Before the Curtain Falls (feat. David Attenborough)
Rumi Schottland '24
Black Screen:
When we first arrived, the curtain had not yet risen on the matinee performance...
Cut to:
1 EXT. Baroque-style theater - 11:50 am 1
The ramshackle structure stands alone; isolated somewhere on the coast of Amapá,
Brazil. No signs of humanity, just undisturbed mother earth. The narrator limps
into view.
David Attenborough (96), old, wrinkly, extremely british. He struggles to make
direct eye-contact with cameraman no.2, clears his throat, sips daintily from his
ornate china tea cup (complete with saucer), clears his throat once again, and
begins orating.
Attenborough
(finally making direct eye-contact with the camera. The effect is slightly unnerving)
When we first arrived, the curtain had not yet risen on
the matinee performance...but this is for the best! Let
us take a dive into the turbulent yet fascinating backstage
politics, for how can one understand the full glory of
such powerful creatures without first knowing their rich
heritage?
Camera follows Attenborough as he strolls through the once-resplendent doors, down the halfway, and into a dimly-lit dressing room. Dinky mirrors, the stale smell of sweat and marijuana; your typical thespian ambiance. As we enter, it is evident that the performers are frantically readying themselves in the last moments before the curtain is raised. Attenborough stands in the center of what appears to be complete pre-show pandemonium.
Camera pans out across the scene, allowing the viewer an uninterrupted display of the chaos.
Attenborough (V.O.)
Here we observe the majestic beasts of the theatrical world
in their natural habitat: the dressing room. It is here that
the rigid social hierarchy upon which the average aggregation
is founded is most noticeable. Battling for dominance, the
alpha of the pack demonstrates her considerable strength by
seizing the property of the weaker cast members; their brushes,
Dior eyeshadow palettes, even the curled blonde wig belonging
to her co-star...nothing is safe.
Camera follows hulking figure in “Armida” costume as she knocks bottles off shelves and dressers whilst aggressively tugging a miniscule blonde wig off a slightly smaller, though noticeably shinier, figure.
Attenborough (CNT.)
It is only natural that our leading lady would be anxious
before such a performance; she is fully aware that both her
position as star of the show, as well as lingering questions
of her muliebrity, are at stake.
One may notice the pungent scent that pervades the space...a
mix of nerves, illicit drugs, and unrealized dreams of grandeur.
Most of the performers we see today, including our star, are on
their last legs...or should I say flippers?
(He chuckles wryly)
Any slip-up could have dire consequences: public apathy...the
thespian's worst nightmare.
Intercut dialogue
Squeeeeeeeeeeeck chirp
All members of the cast in the dressing room turn their heads at this sound. The anxiety is palpable.
Attenborough
Oh dear! We all know what that sound means! The show is about
to start! See our aging prima donna adjust her whiskers in the
mirror once more before proudly leading the procession towards
the main stage. If you pay close attention, you’ll notice the
unspoken tension between the ensemble’s starlette and our
distinguished lead...each hoping for the other’s failure to
ensure her own success. Oh, what a cruel world we live in!
Us humans often fail to realize the inherently predatory
character of nature, but such ferocity is favored in these
higher beings!
The cast exits the dressing room, single file, through a side door, presumably leading backstage.
Attenborough silently watches them go, then turns and walks out through the opposite door and into the behemoth, roofless main theater. Instead of a stage at its core, there is a pool of seawater.
Note: There is not a person in sight, just endless rows of vacant seats...and Attenborough.
Attenborough
(clumsily wading through the aisles)
What our two august rivals fail to notice, our ardent
coquette much more so than her foe, is that their impact on
stage is defined only by the existence of their characters,
ergo their castmates. We, as the audience, and as humans,
must award the same level of respect towards all actors on
a stage rather than just the leads...it is that range of
biodiversity that we must care for - the whole thing - rather
than just one or two stars.
Attenborough finds his seat. He arranges himself on the cushion in a very British fashion, taking care not to agitate his arthritic knees. A lone, decrepit face in a decaying theater...nature has almost overtaken the structure completely. Soon it will no longer be distinguishable from the surrounding landscape.
Attenborough
(Donning a bittersweet smile)
Thankfully we’ve made it to our seats in the nick of time! The
climate is perfect for such an exquisite coda; the mid-day
sun shining across dazzling salty waters...who could ask for
a better stage? The curtain is now about to rise on the
manatee matinee performance of the century, and I for one
cannot wait to see them dance!
Cut to:
2 INT. Center Stage - noon 2
The music starts, and the manatees from before file onto the stage. Attenborough sheds a single tear...for he has lived to see his one true love, nature, reclaim its destroyer, human greed. The wild beasts took back what they were once hunted to create; and the poignancy of their movements, fueled not just by their own awareness, but the awareness of their single eyewitness, knows no human parallel.
The leading lady, a hulking, aged manatinee, treading water with her flippers spread out before her as she beholds her adoring fans, opens her mouth to sing one last song.
The rest of the cast is statuesque, marble renditions of great artists, poised right before the crescendo.
Fade out