(A moment passes, while this slightly depressing sight works its Êsthetic wonders on the audience, then a commotion begins behind the double doors. One door rattles beneath a couple of hefty blows, then shudders open, pops a hinge, and falls at an angle across the opening.

(RIP makes his entrance by climbing over the door. He is dressed exactly like the STAGE

MANAGER from Our Town: the hat, the suspenders, the compassionate but ironic smile [pipe optional]. He makes his way down the steps to the stage floor gingerly, for the steps rack fearfully beneath his weight. Then he shuffles down to the forestage, checking for actor-traps along the way.)

RIP: (To the audience.) My name is Euripides the Elder, son of Mnesarchides the Wrestler.

My mother was a vegetable seller, Xanthippippe by name. My son Euripides the Younger is known chiefly as the producer of my last set of plays which he brought from my place of voluntary exile at the court of King Archelaus in Macedon. One of those plays you know, I'm sure, it was called The Bakkhai. That was the year of my death, 406 B.C.

(He drops the declamatory style.) Have patience, folks, this is the prologos. I've made it as short as I could, considering the conventions I have to work with. I could have brought on two servants who cleverly reveal all the main characters' problems, `a la Ibsen, say, or Shaw, but everybody knows exposition's a drag, so let's just get it over with, I say.

Where was I?

RIP: (Orates again.) . . . the year of my death, 406 B.C. Except it was not I who died upon the Poet's bed in the palace of the King, for Dionysos, Mad Bakkhos, god of drunks and lunatics, had seen my play about him, and taking some offense, in revenge deceived their eyes with a goat to die for me and stole me through the azure sky...put me through the time/space continuum distorter and set me down in this century of savage men ruled by uncouth kings or whatever they call the bosses these days.

(Drops declamatory style.) Confidentially, I like it better here and now than Fifth Century Macedonia--talk about your rednecks! But Athens, O Athenai, you'd have to go a long ways to find a pesthole more cultured and corrupt. What a place to write plays about!

ATHENE: (OFFSTAGE.) OK, Rip.

RIP: Whuh?

(ATHENE appears above the palace in epiphany, helmet, shield and all.)

ATHENE: A page and a half will suffice for the prologue.

RIP: Wait a minute--

ATHENE: Go cue Dion. He's on in ten lines.

RIP: But--

ATHENE: Ey. Who's the god around here?

RIP: Oh gods, how terribly I pity you. And then myself--

ATHENE: (Yelling OFFSTAGE.) Dionysos! Two minutes, please!

DIONYSOS: (OFFSTAGE.) Thank you!

ATHENE: (Yelling OFF in the opposite direction.) Security!

(CHORUS BOYS, tricked out for the Trojan War, goosestep in from the wings.)

CHORUS: (Lisping mightily.) Yeth, Mith Tina?

ATHENE: Stick this old coot in the ekkyklema until he cools off.

CHORUS: Yeth, Mith Tina.

(They stalk RIP.)

ATHENE: Where's the fuckin' ASM?

(The ASSISTANT STAGE MANAGER jumps up from a seat in the audience, runs on to the stage. S/He's pissed.)

A.S.M: God dammit! Just once I'd like to be able to sit through this piece of shit from beginning to end so I can see what it's supposed to look like!

RIP: (Has ASM by the lapels.) This is what it's supposed to look like!

(CHORUS BOYS grab RIP, and pirouette him off the stage, dragging the ASM behind.)

RIP: (As he disappears.) Dionysos! Places, please!

DIONYSOS: (OFFSTAGE.) Thank you!

(Yelling and a crash OFFSTAGE. Then silence. ATHENE turns to the audience.)

ATHENE: The gods do many things beyond the wisdom of mere mortals. What was looked for has not happened. What was thought not the gods have contrived to bring to pass. So it happens in this play.

(DIONYSOS appears beside her, disgusted.)

DIONYSOS: Not only are those the closing lines of the play, they're not even your lines.
The Chorus says those lines at the end of the play.

ATHENE: You're thinking of Medea. I'm not in Medea. None of us gods is in Medea, just the dragons.

DIONYSOS: Not Medea--

ATHENE: Or The Trojan Women, I always get 'em mixed up. All those women moaning and groaning--

DIONYSOS: Didn't you read the scenario for this play?

ATHENE: (Winks at the audience, she could even chew gum.) What play?

DIONYSOS: (Realizes he's being joshed.) OK, OK--

ATHENE: (To audience.) He thinks I'm kidding. (To DIONYSOS, serious.) What play?

DIONYSOS: (Losing patience.) Oh, come on--

ATHENE: (Shoving him.) You come on! What play?

(A huge man in a box seat leaps up. He is the CHOREGOS, the producer of this play.)

CHOREGOS: (Roaring.) ENOUGH!!!

(ATHENE and DIONYSOS flinch and look in his direction, blinking in the light like surprised cats.)

CHOREGOS: Who's responsible for this gallimaufry!!?

ATHENE: Who's that? A critic?

CHOREGOS: (Leaning over the railing, menacing.) I am the Choregos. The producer. I sign your checks, turkey.

DIONYSOS: (Giggling.) Oops.

CHOREGOS: Now bring me the jerk that wrote this mess!

(ATHENE whistles between her fingers. DIONYSOS cringes, holding his ears.)

DIONYSOS: Jesus!

ATHENE: Who?

(CHORUS BOYS wheel on the ekkyklema with RIP imprisoned inside it. They bring it DOWN CENTER and fall into Chorus formation behind it.)

RIP: What are you doing? I don't come on again till the messenger scene.

(CHORYPHAIOS, the Chorus Leader, lets him out.)

CHORYPHAIOS: The Both wanth a few wordth with you, Mithter Playwright.

RIP: The Both?

CHOREGOS: ME.

RIP: (Shading his eyes.) Oh, hi, Yer Honor.

CHOREGOS: What the hell are you up to?

RIP: (To ATHENE and DIONYSOS.) How far'd you get?

ATHENE: I shoved him and said, "You come on. What play?"

DIONYSOS: Yeah, and I almost fell off--

RIP: OK, OK. (To CHOREGOS.) They're about halfway through the false prologos--

CHOREGOS: The what?

RIP: False prologos. Prologue within the prologue, if you like. See, I thought--

CHOREGOS: That wasn't in the scenario you showed me.

RIP: Well, it's a little technical innovation I came up with at the tech rehearsal night before last. See it was late and we were all kinda punchy--

CHOREGOS: Well, I hate it. Get it out of there.

RIP: But it adds a whole new dimension to the concept--

CHOREGOS: I hate it! Get it out of there!

RIP: (Throwing up his hands.) OK, kids. Cut to the entrance dance of the Chorus.
Places please for the parodos!

ASM: (Over the P.A. system.) Places for the parodos, please!

OMNES: (Simultaneous.) Thank you!

RIP: (To ATHENE and DIONYSOS.) Sorry, guys, maybe in my next play.

(RIP heads for the wings, muttering.)

RIP: (Plenty loud enough.) Fucking Philistine.

CHOREGOS: (Who has just resumed his seat, leaps up.) I heard that!

(But RIP is gone. Meanwhile, the CHORUS BOYS have gone off to one side, preparing their entrance formation. ATHENE and DIONYSOS saunter off together.)

ATHENE: Next play? That's a laugh.

DIONYSOS: (Whining.) Every time you have to push me a little harder, whistle a little louder, you know my ears are sensitive--

ATHENE: You fancy boys give me a pain.

DIONYSOS: Dike!

ATHENE: Fag!

(They're off. A moment's pause, the CHOREGOS sits down again. RIP reenters, hat now in hand.)

RIP: The point is, Your Honor, this is the story of my life. The god brought me here to accomplish some feat, or to suffer some punishment of his clever and cruel devising.

CHOREGOS: Is this more prologue?

RIP: Sort of. You'll note the elevated style in which I speak.

CHOREGOS: Quit being a smartass and get on with the play.

RIP: I'm not being a smartass, Your Honor, this is how I write. My tragic thinking is reflected in the dislocated structure of my plays. Life doesn't work any better than my plays do.

CRITIC: (Stands from his aisle seat, taking notes.) Could you repeat that? I want to put it in my review.

RIP: See me after. I'll give you the script.

CRITIC: Fabulous. (Sits.)

CHOREGOS: (Shaking his head.) I don't believe this.

RIP: That's OK. (Towards wings.) Cue the Chorus.

ASM: (Over P.A.) I already did.

RIP: Well, cue the music then!

ASM: (Over P.A.) Music, please!

MUSIC: (OFFSTAGE, or in the pit.) Thank you!

(MUSIC. Entrance dance of the Chorus.)

CHORUS: Why must this persistent fear beat its wings so ceaselessly and so close about my mantic heart? Why this strain unwanted, unrepaid, thus prophetic? Dionysos, god of drunks and lunatics must be near. Still by God's grace there surges within me singing magic to chant the glorious and shameful deeds of Bromios, Evios, Bakkhos, Dionysos, if I may call him thus his names as many and as long as the locks of curls he tosses in the dance pounding his thyrsos on the ground, ripping heifers to pieces, driving women insane.

This is our song, our ecstacy, the ecstacy of obedience, of obedience to the call, the call of the god, our god, mad Dionysos, the lord of the dance.

(They get excited.)

Here comes Bakkhos. His lips are cool. Here comes Bakkhos. Eyes afire. Ripping off the edges. Drawing eras to a close. Letting everybody in on secrets. Lining all the people up in rows.

(They get low down.)

CHORYPHAIOS: (Using his thyrsos as a microphone.) Everybody listen

CHORUS: Everybody listen

CHORYPHAIOS: Everybody learn

CHORUS: Everybody learn

CHORYPHAIOS: Heaven never came so close before

CHORUS: Heaven never came so close before

CHORYPHAIOS: Everybody wake up

CHORUS: Everybody wake up

CHORYPHAIOS: Everybody look

CHORUS: Everybody look

CHORYPHAIOS & CHORUS: This is the last page of the book -- everybody listen!

(Enter DIONYSOS. He has a wig of long blond curls and wears a smiling mask.
His movements are feline, almost effeminate. CHORUS goes out of its mind.)

DIONYSOS: Hi, kids! How's my boys?

CHORUS: Oh, Dion, we're so glad to see ya!

DIONYSOS: (Sees door hanging crooked.) But what's this?! My temple is falling in ruins!

What happened?

CHORUS: Don't look at us. That's not our union.

DIONYSOS: But where's the caretaker I procured at such expense? Why was he not here to greet me?

CHORUS: We saw him as we came in fiddling with his ekkyklema. Shall we call him for you?

DIONYSOS: You shall.

CHORUS: Yoo hoo! Stage Manager!

RIP: (OFFSTAGE, exasperated.) What!?

CHORUS: The god wants to see you.

RIP: (Enters, wiping his hands on a rag.) The who?

CHORUS: He who is twined around pillars.

(RIP makes a face of total uncomprehension.)

CHORUS: He who shakes his locks in the dance.

(RIP's mystification deepens.)

DIONYSOS: I!!!!

(He raises his thyrsos. Immediately the light changes to real spooky. CHORUS puts on grotesque masks and starts stalking RIP. They surround him and rip him to pieces.)

CHORUS: Sparagmos! (They hold the pieces aloft.) Omophagia! (They jam the pieces into their mouths.)

(DIONYSOS lowers his thyrsos. Light changes back. CHORUS' masks disappear, they return to formation, revealing RIP standing in their midst, not torn to pieces and cannibalized after all.)

RIP: (Sudden recognition [anagnorisis ]) Ohhh!

DIONYSOS: I am the god who does not mess around. Why is my temple falling in ruins?

I went to a lot of trouble to save your miserable life--

RIP: Saving your reverence, who asked you to do that? I was making a graceful and dignified exit from this sickening farce you gods wrote for us--

DIONYSOS: (Mocking.) Surrounded by friends and admirers--

RIP: Yes! I was finally getting the recognition I deserved--

DIONYSOS: From a bunch of rubes and yokels--

RIP: Quality is recognized wherever it goes--

DIONYSOS: Only without honor in your own country, eh?

RIP: It's easy for you to mock. You're a god. I'm but your puppet.

DIONYSOS: You're getting uppity, puppet.

RIP: (Groans.) Puhlease! Spare me your pathetic attempts at humor.

CHORUS: Beware! Our god has sensitive feelings!

RIP: (Looks at them.) Hey! Aren't you supposed to be women?

CHORUS: (Deadpan.) We are women.

RIP: (Deadpan.) Oh.

DIONYSOS: (Jumping up and down.) Why is my temple falling in ruins?!!!

RIP: Because nobody gives a shit about you anymore.

(The god staggers back. Lightning and thunder. The CHORUS cringes in fear.)

RIP: (Consoling.) Look. Whatever little differences we've had in the past, they've always been matters of policy, not principle. You brought me here to tend your shrine. And I've done my best lo these many years. I'm still your devotee. But the people who come here aren't interested in having their lives made more by catastrophe and suffering. They want lives they can hold on to. Not life that holds them in its hand. The world is going out to lunch and so they're shedding load all the way down the line, making life less so it's easier to control. I can't blame them, only pity them.

But I've had to make a choice. I give them what they want, they keep the place open. I give them the real thing, they stay away in droves.

DIONYSOS: Nice speech. Neat little dilemma. And what a delivery! The Lament of the Passionate Aesthetician! Listen, my fine-feelinged fop, you artiste, you parasite upon the Body Politic, any child that's spilled its soup can tell you life's a bitch. Don't give me that long-faced lecture on the exaltation of tragedy--bore me to death! And there's nothing in your contract about you giving these people anything but clean seats to park their butts in and a set that won't fall on their heads. You're the janitor, get it? Now go fix that door and keep your pretentions to yourself!

CHORUS: Well has mighty Bromios spoken cleaving the tongue of impious argument with the axe of his wit.

DIONYSOS: (Petulant.) Oh, shut up!

RIP: (Smirking.) They can't, Your Lordship. They're commenting on the action as per their contract.

(He heads for the door to the palace.)

DIONYSOS: Trying to sucker me into one of your technical innovations, like getting rid of the Chorus? Forget it. Get to work. Fix that door and brace those steps before I kill myself on them.

RIP: You can't do that, you're a god.

(He starts to work on the door with a screwdriver.)

DIONYSOS: Aaaugh!

(He stomps out.)

CHORUS: Stranger, we know not who your are, but you're playing a dangerous game, sassing the god like that. That's called hubris, tragic flaw, o'erweening pride or arrogance, which, in a basically good man, nevertheless brings about his utter downfall and ruination around about the fifth act.

(RIP has the door back on its hinge, and is now testing its play.)

RIP: (Coming carefully down the steps.) Listen, if the god comes back while I'm out, tell him I'm getting a batten to triangulate these steps.

(He exits.)

CHORUS: O great rising and falling action, o mighty ravelling and unravelling, what have you in store for us after we complete this pointless but beautifully turned out choral ode?

(They get excited.)

There's a trembling in the tower...There's a shaking in the sky...In the ocean's brewing danger...And the river's running dry!

(They get low down, as before.)

CHORYPHAIOS: Everybody listen

CHORUS: Everybody listen

CHORYPHAIOS: Everybody learn

CHORUS: Everybody learn

CHORYPHAIOS: Bakkhos come to watch you burn

CHORYPHAIOS & CHORUS: Everybody listen!

(Enter TEIRESIAS, dragged onstage by at least six yapping little dogs on leashes. He is gigantic, his impossible height tottering on 4-inch platform heels [cothurnai ]. He is bald and bearded, wears false breasts and a bustle under his tunic [or whatever those one-strap gowns are called {CHITON, idiot! It's in the damn dictionary! -- Ed.}], and a large plumed hat, which looks like a pheasant hatching an egg.)

CHORUS: Ahoy there Teiresias, seer of the Last Days, wise man from the wings, heal our confusion with your straight talk swathed in riddles and innuendoes, truth scantily clad in the low-cut gown of fancy phrases! What dire doom do you come to pronounce upon this house, what catastrophe foretell, of which we poor just-folks dithering here know nothing at all, let alone suspect?

TEIRESIAS: (His voice quivering with prophetic [or at any rate operatic] authority.) O my children, know that I am Teiresias.

CHORUS: We know that.

TEIRESIAS: Beware the jaws that bite the claws that catch!

CHORUS: From my youth have I kept this wisdom interred within the catacombs of my heart.

TEIRESIAS: Prepare ye the way of the lord, make his paths straight!

Let not the door leap its hinges and keep the temple steps well triangulated!

CHORUS: Our janitor is working on it.

TEIRESIAS: Long have I watched over this house with my inward sight often in disaster have I turned up like a bad penny, just in time to tell you it's too late! But never have you heeded me, never have you thanked me, but beaten me about the head and shoulders, trod my prophecies in the mire, given me the finger as you kicked me down the stairs!

CHORUS: (Hanging its head.) Alas, alas, too true has flown the shaft of your barbed complaint puncturing the pig bladder of my tears and making me blubber for shame.

(CHORUS weeps bitterly.)

TEIRESIAS: (His voice rising impressively.) Make not a hogwallow of the orchestra!

(The CHORUS dries its eyes, sniffling a little.)

TEIRESIAS: And take away these stupid dogs!!

(The ASM runs on, takes the dogs, dragsthem OFF.)

TEIRESIAS: Now I can prophesy in peace. O you poor babies, you little know the Calamity which broods upon the godwalk--

(He points to the theologeion on the roof of the palace.)

Gathering all small plagues and perversions under its great wings! Feeding them upon the teats [pronounced "teets"] of Terror, bloating them upon the Black Blood of Oblivion!

CHORUS: (In an ecstacy, severally.) What poesy! What alliteration! What parallel construction! (In chorus.) What effective use of imagery!

TEIRESIAS: (Unheeding.) They are napping now but they dream dreams of Giant Desolation!

CHORUS: (Chewing its nails.) You're scaring the shit out of me!

TEIRESIAS: (Waxing eloquent.) Soon they will rise from the foul nest of their enhatchment and, blackening the sky above us with their terrible bodies, fangs dripping death, they will fall like acid rain upon the just and the unjust and settle our hash for good!

(DIONYSOS appears above the palace in epiphany.)

DIONYSOS: What the hell is he squealing about?

TEIRESIAS: (Wheeling.) There it is! I warned you. But would you listen!?

DIONYSOS: What's this old queen trying to put over on you?

TEIRESIAS: You could have welcomed me into your cities. You could have clothed me and fed me. Put me up in a nice hotel. Got me a spot on a talk show. And then none of this would have happened. But noooooo.

DIONYSOS: Aren't things bad enough around here without this wacko and his stand-up doom and gloom routine? Next thing you know he'll trot on a messenger with bad news.

(He rages at TEIRESIAS.) Isn't there one Greek myth you aren't sticking your big nose into? I can't stand it! Get him outa here!

(He jumps up and down. RIP appears from the other side of the stage, carrying a batten.)

RIP: I wouldn't get too frisky up there if I were you.

DIONYSOS: (Starts.) What!?

(There is a splintering of wood, and DIONYSOS suddenly drops out of sight. A crash UPSTAGE, behind the palace. The door pops its hinge, falls awry again.)

RIP: The godwalk's under construction.

TEIRESIAS: Thus shall the heedless confound themself.

RIP: Yeah, well you better not be here when he comes to.

CHORUS: One does not need inward sight to see that.

TEIRESIAS: I fear no man, stranger.

CHORUS: He is no man you do not fear.

TEIRESIAS: (Tries to untangle the syntax.)

RIP: (Helpfully.) That's Dionysos,the god of this play.

TEIRESIAS: Oh. In that case--(He hustles toward the exit.) Remember my words, O my children--

(DIONYSOS roars behind the scenery. TEIRESIAS scurries out.)

CHORUS: Beware the wrath of the god. for there is no hedge upon his power. He cannot be killed, for he cannot die. He cannot really be hurt for the same reason. He can only be double-crossed. And then -- you betta watch out!

(RIP meanwhile has disengaged the step unit from the platform and started to brace the back. Commotion behind the palace flat. DIONYSOS' head appears in the door opening, his wig and mask askew. He staggers against the door, causing it to pop its remaining hinge and they both fall flat. RIP works on. The CHORUS is gripped with terror as it watches DIONYSOS get up and start for where the steps should be.)

RIP: (Not looking.) Watch out for that first step--

(DIONYSOS goes over the edge, bellyflops on the stage floor.)

RIP: --it's a lulu.

CHORUS: Mourn for our fallen god for he has fallen real bad.

(The CHORUS falls silent. RIP works on. DIONYSOS maneuvers himself into a sitting position. He disengages himself with difficulty from his mask and wig.)

RIP: I want to thank you for completely trashing my set. The godwalk should've come down a long time ago. But now I'll have to replace the whole damned thing.

(He hammers in a nail, flips the steps upright.)

RIP: Now if you'll excuse me, this step unit goes right where you're sitting.

(DIONYSOS does not move.)

RIP: If you want, I'll build you right into the set.

DIONYSOS: (Drops character.) What are you doing?

RIP: Repairing the ruins. Your temple has fallen into.

DIONYSOS: This wasn't in the scenario.

RIP: Many are the forms of what is unknown.

DIONYSOS: Huh?

(The CHORUS gradually joins RIP in his next few speeches, almost as if against its will.)

RIP & CHORUS: Much that the gods achieve is surprise

DIONYSOS: I mean, doing an improv is one thing--

RIP & CHORUS: What we look for does not come to pass

DIONYSOS: --and you kept changing things right up to the last minute--

RIP & CHORUS: God arranges what none could dream.

DIONYSOS: --but I really could have been hurt.

RIP & CHORUS: So it happens in this story.

DIONYSOS: I mean, was that really necessary?

RIP & CHORUS: File to the tents, file to the harbor. There we embark on life as slaves.

DIONYSOS: (Getting spooked.) What are you doing?

RIP & CHORUS: Necessity is harsh. Fate has no reprieve.

(MUSIC. CHORUS goes into its lowdown Bakkhos refrain, very quiet at first, but building with each repetition.)

CHORUS: Everybody listen. Everybody learn. Bakkhos come

To watch you burn. (Repeat as necessary.)

(They close in on DIONYSOS, circling him. He backs against the platform. They are becoming possessed.

(RIP suddenly appears above the palace, wearing DIONYSOS' ivy wreath on his head, holding the thyrsos in his hand. By now the CHORUS is completely insane. RIP raises the thyrsos. Light change, thunder and lightning. The CHORUS rips DIONYSOS to pieces, yell-"Sparagmos!" and "Omophagia!" as they jam pieces of the god into their mouths. The music flies apart into cacophany.

(Huge explosion, blackout.)

ASM: (Over the P.A., after a suitable pause.) Places please for the Deus ex machina!

["deeyoose ex macheena"]

OMNES: (OFFSTAGE.) Thank you!

(Gray light steals over the empty stage. The air is full of dust and smoke. Shreds of DIONYSOS' costume are seen scattered about the rubble.

(The faÁade of the palace has fallen flat on its face, stage braces sticking up like the legs of a dead insect. Behind we see what's left of the godwalk: the platform itself has come loose at one end, and hangs aslant, the steps leading up to empty space. Mooring lines still swing from the flies, having snapped when the faÁade fell. Oddly, one door still stands in its frame, firmly closed.)

(Suddenly this door is wrenched open and a 300-pound MESSENGER rushes into the orchestra.)

MESSENGER: (In a real thick Midwest accent.) Byaaad news! Byaaad news! An ox stands huge upon my tongue! O tototoi totoi. O shame upon the earth! Apollo! Apollo!

Lord of the ways, my ruin! O popopoi popoi. Eagles devour my liver. Weasles rip my flesh. O tototoi Oboy!

(He rushes around frantically and exits.)

(ATHENE appears on the steps to the godwalk.)

ATHENE: I can't stand it.

(She descends to the orchestra, picking her way carefully over the debris. She addresses the audience.)

ATHENE: Look, I know it's not my place to ask questions. I'm just the Third Actor

I do all the bit parts and steal what scenes I can. Now I'm supposed to deliver the Epilogue. Though to tell you the truth the symbolism escapes me. I just want you to know I'm only following orders so don't hold it against me at my next audition.

(She takes out a scroll, reads from it.) "Past our telling the ways of heaven--"I said all this before--"The gods accomplish the unforeseen--"Do I really have to do this?

ASM: (Over the P.A.) Pick it up Athene! We have to strike tonight!

(The MESSENGER rushes back on.)

MESSENGER: O raise the triple cry of sorrow upon sorrow upon sorrow...O tototoi to--

(ATHENE leaps on him as he passes. She jams her helmet on his head, thrusts the scroll into his hand.)

ATHENE: Here Slim, you read this. I've had it. This fiasco's going to screw up my whold rÈsumÈ.

(She stalks OFF).

(The MESSENGER looks at the scroll, looks at the audience.)

MESSENGER: (Cocks his head, says crazily:) Byaaad news! Byaaad news!

(The doorframe falls over. The MESSENGER turns to it, turns back to the audience, eats the scroll.)

RIP: (OFFSTAGE.) Cue blackout.

ASM: (Over the P.A.) Blackout, please!

LIGHTS: (From the booth.) Thank you!

(BLACKOUT.)

End