Marisol and Other Plays

José Rivera

• Publisher: Theatre Communications Group
• Year: 1997
• ISBN:
  9781559366168
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: American Drama
• Index: Literature

The first collection of plays by one of the most moving and astonishing writers of the last 15 years. Though critics reflexively class his work as "magical realism,” Rivera’s extravagant, original imagery always serves to illuminate the gritty realities and touching longings of our daily lives. Also includes: Each Day Dies with Sleep and Cloud Tectonics.

MARISOL

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PRODUCTION HISTORY

Marisol was originally commissioned and developed by INTAR Hispanic Arts Center (Max Ferra, Artistic Director) through a grant from the Rockefeller Foundation.

The play received its world premiere at the 1992 Annual Humana Festival of New American Plays at the Actors Theatre of Louisville (Jon Jory, Producing Director), in Louisville, Kentucky, on March 13, 1992. It was directed by Marcus Stern; the set design was by Paul Owen; the costume design was by Laura A. Patterson; the lighting design was by Mary Louise Geiger; the sound design was by Darron West; and the stage manager was James Mountcastle. The cast was as follows:

ANGEL

Esther Scott

MARISOL

Karina Arroyave

MAN WITH GOLF CLUB,

MAN WITH ICE CREAM,

LENNY,

MAN WITH SCAR TISSUE

V Craig Heidenreich

JUNE

Susan Knight

HOMELESS PERSON

Carlos Ramos

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Marisol was produced by the New York Shakespeare Festival (George C. Wolfe, Producer), in association with the Hartford Stage Company (Mark Lamos, Artistic Director), in New York City in May 1993. It was directed by Michael Greif; the set design was by Debra Booth; the costume design was by Angela Wendt; the lighting design was by Kenneth Posner; the sound design was by David Budries; the violence director was David Leong; the original music was by Jill Jaffe; and the production stage manager was Lori M. Doyle. The cast was as follows:

ANGEL		Danitra Vance
MARISOL		Cordelia González
YOUNG WOMAN		Doris Difarnecio
MAN WITH GOLF CLUB,
	MAN WITH ICE CREAM,
	LENNY,
	MAN WITH SCAR TISSUE	Skipp Sudduth
JUNE		Anne O’Sullivan
WOMAN WITH FURS,
	RADIO ANNOUNCER	Phyllis Somerville
VOICES, HOMELESS PEOPLE		Doris Difarnecio,
		Decater James,
		Robert Jimenez,
		Anne O’Sullivan,
		Phyllis Somerville
GUITARIST		Chris Cunningham

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CHARACTERS

ANGEL

MARISOL

MAN WITH GOLF CLUB		All can be played by the same actor
MAN WITH ICE CREAM
LENNY
MAN WITH SCAR TISSUE

JUNE

WOMAN WITH FURS

RADIO ANNOUNCER

HOMELESS PEOPLE

PLACE

New York City.

TIME

The present.

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ACT ONE

Scene One

New York City. The present.

Lights up on an upstage brick wall running the width of the stage and going as high as the theatre will allow. The windows in the wall are shielded by iron security gates. The highest windows are boarded up.

Spray-painted on the wall is this graffiti-poem:

The moon carries the souls of dead people to heaven.
The new moon is dark and empty.
It fills up every month
with new glowing souls
then it carries its silent burden to God. WAKE UP.

The “WAKE UP” looks like it was added to the poem by someone else.

Downstage of the wall is a tall ladder coming down at an angle. Sitting on the ladder is Marisol’s Guardian Angel.

The Angel is a young black woman in ripped jeans, sneakers, and black T-shirt. Crude silver wings hang limply from the back of the Angel’s diamond-studded black leather jacket. Though she radiates tremendous heat and light, there’s something tired and lonely about the Angel: she looks like an urban warrior, a suffering burnt-out soldier of some lost cause. She watches the scene below with intense concern.

Floating in the sky is a small gold crown inside a clear glass box.

Lights up on the subway car: a filth-covered bench.

It’s late night. Late winter.

Marisol Perez, an attractive Puerto Rican woman of twenty-six, sits in the subway car. Marisol has dark hair and deep, smart, dark eyes. She is a young urban professional: smartly dressed, reading the New York Times, returning to her Bronx apartment after a long day at her Manhattan job. She wears heavy winter clothing. She has no idea she’s being watched by an angel.

SUBWAY ANNOUNCER: . . . and a pleasant evening to all the ladies. 180th Street will be the next and last stop. Step lively, guard your valuables, trust no one.

(The Man With Golf Club enters the subway car. He’s a young white man, twenties, in a filthy black T-shirt and ripped jeans; his long matted hair hangs over blazing eyes. His shoes are rags and his mind is shot. The man looks at Marisol and “shoots” the club like an Uzi.

Marisol has taught herself not to show fear or curiosity on the subway. She digs deeper into her paper. The Man talks to Marisol.)

GOLF CLUB: It was the shock that got me. I was so shocked all I could see was pain all around me: little spinning starlights of pain ’cause of the shocking thing the angel just told me.

(He waits for a reaction. Marisol refuses to look at him.)

You see, she was always there for me. I could count on her. She was my very own god-blessed little angel! My own gift from God!

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(No response. He makes a move toward Marisol. She looks at him, quickly sizing him up . . . )

MARISOL: God help you, you get in my face.

GOLF CLUB: But last night she crawled into the box I occupy on 180th Street in the Bronx. I was sleeping: nothing special walking through my thoughts ’cept the usual panic over my empty stomach, and the windchill factor, and how, oh how, was I ever gonna replace my lost Citibank MasterCard?

MARISOL: I have no money.

(Marisol tries to slide away from the Man, trying to show no fear. He follows.)

GOLF CLUB: She folded her hot silver angelwings under her leather jacket and creeped into my box last night, reordering the air, waking me up with the shock, the bad news that she was gonna leave me forever . . .

MARISOL (Getting freaked): Man, why don’t you just get a job?!

GOLF CLUB: Don’t you see? She once stopped Nazi skinheads from setting me on fire in Van Cortlandt Park! Do you get it now, lady?! I live on the street! I am dead meat without my guardian angel! I’m gonna be food . . . a fucking appetizer for all the Hitler youth and their cans of gasoline . . .

(The Man lunges at Marisol and rips the newspaper from her. She’s on her feet, ready for a fight.)

MARISOL (To God): Okay, God! Kill him now! Take him out!

GOLF CLUB (Truly worried): That means you don’t have any protection either. Your guardian angel is gonna leave you too. That means, in the next four or five seconds, I could change the entire course of your life . . .

MARISOL (To God): Blast him into little bits! Turn him into salt!

GOLF CLUB (Calm, almost pitying): I could turn you into one of me. I could fix it so every time you look in the mirror . . . every time you dream . . . or close your eyes in some hope less logic that closed eyes are a shield against nightmares . . . you’re gonna think you turned into me . . .

(The Man makes a move toward Marisol. The Angel reacts. There’s an earsplitting scream as the subway stops. Marisol and the Man are thrown violently across the subway car. The Man falls. Marisol seizes her chance, pushes the disoriented Man away, and runs out of the subway car into the street. Lights to black on the subway. The Man exit...