Dress Rehearsal for the End of the World (with Canapés and an Existential Crisis)
A meta-theatrical play in one act
By Ben Gavarré
This work has been published for free and open dissemination, although all intellectual property rights are reserved. Public use of this work requires permission from the author and for permission contact bengavarre@gmail.com or gavarreunam@gmail.com (Reg. Prop. Int. Expte. Inbox)
"The Actors" and their Characters
- CLARA: (Plays LIMANTOUR) The group's unofficial director.
- SOFÍA: (Plays POLANCO) Energetic and intuitive.
- ANA: (Plays ESCANDÓN) Insecure, but deep down empathetic and stubborn.
- LEO: (Plays HERNÁNDEZ) Thoughtful and grounded.
- MATEO: (Plays ALFARO) Charismatic and provocative.
- MR. BENÍTEZ: A confused old neighbor.
SETTING
A rehearsal space that could be the living room of an apartment. It is an ordered chaos: a pair of designer chairs cast aside, a coat rack with a few costume pieces, a table with half-drunk coffees and highlighted scripts. In the center, a pair of rehearsal blocks. There is a main door leading to an outside hallway, which is slightly ajar.
(The scene begins. CLARA, SOFÍA, and ANA are on their feet, fully in their characters of LIMANTOUR, POLANCO, and ESCANDÓN at an exclusive party.) (The other actors, LEO and MATEO, maintain a low profile, observing the rehearsal or studying their scripts.)
SOFÍA (as POLANCO): Well, changing the subject to more important things... Have you seen you-know-who's cousin? Poor thing, ever since her marriage fell apart, it's like she's invisible. Nobody even says hello to her. Anyway... didn't the same thing happen to Lulú De la Lama? It's just to die for. I think she signed checks or promissory notes... something from, like, the last century... I bet she still used a fax machine and a landline.
CLARA (as LIMANTOUR): (Tasting an imaginary canapé with disdain) Is this about the divorce, or is it something new? Gossip, like fish, must be served fresh, darling. And remember the first rule of this world: either you're the one eating the canapé, or you are the canapé. Our dear cousin chose to be a forgotten hors d'oeuvre.
ANA (as ESCANDÓN): Yes! That divorce thing is so intense! I saw them at the club two weeks ago, and they looked so... like nothing was wrong!
SOFÍA (as POLANCO): (Interrupting her with a gesture) That's just the tip of the iceberg! It turns out the husband didn't leave her for another woman... He left her for the tennis coach. A twenty-five-year-old stud! A total gym shark, literally.
CLARA (as LIMANTOUR): Predictable. Mr. De la Lama always had that... knack for showing his preference for young men and his distaste for being in a forced marriage... And you know, he's not the only case of men or women with triple lives. They should just declare themselves polyamorous instead of looking like complete idiots trying to be something they're not. I mean, if you're going to marry for the zip code, at least go to acting school to pass for straight. Or just come out of the closet already. No one is shocked these days if you're a faggot or a lesbian.
ANA (as ESCANDÓN): You can't use those words anymore. They told me they're inappropriate and offensive. Now you have to say LG... T-U-V-X-Y-Z.
CLARA (as LIMANTOUR): No, darling, as usual, you're misinformed. And if I want to call them whatever I please, I have every right and freedom to do so, and that's that.
SOFÍA (as POLANCO): But wait, Clara! You don't know that Lulú—you know, the Lulú—got her face done by the "Butcher of Bogotá"... (She pauses dramatically and touches up an invisible lipstick). And she's pulled so tight that when she smiles, her left eyebrow shoots up and her lip twists... Tragic.
CLARA: And... Cut!
(The three instantly break character. The energy shifts.)
CLARA: Good. The venomous synchronicity is there. Ana, I liked your attempt at naivete, but I need you to be even more of a doormat. Your character doesn't have the right to an opinion yet. The character's profound ignorance can be fun, but that's not the point here. It's not about making the characters likable; it's about being a mirror of the reality they believe they live in.
(As they talk, Ana glances toward the main door, which is ajar.)
ANA: Hey... did someone leave the door open? I could have sworn I saw a shadow pass by.
CLARA: (Without looking) It's a draft, Ana. Focus. Alright, Leo and Mateo, you're up. From the top of your scene.
(LEO and MATEO get up and do warm-up movements. MATEO stretches like a gazelle, emphasizing his physique. LEO makes facial movements, opening and closing his mouth to prepare to speak.)
MATEO: Brutal, ladies. Now, for our entrance. Let's discuss strategy. My Alfaro isn't a seducer; he's an anthropologist. His goal is to study this tribe of elegant savages.
LEO: And my Hernández is the counterpart. We're a team. Alfaro is like my battering ram and my shield...
MATEO: And Hernández is my All-Access Pass into this world of soulless vultures who either want to screw me or kill me... I mean, Alfaro.
CLARA: Correct. Let's go. From the introduction. Action!
(The lighting changes subtly. LEO and MATEO enter the "party.")
LEO (as HERNÁNDEZ): Well, well. The whole conclave. May I ask who you're excommunicating tonight? I'm sorry to interrupt what was undoubtedly a dissection-without-anesthesia of some mutual friend. Allow me to introduce a man whose talents are inversely proportional to his modesty: Braulio Alfaro.
MATEO (as ALFARO): A pleasure. Though I'm afraid I'm interrupting a conversation of the utmost importance.
CLARA (as LIMANTOUR): We were discussing the pros and cons of modern servitude.
MATEO (as ALFARO): Really?... I'm sure if it's not high-society gossip, it's the inconveniences of the lower classes... Ah, the classic dilemma: do we respect those who serve us, or do we pay them enough to keep their mouths shut? My opinion? Loyalty is earned, not hired. Or is that idea too... revolutionary for this room?
(He says this with a smile so charming that the women laugh, nervous and disarmed.)
SOFÍA (as POLANCO): Oh, how profound! Let's talk about something trivial instead! Culture, for example!
(Clara blows a whistle... The light turns the characters into silhouettes making elaborate movements... The dialogues overlap. The following are suggestions, but they are improvised quickly and cacophonously):
ANA (as ESCANDÓN): ...Osho just changes your life.
CLARA (as LIMANTOUR): Life is Elsewhere, by Kundera, or The Unbearable Lightness of Being... What a title! So long...
LEO (as HERNÁNDEZ): I prefer Murakami. Tokyo Blues is a masterpiece.
SOFÍA (as POLANCO): Oh, no! How cliché! Poetry is better. Octavio Paz!
CLARA (as LIMANTOUR): You're all talk, Polanco. Don't be such a snob.
MATEO (as ALFARO): (Smiling) T. S. Eliot is the best... It must be pronounced Tee... Ess... Eliot... with an English accent.
(The light returns to normal. Clara is no longer using the whistle; it's Sofía (as Polanco) who interrupts forcefully:)
SOFÍA (as POLANCO): Enough about culture! I don't want to anymore! I said so!
LEO (as HERNÁNDEZ): I want to do a cultured podcast, really cultured.
MATEO (as ALFARO): I want to do an OnlyFans, or if not, a pornoentucasa... (Falsely, with affectation) the app, you understand, right?
SOFÍA (as POLANCO): I want my ten seconds of fame! Not even the fifteen minutes that guy talked about!
ANA (as ESCANDÓN): Who?
CLARA (as LIMANTOUR): Warhol, Ana. Andy Warhol.
ANA (as ESCANDÓN): Oh! Phew, I'm not that old. He's from the 60s, right? I wasn't even born!
CLARA (as LIMANTOUR): It shows, darling. Your ignorance is insultingly young.
MATEO (as ALFARO, to CLARA/LIMANTOUR): Madam, you insult the uncultured lady so often, it would seem you wish to court her...
(CLARA (the actress and de facto director) GETS ANNOYED BY THE LAST COMMENT AND BLOWS THE WHISTLE)
CLARA: Cut! It's not working. Mateo, what's with you? This isn't a Spanish Golden Age play! And what's this about me wanting to court her?... Ana is foolish, we know that, I mean, her character Escandón is not very believable. It needs something more organic, more... more... skin. Five minutes. Just five.
(The actors relax. MATEO takes off his rehearsal shirt.)
MATEO: Phew, I was roasting in here.
SOFÍA: (Without looking up from her phone) You're not fooling anyone, Mateo. Rehearsal is just an excuse for your strip show. Tone down the ego.
CLARA: (With a weary sigh) Same old story, Mateo. If you're not the center of attention, you don't exist.
(Ignoring her, Mateo goes to the Bluetooth speaker and puts on a very sexy song, an icon of male striptease. He performs his act with virtuosity; everyone feels a mix of admiration and annoyance, especially Clara. Mateo turns up the volume. Now he begins to move slowly, exaggeratedly. He poses, flexes his muscles, and looks directly at Clara and Sofía with a provocative smile.)
CLARA: Can you turn that crap off, please? This is a rehearsal, not a strip club in Acapulco.
MATEO: (Dancing) I'm exploring my character's erotic range! Alfaro is a peacock, he needs to show off his feathers!
SOFÍA: Well, your "peacock" looks more like a small-town fighting cock. It lacks class.
(Ana, uncomfortable, sits in a corner. Leo watches Mateo with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. While Mateo continues his "show," Ana approaches Sofía.)
ANA: Your hair got a little tangled in the back with all the movement. Need help?
(Ana gently begins to untangle a lock of Sofía's hair. It's a gesture of camaraderie amid Mateo's chaos.)
MATEO: (Lowering the music but still posing) Ah! I knew it! Observe the grooming ritual. What's happening is that little Escandón doesn't just admire the great Polanco... she likes her! She's in love with her!
SOFÍA: (Unfazed) So what if I am? You got a problem not being the center of attention?
MATEO: Not at all. In fact, now everything makes sense. (He turns to Leo). And you... it's not that you admire my character. It's that... You want a piece of me.
(Mateo approaches Leo, wraps an arm around his neck, and gets very close in a parody of seduction.)
LEO: (Laughing at first) Get off me, you idiot.
MATEO: (Persisting, using a jokingly seductive voice) Come on, don't play hard to get. I know you're dying for this... tempting body.
SOFÍA: (Shouting from across the room) Careful, Leo! His nose is turned up and his smile is wide! That's the sign he's serious!
(Mateo smiles even wider, accentuating the turned-up nose gesture as he looks to the sky. But the joke has gone too far for Leo.)
LEO: (In a firm, low voice, shoving Mateo's arm away) Alright, Mateo. Knock it off. Seriously. Not everything's a joke. I'm warning you.
MATEO: Is this really happening? I can't believe it.
(The atmosphere freezes. The shift in Leo's tone is real. Mateo takes a step back. There is genuine tension between the two friends.)
CLARA: (Clapping once, sharply) Perfect. Five minutes are up. Since our colleague is so... inspired by his body, let's do an exercise. It's called the "Power Walk." Imagine it's the red carpet of the most exclusive event. Your walk defines your status. Who dominates and who is invisible. I want to see the characters, not you. Sofía, you start. You are Polanco, the queen of the socialites. Devour the world.
(Appropriate music, like from a cosmopolitan fashion show, plays. Sofía transforms. She walks through the center of the room as if on a runway. Her gaze is haughty; she blows kisses into the air, pulls out an imaginary phone for a perfect selfie. It is a masterclass in charismatic superficiality.)
CLARA: Yes! That's it! Fake, plastic, perfect! Next. Mateo, your turn. You are Alfaro, the alpha male who knows he owns the place.
(Mateo accepts the challenge. His theme music plays... something like house music... His walk is a display of arrogance. He walks slowly, hands in his pockets, looking down on everyone. He stops midway, laughs to himself, and shakes his head, as if everything seems mediocre to him. He is obnoxious and magnetic.)
CLARA: Good. Project that effortless power. Ana, you're up. You are Escandón, desperate to fit in. But you are gray.
(Carnival music plays. Ana tries to walk, but she looks small, hesitant. Her shoulders are slumped, her gaze seeking approval. She is painfully vulnerable.)
CLARA: (Mercilessly) No, Ana. Not like that. You look like you're asking for permission to exist. It's pathetic. Off. Sit down.
(Ana, humiliated, retreats to a chair. Her eyes fill with tears. She opens her mouth to retort, a tremor of rage running through her body, but in the end, she closes it, swallowing her words in a gesture of defeat.)
CLARA: Leo. You close. You are Hernández. You've just seen your friend Alfaro humiliate everyone and watched this poor girl get torn apart. Use that rage. Show me the power of moral indignation. Walk!
(Tribal music, drums. Leo stands up. There is real fury in his eyes. He begins to walk. But it's not a character's walk. It's his own. His steps are heavy, his jaw is tight. He doesn't project power; he projects pain, frustration. It is a moment of brutal honesty from an actor who can no longer pretend. He stops and looks at Clara, defiant.)
CLARA: (After an icy silence) CUT!
(The shout is sharp, full of disappointment.)
CLARA: No, Leo. Just no. What was that? That's not power, it's a tantrum! You looked like a lost kid looking for his mom in the supermarket. Zero status. Zero control. Pathetic!
LEO: (Exploding, all the pent-up tension surfacing) I was being honest! I was using what happened right here, what you yourself asked for!
MATEO: (Intervening, furious at the attack on his friend) He was doing it incredibly, Clara! For the first time, someone achieves something meaningful, and you sabotage it out of envy.
CLARA: (Confronting Mateo) This isn't your group therapy session, Mateo! It's my vision! It's done my way, period!
MATEO: Oh, really? The "unofficial director" has spoken? How convenient! You're a theater Karen, you know that? You always have to be right, even when you're wrong! Such basic narcissism.
CLARA: You're a mediocre provocateur! An exhibitionist who thinks he's an artist! The only thing you care about is your damn perfect abs!
MATEO: Do you hear yourself? You're contradicting yourself: am I mediocre or am I perfect? You want a real analysis, "director"? You don't hate me, you desire me. And since you can't have me, you try to destroy me. It's the most basic narcissism there is. Study yourself, you witch!
(In a fit of rage, Mateo grabs a script from the table and throws it at Clara. It misses her, but the script explodes into a shower of pages. Ana stifles a scream. Leo steps between them.)
LEO: THAT'S ENOUGH! BOTH OF YOU, STOP!
(There is a dense, heavy silence. They all look at each other, breathing heavily. The real fight has left them exposed.)
LEO: (Calmer, taking a step back and observing them) ...You see. Right there. That's the moment you got lost in your roles. You, Clara, became Limantour: controlling, cold, dictatorial. And you, Mateo, you got carried away by Alfaro's bravado. You let the characters eat you alive. The point isn't just realizing it... it's changing your attitude.
CLARA: (After a pause, her mind processing. She nods slowly) He's right. The power struggle... it's the same one from the play.
SOFÍA: (Stepping forward, taking control with a new, decisive energy) Okay, yes, he's right. But we can't just stand here resenting each other. Let's use this energy. Let's use this... crap. I have an idea for a new scene. One that's not in the script.
(Everyone looks at her, expectant.)
SOFÍA: We're going to improvise. Our characters, Limantour, Alfaro, all of them... they're going to therapy. Or something like it. An "intervention" in a neutral space. A park. To "raise consciousness."
MATEO: (Skeptical) Therapy? Our characters? They'll eat each other alive.
SOFÍA: Exactly! That's the drama! Let's see what happens when these narcissistic monsters are forced to "share their feelings." Clara, Mateo, the rage you're feeling right now... don't let it go. Give it to Limantour and Alfaro. Let's go.
(Sofía begins to reconfigure the space. She moves two blocks to resemble a park bench. She places a prop plant nearby.)
SOFÍA: Here. This is a zen garden. Or a discreet corner of a beautiful park. There are trees, birds, peace. We are in a safe space. I, as Polanco, will guide the session. Because, of course, Polanco just took a weekend diploma course in mindfulness and now she thinks she's a therapist. Ready? From... now. Action!
(The lighting changes slightly, becoming softer. The actors assume their characters again, but with the real tension still vibrating underneath. They sit in a circle in the "park.")
SOFÍA (as POLANCO): (With a soft, slightly affected voice) Well, it's just divine that we're giving ourselves this space to connect. I feel like lately, there have been... conflicting energies. And I want us all to validate our feelings. Escandón, darling, why don't you start? Share with us how Limantour makes you feel.
ANA (as ESCANDÓN): (With trembling sincerity, looking at Clara) Well... sometimes I feel... like you don't see me. That no matter what I say, it's always going to be wrong. I feel like to you... I'm a nobody. And that hurts.
(It is a moment of real vulnerability. Leo nods, moved.)
CLARA (as LIMANTOUR): (Instead of responding, she analyzes coldly) Fascinating. A textbook manifestation of an inferiority complex projected onto an authority figure. Dramaturgically speaking, it's a bit cliché, but as a starting point for your character arc, I suppose it works.
ANA: (As Ana, hurt) It's not a character arc, Clara! That's how you make me feel!
SOFÍA (as POLANCO): (Intervening quickly) Thank you for sharing, Escandón! Clara, thank you for that... feedback. Alfaro, your turn. How do you feel in this ecosystem?
MATEO (as ALFARO): (He smiles, predatory. He doesn't look at Sofía, but directly at Clara) I feel... very stimulated. I feel a fascinating tension in the air. Especially from Limantour. I sense a need for control that is so... palpable. It's like armor. I wonder what would happen if someone found a crack in it. If someone helped her... relax. To release all that contained energy.
(The insinuation is both personal and part of the character. The line has been completely blurred.)
CLARA: (Abandoning Limantour completely, her voice pure ice) Don't you dare psychoanalyze me, Mateo. Not me, not the character. You're not as smart as you think you are.
MATEO: (As Mateo, but with Alfaro's arrogance) See? Right there! You're hiding behind the character! You can't stand someone seeing the real you! The great Clara, the intellectual, the perfect director! You're terrified that people will find out you're nothing more than an insecure control freak!
CLARA: And you're an empty peacock! A textbook narcissist who needs everyone's approval because deep down you know you have nothing to offer but a pretty body!
(The "intervention" has failed spectacularly. The energy is now uglier than before, colder and more calculated. Leo stands up.)
LEO: That's enough. Sofía, it didn't work. This just made it worse.
(The exercise dissolves. They sit in a hostile, defeated silence. The spiral has led them to a dead end. It is at this precise moment of total failure that the main door opens completely.)
(MR. BENÍTEZ enters. He is a confused old man. He is in pajamas and slippers, completely lost. His appearance is simultaneously pathetic, comical, and absurd.)
MR. BENÍTEZ: Excuse me... Is breakfast ready yet? Marta told me to wait here.
(The five actors freeze. The contrast between their complex, toxic drama and the old man's simple, human need is brutal.)
MATEO: (In a low voice) Who is this guy?
ANA: (Approaching cautiously) Sir, are you alright? Who is Marta?
CLARA: (Annoyed, but her hostility now sounds hollow, almost ashamed) Sir, you can't be in here. We're rehearsing.
MR. BENÍTEZ: (To Clara) Are you the new nurse? You have an unfriendly face.
SOFÍA: (Trying not to laugh) I think the gentleman is a little disoriented.
LEO: Here, sir, sit down. (He guides him to a chair). Would you like some water?
(Leo gives him a bottle of a sports drink. Mr. Benítez takes a long drink. He seems to come to his senses.)
MR. BENÍTEZ: Ah... thank you. How kind. I must have gotten the wrong floor. My apartment is 502. It happens sometimes.
SOFÍA: We're 602. You're our downstairs neighbor.
ANA: We've never seen you before.
MR. BENÍTEZ: (Smiling sadly) Nobody sees old people. We're invisible. Well, I won't take up any more of your time. Thanks for the drink, really.
(Mr. Benítez stands up and exits as quietly as he entered. The five actors remain in a silence even deeper than before, but this time it isn't hostile. It's reflective. Humble.)
MATEO: (Breaking the silence, softly) Well... now that was a turning point.
CLARA: (She looks at the mess of pages on the floor. Her voice has lost all its harshness. For the first time, she smiles genuinely) Let's forget about performing our drama for now. It's a minor issue... compared to how truly hard reality can be. Let's forget everything. Let's go to the finale.
ANA: (Excited, with a new light in her eyes) The musical number?
SOFÍA: (With a renewed, healing energy) Yes! The musical number!
MATEO: Now that's a tango I'll dance to.
LEO: No doubt about it. The cosmos sent us a message.
(Mateo runs to the speaker and puts on an 80s pop song at full volume. The light changes. The five, completely as themselves, look at each other, share a knowing laugh, and launch themselves into the center of the stage.)
(They begin the musical number. Now it's not just a happy ending; it's a catharsis. It's the recognition of their own ridiculousness and the celebration of their imperfect, resilient connection.)
ALL:
(Singing)
If life is a rehearsal and the world a giant hall,
And a neighbor might appear, looking for the dining call!
If your ego starts to rule you, or a Karen you become,
Just take a breath and see your silly dramas leave you numb!
This was the end of the world with canapés and with all spite!
But at the end of the day... it's just theater and friendship's light! Thank you!
(They end in a final pose, sweaty, happy, and looking at the audience. They laugh, not as actors, but as people who have just survived something together.)
(END)
