Antics and Antipsychotics
4 Short Plays About Not-So-Stable People
By Gavarre Benjamin
© BENJAMIN GAVARRE SILVA
Anthology Synopsis
I: The Flock in the Living Room
A typical big-city living room transforms into a chaotic, imaginary zoo when a father returns home from work. Convinced his sons are impudent little ducklings and his wife is a dangerous, giant goose, he unleashes a frantic chase. His family is forced to make a choice: try to pull him back, or dive headfirst with him into the freezing waters. An absurdist comedy about patience, family love, and the unexpected perks of shipwrecking together.
II: Peter Pan’s Tape Deck
In a cramped music rehearsal space, two young drummers face the strangest generation gap of their lives: Benny, a 56-year-old man who is absolutely convinced he is 19. Amid debates over modern slang and Artificial Intelligence, reality filters through a laptop webcam. A moving and poignant piece that explores the fear of aging and the tender complicity of a younger generation that chooses to shelter the loose wires of the past.
III: Marlo Was Mistaken, Terribly Mistaken
A bright, sunny park becomes the stage for Marlo’s constant mix-ups— transforming a clientless lawyer into a Greek dancer and a local butcher into Dr. Freud himself. Just as the overwhelming speed of the world threatens to crush him, the park bathes in magical realism to grant him a tender encounter with the memory of his mother. A poetic piece about the fragility of memory, the dignity revery, and the beauty of a world that chooses to smile and embrace rather than judge.
IV:
A gray, mundane commute in a subway car is disrupted by the chaotic arrival of Ray, a young musician whose tics episodes spark collective fear. However, what begins as a flash of urban distrust transforms radically the moment Ray uncases his guitar. To the beat of an energetic popular song, the artist manages to cure the passengers' boredom. A rhythmic, vibrant, and celebratory play showing how music holds the power to dissolve bad attitudes mens and stitch the human fabric back together.
Antics and Antipsychotics
By Gavarre Benjamin
I: The Flock in the Living Room
(Original: La Corte de los Patos)
Characters
- DAD (45): Confuses his family with ducks, monkeys, and other species.
- MOM (40): A practical woman, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
- TEDDY (9): The oldest son, thoroughly amused by his father’s antics.
- GABE (8): The youngest son, always fiercely loyal to his dad.
The living room of a suburban house in a bustling metropolis.
(TEDDY and GABE are happily jumping up and down on the living room couches. DAD enters holding a briefcase. He stops dead in his tracks, stares at them with absolute bewilderment, and grabs his head in genuine panic).
Dad: Quack! Quack! Well, heavens above! What are these two little ducklings doing on the sofa? My dear Ducks, get off the furniture this instant! You’re going to get feathers everywhere! Quack!
Teddy: (To Gabe, bouncing with pure joy) He says we're ducks! Quack, quack! I’m a duck, I’m a duck! Quack, quack!
Gabe: (Flapping his arms) Quack, quack! QUACK!
Dad: (Indignant, waving his arms) Oh, so you think you can mock your own father? Impudent little mallards! To the pond right now, march! Or I swear tonight we are having roast duck with orange glaze!
(MOM enters wearing a kitchen apron. Dad spins around to face her. His eyes go wide at the imposing sight of his wife, and he takes a sharp step back, shielding himself with his briefcase).
Dad: By Jove! A giant goose! Good heavens! An oversized, territorial, vengeful goose! Quack! Watch out, boys, run! She’s going to peck our heads off!
Both Boys: (Screaming and running around) QUACK, QUACK, QUACK!
Mom: (Hands on hips, glaring at him) A giant goose? Well, at least you didn't call me fat this time. Boys, let’s get him! Let's peck Papa Duck! Don't let him get away!
(The boys throw themselves at their father, making frantic duck noises. DAD runs for his life around the dining table, trips clumsily over the rug, and falls flat on his back, hitting his head against the floor with a loud thud. Sudden silence. He sits up slowly, rubbing his forehead. His dazed look is gone; he is completely lucid).
Dad: (Groaning in real pain) Ow, my head... What on earth is wrong with you guys? Why were you chasing me like a pack of wolves? It’s not funny, you know. I almost broke my neck!
Teddy: (Sits on the floor next to him, giving his knee a sweet little pat) Oh, Dad... this time we were ducks. Don't be mad. Last week we were monkeys and you made us eat bananas off the floor.
Gabe: Yeah, Dad. Being a duck is fun, but... what if we turn into wolves next? Or rats? We might actually bite you!
Teddy: (With a sweet but warning tone) And if you ever see Mom as a rhinoceros, you better run, Pop. She will flatten you.
(Dad hugs his sons, shaken but deeply moved, glancing sideways at his wife. Mom sighs with deep resignation, walks over, and hands him an ice pack for the bump. Dad takes the ice pack, blinks three times, completely disoriented, and looks at his wife in absolute awe).
Dad: (Moved to tears) Oh, thank goodness... my beautiful blue whale! You always save us.
Mom: (Taking a step back, deeply offended) A whale?! Excuse me?! I am not that big!
Dad: (Ignoring her, jumping onto the couch and pointing forward with his briefcase) There is no time for domestic disputes! By the gods, look ahead! An iceberg! We’re going down! (He points at the ice pack he left on the table). The ship is sinking! Children, my brave little sharks... prepare to dive into the freezing waters!
Gabe and Teddy: (Thrilled, climbing onto the couch with him) Every man for himself! On three! One... two... three!
(The three of them take a massive leap off the couch and land on the rug, frantically "swimming").
Dad: (Belly down on the rug, kicking his legs desperately) Ah, what a magnificent dive!... (Dramatic) Wait, guys, I don't know how to swim! Help! Help! I can't swim because I'm a camel! Help me! Somebody help!
(The kids start "rescuing" him by dragging him by his ankles while Dad spits out imaginary seawater).
Mom: (Clutching her head, looking up at the ceiling) Lord, give me strength... At this moment Frankly, being a blue whale doesn't sound so bad.
(Fast Blackout)
[End of play I]
II: Peter Pan’s Tape Deck
(Original: Beto y el Nunca Jamás)
Characters
- BENNY (56): He is absolutely certain he is 19 years old, completely ignoring the 37-year gap. He never sees his wrinkles in the mirror... except when he does, sending him into absolute shock.
- JAX (23): A modern, slightly reckless, and laid-back young drummer.
- LEO (24): A fellow drummer, Jax’s somewhat irresponsible friend.
- AI VOICE: An artificial, impersonal, and omnipresent off-stage voice.
A makeshift music rehearsal space. Drums, cymbals, and cables scattered everywhere, with a glowing laptop open on a table.
(JAX and LEO are sorting through drumsticks while chatting. BENNY examines a heavy bronze cowbell with pure, youthful curiosity).
Jax: (Picking up a conversation) ...No way, man. His ride isn't a junker. It's an old car, but he hooked it up nice. The AI design made it look... I don’t know, totally sick.
Benny: (Setting the cowbell down, smiling with youthful swagger) Ah... "sick"? Back in my day, we only said that when we had the flu.
Leo: (Laughing, sharing a look with Jax) Come on, Benny. You’re living in the past. "Sick" means cool. Dope. Fire. You know, awesome.
Benny: Oh, like "bitchin'"! Or "radical"? Yeah, I can dig it! Hey, and what's this about "AI"?
Jax: AI? Artificial Intelligence, Benny. Look, it’s right here on our laptop. The screen’s about to light up with the webcam active.
Leo: Wait, didn't you know about AI? Do you still listen to the radio or something? Nobody our age does that. You're living in the last century.
Benny: (Proudly, arching his eyebrows) Well, you know me, don't you? And I happen to love FM radio. I always listen to the latest, hottest hits from the 80s and 90s. Pure gold.
Leo: (With a smirk) Right, okay! And what about the 2000s? Nothing?
Benny: (With a playful wink) Nice try, Leo. The next millennium is still way off. What are you, a time traveler?
(Benny steps closer to the laptop out of curiosity. The screen suddenly flashes bright, displaying the live webcam feed. Benny takes a sharp step back, horrified, touching his own face).
Benny: Good God! Who is that old, wrinkled, grey-haired man?...
Jax: (Worried by the extreme reaction, talking directly to the laptop) Hey... AI... Who is the man reflecting on the screen in this video feed?
AI Voice: (Firm, neutral, digital, and impersonal) That is Benny. His mind is like a movie with too many missing scenes. He believes hes nineteen. He does not know that time moved on outside.
(The words of the artificial intelligence hit Benny like a physical blow. His eyes widen with the horror of an unbearable truth. His shoulders slump. He walks very slowly toward the darkest corner of the room and sits on the floor, tightly hugging his knees).
AI Voice: When he sees his real reflection, it hurts him to discover the years he lost. But do not worry. Very soon his mind will protect him again. Tomorrow, upon waking up, He will be nineteen again, and he will be the same cheerful young man as always.
(Jax and Leo drop their drumsticks in complete silence. They look at each other with deep sadness, but also with a sense of relief from the AI's words. Softly, they walk over to the dark corner and sit on the floor on either side of Benny. Jax places an arm around his shoulders, comforting him in the quiet, while Leo gives his knee a supportive, friendly pat).
(Blackout)
[End of play III]
Act III: Marlo Was Mistaken, Terribly Mistaken
(Original: Se equivocó Marcelino, se equivocaba)
Characters
MARLO (40): An enthusiastic, deeply disoriented man. He constantly mixes up people’s identities. He is vulnerable, deeply endearing, and captivating.
ARTHUR (35): A lawyer with very few clients. Formal but patient.
THE BUTCHER / DR. FREUD (55): A gruff blue-collar worker with a heart of gold. When he "transforms" into the psychiatrist, he acts more like a clueless, easygoing counselor than a strict doctor.
THE MOTHER (75): A kind, elegant woman with a sweet voice and a touch of joyful, distant distraction.
...
(Some people rest or walk. Some of them wear masks.)
A bright, tree-lined park with benches. People are reading or resting. The atmosphere is warm, relaxed, and peaceful.
(MARLO spins around in circles in a peculiar way, as if searching for true north. Nobody is frightened; the passersby watch him with an accustomed, gentle smile. He finishes his spinning and approaches a MAN reading a newspaper with overflowing enthusiasm).
Marlo: Arthur Joseph! What an absolute joy to see you again! We went to college together, remember? All those tedious, dreadful theory classes we had to endure... What we truly loved was acting and dance, not that mind-numbing history of theater. The Greeks, the Middle Ages! What a total bore!
Arthur: (Awkward but polite, lowering his newspaper) Excuse me, sir, you have the wrong person. My name isn't Arthur Joseph... Well, actually ... it is Arthur, but I studied Law. I'm a lawyer. And I barely have any clients, so imagine if I had studied dance instead.
Marlo: Law? Oh, so you’re a lawyer! Do you know what happens when a lawyer takes Viagra?
Arthur: No, what?
Marlo: He grows and grows! (He bursts into loud laughter, all by himself. Arthur smiles, caught up in it) Just a little joke, my friend. I bet you know everything about Sophocles. The great Sophocles and Greek tragedies...
Arthur: No, my friend. The only Greek tragedy I know is my bank account. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go hunt for some clients... or practice a dance step, just in case. (Gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder and exits cheerfully).
(The park lighting abruptly shifts to surreal shades of magenta and neon green. The background extras transform: they don faceless neutral masks or move in a stylized, robotic choreography. MARLO paces frantically around the benches, completely thrilled by invisible events happening in his mind).
Marlo: (Pointing in horror at the empty space) No way! That car almost ran over that little old lady! Are you alright, ma'am?... Of course... Whew, just a terrible scare!
(A SULLEN PASSERBY with a heavy stride crosses the stage. Marlo slips right behind him, mimicking his heavy steps and sour expression like a street mime).
Marlo: Look at you, Mr. Grumpy, walking down the street with that miserable face… Oh! And you better watch out, because a piano is about to drop right on your head… (Looks up, covers his ears, and makes an explosion sound). The piano! The piano crushed him! Oh well… he had it coming for being so unneighborly.
Marlo: What are you staring at, lover boy? Think I’m checking out your girlfriend? You’re dead wrong... I’m just thinking about how she’s about to be swarmed by bees… Run! Run, my friends! The killer bees are here! Run for your lives! (The couple walks away, bewildered. Marlo swats at invisible insects). Hey, where did you guys go?... And the bees?... Where are the bees?
(The movement around him stops dead. The faceless ensemble freezes in stylized poses. Marlo stands motionless in the center of the stage, pacing in a slow, meditative circle).
Voiceover: (A deep, warm, soothing voice) Marlo stands there meditating, pacing in circles. He knows perfectly well that everything that just happened... took place solely inside his own head.
Marlo: (Stopping, looking at his hands and then at the audience with genuine existential confusion) Right, I get it… all of this happened in my head. But if it happened in my head, why did it take place out here, on the street?
(The lighting shifts to a warm, bright, golden afternoon sun. A light, almost comedic percussion rhythm plays. A BUTCHER enters, sitting down while taking off a clean apron. Marlo stares at him with excessive solemnity).
Marlo: If there is one thing I am deeply passionate about, it is the well-being of the animal kingdom... Hey, you, the man in the apron. You should feel a profound sense of pride and immense responsibility for being the guardian of the ribeyes. It’s a real shame the cows don't appreciate your service.
Butcher: (Surprised, but amused) The guardian of the ribeyes? Look, pal, I don't argue with anyone’s tastes. To each his own stomach. But if you want a solid piece of life advice, a good steak fixes any rough afternoon.
(The Butcher puts on a pair of reading glasses and pulls out a notepad, fluidly transforming into DR. FREUD. The light focuses on them. Marlo, exhausted from his overactive mind, lies back on the park bench as if it were a couch, rubbing his temples with exaggerated theatricality).
Marlo: Dr. Freud... how wonderful of you to drop by the park. You see, I close my eyes for a single second and the TV channels in my brain completely glitch out. I lose track of where I am. Well, I think I know, but the world just moves a bit faster than my conclusions.
Dr. Freud / Butcher: (Writing down notes in a slow, warm tone) Well, let's see, my dear Marlo. Your case isn't a problem at all; it's simply an excess of imagination. You don't confuse reality; you just provide different names and shapes for the people in it. What you need it's just a good few minutes to breathe in this park air.
Marlo: (Sighing with immense relief) That sounds great! Imagination… to power, someone said.
Dr. Freud/Butcher: Reality can be very, very boring. People like you give it a little flair. Stay here, rest and breathe.
(The psychiatrist winks at him and withdraws whistling a light melody. The park's general lights gently dim to a sunset hue. A warm, diffuse, golden light—as if drawn from an old memory—lights up in front of Marlo's bench. From that light arises THE MOTHER. He wears elegant clothes, from another era, and walks with an almost disembodied lightness. Marlo stares at her, with the expression of a small child who finally finds refuge).
Marlo: Mom! Is school over yet? I forgot where I left my backpack... And the kids in class say I play the game all backward. Mom... where is Dad? Why is he taking so long to pick me up today?
(THE MOTHER, who was sitting on the adjacent bench knitting or reading, approaches with infinite tenderness. She gently brushes his hair back).
The Mother: (With a sweet voice and a comforting smile) Oh, my sweet boy. Remember? Your father went ahead of us many years ago. He went to open a new branch up in heaven, because earth was running out of room for his jokes.
Marlo: (With wide eyes, taking in the information without any pain, only nostalgia. He tightly embraces the empty air as she wraps her arms around him) He left?... Is the weather nice up there?
The Mother: The most beautiful weather in the world, my darling. And he is waiting for us with an immense amount of patience. But in the meantime, you and I need to finish our stroll through this park—it looks absolutely lovely today. Care to walk with me for a bit?
Marlo: (Smiling with bursting enthusiasm, standing up) I'd love to, Mom. But walk straight... just like Arthur, the lawyer who used to dance with the Greeks.
(The Mother laughs heartily, takes his arm, and they begin to walk slowly under the trees. The PASSERSBY watch Marlo; to them, the bench is empty and he is walking with the air, but far from mocking or being afraid, they look at each other and smile with a deep, respectful tenderness. Marlo extends his arm, perfectly holding onto his mother's invisible arm. The golden light slowly fades to black, leaving a profound sense of warmth).
[End of play III]
Play IV: The Amazing Subway Guitarist
(Original: El fascinante guitarrista del Metro)
The interior of a moving subway car. The characteristic, hypnotic metallic rattling over the tracks echoes through the space.
Characters
RAY (28): The jazz musician. Wears a slightly tattered jacket, has a guitar slung over his shoulder, and radiates a nervous, electric energy. Sometimes, for no reason, uncontrollable gestures and tics take hold of him, but when those episodes are behind him, his passion for music saves him.
MARGARET (45): A distrustful passenger, heavily loaded with grocery bags, fearful of the urban environment.
NESTOR (70): A retired, serious elderly gentleman. Formal and stern-looking at first.
THE CHORUS: Diverse passengers. Everyday people commuting in the big city; usually indifferent, but capable of being deeply moved.
(RAY enters the train car a bit agitated, stumbling slightly. He slumps heavily into one of the priority seats beneath a faded, semi-graffitied transit sign. MARGARET eyes him up and down with disdain and nudges NESTOR with her elbow).
Margaret: Look at him... Healthy, young, strong, and able-bodied. And he just shamelessly takes the priority seat. Talk about a complete lack of basic manners. Honestly.
Nestor: (Nodding with a bitter grimace) Youth today is totally lost. They have no respect for anything anymore. Not for the elderly, not for pregnant women... It’s like the rest of us citizens are completely invisible.
Margaret: (Adjusting her shopping bags) Oh, I'm not waiting, thank God. This is pure belly.
(Suddenly and without warning, RAY is hit by an acute, violent episode of uncontrollable tics. His entire body tenses up like a guitar string. He lets out a deafening, sharp screech while his right arm jerks spasmodically toward the ceiling of the car).
Ray: (Shouting mid-spasm, rhythmically banging his hand against the metal wall of the train) Oh my God, it's already here, it's here, again, no please, let it pass quickly.
(The entire subway car instantly freezes in silent panic. Margaret gasps in terror, clutches her bags tight, and runs to the opposite end of the car. Nestor jumps up instinctively, seeking shelter behind a metal handrail. The rest of the passengers, THE CHORUS, scatter, leaving Ray in an isolated social island).
Passenger 1: He’s crazy!
Passenger 2: He’s having a breakdown!
Passenger 3: He’s going to mug us!
Margaret: Someone pull the emergency brake! Call the police!
(The train moves forward. Ray has just finished his episode of tics. The passengers stare, uncomfortable. He takes a deep breath, adjusts his guitar strap, and looks at them with a serene, bright smile).
Ray: I am truly sorry that you have had to witness my very inopportune and indiscreet tics. But well... the will of the future willed it so. At the end of the day, one must accept and love what they are. And I am this... and this too!
(Ray smiles playfully, strikes a powerful, masterful first chord on his guitar, and begins to play with overflowing joy. The mood in the subway car instantly brightens).
(The passengers stare at him, still cautious, but visibly magnetized by his charisma).
(RAY strikes the guitar strings with undeniable virtuosity. He stomps his heel firmly against the metallic floor of the subway to set a fast, high-energy tempo. He begins to sing a beautiful, rhythmic popular melody—a vibrant, fast-paced, and incredibly joyful rendition of "Bésame mucho" or the song “Bella Ciao”. The sound floods the entire car, drowning out the gray, industrial noise of the train).
(As he sings, the rhythm becomes irresistibly contagious. Ray moves with effortless grace. Nestor unconsciously begins to tap his foot to the beat. Margaret cracks a shy smile, loosening her grip on her bags).
(Ray concludes the piece with a nearly impossible, clean, and brilliant guitar solo. The song ends. The car falls into a split-second of breathless silence... and suddenly, unanimous applause and cheers erupt).
Passenger 1: Now that’s what I’m talking about, maestro!
Passenger 2: Wow, what a brilliant surprise!
Nestor: (Applauding enthusiastically) Bravo! Bravissimo! That is playing from the soul, son! Forget about the priority seat, you’ve earned it a hundred times over!
Margaret: (Smiling widely as she fishes around in my purse) Such absolute talent! What a beautiful gift in the middle of such a boring commute.
(RAY passes his hat around and gratefully collects the coins. He takes another deep bow like a happy, blissful jester, acknowledging the collective affection with his right hand over his heart—fully integrated into the human fabric, free of tics, and undisputed master of the subway car thanks to the healing miracle of his music).
(The subway lights begin to flicker festively as the sound of the guitar blends into an upbeat, joyous musical theme that echoes all four stories).
[FINAL CURTAIN FOR ALL FOUR PLAYS]
