Quill:  “Hamlet vs. Goodzilla” must be your most ambitious production to date.


WS:    Against my promise to neither borrow nor lend, its cost has turned me into both liar and pauper. 


Quill:  That’s a catchy phrase, the borrowing and lending bit.


WS:    Is it really?  Despite being a poet, I don’t always know it.


Quill:  To reduce the cost, did you consider creating a more modest canvas?


WS:    Like what?  Hamlet without Goodzilla?  There’s a hare-brained thought.  Do you truly believe they could survive on their own?


Quill:  I was merely commenting on the scale of the piece.


WS:  I will concede you this point.  Professional actors soliloquize more readily than does a trained Geckard.  And Geckard wranglers do not come cheaply.


Quill:  How did you ever conceive the notion of an oversized reptile as an antagonist for a Danish prince?


WS:  My parents, during their drinking days, could be a monstrous. 


Q:    The monster stands in for your parents?  Why not simply show the royal couple in an unkind light?


WS:  A drinking couple?  Where’s the theatre in that?  Glasses are filled.  Glasses are raised.  Glasses are thrown.


Q:     Perhaps glasses could be balanced on breasts.


WS:  So you’re something of a playwright yourself?  If only breasts were allowed upon the stage.  Moving acrobatically around a pole.  ‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.


Q:    There’s another fine phrase, Will.


WS:  Ah, yes.  “Moving, nay, hanging acrobatically from a pole--”


Q:  Still, whether breasts or bums, it’s rumored the state threatened to strangle the play in its crib.


WS:  An official from the Royal Arts Constabulary refused to certify it.  He complained that Hamlet was unsympathetic.


Q:    Did you comply?


WS:  I invited him to rewrite the play and put his name on it so he may fully receive credit or shame.  He claimed he was too busy polishing up the work of every writer in England.


Q:   Yet he granted you permission to stage it.


WS:  By casting him in the role of Magnus, Queen Gertrude’s corrupt guardsman, I have overcome his objections.


Q:    Does he play it with any skill?


WS:  He was born to the part.


Q:    May we return to the matter of the Goodzilla role?  Where did you find your monster?


WS:  Among the large Geckard packs that roam the North country.


Q:     Does the Geckard play the monster with conviction?


WS:   How could he not?  He’s a lizard.


Q:     Does it speak?


WS:  His English is imperfect, but any conversation from a reptile is a wonder.


Q:     How does the reptile--?


WS:   Hugh--


Q:     What?


WS:   He answers to “Hugh.”  If you call him “Goodzilla,” he will not cooperate.


Q:     That begs the question.  How well does--


WS:   Hugh--


Q:      How well does the creature hit his marks?


WS:    When the stage manager leaves a freshly-killed rodent on the mark, the beast is perfectly dependable.


Q:     Rats are placed upon the stage?


WS:   Only during rehearsal.


Q:     Is there no consternation among the Players?


WS:  There is.  But once we get through the reptile-cuddling scenes, their disgust seems to evaporate.


Q:     Some scholars have been unkind about the play’s prospects.


WS:  Giving in to reality is a form of charity to which I will not contribute.


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