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Slamterranean 2:
3 October 2003—I wrote this as a sequel of sorts to the play I had in Impact Briefs 5: The East Bay Hit, which was called “The Finest Poet,” but the company kept referring to it as “Slamterranean,” so this one became “Slamterranean 2: This Time, It’s Personal.” When Dante says it’s the most underground slam in the Bay Area, that’s because the audience is watching the play in the basement of a pizza joint, which is now our permanent home and is where we’ve performed the majority of our shows over the years. Our space is called the Subterranean. Little inside joke there. Now you’re included. “Slamterranean 2” was produced as part of Impact Briefs 6: Shock and Awe. It was directed by Joy Meads and could not have been closer to what I had intended it to look like onstage, which is absolutely unfuckingbelievable to me as a writer, and I am deeply grateful to Joy for that, as well as for the additions she and the cast made that filled it out a little, some of which I’ve included in this version of the script. The wonderful cast included Pete Caslavka and David Ballog, reprising their roles of Dante and Arthur from the first play, Nina Breton as Stephanie, and Tunuviel Luv as Eucalyptus. A special note of thanks to Chris West for the whales. OK, here’s the play. Enjoy.
Characters: Set: (Lights up. Dante enters, morose, and drags himself up to the microphone. He fiddles with it for a few moments.) DANTE: Testing. One two three. Check, check. Check one. Check two. (Pause.) (Earnestly checking sound levels and sibilance) PENIS. (Pause.) PENISSSssssSSSSS. (Pause.) (Depressed and bitter, more to himself than to the audience) OK, well, I guess that’s working. Nice when something actually works, isn’t it? Yeah. Ah, but you can’t have a relationship with a microphone, can you? Well, she thought I was. (Imitating his girlfriend) “It’s always Slamterranean this, Slamterranean that.” (He notices the audience.) Oh, hey. Sorry about that. Uh, welcome to the Slamterranean, (halfheartedly) the most underground poetry slam in the Bay Area. Sorry I’m not my usual perky self. I tried psyching myself up in the mirror tonight, you know, (excited) “Wooooo!” (back to depressed) Yeah, it just wasn’t happening. But hey, you’re here for poetry. (Picks a guy in the front row to talk to) I’ll bet your girlfriend didn’t give you shit about coming here, did she? Lucky fuck. Hey, those rhyme. Lucky fucky fucky lucky. I’m gonna have to remember that. Oh, right, the slam. OK, let’s get it started. Slam rules, blah blah blah. Judging, blah blah blah. You know what? Fuck the rules! Fuck the judging! Just give us some damn poetry. (Looks at his sign-up sheet) OK, we’re gonna start with a young poet who just graduated from Berkeley High. Eucalyptus! Bring it on. (Eucalyptus, a goth girl, walks over to the mic carrying a yearbook.) EUCALYPTUS: Hi. This poem is dedicated to my former best friend, Nasturtium. Actually I wrote it down, like, spontaneously? In her yearbook? And then I really liked the poem? So I stole her yearbook. (Holds yearbook up to show audience.) And now she’s all, “Give me back my yearbook!” and I’m all, “Give me back my boyfriend, biyatch!” (Chipper) OK, so here’s the poem. (She flips open to a page. She emotes angrily, hyper-enunciating every word. While she’s reciting her poem, Dante’s girlfriend, Stephanie, quietly enters the stage near where Dante is standing.) You viciously rip
apart the innocent sky (She continues silently emoting as the light switches to Dante and Stephanie. Dante is watching the poet and hasn’t noticed Stephanie next to him. Stephanie gets his attention by tapping his shoulder.) DANTE: (whispering) What are you doing here? STEPHANIE: (whispering) You left in the middle of our conversation. DANTE: I had to come here and host this damned thing! STEPHANIE: Why couldn’t you get someone else to do it for once? DANTE: Wait a minute, OK? She’s finishing up. (Lights back on Eucalyptus.) EUCALYPTUS: Never again shall I deign to suffer (She slams the book shut and then does a little curtsy, chipper once again.) Thanks! (She goes back to her seat. Dante goes up to the mic.) DANTE: OK, Eucalyptus. Getting a lot of mileage out of those SAT words, huh? All right, next up… (he checks his clipboard) Arthur, returning from his win at the national slam championships. It feels like just yesterday that he got up on stage for his first slam performance ever, and now, look at him. Mr. Big Shot. OK, Arthur, let’s see what you’ve got. (Arthur comes up to the mic. Dante leaves the mic to Arthur and walks to an empty part of the stage, away from Stephanie.) ARTHUR: This is the poem that I did at nationals. It’s called “Untitled Number 0.” (He performs his poem in the standard pseudo-profound, dahhh-dah-dahhhhh rhythm of slam poets everywhere.) Old MacDONALD… HAD. A. Farmmmmmm… E! I! E! I! Ohhhhhhhhhh? And onnnn… this farm… he had some…. HUMP. BACK. Whalessssss… E! I! E! I! Ohhhhhhhhhh? With a… (He starts to sing a humpback whale song, about ten-fifteen seconds long, that consists of a plaintive hum with a few short bursts of a similar hum.) …there, and a… (He starts into a slightly different song and fades out after a few seconds as the lights go off him and turn to Dante and Stephanie, who has crossed over to him.) DANTE: (whispering) Stephanie, I don’t want to talk about it now. You can’t just start a conversation like this when you knew I needed to get ready to come here. STEPHANIE: (whispering) Well, at some point you have to stop avoiding the conversation. You give the slam more attention than you give me. DANTE: Just wait. Please? (Lights shift back to Arthur, who is winding down.) ARTHUR: Everywhere a… (He goes into a long whale song. Then he takes a deep breath for effect and does another one.) Old MacDONALD… HAD. A. Farmmmmm… E! I! E! I! Ohhhhhhhhh. Thank you, Berkeley! (He leaves the stage. Dante comes up to the mic.) DANTE: Word, motherfucker. Before we get to the next poet, I have something I need to get off my chest. Bear with me for a second. (He stands at the mic with his eyes closed for a beat and then explodes.) Why do I give the slam so much attention? Now, back to the slam already in progress. (He looks at his clipboard.) Next up…Stephanie? Really? (He looks at her inquisitively. She nods.) Please welcome to the stage, for her first time performing here: Stephanie. (Stephanie comes up to the mic as Dante retreats a few feet. She unfolds a piece of paper and is visibly nervous reading it, but by the end she’s angry like when she wrote it earlier in the evening.) STEPHANIE: I’m writing this poem to try to
take a stand (Stephanie steps aside. Dante’s not sure what to do. Arthur steps up to the mic.) ARTHUR: Whoa! Whoa! Ouch! Could it be a rhyme-off? Come on, Dante, let’s hear a rebuttal: go! (Arthur hands the mic to Dante, who pauses for a beat while he considers a response.) DANTE: Look, this is the way I know how to communicate (Arthur takes the mic back.) ARTHUR (in a Schwarzenegger voice): Und now a response from da Fulminator! (Arthur hands the mic to Stephanie, who’s nervous about rhyming extemporaneously. She proceeds cautiously, and then speeds up as she gets more comfortable.) STEPHANIE: It’s hard to make it up as I go
along (Arthur takes the mic back.) ARTHUR: Ramalama-Dante!
(Arthur hands the mic back to Dante.) DANTE: Stephanie, I’m honored that you came
here tonight (Dante hands the mic to Arthur, who just passes it over to Stephanie while making a gesture that says “this shit is hot up in here!” Stephanie is now over her anger.) STEPHANIE: I guess that means I’ve accomplished
my mission (Dante takes the mic from her.) DANTE: The rhyme-off is done, and I think that
you win it (Dante hands the mic to Arthur.) You’re in charge, Arthur. (to audience) See you next week, everybody! (Dante and Stephanie exit, running. Arthur doesn’t skip a beat.) ARTHUR: OK, this one I call “Untitled Number Zorro.” (He makes a Zorro-like slash in the air with the mic. Lights out.)
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