Oh, the things I have planned for the stage! The screen! There have been auteur filmmakers, revolutionary stage directors, and I plan to join their hallowed ranks. I had an amazing idea for a show the other day. I was gazing out the window, people-watching and generally letting nature inspire my creative mind as I do between the hours of nine and ten every morning, when I saw a set of tulips in my neighbour’s garden. It was such a delicate thing, so exposed to the elements and so tenderly looked after by Doris, who spends most of her time in the garden. And so I thought…why should nature’s greatest show be relegated to floundering in a garden somewhere?
That’s when I got the idea: a live stage show where all you do is watch a flower grow, preferably a daffodil bulb because I think they have some kind of innate showmanship. So the curtain rises (or parts), and the audience is shown a planter pot that has just been freshly dug. Maybe someone comes to plant the flower, but I’m thinking if at all possible I want it to be done just beforehand. We don’t want unnecessary characters clogging up the stage with their presence. After all, humans will often want to watch other humans, especially because flowers grow so slowly. After a while, the daffodil will begin the delicate miracle of life. The watering will be automated, so as not to do more of that clogging the stage business. Steadily, the audience will come to realise that what they’re watching…is life. This daffodil is blossoming before their very eyes, depending on how long it takes to do that. Although it’ll be easy to whittle down the faithful who appreciate the show, because they’re the ones who’ll be sitting in their seats for the entire eleven hours, tears streaming down their faces as they realise that I’ve distilled the very essence of creation and they’re the ones who get to witness it. Gorgeous, I tell you. Me and those daffodil bulbs will go far.