Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Timon of Athens Part VII

The dotcom bubble bursts in this installment of TIMON OF ATHENS. It was actually very common for the actor playing Timon to strip to his skivvies, as depicted here, during his return to nature.

We see Timon's sportscar tearing through the streets.

He tilts the rearview mirror so that he can see the skyline retreating behind him.

Let me look back upon thee. O thou wall, that girdlest in those wolves, dire of the earth, and fence not Athens!

Timon is leaving the city behind. Gradually we see his car slow, then pull over to the shoulder and stop.
Timon gets out, dejected, loosening his tie. He flings it off into the bush.
He hits the unlock button on his keys, and his trunk springs open.
From his POV, we see changes of clothes, his laptop, a tennis racquet, all the detritus of a full high-powered life.
He starts stripping down and throwing his dress clothes into the trunk, eventually leaving a t-shirt and boxers.

Plagues, incident to men, your potent and infectious fevers heap on Athens, ripe for stroke! Thou cold sciatica, cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt as lamely as their manners. Lust and liberty creep in the minds and marrows of our youth, that 'gainst the stream of virtue they may strive, and drown themselves in riot! Itches, blains, sow all the Athenian bosoms; and their crop be general leprosy! Breath infect breath, at their society, as their friendship, may merely poison! Nothing I'll bear from thee, but nakedness, thou detestable town! Take thou that too, with multiplying bans! Timon will to the woods; where he shall find the unkindest beast more kinder than mankind. The gods confound--hear me, you good gods all--the Athenians both within and out that wall! And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow to the whole race of mankind, high and low!
(beat, bitterly)

We see Timon striding away, into a red sunset.

We SMASH CUT to a full-screen CG with a techno news backbeat under it. The screen reads: CEO FIRED, MISSING and features a photo of Timon. Then the image WIPES to a photo of Alcibiades, looking serious, and the CG: HOSTILE TAKEOVER?
The graphic pushes into a box over the shoulder of Philotus, who is getting ready to give a report.
But the screen goes to BLACK, abruptly.
We CUT WIDE and see that Flavia has unplugged the little TV on her desk. She is packing up her stuff in a cardboard box.
Servilius and Flaminius poke their heads in. Each of them is carrying a load of their junk.

Hear you, master steward, where's our master? Are we undone? Cast off? Nothing remaining?

Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you? Let me be recorded by the righteous gods, I am as poor as you.

Such a house broke!

Flavia grabs her box and joins them.

Flavia, Servilius, and Flaminius walk down a desolate hall. Some files have spilled out into the hall, and many monitors are dark.

All broken implements of a ruined house.

Yet do our hearts wear Timon's livery, that I see by our faces. We are fellows still, serving alike in sorrow. Leak'd is our bark, and we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck.
Flavia stops.

Good fellows all, the latest of my wealth I'll share among you. Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake, let's yet be fellows. Let's shake our heads, and say, as 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes, 'We have seen better days.'

Flavia roots in her purse. The others protest.

Let each take some. Nay, put our your hands. Not one word more; thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.

She gives them both a few bills. They clasp hands, embrace, part ways.

Flavia exits the building and puts her belongings in the little basket. She starts to unlock her bike, and looks back up at the building.

O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us! Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, since riches point to misery and contempt? Who would be so mocked in glory? Or to live in but a dream of friendship? To have his pomp and all what state compounds but only painted, like his varnished friends? Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart, undone by goodness. Strange, unusual blood, when man's worst sin is, he does too much good! Who, then, dares to be half so kind again? For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men. My dearest lord, blessed, to be most accursed, rich, only to be wretched, thy great fortunes are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord! He's flung in rage from this ungrateful seat of monstrous friends, nor has he with him to supply his life, or that which can command it. I'll follow and inquire him out. I'll ever serve his mind with my best will; whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still.

Resolved, Flavia cycles away.

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