CHARACTERS:
ARTHUR:
60s. Street photographer. Gruff charm; smokes like he invented it. Shirt shabby and unbuttoned at his belly. Camera bag slung over his shoulder. Moves with the restlessness of a man who has spent decades chasing sirens.
ANDY:
30s. Artist. Pale, stylish, monosyllabic. Hands folded over each other. Pocket on black leather jacket hanging open. Observant but detached and curious.
SETTING:
A cramped New York loft, late 1950s. Torn paper streamers hang from the ceiling. A single bulb casts theatrical shadows. A doorway stands open to darkness beyond.
A folding table holds:
– scattered 8×10 prints scattered under a Bolex 16mm camera
– a portable flash unit and silkscreen squeegee
– an open box of Marlboro cigarettes
– a half-eaten cold turkey sandwich
– a tape recorder that may or may not work
MOOD:
Equal parts crime scene and artist’s studio
OPENING STAGE DIRECTIONS:
Lights rise slowly.
ARTHUR stands near ANDY, looking up at him, cigar hanging from his mouth.
ANDY leans in towards ARTHUR, staring off into space, leather jacket zipped almost to his neck, sunglasses still on despite minimal light in the studio.
A long moment passes before either speaks.
WEEGEE: Y’know, kid, photography’s all about speed. You see it, you shoot it. No thinking. The city doesn’t wait. You agree?
WARHOL: Yes.
WEEGEE: But the art crowd… they think too much. They want explanations. I never cared about explanations. You think a picture needs one?
WARHOL: No.
WEEGEE: Good. Because the truth is, the camera lies as much as it tells the truth. Angle it right, and a nobody looks like a king. Angle it wrong, and a king looks dead. You believe that?
WARHOL: Yes.
WEEGEE: I look at you—glasses, leather, the whole act—and I think, “He knows the performance matters.” You think performance is part of the picture?
WARHOL: (Smiling). Um…Yes.
WEEGEE: But the darkroom, the chemicals, the waiting… it’s a kind of religion. Slow. Patient. You like the slow part?
WARHOL: No.
WEEGEE: Didn’t think so. You’re a machine, right? Machines don’t wait. They repeat. Endless repetition. That’s your whole thing, isn’t it?
WARHOL: Yes.
WEEGEE: Still, kid, whether it’s blood on the sidewalk at three a.m. or soup cans stacked neat on a shelf, a picture’s a picture. People stare because they’re hungry for something real. You think photography can give ’em that?
WARHOL: Um…No.
WEEGEE: (Finally looks away into the same space ANDY has had his eyes locked on). —Heh. Maybe that’s why they keep looking.
END.
