The Curse of Miss Fortune
Comedy / 3 men, 3 women / 45 mins
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ISBN: 9781326323226 (acting edition)
Synopsis
America 1953. Jonas Bacon and Norma Joy are down on their luck. Blame Jonas’s boss, Reginald Kramer, a sleaze with morals as bankrupt as his filing system. He’s busy juggling a secretary on the make and a conscience long since misplaced. Now Porco Rossi wants his money, and in this town, everyone owes him something. Miss Fortune shows up. Says she’s here to help, and somewhere in the middle of it all… there’s a pig. Cursed, of course.
Author notes
The Curse of Miss Fortune is a one-act comedy stage play featuring three male and three female characters. The play requires only a single or minimal set and has an approximate runtime of 45 minutes. Set in America, the characters should
ideally be portrayed with American accents.
Specifications
Male characters: 3
Female characters: 3
Non-specific characters: 0
Runtime: 45 minutes
Genre: Comedy
Staging: Minimal
Ideal for: One act festivals
Released: 2011
Rating: Contains some innuendo
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ISBN: 9781326323226 (acting edition)
Performance licensing
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Sample of script
REGINALD. Jonas! Step away from that painting immediately. I don’t much care for people touching my assets. You know that!
JONAS. I’m sorry, Mr Kramer. It was banking to one side. I grasped it firmly, hoping to yank it back over in an effort to –
(REGINALD zips up his fly.)
… reposition it. Mr Kramer, you look windswept, and I’ve been waiting here for what seems like an age, but in reality is possibly only a handful of seconds. Is everything okay?
REGINALD. Perfectly fine, Jonas. Sorry I’m late. I was lured into something deep and couldn’t pull out in time.
(Points to the painting.)
Do you know what this is?
JONAS. I sure do, Mr Kramer. It’s a painting.
REGINALD. Oh. Well, sure—it’s a painting. But not just any painting. This one's a bona fide classic—a piece of history in brushstrokes. A collector’s desire and something that shouldn’t be manhandled in such an inappropriate manner, by a dim witted fool such as yourself!
(Beat.)
Touch it again and I’ll take your arm off at the elbow.
JONAS. I understand, Mr Kramer.
REGINALD. Good. I’m glad to hear it.
(Whilst adjusting the painting.)
You know, I picked up this little masterpiece from an art dealer downtown. A real bargain, too. Could hardly believe my luck. And look at it—doesn't even need a wall.
(Demonstrating with hands.)
Now that’s what I call real modern art, if I ever saw it.
JONAS. Geez, that sure is some impressive visual effect. One that perhaps could be considered for a technical award of note, but, Mr Kramer, I don’t fully understand what the painting is supposed to represent, symbolically, as an art form that is.
REGINALD. Is it not obvious to you?
(JONAS shrugs.)
You planchette fool. Why it’s a mixture of everything divulged into a compilation of art and colour, gently blended using tones of lights and darks. Look at those colours, Jonas!
(Grabs JONAS by the arm.)
Stand here! Don’t hold back. Describe in elaborate detail to me, and the small yet significant audience behind us, precisely what you see right now, in your mind, when looking at it.
JONAS. I see…
REGINALD. Yes?
JONAS. I see –
REGINALD. Yes? Yes?!
JONAS. I see… a lady, Mr Kramer.
REGINALD. A lady you say? How interesting. I can’t say that I’ve seen one of those before. In the painting that is. I mean, obviously I’ve seen ladies before. Many of them in fact. Why only a brief moment ago I was very much seeing –
JONAS. A Pig!
REGINALD. How dare you! That’s my secretary you’re speaking ill of. Not that I’m seeing my secretary you must understand. I wouldn’t do that. I’m a professional. Business not pleasure. Although, I must admit, there’s nothing finer than a dominant dame in an office environment. Someone not afraid to stamp down on one’s foot, pluck out one’s hair and scream “hi ho silver away!” to the drum of an ear until one passes out cold from the thrill. You wake up, hours later, wrists tied with rope made of lust, completely naked from head to toe, propped up against two large slabs of freshly cut ham inside a butcher’s freezer. Good ham too, none of that cheap stuff from the South. All the while, you hear those five words ringing, ney, echoing deep within one's mind… "How did I get here?”
(Beat.)
(Whispers dramatically.) “How did I get here?!”
JONAS. Okay –
REGINALD. You were saying something about a pig?
JONAS. Yes. I see a lady with a pig in the painting.
REGINALD. A lady with a pig in the painting you say? Hmm.
JONAS. Yes, but since your somewhat unsettling monologue a moment ago, I’m now experiencing an additional strange feeling too. An overwhelming tingly sense of fear. It’s as if the painting is somehow… trying… to warn me… of… a… mysterious lady… holding… a pig.
(Both stare at the painting.)
REGINALD. It’s fair to say that you’ve finally crossed over into insanity, Jonas. It’s a painting you fool. Nothing more.
JONAS. You’re quite right, Mr Kramer. I’m not sure what came over me just then, what with that strange feeling and all.
REGINALD. Madness I’d say.
JONAS. …and I don’t honestly know of any pig lady to which the painting could possibly be referring to anyhow.
REGINALD. No? You’ve clearly not met my ex-wife then. A pig lady if ever there was one.
(Over the top laugh.)
(Deadpan.) Why are you in my office, Jonas?
End of script sample.