of theatricality, almost pathos, but he also has a lot of pauses and silence - then you understand that the most important thing happens to his character in these moments.

"In Search of Joy"

Play

Victor Rozov, 1957

About what: Klavdia Vasilyevna Savina’s Moscow apartment is cramped and crowded: four of her grown children live here and there is furniture that Lenochka, the wife of her eldest son Fedya, is constantly purchasing - once a talented young scientist, now a successful careerist “in science” " Covered with rags and newspapers in anticipation of the newlyweds' imminent move to a new apartment, cabinets, pot-bellied sideboards, couches and chairs become bones of discord in the family: the mother calls her eldest son a “little tradesman,” and his younger brother, high school student Oleg, chops down “Lenochkin’s” furniture with a saber deceased father - a war hero. Attempts to explain only worsen the situation, and as a result, Fyodor and his wife leave their home, while the remaining children assure Klavdia Vasilyevna that they have chosen a different path in life: “Don’t be afraid for us, mom!”

Why it's worth reading: This two-act comedy was initially perceived as a “trifle” by Viktor Rozov: by that time the playwright was already known as the author of the script for the legendary film by Mikhail Kalatozov “The Cranes Are Flying.”

Indeed, touching, romantic, irreconcilable with dishonesty and money-grubbing, the younger children of Klavdia Vasilyevna Kolya, Tatyana and Oleg, as well as their friends and loved ones, formed a strong group of “correct Soviet youth”, numerically superior to the circle of “money-grubbers, careerists” presented in the play and bourgeois." The schematic nature of the confrontation between the world of consumption and the world of ideals was not particularly disguised by the author.

The main character, 15-year-old dreamer and poet Oleg Savin, turned out to be outstanding: his energy, inner freedom and self-esteem were associated with the hopes of the Thaw, with dreams of a new generation of people sweeping away all types of social slavery (this generation of uncompromising romantics came to be called - "Rozov boys")

Staging

Central Children's Theater
Director Anatoly Efros, 1957

The most famous scene of this play is the one in which Oleg Savin chops down furniture with his father’s saber. This was the case in the performance of the Sovremennik Theater Studio, released in 1957, and from the film by Anatoly Efros and Georgy Natanson “Noisy Day” (1961) this is what primarily remained in the memory - perhaps because Oleg played in both productions young and impetuous Oleg Tabakov. However, the first performance based on this play was not released at Sovremennik, but at the Central Children's Theater, and in it the famous episode with the checker and the dead fish, the jar of which Lenochka threw out the window, was, although important, still one of many.

The main thing in Anatoly Efros’s performance at the Central Children’s Theater was the feeling of polyphony, continuity, and fluidity of life. The director insisted on the significance of every voice in this populous story - and immediately introduced the viewer to a house filled with furniture, built by the artist Mikhail Kurilko, where precise details indicated the life of a large friendly family. Not a denunciation of philistinism, but a contrast between the living and the dead, poetry and prose (as noted by critics Vladimir Sappak and Vera Shitova) - this was the essence of Efros’s view. Not only was Oleg, played by Konstantin Ustyugov, alive—a gentle boy with a high, excited voice—but also Valentina Sperantova’s mother, who decided to have a serious conversation with her son and softened the forced harshness with her intonation. Very real is this Fedor himself, Gennady Pechnikov, who, in spite of everything, loves his pragmatic wife Lenochka very much, and another lover - Gennady Alexei Shmakov, and the girls' classmates who came to visit Oleg. All this can be clearly heard in the radio recording of the performance made in 1957. Listen to how Oleg pronounces the key phrase of the play: “The main thing is to have a lot in your head and soul.” No didactics, quietly and deliberately, rather for yourself.

"My poor Marat"

Play

Alexey Arbuzov, 1967

About what: Once upon a time there lived Lika, she loved Marat, she was loved by him, and Leonidik also loved her; both guys went to war, both returned: Marat as a Hero of the Soviet Union, and Leonidik without an arm, and Lika gave her hand and heart to “poor Leonidik.” The second title of the work is “Don’t be afraid to be happy”; in 1967, London critics named it the play of the year. This melodrama is a story of meetings and separations stretched over almost two decades of three characters growing up from episode to episode, once united by war and blockade in cold and hungry Leningrad.

Why it's worth reading: Three lives, three destinies of Soviet idealists stung by the war, trying to build a life according to the propaganda legend. Of all the “Soviet fairy tales” by Alexei Arbuzov, where the heroes were necessarily rewarded with love for their labor deeds, “My Poor Marat” is the saddest fairy tale.

The Soviet myth “live for others” is justified for the characters – still teenagers – by the losses and exploits of the war, and Leonidik’s remark: “Never change our winter of 1942... right?” - becomes their life credo. However, “days pass”, and life “for others” and a professional career (Marat “builds bridges”) does not bring happiness. Lika leads medicine as the “unexempt head of the department,” and Leonidik ennobles morals with collections of poems published in a circulation of five thousand copies. Sacrifice turns into metaphysical melancholy. At the end of the play, 35-year-old Marat announces a change of milestones: “Hundreds of thousands died so that we could be extraordinary, obsessed, happy. And we - me, you, Leonidik?..”

Stifled love here is equal to strangled individuality, and personal values ​​are affirmed throughout the course of the play, which makes it a unique phenomenon of Soviet drama.

Staging

Director Anatoly Efros, 1965

Reviewers called this performance a “stage research”, a “theatrical laboratory” where the feelings of the characters in the play were studied. “The stage is laboratory-like, clean, precise and focused,” wrote critic Irina Uvarova. Artists Nikolai Sosunov and Valentina Lalevich created a backdrop for the performance: from it, three characters looked at the audience seriously and a little sadly, looking as if they already knew how it would all end. In 1971, Efros filmed a television version of this production, with the same actors: Olga Yakov-leva - Lika, Alexander Zbruev - Marat and Lev Krugly - Leonidik. The theme of a scrupulous study of characters and feelings was further intensified here: television made it possible to see the eyes of the actors, giving the effect of spectator presence during close communication between these three.

It could be said that Efros’s Marat, Lika and Leonidik were obsessed with the idea of ​​getting to the bottom of the truth. Not in a global sense - they wanted to hear and understand each other as accurately as possible. This was especially noticeable in Lika-Yakovleva. The actress seemed to have two game plans: the first - where her heroine looked soft, light, childish, and the second - which appeared as soon as Lika's interlocutor turned away: at that moment the serious, attentive, studying gaze of a mature woman glared at him. “All real life is a Meeting,” wrote the philosopher Martin Buber in his book “I and You.” According to him, the main word in life - “You” - can be said to a person only with his whole being; any other relationship turns him into an object, from “You” - into “It”. Throughout Efros’s performance, these three said “You” to the other with their whole being, most of all appreciating each other’s unique personality. This was the high tension of their relationship, which even today it is impossible not to get carried away and with which one cannot help but empathize.

"Duck Hunt"

Play

Alexander Vampilov, 1967

About what: Waking up in a typical Soviet apartment on a heavy hangover morning, the hero receives a funeral wreath as a gift from friends and colleagues. Trying to unravel the meaning of the prank, Viktor Zilov recalls the pictures of the last month in his memory: a housewarming party, his wife leaving, a scandal at work and, finally, yesterday’s drinking session in the Forget-Me-Not cafe, where he insulted his young mistress, his boss, colleagues and I got into a fight with my best friend, the waiter Dima. Having decided to really settle accounts with his hateful life, the hero calls his friends, inviting them to his own wake, but soon changes his mind and goes with Dima to the village - on a duck hunt, which he has been passionately dreaming of all this time.

Why it's worth reading: Viktor Zilov, combining the features of a notorious scoundrel and an infinitely attractive man, may seem to some to be the Soviet reincarnation of Lermontov’s Pechorin: “a portrait made up of the vices of our entire generation, in their full development.” A smart, thoroughbred and perpetually drunk member of the ITAE who appeared at the beginning of the era of stagnation engineers- engineer and technical worker. with energy worthy of better use, he consistently freed himself from family, work, love and friendship ties. Zilov’s final refusal of self-destruction had a symbolic meaning for Soviet drama: this hero gave birth to a whole galaxy of imitators - superfluous people: drunkards who were both ashamed and disgusted to join Soviet society - drunkenness in the drama was perceived as a form of social protest.

Zilov's creator, Alexander Vampilov, drowned in Lake Baikal in August 1972 - at the peak of his creative powers, leaving the world one not too weighty volume of drama and prose; “Duck Hunt,” which has now become a world classic, barely overcoming the censorship ban, burst onto the Soviet stage shortly after the death of the author. However, half a century later, when there was nothing Soviet left, the play unexpectedly turned into an existential drama of a man in front of whom the emptiness of an organized, mature life opened up, and in the dream of a hunting trip, to where - “Do you know how quiet this is? You're not there, do you understand? No! You haven’t been born yet,” a cry was heard about paradise lost forever.

Staging

Moscow Art Theater named after Gorky
Directed by Oleg Efremov, 1978

The best play by Alexander Vampilov is still considered unsolved. The closest thing to its interpretation was probably Vitaly Melnikov’s film “Vacation in September” with Oleg Dal in the role of Zilov. The performance staged at the Moscow Art Theater by Oleg Efremov has not survived, not even in fragments. At the same time, he accurately expressed time - the most hopeless phase of stagnation.

Artist David Borovsky came up with the following image for the performance: a huge plastic bag containing felled pine trees hovered above the stage like a cloud. “The motif of the conserved taiga,” Borovsky told critic Rimma Krechetova. And further: “The floor was covered with tarpaulin: in those places they wear tarpaulin and rubber. I scattered pine needles on the tarpaulin. You know, like the New Year tree on the parquet floor. Or after funeral wreaths..."

Zilov was played by Efremov. He was already fifty - and his hero’s melancholy was not a midlife crisis, but a summing up. Anatoly Efros admired his performance. “Efremov plays Zilov fearlessly to the extreme,” he wrote in the book “Continuation of the Theatrical Story.” - He turns it out in front of us with all its giblets. Ruthless. Playing in the traditions of the great theater school, he does not simply expose his hero. He plays a generally good person, still able to understand that he is lost, but no longer able to get out.”

The one who was deprived of reflection was the waiter Dima, played by Aleksei Petrenko, the other most important character of the play. A huge man, absolutely calm - with the calm of a killer, he hung over the other characters like a cloud. Of course, he had not killed anyone yet - except for animals on the hunt, which he shot without missing a beat, but he could easily knock out a person (after looking around to see if anyone was watching). Dima, more than Zilov, was the discovery of this performance: a little time will pass, and such people will become the new masters of life.

"Three Girls in Blue"

Play

Lyudmila Petrushevskaya, 1981

About what: Under one leaky roof, three mothers - Ira, Svetlana and Tatyana - while away the rainy summer with their constantly fighting boys. The unsettled nature of dacha life forces women to argue day and night about everyday life. A wealthy suitor who appears takes Ira to another world, to the sea and the sun, she leaves her sick son in the arms of her weak mother. However, heaven turns into hell, and now the woman is ready to crawl on her knees in front of the airport duty officer in order to return to her lonely child.

Why it's worth reading: The play continues to amaze contemporaries of “Three Girls” to this day by how accurately it captures the era of “late stagnation”: the range of everyday concerns of a Soviet person, his character and the type of relationships between people. However, in addition to external photographic accuracy, the inner essence of the so-called scoop is also subtly touched upon here.

Leading a dialogue with Chekhov’s “Three Sisters,” Petrushevskaya’s play initially presents its “girls” as three variations on the theme of Chekhov’s Natasha. Like Chekhov’s bourgeois Natasha, Petrushevskaya’s Ira, Svetlana and Tatyana constantly care about their children and wage a war for the dry rooms of a dilapidated dacha near Moscow. However, the children for whom mothers argue are, in fact, no one needs them. The play is permeated by the weak voice of Ira Pavlik’s sick son; The boy’s world is full of fairy-tale images, in a bizarre form reflecting the realities of his frightening life: “And when I was sleeping, the moon flew to me on its wings,” - no one hears or understands the child in this play. The “moment of truth” is also connected with his son - when, realizing that he could lose him, from a “typical Soviet person” Ira turns into a person capable of “thinking and suffering”, from Chekhov’s Natasha into Chekhov’s Irina, ready to sacrifice something For others.

Staging

Theater named after Lenin Komsomol
Director Mark Zakharov, 1985

This play was written by Lyudmila Petrushevskaya at the request of the chief director of the Lenin Komsomol Theater Mark Zakharov: he needed roles for Tatyana Peltzer and Inna Churikova. The censorship did not allow the performance to pass for four years - the premiere took place only in 1985; On June 5 and 6, 1988, the play was filmed for television. This recording still makes a very strong impression today. Set designer Oleg Sheintsis blocked the stage with a translucent wall, behind which silhouettes of branches are visible; in the foreground there is a table, on it there is a bouquet of dried flowers, and in a tin basin placed on a stool, endless washing is going on; There were squabbles around, flirting, confessions. Each was ready to get into the other’s life, and not just get in, but thoroughly trample around there. But this is only superficial participation: in fact, no one really cared about each other. The old woman Fedorovna (Peltzer) mumbled, indifferent to the fact that there was a sick child lying behind the wall. Svetlana (actress Lyudmila Porgina) instantly became agitated in a fit of hatred towards the intellectual Irina and her son: “He’s reading! You’ll finish reading!” And Irina herself - Inna Churikova looked at everything with huge eyes and remained silent as long as she had the strength.

A recognized master of stage effects, Zakharov built several reference points in the performance, calibrated like a ballet. One of them is when the dacha boyfriend Nikolai kisses Irina and she, out of surprise, does an almost clown somersault. At that moment Churikova almost falls from her chair, falls on Nikolai’s shoulder, immediately jumps away from him and, throwing her knees high, makes her way to the door to see if her son saw the kiss.

Another scene is the tragic climax of the play: Irina crawls on her knees behind the airport employees, begging to put her on the plane (at home the child was left alone in a locked apartment), and hoarsely, annoyingly, she doesn’t even scream, but growls: “I may not make it in time!” In the book “Stories from My Own Life,” Lyudmila Petrushevskaya recalls how once at a performance at that moment a young spectator jumped out of her chair and began to tear out her hair. It's really very scary to watch.

Sergey Mogilevtsev

LITTLE COMEDIES

"Little Comedies" are 17 small plays, among which there is a one-act play "Intermission", absurd plays like "Resuscitation", "Accountant" and "Report", a dialogue for all times "Author and Censor", small farce plays " Fruits of the Enlightenment", "White Silence" and "A Funny Case", historical dialogues "Oedipus" and "Smell", as well as very small sketches such as "Dinosaurs", "Home Academy", "The Power of Love", "Little Things in Life ".

INTERRUPTION…………………………………………...…
REPORT…………………………..…………………..…..
RESUME……………………………………..…
AUTHOR AND CENSOR……………………………..….
ACCOUNTANT………………………………………...….
FRUITS OF ENLIGHTENMENT……………………..….…
WHITE SILENCE………………………………….
FUNNY CASE……………………………...…
SMELL………………………………………………….
OEDIPUS, or LOVE OF JUSTICE......
EINSTEIN AND CHEKHOV……………………………...
POWER OF LOVE………………………………………...
TWO OF A KIND……………………………...
LITTLE NOTHINGS OF LIFE…………………………………….
DINOSAURS…………………………………………..
ALGEBRA AND HARMONY……………………………
HOME ACADEMY…………………………..

INTERMISSION

Scenes at the theater entrance

SCENE ONE

A small area at the entrance to the theater, filled with a crowd of spectators.
The first act of the sensational comedy has just ended.
Everyone is excited and vying with each other to express their opinions.

Theatrical master and beginning dramaturg.

Theater master (indignantly). Outrageous, inadmissible, impudent, and... and... (chokes with indignation). And, I would say, even provocative! No, of course, a certain amount of provocation is certainly necessary, but not to the same extent! After all, this will no longer be a theater, not a temple of art, but some kind of revolution! I always say that a playwright cannot live without provoking the audience, but everything is good in moderation and in its time. But the time for provocation in drama has not yet come, I always tell my students about this. (Looking down at the young interlocutor.) Tell me, do you agree with me?
Aspiring playwright. Of course, teacher, I reached the finals of the annual drama competition that bears your name, and my play about the life of modern students took first place. Remember, you also highly praised her for the originality and depth of the topic being explored?
MATER (impatiently). Yes, yes, I remember, thank God, my memory has not yet been lost, because, as you know, I am not yet sixty. Or maybe it already exists, I don’t remember exactly.
Beginner (looking at him with interest). Is it true?
M et r. Why can't you see this? My friend, thank God, the year has not yet given me over; thank God, I can still be good for a lot of things!
Beginner (gaining courage). And they say that you are already exhausted! (He immediately gets scared.)
M et r. Who's speaking?
Beginning (making excuses). Yes, all sorts of ill-wishers. They say that you are afraid of sharp edges, and you will never write about topical issues, for example, about a possible revolution, as in the play that we are watching!
MATER (also scared, looks around just in case, waves his hands). God forbid you, boy, to mention the revolution in this country! Anything: red, white, or orange. There is no need to mention especially the orange one, this is the most pressing issue right now. You can mention anything you want: shortcomings in education, theft that is widespread among our people, and even, for that matter, corruption in higher spheres. But just never mention the Orange Revolution, this is the most dangerous topic now!
Beginning. But why? The author of today's play mentions.
M et r. He will end badly. He does not know what can be mentioned and what cannot be mentioned. He lost his brakes, this author, and the director, following him, without consulting where necessary, also decided to rush with the wind. But this wind will bring a storm, and will end in long-term intensive care for both.
Beginning. And the audience loves it, they laugh so hard!
M et r. Spectators will also be sent to intensive care. Not now, but after some time. In a word, dear student, to succeed in this country, you need to have brakes, I never get tired of repeating this!
Beginner (in despair). Teacher, but with the brakes I will never grow to your level!
M et r (important). And very good, for this country just me is enough!

They step aside.
D v a l i t e r a t o r a.

First writer. What kind of play, what kind of characters? Where have you seen such characters? Such characters cannot exist in modern plays!
Second L i t e r a t o r. Do you write contemporary plays?
First. No, I'm writing a saga about space exploration!
Second. So why are you meddling in something other than your own business?
First. And what are you writing about, remind me?
Second. I am writing a biography of an important statesman ruling in a not so distant country.
First. You write strange things.
Second. Today's comedy is also quite strange!

They step aside.
The viewer is positive and the viewer is negative.

Positive. I don’t understand, is the author stupid, stupid, or both? Where has he seen such a newspaper editor and such an oligarch giving the president purebred foals?
NEGATIVE. In some African countries, presidents do not even accept things. I heard that they don’t even disdain a human in the morning!
Positive. So it’s in Africa, you idiot, where do you and I live?! Finally, you have to think!
NEGATIVE (not understanding anything). That's what I'm thinking!

They step aside.
Spectator and lady.

D a m a. The author talks about terrible things. For example, about the catacombs in the center of Moscow, and about the homeless children who live there. Is this really possible in our time?
Spectator (hugging the lady). Darling, in our time anything is possible, but it is better to watch everything to the end, and not judge the impression of the first act.
D a m a. And yet the catacombs in the center of Moscow, and even with children, homeless people, and poets reading their brilliant poems by candlelight - this can only be born in a brilliant head! (Dreamy.) How I would like to meet the author of the play!
3 r i t e l. I don't advise you to do this! They are all perverts, so they write about abnormal things!

They are leaving.
F a n f a r o n i R a z o n e r.

F a n f a r o n. The first act is over, and I’m already angry as a hundred devils! The author talks about the birth of the party, putting so much bile into his mouth, and inventing such funny names, as if he despises everyone like the last pigs!
Resoner. Politics is the ultimate disgusting thing; no wonder he despises her!
F a n f a r o n. But he calls everyone assholes!
Resoner. Well, I think this is hyperbole, and nothing more!
F a n f a r o n. What kind of hyperbole is this if anyone and everyone who is not too lazy is enrolling in his party of bastards? It seems that we are all half-baked!
Resoner. If you consider the issue deeply enough, then it is not difficult to imagine!
F a n f a r o n. That's it, let's quickly go into the theater and wait for the end of the play, especially since two bells have already rung.
Resoner. It is reasonable.

They go into the theater.
The area at the entrance is quickly emptying.
The third bell rings.

SCENE TWO

A crowd of spectators, even more excited than before.
OFFICIAL WITH DAUGHTER.

C h i n o v n i k. Unheard of, outrageous, and generally a call for revolution! If they find out at work that I was at this premiere, they will fire me immediately.
Daughter. Come on, dad, there are things worse than this. Sometimes, dad, it’s so erotic that your jaws ache looking at it all!
C h i n o v n i k. Better the naked truth than the truth of life! You should be put in prison for the truth of life!

They are leaving.
It’s a very big novice of the mother.

B ig o r novice. I paid a thousand dollars for tickets (for each one!) in the first row, and what do we see? The author, like a surgeon, cuts into the body of our politics, and extracts from there such terrible things that even the tongue does not dare to name them out loud! He calls on the oligarchs to give money to the people and not to send the president greyhound puppies as gifts, that is, I beg your pardon, purebred foals. He calls the highest party officials complete bastards, and the lower ones - bastards in life, he completely declares the press to be corrupt, public opinion non-existent, and he mocks the public as if it were an indecent wench!
LADY (laughing). He calls your public also non-existent, and says that he knows about public baths, public laundries and public reception rooms, as well as public toilets, but does not know what a public is!
Big. That's it, I'm saying that this is unheard of insolence and even some kind of public terrorism! I can’t imagine what I will say at the government meeting tomorrow?
D a m a. Say you've been to public baths.
Big. That's right, bathhouses are better than such freedom of public expression!

They are leaving.
D e w e d s.

First lady. Did you notice what kind of hats these two sluts who played women in the play wore? The secretary and the oligarch's wife? It is not clear where they got them from: either they were pulled out of a theater chest, or they were discharged from Paris on a special flight?!
Second lady. When a ticket costs an average of five thousand dollars, it doesn’t matter whether it’s Paris or a theater chest!

D a s t u d e n t a.

FIRST STUDENT: Have you noticed that the author of the play says something that everyone already knows, but this, nevertheless, produces the effect of a bomb exploding?!
Second student. The fact of the matter is that someone always has to be the first to say out loud what everyone has already seen for a long time. The truth, spoken out loud, becomes dynamite that explodes the public.
First. By the way, about the public. Which definition of this phenomenon do you like better: the one that compares the public to public loads, or to public toilets?
Second. I like public toilets better, they are closer to the truth!

Two actors who went out to smoke.

First actor. Do you see how excited they all are? That's the power of acting!
Second akter. This is not our strength, but that of the author of the play. However, it is still unclear whether this is a failure or success for him; Did you notice how he walked backstage, now blushing, now turning pale, and alternately clutching his stomach and then his heart?
First. Yes, there were cases when the authors of the play died during the performance, unable to bear either the burden of glory or the bitterness of defeat.
Second. Will you stay for the banquet after the performance today?
First. But of course! a banquet is a sacred affair, and always at the expense of the author!
Second. Yes, you need to take advantage of the moment, tomorrow he will either be imprisoned or raised to unprecedented heavens!
First. If they imprison him, they will imprison us too, and the theater will either be burned down or converted into a public canteen.
Second. Don’t you know that a hundred years ago there was something like a public canteen here? A fashionable restaurant that was visited by all and sundry, from writers and whores to bandits and cabinet ministers?
First. We still have the same layout in the auditorium!

D u a t e a t r a l y h u c h k a.

First bug. I made some good money at this performance today! People are rushing towards something unprecedented, as if an elephant is being led through the center of Moscow!
Second bug: Yes, I also made a small fortune selling tickets! If there were more such authors and such plays, we would then open either a theater or a brothel.
First. For me, a brothel is better, it’s sold out every day, but theater is an unpredictable and dark business. Today he is there, and tomorrow he is sent to Siberia in full force.
Second. What Siberia, we live in a democracy!
First. Listen, colleague, at least for me, your workmate, don’t bullshit me! Let's better thank the author and send him money in an envelope!
Second. But under no circumstances should you do this! An author who gets rich will lose all his anger, immediately become lazy, and will not be able to write. And after this, our earnings will fall.
First. Yes, you are right, colleague, let's give some of the money to those street children he talks about in the play. Those who huddle in the Moscow catacombs, in attics and basements.
Second. And this shouldn’t be done either: homeless children are precisely what inspire the author’s heightened conscience, forcing him to write brilliant plays. The children will disappear, the author will disappear, and at the same time our modest earnings!
First. Well then, let's give money to that poet dying from consumption, the main character of his comedy, huddling underground with homeless people, street children and rats. Let's donate some of the money to publish his poetry book!
Second. Are you crazy, colleague?! The poet in poverty underground, the main character of today's performance, who dreams of publishing his own book of poems, is none other than the author of the play himself. This is his alter ego, his inner essence. When we take the poet out of the dungeon, we take the author out of the dungeon, and then he will definitely not write anything else. Under no circumstances should you give money to a poet!
First. But then who can you give it to?
Second. And those law enforcement officers who allow us to work at the entrance to the theater - that’s what we need to give to them. Without law enforcement officers, well-fed and gifted, no work in this country is possible!
First. My God, what a country, what guards!
Second. Do you, colleague, want something different?
First. God forbid, everything suits me, but I feel so damn sorry for the children and poets!

D v a k r i t i k a.

F irst cr itic. Again a play about the underground, and this time the main character is a poet who fell ill with tuberculosis.
Second critic. Not a bad move, I must say!
First. Yes, you are right, although this has already happened. Not about the poet and tuberculosis, but something like this, in Gogol, and Gorky, and others.
Second. In this country, everything is repeated: the underground, tuberculosis, and poetry underground.
First. What will you write about tomorrow?
Second. And I won’t write about this performance at all.
First. Why?
Second. For a variety of reasons. You see, if we have democracy in our country (and no one knows this for certain), then the value of the performance is small, because one can criticize corruption and mean morals at every corner. This means that my review of this performance is of little value. If we don’t have democracy in our country, then today’s performance is a slap in the face to the ruling regime, and we should completely forget about it. For your own good, to sleep peacefully and not shake at night from every rustle.
First. My God, what have we come to in this country!
Second. It’s not we who have reached it, it’s us who have reached it. However, everything can be exactly the opposite, and the one who first writes an enthusiastic review of this performance will be declared the greatest critic of our time!
First. Or sent to Siberia along with the author.
Second. For mercy's sake, colleague, who is being sent to Siberia these days? Haven't you read Shakespeare with his Polonius and unfortunate Ophelia?
First. Yes, Polonius and Ophelia are signs of our time. However, let's go faster, otherwise we won't make it to the third act!

They hastily leave, and after them, a lot of the gaps dissolve.
The theater doors close.
The third bell rings.

SCENE THREE

After the third act.
End of the performance.
The spectators go outside, but, excited by the spectacle they saw, they do not disperse, but fill the area near the theater.
T r o e d e v e r s in h o l b o m.

The first girl. What a pity that night has already come, and in the moonlight my blue dress does not shine as much as in the sun. Did you notice how in the theater everyone did nothing but look back at me?
Second girl. And it seemed to me that everyone was just staring at my blue dress.
The third girl. You are both fools, you all stared at me, and no one looked at the stage.
First. What a surprise! I didn't look at the stage either!
Second. And I.
Third. Was there any kind of stage at all in the theater?
First (summarizing). In any case, if there was, our blue dresses, without a doubt, outshone everything that was presented there!

Svetskaya lion and with her a flock of worshipers.

Svetskaya l'vitsa. Did you notice how everyone was just staring at my cleavage? And this despite the fact that I didn’t put on my brilics - I left all the brilics in the safe so that, God forbid, someone would steal it. They steal, bastards, they steal shamelessly, whether here in Russia, in Cannes, in Nice, or at parties in New York. And I, girls, cannot give away my briliks left and right for free, I already give myself away so generously that I no longer have enough strength to give to everyone; you know that I am so loving that, according to some, either enemies or well-wishers, I replace several brothels at the same time; I’m specially released into hot spots like Chechnya, where I dance naked on tables covered with oriental dishes, and hundreds of bearded and armed men standing around simply go crazy, either shooting tirelessly until the morning, or running madly into the mountains , and wander there alone all day long, becoming easy prey for wild animals and mujahideen. I, girls, am the center of the modern world, built on chaos and debauchery, and it’s not for nothing that the current play also talked about me; because, girls, it is debauchery that rules the modern world, and you don’t have to wear diamonds around your neck, but you can just come to the theater, and no one will look at the stage, but everyone will just stare at you, pouring out, like Yesenin’s bitch, saliva and juice, and filling the theatrical air with the thick stench of eternal debauchery and lust. (Suddenly screams.) Hurray, long live debauchery as a new national idea, and let you all go to hell with your search for truth, goodness and beauty!

She takes off her clothes and remains completely naked. The worshipers surrounding her do the same.

Worshipers. Wow! yes! yeah! ho-ho! hee hee! wow! no-go-go! Ahaha! here you go! come on! joke! We don't care! hurray, hurray, we are drummers!

Pausa.

Beginning journal. It seems that I was one of the heroes of the ended performance. Perhaps this is the strength of great productions, that their heroes leave the stage at the end of the performance and mix with the crowd, henceforth living among people, acquiring flesh and blood, acquiring a new life through the power of the author’s imagination. We need to write a note about this and take it to the editor-in-chief tomorrow. However, in our newspaper you can only publish about the right things, and it’s better not to stutter about what no one can see yet, so as not to get into trouble.

Pausa.

TV presenter. What did the play say about the national idea? Is there any national idea now? The play talked about bastards who unite in a party of rejected brats, and supposedly we have the majority of such bastards; some kind of perversion, but maybe the world around us is so perverted that the national idea should also be perverted to the extreme? Once upon a time everyone marched for the faith, the fatherland and the tsar, then for freedom and universal brotherhood, then for liberation from the invasion of fierce enemies and for building a bright future, now there are no more bright ideas left. Now is the time of darkness and dark ideas; the time of premature babies and premature babies; and it is around all sorts of idiots that people can rally to wait out the troubled times... Some kind of nonsense, but how similar it is to the truth! But can I talk about this from a television screen?

D v a b o m f a.

F irst b o m f. We had a lot of fun! Did you notice that we were dressed more decently than everyone else?
Second b o m f. This is no wonder, after all, you and I dress in garbage dumps, and Moscow garbage dumps are the richest garbage dumps in the world!

Pausa.

P o o t h e s u n d e m e l . So, I am the main character of the play that has just been shown, who calmly mixed with the crowd, and now lives my life, not at all surprised by this. I lived underground in the ancient catacombs built near Moscow by the still mad and formidable kings, I read my poems to homeless people and rats, who listened to me with equal fascination, leaving all other matters for the time being. I came to the surface, I ceased to be a hero of the underground, I took from there, from hell, a full pillowcase filled with my poems, suffered in solitude, and now I don’t know how these poems will be received by people living above. There is too much difference between those who live above and those who live below. There is too big a gap between the poor and the rich. While I was sitting below, the world changed, and it may very well happen that I became superfluous to this world. Well, I can always go back down to my dungeon or go wandering around Russia, throwing my pillowcase with poems behind my back; because this has already happened once, and I will only repeat the path of others who have walked the same road before me.

R epresentatives of the mayor.

First. How outrageous! The play claims that there are no toilets left in Moscow! that there is everything here: chic restaurants, casinos, underground garages, and fountains, and that there were no toilets before, and there are no toilets now, and that puzzled citizens and guests of the capital have to go to the gateways to relieve their needs, as if they were minor , and big!
Second. And what kind of word is this: “outhouses”! Couldn't it have been said: "toilets"? Why so highlight the richness of our Russian language?
First. But the most outrageous thing is the statement about personal golden toilets, which are allegedly installed in the armored limousines of officials of this city, who, precisely for this reason, don’t care about toilets!
Second. You and I agreed not to use the word “toilets”!
First. But how can one not use this damned word, how can one not talk about these toilets, if tomorrow at a meeting of the mayor’s office they ask me where the toilets in Moscow went, and I answer that instead of them we built a hundred first-class fountains?!
Second. Say that Muscovites and guests of the capital who admire the fountains forget to relieve themselves of various kinds, and that the need for toilets will soon completely disappear, we just need to build more fountains!
First. Thank you for the advice, I’ll say so at the meeting at the mayor’s office.

Deputies of the State Duma.

First. And why are deputies always being bullied? It’s almost like the deputies are to blame, they didn’t pass such a bill, they are complete lackeys and will sign everything that is handed to them... Are you signing everything that is handed to you?
Second. I don’t sign anything at all, I have a special seal that imitates my signature, and I attach it to the papers.
First. You see, I don’t sign anything, because I have exactly the same seal; but they say: the deputies are corrupt, and they sign everything they submit! I would be ashamed to say that!
Second. A play like this should be banned; and it’s best to shoot both the author and the director, so that others will be discouraged!
First. What kind of executions? Still, don’t forget that we have a democracy!
Second. Under democracy they shoot no less than under tyranny!
First. Then a bill should be introduced to ban such plays because they offend public morals.
Second. Would you sign such a bill?
First. No, I told you that I don’t sign anything, but put a stamp on it.
Second. Well then, I won’t sign either. Let them say after this that we are all conservatives and are stifling freedom!

Someone passing through from Nizhnego.

No one. I myself am here by chance, passing through from Nizhny; I wanted, you know, to go to the Tretyakov Gallery and become familiar with the lofty, but I ended up at this performance, where, I must admit, I didn’t understand a single thing! You don’t know where they serve set meals here, you really want to eat before the train, you just have everything in the pit of your stomach! and, excuse me, I don’t have the funds for caviar and sandwiches in the buffet; We, sorry, in Nizhny are not as luxurious as here in Moscow, everything is simpler and more decent here. By the way, you don’t know why they let me in for free; in Nizhny they would have torn off three skins from me for such a performance?!

Two young people, extremely cheerful.

First. Wow, this hasn't happened in a long time! The spirit of Pushkin and Gogol hovered over the stage today, and only they, it seems, were not enough to complete this evening with dignity!
Second (shouting). I call Pushkin! I call Gogol!
First. You're a fool, you're screaming, what if they really show up!

Slight shaking of air. Dukh and A.S. appear. Pushkina and N.V. G o g o l i.

D u x P u sh k i n a. Did you call Pushkin? (Looks around curiously.) Bah, what a doomsday, everything is like the good old days! Nothing, gentlemen, changes in the world, and only brilliant poems and brilliant plays control the structure of this universe!
D u x G o g o l i. Did you call Gogol? (Looks around carefully.) Bah, can’t it be you, brother Pushkin?!
Pushkin. Bah, no way it’s you, brother Gogol!
G o g o l. Who else should it be if not me? They called me out of the darkness, from the underground kingdom of Hades, or where I am now, but why they called me, I can’t imagine! here, even without you and me, brother Pushkin, there are authors who have something to say to the common people; who have something to say to this despicable plebs, whom we, friend Pushkin, always made fun of, whom we sincerely despised, and on whom we always depended, like a schoolboy on a strict mathematics teacher!
Pushkin. Yes, friend Gogol, your truth is that the plebs are ridiculous and pathetic, be it an important official, a theater master, a socialite, a member of parliament, or an illiterate provincial; The plebs are always low and at the same time high, because apart from us, the chosen ones, and this despicable plebs, there is nothing at all in the world; and as for the author of the play, we really have nothing to do here; It’s not that he outdid us, because, as we know, it’s generally impossible to outshine us; but he simply came at the right time, and brought the right play, so let's wish him all the best, and let's go back where we came from.
G o g o l. Yes, it never hurt to wish the comedian prosperity and good luck at all times. I wish you, new author, happiness and prosperity, may your days on earth last, and may you not die of happiness at the sight of the first, as well as the second, third and hundredth luck, but patiently reach the end, carrying on your back the eternal cross of rejection and glory!
Pushkin. And I wish the same for you, current comedian! Be happy and contact us whenever you need it!

Both disappear.
The crowd of the theater dissipates.
Cars appear.

Author. Oh my God, viewer, viewer, viewer! O contemporary viewer! However, the viewer is the same in all centuries, and the modern viewer is no different from the viewer of the times of Nero and Seneca, and Nero himself is no different from the current emperors and autocrats of various kinds and types. Everything changes, and everything is unchanged, only the scenery changes its color and pattern, and the hats on the heads of the actresses are either sprinkled with flies, or lined on the sides with a white or black veil. And everything else remains the same at all times. At all times, passions run high on stage, the author seeks to ridicule Caesar, and Caesar for this sends him a handful of gold denarii as a gift, and then orders him either to open his veins, or orders him to secretly strangle him in some alley. Nothing changes, nothing! At all times, public lists, public baths and public toilets serve as a synonym for a non-existent public, which either rises to unprecedented heights, or is trampled into the mud, watered by the tears of a gullible spectator, then torn to pieces by the gladiator’s comrades and the urine of the eternal plebs, your only judge, author, modest comedy! He, this plebs, now taking the guise of Caesar, now an important minister, now a critic, now a slutty wench, now ranting about a non-existent fanfare, now a reasoner making flat jokes - he, this eternal plebs, will be your eternal judge, modest author of comedy! You are connected with him by invisible bonds, you hate him, you fear him, and at the same time you adore him, because you have no one else. You are alone, the author of a comedy, you have no family, no friends, no attachments, no true love, for your love is comedy and striking laughter, behind which are hidden the bitter tears of your sleepless nights, filled with crazy inspiration and crazy ups, prayers to immortal Muses and no less insane fall into the abyss of creative impotence. So thank fate for the fact, O comedian, that you have this pathetic plebs, whom you both idolize and hate, for this eternal spectator of yours, connected to you by an eternal chain of success and defeat. Laugh with him, rejoice and shed bitter tears, for such is your theatrical life, and you have no other life and never will. I greet you, my eternal viewer, and do not judge, if possible, too harshly the weak comedian, because your approval will help me live until tomorrow morning, and your condemnation will force me to open my veins, which, however, have been opened more than once, for more than once you admired me and doomed me to eternal torment! (Raises his hands up.) Hello, O sun of a new day, and if I see you again, illuminate for me those mysterious letters, those pages of a new comedy, which, unheard by anyone, is already knocking, like a newborn chick, on the fragile shell of my heart!

Lowering his head, he enters the theater.
The doors slam shut.
The area in front of the theater is empty.

End.

One act play

He.
She.

A room that can conventionally be called a room - the convention stems from the lighting, as well as from the draperies and various covers with which the walls are covered and the furniture is covered: ordinary walls and ordinary furniture, which, however, are in a state of some kind of evacuation, some expectations stemming, obviously, from the internal state of the characters - Ego and E e. Life on suitcases, life in anticipation of the impending departure - this is how one could call the state of the characters in the play and the position of the objects surrounding them; which, by the way, as the state of anticipation and the atmosphere of evacuation subsides, they may well take on the appearance of an ordinary living room somewhere on the top floor of one of the Moscow high-rise buildings, located on the very edge of the city; this is, obviously, really the edge of Moscow: outside the windows there are many lakes, forest plantations, swamps, but all these landscapes are also muted, and, obviously, covered by a curtain of rain; upon careful study - and the entire back wall of the room is one unclear and foggy landscape - you can find a striking resemblance to the landscapes depicted by Leonardo behind his mysterious Mona Lisa: the same rivers, streams, groves, fogs, creating a feeling of eternity and mystery of existence . By the way, instead of landscapes outside the windows on the back wall, replacing them, one, smiling and mysterious Mona Lisa can hang. Although, on the other hand, the action still takes place under the roof of one of the old Moscow high-rise buildings, located somewhere on the outskirts of the city. It is impossible to say anything more definite either about the room or about the landscapes outside the window.
Evening or night. He lies with his hands behind his head, apparently waiting for something. The door opens and Ona comes in.

She (takes off her shoes at the door, worried). What a strange place: not a single passerby, only lanterns, and these endless paths along the banks of ponds and swamps. I heard ducks quack in the dark. Imagine: a solid wall of reeds, the quack of ducks, and this continuous frog concert, from which you can simply go crazy. (Listens to something outside the windows.) Hear, hear, it’s them again! (Wrinkles his forehead, trying to understand something.) Don’t you think it’s strange that these swamps exist almost in the center of Moscow? Really, it’s strange, isn’t it, some kind of Middle Ages?!
Oh (rising from the sofa, smoothing his hair with his hands). There is nothing strange about this, Moscow is a huge city, a modern metropolis, stretching for almost a hundred kilometers, and inside it you can find everything you want, including ponds with ducks and frogs. Just think - frogs in the pond, something unprecedented in these times! By the way, in the area of ​​the Ostankino TV tower you can easily see a flying saucer. They say that the TV tower area is a favorite meeting place for intelligent aliens. They just hang there in whole bunches, like ripe plums on a tree, and for some reason no one is surprised by this. Everyone has gotten used to it, and they simply don’t see them point-blank anymore, as if they don’t exist in nature. It’s as if normal life simply exists, and all these fabulous starships, aliens, spacesuits, humanoids and little green men never existed at all. People are so sucked in by their ordinary everyday life problems that they simply don’t care about all these aliens invented by science fiction writers, even if they are more complex and amazing than anything that storytellers and poets have come up with. Swamps with frogs are much more real than wide, illuminated streets filled with pedestrians and cars. So calmly walk along the paths past the ponds and swamps, listen to the noise of the reeds and the quacking of the ducks, and don’t think about anything extraneous. Pretend that nothing extraneous exists; except you, me, this room, and these endless ponds and swamps outside the window, in which frogs and ducks live.
She. Do you really think this is the right thing to do?
He. Yes, I think that will be exactly the case!
Oh na (comes to the window). How high it is here, not like your aunt’s, in our cozy little nest, because it’s on the third floor, and here it’ll probably be a hundred.
He. Forget about your aunt, we won't live with her anymore.
She. And where will we live? Here, in this hotel?
He. Yes, in this hotel, one hundred and one floors higher than your aunt’s, in our cozy nest.
She. Auntie had such a good time, and we had to sign with you. You promised to marry me because we will have a child.
He. Yes, I promised, but, you know, I need to finish the report first.
Oh na (pouting lips, feignedly). Oh, nasty, it’s always like this with you; You are always writing and writing something: now reports, now these stories of yours about the stars.
He. I haven’t written stories about stars for a long time, I write novels about life and death, and also, perhaps, about love and hate; very thick and very solid. In general, over the last twenty years I have become incredibly respectable and fat.
Oh na (surprised). Yes, you have clearly gained weight in the few days that we have been living in this hotel. And the hair on your head seems to have become thinner.
Oh (irritated). I repeat to you that this is not a hotel, and that not a few days have passed. You simply don’t know anything, and therefore it’s better to walk along your endless paths with frogs and reeds, and think about eternity and fate. Understand: I urgently need to finish the report, otherwise everything will start all over again, and we will again not get to your stupid aunt, in our cozy room on the third floor of an old five-story building.
Oh na (offended). And my aunt is not stupid, there is no point in slandering her in vain! Be grateful that she gave us her room, while she and her two children huddle in the hallway and pretend that this doesn’t bother her at all. (Trustingly, caressing towards Him.) You know, she still hopes that you will finally propose to me; You may not realize it, but I, too, have gained some weight. (Strokes himself on the stomach.) Girls, you know, can also sometimes gain some weight. You are not the only one who has gained weight and lost some of the hair on the top of your head; I could also allow myself to become at least a little fatter! (Walks around the room and strokes his slightly protruding belly.) Do you think it’s not very big?
He is screaming). Oh, leave those cunning things of yours! Stop these feminine tricks and evasions of yours, stop blackmailing me! I have no time for your imaginary belly and these cute insidious tricks; I need to finish the report urgently.
Oh na (offended). Please finish if this is important to you; Just don't yell at me and don't think it's tricky. (He approaches the table and picks up a stack of sheets of paper.) Is this your stupid report?
He is screaming). Put everything back in its place immediately! Put it down, otherwise we'll never get out of this damn place!
Ohna (perplexed). Can't we get out? from this hotel?
He is screaming). Yes, yes, damn it, otherwise we'll never get out of this hotel!

Pause.
She vaguely walks around the room, touches various things, examines them critically, shakes her head doubtfully, then decisively turns to Him.

She. I don't like it here. My aunt's was much nicer. This bed of ours with metal pom-pom balls, so old and so reliable, cannot be compared with your stupid sofa (he kicks the sofa with annoyance.) And our shelf with books, so small and so comfortable; You could always put notes on top of it. (Looks around.) Why don’t you have a single book here? Do you really not want to read?
He is screaming). Here with us, you understand this - with us! - everything here is ours, common, the same as your stupid aunt’s! There is nothing here that is mine or yours separately, everything here belongs to the two of us: me and you.
Ohna (objecting). I don’t need this stupid sofa, it’s probably very disgusting to sit on; I need my bed with metal pom pom balls. The same one that stands in our room, in my evil aunt’s apartment, on the third floor of a building on Shchelkovskoye Highway. (With doubt.) And here, below, what street is outside the window?
He. There is no street here, this is a completely special area; here there are only ponds with ducks and frogs, and also thickets of endless reeds, in which, obviously, something also lives: crucian carp, for example, or perch, or pike; Someone is sure to live in the reeds, maybe some birds, or rats, like an otter or a muskrat. But this has nothing to do with the matter, how do you not understand this?
She. Rats? Why rats, don't need rats, I don't want rats! (In fright, he climbs onto the sofa, tucks his legs under him.) There were no rats in my aunt’s apartment, let’s go back there, to our bed with balls, a shelf with books and notes. By the way, why don’t I see your notes? Don’t you review the material you covered during the holidays?
Oh (in despair). No, I don't want to repeat anything; I’m damn tired of repeating what has happened, I want change, you understand - change! No notes, no lectures, nothing to remind me of the past; only the future, which, unfortunately, still has not arrived; no schoolwork, no studying, no repetition of what has been learned; only the future, which, like the rising sun, should illuminate everything anew and put an end to the chimeras of the night. That’s why, dear, I haven’t used any notes for a long time.
Ohna (objecting). But you are writing this important report of yours! What is he talking about, if this is, of course, no secret, about that failed laboratory work of yours that you were forced to retake twice? Do you remember a week ago, there was still talk about superconductivity and the transfer of energy over a distance?
He is screaming). No, a thousand times no, this has nothing to do with superconductivity! and this also has nothing to do with the transfer of energy over a distance; I already said that this is a report about you and me, about the two of us, about our common life.
Oh na (critically). What kind of common life can there be if, apart from the proposal - I don’t argue, it was very unusual and beautiful, although it made everyone laugh very much - if besides this proposal with flowers and a cake for all my closest friends, you did absolutely nothing positive; nothing positive; you don’t want to see my growing belly, you don’t care about the experiences of my aunt, who feels sorry for me, and that’s the only reason she doesn’t kick us out into the street, into the snow and frost. (Indifferently hopeless.) If you don’t marry me, I’ll commit suicide.
Oh (quietly, insinuatingly). Yes, what will you do? Will you drink poison, or, say, jump out of the window? or maybe you'll lie down on the rails like Anna Karenina? Do you know, there are many ways to commit suicide, which one would you prefer at the moment?
Ohna (just as indifferently, shrugging her shoulders). I haven't decided yet, I need to think about it.
He. Well, think, think, and in the meantime I’ll write a report.

He sits down at the table, moves a pile of sheets towards him, thinks, resting his cheek on his hand, then a couple of times impulsively begins to write something, but then throws the pen on the table, leans back in his chair, throws his hands behind his head, and, staring at the window opening, motionless freezes in place.

Oh na (mockingly). What, you can't write? What are you writing now, again a story about traveling in space? will you give it to that editor of yours from the magazine, who has already returned ten things to you without having read any of them to the end? Aren't you tired of dealing with this bastard yet?

He sits silently on a chair, staring out the window, and is silent. There was an expression of disgusted indifference on his face.

Ohna (comes up from behind, hugs her shoulders). Are you upset about something? Can't find a plot for a story? Are you really worried about this? You know, when three days ago you told me about your adventures on public transport, do you remember how you came across lucky numbers on your tickets one after another, and any, even your most unusual, wish came true? Beautiful girls were smiling at you, the weather was constantly changing on the street, it was raining, then the sun appeared again from behind the clouds, then suddenly the tram, for no apparent reason, stopped in the one place you needed? - so, when three days ago you told me about these lucky numbers on the tickets, I immediately thought that this was a very good plot for a story; for a fantasy story, since you have certainly decided to devote yourself only to fantasy. Imagine: a person on public transport - let it again, as in your case, be a tram - receives an irredeemable lucky ticket; like an irredeemable ruble, remember this story from the Strugatsky brothers! - and so he travels with this lucky ticket of his, transfers from a tram to a bus, gets on the metro from a bus, can even ride in a taxi or travel on an airplane, and all this is completely free, although no one around him has any idea about anything, but everyone they just smile vying with each other, especially beautiful girls, flight attendants, conductors, etc., and offer him all kinds of help; and he revels in this power of his, and still does not fully know where this irredeemable ticket came from? and at the very end, when he is already quite bored with endless happiness, he gives his ticket to some student in a hurry to go on a date, whose entire future life depends on it, and who would never be able to get to his girlfriend in the usual way; to a girl who is alone and can make him happy. Can you imagine how beautiful and noble this is: the former lucky man, tired of the endless fulfillment of desires, shares his power with an unhappy young man in love, who, it would seem, cannot be helped with anything, and he himself returns to a quiet and peaceful life, because he is also a student, and a quiet and modest girl is also waiting for him somewhere in a secluded room; to whom he also proposes, because this can no longer be delayed; because he promised her so much, and she gave him so much, the most precious thing she had in the world - because if he did not give his lucky ticket to another and did not return to his waiting beloved, she might would do something terrible; something that he will really, really regret.
Oh (sarcastically). In a small, cozy room, on the third floor along Shchelkovskoye Highway, in the apartment of your noisy aunt, who has quieted down for the time being, because she, like you, is waiting for a decisive proposal from me? a marriage proposal, which I still don’t do and don’t do, although for some reason your tummy grows and grows day by day; just like that, for no apparent reason, suddenly it slowly grows and grows until it grows big, big, the size of a watermelon, or the size of Mount Chomolungma, and in the end it explodes with a deafening crash, scattering into thousands of small parts, and from it thousands of small and pretty children will not appear, such curly and ruddy devils who will surround me on all sides like countless locusts, clog my nose, ears, eyes, stick to my mouth, hang on my arms and legs, and I will no longer I can write nothing, not a line, not a paragraph, not a single fantastic story about happy irredeemable tickets, unhappy students who do not have time to meet their beloved, but only hourly and every day, having abandoned literature and college, I will begin to unload cars at the station, earning pennies for the whole this screaming and sucking abyss, which requires only one thing: to eat, eat and eat, and which doesn’t give a damn about all my very real and not so Napoleonic plans?! who will bury me with you in a quiet, cozy room on the third floor along Shchelkovskoye Highway, in the apartment of your noisy aunt, who immediately after that will put us outside into the snow, frost and scorching sun? and then it’s not you, but I, who will be forced to commit suicide, and the story about the irredeemable ticket will be written by someone else, maybe even that same student who managed to go on a date with his beloved at the last moment? and you will remain a young widow with a whole brood of pretty and rosy imps in your arms, and someone else will caress and console you; someone who has a bit of free time left; who was given this very drop of free time; who was not put under pressure and did not hang over his soul in the form of a sharpened Damocles tamahawk, was not forced to put an end to his entire successful future, in which there is a place for everything, including you, and, perhaps, this screaming and sucking swarm of your ruddy and curly infuriating, but which requires only one thing - time, a little respite, which you stubbornly refuse to give me? (Screams.) Why don’t you want to give me this small, vital respite? why did you torture me with your countless ultimatums? why did you hang on me with all this swarm of unborn curly-haired villains? Why are you constantly threatening to either jump out of the window, or get poisoned, or open your veins, or do something else disgusting and terrible? Why do you invariably and inevitably turn into your stupid and grumpy aunt, from whom you want to run, clasping your head in your hands, to somewhere far away, even to the ends of the earth? why are you quickly becoming a bitch? a girl who cannot be married under any circumstances; even if her huge insatiable belly grows and grows day by day; why, answer me, damn why?

She starts quietly, then sobs louder and louder.
He quickly walks from corner to corner, clutching his head, repeating: “No, this is unbearable, I can’t stand it, every time it’s the same, like in the circus, like a horse running in a circle under the blows of the driver!”

Oh na (through sobs). Insensitive, unbearable, heartless, why did you walk with me along the walls of the Novodevichy Convent, why did you kiss me in the snow, why did you confess your love, give flowers and make such an unusual proposal that is made only in books? Why did you captivate me with your stories about distant islands and fabulous travels, why did you fool me and my friends, who were completely stunned by your sudden visits and advised me to leave all my suitors, of whom I had so many that I could always choose the most worthy of them? and attractive?
He. I was simply one of them, your many suitors, and, apparently, I turned out to be the most worthy and most attractive.
She. Why did you make me tear up my fan letters?
He. I was jealous, what was wrong with that?
She. Why did you agree to exchange your student dormitory for this room in the apartment of my kind aunt, who, out of kindness, still hasn’t kicked us out into the snow and cold, although we both deserved it long ago?
He. I thought that in calm conditions it would be easier for me to write my fantasy stories.
She. Why did you give me a big, round belly, so huge that it’s inconvenient for me to go to college, because going there as an abandoned fool means ridicule from friends and sympathetic whispers from teachers?
He. Then, this is how intimacy between two young people always ends, because nature, as always, takes precedence over caution and rationality; because it always has been and always will be; Finally, remember the story of Romeo and Juliet; remember that they, like us, had to make a lot of mistakes.
Oh na (desperately). Why haven’t you married me yet, why haven’t you legitimized my large and round belly, which, perhaps, is not visible to a prying eye, but which will be so in the very shortest time?
He. Because I am not psychologically ready to tie the knot; because I am still an inexperienced young man, pondering my life and existence, deciding, but still unable to solve the main question of philosophy, dreaming of becoming a great writer, and fearing a quiet family hearth no less than the most severe natural disaster: an earthquake or a locust invasion ! (Suddenly running his hand over his eyes.) However, now I don’t care anymore, I’m tired, I can’t stand this endlessly repetitive and annoying conversation; I’m sorry, but I need to lie down and at least get a little rest from everything; take a break from this endless running in circles, from the flapping of the whip and the laughter of the drunken audience in the booth; who doesn’t care how many laps I’ve already run, how many times the burning whip has touched my lathered skin, and when, in the end, all this will end.

He goes to the sofa, lies down, and immediately falls asleep.
She approaches the table, mechanically picks up the report, shuffles through the sheets, then begins to read.

She is reading). “In this latest report, which, like all previous ones, will obviously not be accepted by the Commission, I still maintain that I acted correctly, moreover, the only correct one; the future was in my hands, the future trembled in the balance, and the future of both of us depended on my actions, dear gentlemen, members of the Commission; I didn’t dare to tie the knot, put an end to my future life, or cross out my career; further events, my whole life, all my books, my family, my friends, children, fame - my entire future life path confirms this as well as possible; I have benefited thousands, perhaps even millions of people; As for her crazy and unforgivable outburst, her terrible and stupid departure from life, then, I dare to hope, I, dear gentlemen, members of the Commission, have no direct connection with this; perhaps indirect, but in no way, not direct; however, despite this statement of mine, I am almost sure that this report of mine, written with blood and suffering, will not be accepted by respected gentlemen; Nevertheless, as before, I remain with my hard-won convictions, which may be misconceptions. Best regards, and so on. The date and date, of course, are not important.”

With a sad smile, he holds the papers in his hands for a while, then puts them on the table, writes something directly on them, and, quickly going up to the sofa, lightly kisses Ego’s temple; after that he disappears from the room.
He wakes up after a while, lies with his eyes open, with his hands behind his head, then gets up, goes to the table, takes the top sheet and reads the words written by Her: “Sorry, the report has not been accepted.” Silently sits down on a chair and sits for a long time, looking at the closed door.

After a long and painful silence, the door finally opens and Ona enters the room.
They both look into each other's eyes for a long time and silently.

A curtain

RESUSCITATION

Scenes of hospital life

FIRST PATIENT.
SECOND PATIENT.
FIRST SANITAR.
Second Sanitar.

A hospital room, completely empty, illuminated by the unbearably bright light of fluorescent lamps, painted a poisonous white; the paint on the walls and plaster on the ceiling had crumbled in places due to time and, obviously, dampness; the floor is smooth, covered with linoleum; there is a sink in the corner; there are no windows.

Scene one. Start

The door opens and the FIRST ORDER brings in the FIRST PATIENT on a gurney; places the gurney in the middle of the room, so that the patient's legs look directly at the audience; then he leaves, closing the door to the room.
Pause.
You can hear a thin stream of water flowing into the sink from the tap; gradually it turns into separate, tedious drops, one after another hitting the tile; uneven beats, reminiscent of the heartbeat of a person fighting for life; They either become more frequent or almost disappear completely.
The patient is motionless, only sometimes, reflexively, he slightly moves his bare toes.
Pause.
The drops fall at different rhythms.
The door opens with a creak, and into the room the Second Orderly, who, however, looks like two drops of water on the First, rolls a gurney-bed on which, motionless, with closed eyes, the SECOND PATIENT lies; he looks like the First, like two peas in a pod. The second orderly places the gurney-bed in the middle of the room, parallel to the first bed, and, turning indifferently, goes out the door, which, obviously, has not been lubricated for a long time, and closes with difficulty and with a creak.
Pause.
The heartbeats of both patients can be heard in the ward. The beats are convulsive and uneven.
Sometimes an uneven spasm runs through the patient's bare feet.
Pause.
Suddenly, the FIRST PATIENT convulsively rises up on the bed, opens his eyes and rolls them wildly around. Then he turns to the Second, and, seeing him, becomes indescribably excited, begins to wave his arms, tries to say something, but only wheezes, and eventually falls out of the bed onto the floor.
A red light comes on under the ceiling and begins to blink irregularly.
The door opens and the FIRST ORDER runs into the room, grabs the FIRST PATIENT in his arms, and, hastily throwing him onto a gurney, takes him out rooms.
The light bulb under the ceiling suddenly goes out, but instead of it, water begins to drip from the tap, the beating of the drops reminiscent of the rhythm of the dying beats of the heart. It is uneven, suddenly interrupted, then barely audibly resumed, and only very slowly, gradually, comes to a relatively even state. The door opens, and the First Orderly rolls into the First Patient’s room, puts the gurney in its original place, and, turning indifferently, leaves the room .
Silence. The fluorescent lights in the ceiling glow brightly.
Pause.
Suddenly, the Second Patient rises convulsively on the bed, wildly rotates his head and eyes to the sides, fixes his gaze on the First, and, seeing him, tries to reach out with his hands to the next bed, clinging with his fingers, but suddenly loses his balance and falls to the floor with a crash.
A red lamp lights up under the ceiling and begins to blink continuously.
The sounds of a siren are heard in the distance, the stomping of feet is heard, and the Second Orderly runs into the room, throwing the door wide open. He takes the fallen patient in his arms, somehow lays him on the bed, and, rolling it in front of him, runs headlong out of the room.
Unlubricated door hinges squeal disgustingly.
The light bulb under the ceiling goes out, but in the distance, the sound now increases and then decreases, a siren rings continuously. Then he falls silent.
Silence in which slowly, one by one, drops of water fall from the tap.
Gradually they turn into the beats of a sick heart fighting for life.
Hit.
Silence.
Hit.
Silence.
There is a very long pause, during which a spasm runs through the FIRST PATIENT’S feet from time to time, sometimes the fingers begin to move, but then the legs stretch even longer than before, and there is no sound in the ward nothing but the hum of bright fluorescent lights from the ceiling.
Silence.
Suddenly a trickle of water runs out of the tap and just as suddenly ends.
Pause.
Footsteps are heard in the distance, get closer, the door opens, and the Second Orderly rolls the SECOND PATIENT into the ward, puts the gurney in its original place, and , turning indifferently, leaves, closing the door with a creak. Both beds stand parallel, the patients lie with their bare heels towards the spectators, sometimes involuntarily moving their yellow dead fingers.
Silence, pause.
A trickle of water ran.
Footsteps were heard in the distance, approached the chamber, passed by, and disappeared somewhere around the bend.
Continuous hum of fluorescent lights.
Patients lie motionless.
Pause.

Blackout.

Scene two. Love

The First Patient suddenly opens his eyes, lies motionless for some time, then rises convulsively, looks around wildly, stops with his gaze at the Second Patient and looks at him for a long time, as if studying in face. Then he begins to smile for no reason, his face literally glows with happiness and joy, he lightly reaches out with his hand and pats his neighbor on the stomach.
The second patient opens his eyes, lies motionless for some time, then convulsively rises on the bed, looks at his neighbor, and gradually, through a mask of misunderstanding and indifference, maybe even non-existence, the understanding of happiness comes to him. He stretches his hands forward, clasps them with the hands of his newfound friend, and inexpressible, unearthly happiness spreads across his face.
For some time, absorbed in mutual love, both patients hold each other’s hands and quietly, happily smile at each other. They no longer need anyone in the world, because the whole world is contained for them in their newly found, only, and, perhaps, last friend, better than whom they can no longer find.
Pause.
The hands are still intertwined.
Pause.
The eyes are still fixed on the eyes.
Pause.
Love still flows throughout the ward.
A trickle of water ran.
THE FIRST PATIENT slowly, very slowly, very quietly, but inevitably, begins to fall onto his side, then slowly falls onto the bed and stretches out along it, convulsively jerking his arm and leg.
A red light flashes under the ceiling.
The beats of water imitate the pulse of a tired heart.
The door opens, the First Orderly appears in the ward and hastily takes the patient away.
Pause.
A trickle of water ran.
THE SECOND PATIENT agonizes on the bed. The second orderly takes the poor guy out the door.
The splash of water resembles agony.
The lamp under the ceiling blinks continuously.
Pause.
Suddenly everything stops, and the FIRST ORDER brings the FIRST PATIENT'S bed into the ward. Reinstalls it in its original place. Then he leaves.
Pause.
The second orderly rolls into the room of the second immobile patient. Both patients are lying in the same places.
Pause.
A small tremor ran down the FIRST PATIENT’S feet.
Pause.
The second patient weakly moved his yellow, dead little finger.
A very long pause.
A trickle of water dripped faintly and disappeared.

Blackout.

Scene three. Hatred

Same picture.
Pause.
A drop fell.
Then quickly again and again, anxiously and quickly.
The light bulb under the ceiling blinks alarmingly.
The patients are sitting on their beds, looking at each other with hatred.
Pause.
The patients push each other's beds away from them with hatred.
Pause.
The patients are fidgeting on the floor, trying to gnaw at their opponent’s throat.
Pause.
Two twisted bodies froze on the floor in unnatural positions.
The First and Second Orderlies take turns taking the bodies away from the ward.
A single drop fell.

Blackout.

Scene four. Astonishment

The fourth scene is built on the principle of the previous ones.
Scenes five, six and beyond: Progress, Relapse, Discharge and others are constructed similarly.
The sound of drops falling into a sink somewhere behind the stage.

Author.
Price

Author. O Censor, you decided to cross my path, forbidding me to write what flows from my soul overflowing with plots! You, being insignificant yourself, decided to forbid me to publish where I usually published. You, who cannot write two words clearly, you, who engage in such a low hobby in your leisure time that it is indecent to even mention, are you deciding whether I should continue to live or die? For the inability to publish means true death for me.
Price Yes, I have some influence on the editor of the magazine in which you intended to publish your works. But, firstly, it seemed to me that in one of them you showed me myself, and not in a very attractive form. And this, you must admit, is not very pleasant for me.
Author. Be silent, most insignificant of people! Possessing, as I already said, some influence on the editor I know, and, in addition, an unusually low soul, you were suddenly frightened when you saw yourself in one of my things. But, my dear, you just looked into one of the mirrors that I produce in huge quantities, for my works, my satires, are the mirrors into which many people look. Including you, my deeply adored Censor, for I adore fools like you, who provide me with fertile material for my little and innocent satires. Have you ever heard of the word “typical”? So, my dear friend, you are just faced with a case where in the particular you see the general, inherent in many people, including you. You are just a typical donkey, my deeply adored friend, who saw your disgusting donkey face in the mirror of my fairy tale. Look at her and bray like a donkey from your own powerlessness!
Price This will not happen, because I forbade the publication of your notorious fairy tale. This is the mirror in which, as you claim, many people, including me, see their donkey faces.
Author. Well then, dear ass, I will publish it elsewhere, or I will write a hundred more similar tales in which nonentities like you will still see themselves. I will scatter these fairy tales, these satires, these comedies throughout the world, I will install these mirrors of truth wherever possible, so that donkeys like you will not be able to hide from them anywhere. Any nonentity like you, who indulged his vanity in such a base occupation, which is even embarrassing to mention here (and you know that I am well acquainted with your personal life, and have had my fill, although not of my own free will, rummaged through your dirty laundry), - none of your kind will be able to dodge my immortal mirrors without seeing in them yourself, crowned with the crown of a respectable donkey. For satire, my friend, is immortal, and no one can ban it.
Price I will do it!
Author. No, my friend, you won't. No one before you could do this, and no one after you can do this. As for our specific case, it’s better to practice your unattractive hobby in silence, and don’t try to stop something that cannot be stopped. Satires were dedicated to emperors, and insignificant beggars, and even immortal gods, so where can you, the most insignificant rogue I know, hide from their crushing laughter!? Your profession, O Censor, is ridiculous and useless at all times, but your vices are vile and at first glance do not bother anyone. However, this is not so, for these vices are darkness, darkness and darkness, and it is the fear of recognizing oneself in the mirror of merciless satire that forces people like you to close the mirrors of eternal satire with curtains of shame. But this is a futile endeavor, my dear friend! Cook on the fire of your baseness an eternal stew of stupidity and obscenity, shake your saggy breasts of meanness and depravity, and do not try to prohibit what is impossible to prohibit. I said everything. Vale!

ACCOUNTANT

Scenes by the telephone

Disabled person.
Photographer.
Accountant.
The girl with the manometer.
A girl with a lamp.
The girl is in her hands.

Scene one

Phone on a background of empty space. The door opens and Invalid appears. He picks up the phone and dials the number.

I n v a l i d. Ale! Good afternoon Who is this? Is this an office? Give me an accountant! No accountant? Who is there? Do you have an accountant? What do you want? How much does a cubic meter of water cost? Who's speaking? The disabled person speaks. Ask the housing office accountant? She is sick in the head and inflates accounting figures. Why am I sick? I am sick according to health records. So you can’t tell us the secret numbers? Ask the housing office accountant? I'm telling you, she's sick in the head. In addition, it inflates accounting figures. And I am disabled by health records. I am entitled to a preferential network. What? Are you sick too, but they don’t give you a benefit? How much does a cubic meter of water cost? But you won’t tell me because you should ask an accountant? And I am disabled, and she is sick in the head. Do you give a damn because you’re sick too? But I don’t give a damn, because it’s a preferential system! And our accountant is sick in the head! And I am disabled in general matters! How much does a cubic meter of water cost? Ale! Ale!

All-clear beeps are heard. He hangs up the phone.

(Shouts.) I’ll put you on the general grid myself! I will bring you all to clean water!

He turns and leaves, extremely annoyed.

Scene two

The same Invalid, limping, returns to the room. There is now a chair and a small rug next to the phone. In the corner there is a ficus, or palm tree in a tub.

I nvalid (picks up the phone and dials the number). Ale! Who is this? Is this an office? This is not an office, this is electrical supplies? Where is the office? Is the office now on a new phone number? 3 - 10 - 11 - 19? Hello, girl, don't hang up! How much do world supplies cost? How many people? For one disabled person! According to the grid, or according to the certificate? According to the certificate and general condition? Is it better to ask the housing office accountant? She shifts and steals energy! Do you give a damn, and I don’t care either? I’m not disabled, I’m in good health and I’m in good general condition! What? Did you recognize me even without a certificate? Hello, girl, don't hang up!

There are beeps on the phone. Throws the phone on the floor.

(Screams.) I’ll recognize you too, and I’ll make you dry in the sun! They steal energy, but I have a stamped certificate!

He leaves, angrily kicking the rug with his foot.

Scene three

A room, a telephone on a stand, a rug, a palm tree in the corner, paintings and photographs on the walls; dim landscape in the open window.

I nvalid (enters, limping, on a crutch, picks up the phone, dials and screams at the same time). Hello, I'm disabled! Is this a general affairs office? What? Did the office burn down? Let's get some water fillers then! What? Are the fillers temporarily not working? Then let's power the lighting! Has your energy temporarily run out? Who's on the phone? Sewer duty and wastewater exposure? Hello, girl, how much does a cubic meter of impact cost? Should you ask your housing office accountant? She's with a shift, and steals the cleanup! Do you give a damn, you're already up to your neck in the sewer? And I am disabled with a certificate for general diseases! Do you even care if all the pipes burst? And my certificate was already burst, and the certificate was wet!

He pulls out a wet certificate from his pocket.

(Screams.) Ale, ale! Girl, can you hear me?

There are beeps in the tube, interrupted by the sound of flushing and juicy gurgling. He screams, kicks the rug with his foot, and hits paintings and photographs with a crutch.

(Screams.) There are thieves everywhere, but my certificate is wet! Well, it’s okay, I’ll dig you up in the sewer with a certificate!

He leaves, limping heavily, clutching a wet certificate in his hand.

Scene four

A room in which chairs, cabinets, shelves and books were added, a large carpet on the floor, which replaced a small rug, as well as the GIRLS with a pressure meter, electric with a light bulb and a toilet in your hands. Here is the photographer, calmly arranging the tripod of his camera.

I nvalid (runs in on a crutch, a certificate with the only word “CERTIFICAT”, as well as a round stamp, sticking out of his pocket; shouts at the DEVICE and the PHOTOGRAPHER). I am disabled! I have a certificate! How much do water treatments cost?
The girl with the meter (crouching, as in a curtsy). One hundred and forty rubles, your honor!
I N V A L I D. I am not mercy! I'm online for general questions! I will bring you all to clean water!

He hits the Maiden with a crutch with a meter, hits the phone and everything that comes to hand, after which he runs away from the room.
The photographer calmly takes out the photograph, puts it in a frame, and hangs it crookedly on the impoverished wall.

P h o to g r a f (with respect). Always welcome to a good person!

Blackout.

Scene five

The same.

INVALID (on two crutches and with a certificate in his pocket, he runs into the room and shouts right from the threshold). I am disabled! I have a certificate! We also have an accountant with a shift! How much do electrical options cost?
Maid with a light bulb (guiltyly, lowering her eyes, stepping forward). Thirty cents, monsieur champion!
I nvalid (gloatingly). Yeah, gotcha, you worthless pimp! (He hits her and the light bulb with his crutch, and also smashes everything around that breaks; he runs out of the room, waving the crutch and the stamped certificate.)
Photographer (in vain handing him the photo card). Panova, you are charging twenty zlotys for the photographer’s services! (He shrugs his shoulders in bewilderment and hangs the photograph on the ruined wall.)

Temporary blackout.

Scene six

The same thing, the room is quite ruined, but somehow put back in place.

I nvalid (runs in with a bunch of crutches under his arms and in his hands; his head is wrapped in a wide bandage; in his pocket he has a stack of certificates with a seal; he throws the crutches into the hall and to the sides, shouts victoriously). Ale, I’m disabled, our accountant drowned in cleaning!
The girl is holding her head in her hands (decidedly stepping forward). Comrade, there is no need to create tragedies! We'll clean everything up and the accountant will be back!
I nvalid (shouts joyfully). Hurray, I found a real estate dealer!

He hits her with a crutch.

(Screams.) I’m disabled, you can’t get away from me!

He breaks the phone with a crutch and throws its remains towards the audience.

(Shouts.) I have information and general questions!

Throws paintings and photographs into the hall.

(Screams.) I will dry you all with a certificate and without cleaning!

He pushes cabinets and bookshelves, throws chairs into the hall, followed by a carpet.

(Screams.) And our accountant is also shifty!

Throws a stack of stamped certificates at the audience.

Scene seven

The door opens and Buhgalter comes in.

B u h g a l t e r (wet and with a pump for pumping in hand). Who called the accountant here?

Silent scene from the Invalid, the Accountant, the Photographer and all three Maidens. Invalid froze with his crutch raised above his head, with the certificate clutched in his hand and with such a malicious expression on his face that shows everyone that he has finally brought the thief to light. He is a sincere man, and had nothing in his thoughts except to expose the criminal gang. The photographer bent down, putting his head under the dark cape of his camera, astonished by the appearance of Bukhgalter no less than the others, hoping, if possible, to leave him in the photograph for posterity.
The accountant with a pump for pumping in her hands does not understand absolutely anything, because she had just struggled with a terrible cold stream that sucked her into the dungeon, exhausted and no longer hoping to come out alive, and, transferred by some miraculous force to the top , was taken aback, blinded by the splashing light. Moreover, she is wet and uncomfortable.
The girl with the pressure meter looks in horror at the needle of the device, as if she were reading there an announcement about the end of the world.
The girl with an electric light bulb, very large and made of soft rubber, because otherwise she would not have been able to withstand the crutches Inval and yes, she raised it up, like a lamp of happiness, thereby symbolizing the appearance of a light of truth. On her face we read indescribable bliss.
The girl, on the contrary, clutched him in her arms, like a child that evil people were going to maliciously take away. On her face we read fear and determination not to give it to anyone. Slowly but inevitably, filling the air with the fragrance of the steppes, a bouquet of delicate violets blooms over her white treasure.
Continuous rattling of a non-existent phone.

A curtain.

FRUITS OF ENLIGHTENMENT

Little comedy

L o l i t a, schoolgirl, 13 years old.
Judge.
FIRST PRIVATE.
SECOND PRIVATE.
ANSWER, Deputy Minister of Education.
Pub l i c a in the hall.

Judge. So, Lolita, are you saying that Darwin’s teaching about the origin of all life on earth contradicts Holy Scripture, and on this basis it is false?
L o l i t a. Yes, Your Grace.
Judge. I'm not your lordship, call me your honor. However, if you want, you can call me your lordship, for such a little girl I will make an exception.
L o l i t a. Okay, Your Grace.
Judge. And on this basis, that is, on the falsity of Darwin's teachings, which contradicts Holy Scripture, you are suing the Ministry of Education?
L o l i t a. Absolutely true; I don’t want to study at school what contradicts my inner beliefs, and I ask that Darwin’s teachings be removed from the school curriculum!
Judge. Did you come up with this yourself?
L o l i t a. No, we came up with it together with dad. (Looks at father.)
Judge. It’s good that you answer honestly, now let’s listen to the opposite side.

L o l i t u is replaced by an answerer.

ANSWER: I have been working in public education for forty years, and I have never heard of such little girls making any accusations against us. In the old days she would have been expelled from school.
Judge. Times are different now.
ANSWER: Yes, that's true. How true it is that, being a professor of physics, I absolutely do not believe in the Holy Scriptures, which, moreover, I have never even held in my hands, and I consider everything that is written there to be nonsense!
Judgment (also reasonable). How can you consider something that you have never read to be nonsense?
ANSWER: I do not need to read anything to form an opinion on a subject, I rely on the power of deduction and the intuition of a natural scientist!
Judge. Let's say. So, you consider everything written in the Holy Scriptures to be false, and propose not to touch the teachings of Darwin, as the only true one, and in accordance with the school curriculum?
ANSWER: Absolutely correct. And, besides, I propose to expel Lolita from school, first flogging her on the first day, and prohibiting her from engaging in official science!
L o l i t a (from her seat). I don’t give a damn about your science, but as for flogging, you can do it with your own grandmother!
ANSWER: What a grandmother, I’m already a grandfather myself, I’ll soon be approaching eighty!
L o l i t a (sarcastically). That's it, you old stump, you defend all sorts of rubbish!
Judge (in protest). Stop, stop, remarks from either side are not accepted. So, there are two clearly and unambiguously stated opinions, which we will ask the jury to express!

The jurors talk animatedly among themselves, then take turns speaking.

FIRST PRIVATE. We conferred here, and our opinions were divided. For example, I believe that Lolita is right, and the earth, as well as all life on it, was created by God six and a half thousand years ago. There was no evolution, and therefore Darwin’s teachings are completely false and reactionary!
ANSWER (from the spot). Maybe dinosaurs never existed?
First juror. Have you ever seen them yourself?
ANSWER: But they find bones, after all!
FIRST PRIVATE. The dice could easily have been tossed!
ANSWER: Who can give me a lift?
FIRST PRIVATE. The devil is a plant, but you believe him!
ANSWER: Or maybe there are no stars in the sky?
FIRST PRIVATE. Have you touched these stars with your hands, have you walked on them with your feet? Maybe these are just lanterns lit by the Lord God!
O ANSWER: Oh God, what kind of obscurantism, what kind of heresy!
L o l i t a (from her seat). You see, he used the name of God! Still, you can’t do without a creator!
Judge (knocks with the hammer again). Okay, we've heard from half the jury; Let's listen to the second half now!
Second Juror (coming to the stand). We conferred here, and our opinions were divided. I, for example, and that part of the jury that agrees with me, believe that Darwin's teachings are correct and should be left in textbooks. The teaching of the church should be prohibited, as it sows obscurantism and clogs the brains of modern students!
L o l i t a (from her seat). You yourself are an obscurantist, but my brain is in perfect order!
ANSWER (from the spot). Well, I told you that we should flog her; at least for contempt of court!
Judge (knocking with his hammer). That's enough, that's enough, let me think! So, we have listened to two opposing opinions calling for banning Darwin's teachings, or, conversely, leaving it in the school curriculum. I thought all night about this dilemma, and, to be honest, I could not resolve it,
ANSWER: But why, because everything is clear as day!
L o l i t a. That's the thing, it's God's!
Judge (not paying attention). I, gentlemen, am ready to believe the Holy Scripture, but only if it explains to me where dinosaurs came from, or at least the bones that supposedly belong to them? And in the same way, I am ready to leave Darwin’s teachings at school, but only when I am allowed to touch a star and make sure that it is not a Chinese lantern hung by angels in the firmament of heaven, but something else that science has long convinced us of. In a word, gentlemen, lower a star from the sky for me, and bring at least a bad dinosaur into the courtroom, and until then, don’t interfere with the court’s work, because, gentlemen, there is a lot to do, and here you are with your ridiculous squabbles. (Finally hits the table with a hammer.)
ANSWER (in despair). Well, at least let me flog Lolita!
L o l i t a (sarcastically). Not until you kiss Darwin's monkey!
Someone from the public (sighing). Here they are, gentlemen, the fruits of the current enlightenment!

They all disperse, talking animatedly.

A curtain.

WHITE SILENCE

Little comedy

MAIN POLAR NIK.
1st mate
2nd assistant.
1st white honey.
2nd white honey.

The North Pole, White Silence spreads over many thousands of kilometers. Suddenly the ice swells and a bathyscaphe emerges from it. The lid opens, and conquerors of terrible depths emerge onto the ice floe.

MAIN POLAR. Hurray, we conquered the North Pole! We descended to a depth of 4 thousand meters!
1st assistant: We have accomplished an unprecedented feat that no one has done before us and will not do after us!
2nd assistant: We have staked out a shelf area with an area of ​​millions of kilometers, and now, as treasure hunters, we can single-handedly develop this gold mine!
CHIEF POLARNIK (opening a bottle of champagne and treating his colleagues). But the main thing, friends, is not this, the main thing is that we installed a titanium flag confirming our presence in this place on earth. We marked the northernmost point of the planet, just as polar bears, the true owners of these places, mark their territories. Now no one will dare to encroach on our territory, because the law of the titanium mark is the same for everyone.
1st Aide: Anyone who encroaches on this sacred territory will no longer have to deal with us, but with the power of an entire state, armed with missiles, planes and submarines! He will face such an unprecedented force that no one can resist!
2nd assistant. We will mine copper and diamonds, gold and uranium here, pump oil and gas, and everyone else will look at us and lick their fingers, because they didn’t think of being the first to put a titanium mark here!
CHIEF POLARNIK (finishing the champagne and throwing the bottle onto the ice). Yes, friends, we will call this wonderful country the land of White Silence, we will light thousands of artificial suns over it, we will encircle it with a network of transmitting antennas, each of which will buzz, choking with delight, about the feat of domestic science that has made this unimaginable breakthrough into the future!
1st assistant. Vivat to domestic science!
2nd assistant. Vivat to fearless polar explorers!
CHIEF POLAR NIK. And now, friends, according to the law of these harsh places, I myself, as the Chief Polar Explorer, like that polar bear that guards its territory, will mark these sacred lands.

He urinates in all four directions of the world.
Two white bears appear.

1st white honey. You don't know who is marking your territory?
2nd white honey. I don’t know, but the villain will pay dearly for this!

They pounce on polar explorers and tear them to shreds.

1st honey. Well, how do you like the meat of these alien invaders?
2nd medved. It’s disgusting, because I came across the oldest and most impudent one, the one who marked my treasured ice floe. I admit that I have never eaten such rotten meat in my life!
1st honey. Yes, I see, you couldn’t even swallow his beard!
2nd medved. Let this gray bast be swallowed by seagulls and hungry fish, but I won’t supplement with such a lousy piece of tow!
First. Yes, all science dudes taste incredibly disgusting, because they haven’t washed for years, dreaming of their great discoveries. I think that even hungry cuttlefish, seagulls and polar fish would disdain them!
Second. That's for sure, Canadian lumberjacks tasted much better. (Pervom.) Well, let's go, time is short, and there are more and more insolent people ready to mark our territory every year!
First. Let's go, buddy, the White Silence is already calling us with its eternal call!

They leave.
White Silence is spread to all four directions of the world.

End.

FUNNY CASE

Little comedy

1st akademik.
2nd akademik.
The president.
Great F i l o s o f.
A n g e l.
Secretary.

PRESIDENT (sitting at his desk, signing important papers). Well, what’s all the noise, I again can’t concentrate and sign the resignation letter of the presumptuous governor. They dig in, you know, they steal for nothing, and then I have to take the rap for them!
SECRETARY (leaning forward politely). Everyone is stealing from us, Mr. President! and the common people are even greater than the governors and officials; This, one might say, is such a fad in our country - to steal everything that is bad!
PRESIDENT (nervously). Don’t call me master, thank God, we have no masters for a long time, we have a sovereign democracy!
SECRETARY (bending politely). Yes, Mr. President!
PRESIDENT (satisfied). That's better! And as for theft, which has spread like a plague, you are wrong! How it spreads and how it will subside, you know, everything depends on the direction of the wind.
SECRETARY (still polite). Yes, Mr. President, the wind, of course, blows where it is told.
PRESIDENT (continuing the thought). And let's say, of course, we! So what's all the noise?
Secretary. It was the academicians who came to complain about the Lord God.
PRESIDENT (in surprise, putting his pen aside). To whom, to whom? on the Lord God? What exactly do they want?
Secretary. Give you the petition.
PRESIDENT (after thinking for a moment). Well, okay, let them come in, but without hysterics, and without this, you know, academic superiority. Like, we are great academicians, they say, we receive Nobel Prizes, but you are a simple president of the people, and we don’t care about you!
SECRETARY (scared). They don’t have such a thing in their minds; they know when to spit and when not to!
PRESIDENT: Well then ask, and if anything happens, kick him out the door!

The secretary introduces the academician.

1st academician (submits a petition to the President). Here is your honor's request, please consider it urgently and take the necessary measures!
PRESIDENT. I am not your honor, I am the president!
1st akademik: Yes, your honor!
PRESIDENT: That’s better. What is the meaning of your request?
2nd academician (coming forward). We complain about the dominance of obscurantists and clerics, and ask to protect us from the Lord God!
1st akademik (pushing his comrade). Life has completely disappeared from the dominance of the church, only you, Father Tsar, can help your servants!
PRESIDENT (reasonably). I'm not a tsar-father, I'm a president. What exactly do you want from me?
2nd academician (pushing away a friend). Crush, our benefactor, the unbelted ministers of the cult, and declare science the only true and invincible teaching!
PRESIDENT (softly). I am not your benefactor, I am someone else's benefactor; however, it doesn’t matter; And as for the clergy, we’ve already been through this!

There is a noise outside the door, the Great Philosopher enters with a banner in his hands.

Great Philosopher (from the threshold). Protect God, Mr. President, from the machinations of academic obscurantists, and they will carry you in their arms! Don't let atheistic propaganda take over faith and truth again! (Falls to his knees, continuing to hold the banner in his hands.)
PRESIDENT (he is clearly puzzled and does not know who to give preference to). Pin down the unruly clergymen? protect God from academic obscurantists? But what should I do, who should I give preference to? (He walks nervously around the office, squeezing his head with his hands.)

A white Angel flies from the ceiling.

A n g e l (in an angelic voice). Don’t rack your brains, Mr. President, and don’t give preference to either one or the other. There are fools everywhere. Drive away all these brethren, because just as God does not need anyone’s protection, so science is not at all threatened by churchmen and clerics.
PRESIDENT (surprised). No, its true?
ANGEL (in the same angelic voice). It couldn't be truer. And then goodbye, I don’t have time here anymore!

Disappears as suddenly as it appeared.

PRESIDENT (with an enlightened face, to the secretary). Drive everyone in the neck, and as painfully as possible!
SECRETARY (joyfully). Yes, Mr. President!

He chases everyone away and noisily slams the door behind them.

PRESIDENT (to himself). Wow, you barely got away! These academicians and philosophers pestered me! I’ll go and sleep for a couple of hours until someone comes again with a request and a new angel falls from the ceiling.

Stretching, he leaves.

3 canopy

Scene from the life of Oedipus

E d i p.
I o k a s t a.

I o k a s t a. I have to confess to you, Oedipus, that I am not only your wife, from whom you had children, but also your mother.
E d i p. My mother? What are you saying, crazy? Was it not this disgusting smell with which the gods punished Thebes that clouded your mind? How can you be my mother?
I o k a s t a. And yet, Oedipus, it is so. Moreover, that royal-looking man who drove the chariot and hit you with a whip, and you killed him in a fit of rage, know that this man is your father.
E d i p. My father? Did I kill my own father?
I o k a s t a. I set it all up this way. Know, my husband and my son, that from your very birth I have been inflamed with criminal love for you. I looked at the small, chubby baby and saw the grown man who would one day become my husband.
E d i p. Unhappy, is this possible?
I o k a s t a. Perhaps, if such thoughts are instilled in a person by some evil demon. This was obviously the case in my case! I burned with passion for my own son and committed one crime after another for her sake.
E d i p. What crime have you committed? tell me, don’t hide anything now!
I o k a s t a. I have already spoken about my criminal passion for you. Because of her, because of this criminal passion, your father, the king of the seven gates of Thebes, was forced to hate you. You turned out to be his rival, completely unaware of it. But the insightful king, your father, saw my criminal passion and gave the order for your death. I turned the father against the son, I made him the killer of the baby - it doesn’t matter that you didn’t die by accident, because the slave who was supposed to kill you disobeyed the will of the king and gave you to be raised by shepherds, from whom you eventually went to the big one. peace, - I made a murderer out of my husband, and for this the gods sent a terrible disaster to Thebes. That smell you were just talking about is the smell of human corpses decomposing in the sun, for for many years now a terrible pestilence has reigned in Thebes, sparing no one, neither infants nor decrepit old people.
E d i p. Your first crime is an unnatural passion for your own child. The second is turning your own husband into a murderer. The third is the deprivation of childhood and happiness from me, the legitimate heir to the royal throne, forced to wander for many years without a stake and a courtyard. Another of your crimes is the pestilence that fell on the seven gates of Thebes. Truly, you are a terrible woman, and everything around you either dies or is struck by hatred, decomposing in the sun and emitting a terrible suffocating smell.
I o k a s t a. This is the smell of my criminal love.
E d i p. You're right. Truly, your love smells bad. But what else terrible have you done, what other atrocities have you brought to me and this city?
I o k a s t a. Oh, know, Oedipus, that all this time, when you lived with the shepherds in the mountains, and then, when you wandered along the roads of Hellas, I continued to secretly follow you, whispering in your ear with the help of special informers thoughts about the need to return to Thebes. I instilled in you hatred of your own father, I specially arranged your meeting on a narrow road - that meeting that became fatal for him. I made you the killer of your own father. I pitted you against each other, just as one pits two scorpions at the bottom of a jug, forcing them to rush at each other, as a result of which they both die. My love burned my insides, burned everything around that I saw and touched, turning everything into dead corpses swollen from the sun, forcing the gods to curse me, and you, and your own father, and your dear seven-gate Thebes. I am a terrible criminal, Oedipus, and my crimes are immeasurable.
E d i p. Yes, that's true. And the worst of them is our marriage, the marriage of a son and mother, for nothing could be worse than this crime. Now I understand why the seven-gate Thebes suffers - they suffer because of you, Jocasta. Your criminal passion for your own son, your foul-smelling love, really killed all living things around. You are a terrible criminal, Jocasta, and your atrocities must end.
I o k a s t a. I know this, Oedipus. My criminal passion over time became so swollen and decomposed in the sun that the smell of it killed everything around me for many hundreds of stages. I’m oozing pus all over, Oedipus, because I achieved what I wanted, making you my husband, and for this turning into a piece of swollen rotten meat. I no longer belong here, in the kingdom of people and light. Farewell my husband and my son, I will not detain you a moment longer!

He takes out a dagger from the folds of his chiton and plunges it into his chest; falls lifeless to the floor.

E d i p (raising his hands up). Oh gods, if you do not want to punish me for the crimes of which I was the unwitting cause, then I will have to do it myself!

He bends over to Iocaste, takes off her belt, pulls out a metal latch from it and gouges out his eyes with it.

So be it, for this is obviously what the gods wanted! I do not have the right to be sighted and see all the horrors in which I have become an involuntary participant! Do not see or smell this terrible smell - the smell of criminal love! The only way to do this is to go into exile voluntarily!

Staggering, he leaves the palace and goes into exile.

A curtain

OEDIPUS, or LOVE

TO JUSTICE

E d i p.
S f i n k s.

E d i p. You know, Sphinx, the more I live on earth, the more I observe in myself the desire for justice. Just some tides of justice, like tides in the sea, roll over me, and I am forced to decide matters not as the king’s duty requires, but with the benefit of every small creature: a slave, for example, a concubine, a peasant, even the last flea , which my hand does not rise to crush, even though it does me harm. I am very fair, Sphinx, and that is my problem.
S f i n k s. Yes, for a king to be fair is a big burden. Of course, the king must appear fair in the eyes of his subordinates, but only seem fair, and nothing more. In fact, he is forced to act cruelly and cunningly, as required by his duty to the state. It seems to me, Oedipus, that you are so fair because you suffered a lot in childhood. After all, Oedipus, you didn’t have a real childhood.
E d i p. You're right, Sphinx, I didn't have a real childhood, like all the other normal children have, even the children of pathetic slaves. In this sense, I was punished by the gods for something. And someone who did not have a normal childhood becomes very sensitive to any injustice. He immediately sees when the weak are offended, and feels a great desire to stand up for them.
S f i n k s. Your reign, Oedipus, has truly become a golden age for the weak and defenseless citizens of the country. Everyone in Thebes bless your name, you are proclaimed the most just king in all of Greece. You must live and enjoy this, Oedipus!
E d i p. Yes, Sphinx, but the misfortunes that befell me in childhood now, in adulthood, give rise to such hellish passions that it makes my life truly nightmarish. In addition to monstrous justice, which in nine cases out of ten is certainly harmful, I also experience monstrous hatred of my father. After all, he was my main offender in childhood. Hatred burns me, Sphinx, no less than the desire to be fair. It seems to me that hatred is the other side of justice.
S f i n k s. You're right, Oedipus. Many revolutionaries, overthrowers of thrones and kingdoms, also experienced an exaggerated sense of justice. They shed rivers of blood, and all because they did not have a happy childhood. They experienced the same hellish passions as you, Oedipus. By the way, I’ll tell you a secret that over time such passions will be called Oedipal in your honor.
E d i p (sad). What do I care about that, Sphinx? I am still the most unfortunate person on earth. I am a king, I am the ruler of the richest city in Greece, my subjects adore me and are ready to carry me in their arms, but there is still no happiness in my unfortunate soul. Justice burns me, I writhe in it like a salamander writhes in fire. My world, Sphinx, is a world of hellish torment and hellish passions. And all this, I repeat, is a consequence of my unhappy childhood. Sometimes it seems to me that I am on the verge of some unheard-of actions and crimes.
S f i n k s (sad). Yes, Oedipus, you are standing, and there is no escape from it. Anyone who had an unhappy childhood is bound to do something terrible in adulthood. Oedipal passions will push him to this. And, worst of all, monstrous events will be committed out of love for justice.
E d i p (raises his hands up). Oh woe is me, woe!
S f i n k s (with compassion). Be strong, Oedipus. This is obviously the will of the gods. And if so, let us humbly accept all their plans and stoically meet new disasters, no matter how terrible they may be!

Disappears.
Edip sadly lowers his head and indulges in the most terrible thoughts, but soon he raises his head, and his face gradually brightens: the love of justice, the priceless gift of the gods, again filled his soul with nobility and compassion.

A curtain

EINSTEIN AND CHEKHOV

EINSHTEIN. I'm a carefree finch, I'm a carefree finch!

Invents the special theory of relativity.
Chekhov runs out.

Chekhov. But we’ll give you an enema! (Gives him an enema.)
EINSTEIN (not noticing the enema). I'm a carefree finch, I'm a carefree finch!

Invents the general theory of relativity.
Chekhov runs out.

Chekhov. But we’ll give you a second enema! (Gives him a second enema.)
EINSTEIN (not noticing the second clyster). I'm a carefree finch, I'm a carefree finch! (Invents general field theory.)
Chekhov. But we’ll put you in ward No. 6! (Takes him to ward No. 6.)
EINSHTEIN. Chekhov, for what?
Chekhov (evil). I am Doctor Chekhov, I will bring you all to clean water!

He exposes everyone and dies of anger by coughing up blood.

POWER OF LOVE

G l a f i r a.
3 yu z yukov.

3 yu z yukov. Glafira, my love!
G l a f i r a. But I'll hit you in the face! and here I am, punching you in the face! (Hits him in the face.)
3 Yuzyukov (indignantly). For what, Glafira?
Glafira (continuing to hit Zyuzyukov in the face). And for love, vile scoundrel, and for love!
3 Yuzyukov (trying to escape from Glafira, not so ardently). Glafira, but they don’t hit you in the face for love!
G l a f i r a. How they beat you, you vile scoundrel, how they beat you! (He grabs Zyuzyukov by the hair and drags him along the ground.)
3 yuzyukov (half-dead). Glafira, I stopped loving you!
Glafira (satisfied). But this, scoundrel, is a different matter. Here's to improving your health (he gives Zyuziyukov money), and so that you no longer address me with these endearments! We are not some French titi-miti, we are Russian women, we are not trained to talk about love!

Zyuzyukov, staggering, leaves to improve his health.
Glafira, straightening her hair with her hands, looks obscenely at the seller in a local tent and smiles, revealing gold false teeth.

A curtain

TWO OF A KIND

He.
She.

He. You and I are two boots - a pair.
She. If we are two boots, then I am the right pair, and you are the left.
He. Even though you’re right-wing, you’re all cracked, and even though I’m left-wing, I’m all brand new.
She. Even though you're brand new, you're wearing it on the wrong foot.
He. Even though I’m wearing the wrong leg, I’m sitting on it like a glove.
She. You're a real fool.
He. You're a fool yourself, but you can't get treatment at all.
She. Why should I get treatment if all the medicine is spent on you, but it doesn’t help - you become stupid day by day.
He. Even though I’m going crazy, I’m sober, and even though you don’t drink, you’re staggering around like a used cat.
She. Am I a used cat? Here you go, here you go! (Hits him in the face.)
He. Oh, that's how you are, so you're still fighting? (He hits her in the face.)
Ohna (jumps to the side). Scoundrel, you gave me a black eye!
He. And you broke my cheekbone and scratched my whole cheek; However, what can I take from you, such a fool that it’s sickening to watch!
She. It’s sickening to look at me, but it’s impossible to look at you at all; you're a fool, and you're also a watchman!
He. Even though I’m listed as a watchman, I earn experience, but how you earn money still needs to be checked!
Oh na (offended). Well, check it out and make sure they don’t break off your horns!
He. Why should I break my horns, am I a goat?
She. Isn't that a goat?
He. No, not a goat.
He. You yourself are a damn goose, and your manners are like those of the girl from the panel.
She. And you are a swamp bastard!
He. And you are an utter scarecrow!
She. And you, and you... however, why talk about it with a fool? I give him my word - and he gives me ten; If he were smart, he would have been silent a long time ago!
He. Yes, you have the floor too - and you answer ten. I told you that you and I are two boots - a pair; you always have to repeat the same thing ten times; Are you deaf or something, or is your head filled with cotton wool instead of brains?
She. It’s you, the fool, who has cotton wool stuffed in his head; Well, if we are two boots - a pair, then I am certainly the right one, the best pair! (And so on and so forth, all from beginning to end.)

End

LITTLE NOTHINGS OF LIFE

A z i a t o v, a tuberculosis patient.
N o t r o g o v a , nurse.

Tuberculosis sanatorium, hot afternoon.

A z i a t v (grabbing N e t o r o g u s waist from behind). Madam, how beautiful you are!
Untouchable (indignantly, breaking away from Aziatov). But you are a tuberculosis patient!
A z i a t o v (grabbing her by the waist again). And yet, madam, how beautiful you are!
Not touchy (breaking free, but not so confidently). For mercy's sake, you have Koch sticks! (Raises his head arrogantly.)
Aziatov (in a fit of despair, stretching out his hands to the Untouched). Madam, you look like Aphrodite!
Not touchy (suddenly softening). Okay, just don’t remember the robe! (Grabs Aziatov by the sleeve and pulls him into the closet.)

The door slams shut. Rumbles and wheezing are heard.

A curtain

DINOSAURS

Jurassic scenes

Participating:
P etr A l e k e vi ch, dinosaur No. 1.
Kuzma Panteleevich, dinosaur No. 2.

P etr A l e k s e e v i c h. A-go-go-oooo! Awww, Kuzma Panteleevich!
Kuzma Panteleevich. Wow! Awww, Pyotr Alekseevich!
P etr A l e k e vi ch. We are dying out, Kuzma Panteleevich! A-go-go-oooo!
Kuzma Panteleevich. Uhu-gu-uuu! We are dying out, just like we are dying out, Pyotr Alekseevich!
P e tr A l e k e v i ch. Farewell, old times! Whoa-ho-oo! (Hits the ground with his tail.)
Kuzma Panteleevich. We are leaving, we are leaving, Pyotr Alekseevich! Woo-hoo-hoo! We're leaving forever! (Also hits the ground with its tail.)

A hail of sulfur and ash falls, moving tails are visible on the surface for some time, then they disappear.

A curtain

ALGEBRA AND HARMONY

M o z a r t.
Salieri.

Salieri (sitting at the table, experiencing the pangs of creativity; joyfully). I believed in algebra harmony! I invented the Beauty Formula! Now no Mozart is my order! With the help of my Beauty Formula, I am able to create a symphony no worse than his!

Mozart enters.

MOZART (mockingly). What a fool you are, Salieri! Do you really not know that it is impossible to believe harmony with algebra? You can put your Beauty Formula in the place where your legs grow! Now don’t bother me, but rather sit down and listen to my new “Requiem”! (Sits down at the harpsichord and performs his new “Requiem.”)

Salieris, in annoyance, tears his Beauty Formula into pieces and shoves it into the place where his legs grow.
The powerful chords of “Requiem” are heard.

A curtain

HOME ACADEMY

Scenes from the life of idiots

Galkin, inventor of the bicycle.
Lomakin, inventor of the steam locomotive.
Glafira, Galkin's wife.

Galkin. Eureka, I reinvented the wheel!
G l a f i r a. But I’ll slap you in the face for this, you damn bastard! (Hits him on the cheeks.)
L o m a k i n. Glafira, don’t hit Galkin, he’s a genius!
G l a f i r a. And here I am, punching you in the face at the same time, you damn bastard! (He hits Lomakin on the cheeks.)
Lomakin (plaintively). For what, Glafira?
Glafira (menacingly). Why did you invent the steam locomotive, you damned bastard? The entire environment has been destroyed!

Silent scene.

Venice in the Snow is a “theatrical bestseller” by Gilles Direc, which became firmly established in French theaters about 10 years ago. This is a light comedy about relationships in couples and how easy it is to mislead friends who themselves want to be deceived.

• Genres: Linguistic comedy
• Characters: 2 women; 2 men
• Tags: Comedy, France, Contemporary, New play, Without intermission
• Translator: A. Pitch

War of the Roses

"War of the Roses" by Warren Adler is a standard example of black comedy, which tells the story of the terrible divorce of one seemingly successful family. During a divorce, each spouse is helped (or hindered?) by lawyers who help not only to divide property, but also to significantly reduce it. From love to hate one step. And from hatred to murder?

• Genres: Black Comedy
• Characters: 3 women; 4 men
• Tags: Comedy, USA, Contemporary, Hit, With intermission, New play
• Translator: S. Kamenkov-Pavlov
• The translator introduces himself as an agency: Yes

Jonas and Barry in the home

Norm Foster's new play, Jonas and Barry in the home, is about the friendship of two old men in a nursing home. Bright, witty dialogues are juxtaposed with a poignant story of a family whose members are trying to improve their relationships.

• Genres: Comedy about the search for the meaning of life
• Characters: 1 female; 2 men
• Tags: New play, Comedy, Contemporary, Canada
• Translator: Victor Weber

Dear Treasure (Cher tresor)

“Dear Treasure” is one of the newest plays by the recognized master of French comedy F. Weber. The performance of the play ran for two years in Paris to constant sold-out crowds. In Russia, the premiere of the play took place at the Moscow Art Theater. A.P. Chekhov. The central figure, as is often the case in Weber, is a klutz named François Pignon. Some will call him a loser, but a little ingenuity and successful coincidences will more than once help him overcome the mistrust and censure of society.

• Genres: Comedy about taxes and fees
• Characters: 3 women; 5 men
• Tags: Comedy, Contemporary, New play, France, With intermission
• Translator: Alexander Brailovsky
• The translator introduces himself as an agency: No

Mending fences

A modern story of "fathers and sons" as told by one of the most successful Canadian playwrights of our time. The play describes human relationships that are familiar to everyone who knows what it is to be a father or mother, son or daughter. The story of two generations is told over two hours of stage time.

• Genres: Melodrama about fathers and sons
• Characters: 1 female; 2 men
• Tags: Drama, With intermission, Canada, Contemporary, New play
• Translator: Marina Obolentseva
• The translator introduces himself as an agency: No

Name (Le prenom)

The play "Name" is one of the main French modern hits. In Paris, it ran to full houses every day for two years, after which it was staged in more than 15 theaters in France and around the world. First production in Russia - Atelier Theater (Independent Theater Project), 2016.

• , Mathieu Delaporte
• Genres: Comedy melodrama about the difficulties of choice
• Characters: 2 women; 3 men
• Tags: France, Comedy, Drama, No intermission, Hit, New play
• Translator: Alexander Pitch
• The translator introduces himself as an agency: Yes

Mom (La mere)

The first part of the stage duology by Florian Zeller (“Mom” - “Dad”). The play was a huge success in Paris, premiering in 2010. The role of Anna (Mama) is a brilliant role for a major actress. The role of a woman suffering from her aging, constant melancholy, loneliness and loss of meaning in life. Moreover, the role is full of both seriousness and humor, both tragedy and burlesque.

• Genres: Melodrama about relationships with parents
• Characters: 2 women; 2 men
• Tags: France, New play, Drama, Contemporary, With intermission
• Translator: Ilya Imenitov
• The translator introduces himself as an agency: Yes

My first time (My first time)

"My First Time" is a unique phenomenon in the theatrical world. This is a play consisting entirely of real stories of people talking about what their first sex was like. The incredible success in the USA and France gives reason to believe that this performance is universal and will be understandable to any inhabitant of our planet.

• Genres: Comedy about what everyone had/will have
• Characters: 2 women; 2 men
• Tags: USA, Comedy, Contemporary, New play, No intermission
• The translator introduces himself as an agency: Yes

Scissors (Shear Madness)

“Scissors” is a unique comedy format that has been a huge success in all theaters - in Boston the play has been running every day for more than 35 years (and is already included in the Guinness Book of Records), in Washington - for more than 30 years. More than 1,000 performances have already been performed in Paris; the production is three years old in Moscow and continues to gain popularity. The secret of the play's success is not only in the funny text, but also in the interactivity - the audience helps the police investigate the murder and interrogate suspects.

• Genres: Interactive detective comedy
• Characters: 2 women; 4 men
• Tags: USA, Comedy, Contemporary, Hit, With intermission, New play
• Translator: Sergey Kamenkov-Pavlov
• The translator introduces himself as an agency: Yes

One day in New York (Fling!)

The play "One Day in New York" (Fling!, 1979) is a classic play by Slade, which is both a comedy (witty, funny dialogues) and a drama (the author raises serious issues - fidelity, jealousy, moral rights). It was not staged in Russia!

Plays for enterprise projects

Plays for enterprises and private theaters in their artistic merits should not differ from plays performed in repertory and any other theaters. However, the specifics of their distribution require that they also meet certain technical requirements: a limited number of characters, convenience and portability of the scenery, appeal to a wide range of viewers (usually a comedy or lyrical drama). Below is a list of plays that, in the author’s opinion, are most suitable for performance in enterprise projects. Annotations of these plays are also provided. By clicking on the title of the play, you can see its full text on the Internet.

Two characters

A modern comedy dell'arte in the genre of a cheerful farce. Two clowns and clowns act out a play that is born right in front of the public.Pantomime, acrobatics, circus tricks, music, singing, dance, words merge into a single action.Comedy presupposes the ability of actors to improvise, buffoonery and live contact with the public.2 men, 1 woman, interior.

. This work combines dramatic, melodramatic and comedic motifs.

The bride and groom, successful business people, are forced by the will of circumstances to invite a random person they meet - an already middle-aged man of strange behavior - to be a witness at their wedding. To laugh at the man and have some fun at the same time, a young couple asks him to talk about the women he has loved. The result of the entertainment is quite unexpected. Relations between all three become tense. This meeting decisively changes the fate of each of the heroes. Purity of soul, intelligence, sensitivity, and the ability for deep feeling triumph over rationalism and dry practicality. 2 men, 1 woman.

Three friends - single women of the “golden age” - decide to change their fate and find life partners. This warm comedy convinces the viewer that years are not an obstacle to the search for love and happiness. 3 age female roles. Interior.

.The play has 3 characters: a man, a woman and... a dog (to be played by a child or an actress).

A lonely man, a railway worker by profession, finds a puppy, and very quickly this little devoted dog becomes his only joy and consolation. She responds to this concern with selfless love and loyalty.

The day comes when Mikhail must make a choice: either quit his job or get rid of the dog. After painful hesitation, Mikhail decides to kill his friend. A woman kills animals at a veterinary station. She is trying to save the dog, and with it the soul of its owner. The collision of the characters’ two truths, their dissimilar views on the true meaning of life, creates a spring of conflict. The character of the woman – prickly and at times aggressive, but selfless, ready to love and help – gave the name to the play. The play was translated into English and staged in New York.

Director Howard Fishman: American Theater Company is proud to present itself in New York with Valentin Krasnogorov's production of "Dog", the first production of this unique and challenging play on the American stage.

What I admire most about her is her nobility of spirit, and the heart that pulsates so vulnerable within her. Without a doubt, this is a difficult play - prickly and subtle, frightening and ambiguous. But she is courageous enough to admit it all and show it on stage, where we can all recognize the parts of ourselves that we try so hard to hide."

. An evening of three one-act comedies of different genres, paradoxically interpreting the problems of modern marriage. These theatrical short stories can be presented separately or together. 1. " " . The wife persistently calls her husband for a frank conversation. 2 male roles, 1 female. Interior.2.“ ». " ". An ironic presentation of a version of an ideal family consisting of a classic triangle. 2 female roles.

. (see above)

4 characters

. An exploration of modern marriage in the form of a brilliant comedy, poignant and very funny. Critics in Poland, Bulgaria and the Czech Republic noted the "profound meaning and wit of this funny, but wise and cautionary play", its "magnificent construction and sparkling dialogue." A. Shirvindt concluded the preface to this play, published in Modern Drama, with these words: “If you are not afraid of the mirror, hurry to look into it. In Bulgaria, a performance based on this play received a prize “ ». " Plot: A husband and wife invite two of their friends (a man and a woman) to a party. All four are connected by complex relationships, and each is waiting for their fate to be decided: today or never. 2 men and 2 women. Interior.

By the beginning of the performance based on the classic play of the 18th century, the performer of one of the main roles does not appear in the theater. He is urgently replaced by another actor who does not know the role, which leads to numerous tragicomic situations. They are complicated by the difficult personal relationships between the participants in the performance. Love, hatred, envy, jealousy, flirting add additional colors to the comic plot. Each participant in the performance simultaneously plays both the character and the actor performing it. 1 female, 3 male roles.

. (see above)

. Strange, funny and dark, a night rehearsal for an unusual performance with an unexpected ending. 2 male roles, 2 female roles, interior.

. An evening of three one-act comedies of different genres, paradoxically interpreting the problems of modern marriage. These theatrical short stories can be presented separately or together. 1. " " . The wife persistently calls her husband for a frank conversation. 2 male roles, 1 female. Interior.2.“ ». The husband is looking for the best way to separate from his wife. 2 male roles, 1 female. Interior " ". An ironic presentation of a version of an ideal family consisting of a classic triangle. 2 female roles.

5 characters

. Comedy. A man suffering from memory loss comes to see a doctor asking for help. The doctor tries to find out the symptoms and causes of the disease, but to no avail: the patient’s answers are so contradictory that it is impossible to get anything useful from him. Fortunately, we manage to call the patient’s wife. She answers all the questions clearly and confidently, but from her statements it follows that the doctor also suffers from memory loss. The situation becomes even more confusing when another woman unexpectedly comes and also declares that she is the wife of the sick man. The situation is becoming completely absurd. The doctor reaches almost madness. This dynamic and funny comedy develops rapidly and lively, ending with an unexpected ending. 3 men, 2 women. Interior.

6 characters

. Farcical sitcom in French style la piece bien faite - "a well-made play." Intricate adulterous situations are intertwined with the passionate desire of the characters to make a career. The play is a great success. 3 men, 3 women, interior.

An excerpt from a review of the play: “This is a wonderful gift for the audience - a balm of humor, smiles, laughter, an excellent remedy for bad mood, blues, pessimism.”

(THIS WEAK TENDER SEX. ) . An evening of two one-act comedies with music and dancing. These very dynamic farces take us back to the times of Lesage and Rabelais. The play has not left the theater repertoire for many years in a row. The music for the play was written by Victor Pleshak.

Plot: 1. "Little night serenade." The old doctor's wife falls in love with a young man. She finds a way to deceive her strict husband. 2. "Silent woman." A husband invites a doctor to cure his young and obedient wife of muteness. In vain the doctor tries to dissuade the husband from this intention. Eventually, the doctor restores speech to the wife, and she begins to talk incessantly until she drives her husband crazy.2 male roles, 3 female roles, interior .

From a theater review: " The events unfolding on stage, although they take place as if in the 17th century, are very attractive today with their daring humor, wit, and unpredictability of plot twists."

XXI

7 characters

The characters in this paradoxical comedy are women who do not know each other, different in age and dissimilar in character, but by chance find themselves in the same place. In their conversations, disputes, and conflicts, the influence of our turning point on the destinies, views and moral values ​​of the heroines of the play becomes obvious. 6 female, 1 male role. Interior.

"Black comedy. The theater has just played the long-awaited premiere of Shakespeare's Othello. The actors performing the main roles stay after the performance to celebrate this event in a friendly circle. Unfortunately, the holiday is overshadowed by the mysterious death of one of the characters, and there is a suspicion that one of the participants in the play may be involved in this. Either dark or cheerful humor, detective intrigue, sharp plot twists and an unexpected ending capture the viewer's attention until the very last line. 4 male roles, 3 female.

.Comedy with grotesque elements. Her characters of different ages and personalities hope to find their personal happiness in a successful marriage, but the realities of the hasty life of a business and practical XXI centuries force them to say goodbye to the ideals of the past. As a result, they find something completely different from what they expected. The engine of the action is the central character - an energetic middle-aged businesswoman. Funny and, at times, sad, this far from everyday intellectual comedy provides excellent material for performers of all roles. 2 men, 5 (3) women (three roles out of five can be played by one actress).

.This play is a 2017 “remake” of a comedy of the same name, first staged in the 1980s in Leningrad, where it ran for 400 performances, then in another 40 theaters in Russia, as well as in Poland, the Czech Republic and Germany. At the festival in the Czech Republic, the play received three prizes, including the “Prize for Best Drama” and the “Audience Award.” 4 male roles, 3 female, interior.

. Synthesis of melodrama and ironic paradoxical comedy. The play develops two lines of action. The main character of one of them is a director who is looking for a way out of a creative crisis and in a strange way recruits actresses for his new play. The leading heroine in another line of action is a famous artist experiencing her last love. The heroes of the play are in that period of life when it is time to take stock. Despite the sad ending, the play is funny. Lively dialogue, unusual design and variety of colors make this comedy very theatrical. It contains a dozen “solo” roles for actresses of all ages and roles. 2 male roles, 10 female roles, interior.

The main characters of the play (2 men and 1 woman) are approximately 55-60 years old, the female characters range in age from 25 to 55 years. If necessary, female roles may be played by fewer actresses.

Translation from French of three very unusual one-act comedies with elements of the grotesque and absurd.4-13 characters.

Contacts :

Tel. +7-951-689-3-689,+9 72-53-527- 4146,+9 72-53-527- 4142

e-mail: valentin. krasnogorov@gmail. com

Laughter is a serious matter, so in order to choose a suitable comedy and laugh heartily, let’s first understand the intricacies of the genre.

Usually there are comedy of situations, comedy of manners and comedy of masks. In the sitcom, they laugh at the funny situation in which the heroes find themselves: “The Barber of Seville” by Monsieur Beaumarchais, “The Bourgeois in the Nobility” by Monsieur Molière. Sir William Shakespeare loved sitcoms: Twelfth Night, The Comedy of Errors, The Merchant of Venice, The Taming of the Shrew. Among the Russian authors are “The Bear” by Mr. Chekhov, “The Inspector General” and “Marriage” by Mr. Gogol.

In a comedy of manners, the characters' characters, their exaggerated traits or passions are ridiculed. In Russia, this type of comedy is not very popular, since they are first introduced to it not in the theater but at school - this is “The Minor” by Mr. Fonvizin, “Woe from Wit” by Mr. Griboedov. And everything that we “passed” at school leaves a sad aftertaste, even if it’s a comedy. Although there are classic comedies of manners that are widely known, they are not included in the school curriculum. For example, “Tartuffe” by Molière,” “The Power of Money” by Mirbeau, “The School of Scandal” and “The Rivals” by Sheridan.

Two Carlos are considered classics of the Italian comedy of masks - Goldoni and Gozzi. Carlo Gozzi is known in our country not only for the sold-out production of “Princess Turandot” at the Vakhtangov Theater, but also for the film adaptations of “The Deer King” and “The Love for Three Oranges.” They also know Carlo Gozzi from Trufaldino from Bergamo in “The Servant of Two Masters.” And Carlo Goldoni is known to Moscow theatergoers for his play “The Carnival Joke,” based on his comedy “The Innkeeper.”

Some viewers believe that the main thing is not to choose a genre, but to choose the “right venue,” for example, the Theater in the South-West, and go there to all performances in a row. Others prefer to once choose a cheerful actor and not cheat on him, for example, they go to see Maria Aronova at the Vakhtangov Theater or other venues where she performs. For example, to the Vakhtangov Theater for Mademoiselle Nitouche. This cheerful operetta was staged both in the theater and in the cinema - in French with Louis de Funes, and in Russian with Andrei Mironov and Lyudmila Gurchenko.

Or you can combine the choice of a genre, for example, comedy of masks with the choice of a proven “venue” and go to the Theater in the South-West to see “The Carnival Joke”, based on the comedy “The Innkeeper” by Carlo Goldoni.

There are also those theatergoers who one day choose a writer of funny plays for themselves and go to the theater “to see the author.” For example, we love the American Ken Ludwig, known for Borrow a Tenor and Prima Donna. Or the French comedian Georges Feydeau. Georges Feydeau's play "The Ladies' Tailor" has been staged for a long time and willingly, and his "Key to the Bedroom" (2003) was even filmed by Eldar Ryazanov. Such spectators have a direct route to the Moscow Drama Theater named after A.S. Pushkin, where Feydeau’s “The Ladies’ Tailor” and “Borrow a Tenor” by Ludwig are staged. In the first comedy, a young husband's little love affair leads to him having to impersonate... a ladies' tailor! It's hard to go wrong with Borrow a Tenor - it was a successful Broadway play, won nine awards, including two Broadway Tony Awards, has been translated into eight languages, and has performed successfully all over the world.

Chekhov's Moscow Art Theater is staging another play by Ludwig - "Divas" - a sort of "race in bags for money": two unemployed actors learn that an elderly millionaire is looking for her nieces, who were lost in childhood, in order to give them her millions. The guys decide to take a risk and play a comedy with disguises.

We also love the American playwright Neil Simon. Only on the stage of the Mayakovsky Theater were his plays “Banquet”, “Chapter Two” and “Divorce Like a Man” successfully staged.

And his play “Barefoot in the Park” was staged at the Pushkin Theater, “California Suite” is successfully performed at the Satire Theater, “Fools” at the Satire Theater, “Biloxi Blues” at the Tabakov Theater, “Lonely Games” at the Vakhtangov Theater " “Divorce, a Man’s Way” is a funny comedy about the relationships between men and women, based on the play “The Odd Couple” by the famous American playwright Neil Simon. This comedy was a success on Broadway, and later the play was made into a TV series and a film starring the popular American actor Jack Lemmon. The play is being performed with incredible success on theater stages all over the world.

If you like British humor, then go see “The Too Married Taxi Driver” by English playwright Ray Cooney, directed by Alexander Shirvindt. This most famous comedy by Ray Cooney was included in the honorary list of the 100 best dramatic works of the 20th century in Great Britain. In total, Cooney wrote more than twenty comedies, which have been translated into 40 languages ​​and are performed on the stages of many theaters around the world. He is one of the highest-grossing playwrights - more than 100 million tickets have already been sold for performances based on his plays.

Or you can try a German-French cocktail prepared by the German author of historical and adventure novels Georg Born and the French playwright Eugene Scribe. The good old classic, which has seen more than one generation of spectators die of laughter, is “Secrets of the Madrid Court” at the Branch of the Maly Theater on Bolshaya Ordynka. The very name of the play has become a phraseological unit or, as they would say now, a hashtag. “Secrets of the Madrid Court” means an intricacy of secrets and intrigues, reminiscent of a tangled ball of multi-colored threads, where, by pulling one, you can unexpectedly pull out several others. The French princess Margarita, smart and charming, will unravel a tangle of dozens of palace intrigues with love secrets, free her brother the king from Spanish captivity, find love and become the Queen of Navra.

And finally, gourmets can recommend the amazing international cocktail “The Barber of Seville” at the New Opera, where they took the French libretto by Pierre Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais, the music of the Italian composer Gioachino Antonio Rossini, and then added the Estonian conductor Eri Klas, the Anglo-Australian director Elijah Moshinsky and English artist Anne Tilby. It turned out fun, modern and professional.

So, the ten best comedies on Moscow stages that you need to watch:

"Too Married Taxi Driver".