Jane Eyre: Decomposed

Jane Eyre
Music by Paul Gordon
Lyrics by Paul Gordon and John Caird
Book by John Caird based on the novel by Charlotte Bronte
Notes: Winter, 2000. It was a happier time, a simpler time. There was no war in Iraq, the two towers still loomed over New York. People seemed to laugh more then...there were concerts in the park.
Of course things changed. Please read about this nice little musical from those halcyon days, and maybe, just maybe, we can remember that there was a time when James Barbour wasn't a Scientologist.


ACT I

(The dignified form of JANE EYRE approaches the stage with simple grace.)

JANE: Gentle audience, WASSUP BITCHES!

(The place: Gateshead, where spirits go to be broken. We see YOUNG JANE playing by herself in the attic. O, woe is little orphan JANE! Wither the handsome strapping barritone who will set her heart and her soul free? Will she be crushed by life before she’s old enough to get any?)

JANE: So, I was an orphan, and that sucked. And my foster family had that unfortunate nineteenth century villainy disease that afflicts many fictional Victorian characters. I spent a lot of time in the attic, which was fine, if you considered the alternative.
JOHN REED: (Emerging from trap-door) Jane, my fist is a little smudged. POLISH IT WITH YOUR FACE!
YOUNG JANE: OW! MY SPIRIT!
MRS. REED: JANE! How dare you not let your cousin use you as a punching bag! You will pay for this.
JOHN REED: Ha-ha!
YOUNG JANE: Oh, this can’t be good.


(Lowood School for Strong-Willed Orphans...)

MRS. SCATCHERD: All of you SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP! LITTLE GIRLS, LITTLE GIRLS, EVERYDAY I EAT DRINK AND BREATHE THEM...
SOME STUDENT: Psst! Wrong musical.
MRS. SCATCHERD: I SAID SHUT THE HELL UP!
MR. BROCKLEHURST: Students, this is our newest pupil, Jane Eyre. Her benefactress, Mrs. Reed, informs me that she is prone to lying.
YOUNG JANE: Mrs. Reed is a vengeful bitch!
MR. BROCKLEHURST: You see! So, nobody talk or associate at all with young Jane, or your souls will burn in hell.
YOUNG JANE: It feels like home already.
JANE: Things were not looking good, but then I made a friend!
HELEN: Jane, you’ve got, like, serious anger issues.
YOUNG JANE: But Mr. Brocklehurst made me stand on a stool! In front of everyone! First my family mistreats me, then my teachers abuse me. Why is everyone in my life always giving me shit?
HELEN: I dunno, but if you’re relaxed and groovy about it, then you get into heaven.
YOUNG JANE: Do you honestly believe that?
HELEN: Do I have much of a choice?
YOUNG JANE: Touche.
JANE: So, Helen and I were BFFs, and for a while things didn’t seem so bad. But then one day...

(The stage swings around to reveal HELEN in a tiny bed. She no look so good.)

HELEN: Jane, I’m dying of Thyphus.
YOUNG JANE: Nooooooooo!!! You were the only person I knew who didn’t hit me with things! Why must you leave me?!
HELEN: It’s all good, Jane. I’m going to go to heaven, and someday I’ll meet you there, too.
YOUNG JANE: Oh...that heaven thing...right...
JANE: So, Helen died, and I decided to make some major changes in my life.
YOUNG JANE: I’m going to make some major changes in my life!
JANE: The next eight years of my life are so boring, Charlotte Bronte did not even bother to write about them. Anyway, the closer we get to the good bits, the happier we’ll all be. I’m eighteen now, and I’ve become a teacher. And for some reason, a weird ghostly chorus follows me around and talks about my life.
GHOSTLY CHORUS: Rock on. Well, Jane went through the mundane life as a Thornfield teacher, day in, day out. Yet, her spirit could not be broken, so she left to become a governess and claim her freedom.
JANE: So, why did I spend so many years at a place that sucked?
GHOSTLY CHORUS: Honey, the adults are talking.

(JANE goes to Thornfield for her new job.)

MRS. FAIRFAX: Ah, you must be the new governess! I’m the lovably befuddled Mrs. Fairfax. And this is Robert, the butler. He’s nice, but a bit queer.
AUDIENCE: Tee-hee!
MRS. FAIRFAX: I meant “queer” as in“strange”, feebs! God, did you even read the book?
AUDIENCE: (hang heads in shame)
MRS. FAIRFAX: This is your student, Adele.
ADELE: Bonjour! Ah am French, but for zee sake of zees production Ah only ‘ave zees OUTRAGEOUS accent! Come, Robert! Ah blow mah nose at choo!
JANE: She’s...cute.
MRS. FAIRFAX: Yes, but quite the handful. Mr. Rochester and I think she might have ADD.
JANE: Mr. Who-what-now?
MRS. FAIRFAX: Rochester. Owns the place. Don’t you know him?
JANE: You mean, you don’t own Thornfield?
MRS. FAIRFAX. Oh, bless your heart, dear! No, I’m just the comic relief. But Mr. Rochester is hardly ever here. I doubt he’ll show up and change your life or anything.
MYSTERIOUS VOICE: BWAHAHAHAHA!!!
JANE: AHHH!!! What the hell was that?
MRS. FAIRFAX: Just a little plot point, dear. These old houses often have them. Oh, have you met Grace Poole?
GRACE: Greetings, Miss Eyre. Hope you’re a light sleeper. BWAHAHAHAHA!!!
JANE: ...

(Sometime later...)

GHOSTLY CHORUS: So, Jane got a sweet new job and decided to celebrate by taking a walk. Woo-hoo! As she walked down the path a horse suddenly came down the road. Jane had nowhere to go! She was trapped!
JANE: AHHH!!!
OFF-STAGE HORSE: AHHH!!!
OFF-STAGE VOICE: AHHH!!!
GHOSTLY CHORUS: A stranger fell off his horse.
FOXY STRANGER: (rolls onstage)
PEOPLE WHO READ THE BOOK: Wha-??
EVERYONE ELSE: Ooooh!
JANE: Are you injured, sir?
FOXY STRANGER: Not at all, I only FELL OFF MY DAMN HORSE! What do you think?
JANE: Well, if you’re going to be a bitch about it, I’ll just go home.
FOXY STRANGER: Home? Where do you live?
JANE: Thornfield. I’m the new governess.
FOXY STRANGER: Reeeeeeeally? So, how do you like the owner?
JANE: Don’t know. Never met him.
FOXY STRANGER: Well, you better go, then. Thanks for knocking me off my horse. Bye! (exits)
JANE: ‘The hell?

(JANE goes back to Thornfield...)

MRS. FAIRFAX: Jane! Mr. Rochester is back!
JANE: Wha-???
GHOSTLY CHORUS: Turns out the Foxy Stranger was Mr. Rochester all along! Who saw that one coming?
BRONTE PURISTS: (grumblegrumblenotsupposedtobefoxygrumblegrumblenoPilotgrumble)
REST OF AUDIENCE: SHUT UP! HE’S HAWT!
ADELE: Meess Eyre! Come an’ meet mah fake daddy!
ROCHESTER: Adele, why don’t you and Mrs. Fairfax piss off?
ADELE AND MRS. FAIRFAX: (piss off)
ROCHESTER: Ah, alone at last.
JANE: Again.
ROCHESTER: Whatever. So, tell me, Miss Eyre, how do you like Thornfield?
JANE: Very much, sir.
ROCHESTER: Do you find me handsome?
JANE: No sir.
AUDIENCE: LIAR!
ROCHESTER: Ooh, fiesty! But I can also tell you’re good of heart. Once upon a time, I was too...
JANE: (sotto voce:) Ooh, this is gonna be good.
ROCHESTER: (kickin’ it backstory style:) Well, when I was much younger, I had intimate relations with a French opera dancer. She dumped me for someone else, and years later when I saw her again she had a daughter, Adele. She said that she was also mine, and politely asked me to take the little one to Thornfield as she was getting in the way of her whoring. Tthat is how Adele came to live at Thornfield. You may go get your things, I’ll call you a cab.
JANE: What do you mean?
ROCHESTER: Well, this is 1847. Don’t you want to cross your self and scream or faint or something?
JANE: Uh, not today.
ROCHESTER: Wait, you mean...you’re cool with this?
JANE. Yeah. Do you have any other dirtly laundry you’d like to air out?
ROCHESTER: ...no?
JANE: Sweet. Then, I’m going to bed. ‘Night. (exits)
ROCHESTER: Wow. Nice girl. I am absolutely not attracted to her at all. Yet.

(Late that night...)

MYSTERIOUS FIGURE: BWAHAHAHA!!! Burninating the bed curtains! Burninating the linens! (torches ROCHESTER’s bed, and skedaddles)
JANE: What’s going on? Who was laughing? What was so funny?
ROCHESTER’S BED: (burns)
JANE: GAH!!! THAT’S NOT FUNNY! WAKE UP, MR. ROCHESTER!
ROCHESTER: (does not wake up)
JANE: WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP!!!
ROCHESTER: (still does not wake up)
JANE: STOP, DROP AND ROLL, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!
ROCHESTER: (no wakey)
JANE: GAH! (empties pitcher on Rochester)
ROCHESTER: AHH!!! I’M ALL WET!
AUDIENCE: HOORAY!
JANE: Someone set your sheets on fire!
ROCHESTER: What are you talking about?! I don’t have a crazy wife in the attic!
JANE: ...what?
ROCHESTER: I mean...oh look! You’re cold. Would you like my coat? Of course you would. Well, there ya go. Goodnight Jane.
JANE: Sir! Someone just tried to KILL you!
ROCHESTER: What? You want a hand shake, too? Well, fine. There. No questions. Goodnight! (exits)
JANE: He nearly immolated and then he brushed me off. Why...it must be love!

(The next morning, JANE’s boudoir)

GRACE: Wake up, Miss Eyre.
JANE: (waking) Wha-? Is it morning? What time is- (sees GRACE) AUGHHH!!!
GRACE: Nice to see you, too. Look, Mr. Rochester is having some guests over today, so he asked me to give you this slightly-less-black dress to put on.
JANE: Ooh, off-the-shoulder. Nice. Say, Grace, you didn’t hear anything suspicious last night, did you?
GRACE: Nope. Not a thing. BWAHAHAHA!!!
JANE: (backs away slowly)

CHORUS: And then, some rich people showed up: all pretty and rich, and Blanche Ingram was the prettiest girl with the highest notes of them all. Oh, did we mention that Jane is kind of plain? We thought that was kind of obvious, even though Marla Schaffel is a supa-fine lady.
ROCHESTER: Oh, Blanche! Your lovely face and coloratura is just what my life has been missing!
JANE: (whimpering, sotto voce) I’m so plain! And I’m a mezzo! What chance do I have?
ROCHESTER: Well, now that I’ve surrounded myself with all you pretty, rich people absolutely NOTHING can bring me down!
ROBERT: (entering) Sir, there is somebody here to see you: a Mr. Richard M. Plotpoint of Plotpoint Town, Jamaica.
ROCHESTER: Oh, bugger.
JANE: Are you alright, sir?
ROCHESTER: Jane, let’s say hypothetically, that I had done something very very bad in my past. Something I cannot escape. Something bad enough to freak out the Richie Riches and boot me out of all decent society.
JANE: You’re...not a Scientologist, are you?
ROCHESTER: No.
JANE: Well, then, I don’t know what could be so wrong that you could not attone for.
ROCHESTER: Alrighty. Well, off you go, Jane.
GHOSTLY CHORUS: Torn by their inner passions and guilt, Rochester and Jane simultaneously sing of their unrequited love.
ROCHESTER/JANE: I AM SO IN LOVE WITH HER/HIM AND I CAN’T SHOW IT.
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE: THATCHED-ROOF COTTAGES!!!!!
ROCHESTER/JANE: OI! GET OUT OF OUR ACT I FINALE, YOU SHROUDED SLUT!

ACT II

GHOSTLY CHORUS: Welcome back. Did you have a nice intermission? Was there a line in the ladies room? Man, I hate that. Anyway, Jane still loves Rochester. Rochester still loves Jane. Neither of them will own up to it. Will they get together, or what? If you’ve read the book, you already know, and even if you haven’t, well, what happens to unrequited lovers in musicals nine times out of ten anyway? Exactly. Anyhoo, here’s Richard (you know? That guy who showed up before that frantic duet?), so on with the show.
RICHARD: (searches with lamp) Poopsie...Poopsie...Poopsie...
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE: Hey, buddy! This ain’t Poopsie! I STRIKE AGAIN! (chomp.)

(Some time later...)

ROCHESTER: Psst! Jane! Are you awake and fully dressed?
JANE: Oddly enough, yes.
ROCHESTER: Oh good! Well, then can you give me a hand? Mr. Plotpoint had an “acident”.
RICHARD: (is bleeding buckets)
JANE: OH MY DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN! Did someone BITE his throat?!
ROCHESTER: No, I’m sure he just fell.
JANE: On someone’s teeth?!
ROCHESTER: Just help me sneak Mr. Plotpoint out of the house in the middle of the night, as per normal procedure in these type of situations. Nothing out of the ordinary, no need to ask questions.
RICHARD: (woozy) She seemed so calm when I found her.
ROCHESTER: Whoa there, Richard. You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re getting delerious. You don’t know what you’re talking about.
RICHARD: (woozier still) Just take good care of her...
ROCHESTER: Oh, sure, Richard. I’ll take “good care” of “her”. I’ll get the “pixies” and “unicorns” to help. WHATEVER you say. Off you go now.
RICHARD: (stumbles off)
ROCHESTER: Heh-heh. Oh, that Richard! He always talks crazy when he’s had a severe blood loss. Now, abruptly changing the subject: Jane, what do you think of Miss Ingram?
JANE: I think she’s a spoiled, vindictive gold-digger who’s only after you for your money.
ROCHESTER: Yeah, but she’s pretty, so it doesn’t really matter. Well, goodnight Jane! (leaves)
JANE: OH, BUGGER! WHO AM I KIDDING?! I’M SO NOT PRETTY! EDWARD WOULD NEVER MARRY A STUPID, STINKY OLD GOVERNESS WHO DRESSES LIKE A CHEKHOV SPINSTER!
NICE GHOSTLY CHORUS: Jane then paints two pictures: one of herself on her worst hair day, and one of Blanche at her prettiest, wittiest, and brightest.
JANE: You know what? This did not make me feel better. (bawls)

(The next day, in the garden at Thornfield...)

BLANCHE: OH, I AM SO HAPPY! I’m going to marry Edward and have pots of money, and it doesn’t even bother me that I don’t love him! SQUEEEEE!!!
JANE: I’ll miss you, tree! I’ll miss you, shrub! I’ll miss you, twig! Oh, Blimey! THIS SUCKS!
BLANCHE’S RICH POSSE: Oh, Blanchey! We’re soooooo bored! We totally respect you in your gold-digging pursuits, but we’re all going stir-crazy!
BLANCHE: Oh, word times infinity. This show is, like, five years long, and I get fifteen minutes of stage time.
POSSE: WAAAAAAHHH!!! IS THERE NOTHING TO DO IN THIS GOD-FORSAKEN LAND?!?!
ROBERT: (entering) An old gypsy woman has arrived, and if any young lady going crazy from boredom in this God-forsaken land would like to visit her and have their fortunes told, they may do so.
BLANCHE AND RICH GIRLS: Whoo-hoo!
ROBERT: Miss Eyre, you may visit, too.
JANE: Me? Why would I want to have my fortune told by an old fraud?
ROBERT: Because it’s free.
JANE: Woot! I’m there!

(A room in Thornfield...)

GYPSY: (to the POSSE:) Okay, here are your fortunes: you all suck.
POSSE: (pouts)
BLANCHE: What about me?
GYPSY: You’re a conniving, heartless golddigger.
BLANCHE: ...and?
GYPSY: And you will never know true happiness because you place material worth over what is real and good.
BLANCHE: ...and?
GYPSY: And the guy you’re chasing isn’t really rich.
BLANCHE: Gah! The horror! I’ma gettin’ out of here! I have all my life to live, I’ve got all my love to give. I will survive. I WILL SURVIVE! (exuent rich people)
GYPSY: And you, young lady. What would you like to know?
JANE: What have you got, Miss Cleo?
GYPSY: Well, how about the guy that owns this place? I hear he’s quite a dish, wouldn’t you agree? He’s single, right?
JANE: Waaaaaaaiiit a minute. Who are you, really?
GYPSY: (rips off disguise)
JANE: Why, it’s Old Man Rochester! The guy who owns the haunted estate!
ROCHESTER: And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for that meddling governess!
ROBERT: (entering) Mr. Rochester, the rich folk have all up and left without any warning.
ROCHESTER: Oh no. They are. Gone. I am. So sad...Fancy a walk in the garden, Jane?
JANE: Sure.

(Back in the garden...)

ROCHESTER: So, Jane. You’ve worked out really well as a governess. As your boss, I would like to know if you’ve enjoyed your employment here.
JANE: It’s been pretty sweet, sir.
ROCHESTER: Good. Well, for your next governess assignment...
JANE: Wha-??
ROCHESTER: Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’ve taken the liberty of finding you a new place. How does Ireland sound?
JANE: Ireland?! I...but...I...
ROCHESTER: Jane what’s the matter? You’d rather go to Scotland?
JANE: NO, I WOULD NOT RATHER GO TO SCOTLAND, YOU DUMBASS! I’D RATHER STAY HERE, YOU IGNORANT DOOF!!! DON’T YOU KNOW I’VE BEEN IN LOVE WITH YOU SINCE ACT I, AND YOU’VE BEEN MACKING ON THE RICH BITCH RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME THE ENTIRE TIME, YOU SELF-IMPORTANT, OBLIVIOUS BASTARD!!!
ROCHESTER: Well, actually, I’d rather marry you.
JANE: AND ANOTHER THING...what?
ROCHESTER: I want to marry you, Jane.
JANE: Huh? Buh? Is this Opposite Day?
ROCHESTER: Come on, Janie, you’re the woman I’m meant to be with. You are my second self. We’re so much alike. We’re both insanely attractive, even though every character in the show says otherwise. We’re perfect for each other.
JANE: So, what was the deal with Sarah Brightman then?
ROCHESTER: A clever scheme to get you to fall in love with me.
JANE: Well, okay. I guess that’s...wait...what?
ROCHESTER: Look, do you want to marry me or not?
JANE: I dunno...
ROCHESTER: Need convincing? Well, how about THIS.
JANE: (swoons) Oh...he sing pretty!
ROCHESTER: Call me “Edward”.
JANE: Edward.
ROCHESTER: Call me “Eddie”!
JANE: Eddie!
ROCHESTER: Call me “My Smoking English Love Crumpet”!
JANE: ...
ROCHESTER: ...
JANE: ...
ROCHESTER: ...
JANE: So, can we make out now?
ROCHESTER: Hell yeah.
AUDIENCE: FINALLY!
ROCHESTER: Come, Jane! Let us prepare for our wedding!
PEOPLE WHO HAVEN’T READ THE BOOK: Wow. This was a short show.

(Another room in Thornfield...how big is this house, anyway?)

SOME SERVANTS: (look out imaginary window)
A SERVANT: What happened?
ANOTHER SERVANT: The Old Chestnut Tree, which has not even been mentioned until now, has been split in half by lightning.
A SERVANT: Well, that can’t be good.
MRS. FAIRFAX: OUT OF MY WAY, MINIONS! FEATURED CHARACTER COMING THOUGH, AND SHE’S MIGHTY PISSED!
ADELE: Peessed about what, Madame?
MRS. FAIRFAX: OH MY GOD! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! IN ALL MY YEARS! THE MASTER MARRYING THE GOVERNESS!
ADELE: WHEE!!! Ah ‘ave a fake mommy to go weez mah fake daddy!
JANE: (entering) Morning Adele, Mrs. Fairfax!
MRS. FAIRFAX: JANE, YOU AVENTAGEOUS LITTLE SLUT! HOW DARE YOU MARRY ABOVE YOUR STATION!!! HAVE YOU NO SHAME?!?!
JANE: You do know you’re invited to the wedding, don’t you Mrs. Fairfax?
MRS. FAIRFAX: ...Please, call me “Mom”!

(The wedding ceremony. Those who haven’t read the book begin to put their coats on.)

PRIEST: Dearly beloved...
LAWYER: Stop this wedding!
JANE, ROCHESTER, MRS. FAIRFAX, PRIEST: Wha-??
LAWYER: My client here says that this wedding cannot go on!
MRS. FAIRFAX: Who?
LAWYER: Him! (dramatic finger)
JANE: Mr. Plotpoint?!
ROCHESTER: Oh shit.
RICHARD: Edward here has already married, and his wife is still alive, and THEY ARE STILL MARRIED.
EVERYONE: (gasp!)
JANE: Edward, it’s not true, is it?
ROCHESTER: ...Oh, hell. Field trip to the attic, everyone.

(The attic...)

GHOSTLY CHORUS: Grace plays “Babysitters Club” to the Mysterious Figure, aka, Mrs. Bertha Rochester. It turns out she’s crazy...like, Gary Oldman crazy.
ROCHESTER: Alright, everyone. This is my wife, Bertha. Bertha, this is everyone.
BERTHA: BLAHBUGGEDEHBUGGEDEHBLEEBLEESOCRAZY!
RICHARD: Sis! How are ya? Remember me? You tried to kill me the other night! You were always the outgoing one.
EVERYONE: ...
MRS. FAIRFAX: Oh...so, uh, this is...your wife...well...she seems...she’s rather...
ROCHESTER: SHE’S BAT-SHIT INSANE, ALRIGHT? No need to namby-pamby around that; you can’t hurt her feelings!
BERTHA: PSYCHO-CRUSHER!
ROCHESTER: Damnit, Grace! Hold her back! What the hell do you think I’m paying you for?
JANE: How the...when did...hudda...wudda...?
ROCHESTER: Okay, backstory: My dad decided to marry me off so that my older brother could solely inherit Thornfield. They introduced me to Bertha in Jamaica, who seemed perfectly normal at the time. However, what everyone but me knew was that Bertha’s mom went crazy from some weird genetic defect that Richard will probably inherit, too.
RICHARD: Hey!
ROCHESTER: So, sometime after we got married, Bertha ate her crazycakes, my dad and brother died, and I got suicidally depressed. My only choice was to move BACK to England, tell no one about my marriage, hire a completely inept guardian to watch over my wife in the attic, and live as if nothing had happened. So, you see, it’s all good! I’m sorry I decieved you, Jane. I know we can never marry now, but that doesn’t change anything between us, does it?
JANE: ...
ROCHESTER: Jane?
JANE: ...
ROCHESTER: Jane?!?!
JANE: ...
ROCHESTER: DAMNIT, JANE!
JANE: Oh...What would Jesus do?
JESUS: RUN LIKE HELL!
JANE: (runs like hell)
ROCHESTER: GAH! NO PAIN COULD BE DEEPER! NO LIFE COULD BE CHEAPER! NO POINT ANYMORE, IF I CAN’T LOVE HER!!!
SOME AUDIENCE MEMBER: Psst! Wrong musical!
ROCHESTER: (grumbles)

(Meanwhile...)

BERTHA: CRAZY I AM! I am ROCHDOR: THE BURNINATOR! (plays with fire, Thornfield goes up in flames)
BERTHA: (also goes up in flames)
ROCHESTER, ADELE, MRS. FAIRFAX, ETC.: ???

(Somewhere far, far away from the flaming mansion...)

GHOSTLY CHORUS: In her haste to get away from Edward, Jane may have forgotten a few things...like food, water, and money.
JANE: Hmmm, didn’t really think this through. (keels over)
CHEERFUL GOOBER: (entering) Oh my God! Are you alright, miss?
JANE: Eh, not really. Who are you?
CHEERFUL GOOBER: St. John Rivers.
BRONTE PURISTS: (facepalm)
ST. JOHN: You look a little tired. Why don’t you rest at the house where I’m looking after a dying widow.
JANE: Oh my God! I’m back at Gateshead!
BRONTE PURISTS: (head for the concession stand bar)

(MRS. REED’s room...)

MRS. REED: (waking up) AUGH! Oh, I just had a horrible dream. That wretched Jane Eyre had come back to haunt me!
JANE: Hello, Aunt Reed.
MRS. REED: AUUUGGGGHHH!!! WAKE WAKE WAKE!!!
JANE: You’re not dreaming, Aunt Reed. I’ve returned.
MRS. REED: Well, as long as you’re here, we might as well talk. You know, Jane, you and I never got along.
JANE: ...and?
MRS. REED: And that’s it. I always hated you, always will. Even as I lay here dying, I curse the day your mom and dad became stupid enough to die and leave me with you. And now you’re going to get all my money because John up and died on me, too. BUT I STILL HATE YOU!
JANE: That’s okay.
MRS. REED: DON’T GIVE ME THAT BACK-TALK YOU DISRESPECTFUL LITTLE- what?
JANE: ‘Salright. I forgive you for your wanton neglect and abuse.
MRS. REED: ...Oh. (pause) Are you sure you’re a feminist icon?
GHOSTLY CHORUS: Sometime later, Mrs. Reed finally died leaving Jane her fortune. She’s now an independant woman, and she and St. John while away the days singing on rocks.

(Some rocks...)

ST. JOHN: THE HIIIIILLS ARE ALIIIIIIVE WITH THE SOUND OF MUUUSIIIC...
JANE: Psst! Wrong musical.
ST. JOHN: Oops! Sorry. Jane, I think you’d make a great wife. Of course, I won’t actually love you since I’m such a goober. But we’ll spend lots of time in sweltering, God-forsaken countries doing back-breaking work while manipulating the beliefs of the locals. Sounds like fun, eh?
JANE: I don’t know...couldn’t you possibly be my cousin?
ST. JOHN: Shppff, of course not. Why would you think that?
JANE: Still, can I have a moment to think about this?
ST. JOHN: Okay, I’ll time you.
JANE: Are you there God? It’s me, Jane. What should I do? Should I marry this goober because I have no other options in life?
MYSTERIOUS VOICE (NO, NOT THAT ONE; ANOTHER ONE): JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANE!!!
JANE: What’s that, God? I didn’t catch that.
MYSTERIOUS VOICE: JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANE!!!
JANE: You know, God, you sound a lot like my Edward.
MYSTERIOUS VOICE: JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANE!!!
JANE: Holy cripe! You ARE my Edward! EDDDDIIIIIIEEE!!! I’M COOOOOOMIIING!!!
ST. JOHN: Jane! What’s wrong?
JANE: St. John, I’ve decided just now that I have to leave IMMEDIATELY. Thanks for the half-assed proposal and all that, but you’ll have kick righteous ass with me. Ta!

(Thornfield, extra chrispy...)

JANE: Mrs. Fairfax! What happened here?
MRS. FAIRFAX: Well, what do you want to hear first? The bad news, the good news, or the bad news?
JANE: ...
FAIRFAX: Well, the bad news is that Bertha burnt Thornfield to cinders. The good news is that she also pitched herself off the roof, leaving anyone who wished to marry Mr. Rochester no moral obstacles.
JANE: ...and the bad news?
FAIRFAX: ...Mr.Rochesteriskindablindandhasnolefthand. Sorry.
JANE: Look, if outward appearance mattered to me, I would have married that goober, St. John! Where is Edward?
MRS. FAIRFAX: By the Broken Chestnut Tree of Irony or Metaphor or something.

(The Broken Chestnut Tree of Irony or...whatever. ROCHESTER’s left hand is gone, and he’s also blind.)

ROCHESTER: Gah! Who is that?
JANE: Pilot knows me.
ROCHESTER: Who’s Pilot?
JANE: ...
ROCHESTER: Jane?! Is that you?!
JANE: It is!
ROCHESTER: Janie!
JANE: Eddie!
HANDS (THAT AREN’T MISSING): (clasp)
ROCHESTER: Tell me, Jane...and be honest...how do I look?
JANE: Er...you’ve had better days, sir.
ROCHESTER: That’s my girl! So, Jane? Anything new?
JANE: As a matter of fact, yeah! My Aunt died and I inheritted her fortune! I’M RICH, BIOTCH!
ROCHESTER: Well, damn. I’m blind, crippled, and poor. How could you possibly want me now?
JANE: Dude, do you know me at all? My love for you is greater than money, sight and left hands. I’d never leave you!
ROCHESTER: Except that...you did.
JANE: ...Whatever. The point is I’m back. And I’m not leaving THIS TIME.
ROCHESTER: Well, good. Because I missed you. I missed you so much, in fact, that the other day I screamed your name THREE TIMES.
JANE: THREE TIMES?
ROCHESTER: THREE TIMES! And the weirdest part was, I heard a voice answer, and it said-
JANE: “EDDDDIIIIIIEEE!!! I’M COOOOOOMIIING!!!” Like that?
ROCHESTER: Yes! But how did...who the...buh?
JANE: It’s okay, Edward. I’m not leaving you ever again. Just SAY YOU’LL SHARE WITH ME ONE LOVE, ONE LIFETIME! SAY THE WORD, AND I WILL FOLLOW YOU...
ROCHESTER: Psst! Wrong musical!

(Epilogue...)

JANE: So, gentle audience, Edward and I got married, and by the time our son was born Edward could see again. And so love conquered all, we lived happily ever after, etc. etc. etc.
As for the show itself, well, we thought about adding a chorus number with tap-dancing Nazis, but that was scratched. I lost the Tony to Christine Ebersole, and in spite of the efforts of Alanis Morrissette we closed in early June that year. But the show lives on in the original Broadway cast recording, the vocal selections book, several regional productions, and the continuing fervent fan worship of the Eyreheads, bless their crazy hearts. However, If you didn’t see this show while it was running, feel free to kick yourself as hard and as often as possible. Thank you, and goodnight!

(Curtain)

© copyright 2005 Musical Decomposition

Wicked: Decomposed

Wicked
Music and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz
Book by Winnie Holzman
based on (heh) the novel by Gregory Maguire
Notes: October's edition has come a little late. Sorry.

ACT ONE

OZ, SOME COURTYARD

MUSIC: DAH! DAH-DAH! DAH! DAH! DAH! DAAAAHHHH!
MY EARS: AAAAAHHHHH!!!

(Some Winkies or Munchkins or Wunchkins are getting their dance on. Celebration! Awkward choreography! And then some blonde descends in Barbie’s Dream Deus Ex Machina.)

GLINDA: Behold my benevolent hair color! Goodness and prettiness have triumphed over evil! LOVE ME!

(Apparently, the Wicked Witch of the West died, so...the end?)

GLINDA: But, what is wicked, really? Is wicked is what wicked does?
FLASHBACK: Deedley-dee! Deedley-dee! Deedley-dee!

(Some Salesman who’s face we never see but sounds an awful lot like George Hearn, macks on the future mom of the Wicked Witch of the West.)

DEFINATELY-NOT-GEORGE-HEARN: Hey, baby. Have some date-rape potion.
SOON-TO-BE-WITCHMAMA: Mmm, it tastes like Ecto-Plasm.

(Nine months later...)

VERY-SOON-TO-BE-WITCHMAMA: YOU BASTARD! YOU DID THIS TO ME! YOU AND NOT SOME TRAVELING SALESMAN WITH A DATE-RAPE POTION.
MIDWIFE: Push! Push! I see a head...it’s coming...

(WITCHMAMA gives birth to a Cabbage Patch oll dipped in Easter Egg dye! The horror!)

WITCHDADDY: AUGHHHH!!! OMIGOD, OUR BABY’S DIFFERENT!
AUDIENCE: OW! MY HEAD! WHAT WAS THAT?!
GLINDA: That was the two-by-four delivering that allegory.
FLASHBACK: Dee-deedley! Dee-deedley! Dee-deedley!
GLINDA: So, you see, the Wicked Witch had an unhappy childhood, and maybe with a little understanding she would have turned out okay. But, she’s dead now, so we’ll never know. Bye-ee! (floats off)
EXPOSITORY WUNCHKIN: Hey, Glinda? Didn’t you know the Wicked Witch or something?
GLINDA: (stops mid-float) Huh?
EXPOSITORY WUNCHKIN: The Wicked Witch: did you know her?
GLINDA: ...Y’no.
EXPOSITORY WUNCHKIN: So, you didn’t know her?
GLINDA: ...N’yes.
WUNCHKINS: ...
GLINDA: LOOK! A HOOKA-SMOKING CATERPILLAR!
WUNCHKINS: (looking) WHERE?
GLINDA: Float away! Float away!

(But, the show’s not called “Blonde”, so our good friend FLASHBACK comes in to tell the story...

The time: the past. The place: Shizzwarts School of Witchcraft and Rip-offery. The witch: green. Meet ELPHABA. Not only does she have green skin, but she wears glasses and is apparently a member of the Nation of Islam. Fitting in is hard.)

GALINDA: Lookame! I’m so pretty and blonde and WHITE!
SHIZZWARTS STUDENTS: Ooh, we love you and not the COLORED girl.
AUDIENCE: Ga-linda?
TWO-BY-FOUR OF ALLEGORY: SMACK!

(Oh, and ELPHABA has a sister, NESSAROSE who’s paralyzed legs aren’t nearly as crippling as her passive-agression.)

WITCHDADDY: Nessa, since I love you so much, I give you a pair of silver shoes. Elphaba, here’s a bit of string. Best of luck, yadda, yadda, yadda, watch over Nessa, or you’re out of the will. Peace. (leaves, never to be seen again)
MADAME MORRIBLE: Hello, students. Welcome to Shizzwarts. I am your headmistress, Madame Morrible. Rhymes with “horrible”. Get it?
TWO-BY-FOUR OF ALLEGORY: SMACK!
MORRIBLE: (to Nessa:) I’ve got a special room for you, Speedy. Let’s go.
ELPHABA: NOOOOOOO!!! DON’T TAKE AWAY MY SISTER!!!

(ELPHABA makes Nessa’s chair move BY ITSELF to the shock and awe of all.)

MORRIBLE: OMIGOD! You made that chair move all BY ITSELF! Clearly you are the only one gifted enough to take my sorcery test.
GALINDA: But, Madame Mooooorrrrrible! I want to take that claaa-aaasssss!
MORRIBLE: (ignoring her) And, since you’re so talented, you’ll more than likely get to work for the Wizard.
ELPHABA: WOOT!
GALINDA: But, Madame Mooooorrrrrible!
MORRIBLE: Shut your piehole, Paris. For your blatant asshattery, you’ll be rooming with Greeny McFreakshow here.
GALINDA: (pouts)
STUDENTS: (glare at ELPHABA)
ELPHABA: Oh, I feel so at home already.

SOCIAL COMMENTARY 101 WITH DR. DILLAMOND

(ELPHABA is pulling a full-on Hermione while everyone else stares blank-faced and GALINDA just pouts because DR. DILLAMOND can’t pronounce her name right like the other teachers who LURVE her. And DOCTOR DILLAMOND is an old goat. No, REALLY.)

DR. DILLAMOND: Now, if you all pay attention, I’m going to flip over this chalkboard to my next lesson...

(The chalkboard is scrawled with the message “ANIMALS SHOULD BE SEEN AND NOT HEARD!” Awkward.)

DOCTOR DILLAMOND: Alright, who put this thinly-veiled metaphor up on my chalkboard?
CLASS: ...
DOCTOR DILLAMOND: Who did it? ...WHO DID IT?!
CLASS: (looks around, whistling)
DOCTOR DILLAMOND: FINE! SCREW ALL OF YOU! GET OUT OF MY CLASSROOM!
CLASS: WHEE! FREE PERIOD!

(All the students leave the class, except for ELPHABA, because she has a Heart of Gold™.)

ELPHABA: I’m sorry about what that anonymous jerk did to your chalkboard, Doctor. That was really racist, or speciesist, or something.
DOCTOR DILLAMOND: But, Elphaba, it’s not just the vandelism that bugs me. There is some bad stuff happening in Oz, and I fear that no one will be able to stop it.
ELPHABA: Well, if something bad is happening, why not tell the Wizard? After all, he is SO GOOD AND I KNOW HE WOULD NEVER LET ANYTHING BAD HAPPEN.
DOCTOR DILLAMOND: Well, that’s what you think, but actually- BAAAHHHAAAHHHAAAHHH!!!
ELPHABA: Whuh?
DOCTOR DILLAMOND: Huh. That was weird. What I was trying to say was- BAAAHHHAAAHHHAAAHHH!!!
ELPHABA: ‘The hell?
DOCTOR DILLAMOND: Nevermind. We’ll talk about this more later. Hopefully before it’s too late, but probably not.

SOMETHING SEXY THIS WAY COMES

(A coach pulls up with hung-over FIYERO: the new transfer student from East Sexilvania.)

THOSE WHO READ THE BOOK: But...he’s...BLONDE! And he’s supposed to have a noble bearing! And Elphaba’s dad is supposed to be a priest, not a mayor. And Shizz is supposed to be an all-girls school! AND WHERE ARE THE PORNY BITS?!
BOOK-WRITER, WINNIE HOLZMAN: (hands in ears) La, la, la! Can’t hear you, la, la, la!
BOQ, A MUNCHKIN: Oh, Miss Galinda, I really do lurve you. Granted, everyone lurves you. And yes, I have a glaring lack of balls, but I thought since there were no blonde, devil-may-care teen idols tearing about campus you would consider going out with me?
GALINDA: (sees FIYERO) Ooh, who’s that?
BOQ: (facepalm)
FIYERO: Dude, this place is boring. Let’s throw a decadent, kick-ass party TONIGHT! (to GALINDA:) See you there, sweet thang.
GALINDA: I think I just hit puberty again!
BOQ: Gee, Miss Galinda, I hope you’ll save a dance for me.
GALINDA: Ohhhh... (sees NESSA, gets idea) oh! That’s so nice of you, but I couldn’t possibly be able to enjoy a dance and let someone cop a feel while that poor, be-wheelchaired girl sits alone in her room. If only someone would ask her out...someone with a good heart...someone...with no balls...
BOQ: I have no balls! I mean, I’ll ask her out.
GALINDA: Oh, Bic, you’re a prince.
BOQ: It’s Boq.
GALINDA: Whatever.

NESSA LAYS A GUILT-TRIP

NESSA: Oh, Elphie! Ain’t it grand! Galinda fixed me up for my first-ever date giving me, your beloved sister, one night of happiness! If only I can do something for her, like talk to Madame Morrible and get her into that exclusive sorcery class you’re in.
ELPHABA: ...Damnit!

GALINDA PRIMPS

GALINDA CRONY #1: Oh, Galinda! You are sooooo pretty!
GALINDA: I know.
GALINDA CRONY #2: Let’s get something for your hair (grabs hat box, looks inside). AHHH! KILL IT! KILL IT!
GALINDA: Oh, relax. It’s just a fugly, pointed black hat my grandmother gave me. I would get rid of it, but I haven’t found anyone ironic enough to accept it.
ELPHABA: (entering) Hey, Britney, I wanted to talk to you about OOH! CUTE HAT!
GALINDA: Dude, it’s just too easy.

OZ-DUST BALLROOM

(Everyone dances in torn black lingerie. GALINDA apparently didn’t get the memo because she is wearing fuscia, but since everyone lurves her, it doesn’t really matter.)

BOQ: So...Nessa...you’re in a wheelchair...
NESSA: (nods)
BOQ: (cough, scratch)
NESSA: (sips drink)
BOQ: ...I had an uncle who lost his thumb once.
NESSA: Oh, Boq. I know you didn’t really want to ask me out. You just felt sorry for me because I’m crippled and passive-agressive.
BOQ: That’s not true!
NESSA: Really? Then, why?
BOQ: Well, because...the thing is... (sigh) I have no balls.
NESSA: What was that?
BOQ: I said “you’re lovely as a doll”.
NESSA: Oh, Boq! Thank you! Of course I’ll marry you!
BOQ: ...What?

(And then, MORRIBLE arrives and chats with GALINDA.)

MORRIBLE: Look, Gem, If it were up to me, I’d issue a on order to keep your ditzy ass ten yards away from me. But, Elphaba threatened to drop out unless I took you in my class. Here’s your wand. See you Monday.
GALINDA: I get to study sorcery? For realz?
MORRIBLE: Just try not to blow anything up. Now, if you don’t mind I’m going to start the first of what promises to be a whole series of booze-filled nights.
GALINDA: Oh, SQUEE! I get to do magic things! And best of all, I don’t have to feel guilty about it at all!

(ELPHABA shows up at the dance in her pointy, fugly hat.)

GALINDA: Oh shit.
EVERYONE: HA-HA!
ELPHABA: Hey!
ELHPIE’S HAT: (bows its point shamefully)

(ELPHIE dances all by herself anyway.)

FIYERO: Why would anyone wear such a fugly hat in public?
GALINDA: (shiftily) I don’t know. Why would I know? I certainly did not give her that hat, so what are you looking at me for? Stop looking at me! I have nothing to feel guilty about! Stop looking at me so accusingly! FINE, I’LL GO DANCE WITH HER!
FIYERO: ...

(GALINDA dances with ELPHABA and magically, no one hates ELPHABA, her greenness, or her hat anymore. I guess from here on on out, it's smooth sailing for her.)

ELPHABA AND GALINDA’S DORM ROOM

GALINDA: Since we’re friends now, let’s tell secrets! My secret is that I lurve Fiyero, and we’re gonna get married and have lots of babies, only I’m not gonna get fat, and we’re gonna be rich, and be all hot even when we’re 100 because Fiyero + Galinda = 4EVAH! What’s your secret?
ELPHABA: My greenness made my mother take some bad herbs that killed her in child birth and crippled my sister. My dad hates me and all I have to remember my mother is this bottle of Ecto-Plasm Date Rape Potion.
GALINDA: ...I’m gonna give you a makeover!

CLASS, THE NEXT DAY

(GALINDA gave ELPHABA a makeover! Let’s see if anyone notices.)

FIYERO: Wow, you changed your outfit!
ELPHABA: He noticed!
DR. DILLAMOND: Class, today’s lesson is on government oppression. Example A: Me getting fired and forcibly dragged out of the room while I cry indignantly. (gets dragged out) QUESTION EVERYTHING! DON’T TRUST ANYONE OVER THIRTY! Watch the horns, pal. THE TRUTH IS OUT THERRRRREEEE!!!!
ELPHABA: Hmmm, something doesn’t seem right about this.
NEW TEACHER: Hi kids! I’m your new government-appointed teacher. Today’s lesson: the affects of syringes on an adorable baby lion.
ADORABLE BABY LION: Eek!
ELPHABA: MY HEART OF GOLD™ WON’T STAND FOR THIS! PETRIFICUS EVERYONEUS!
EVERYONE: (freezes)
FIYERO: Hey, Elphie, you forgot to freeze me.
ELPHABA: Just grab the kittie and RUN LIKE HELL!

SOME WOODS NEAR SHIZZWARTS

(After rescuing the adorable lion cub, ELPHABA and FIYERO have A MOMENT)

FIYERO: So...I gotta go. (leaves)
ELPHABA: (sigh)

(A gentle rain of teenage longing falls on ELPHABA while she sings a song, and she totally doesn’t melt. At all. Not even a little. I wonder if this will be important later?)

TWO-BY-FOUR OF FORESHADOWING: SMACK!
AUDIENCE: STOP THAT!

PLATFORM NINE-AND-THREE-QUARTERS

J.K. ROWLING: Eh, I’ve got enough money. Why sue? Besides, it’s not like any of my books got turned into screaching pop operas.
GREGORY MAGUIRE: What was that? I can’t hear you with all these hundreds in my ears.

(ELPHABA is going to the Emerald City to start an internship with THE WIZARD, because apparently after a semester of sorcery class, she’s ready.)

THE ARTIST FORMERLY KNOWN AS GALINDA: Have fun in the Emerald City, Elphie! I’ll be okay, here...with my boyfriend...who’s grown kinda distant...and has kinda stopped talking to me...
ELPHABA: (sigh) Do you want to come to the Emerald City with me?
GLINDA: Who? Me? Really, I...I’ve got a ticket and a suitcase packed. Let’s go!

EM CITY, OZ

(ELPHABA and GALINDA are immediately raped and shivved by ADEBISI. The end.)

GLINDA: Ooh, lookie! A puppet show.
GIANT PUPPETS: Gad about! Fall down! Whee!
ELPHABA: Dude, I’d just rather be raped and shivved.

THE WIZARD’S...OFFICE?

GIANT WIZARD HEAD OF DOOM: WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?!!
ELPHABA: Um, why don’t you talk to the nice giant head, Glinda? You’re good with people.
GLINDA: I’m not the one you want! Eat her! Eat her!

(Then the GIANT WIZARD HEAD OF DOOM goes limp, and the real WIZARD steps out and he’s totally George Hearn!)

WIZARD: ELPHIE! It’s so nice to finally meet you! Would you like to pet my monkey?
ELPHABA: Ew.
WIZARD: No, I mean this monkey, right here. His name is Chistery.
CHISTERY, THE MONKEY: Ooh-ooh-ah-ah!
WIZARD: And look! You’re beloved teacher Madame Morrible is here.
GLINDA: Oh. Yay?
WIZARD: Tell you what, Elphie. How’s ‘bout I give you a test to, um, prove yourself. Yes. Cast a spell that will make Chistery fly. Don’t worry about getting it right the first time. I’ve got a few spare monkeys in the back if you blow him up.
CHISTERY: Ooh-ooh?
WIZARD: And feel free to use this book, the Grimmery. It might help. Of course, it’s written in a dead language that no man alive can decifer, but you can give it the old college try.

(ELPHABA can read and understand the ancient dead language. CHISTERY starts writhing about in pain.)

CHISTERY: ACK! ACK!
ELPHABA: Omigod, he’s in pain!
WIZARD: No, no. He likes it.
CHISTERY: (sprouts wings)
GLINDA: Dude.
WIZARD: Boo-yah, grandma! And check this out (pulls back a curtain to reveal a cage full of winged monkeys.) And with my race of supermonkies I will RULE THE WORLD! MWAHAHAHA!
ELPHABA: OMIGOD, YOU TRICKED ME! YOU’RE EVIL!
WIZARD: And yet, so loveable.
ELPHABA: MADAME MORRIBLE, DO SOMETHING!
MORRIBLE: Sphff. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Ferny.
ELPHABA: Fine, be that way! YOINK! (she grabs the Grimmery and she and GLINDA book it on out of there.)

A ROOFTOP IN OZ

ELPHABA: We are so screwed.
GLINDA: What do you mean “we”? I wasn’t the one who made a scene and snatched the Wizard’s Book of Magic Gibberish.
ELPHABA: Shut up! There’s gotta be something in here to help us escape. Aha! Here we go! BROOMUS LEVITUS!

(A nearby broom starts flying by itself. No, really. You think I’m making this up? The bloom is flying fo’ real, yo!)

ELPHABA: Awesome! Come on, Glinda! Let’s be a comically mismatched duo and fight crime and save the world TOGETHER! We’ll be GREEN GIRL AND WONDERBLONDE!
GLINDA: ...
ELPHABA: Glinda?
GLINDA: (kicks dirt, looks down)
ELPHABA: Glinda!
GLINDA: ...I love you, man, but I’m going to stay here and, like, not be an enemy of the state.
ELPHABA: FINE! BE THAT WAY! (flies up)
GUARDS: (breaking in) Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s a...flying...lizard...thing?
ELPHABA: NO! I’m SUPERALTO! SONICBELT: ON!
GUARDS, WUNCHKINS, AUDIENCE: AUGHHHHH!!! OUR EARS! WE SUBMIT! WE SUBMIT!
WIZARD: (shaking fist) I’LL GET YOU IN ACT TWO, SUPERALTO!

(Act One ends to the relief of the audience’s ravaged ear drums.)

INTERMISSION

(It is at this point that I notice the metal dragon perched atop the stage: a clever allusion to one of the narrative devices of the original novel. And if the rest of the show resembled the book in any way, this would mean something.)

ACT TWO

MUSIC: DAH! DAH-DAH! DAH! DAH! DAH! DAAAAHHHH!
MY EARS: AHH, HOW WE BLEED!

(Sometime later: thanks to some clever spin-doctoring, ELPHABA is declared public enemy # 1, even though the worst thing she’s done is steal a book. GLINDA has been appointed Secretary of Shiny, and FIYERO is in charge of hunting down ELPHIE, despite never having revealed a knack for hunting anything.

The curtain opens as GLINDA does her best Eva Peron impression for the masses.)

GLINDA: Ozentinos! Ozentinos! We are scared shitless now...so let’s forget all this witch business and party!
WUNCHKINS: WOO-HOO!
FIYERO: Glinda, I don’t feel good about this whole witch-hunting thing. You and I both know that Elphie’s innocent.
GLINDA: I’m working on it, dear. Oh by the way, I told everyone we’re getting married. I hope you don’t mind.
FIYERO: ...

HOUSE OF NESSA, MUNCHKINLAND

BOQ: Your cappucino, Miss Nessarose.
NESSA: Oh Boq, please. Call me “Nessa”.
BOQ: Forgive me, Miss Nessarose...
NESSA: I said SAY MY NAME, BITCH!
BOQ: Eek! (runs away)
VOICE FROM THE CUPBOARD: (singing:) I am the angel of music...Come to the angel of music...
NESSA: AHHHH!!!
ELPHABA: (emerging from cupboard) Hee hee! Oh, I love that one.
NESSA: No fair stealing from other musicals!
ELPHABA: Nes, this whole show is stolen from other musicals. How you chillin’ Wheeley?
NESSA: Oh, I’m alright. I’ve enslaved the Munchkin race, so that’s going really well.
ELPHABA: Nice. So, how’s about you clearing my name, since you have all this power?
NESSA: I dunno...that would involve making a speech, which would involve wheeling out for a press conference, and my arms are pretty tired...
ELPHABA: Oh, fine. LEGGO REPARO!

(NESSA’s silver shoes turn ruby red and she stands up on shaky legs to take her first steps.)

WRITERS HEAVEN

FRANK L. BAUM: (bawling) WHYYYYYY?!?!?!
T.S. ELLIOT: I know how you feel, man.

CASA DE NESSA

NESSA: Boq, check this out! I’m walking!
BOQ: (running in) Oh, this is wonderful!
NESSA: I know!
BOQ: Now I can leave and go ask out Glinda!
NESSA: ...What?
ELPHABA: Uh oh.
BOQ: Yeah. You see, Nessa, I never really loved you, but your passive-aggression and my complete lack of balls conspired to keep me here as your servant. I stayed because I felt bad for you, especially since everything in Munchkinland is on an incline. But now that you can walk, I don’t feel guilty anymore! So, I’m just going to go now, if that’s okay with you?
NESSA: ...
BOQ: Um, is it okay, Nessa?
NESSA: (eyeball twitch)
BOQ: You’re going to hurt me, aren’t you?
NESSA: RAAAAAAAA!!!!

(NESSA yanks the Grimmery out of ELPHABA’s hands.)

ELPHABA: Nessa, wait! We’ve clearly established that only I can read the magical gobbility gook.
NESSA: CARDIO SHRINKO!
ELPHABA: Well, I’ll be damned.

(NESSA’s spell works a little too well.)

BOQ: (clutching chest) GAH! My heart! It’s...shrinking!
ELPHABA: Oh no! Now he’ll have no heart, and no balls!
NESSA: Elphie, this is all your fault!
ELPHABA: Me? What did I do?
BOQ: Nnnnnnnnggghhh!
NESSA: GAH! FIX IT! FIX IT!
ELPHABA: Okay! Okay! Damn.

(ELPHABA pulls BOQ behind the cupboard to do do that voodoo that she do so well. She returns to NESSA.)

ELPHABA: It’s alright, he’s not dying anymore.
NESSA: Is he going to be alright?
ELPHABA: Yes...technically.
NESSA: ...What do you mean?
ELPHABA: Well...the good news is, you’ve now got some extra storage space.
NESSA: What?
ELPHABA: Gotta go!

(ELPHABA leaves and there is clanking from behind the cupboard, a figure emerges...ELPHABA turned BOQ into THE TIN MAN! )

AUDIENCE: NOW IT ALL...makes...sense? Buh?

THE ROOM WITH THE GIANT WIZARD HEAD

ELPHABA: Release the monkeys, or get an assful of broom!
WIZARD: Okay (releases monkeys)
ELPHABA: Wow, that was easy.
WIZARD: You see, I’m not such a bad guy. Sure, I’ve enslaved a couple of primates, and maybe I have oppressed a few peoples...but I’m really just a big ol’ softie.
ELPHABA: Awww.
WIZARD: So how about we put this whole “revolution” business behind us and just be friends?
ELPHABA: Well...hey, what’s that in the corner?
WIZARD: What?
ELPHABA: That bag.
WIZARD: What bag?
ELPHABA: That bag that’s moving.
WIZARDS: What’s moving?
ELPHABA: Okay, now I’m really calling shenanigans. (opens bag) OH MY GOD, IT’S DOCTOR DILLAMOND!
DR. DILLAMOND: BAAAHHHAAAHHHAAAHHH!!!
ELPHABA: Doctor, what have they done to you?
DR. DILLAMOND: BAAAHHHAAAHHHAAAHHH!!!
ELPHABA: Why won’t you speak? SPEAK, DAMNIT!
DR. DILLAMOND: Baaahhhaaa?
ELPHABA: (to WIZARD) YOU EVIL BASTARD SUMBITCH!
FIYERO: (running in) ELPHIE! I’LL SAVE YOU!
ELPHABA: Wait, save me from what?
GLINDA: (running in) Snookums! We’ve got guests waiting and...have I...interrupted something?
FIYERO: Glinda, I can’t marry you. I’m in love with Elphaba.
GLINDA: You are?
ELPHABA: You are?
FIYERO: Yes, and I’m going with her! Sorry that we went behind your backs like this.
ELPHABA: Wait, when did we go behind her back?
FIYERO: Let us fly my darling! (They escape.)
GLINDA: Wait! You can’t go off with her! You can’t! Fiyero + Glinda = 4EVAH! I even wrote it in my diary! (weeps)
WIZARD: Them’s the brakes, kid. Care for some Ecto-plasm?
GLINDA: ...

FOREST OF BOOTY

(FIYERO and ELPHABA retire to the woods for a well earned, inevitable ”duet”.)

BOOK FANS: FINALLY, A PORNY BIT!
DAUGHTER: Mommy, what’s going on?
MOM: Well, honey, when a composer and a book writer really love each other and they want to make a musical, they write a “love duet”. It’s a beautiful thing, usually, but sometimes it’s painful. And when it’s overwritten, it can be very painful. But in the end, everyone is so happy with the duet, they forget about the pain and the obvious lyrics and the plot stalling.
DAUGHTER: Oh. Mommy? Can I write a duet?
MOM: NO!

STUFF HAPPENS

(At this point the music has raped my ears beyond all repair, and I can’t remember a damn thing that happens next. Something about MADAME MORRIBLE and GLINDA and THE WIZARD conspiring to kill NESSA. DOROTHY shows up, but we never actually see her, NESSA dies from smush, ELPHABA and GLINDA talk smack and fight, FIYERO tries to intervene but gets captured for his trouble. ELPHABA tries to cast a spell to save his life, but it probably doesn’t work and she’s really, really, really pissed.)

AN ANTI-WITCH RALLY

WUNCHKINS: BURN THE WITCH! BURN THE WITCH!
BOQ: She turned me into this walking monstrosity!
A LION: She took away my courage!
SOME WUNCHKIN: She turned me into a newt!
EVERYONE: ...
SOME WUNCHKIN: ...I got better.
WUNCHKINS: ...KIIIIILLLLL HEEERRR!!!
GLINDA: (watching all this from a balcony) But this isn’t true at all! Madame Morrible, you must tell the truth and save Elphie!
MORRIBLE: Hon, have you even been watching this musical?

ELPHABA’S SUPER-SECRET HIDEOUT

OFF-STAGE DOROTHY: WAAAAAHHHHH!!!
ELPHABA: ShutupshutupshutupshutupSHUTUP!
GLINDA: (entering) Let the little girl go! And her dog, Dodo, or Frodo, or what’s-his-name!
ELPHABA: How did you find my hide out?
GLINDA: I...Googled it?
DELIVERY MONKEY: Express Air Mail for Elphaba!
ELPHABA: Thanks (tips him a banana)
DELIVERY MONKEY: Cheapskate.
ELPHABA: (reads note) Oh no. I’ve lost.
GLINDA: Wait, you have?
ELPHABA: Yes. I’m done for.
GLINDA: But, I haven’t arrested you or anything. You could still sick your flying monkeys on me, or turn me into an acorn, or something.
ELPHABA: No, it’s too late. The jig, she is up. Here, take the Grimmery. Keep fighting the good fight, but promise me you will never clear my name of any wrongdoing, because that would make too much sense.
GLINDA: (tearfully) Okay.
ELPHABA: Here, hide behind this ginormous curtain so I can die in sillhouette.

(She does so. We see the shadows of guards fighting ELPHABA and DOROTHY douses her with a fatal bucket of watery death. ELPHIE melts. All that’s left of here is a fugly, pointy hat.)

BOOK FANS: Well, at least they kept something from the book.
GLINDA: (sob)

THAT ROOM WITH THE HEAD

GLINDA: (busting in on MORRIBLE and THE WIZARD) I’m here to drink Ecto-Plasm and kick ass, and you’ve got plenty of Ecto-Plasm.
WIZARD: Yeah, so?
GLINDA: So, I’ve only ever seen that stuff once before: with Elphaba, who’s carried it with her her entire life. I’ve put zero and zero together and figured it out: YOU’RE ELPHABA’S REAL FATHER!
WIZARD: Omigod!
GLINDA: Yeah, so I’m taking over this here operation. There’s a new sherriff in town. Enjoy prison, you two. Have a party for me.
MORRIBLE: I hate you so very, very much.
GLINDA: Ya think?

A NEW ERA

(Some Winkies or Munchkins or Wunchkins are getting their dance on. Celebration! Awkward choreography! Omigod, the musical has lapped itself! IT’S STARTING OVER AGAIN! NOOOOO!!!

A STRAW MAN wanders over to the fugly hat. He picks it up and knocks on the floor.)

STRAW MAN: You can come out now.
ELPHABA: (pushes open the trap door)
BOOK FANS: (start foaming at the mouth)
ELPHABA: Are they all gone, Fiyero?
BOOK FANS: (heads explode)
FIYERO: Everything’s going to be okay now. Do I...look funny?
ELPHABA: No, but...we might have an issue with “chaffing”.

(All the Wunchkins are still celebrating as GLINDA woefully hangs from her bubble wand clutching the book of spells that she can’t read. In the end, pretty did not win over “different” and subtley definately did not win over blatant symbolism. The audience rubs their battered heads, step over the bodies of the BOOK FANS and go home.)

ONE MONTH LATER

AUDIENCE: (finishing Gregory Maguire’s novel) ...Hey!

(Curtain.)

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