Note from Author: A big thank you to all of those who reviewed and now on
to more insanity-
MAX CASELLA: THE CHAINSMOKER
::Location: 1991 in an airy room on the bottom level of a building in the Universal Studios lot. Behind a fold out table sits Kenny Ortega and random others. Miscellaneous sheets of paper and 8 x 10 headshots adorn the tabletop::
Ortega: All right, send the next kid in.
::Door opens. Max Casella enters appearing quite frightened::
Ortega (staring lovingly at a headshot of Gabe that is on table, does not view Max): Hi, there, please state your name!
::Max does not reply, as his eyes are wandering maddeningly about the room::
Ortega (brightly, still not viewing Max): Ahem, hi, there, please state your name!
Max (in a near whisper): Uh, Max, Max Casella.
Ortega (listlessly, still infatuated with picture of his muse): Tell me, Max, you sound nervous, why?
Max (growing more uncomfortable with every passing moment): Uh, well, ya see, I'm sort of at my wit's end-I had, had a stint on Doogie Howser, M.D.- you know? Doogie Howser, M.D.?
Ortega (lazily, still regarding the headshot on the table): Yes, of course, who doesn't? That's where they took the three hour tour and got stranded on that island.
Max: Ah, no, actually that was Gill-
Ortega: As you were saying before?
Max (befuddled): Right, well, and, um, I was Vinnie Delphino-
Ortega (laughingly, still not seeing Max): Oh I remember you! Vinnie Barbarino! You were the cool one, weren't you?
Max: Um, no. I said, Vinnie Delphino. I wasn't on Welcome Back-
Ortega: You were saying?
Max: Right-well see, Gilli-Doogie Howser, M.D. just ended and I'm out of work and I'm hoping to make it into the movies-
Ortega (indolently, still fawning Gabe's headshot): Yes and you're here because?
Max (bewildered): Wait, this is where auditions for Newsies are being held, right?
::Ortega suddenly elicits a gasp and looks up. Rapture crosses his features as he leaps out of chair::
Ortega: WAIT! DON'T SAY ANOTHER WORD!
Max: Pard-
::Ortega leaps over table, the miscellaneous papers falling to the ground. He rushes to Max, placing an arm around his shoulder::
Ortega (enraptured): Ladies and Gentlemen! Do you see this? Do you see this? Please tell me that my eyes are not just playing a despicable jest upon me!
Random others: They're not! They're not!
::Ortega throws his head back and places a hand to his brow::
Ortega: Oh, my vision! As I was sitting in that chair, regarding the headshot of my muse, and the Lord God himself sent another revelation to me! That my Crutchy was standing right before me yet I was just too ignorant a mortal to envision it!
::Max pulls away from Ortega::
Max: No, no, no. Crutchy? See my agent was sent the script of Racetrack Higgins. Racetrack Higgins.
Ortega (bewildered): You Racetrack Higgins?
::The entire room save Max bursts into wild peals of laughter.::
Max (beginning to become furious): Well, why not? What's wrong with me?
Ortega: Well, its just that...we are trying to get Luke Perry be Racetrack Higgins. You know how much charisma that boy has. Just watching him on Beverly Hills, 90210 I can just imagine him in suspenders and doing those pelvic thrusts.
::Room erupts into agreeable murmurs::
Ortega: Yes, you see, it is all part of my vision, young Crutchy, a vision sent straight to me from God himself! The end all be all of musicals! Take what I created in Dirty Dancing and add-
Others: PELVIC THRUSTS!
Ortega: Yes! Pelvic Thrusts! God's gift to the human race!
::Others burst into cheers and applause::
Ortega (turning to Max): And in my vision God told me that my Crutchy was going to be walking through that door right after I had found my muse. And by George, I have my muse! And my Crutchy!
::Others break into whistles::
Ortega (fanning face): Yes, thank you, thank you. It's going so beautifully isn't it? I can just picture that golden little son of a bitch in my hands, the hands of the Academy's Best Director!
::Max pulls out of Ortega's grasps and holds up his hands::
Max: Whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm auditioning for-
Ortega: CRUTCHY!
::Ortega places his arm once more around Max and pushes him into the middle of the room. He disappears for a moment before returning with a crutch. He holds it out to Max.::
Ortega (brightly): Here, my crippled friend! Strut your stuff!
::Ortega offers Max the crutch, yet it fall to the floor for Max makes no motion to accept it.::
Max (regarding Ortega as though he is insane): I am not using that damn crutch. I-
Ortega (chidingly): Now, Crutchy, how do you expect to be a gimp without your crutch?
Max (beginning to lose his temper): I am not playing a-
::Ortega releases a sigh and retrieves the crutch with a flourish, shoving it to Max.::
Ortega (whispering): Now, just between you and me, we know you got the part, wink wink. But for their sake, just hobble around the room for a few laps and prove just what a marvelous gimp you can be, young Crutchy!
::Ortega quickly smacks Max's bottom. Max cries out in protest.::
Ortega (loudly): Now go to it!
Max (grumbling): Goddamn mother fu-Okay, take a deep breath, Max and just do what he says. You need the money. You need the money. You need the money. You need the money.
::Max proceeds to hobble about the room on the cane. Ortega erupt into charlatan tears as the others join him::
Ortega (orgasmic): What did I tell you? Isn't he the perfect gimp or what? He evokes so many emotions. Like Tiny Tim.
Others: Yes, like Tiny Tim.
Man: But didn't Tiny Tim die?
::Silence::
Ortega: Yes-well, my wonderful, wonderful vision!
::Ortega places a hand on Max's shoulder::
Ortega (excitedly): Oh, Crutchy! Just wait! I have conjured some remarkable dance combinations for you! You'll have a duet with your crutch-
::There is a knock at the door::
Ortega: Yes?
::Door opens. Ortega's assistant leans in doorway, looking rather downtrodden.::
Assistant: Sir, I have just found out some rather bad news-
Ortega (impatiently): Yes? Yes?
Assistant: Sir, Luke Perry's agent just called. He already had prior engagements to be in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
::Ortega appears as a balloon that has just been deflated::
Ortega (slowly, disbelieving): Buffy the-Vampire-Slayer-
Assistant: Yes, sir.
Ortega (suddenly infuriated): Buffy the Vampire Slayer? What the fuck is Buffy the Vampire? Why would he want to be in a movie about creatures that suck blood when he could be in my extravagant vision?
Assistant: I-I don't know, sir.
Ortega (acrimoniously): Well, I can't let one little bastard ruin my whole vision. But a Racetrack-I need a Racetrack-
::Max clears his throat::
::Ortega begins to pace room::
Ortega (forlornly): Where am I going to get a better Racetrack Higgins than Luke Perry-
::Max clears his throat more clearly::
Ortega: Oh, God, I might as well hang myself right now. My whole career, my Oscar can be flushed down the-
Max: AHEM!
::Ortega shifts his gaze to Max. Suddenly, he lights up like a damn Christmas tree::
Ortega: You.
Max (innocently): Me?
Ortega: Yes, you! You-you are Italian. You can be my Racetrack Higgins! Vinnie Barbarino, you are my new Racetrack! Oh, my vision isn't annihilated. The pelvic thrusts shall live on!
::Room breaks into wild cheers::
Ortega (frantically, to Max): You. You are my Racetrack. Can you play cards?
Max: I-well-
::Ortega reaches to back pocket and produces a set of cards::
Ortega: Cards. Racetrack is a gambler. Here, play 52 pick up.
::In one movement, Ortega hurls the stack of cards into air and they rain down on the pair. Max regards Ortega insolently.::
Ortega (prodding): Well, go ahead. Show me what kind of bookie you can be.
::Max regards him with set features.::
Max: I am not picking those cards up.
Ortega: Right. Well, in the movie you have to smoke. Do you smoke?
Max: No, I don't-
::Max finds Ortega pushing a cigar between his teeth and lighting it with a match::
Ortega: Well, welcome to the wonderful world of chain-smoking, Vinnie. It's a world that sure helps me out when the day just starts to get blue!
::Max erupts into a great coughing spell, the cigar falling to the ground::
Ortega: Oh, that happens if you're not use to inhaling. Here, have another.
::Another cigar is soon inserted unwillingly into Max's mouth::
Max: Oh, I don't feel too good-
Ortega: And tell me, Vinnie, do you play the harmonica?
Max (collecting himself): The what?
Ortega: The harmonica?
Max: What the hell would I play the harmonica for? You already got me as a chain-smoking gambler.
Ortega: Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree-
Max (groaning): Oh, shit-
Ortega: Here, have another cigar. We must get you ready for my vision! My wonderful wonderful vision!
:;Max has turned a marvelous shade of green::
Max: I think I have lung cancer-
Ortega: Of course not! Don't be-
:;Max relapses into a wonderful coughing spell as he dashes out the door for any type of water available. Ortega pops his head out the doors and calls after him::
Ortega: Vinnie? Alright, take 5? But we need to practice the harmonica and get you used to those cigars! Isn't this exciting? Oh and just wait until you learn the pelvic thrusts!
::Ortega pulls head in door and slowly shuts it. He returns to his seat at the table amid all the cheers.::
Ortega: Who's the next kid?
Woman: Ann-Margret.
Ortega (under breath): Ann-Margret
::Ortega picks up Ann-Margret's headshot. His features twist into revulsion::
Ortega: Hi, there, please state your name!
MAX CASELLA: THE CHAINSMOKER
::Location: 1991 in an airy room on the bottom level of a building in the Universal Studios lot. Behind a fold out table sits Kenny Ortega and random others. Miscellaneous sheets of paper and 8 x 10 headshots adorn the tabletop::
Ortega: All right, send the next kid in.
::Door opens. Max Casella enters appearing quite frightened::
Ortega (staring lovingly at a headshot of Gabe that is on table, does not view Max): Hi, there, please state your name!
::Max does not reply, as his eyes are wandering maddeningly about the room::
Ortega (brightly, still not viewing Max): Ahem, hi, there, please state your name!
Max (in a near whisper): Uh, Max, Max Casella.
Ortega (listlessly, still infatuated with picture of his muse): Tell me, Max, you sound nervous, why?
Max (growing more uncomfortable with every passing moment): Uh, well, ya see, I'm sort of at my wit's end-I had, had a stint on Doogie Howser, M.D.- you know? Doogie Howser, M.D.?
Ortega (lazily, still regarding the headshot on the table): Yes, of course, who doesn't? That's where they took the three hour tour and got stranded on that island.
Max: Ah, no, actually that was Gill-
Ortega: As you were saying before?
Max (befuddled): Right, well, and, um, I was Vinnie Delphino-
Ortega (laughingly, still not seeing Max): Oh I remember you! Vinnie Barbarino! You were the cool one, weren't you?
Max: Um, no. I said, Vinnie Delphino. I wasn't on Welcome Back-
Ortega: You were saying?
Max: Right-well see, Gilli-Doogie Howser, M.D. just ended and I'm out of work and I'm hoping to make it into the movies-
Ortega (indolently, still fawning Gabe's headshot): Yes and you're here because?
Max (bewildered): Wait, this is where auditions for Newsies are being held, right?
::Ortega suddenly elicits a gasp and looks up. Rapture crosses his features as he leaps out of chair::
Ortega: WAIT! DON'T SAY ANOTHER WORD!
Max: Pard-
::Ortega leaps over table, the miscellaneous papers falling to the ground. He rushes to Max, placing an arm around his shoulder::
Ortega (enraptured): Ladies and Gentlemen! Do you see this? Do you see this? Please tell me that my eyes are not just playing a despicable jest upon me!
Random others: They're not! They're not!
::Ortega throws his head back and places a hand to his brow::
Ortega: Oh, my vision! As I was sitting in that chair, regarding the headshot of my muse, and the Lord God himself sent another revelation to me! That my Crutchy was standing right before me yet I was just too ignorant a mortal to envision it!
::Max pulls away from Ortega::
Max: No, no, no. Crutchy? See my agent was sent the script of Racetrack Higgins. Racetrack Higgins.
Ortega (bewildered): You Racetrack Higgins?
::The entire room save Max bursts into wild peals of laughter.::
Max (beginning to become furious): Well, why not? What's wrong with me?
Ortega: Well, its just that...we are trying to get Luke Perry be Racetrack Higgins. You know how much charisma that boy has. Just watching him on Beverly Hills, 90210 I can just imagine him in suspenders and doing those pelvic thrusts.
::Room erupts into agreeable murmurs::
Ortega: Yes, you see, it is all part of my vision, young Crutchy, a vision sent straight to me from God himself! The end all be all of musicals! Take what I created in Dirty Dancing and add-
Others: PELVIC THRUSTS!
Ortega: Yes! Pelvic Thrusts! God's gift to the human race!
::Others burst into cheers and applause::
Ortega (turning to Max): And in my vision God told me that my Crutchy was going to be walking through that door right after I had found my muse. And by George, I have my muse! And my Crutchy!
::Others break into whistles::
Ortega (fanning face): Yes, thank you, thank you. It's going so beautifully isn't it? I can just picture that golden little son of a bitch in my hands, the hands of the Academy's Best Director!
::Max pulls out of Ortega's grasps and holds up his hands::
Max: Whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm auditioning for-
Ortega: CRUTCHY!
::Ortega places his arm once more around Max and pushes him into the middle of the room. He disappears for a moment before returning with a crutch. He holds it out to Max.::
Ortega (brightly): Here, my crippled friend! Strut your stuff!
::Ortega offers Max the crutch, yet it fall to the floor for Max makes no motion to accept it.::
Max (regarding Ortega as though he is insane): I am not using that damn crutch. I-
Ortega (chidingly): Now, Crutchy, how do you expect to be a gimp without your crutch?
Max (beginning to lose his temper): I am not playing a-
::Ortega releases a sigh and retrieves the crutch with a flourish, shoving it to Max.::
Ortega (whispering): Now, just between you and me, we know you got the part, wink wink. But for their sake, just hobble around the room for a few laps and prove just what a marvelous gimp you can be, young Crutchy!
::Ortega quickly smacks Max's bottom. Max cries out in protest.::
Ortega (loudly): Now go to it!
Max (grumbling): Goddamn mother fu-Okay, take a deep breath, Max and just do what he says. You need the money. You need the money. You need the money. You need the money.
::Max proceeds to hobble about the room on the cane. Ortega erupt into charlatan tears as the others join him::
Ortega (orgasmic): What did I tell you? Isn't he the perfect gimp or what? He evokes so many emotions. Like Tiny Tim.
Others: Yes, like Tiny Tim.
Man: But didn't Tiny Tim die?
::Silence::
Ortega: Yes-well, my wonderful, wonderful vision!
::Ortega places a hand on Max's shoulder::
Ortega (excitedly): Oh, Crutchy! Just wait! I have conjured some remarkable dance combinations for you! You'll have a duet with your crutch-
::There is a knock at the door::
Ortega: Yes?
::Door opens. Ortega's assistant leans in doorway, looking rather downtrodden.::
Assistant: Sir, I have just found out some rather bad news-
Ortega (impatiently): Yes? Yes?
Assistant: Sir, Luke Perry's agent just called. He already had prior engagements to be in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
::Ortega appears as a balloon that has just been deflated::
Ortega (slowly, disbelieving): Buffy the-Vampire-Slayer-
Assistant: Yes, sir.
Ortega (suddenly infuriated): Buffy the Vampire Slayer? What the fuck is Buffy the Vampire? Why would he want to be in a movie about creatures that suck blood when he could be in my extravagant vision?
Assistant: I-I don't know, sir.
Ortega (acrimoniously): Well, I can't let one little bastard ruin my whole vision. But a Racetrack-I need a Racetrack-
::Max clears his throat::
::Ortega begins to pace room::
Ortega (forlornly): Where am I going to get a better Racetrack Higgins than Luke Perry-
::Max clears his throat more clearly::
Ortega: Oh, God, I might as well hang myself right now. My whole career, my Oscar can be flushed down the-
Max: AHEM!
::Ortega shifts his gaze to Max. Suddenly, he lights up like a damn Christmas tree::
Ortega: You.
Max (innocently): Me?
Ortega: Yes, you! You-you are Italian. You can be my Racetrack Higgins! Vinnie Barbarino, you are my new Racetrack! Oh, my vision isn't annihilated. The pelvic thrusts shall live on!
::Room breaks into wild cheers::
Ortega (frantically, to Max): You. You are my Racetrack. Can you play cards?
Max: I-well-
::Ortega reaches to back pocket and produces a set of cards::
Ortega: Cards. Racetrack is a gambler. Here, play 52 pick up.
::In one movement, Ortega hurls the stack of cards into air and they rain down on the pair. Max regards Ortega insolently.::
Ortega (prodding): Well, go ahead. Show me what kind of bookie you can be.
::Max regards him with set features.::
Max: I am not picking those cards up.
Ortega: Right. Well, in the movie you have to smoke. Do you smoke?
Max: No, I don't-
::Max finds Ortega pushing a cigar between his teeth and lighting it with a match::
Ortega: Well, welcome to the wonderful world of chain-smoking, Vinnie. It's a world that sure helps me out when the day just starts to get blue!
::Max erupts into a great coughing spell, the cigar falling to the ground::
Ortega: Oh, that happens if you're not use to inhaling. Here, have another.
::Another cigar is soon inserted unwillingly into Max's mouth::
Max: Oh, I don't feel too good-
Ortega: And tell me, Vinnie, do you play the harmonica?
Max (collecting himself): The what?
Ortega: The harmonica?
Max: What the hell would I play the harmonica for? You already got me as a chain-smoking gambler.
Ortega: Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree-
Max (groaning): Oh, shit-
Ortega: Here, have another cigar. We must get you ready for my vision! My wonderful wonderful vision!
:;Max has turned a marvelous shade of green::
Max: I think I have lung cancer-
Ortega: Of course not! Don't be-
:;Max relapses into a wonderful coughing spell as he dashes out the door for any type of water available. Ortega pops his head out the doors and calls after him::
Ortega: Vinnie? Alright, take 5? But we need to practice the harmonica and get you used to those cigars! Isn't this exciting? Oh and just wait until you learn the pelvic thrusts!
::Ortega pulls head in door and slowly shuts it. He returns to his seat at the table amid all the cheers.::
Ortega: Who's the next kid?
Woman: Ann-Margret.
Ortega (under breath): Ann-Margret
::Ortega picks up Ann-Margret's headshot. His features twist into revulsion::
Ortega: Hi, there, please state your name!