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A monologue from the play by Terrence McNally
I’ve had fourteen hits in a row in London, I’ve won twelve Olivier and four Evening Standard awards. I want a flop.
I need a flop. Somebody, tell me: When is it my turn to fail? I can’t go on like this – the critics’ darling. […]
I am in despair, people. The emperor isn’t wearing any clothes! I’m a fake. My work is a fake. I make this shit up as I go along.
I don’t know what I’m doing half the time and when I do, it terrifies me it’s so bad. I’m no good. You’ve got to believe me, I’m no good. […]
The only flops I’ve ever had were at drama school. Nobody liked my production of anything. My space-age Oedipus Rex. My spoken La Boheme.
My gay Waiting for Godot. But what got me expelled was my Titus Andronicus. I did the whole thing in mime.
No dialogue. No poetry. No Shakespeare.
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