ALL NOVEL Chapter 11
A few days later, I handed the first draft of the script to Renoir at the Killgrewber Theater Company.
“How is it, Mr. Renoir?”
“Hmmm, well…”
Renoir stared intently at the script I had completed in one breath. This was quite different from his usual intense demeanor, making me a bit uneasy.
“Is it not good? Is it too poor to be considered a script?”
“Cough cough, are you joking? It was torture just holding back laughter the whole time I was reading. A farce should have this delightful and vibrant sense of humor! By my standards, this script deserves 25 out of 10!”
What’s with the 25 out of 10 when it’s 10 out of 10? Has he gone crazy with dad jokes because of his age?
Anyway, if a comedy script was funny, then that in itself was a huge success. The question was why Renoir was reacting like that despite its humor.
“However, I would say… it doesn’t seem like the kind of work worthy of our Killgrewber Theater Company.”
“Oh.”
“So, you understand. You know the difference between an ordinary public theater and a private theater like ours.”
I understood very well. Depending on the type of theater, the target audience could vary significantly.
A public theater is a place that caters to a more diverse clientele, accepting guests from all walks of life, be they nobility or commoners, as long as they pay a certain admission fee.
On the other hand, a private theater is mainly operated for wealthy and upper-class audiences. Since the clientele is limited, they only stage works that align with upper-class sophistication.
Naturally, the famous works of Charlie Chaplin that I had meticulously copied would be hard to feature at a private theater.
“Of course, just because they are nobles doesn’t mean they hate comedy. Silly and ridiculous comedy is something everyone enjoys, regardless of age or gender.”
Handing the script back to me, Renoir said in a regretful tone, “But unfortunately, it doesn’t match the image of our theater company at all. Originally, Killgrewber rose to fame by mainly staging serious and solemn religious plays.”
“That’s for sure… I underestimated it.”
It’s not uncommon for people to like both serious drama actors and silly comedy actors. But it’s rare for a serious actor to suddenly start performing in a silly comedy.
What, would they suddenly serve a slapstick comedy by Charlie Chaplin at a theater that just staged Admiral Lee and Julius Caesar a few days ago? You’d hear criticisms for sure, but never praise.
“So speaking of which, Phantom.”
As I too was deep in thought, Renoir crossed his arms and unexpectedly made a suggestion.
“How about signing a contract with another theater to stage this script?”
“Huh?”
Sign a contract with another theater, not Killgrewber? The competition is the Phantom Writer who wrote two hit works in a row?
“Are you serious? Wouldn’t that be a problem?”
“Why? Are you planning to cut ties with us for good?”
“Of course not.”
Renoir asked jokingly with a smile, and I waved my hands to firmly deny it.
Killgrewber is a top-tier famous theater in the capital. Their acting skills and directing ability are outstanding, and they operate transparently, so I can work with them without a worry.
In short, I made a huge amount of money from the two popular works and received substantial patronage from the royal family.
They could have easily ripped me off, an outsider to theater management, but they didn’t do that at all. Just this alone shows there’s no reason for me to cut off ties unilaterally.
“Then it’s settled. I, too, claim to love theater. Jealousy arises when competitors snatch away hit works, but at the same time, I can’t stand to see such a wonderful piece remain buried and unappreciated.”
Brushing off his seat, Renoir joked. Then he grabbed his coat from the hanger and addressed me.
“First, let’s go out, Phantom. I know a theater that perfectly matches the script you’ve written. There, you can perform it without any issues.”
“Hmm, what? What’s this about, Renoir?”
Duk duk. A middle-aged woman efficiently knocked ash from a cigarette in an ashtray.
With deep wrinkles around her eyes, but still retaining her youthful beauty, Isabella welcomed us in the reception room.
“So, you want us to perform the work of the currently soaring playwright Phantom here?”
“Exactly, Isabella. This is a proposal from someone in the same industry, not a competitor.”
“Ha.”
Puff puff. Isabella smiled while puffing donut-shaped cigarette smoke.
She looked bewildered, alternating her gaze between me and Renoir.
Isabella was also a manager responsible for a theater, just like Renoir. In simpler terms, she was the head of the Geloroushina Theater Company that Renoir brought me to.
The only difference was that while Renoir was still an active actor, Isabella had retired from acting and was focusing on training her successor.
“Having managed a theater for 20 years, I’ve never had a case of attaching my playwright to another company. Most just write their own scripts, like you or me.”
Unlike the luxurious interior of the private theater, Killgrewber, Geloroushina was a very typical medieval-style public theater.
The stage had only minimal barriers and was set up outdoors, while the quality of the seating varied significantly based on the set ticket price.
Very poor views (like having to stand to watch the play), were available at very cheap ticket prices, while prime seating commanded high prices.
Thus, while it may seem a bit shabby, it exuded a sort of freedom that contrasted with Killgrewber.
“Anyway, this is the famous playwright Phantom himself, right?”
Stealing a glance at me dressed like the Phantom of the Opera, Isabella showed interest.
“By the way, why does our playwright Phantom wear that mask? You’re tall and fit. You look like a handsome young man!”
“I got acid splashed on my face and suffered burns. Unfortunately, the inside of the mask is hideous enough to make someone scream.”
“Oh, dear. How sad. Truly, God is cruelly fair.”
As I recited the setting of a movie released in 1943, Isabella subtly cast a sympathetic glance.
Roughly, it seemed like she was looking at a talented genius who experienced both great fortune and misfortune.
She seemed to believe that having gained the talent of a writer who bursts with potential meant sacrificing looks as a price.
Of course, my actual face behind the mask was perfectly fine, so her sympathy was unwarranted.
“Well, it’s not a bad proposal for me. I’m aware of the fame of Admiral Lee and Julius Caesar. I’ve known you, Renoir, for over 15 years, so I trust your recommendation.”
“Right. No one lies to you, Reggie, especially not me, since we have such a connection.”
“Shut up. You just can’t help yourself.”
Renoir was joking and Isabella subtly responded to him, both displaying a close relationship built over 15 years.
Well, that familiarity really justified her decision to hand over Phantom’s script so readily, I guess.
“But really, are you sure, Phantom? Our theater’s style is very different from Renoir’s silly style, isn’t it?”
Isabella teased me, glancing at the constantly grinning Renoir.
Were they wondering if someone who only dealt with serious drama could adapt to this kind of atmosphere?
It’s usually difficult for a writer with a clear style to deviate from it.
However, in reality, seeing is believing.
As if to quell Isabella’s worries, Renoir shoved my script forward.
“Read it yourself and make a judgment. The first draft is already done.”
“What? You even wrote the script? Talk about thorough preparation!”
Isabella’s eyes widened as she received the script.
She quickly flipped through the pages, looking bewildered. It seemed both Renoir and the theater staff had a knack for speed-reading long scripts.
One minute passed, then two minutes.
While Isabella’s brown eyes hurriedly followed the text, she suddenly exclaimed, “Pfft!”
In an instant, her lips curled, and her shoulders shook.
It was quite a sight to see her trying to contain laughter with one hand on the script and the other on her mouth.
“…It’s been a while since I burst out laughing just from the situational settings in a script. That’s a mistake I’d only make as a beginner.”
After some fits of laughter followed by calming down, Isabella finally finished reading.
She gently placed the script on the reception table and said, “Our playwright Phantom, I thought you only specialized in serious drama, but you have a knack for comedy too! With this level of quality, you could perform immediately!”
“Really? Thank you, Isabella.”
Comedy is one of the two fundamental forms of theater alongside tragedy, characterized by light narratives and bright, happy endings.
Due to its lightness, it historically received less appreciation compared to tragedy, yet its role in art history as satire and entertainment is undeniably significant.
And the works of the great Charlie Chaplin leaned closely toward farce.
Farce is a short and ridiculous comedy that evolved through the primitive village plays of ancient Greece and Rome and was finalized in the traditional medieval France.
The typical characteristic is exaggerated, absurd, and unreal levels of humor.
There’s no better fit for this than Charlie Chaplin’s comedy, which wields dazzling slapstick and absurd humor.
Indeed, he is often praised for reviving the prototype offarce that was staged in marketplaces during the Athenian and Roman eras.
“Alright. Contract established. Since the script is complete, there’s no need to wait. I’ll quickly instruct our kids to prepare!”
Isabella declared as she picked up her cigarette case again.
She added in a slightly disappointed tone, “It’s a pity. To think that such remarkable talent will only collaborate with us for this one piece; Renoir, that fellow must be jealous!”
“It’s not the end, though?”
“…Huh?”
“What do you mean?”
Both actors were startled and turned towards me as I answered.
It seemed their timing was perfectly in sync due to their close relationship.
I flashed a smile and assured them, “More comedic scripts featuring Chaplin are on the way. And all of them will be performed at the Geloroushina Theater Company.”
“R-really, playwright Phantom? W-will we be collaborating long-term with our theater too?”
Isabella’s jaw dropped, unable to close, clearly stunned by my sudden declaration.
And, naturally, I was entirely sincere this time.
What I brought today was merely a script inspired by one of Charlie Chaplin’s countless movies.
From the short films of my early career, to the feature films produced after stepping into Hollywood.
There are plenty of works like Making a Living, The Champion, City Lights, and Modern Times being localized into this world version.