TO LAND OR NOT TO LAND

Margaux Schwarz

1# Who wrote the Law of Gravity?

[In the distance, THE NARRATOR arrives, sound of heels clicking on the floor]

THE NARRATOR

[stage whisper]

I wield control with ability but heels make me lose my stability.

THE DIRECTOR

[She addresses the technical team as if she were talking in a vacuum,
to ghosts or a voice assistant like Alexa. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t]

Ok. Can I have light now?

[Light magically appears, a deep bluish violet atmosphere floods the set with moving lights]

THE DIRECTOR

[She speaks with a very lyrical tone]

The horizon is wide open, almost abstract — No vis-à-vis — Vis-à-vis your opinions and moral positions but you feel comfortable. The movement continues — it is like a never ending present — dancing — where the future never arrives and the past never dies — where Thriller borders on Romance. The idea is to embody a space where science coalesces with fiction (with a slight dose of humor to get ahead of reality).

[To THE NARRATOR]

I’m gonna ask you to walk around while delivering your text. The general idea is that you never stop moving. You’re like the moon circling around the earth alright? Let’s go!

[The NARRATOR replies by nodding the head and starts to walk a bit clumsily,
pressing hard on her heels to embody a kind of metronome. Her voice remains steady]

THE NARRATOR

[stage whisper]

Always a satellite, never a star.

THE DIRECTOR

[To THE NARRATOR]

Better if you move counterclockwise. Let’s dive into the unconventional rhythm of the near future.

[To THE ACTOR]

Can you continue on slow motion, dear? Be one with the ground. Let the force of gravity guide your movements.

[THE NARRATOR moves very slowly with an almost feline gait  while staring at THE ACTOR at centre stage]

THE NARRATOR

You are lying on the floor, waiting on a hairy pale blue carpet. Gaze focused on a fireplace video floating above your head. The mesmerizing movement of the flames seems to warm you up while slowly making you lose track of time. The sound of a deep voice enumerating countless statistics lulls you gently as you still stand over this uncharted land, appearing as green as a frog and as wet as a flood of tears.

[THE ACTOR moves in slow motion on the hairy carpet. He curiously imitates the movement of the flames and looks like an earthworm in this dark orange skin suit]

To land or not to land? That is the question. (Being Not being the burning issue.) Thankfully, your loyal measuring tool would decide on this crucial existential matter — putting action above all else — you willfully dropped your authority along with your last responsibilities. Indeed, long ultraviolet light rays are now operating to calculate, evaluate, estimate, rate — along with a constant sound resembling a heartbeat — probabilities of establishing a libidinal bond with this parcel. Would it provide enough nutrients, chemicals (pheromones as a main goal) and should I dare to say air?

[Beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep]

THE DIRECTOR

[To THE ACTOR, with a soft mothering voice, almost hypnotizing]

Your sleepy brain is unconsciously deciphering the sound cue as that of — an unanswered phone call (long-awaited) — or an electrocardiogram — watching your heart rate increase, as this somatic sensation is gradually replaced by a mental moving image of Beep Beep — RoadRunner and his race against the Coyote tirelessly defying physical laws.

[THE ACTOR is now lying in a fetal position, running like a dog dreaming that he is running — at extremely low pace]

THE NARRATOR

[Still systematically walking with firm steps. With an instructional tone]

Well, this chase is ultimately quite close (metaphorically) to the absurdity of this motorized ontological quest that is taking place in our history: To put it simply, going over a cliff to chase the bird (that he obviously didn’t catch), the Coyote runs in the air, path still straight until he realizes that he is no longer on solid ground. However, he only falls when he realizes that he’s observed — the observer being the camera or another character. This process is called the “recording decision”^*. He now falls because one saw him falling, and then the course of his decline finally takes place. Similarly, our main character is also navigating between dimensions — in search of a mechanical solitary satisfaction neutralizing simultaneously his emotions and humanness.

[THE NARRATOR suddenly stops walking. We hear a very loud noise which turns out to be the fall of the ceiling light installation. The alarm and emergency spots are triggered.  The light is blinding and the sound unbearable]

2# Reality check

THE ACTOR

Am I alive?

THE NARRATOR

Born to be.

THE DIRECTOR

[Now shouting in a vacuum]

Can someone fix this?!!

[After several minutes, the unbearable sound and blinding light finally stop. They are now in the semi-darkness. THE DIRECTOR speaks with an overplayed compassionate tone]

Are you all okay? Shall we…

[THE ACTOR stares at THE DIRECTOR, making it clear that a break is needed.  He says it’s a matter of life and death, but he’s known to be a bit dramatic. So they take a break while the NARRATOR offers herself the opportunity to take centre stage]

3# Invisibility Cloak

THE NARRATOR

[Lying on the hairy pale blue carpet freshly covered with debris, we hear the sound of a car engine in the distance]

You’re in a cab now — a position where (wear) your surroundings (worn as a cloak of invisibility) is a kind of edgeless form for endless possibility. Changing the set of things with an intuitive premonition of trust — similar to the tongue of an attractive stranger in your mouth. You usually lie to cab drivers by slanting facts and/or opinions in some meaningless little role-play speeches — You once said you were some kind of service worker — and/or — you speak about astrology without a hint of deontology — you narrate — trying to navigate in between worlds — but your approach is sometimes devious. As a result, when you got out of the car with your pale green eyes – hand to hand $20 – cash from the ancient world – you hand over the money, your ID slips from your wallet, she picks it up, sees your name, looks at you suspiciously, you return the look with an embarrassed smile (honored by recognition and ashamed of lies and distortion); like a little fish getting caught. Then you take off saying “I’m not a fortune teller, I’m just a teller and we need to be told”.