Category Archives: history

A GLORIOUS FAILURE

[A man in his twenties, he has a preppy look. Very eloquent and passionate, he talks with his hands]

Julian Pedrales was a Spanish architect, back in the eighteenth century.

The son of a peasant, he was destined to follow his father’s destiny… if it weren’t because his drawing skills convinced some local officials to patron him.

After finishing his studies at the Academy, he became an apprentice, then an assistant to a famous architect… whose work Julian would finish without getting credited for it.

Judging by his meager accomplishments, you’d think he wasn’t very ambitious. But that’s not true. He was… to a fault.

He was obsessed with building a massive cathedral, one with the biggest nave and the tallest steeple in Europe.

For over thirty years, he used his own money to travel to every court, to hustle for the favor of nobles and churchmen…
Unfortunately, the enormity of his project –so expensive, so technically challenging– discouraged anyone but Julian to attempt it.

Toward the end of his life, he retired to a small patch of land near his hometown. He built himself a house there, nothing too fancy…
He also built a small chapel on a hill nearby. It barely took him three months to complete it.

I visited the chapel years ago. It was already getting dark when I reached it. The façade was unassuming but beautiful in its simplicity.

To my surprise, there were some lit candles inside, the light reflecting on the stone walls, making it look like a shiny womb, warm and inviting.

I walked inside… sat on a bench. The place was tiny; the walls, bared…

I felt closer to god. And I’m not religious…

There, I realized that, occasionally, people triumph despite their own ambitions.


Are you an actor or director interested in using this monologue? Contact us in ABOUT MONOLOGY!

 Copyright Abel Gonzalez 2017

THE MACHINE WE ALL BUILT

[A middle-aged man in a blue work coat. He has a gentle face and a docile manner. He speaks softly, as if afraid.]

“There was barely any work at the workshop so, when the order came in, well, it was a relief.

According to the specs, the client wanted us to build a very sophisticated piece, so complex it would take at least six months to complete. In other words, six months of very profitable labor.

The specs didn’t clarify what kind of machine our piece would be a part of, and even though I was curious, I got so busy setting up production that I soon forgot. Besides, this kind of secrecy is not unheard of in our business. Industrial espionage, pending patents, all good reasons for the client not to share the final design with us.

But then, halfway into the project, we started lagging behind schedule and I had to look for extra hands in order to make the delivery date.

I called my friends at other shops and was surprised to find out they were also looking for temporary workers. I soon realized every workshop in town was slammed building parts for this “mystery machine,” as some of the guys called it.

I was tempted to ask my colleagues if they too found it unsettling that we were all building pieces for a machine we knew nothing about. But, why question a job that had brought us all months of employment and profit? No one likes a party pooper…

So I just paid my employees overtime and production eventually got back on schedule. Months later, we completed the piece right on time.

The same night we shipped it out, we threw a party to celebrate. Believe it or not, some employees even cried; that’s how attached we all had become to the piece.

A few weeks later, without warning, the authorities deployed a gigantic machine into the streets that, with one clean sweep, annihilated thousands of protesters.

No one would ever admit it, but deep down, most of us knew what kind of machine our parts would eventually help create.

Although, why deny it… Making them brought us such happiness.”


Are you an actor or director interested in using this monologue? Contact us in ABOUT MONOLOGY!

 Copyright Abel Gonzalez 2016

REAL FICTION

[A man in his late thirties. The liberal type, dressed casually and with messy hair. Something about him screams intellectual.]

“My grandfather was an old Hollywood screenwriter back in the forties. He only has two or three credits to his name on obscure films… To be honest, I used to think he had had a mediocre career and that he had retired early.

Later on, I learned he was also a member of the communist party, and that his political views had landed him on Hollywood’s blacklist…

Unable to get work as a screenwriter, he took any film-related job to make ends meet; production assistant, gaffer, grip… even as an extra.

According to my father, he once got a background gig in a big Hollywood production, a romantic drama, set in the Russian Revolution.  Anti-communist propaganda of that time…

My grandfather had no idea what the scene was about but, still, he put on his proletarian costume and showed up on a set that looked like a muscovite street, along another hundred extras.

There, this assistant to the director instructs them to parade down the fake street singing The International, you know, the United Worker’s hymn.

The song was banned in the US back then, so instead of teaching them the lyrics, the assistant just hummed the melody a couple of times for the extras to memorize it.

And so, when the director called “action”, all the extras began to hum the song, more or less successfully… All of them except my grandfather. He shouted it from the top of his lungs, enunciating every single word.

I like to picture him with a Cheshire grin, tickled by the irony of getting paid for something he had been banned from doing and being in real life.

It probably was the biggest victory of his life…

I’m sure he’d tell the story better himself.


Are you an actor or director interested in using this monologue? Contact us in ABOUT MONOLOGY!

 Copyright Abel Gonzalez 2016