A monologue (or monolog) is when the character may be speaking his or her thoughts aloud, directly addressing another character, or speak ing to the audience audience,, especially the former. for mer. Monologues are common across the range of dramatic media plays, (plays, films films,, animation animation,, etc.). It is distinct from a soliloquy soliloquy,, which is where a character relates his or her thoughts and feelings to [1] him/herself and to the audience without addressing any of the other characters.
Male monologue 1 Five Kinds of Silence by Shelagh Stephenson Billy One night I dreamt I was a dog. The moon was out, I could smell it. Ice white metal smell. I could smell the paving stones, wet, sh arp. The tarmac road made my dog teeth tingle, it was aniseed, rubber, and then the lampposts, glittering with smells, they were, studded with jewels of sharp sweet spice, wood, metal, meat. And the stars pierced my dog nose like silver wires. A woman came out of her house, sickly the smell of her, rotten, she smelt of armpits and babies and a hundred other things screaming at me like a brass band. I knew what she¶d had for her tea. I knew she was pregnant. pregna nt. I could smell it. She didn¶t look at me, walked straight on by, thought I was just a dog. I laughed a quiet dog laugh, you think I¶m a dog but I¶m Billy, I¶m me. I¶m at my own door now. I don¶t need n eed to see it, it comes to meet me, a cacophony, the smells are ar e dancing towards me, the smells of home. I¶m inside the house now. n ow. Hot citrus smell of electric light. My wife, my daughters, stand up as I come in the room. Oh home, the smells I love, all the tiny, shimmering background smells, and the two I love the most, the two t wo smells that fill the room like a siren. One of them is fear: burning tyres, vinegar, piss. And the other one is the smell of blood, matted in Mary¶s hair. I gave her a good kicking before I went out. Male monologue 2 The Call by Patricia Cornelius Chunk You've got it all wrong. It came to me like a whack on the back of the head, like the floor's suddenly suddenl y given way. An epiphany, that's what I'm having. Ever heard of an epiphany, e piphany, Aldo? It's like God's spoken, like lightning, a fucking big moment of o f enlightenment. And I'm having it. It's all crap. It's a big load of bull. A hoax. Someone major's pulling our leg, got us by the throat and is throttling us, got us boxed in, packed up. Nothing-means-nothing. You got it? Once you got that, you're living free. Who says how life's meant to be? Who W ho says what's
good, what you should or shouldn't do? Who in hell's got the right to measure a man's success? He did this, he did that, he got that job, he got paid a lot. Fuck off. He owns a house, a wife, two kids. So what? He's a lawyer, a doctor, he's made a success of his life. No success story for the likes of us. And you know what? I don't give a shit. Finally it's clear to me. It's all crap. And I'm free o f it at last. Male monologue 3 West by Steven Berkoff Mike Do you wanna dance / I took her on the floor / the crystal ball smashed the light into a million pieces / a shattered lake at sunrise / the music welled up / and the lead guitarist / plugged into ten thousand watts zonging in our ears / callused thumb whipping chords / down the floor we skate / I push her thigh with mine / and backwards she goes to the gentle signal / no horse moved better / and I move my left leg which for a second leaves me hanging on her thigh / then she moves hers / swish / then she¶s hanging on mine / like I am striding through the sea / our thighs clashing and slicing past each other like huge cathedral bells / whispering past fleshencased nylon / feeling / all the time knees / pelvis / stomach / hands / fingertips / grip smell / moving interlocking fingers / ice floes melting / skin silk weft and warp / blood-red lips gleaming / pouting / stretching over her hard sharp and wicked-looking Hampsteads / words dripping out her red mouth gush like honey / I lap it up / odours rising from the planet of the flesh / gardens after light showers / hawthorn and wild mimosa / Woolie¶s best / crushed fag ends / lipstick / powder / gin and tonic / all swarming together on one heavenly nerve-numbing swill / meanwhile huge mountains of aching fleshy worlds are drifting past each other holding their moons / colliding and drifting apart again / the light stings / the journey is over / the guitarist
splattered in acne as the rude knife of light stabs him crushes his final shattering chord / the ball of fire stops / and I say thank you very much. Male monologue 4 Myth, Propaganda and Disaster in Nazi Germany and Contemporary America by Stephen Sewell Max Look, mate, I don¶t know what¶s happening ± I just arrived, right? And, all right, I know the Americans go on with all this flag-waving, patriotic bullshit and think the rest of the world hates them, but fuck, Talbot, they¶re right: the rest of the world does hate µem ± I hate µem, and I want to live here! It¶s envy, isn¶t it? Everyone looks at what they¶ve got and wants it«They just want the stuff, that¶s right , isn¶t it? And figure the reason they can¶t get the stuff, is because the Americans are stopping them. That¶s where we¶re at now, and now some prick¶s actually done something about it, and killed three thousand people, and the Americans are fucking mad as hell, because they know every single one of them is on that plane hurtling towards the Twin Towers and they don¶t like it and they¶re not going to stand for it, and they¶re going to get the pricks that¶re threatening them. Well, all power to George W ± I don¶t want the fucking pricks to win, either. There were Aussies killed up there, mate, there were English, there were Scots, there were fucking Moslems, for fuck¶s sake! There was fucking everybody: everyone¶s hopes were up there in those two towers«.It¶s a war, Talbot ± It is a war. It¶s a war against terror and it¶s a war against ignorance, and it¶s a war against prejudice and pure dumbarsed fuckwittedness, and we¶ve got to win that war, otherwise we¶re fucked.
