The Understudy

内容简介

For Josh Harper, being in show-business means everything he ever wanted - money, fame, a beautiful wife, and a lead role on the London stage. For Stephen C. McQueen, it means a disastrous career playing passers-by and dead people. Stephen is stuck with an unfortunate name, a hopeless agent, a daughter he barely knows, and a job as understudy to Josh Harper, the 12th Sexiest Man in the World. And when Stephen falls in love with Josh's clever, funny wife Nora, things get even more difficult. But might there yet be a way for Stephen to get his Big Break? THE UNDERSTUDY is a scintillating comedy of ambition, celebrity, jealousy and love.

摘要与插图

Act One
　　H
　　Waiting to Go On
　　—That’s not real life, lad. That’s just pretending.
　　—But “real life” is how well you pretend, isn’t it? You. Me. Everybody in the world . . .
　　Jack RosenthalReady When You Are, Mr. McGill
　　Sunset Boulevard
　　H
　　Summers and Snow ep.3 draft 4
　　CHIEF INSPECTOR GARRETT （CONT.）
　　. . . or I’ll have you back directing traffic faster than you can say disciplinary action.
　　INSPECTOR SUMMERS
　　But he’s just toying with us, sir, like a cat with a—
　　CHIEF INSPECTOR GARRETT
　　I repeat— Don’t. Make It. Personal. I want a result, and I want it yesterday, or you’re off this case, Summers.
　　（SNOW goes to speak）
　　I mean it. Now get out of here—the both of you.
　　INT. MORTUARY. DAY
　　BOB “BONES” THOMPSON, the forensic pathologist, sickly complexion, ghoulish sense of humor, stands over the seminaked body of a YOUNG MAN, early thirties, his bloated body lying cold and dead on the mortuary slab, in the early stages of decomposition—ConSTABLE SNOW is clutching a handkerchief to her mouth.
　　INSPECTOR SUMMERS
　　So—fill me in, Thompson. How long d’you think he’s been dead for?
　　THOMPSON
　　Hard to say. From the stink on him, I think it’s fair to say he’s not the freshest fish on the slab . . .
　　INSPECTOR SUMMERS
　　（not smiling）
　　Clock’s ticking, Bones . . .
　　THOMPSON
　　Okay, well, judging from the decay, the bloating and the skin discoloration, I’d say . . . he’s been in the water a week or so, give or take a day. Initial examination suggests strangulation. By the ligature marks round the neck, I’d say the killer used a thick, coarse rope, or a chain maybe . . .
　　DI SUMMERS
　　A chain? Christ, the poor bastard . . .
　　ConSTABLE SNOW
　　Who found the body?
　　（SUMMERS shoots her a look—“I ask the questions round here . . .”）
　　THOMPSON
　　Some old dear out walking the dog. Nice lady, eighty-two years old. I think it’s safe to assume you should be looking elsewhere for your serial ki—
　　“Hang on a second . . . Nope—nope, sorry, everyone, we’re going to have to stop.”
　　“Why, what’s up?” snapped Detective Inspector Summers.
　　“We’ve got flaring.”
　　“On the lens?”
　　“Dead guy’s nostrils. You can see him breathing. We’re going to have to go again.”
　　“Oh, for crying out loud . . .”
　　“Sorry! Sorry, sorry, everyone,” said the DEADYOUNGMAN, sitting up and folding his arms self-consciously across his blue-painted chest.
　　While the crew reset, the director, a long-faced, troubled man with an unconvincing baseball cap pushed far back on a reflective forehead, dragged both hands down his face and sighed. Hauling himself from his canvas chair, he strode over to the DEADYOUNGMAN and knelt matily next to the mortuary slab.