NAKED TRAMPOLINE HAMLET

(performed June 29th @ 10:17 and July 18th @ Industry Room)

To be, or not to be. That is the question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them?

Alright. I must say, I am quite pleased with the turnout this evening. Thank you all very much for answering my ad in Backstage. You’ve given some small measure of hope to an old theatre fag. Now then. I do realize that this is just an organizational meeting, and I’m sure that you’re all very talented actors. But let me make myself perfectly clear:

If you’re not familiar with Shakespeare, and you’re not comfortable performing in the nude, and you can’t handle yourself on a trampoline, then you’re probably not right for my production of Naked Trampoline Hamlet.

Okay, people. Think about what I just said. Mull those three words over in your heads. Naked. Trampoline. Hamlet. If you think you can “hack it”, if you think you’re Naked Trampoline Hamlet material, then by all means, stay right where you are. You’re probably in for the single most challenging, satisfying theatrical experience of your young acting careers. One of Shakespeare’s most famous, highly scrutinized works. Naked. On trampolines. Now, if this doesn’t sound like something you would “ever willingly do”, if this sounds like the type of project you would “never want on your resume”, then allow me to show you something that you’re probably already quite familiar with…THE DOOR! Because if you leave now, you’re just proving to me that you’re a quitter. And I would rather sign up for a lifetime subscription of daily, wasabi enemas administered using a cactus in which is nesting a highly territorial, easily startled razor-beaked miniature hawk with a voracious appetite for rectal meat, than spend one second sharing a stage, a trampoline, or my naked self…with a quitter.

Okay? Good. I’m going to count down from five now.

When I’m done, if you’re still in this room, then I’m going to assume that you’re up to the N.T.H. challenge. I’m going to assume that you want to take part in creating something full of passion, drama, tragedy, nudity, and bouncing. If you’ve left the room? Hooray for me. The only thing I’ve lost from my theatre troupe is a quitter. And I would rather run a marathon barefoot over broken glass while being chased by a bull rhinoceros that, through some bizarre form of interspecies hypnosis, has become convinced that if it can manage to insert the entirety of the larger of its two horns into my anus, it will somehow dislodge a cascade of ripe, delicious apples, than spend one second sharing a stage, a trampoline, or my delicate, tender, naked self…with a quitter.

Five. Naked.

Four. Trampoline.

Three. Hamlet.

Two…Naked.

One.

Alright. All right. You will not regret this, and you will most certainly never forget this.

In a few moments, we’re going to clear the floor, bring in the trampolines, and really begin to explore the space. But first, I simply must issue one final warning to you young thespians. I don’t tolerate quitters. I didn’t tolerate quitters when I directed my groundbreaking production of Topless Treadmill King Lear. I didn’t tolerate quitters when I directed my revolutionary production of Pantsless Nordic Track Othello. And I most certainly did not tolerate quitters when I directed my cutting-edge production of Wearing Nothing But A One-Size-Too-Small Dance Belt Pommel Horse Twelfth Night. And I won’t tolerate quitters on this production of Naked Trampoline Hamlet. Because I would rather eat at The Olive Garden, than share a stage, a trampoline, or my tender, delicious, naked self, with a quitter.

Alright, I’m going to go get the trampolines. In the meantime, clear the floor. And get naked. You’ve got 1 minute.