Mar 16, 2006
Here is the start of something--wrote in Paula Vogel workshop at the flea. This will be film noir project. 1 (A therapists office. CARRIE is in professional attire. ELISE wears a fireman’s hat, a long raincoat and big rubber boots.) CARRIE Before we start, congratulations on the promotion. ELISE Thank you. It was in the— CARRIE Yes, I read it. The youngest fire chief in New York City ever. Very impressive. ELISE Thank you. CARRIE You must be very proud. ELISE Things have been going well. CARRIE That’s always good to hear. What else is going on? You missed last week’s session. ELISE Been a lot of fires recently. CARRIE I see. And . . . uh these are-- ELISE Oh, we’ve been keeping ahead of them. Don’t worry. CARRIE I’m not worried, I’m asking-- ELISE Although the dating has slowed down, you know since the promotion. Men are threatened by a woman in power. CARRIE Let’s talk about why you feel that way. ELISE I don’t think we need to talk about it. I mean it’s true, right? CARRIE Well, I consider myself a successful woman and I--- ELISE Jesus Christ. Can we get through one session without talking about your husband? CARRIE I wasn’t—I’m sorry. ELISE I swear. CARRIE How is your impulse control these days? ELISE Oh, come on— CARRIE I think it’s important to discuss. ELISE Have I been starting fires, you mean. CARRIE Well, yes. ELISE I don’t think you understand. A fire is the most beautiful thing ever created. I dare you to show me a work of art that can rival a three alarm fire. You couldn’t do it. You just couldn’t. And I like art as much as the next person but I wonder always when I see a Van Gogh or a Rembrant--I imagine, as I’m sure you do, what it would look like on fire. That second before the painting caves in, that would be incomparable. But sadly, I don’t think any of us will live to see it. We could burn prints, I suppose, cheap gift store prints, but it would just be paper. No melting paint, no disintegrating wood. It’s a waste. Cause, a fire--there’s nothing like a good fire. At first it’s just a match, a little yellow flame, and it need nurturing to grow to an inferno. Those oranges, those yellows, those cores of blue don’t just happen by themselves. They take planning. They take skill. I am not some kerosene dousing fourteen year old—no. I am an artist. I can make flames that lick the sky and tear down warehouses while leaving buildings inches away unscathed. And of course, me and the boys are always around to come and put it out in case anything should happen. CARRIE You need to stop. ELISE I don’t need to do anything. CARRIE It’s not right. ELISE No one’s been hurt. CARRIE It’s just a matter of time. You need to stop. ELISE I can’t. It’s too beautiful. It’s way too beautiful.