"YOU’VE GOT MALE"
A Male Comedy Monologue
By Bruce Kane

An angry writer talks about women and writing, two things he seems to know little about.

 

Copyright: Bruce Kane Productions 2009
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This excerpt is provided as an example of the complete play and may not be performed or presented publically.

 

"YOU’VE GOT MALE"
Male Monologue
By Bruce Kane

Excerpt - a few minutes into the monologue

WRITER: I began like I always do by free associating... Letting the subconscious flow unhindered by any real thought. I asked myself what’s the first think you think about when you think about the male experience... Exactly... The female experience. Women, I pondered... Ah yes... Women... Women... Women... I let the word roll around on my tongue savoring the sweet, succulent taste that quickly turned bitter and astringent. Women, I muttered... Women... Pain.... Pain and loneliness... Women and pain and loneliness. Loneliness, pain and women... Pain, loneliness, women... rejection. Loneliness, pain, women, rejection... Writing. Pain, women, loneliness, rejection, writing... plays. That was it. The old subconscious came through again. If there was one thing with which I had experience up the wazoo it was rejection. I had my subject and it had only taken me two minutes tops... Sixty seconds later I had my title... Writing Plays, One Male’s Experience With Pain, Loneliness And Rejection. All I really needed was some conflict, a few lines of dialogue and the money would start rolling in. The way I saw it, the stage lights would come up on a male... Then I thought. That’s not enough. No... The lights should come up on an experienced male... No... On a pained, lonely and rejected male. Sets up the character... Lets the audience know what to expect. If I had gone through the first stages of the creative process like a man possessed, I charged into the script itself like a man re-possessed. His name was going to be... It had to be the right name... A name says a lot about a character. It paints a picture of him... I needed a name that painted a picture of pain, loneliness and rejection. Then it hit me right between the eyes like a brick thrown from close range at a man who was becoming tiresome and annoying... “This is a monologue,” I whispered to myself, in case someone was eavesdropping. One character. No one else is there to say his name. He doesn’t need a name... He doesn’t have a name. He’s the character with no name...

(The monologue continues)

 

 

 

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