by Gavriil Pinte (b. 1961); Cristian Popescu (1959-1995)
excerpts A Streetcar Named Popescu is a community theater show. The script by stage director Gavriil PINTE (b. 1961) is based on works by Cristian POPESCU (1959-1995). The show begins at a streetcar stop with the audience getting on the streetcar. Then the streetcar joins the traffic, embarking on a wedding trip. The poet's biography unfolds, with characters of the Popescu family – the Poet and the Poet's Mother, Father, Sister, Grandmother, Grandfather, Aunt and Girlfriend brought to the foreground. The streetcar is, in fact, the memorial house of the early-departed poet. The spectators get off at the departure stop. THE POPESCU FAMILY THE SON, CRISTIAN POPESCU, A POET THE POET On the 1st of June, 1959, the birth date in my ID, at 12 o'clock, when I was to be born, a model-puppet appeared instead, on whose chest was written: Be born on the 1st of June, 1959, at 12 o'clock. Unique bargain! Long life, money and joys! Do not miss the opportunity. Be born with the name Popescu Cristian! Yet nobody wanted, no matter what. To keep up appearances, the toy Popescu was invented, who lives in a toy Bucharest, in a toy Romania, and eats toy bread, drinks toy water and wine, and has already died three or four toy deaths, but to no avail, for nobody wanted to die for real with the name Popescu Cristian, although there had been a lot of advertising and the deal was quite profitable.THE MOTHER There may be many Popescus in this world, yet even more were, and will be, in the netherworld…THE SISTER My brother, the poet, introduces our father, Mr. Popescu, a colonel. POPESCU'S CIRCUS THE MOTHER How is Arta doing, Cristi's Arta?THE POET Circus! For us, it's the circus that counts, nothing but the circus!ARTA POPESCU We're as tortured as those animals, the tamed animals.THE POET What can I do now? You tell me, Lord, for You are the one who knows better. I'm a poet, I admit, but why can't I be happy? That's the way that it is: a circus!ARTA POPESCU The only appropriate model for any artist, however great and famous, is the circus monkey. No more, no less.THE GRANDFATHER Indeed! When she grows up, the monkey loses heart all of a sudden! Because her girl's clothes from the beginning of her career are now too small. This misery of hers, plus the spectators' laughter, are enough to make her almost human when she gets old! Aren't I right?THE POET That's what I call taming. THE GRANDFATHER For us, it's the circus that counts.THE SISTER The circus, the circus, and nothing else… You fill your hat with earth, bury in it three or four baby bats, and after three days and nights of burial with magic tricks, you pull out of the hat only milk-white pigeons.THE GRANDFATHER Fluffy as snow.THE GRANDMOTHER Believe me, Lord, please! A poet's just like a monkey, what!THE GRANDFATHER Yes, but at the circus he works at, the tamer is the little angel. And the spectators are only the neighborhood children's little angels.THE AUNT The little angel's got to have fun too… while his time away now and then.THE FATHER And all of a sudden, Lord, the poet climbs up there, under the cupola.THE MOTHER And they begin to strike the bell board. Slowly.THE GRANDFATHER While he hangs on to the trapeze with one hand, he crosses himself with the other and beats his breast, making all the spectators in the stalls laugh.THE SISTER And they strike the bell board faster and faster.THE FATHER And, all of a sudden, the poet jumps from there, from over thirty meters' height, right into a regular font, only half-filled with baptism water.THE GRANDMOTHER Oh my, my God! A triple somersault! The little angels are petrified.THE GRANDFATHER And the poet comes out unscathed, smiling and giving the audience a calm salute!THE GRANDMOTHER And the tamer puts the halo around his head at once. As a reward! THE FATHER The quality stamp of light! In brief: hails! Cheers! Euphoria, Lord!THE MOTHER Ecstasy! They all fly up happily and get aligned above the city, like bombers ready to attack.THE GRANDFATHER Why wouldn't we be happy? I know You look after that, Lord!ARTA POPESCU And forgive us!THE POET If that's the way that it is, what can we do now?ARTA POPESCU The circus!THE POET In Your name!ARTA POPESCU Amen! Music!THE POET Music. That's what Arta does then.THE FATHER Music?ARTA POPESCU Yes, sir! Music, Music!THE SISTER Popescu's music.
by Gavriil Pinte (b. 1961); Cristian Popescu (1959-1995)
by Gavriil Pinte (b. 1961); Cristian Popescu (1959-1995)