Part Three:
-------------------
SCENE 1.
INT. LOUNGE ROOM. NIGHT.
THEODORE HESSIAN LEANS ON THE MANTLEPIECE, HOLDING A GLASS OF PORT. HIS FACE IS ILLUMINATED BY THE FLICKERING LIGHT OF A CANDELABRUM. HE ADDRESSES THE CAMERA.
THEODORE:
Heil viewer. I'm Theodore Hessian, the man who puts the "poet" in "poetry". Tonight, my programme – Theodore Hessian: On Being, Etcetera – takes an artistic look at two related issues: animals and women. Both are strange, mysterious, frightening and deeply arousing. Of course, as an internationally successful poet, it's my duty to confront the weird and the wonderful; from other genders to other species.
ENIGMATIC THEME MUSIC. FADE TO:
SCENE 2.
INT. BOOKSHOP. DAY.
A TALL WOMAN (HOST) ADDRESSES A MOSTLY FEMALE AUDIENCE, WHO OCCUPY SEVERAL DOZEN CHAIRS FORMED INTO ROWS INSIDE THE CHIC BOOKSHOP. THEODORE IS SEATED BESIDE SEVERAL OTHER LITERARY-TYPES BEHIND THE HOST. A HANGING BANNER READS "WOMEN'S LITERARY WEEK".
HOST:
… So without further ado, I'll hand over to our guest speakers. Please put your hands together for local poet, Theodore Hessian.
AUDIENCE APPLAUSE. THEODORE STANDS AND TALKS TO THE HOST IN A LOW VOICE.
THEODORE:
Not "local"; international. Internationally acclaimed poet.
HOST:
Oh; have you been –
THEODORE:
I've been translated into Tagalog.
APPLAUSE ENDS. HOST SITS. THEODORE AWKWARDLY SHUFFLES BEHIND A LOW PODIUM.
THEODORE:
Good morning, ladies and ladies – (notices several men standing near the back) and gents. I'd firstly like to express my pleasure at being invited here to speak during Women's Literary Week. It's important that we recognise that some female writers and poets are actually starting to produce work of a standard almost comparable with men. That's something you can all be proud of, so why not give yourselves a collective pat on the back?
CUT TO:
SCENE 3.
INT. LOUNGE ROOM. NIGHT.
THEODORE SITS IN HIS ARMCHAIR, ADDRESSING THE CAMERA.
THEODORE:
I'm not in the least misogynistic. It's ludicrous to suggest I am. An artist's work and his – or her – personality are entirely separate. Munch painted The Scream, but that doesn't mean he spent his entire life just screaming. I described women as "sirens, whores and harpies, the Gorgons' daughters; stripped of all humanity, impure and full of spite," but I don't necessarily think that applies to all females. The Ancient Greeks believed women were responsible for all vice and evil in the universe, but does anyone say they were sexist? Of course not.
FADE TO:
SCENE 4.
INT. BOOKSHOP. DAY.
THEODORE IS CONTINUING HIS PRESENTATION.
THEODORE:
I'd like to read you a poem that captures the essence of womanhood. It's quite feministic, quite earthy. I call it "The Woman".
The Woman has breath,
It is exhaled air;
The Woman has legs,
Where she shaves the hair;
The Woman has eyes,
Like twin lycees with pupils;
The Woman has breasts,
Like twin moons with nipples.
Welcome, not just "women", but fellow humans. Welcome to your Literary Week.
DEAFENING SILENCE. CUT TO:
SCENE 5.
INT. LOUNGE ROOM. NIGHT.
THEODORE ADDRESSES THE CAMERA FROM HIS ARMCHAIR.
I find the invention of verse incredibly easy. I can actually craft impromptu poetry – unwritten, unpractised, unprepared. The great wordsmiths of the nineteenth century could often spend years perfecting their poetry; I'm able to just create quality poems as I go. I wouldn't like to compare myself with Wordsworth, Byron, Keats and Shelley; I couldn't make such a comparison personally. I mean, I might be better, we might be pretty much even; I'll leave it to you, my esteemed audience, to make up your own minds.
FADE TO:
SCENE 6.
INT. BOOKSHOP. DAY.
THEODORE IS CONTINUING HIS PRESENTATION. THE AUDIENCE IS NOW NOTICEABLY SMALLER.
THEODORE:
What I'll do now is present to you an off-the-cuff poem. Can I have a topic? Anyone in the audience? Any of you lovely ladies with a suggestion?
WOMAN ONE (calls out):
Pollution.
THEODORE:
Not pollution. Something else.
WOMAN TWO (calls out):
Women.
THEODORE:
Well, I've done women. Don't want to bring that up agai– what about wolves? Everyone loves wolves. Yes? Alright.
THEODORE INHALES, STEADIES HIMSELF.
THEODORE (cont.):
Through the… endless night,
The howls, from out of sight…
The sky is glowing bright,
Beneath the Northern Lights…
My soul connects with wolves,
I'm running with the pack…
I'm hunting, snarling, howling,
I'm running… down a track.
I'm mating with the she-wolf,
The animal I've fu – loved…
Raising Romulus, suckling Remus,
What Romes will they construct?
ONE OF THE LITERARY TYPES WALKS OUT OF THE BOOKSHOP, FOLLOWED BY SEVERAL AUDIENCE MEMBERS. THE HOST IS DESPAIRING AND DEJECTED.
THEODORE (calls after them):
My anthology, "Musings From The Omnibus", is available here, so don't forget to buy it…
THEY'RE LONG GONE.
THEODORE (cont., to camera):
They'll get that elsewhere, I expect. (Shouts after the leaving audience members) It was impromptu, for Thor's sake!
CUT TO:
SCENE 7.
INT. LOUNGE ROOM. NIGHT.
THEODORE ADDRESSES THE CAMERA FROM HIS ARMCHAIR. HE IS STROKING A RABBIT.
THEODORE:
I love animals, but that doesn't mean I can't fight them. Yes, I'll kick-box a ram. For relaxation, exercise and artistic purposes. It is poetic. At least I'm not posting anthrax to squirrels.
FIN.