MARION MARION sits behind a desk, organizing papers and
pecking at her Blackberry. JOHN SANTANA sits opposite her in
Santana. John Santana.
You have a headshot?
John hands her a headshot, which she takes without making eye
JOHN SANTANA (CONT'D)
I must have written your name down
incorrectly. I have it as Marion
Marion. I don't have your last
And the first name is Marion too.
You repeat it twice. You have a
problem with that?
No. No. That's cool.
It's not cool. It is just the way
it is. Your resume is pretty
Well, I recently graduated from
You graduated three years ago.
What the hell you been doing?
Are you ready?
The monologue. The monologue.
Let's hear it.
Yes. Of course.
John grabs one sheet of paper from his bag. He glances at
JOHN SANTANA (CONT'D)
You want me to play this tough?
Well, this character is clearly
about to kill someone, right. So
you want tough, nasty, or maybe
mean? I do mean real well. Or
perhaps he is just throwing the
lines away, like he doesn't care.
Like he is making conversation
while reading the newspaper.
I doubt you do "mean" well.
Oh, is that like a challenge? I
love acting challenges. I am very
good at taking risks.
Can we just do it.
John glances again at the sheet of paper in his hand. And he
holds out his other hand as if it is a pistol with the index
finger as the barrel of the gun. John makes the acting choice
of nasty and mean.
I'm going to fucking kill you.
Right here, right now, in your head
with this bullet shattering your
skull and exploding your brain
matter into a million shards. And
then, after I do that, I am going
to cut your body up into little
pieces, drop them in a dumpster and
set the whole dumpster on fire. So
listen to me. Listen. You can
avoid this if you just tell me
where the money is.
John assumes his composure.
You call that mean? You think that
is nasty? You played that like a
school girl. Like a fucking girlie
girl. Let me give you a lesson in
mean. Is it any wonder why your
resume is vacant. Because you
can't fucking act. You have less
acting talent than a corpse, which
can at least play dead. You are
worse than dead. You are nothing.
You waste my time coming in here
with this shitty monologue. I
have work to do. I have a movie to
cast, and you are taking up space
and breathing oxygen better used by
a real actor, by any life form, for
that matter. The oxygen you are
breathing is better used by the
cockroaches in the walls of my
office. So get the fuck out of my
office and find a waiter job and
make that your career.
Hey. Hey. Hey, I know you. I
know you. You were at that
Halloween Party, last month, at The
Knitting Factory in Tribeca. You
were dressed up as the devil,
Lucifer, and you gave that same
exact speech, like it was a
monologue. You had a bottle of
champagne in one hand and you were
spitting the monologue at some
little guy dressed up like a
mobster, like Tony Soprano.
No. No. That wasn't...
I was dressed as a professional
tennis player. That was my
costume. Totally committed as a
tennis player. Never played the
game. I was holding a racket. You
You grabbed me and we, well, you
pulled me into one of those
backrooms at the Knitting Factory.
And you ripped off your clothes.
Stark naked, except for your devil
mask. It was quite a performance.
And then you started on me...you
threw my Wilson racket to the floor
and you...you have no memory of
OK, so I was at the Halloween
Party, but I never met you.
It was the champagne. You had like
three bottles of champagne. It
happens. Blackout. God knows I
have had nights like that. You
passed out after you, you know.
You really went all out just before
passing out, if you know what I
mean. But the devil mask remained
on your face. I got my tennis
costume back on and picked up my
racket and...well, I felt bad,
leaving you there, naked and all,
snoring with your mask on.
So, umm, what did you say about my
monologue? I can do it light, if
Just toss the lines away. You want
me to try it that way?
Yes. Yes. Try it light. As if
you're making small talk while
reading the newspaper.
Good idea. Good note.
Just...just do it. OK.