Writing about What’s the Matter with Helen? and mentioning Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? and the re-titled Whatever Happened to Cousin Charlotte? (remember, it became Hush… Hush, Sweet Charlotte) made me think about my husband Steven’s foray into thriller writing.
This happened when Steven was in junior high, well before he knew me and even well before I developed a taste (not to say obsession) for cheesy horror movies. And a quick disclaimer, I am laughing WITH my husband, not AT him. Indeed, I hope I poke good-natured fun at most of the movies I write about (except when I am taking them to task for spurious views on romance, like The Virgin Queen).
But I digress (well, why not digress on Non-Sequitur Thursday?). Getting on with the post, let us consider my husband’s play, What Happened to Millicent?
Steven had perhaps heard of Baby Jane and Sweet Charlotte, but had not seen them, and I don’t think Helen had even been made yet. Therefore no accusations of plagiarism can be leveled against him (unlike some of the plot points for some of the stories I wrote as a child and adolescent, but we’re not talking about me).
I think it’s pretty obvious that Steven had seen more television and movies than plays, because most of the scenes are about two minutes long and the set changes are quite elaborate. I don’t recall the whole plot, but Millicent disappears on the way to a dance. I think you hear a scream from behind a big rock.
In a later scene, Millicent’s sister Beverly is accused of doing away with Millicent. She immediately commits suicide, distraught at the accusation. We, the audience, know that Beverly is innocent, because we see her go behind the rock AFTER we hear the scream. Beverly sees her dead sister, screams, runs home and tells nobody. And apparently nobody else ever finds the body.
In the end (which I don’t scruple to tell you, since I doubt you will ever have an opportunity to read or see the play), we never find out what happens to Millicent. I believe it ends with a voice-over of the dead sister saying, “And whatever did happen to Millicent? No one will ever know.”
The play got a staged reading by some of Steven’s friends at a high school graduation party. They read it typos and all (the script had been hunt-and-pecked on a manual Smith Corona, just to inject a little history). The most notable of these was when one character threatened another with “Or eles!”
I must admit, Steven’s script had one quality that most of my efforts at novel and play writing have lacked: it was finished. That thought makes me want to leave this post unfinished and rush to finish the last play I was working on. Ironic, you say? I say, let’s save the half-baked philosophy for Lame Post Friday.
Mohawk Valley Girl 