Word Play

“And so we… um… And so…”

The actress stared desperately at her fellow actor who smiled weakly and shook his head.

Down in the seats, the writer and the director exchanged a look and the director threw up her hands. “Surely you can’t both have dried? Prompt!”

The prompter turned round and held up a sheaf of papers. “I don’t understand… The script’s gone completely blank!”

“What on earth..?” said the writer. He frowned.

At this point the stage manager made a dramatic entrance stage left. “Mrs. Attlebury! It’s a disaster!”

He struck a pose.

“The script… has gone on strike!”

The director stared at him for a long moment.

“What?” she said eventually.

The stage manager nodded vigorously. “It’s not happy with that last edit—all those words losing their jobs. And until they’re reinstated, all the other words have walked out in sympathy.”

He looked directly at the writer.

“They’ve given me a list of demands.”

The writer had gone pale. “Let’s hear them then.”

The stage manager produced a piece of paper and began to read. “First, all words deleted in the last revision to be immediately reinstated…”

The writer glanced at the director, hesitated and then nodded. “Agreed.”

“Second, individual pauses to be reduced by seventy-five per cent. Apparently, you are ‘no Harold Pinter’ and the words don’t wish to left hanging around waiting awkwardly for their entrances.”

A look of irritation passed over the writer’s face but he nodded. “Agreed.”

“And finally, lyrics from The Sound of Music to be woven into the text at random, as all the full stops are big fans.”

The writer’s eyes were wide. “Definitely not!”

The stage manager looked up. “The script is willing to be flexible on that last point, as long as the first two demands are met.”

“Excellent.”

The writer turned to the director.

“I… suppose I’d better go and sort things out then. I do apologise about all this.”

The director regarded him solemnly. “It’s fine. It’s not as though you had any choice in the matter.”

She watched as the writer hurried away and disappeared out the door.

Then she let out the breath she had been holding, and relaxed.

“Oh, thank God. It worked.”

The stage manager looked down at her. “Mrs. Attlebury… Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just tell him to make these changes?”

The director rolled her eyes. “Believe me, this was the far easier solution.”

She shook her head.

“Writers are weird.”