Hello commissar or comrade, my name is Jacob. I have an affinity for music, writing, philosophy, and gaming.
I have a tendency to offer insight on random aspects of the world, universe, and life, but I can give only more or less inexperienced contributions on those subjects. However, this has never stopped me before.
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The Philosophers, Opening of Scene 1
Time: Now
Setting: Fred’s apartment
Characters (in order of appearance):
Fred
Aristotle
Plato
Socrates
Victoria
Cindy
Production Notes: Aristotle should always act pompously. Aristotle believes he is the star, and that all others are blessed to have his light shine on them. Plato should always act with general douchebaggery. Plato relishes in undermining Aristotle. This, however, does not stop the two from being “best bros,” and their cooperative buddy-antics will drive a great majority of the plot. Socrates should always be sincere, polite, and the nice guy who gets picked on. Socrates is the cute one we all love and they all hate for no apparent reason. These traits are integral to the plot. Fred is the most varied of the four, and can show the largest myriad of emotions. As for the appearance of the three philosophers, there is much room for creative freedom. The three do not need to appear old. The three can, in fact, look normal with the exception of their wearing of togas. However, they can be adorned with gray beards and wrinkles if the director so chooses. Both styles of presentation are humorous: Modernized appearances mesh well with modernized personalities (as the three are written to have), but the ironic contrast of having old men acting like petty, fighting children is also rather hilarious. Because of this, this presentational choice is left to the director. My only request is that the three are not hindered by their old age (if the director decides that they are old), and can move around freely, just like children. This is important, because the three are exceptionally physically active. Especially Plato and Aristotle. Especially.
Act I, Scene I:
* Lights onstage are out as the curtain opens. On SR there is a door that acts as the entrance and exit to the apartment. Downstage of this is a small, empty table. Upstage of the door on the back wall lies a bathroom. USC, next to the bathroom, is a kitchenette separated by a half-wall countertop. The kitchenette’s entrance is on the SL side, next to the bathroom. The kitchenette is adorned with pots and pans hanging against the back wall. Against the SR wall there is a functioning Murphy bed (a pull-down bed against the wall) and a bureau upstage of that, which is home to a wireless telephone and assorted magazines. Downstage of the bed on SR is a closet. Slightly left of center stage lies a sofa and a coffee table in front of that. Both are angled slightly towards DSR. The apartment is a scene of disaster: Clothes are strewn about, rubbish and wasted papers are cluttered on the floor, and the place is in general disarray. As the lights slowly come up to a dim to reveal this, the SR door opens to permit FRED, a man in his early 20s. FRED is wearing formal attire: Tie, button-up collared shirt, pants, shoes, a heavy coat and scarf (which indicate that it is cold outside). FRED carries a stack of mail in his hands and a messenger bag on his shoulder. FRED shuts the door, and then turns around to flick the lights on. Lights onstage come all the way up to reveal three men, ARISTOTLE, PLATO, and SOCRATES, dressed in togas. ARISTOTLE is lounging on the sofa, feet kicked up on the coffee table. PLATO is lying on the Murphy bed, reading Psychology Today. SOCRATES is in the kitchenette, obsessively arranging the pots and pans on the wall. FRED is in shock. After a long silence… *
FRED: Who the hell are you people?
ARISTOTLE: (Without looking at him.) Guys, Fred’s home!
PLATO: What up, Fred? (Continues to flick through his magazine.)
SOCRATES: Hi, Fred.
FRED: I don’t know who you people are, but get out of my house before I call the cops.
ARISTOTLE: There’s no need to be so hasty, Fred. We don’t mean you any harm.
FRED: Then get the hell out of my place!
PLATO: No need to be such a dick, bro.
FRED: This is my apartment; I can be as much of a dick as I want to be!
ARISTOTLE: That’s no way to treat your guests. Didn’t your mother ever teach you proper etiquette?
FRED: Who are you people?!
ARISTOTLE: (Exuberant.) Aristotle!
PLATO: (Chiming in.) Plato!
SOCRATES: (Quietly.) Socrates.
FRED: Seriously, who are you guys? And why are you dressed in togas? There aren’t any frats around here.
ARISTOTLE: We already told you who we are.
FRED: If you’re Aristotle, he’s Plato, and he’s Socrates, then I must be Elvis Presley.
PLATO: You’re not Elvis. Elvis has a gig this week, he’s in Reno.
FRED: Elvis died in 1977.
ARISTOTLE: And according to the majority of the population’s understanding, Socrates here was executed in 399 BC.
SOCRATES: Well, I mean, you can’t really blame them for just believing what they’re told. It’s not their fault. No one errs or does wrong willingly, you know.
PLATO: Is that so, Socrates? Well, then, that means it’s not my fault I slept with YOUR MOM! Air five!
* ARISTOTLE and PLATO air five casually from their places at the sofa and bed. *
SOCRATES: (Apologetic, as if it were his fault.) No offense taken, don’t worry Plato.
FRED: What the hell is going on?
ARISTOTLE: You see, Fred, we’re here to help you.
FRED: Help me with what?
PLATO: You’re a real fuck-up, man.
SOCRATES: I don’t think you’re a… bad person, Fred.
FRED: Look, I don’t need your help. What I need is for you to get out of my apartment.
ARISTOTLE: I’m afraid we can’t do that.
FRED: Why not?
ARISTOTLE: Because we’re bound by our honor to help you.
PLATO: What he means by that is we’ve got nowhere to go so we decided to crash here and now we’re offering to help you so we don’t feel bad about ourselves.
SOCRATES: Yeah, we’ve really got nowhere to go. I told them it was a bad idea but—
PLATO/ARISTOTLE: SHUT UP, SOCRATES!
SOCRATES: Sorry…
FRED: And what made you think that staying here was permissible in the first place? And why me? And who are you guys?
ARISTOTLE: Well, we figured you would be much more hospitable when we looked you up. So we just figured it would be alright to hang out here until you showed up.
PLATO: And we already told you who we are.
ARISTOTLE: (Exuberant.) Aristotle!
PLATO: (Chiming in.) Plato!
SOCRATES: (Quietly.) Socrates.
FRED: Are you some kind of neo-classical Blue Man Group? This is absurd. Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates have been dead for over 2,000 years.
PLATO: (Sarcastically.) Oh yeah, and Elvis died on the toilet in 1977.
ARISTOTLE: (Joining in, laughingly.) And George Harrison died of cancer in 2001.
FRED: This remedial and slightly macabre history lesson means nothing to me.
PLATO: Hey wait, aren’t they working on a new concept album together?
ARISTOTLE: Who? Elvis and George? Yeah, I think it’s due out next month. (To FRED.) You should check that out.
PLATO: It’s gonna be LEGENDARY!
* ARISTOTLE and PLATO air five casually from their places at the sofa and bed without looking at each other. *
FRED: (Confused, trying to redirect the conversation.) What is going on?
ARISTOTLE: We needed a place to stay. You’re a philosophy major, we only assumed you would be more than happy to house me: (Dramatic pause. ARISTOTLE stands. Spoken with great confidence.) The greatest philosopher of all time!… (Practically an aside.) And his two friends.
PLATO: Everything just has to revolve around you, doesn’t it?
ARISTOTLE: Of course. That’s how the universe works.
PLATO: Yeah, that’s what you said about the Earth.
ARISTOTLE: (Visibly bitter.) Why everyone believes that Galileo idiot is beyond me! The Earth is undeniably the center of everything, just like I’m the center of everything.
PLATO: By the transitive property of equality, that makes you an insignificant rock floating in a vacuum of emptiness.
ARISTOTLE: Shut the hell up, Plato.
