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Showing posts from January 29, 2006

Desolate METROPOLIS, a podplay for the 21st Century

Desolate METROPOLIS is a fresh and daring drama by Scott A. Josephson, which mocks the Fashion Industry. Set in Greenwich Village, an eclectic blend of stylish couture enthusiasts, cynics, poets, and miraculous minds exchange souls in a tale as darkly delicious as it is haunting and hilarious.

Originally composed for the stage in the Summer of 1999 and completed on New Year's Day 2000, Desolate METROPOLIS makes its debut in a medium inspired by the golden age of radio -- the podplay.

The script was revisited and revised over the Summer of 2005, modified to add narration in place of stage direction. Auditions, callbacks, and rehearsals were all held via phone. Recording took place on a rainy Saturday afternoon on Long Island, the cast coming together for the first time in person to lay down this entrancing work.

Desolate METROPOLIS also features a potent original score and music by Jordan Pier and Farewell Redemption.

It is available for free, direct download at podantics.com

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"The Wager": Part 3

(© 1998, 2006, Doug Tarnopol. All rights reserved.)


The Lord turned to Mephistopheles in frustration.

"I'd fire them all, but who'd replace them? Heaven's grown so much, even I can't keep track of it all without them. They've got Me by the balls."

Mephistopheles leapt at the chance to feign solace. "Listen, give me twenty-four hours to change Your mind."

"My mind's made up. I never change it. You should know that. I never let Lucifer back up here, did I?"

"Wild horses couldn't drag Lucifer back up here," Mephistopheles muttered.

"Excuse Me, I didn't quite catch that."

"Forget it. Look -- I think I can prove to You that humanity deserves to live."

Mephistopheles looked around the room desperately, drumming his claws on the table.

"Let me find a hundred righteous men."

"Oh, cut the crap. How senile do you think I am? You think I'm gonna fall for that shit again?"

"All right, all…

"The Wager": Part 2

(© 1998, 2006, Doug Tarnopol. All rights reserved.)


Mephistopheles had nothing to fear; the Lord would never find out that Nietzsche had the run of the palace. Nowadays, He just routinely rerouted damned souls to Hell.

It was an interesting managerial problem. As the Earth's population had exploded, Heaven had been forced to adapt its methods. The days of individual attention in the cottage industry that had been the immediate afterlife were long gone. By 1850, souls were being collected in a huge warehouse on the banks of the Styx, and the backlog was becoming intolerable. With the deaths of Taylor in 1915, and especially of Ford in 1947 -- both favorites of the Lord -- operations had become far more streamlined and standardized, but the surge in population still forced a rise in the workforce necessary to manage the ever-increasing thruput. The Lord kept creating more and more angels to handle the volume, but each one was a fixed cost, with a salary and benefits. The Lord, finally…