CLOWNWORLD SHAKESPEARE - The Journey Launches Forward

William finds himself home, but it's really not all that sweet.

Welcome to another chapter. Please take a seat…

We last left Shakespeare in 1400s London, where he ended the previous chapter on the floor of the Chaucer playhouse during a riot. But now he’s back home…

INT. GLOBE THEATRE - 1594

We’re in that now-famous back room of the Globe Theatre. Pretty much looks the same, costumes strewn about, theatre masks hang haphazardly on walls, stacks of discarded medieval pizza (don’t ask) boxes line several walls.

Then whoosh, lightning. Shakespeare materializes... er, well, sort of.

At first, it’s as if Picasso* built the time machine, as William is split into several very unequal parts, each section in separate areas of the room.

[*Pfizer Time Products division is the actual manufacturer of this time machine, as has been discussed in previous installments]

Then another whoosh! The time machine also materializes in several unequal parts, also strewn all over the room.

The section containing Shakespeare’s head rolls its eyes, or eye, actually.

SHAKESPEARE: “Seriously, Pfizer?! Will another billion dollar fine--”

Whoosh! The parts quickly reassemble themselves. Shakespeare and the time machine are fully restored. The Bard checks his body a few times, pats himself down head to toe just to make sure.

Pablo Picasso Le Rãªve by Pamela Chougne

But he’s not so sure. He looks around curiously. He needs more proof that he’s back home. Shakespeare runs out onto the empty stage. Yep, looks familiar. As does the peanut gallery and the empty seating area. But he needs more. The poet needs air!

The famed writer runs through the front exit and...

He’s outside... and yes! Yes! It’s 1594. Glorious 1594. Not like hellscape 1400. Oh, Shakespeare’s back home, among his peeps. The style is grand, less filth, less fighting. No criminal-minded children and their hot-to-trot but evil mothers. Yep, good ole 15--

Squelch! But the dog crap and horse poop situation remains unchanged.

YE OLDE CUT TO:

EXT. FISHING HOLE - LATER THAT DAY

Yep, we’ve gon’ fishin’ here at ClownWorld Shakespeare, as the pride of Stratford-upon-Avon sits atop a huge boulder that overlooks a pristine blue pond.

Sitting next to the Bard is IAN WARBURTON, the Globe’s general manager and William’s unofficial business partner/PR guy.

Both men hold crudely made fishing rods. The pond seems pretty quiet, so probably not much biting aquatic-wise.

Shakespeare’s quite animated.

SHAKESPEARE: “It is going to be greatest spectacle ever to hit a screen-- er, stage! Stage!”

Remember, Shakespeare has seen TV!

SHAKESPEARE: “People will come from Asia, the Cape of Good Horn, the afterlife to see... CrazyWorld Chaucer.”

Ian rubs his chin thoughtfully.

IAN: “Well, I could call in same favors at the royal courts. This whole shebang is a pretty big ask, Willie.”

SHAKESPEARE: “We’ll turn the entire theatre into a stage! The entire street outside the Globe too!”

IAN: “But women?”

SHAKESPEARE: “Yes! Women in the cast! Well, one woman. The rest of the female characters will still be played by men.”

“Men, men, men.” The words echoes ominously. More whispers: “patriarchy, men, men, men, patriarchy, men, men, men!”

Uh-oh. The lights dim. There’s a bright light cast only on Shakespeare. We’re getting a speech here, people.

William dramatically climbs down from the rock and pivots on one knee. Both knees now! He’s bent over, then he casts his head as far back as it can go and pulls it back into regular position. With a wry grin:

SHAKESPEARE: “Uh, yeah, small steps here, people. It’s the 16th century. We’re barely using soap here. Give us a bit to get around to the whole equal rights for men and women thing. Mm-kay?”

The spotlight stays on him. He shrugs, like a “that’s all, folks” type thing. The spotlight lingers. Deafening silence, then:

SHAKESPEARE: “Cut!”

YE OLDE CUT TO:

EXT. SIR RICHARD’S CASTLE - NIGHT

A SENTRY in full-body armor helps Shakespeare dismount from a horse. The Sentry pats down the Bard.

SENTRY: “Any weapons? A mace? A scimitar?”

SHAKESPEARE: “No, no. I’m a friend of Sir Richard’s.”

SENTRY: “Friend or foe, all the same.”

He finishes patting down the Bard and shouts.

SENTRY: All clear!

A drawbridge over a wide and scary moat opens. Is that a shark in there? Damn! That moat is the GOAT.

Shakespeare looks up. A fierce wind blows away a few clouds to reveal a full moon. Is that a wolf howling? No, that’s Shakespeare howling. As he looks up at the sheer magnitude of the place.

INT. CASTLE

Another SENTRY leads Shakespeare down a narrow, dark corridor. There’s numerous play posters affixed to the thick stone, windowless walls.

These posters are sheepskins crudely marked with homemade inks. Nevertheless, this guy is obviously Shakespeare’s top guy... Hamlet, As You Like It, all the “Richards,” Henry VIII and so on.

Hmm. One of the posters, Troilus and Cressida, must have been put up recently. It’s dripping ink onto the floor.

The Sentry holds open a huge wooden door to reveal... oh, good God.

RICHARD, a salt and pepper haired 60-year-old, is naked in a wooden hot tub, along with a PAIR OF SEMI-NAKED YOUNG WOMEN.

The hot tub effect is gained by placing hot rocks inside the bath. There’s a small fire pit with some rocks sizzling on it in a far corner of the room.

The nubile females giggle, grab towels and run off. Richard exits the hot tub, but doesn’t bother with a towel. Shakespeare glances away. Sheepishly:

SHAKESPEARE: “Sir Richard, uh, good tidings this eve, I hope.”

RICHARD: “Thine dew flows from branches firm and--”

Shakespeare cringes.

SHAKESPEARE: “Stop! Thou art giving me a brain bleed. Are you in or out-- the play, I mean, the play. Are you going to play Chaucer?”

Still naked, Richard pretends to hover over a dead body. He screws up his face something fierce.

Wow, yeah, I can see why this guy is A-list. For a second, you forget this guy is naked and sporting a boner. He really does a damn excellent rendition of Death tending to a recently passed human.

RICHARD: “Radix malorum est cupiditas... Radix malorum est cupiditas...”

Shakespeare sighs a big blow of relief. He’s impressed.

SHAKESPEARE: “Wow. Okay, I’m officially on Team Richard. Just have your agent--”

RICHARD: “He’s right here.”

WTF? Okay, obviously 16th candlelight isn’t exactly full-spectrum LED, but it’s not darkness either. An AGENT -- and I swear, maybe it’s the low light because he seems to be wearing an Armani suit -- materializes out of the shadows.

The agent adjusts his small round wire-framed glasses as he peruses a contract.

AGENT: “Rebecca!”

REBECCA, one of the young hot tub ladies we met a few seconds ago, rejoins the action.

AGENT: “Messenger this to Richard’s attorney for one last look. I’ve made a few changes.”

Rebecca pulls out a horn, you know, one of those curved ones that sorta resembles a giant tusk. Ye Olde Ikea sells them I think for a half-crown. Anyway, she blows.

And a HUNCHBACKED OLD MAN wearing a white robe with a rope belt enters the room and grabs the papers from Rebecca.

REBECCA: “Take these to the law offices of Thistlewhistlebustle, Petheringtonbridgerock and Flauncenberrywick.”

The messenger grabs the papers, bows down and exits.

Shakespeare looks relieved. It’s a go. He’s found his lead.

YE OLDE CUT TO:

EXT. LONDON STREETS, NIGHT

Yikes! Drunks, bums and beggars line the streets here in this uber shady part of town. A TOOTHLESS OLD WOMAN approaches Shakespeare, who tiptoes apprehensively through the muck and grime of these filthy passageways.

The old woman leers at Shakespeare with a twinkle in her ancient eyes.

OLD WOMAN: “A few shillings for a tug?”

The Bard recoils.

He moves away further into the wet, uneven streets flowing with human despair.

He looks up. A big green cross. An opium dispensary. SLEEPY HOLLOW OPIUM DEN and under the sign in smaller letters: “Now Selling CB.” The Middle Ages only had CB, as the D would come to popularity in the 21st Century.

Shakespeare enters a small vestibule, where he’s greeted by a menacing GUARD.

GUARD: “Oi! Got your medical opium recommendation?”

Shakespeare pulls out a piece of paper and shows it to the guard, who scans it thoroughly.

GUARD: “Go on.”

Shakespeare walks toward a beaded curtain, pushes it aside and is greeted by a smiling WOMAN OPIUM-TENDER behind a counter. There’s all sorts of multicolored glass jars and cannisters on clean wooden shelves.

Shakespeare’s been here before.

WOMAN: “Good tidings, love. The usual?”

Shakespeare nods. The young woman, wearing a colorful tied-dyed shirt, hands him a bottle marked SMELLING SALTS.

WOMAN: “He’s in the upstairs room today. Upset about some girl.”

Shakespeare rolls his eyes and puts the bottle in his pocket and hands the woman some coins.

YE OLDE CUT TO:

INT. SMALL CORRIDOR

The Bard slowly traverses a small corridor until he comes to a flight of stairs. He gingerly walks up the stairs and boom!

A large room. Filled with opium smoke. There’s a dozen or so people on the nod. Damn, you could get a contact high just being in that room.

Shakespeare immediately rushes over to a YOUNG HANDSOME MAN, ARTHUR, with long hair, who’s in deep, but very unrestful slumber. His face twitches and contorts.

His mouth moves like it wants to speak, but only silent horror escapes his lips. This dude’s wasted, and he’s also a very troubled soul.

The young man grunts as Shakespeare prods him to no avail. The Bard tries the smelling salts. Arthur’s eyes open wide. He gasps! Then the actor falls right back on the nod, sound asleep in Opiumville.

Shakespeare looks around. Christ! Everyone is zonked the fuck out. He lets out a huge sigh and...

Shakespeare grunts loudly as he lifts Arthur up and hefts the actor over his shoulder. It takes the Bard a few tries, but Arthur is now successfully on board. Lucky for Shakespeare, Arthur is a little, shall we say, on small side, so the Bard’s back won’t ache too much from all the effort.

Just then an OLD WOMAN slowly arises from the floor and staggers toward Shakespeare, almost falling over once or twice. She leers at Shakespeare.

OLD WOMAN: “Give you a tug for a crown!”

Shakespeare groans and continues dragging himself out with his unconscious actor friend slung over his shoulder.

The pervy old woman collapses back down onto the floor.

I Love You Hearts by Henque

OLDE CUT TO:

INT. GLOBE THEATRE

Holy cow! This place has been transformed. It’s a wonderama of theatrical brilliance. Think Cirque Du Soleil meets, you know, another one of those frilly Vegas things chicks dig.

There’s colorful artwork and painted backgrounds and actual stairs that go up to the ceiling where there’s another stage!

The place is packed and rowdy. The curtain is half-drawn shut, so the audience can see inside as the players get ready for some playtime!

Shakespeare looks in awe at what he’s created. He marvels at the amazing production values, the most excellent cast, the audience brimming with excitement…and gin!

SHAKESPEARE: “Places, everyone!”

The players all scurry into position except for ACTRESS ROSALIND, who calmly strokes her sensuous flaxen hair. Ian, the Bard’s business manager, stands next to Shakespeare.

With her cute perky nose, olive skin and barely yellowed teeth (hey, 16th Century England is not a dental paradise, I assure you!), Rosie’s a beauty. And she knows it.

We’ve met some of the other actors before: angry Henry (Chapter 8) as well as old, lecherous Richard and dopey Arthur, both from this current installment.

In fact, we notice that all the actors, save Henry, stare at Rosalind. Richard is practically drooling as he gawks at her.

This is the first time everyone sees Rosalind all dolled up and wearing lipstick and rouge. The rehearsals have been pretty toned down of course in terms of wardrobe, makeup, candle lighting, etc.

So the reaction the actors have to Rosalind tonight shouldn’t be surprising given that she’s naturally so very pretty already.

Beaming with anticipation, Ian turns to Shakespeare.

IAN: “Time to make some history... and some fucking money--”

Ian cuts himself off mid-sentence when he notices Arthur walking toward Rosalind.

Clean and sober, Arthur arms himself with a pleasing smile and approaches the actress, who ignores him as she smooths out her lush velvet costume and hums a ditty.

She smiles slyly as she sees the actor turn back, slinking away like a wounded puppy.

Then, in a mad dash, the actor storms off the stage into the audience.

Shakespeare and Ian stare wide-eyed at one another. Shakespeare motions for Ian to do something. So Ian runs after Arthur.

Richard moves quickly toward Rosalind, and the Bard tries to intervene, but Richard is too determined and overcomes William by pushing him away and bashing the writer’s arm with a large glittering prop scepter.

Shakespeare winces and tries unsuccessfully to detain Richard with his unhurt arm.

Richard rushes over to Rosalind, grabs her hand and kneels.

RICHARD: “I must! I must possess thee!!! My soul, your, uh, soul, my castle? When the moon crests at midnight?”

On the second “soul,” Richard starts drooling and paws at her bosom.

Rosalind smiles and bends down to whisper in Richard’s ear. His leering smile quickly fades into a question mark.

Rosalind giggles and nods her head repeatedly: “yes, yes, yes!” And then with her thumb and index finger, she makes that “tiny” gesture.

It appears that the actress’ thumb/index finger are pointing in the direction of Richard’s crotch.

Richard stands up and walks backwards in horror as Rosalind keeps giggling and continues making that “small” finger sign.

Richard repeatedly shakes his head: “no, no, no!” But Rosie won’t have any of it. She continues laughing and driving Richard insane with that thumb-index finger thing.

Richard’s not used to rejection. Red-faced, he storms off the stage, but not before he turns around one last time to throw a fiery glare back at Rosalind.

RICHARD: “This ain’t over!”

Rosalind giggles and continues with the “tiny” gesture.

Richard then runs off toward the audience.

SHAKESPEARE: “No! Richard! Stay!”

Shakespeare doesn’t know what to do or where to go, so he runs around in a circle grabbing his head in anguish with his uninjured arm.

Then the rest of the actors, save Henry, encircle Rosalind. And one by one, down on their knees, without any self-regard as to how foolish they look, they all profess their undying love for Rosalind.

She listens to each actor’s plea for about 15 seconds before unleashing a rejection.

We hear Rosalind saying stuff like: “Your family’s too poor.” “Wobbly knees.” “Weak chin.” “Saggy stomach.” “Terrible fashion sense.” “Fetid breath.” “Plague carrier.” “Dumb as fuck.”

The actors in turn walk dejectedly off stage.

The audience revels in the rejections. The cheers and laughter from the peanut gallery are deafening.

Rosalind turns to Shakespeare. She smiles seductively and walks over to him and starts caressing his shoulders and begins to soothe his injured arm.

ROSALIND: “You, on the other hand, William, sinewy limbs, taut steel frame, facile mind...”

She leans in for a kiss. Shakespeare is too preoccupied with his impending theatrical doom to be aroused. He pulls back.

Rosalind screeches. And borrows a line from King Lear:

ROSALIND: “Thou art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in my corrupted blood!”

Now she storms off the stage into the audience. And when she does, about 56 guys in the crowd follow her.

Shakespeare is stunned. The famed poet looks up and sees Henry, the chronically pissed off actor, walking off stage glaring at him. Shakespeare tries to speak, but Henry speaks over him:

HENRY: “I’m done! Opera is where it’s at. The guys are gay, and the women are fat!”

Oh, the crowd seems to be loving all this. They think it’s part of the play!

THE END… for now. We go back into the modern world for the next few chapters, where we meet up with several iconic TV shows!

***Take note: Only a few hours remains until the beginning of the actual timeline for Chapter 1 of CLOWNWORLD SHAKESPEARE - THE JOURNEY. The Angry Mob from that episode, many of them invested in the play and were in the audience tonight!