by Matthew A. Everett • June 16, 2008
Since I find myself mildly embarrassed having to pronounce the title of one of my own plays, and a friend Googling for it had to relax the filter on the search engine so the word “b**ch” wouldn’t kick it back with only results for “bronze,” a word of explanation is probably in order…
The Bronze Bitch Flies At Noon
the first half of my Fringe double feature, springs from an urban legend connected to my undergraduate days (we won’t be doing the math – it’s depressing)
Single White Fringe Geek (and Mom) is the blog of Matthew A. Everett, one of four bloggers covering the Minnesota Fringe Festival for the Daily Planet.
There was (and still is) a statue out by the old administration building at my alma mater – a bronze statue of a female benefactor, turning green with age (the statue, not the benefactor). The old gal was affectionately known among the student body as “The Bronze Bitch.”
Rumor had it that if a virgin ever graduated from the college, the statue would up and fly away.
No one has yet stepped forward to refute this claim.
A weekly writing group I once belonged to would conclude the year of readings before our summer break with a night of amusement – a ten minute play festival comprised of new scripts by a handful of writers in the group around a common theme.
One year, it was
a hundred dollar bill
So I dreamed up a scenario in which, on the eve of college graduation, a young man named Jonathan offered the hundred to a classmate named David to help rid him of his virginity so he wouldn’t be responsible for the statue taking flight. Hence…
The Bronze Bitch Flies At Noon
There was a brief period of marketing insanity in which, for the purposes of expanding the ten minute play into a longer piece a while back, I abandoned the statue, and the title that went with it. The producer of the workshop bemoaned the loss of the title and he was absolutely right.
So, though the statue itself was no longer the site of the action of the play, her presence, and impending takeoff, hovered over our heroes as they danced about one another in negotiation and tentatively grew closer in spite of themselves.
No offense intended.
And you’ll see – it’s the sweetest little play about amateur prostitution you’re ever likely to witness. I promise.
No nudity warning, so some things are clearly reserved for after the lights fade to black.
But only some things.
Care for a taste? Excerpts of the first two parts of the text are available here and here.
Next up, the talking dog…
Entering his sixth year of blogging about the Minnesota Fringe Festival (and bringing Mom along for the ride as a guest reviewer), Matthew A. Everett is also a local playwright and three-time recipient of grant support from the Minnesota State Arts Board. Information on Matthew and his plays can be found at matthewaeverett.com.
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