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Monologue help plz...
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| Aristronica |
Ok, I'm in an acting class at school and I need a monologue
i want a funny one, and something a bit more modern
can anyone help???
ohh must be at least 2-5 mins |
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| jonze234 |
| im not sure if its what you are looking for but the one that john travolta gave in swordfish was pretty good. |
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| Aristronica |
| quote: | Originally posted by jonze234
im not sure if its what you are looking for but the one that john travolta gave in swordfish was pretty good. |
yeah i guess cool ones work, which scene are you thinking about opening??? |
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| jonze234 |
http://imdb.com/title/tt0244244/quotes
You know what the problem with Hollywood is? They make . Unbelievable, unremarkable . Now I'm not some grungy wannabe filmmaker that's searching for existentialism through a haze of bong smoke or something. No, it's easy to pick apart bad acting, short-sighted directing, and a purely moronic stringing together of words that many of the studios term as "prose". No, I'm talking about the lack of realism. Realism; not a pervasive element in today's modern American cinematic vision. Take Dog Day Afternoon, for example. Arguably Pacino's best work, short of Scarface and Godfather Part 1, of course. Masterpiece of directing, easily Lumet's best. The cinematography, the acting, the screenplay, all top-notch. But... they didn't push the envelope. Now what if in Dog Day, Sonny REALLY wanted to get away with it? What if - now here's the tricky part - what if he started killing hostages right away? No mercy, no quarter. "Meet our demands or the pretty blonde in the bellbottoms gets it the back of the head." Bam, splat! What, still no bus? Come on! How many innocent victims splattered across a window would it take to have the city reverse its policy on hostage situations? And this is 1976; there's no CNN, there's no CNBC, there's no internet! Now fast forward to today, present time, same situation. How quickly would the modern media make a frenzy over this? In a matter of hours, it'd be biggest story from Boston to Budapest! Ten hostages die, twenty, thirty; bam bam, right after another, all caught in high-def, computer-enhanced, color corrected. You can practically taste the brain matter. All for what? A bus, a plane? A couple of million dollars that's federally insured? I don't think so. Just a thought. I mean, it's not within the realm of conventional cinema... but what if? |
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| Aristronica |
| yeah my g/f in the class with me, says that it has to be from a play, so sucks but thanx for trying man. |
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| Rodrico |
One of my friends can do the Waynes World 2 quote where the guy goes tell him the story of how he got Ozzy to play on stage..
"So there we were in Sri Lanka, formely known as Sirloin...so then we had to beat them with their own shoes, but thats a whole different story all together, anyhowm, Ozzy got on stage, and he played a hell of a show."
I wish I knew the whole thing, guess ill try looking around.
EDIT: Shakespear always has some sort of comedical intermission in all his tragic plays, im sure you could find something if its only in plays. |
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| Matt |
From "All Relative" by Mitchell Cushman:
Announcer: The Hendricksons. Your typical middle-American family. Or are they? For starters, they don’t lock their door. But I’m talking about something else. In one of the strangest cases I’ve ever encountered, these four individuals aren’t related at all. And I’m not talking about adoption. This is something far more bizarre. Brendan here has quite an interesting back-story that none of these four are aware of. On the night he was born there was a mix-up at the hospital. He was accidentally given to the Hendricksons while their real son was given to a couple of litigaters from Minnesota here on vacation. The error was not realized until weeks later by the hospital staff. They decide wisely to keep their mouth shut, for fear of prosecution, especially from the Minnesota litigaters, and burned the necessary documents. But wait, you haven’t heard the weird part yet. Two years later, the Hendricksons had a daughter, Lisa. After spending three days in the hospital, she was brought home. Two months later, while the family lay sleeping, a woman broke into the Hendrickson household. With her she had her daughter, an infant about the same age and size as Lisa. The woman was fed up with her child. It never stopped crying, and had bit her on several occasions. She wanted to trade hers in for a nicer model. After being rudely turned away at the hospital, the woman saw the Hendricksons taking their daughter for a walk one day in her stroller. She decided a swap was in order. So that night she stole the real Lisa, and put her own child in the baby’s crib. She also stole fifty dollars and three bagels. Again, the error was never detected by the family, and neither was the money. The bagels, however, were missed. This shows you how out of whack the Hendrickson’s priorities are. Now, as you can imagine, this will be a lot for the four of them to take. What’s more, it will be difficult to explain, and my voice is getting tired. So let’s jump forward in time a half an hour, and pretend the Hendricksons now know everything I have just told you.
I can send you the full play if you want. PM me.
I will try to find some more monologues for you. How modern are we talking here? |
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| Matt |
From "Waiting for Godot" by Samuel Beckett (probably one of the greatest plays of our time)
POZZO:
(with magnanimous gesture). Let's say no more about it. (He jerks the rope.) Up pig! (Pause.) Every time he drops he falls asleep. (Jerks the rope.) Up hog! (Noise of Lucky getting up and picking up his baggage. Pozzo jerks the rope.) Back! (Enter Lucky backwards.) Stop! (Lucky stops.) Turn! (Lucky turns. To Vladimir and Estragon, affably.) Gentlemen, I am happy to have met you. (Before their incredulous expression.) Yes yes, sincerely happy. (He jerks the rope.) Closer! (Lucky advances.) Stop! (Lucky stops.) Yes, the road seems long when one journeys all alone for . . . (he consults his watch) . . . yes . . . (he calculates) . . . yes, six hours, that's right, six hours on end, and never a soul in sight. (To Lucky.) Coat! (Lucky puts down the bag, advances, gives the coat, goes back to his place, takes up the bag.) Hold that! (Pozzo holds out the whip. Lucky advances and, both his hands being occupied, takes the whip in his mouth, then goes back to his place. Pozzo begins to put on his coat, stops.) Coat! (Lucky puts down the bag, basket and stool, helps Pozzo on with his coat, goes back to his place and takes up bag, basket and stool.) Touch of autumn in the air this evening. (Pozzo finishes buttoning up his coat, stoops, inspects himself, straightens up.) Whip! (Lucky advances, stoops, Pozzo snatches the whip from his mouth, Lucky goes back to his place.) Yes, gentlemen, I cannot go for long without the society of my likes (he puts on his glasses and looks at the two likes) even when the likeness is an imperfect one. (He takes off his glasses.) Stool! (Lucky puts down bag and basket, advances, opens stool, puts it down, goes back to his place, takes up bag and basket.) Closer! (Lucky puts down bag and basket, advances, moves stool, goes back to his place, takes up bag and basket. Pozzo sits down, places the butt of his whip against Lucky's chest and pushes.) Back! (Lucky takes a step back.) Further! (Lucky takes another step back.) Stop! (Lucky stops. To Vladimir and Estragon.) That is why, with your permission, I propose to dally with you a moment, before I venture any further. Basket! (Lucky advances, gives the basket, goes back to his place.) The fresh air stimulates the jaded appetite. (He opens the basket, takes out a piece of chicken and a bottle of wine.) Basket! (Lucky advances, picks up the basket and goes back to his place.) Further! (Lucky takes a step back.) He stinks. Happy days!
He drinks from the bottle, puts it down and begins to eat. Silence. Vladimir and Estragon, cautiously at first, then more boldly, begin to circle about Lucky, inspecting him up and down. Pozzo eats his chicken voraciously, throwing away the bones after having sucked them. Lucky sags slowly, until bag and basket touch the ground, then straightens up with a start and begins to sag again. Rhythm of one sleeping on his feet.
OR
LUCKY:
Given the existence as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattmann of a personal God quaquaquaqua with white beard quaquaquaqua outside time without extension who from the heights of divine apathia divine athambia divine aphasia loves us dearly with some exceptions for reasons unknown but time will tell and suffers like the divine Miranda with those who for reasons unknown but time will tell are plunged in torment plunged in fire whose fire flames if that continues and who can doubt it will fire the firmament that is to say blast hell to heaven so blue still and calm so calm with a calm which even though intermittent is better than nothing but not so fast and considering what is more that as a result of the labors left unfinished crowned by the Acacacacademy of Anthropopopometry of Essy-in-Possy of Testew and Cunard it is established beyond all doubt all other doubt than that which clings to the labors of men that as a result of the labors unfinished of Testew and Cunnard it is established as hereinafter but not so fast for reasons unknown that as a result of the public works of Puncher and Wattmann it is established beyond all doubt that in view of the labors of Fartov and Belcher left unfinished for reasons unknown of Testew and Cunard left unfinished it is established what many deny that man in Possy of Testew and Cunard that man in Essy that man in short that man in brief in spite of the strides of alimentation and defecation wastes and pines wastes and pines and concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown in spite of the strides of physical culture the practice of sports such as tennis football running cycling swimming flying floating riding gliding conating camogie skating tennis of all kinds dying flying sports of all sorts autumn summer winter winter tennis of all kinds hockey of all sorts penicillin and succedanea in a word I resume flying gliding golf over nine and eighteen holes tennis of all sorts in a word for reasons unknown in Feckham Peckham Fulham Clapham namely concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown but time will tell fades away I resume Fulham Clapham in a word the dead loss per head since the death of Bishop Berkeley being to the tune of one inch four ounce per head approximately by and large more or less to the nearest decimal good measure round figures stark naked in the stockinged feet in Connemara in a word for reasons unknown no matter what matter the facts are there and considering what is more much more grave that in the light of the labors lost of Steinweg and Peterman it appears what is more much more grave that in the light the light the light of the labors lost of Steinweg and Peterman that in the plains in the mountains by the seas by the rivers running water running fire the air is the same and then the earth namely the air and then the earth in the great cold the great dark the air and the earth abode of stones in the great cold alas alas in the year of their Lord six hundred and something the air the earth the sea the earth abode of stones in the great deeps the great cold on sea on land and in the air I resume for reasons unknown in spite of the tennis the facts are there but time will tell I resume alas alas on on in short in fine on on abode of stones who can doubt it I resume but not so fast I resume the skull fading fading fading and concurrently simultaneously what is more for reasons unknown in spite of the tennis on on the beard the flames the tears the stones so blue so calm alas alas on on the skull the skull the skull the skull in Connemara in spite of the tennis the labors abandoned left unfinished graver still abode of stones in a word I resume alas alas abandoned unfinished the skull the skull in Connemara in spite of the tennis the skull alas the stones Cunard (mêlée, final vociferations) tennis . . . the stones . . . so calm . . . Cunard . . . unfinished . . . |
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| beats and beeps |
| quote: | Originally posted by Aristronica
Ok, I'm in an acting class at school and I need a monologue
i want a funny one, and something a bit more modern
can anyone help???
ohh must be at least 2-5 mins |
Monologue...for some reason whenever i hear that word, i think vaginas. |
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| Radagast |
| I thought it was write your own monologue...why are you even asking this if all you have to do is read one from a play? |
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| Matt |
| quote: | Originally posted by Radagast
I thought it was write your own monologue...why are you even asking this if all you have to do is read one from a play? |
writing monologues for yourself should be avoided at all costs by actors.
'Reading' one from a play is a lot harder than you think, because a tremendous amount of text analysis goes into it. It's also really hard to find good monologues. |
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| jonze234 |
| quote: | Originally posted by Matt
From "Waiting for Godot" by Samuel Beckett (probably one of the greatest plays of our time)
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i saw that for my theatre appreciation class in college and it was a pretty good play |
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