Seeing Stars In Dixie – Monologue (Marjorie)

All monologues are property and copyright of their owners. Monologues are presented on MightyActor for educational purposes only .

A monologue from the play by Ron Osborne

MARJORIE (thirties – forties)

Marjorie works in a tearoom in a small town. Nearby, the movie Raintree County is being filmed, and there’s a rumor that there might be a role for a local.

Marjorie sits at a center table, a cup of coffee in hand. As she sips from the cup, she speaks loudly to Clemmie who’s in the kitchen area of the tearoom and unseen at the moment.

Of course my world-famous fried chicken was to die for. And why not, I ask? Took Pearline all morning to fix. (Looking toward the back of the tearoom:) CLEMMIE, CAN YOU HEAR ME BACK THERE?

Chicken and dumplings, catfish supreme, sweet potato pie . . . everything disappearing faster than you could say sustenance of the South. Everything except the grits.

I am still recovering from hearing Monty put the words grits and wallpaper paste in the same sentence. Speaking of Mister Bedroom Eyes, I’ve learned the hard way I can no longer serve him black-eyed peas indoors.

To save a reputation, however, I must refrain from telling you why. No more, please, I’ll be spilling celluloid secrets all over your little old tearoom . . . bring Hollywood crumbling to its knees with a whiff of my tongue.

Tempting I admit, but at the moment I elect not to kill off an entire industry. Especially one that guarantees prime seating at the next Academy Awards. (Standing now, acting as if she were speaking to an audience:)

Ladies and gentlemen of the Academy. How truly wonderful! My first Oscar! And whom must I thank? Monty, of course. Sweetheart, thank you, thank you. (She blows a kiss toward the audience.)

And of course, Elizabeth . . . there she is! (She points in the direction of the audience.) Thank you, Liz! Who have I forgotten? Oh, yes, yes, of course . . . little old Natchez to which I say . . . eat your hearts out!

Listen to me. Everybody gonna think I’m conceited or something. How about something cute like . . . and little old Natchez …(Sweetly.) …Don’t you wish you were me? (Beat.) I’m carrying on, and I have yet to tell you how sorry I am.

I know you wanted to be a movie star too. Then along comes Monty, and the rest — as they say in movie land — is cinema history. I had half a mind to tell him no, no . . . let Clemmie compete.

Then I remembered who’d win anyway so I figured why bother. I mean if anyone from Natchez is gonna be in Raintree County, surely it will be me.

Read the play here

Scroll to Top