Original subtitles

You've just told me some high memories

in your mind. Want to hear mine?

They're all connected with the sea. Um,

here's one. I was on the squarehead

square rigger bound for Buenos Aries. A

full moon in the trades. The old hooker

driving 14 knots.

I I lay on the bow sprit facing a stern.

The water foaming into spoon under me

and and the mass with their sails white

in the moonlight towering high above me.

I became drunk with the beauty and the

singing rhythm of it. And for a moment I

lost myself. Actually lost my life.

I was set free.

I dissolved into the sea. Became the

white sails and the flying spray. Became

beauty and rhythm. Became the moonlight

in the ship and the high dim starred

sky.

I belonged without past or future,

within this peace and unity, in this

wild joy,

within something greater than my own

life or the life of man, to life itself

to God, if you want to put it that way.

And several other times in my life when

I was swimming far out or lying on the

beach alone, I experienced the same

thing.

I became the sun and the hot sand and

the green seaweed anchored to the rock

swaying in the tide. Like a saint's

vision of beatitude

like

the veil of things as they seem drawn

back by some

unseen hand.

And for a second you see

and seeing the secret are the secret.

For a second there's meaning

and then the hand lets the veil fall

and you're alone

wandering through the fog.

It was a great mistake my being born a

man. I've been much more successful as a

seagull or a fish.

As it is, I always be a stranger who can

never really feel at home,

can never really want, was never really

wanted,

can never really belong,

must always be a little in love with

death.

Thank you very much.

Lie down.

Um,

this is another one of those monologues

where it's a very very well-known

monologue in that this monologue has

done a lot. Um, because it's a really

wonderful piece and because O'Neal is

the character

uh Edmund is O'Neal and he of course is

one of our greatest playwrights,

greatest poets because he writes so

poetically. So that's part of the danger

is that there's a kind of poetry

to this piece

and I think it's hard to not sort of get

a little bit pulled by that which is

perfectly fine. But I think also what

ends up often happening in this piece

and any kind of piece where you're

working with somebody a great writer and

there's a kind of you know stature is

that you tend to forget

the person you're talking to and in this

case Edmond is talking to his father and

his father has actually just done

something which has prompted this whole

revelation.

which is his father has just been more

honest with him, more open with him and

admitted something about his own life

that he has never ever said to anyone

before.

Ever.

And they're also drinking.

So again, that's the reason he tells

this story.

is because this is his attempt to

return the favor.

This is his attempt to give a gift to

his father.

But somewhere along the way, I think

when you hear it, when you when I really

listen to these words, when he finally

gets to the point where he says, "But

then the veil drops

and you're back to reality."

Why? Why is that?

Why does he say that?

You can only stay in that ecstasy and

that enlightenment and that seeing

something for so long. You got to go

back.

Yes. It's entirely possible that this

whole piece is him just remembering and

him just talking away and being in

another world and going off into this

poetic thing and then cutting himself

off at a certain point and saying, "But

then, you know, uh, life takes over and

it isn't what you [ __ ] hoped." And

what's those last lines where he says,

"Um, I would have been much better as a

I've been much more successful as a

single." What if, and this is just a a

possibility, but what if he's going

along

and he's sharing this incredible

experience that he had on this board

this ship and this other time, this

other time when he was this other thing,

and he's he's expressing himself to his

father.

But at a certain point,

you see, your father just doesn't get

it.

He just doesn't have any [ __ ] idea

what you're talking about.

And that's the reality. And that's the

veil coming down. And that's why you

would have been much [ __ ] better as a

[ __ ] fish or a seagull because you

can't ever get through to him ever. And

that the whole piece is about trying to

reach him and thinking that maybe in

this moment you finally will because he

just opened himself up to you in a way

you've never experienced

and now you want to open yourself up to

him and halfway through it.

Doesn't matter that he doesn't say

anything. It doesn't matter that he it's

the way he is.

He's not hearing it. He's not getting

it. He's not and he doesn't.

And that I think

is a

slightly more active

and

real thing to grab on to in the context

of doing this piece that it's about him

and then it's about the disappointment

of him and then it's about the

disappointment of life and it all

happens right in front of you. It is not

some poetic fantasy happening from some

memory. It's happening in front of you.

And that I believe will make the scene

alive.

So the reason I asked you to lie on the

ground is because this is how I want you

to be. But I want you to roll over and

start the scene as if instead of playing

cards just because it's

different. You and your father are

playing chess

and you're lying on the ground and

there's a drink and yeah, you're fairly

drunk, but I don't want I don't want you

to play drunk because I don't think

that's what the scene's about.

But this whole notion that you're just

not wandering around and having a

memory, but you're trying to communicate

with this man who is literally right

next to you lying on the ground with

you. You're trying to get through to him

to make him see who you are, understand

you in a way that he's never understood

you. And do that. And then at a certain

point, I want you to see

in him.

It's never been clear.

And that's where I'd like to see the

shift happen. But I think all of this is

very, very deep and personal and not

flowery and performancelike.

So try it again.

You just told me some high spots in your

memories.

Want to hear mine?

They're all connected with the sea.

Here's one. Um,

I was on the squarehead square wigger

rigger bound for buenus areas. A full

moon in the trades. The old hooker

driving 14 knots.

I lay on the bow sprit facing a stern

and the water foaming into spew under me

and the mess with all their sails white

in the moonlight

towering high above.

I became drunk with the beauty and the

singing rhythm of it. And and for a

moment I lost myself.

I actually lost my life.

I was set free.

I dissolved in the sea and and became

the white sails and and the flying spray

became beauty and rhythm became the

moonlight and the ship and high dim star

sky.

I

belonged without past or future

within peace and unity in this wild joy

within something greater than my own

life or the life of man to life itself

to God if you want to put it that way.

Several other times in my life when I

was swimming out or lying on the beach

alone I experienced the same thing.

I

became the sun, became the hot sand,

became the green seaweed anchored to the

rock swaying in the dark.

Like a saint's vision of beatitude,

like the veil of things as they seem

drawn back by some unseen hand. And for

a second you see

seeing the secret

or the secret

for a second there's meaning

and then the hand lets the veil fall.

You're alone,

wandering through the fault.

It was a great mistake my being born a

man.

I've been much more successful as a

seagull or fish.

Excellent. Thank you so much. Very nice.

Now,

it's really really interesting. Tell

tell me about the what you just

experienced in not doing it sort of

wandering and remembering but actually

talking directly. What's the

first time that I did and the way that I

was thinking about it before you know

you said you know about the personal

aspects of it I was thinking this is his

grand gesture this big reveal to his

father where he was like just you know

modlin and and just kind of spewing but

then I realized no he's he's saying

these things in a very concerted way. He

has he has so much meaning and poignance

to what he's saying. It's all pointed.

It's all exact. There's nothing

superfluous. And I was treating some of

the words superfluously. And I took my

time and I said,

"Everything he's saying, he's trying to

convey this exact thing to his father."

And then we know when you gave me that

thing where he's not listening and he's

never going to get it.

It's just it's such an Thank you so

much. Thank you so much. It's just an

interesting thing when we,

you know, it's the thing about

monologues, too, which is that we get up

and we're, you know, performing alone

and we tend to forget

why we're saying what we're saying, who

we're doing it to, what kind of reaction

we're hoping for versus the one we might

get. You know, life is full of

disappointments.

Theater lives on disappointments.

characters survive on disappointments.

So, it's always that sense of

remembering why you're doing it, who

you're doing it to, what is it about,

what are you looking for,

and does it ever come? And very often it

doesn't. But it's a very, very, very

great adjustment.

Very good adjustment.