Category Archives: video

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 BARRICADE

EXTENDED VERSION

[A man in his mid-forties. He wears a suit unbuttoned at the collar, without a tie. He appears stressed, even tormented. There are big bags under his eyes]

“My wife and I were trying to conceive for years.

When all the other options failed we resorted to adoption.

After months of waiting, we were assigned to a young couple not able to care for their unborn baby… a boy.

The adoption agency said we could take him home right after the delivery, that the parents preferred it that way.

And so the baby was born on a Sunday night… and we were driving him home from the hospital by Monday at dawn.

We were so excited… especially my wife.

I was happy too, of course… but I was still getting used to it… you know, to the idea that from one moment to the next I was a father, that I was supposed to have a connection with this baby….

I didn’t have it yet, but I was confident I’d get there…

Then, just a few weeks later, we found the baby unconscious in his crib; he was very weak, pale… we rushed him to the hospital and waited while they ran tests… they were the longest hours of my life, I swear…

Long story short… he had leukemia.

He had a fifty-fifty chance of making it… and, of course, we swore to fight along with him, to do everything we could to keep him alive…

But on the inside, I was grappling with this horrible dilemma…

Should I let my love for that baby grow inside me, even if he could very possibly die at any moment?  Or should I keep a safe distance, guarding myself against whatever might happen?
It was not really a dilemma… the truth is I knew I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t love that sick baby… I didn’t know how.

My wife, unlike me, put up no barriers; she just loved the baby with all her heart… And that made it even harder for me to pretend, to conceal the fact that I didn’t feel anything for him.

But no one noticed it… I was by his side at the hospital every single night, I insisted on a second mortgage to pay for his treatment… I cried whenever he was in pain… although it was probably more for myself…

At the end the baby, my son, made it… the illness receded, like a miracle, and he started to grow as a normal child

He’s now four. His name is Eric, after me.

I still can’t get myself to love him.”


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

 Copyright Abel Gonzalez 2016

IN SILENCE

EXTENDED VERSION:

[A woman in her mid-thirties. Soft spoken but with an expression that denotes intelligence. She holds a cell phone.]

“My mother passed away recently… and quite unexpectedly.

The first few days after her death I missed her so badly that all I did was look at photos of her… I had this weird fear of forgetting what she looked like…

I went through every single photo she was in. I searched albums, shoeboxes, my phone, my computer…

I paid special attention to the portraits that captured her in a natural pose, unaware of the camera’s presence. I would stare at those images for so long… trying to get a glimpse into her soul, into her real self… and maybe because of that intensity, the photos began to lose their meaning.  After a while, they became mere representations of my mother… lies, in a way.

Then I moved on to her voicemails saved on my phone… dozens.

I listened to them over and over, very carefully, trying to find my mother in her short greetings, in her requests to call her back as soon as I had time…

They were satisfying at first…  like a comfort blanket…

Until one day her messages started to sound artificial… I could predict what she was about to say; I found myself mocking her inflections…

I realized that, like with the pictures, I had exhausted her recorded voice…

I was devastated, and frustrated. So much so that I began deleting all her messages, one by one…

Until I got to one that was almost two minutes long… I had always skipped it before because it was a butt call, you know, an accident…

All you can hear in it is a subtle breathing and some creaking sounds, maybe from the chair my mom was sitting on.

But that day I listened to the message, the whole thing this time…

I could feel my mother in that silence, as if she was alive, as if I was spying on her from behind a door. I was curious about her… asking myself what was she doing, what was she thinking…

I started crying half way into the recording.

I cried out of happiness because I’d finally felt her in that silence. I was more than happy, I was at peace… there she was, my mother, living in a question mark… in an unwritten story.

I deleted the other messages and kept only that one.

Sometimes I play it… but not too often… I’m afraid to wear it out too.”


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

 Copyright Abel Gonzalez 2016