Attention! ALL COPYRIGHTS TO THE PLAY ARE PROTECTED BY THE LAWS OF RUSSIA, INTERNATIONAL LEGISLATION, AND BELONG TO THE AUTHOR. ITS PUBLICATION AND REPUBLICATION, REPRODUCTION, PUBLIC PERFORMANCE, TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, MAKING CHANGES TO THE TEXT OF THE PLAY WHEN STAGED WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR IS PROHIBITED. THE PRODUCTION OF THE PLAY IS POSSIBLE ONLY AFTER THE CONCLUSION OF A DIRECT CONTRACT BETWEEN THE AUTHOR AND THE THEATER.
Dramatic comedy for 3 people in three acts (18+)
Duration 2 hours, including one intermission.
An explanatory note for the director is attached at the end of the play.
ACTORS
Eleanor.
Kostya.
Violetta.
Scene 1. Her Majesty – Eleanor.
ztm.
In the pitch darkness, Eleanor's throaty little urge breaks out of the silence of intriguing expectation.
Eleanor (throaty, restrained, incomprehensible sound). Hack.
Silence.
Darkness.
A small pause.
The strange sound is repeated.
Eleanor (throaty, restrained, incomprehensible sound). Heck.
Y… silence.
Darkness.
A small pause.
Eleanor (worried, no longer restrained, emotional). Oop! Oop! Opanki! O-pa-pulechki…
the light turns on smoothly.
The living room is illuminated, in the center of which sits sooooooo full Eleanor in her chair. She is desperately trying to get herself out of this chair and get up!
Eleanor (worried, no longer restrained, emotional). Hey! Opapulechki! Opapulenkiiii… Eeeeeee....
AND, YES!!! She still manages to do it!!! Eleanor gets up. With difficulty, not immediately straightening up, but stands up, presenting in all its glory and volumes.
Groaning and groaning, he walks slowly, heavily around the room.
Eleanor (exhaling heavily). Yes… where are my seventeen years. Was a reed (a small pause)… at four. Like an aspen tree! At seventeen, she was already a dubik, but still had proportions. Kostya picked up her own just then… (With nostalgia.) Eh, those were glorious times… Although she was a dubik, but a dubik with a spark, with a hitch … (Having grown sad and withstood a short pause.). And now it has become a baobab. Without a spark…, without a hitch… How else Kostya hasn't run away from me so far – I don't know. I would have run away from myself a long time ago.
He walks heavily to the mirror, looks at himself with a condemning, reproachful look.
