The Great American Hitler
Play
or
PRIVATE PARTS
by
Mordecai Goldberg
TELEVISION PROLOGUE
1. INT. CONTEMP. LIVINGROOM. NIGHT.
(MR ANTROBUS SITTING ON SOFA, FEET ON COFFEETABLE WATCHING SUPERBOWL
PRE-GAME SHOW ON LARGE TV SET ACROSS LIVINGROOM. HE WEARS OPEN RAINCOAT OVER
SUIT & TIE. MRS ANTROBUS ENTERS FROM BEDROOM DRESSED FOR EVENING OUT.
SHE PRIMPS IN WALL MIRROR NEAR TV.)
MRS ANTROBUS: I still can’t believe this is really happening to us!
MR ANTROBUS: Same here.
MRS ANTROBUS: I mean—to think that from all the millions of ordinary people in this town we’ve been invited by a major motion picture studio to attend the sneak preview of what at least one drama critic says could be the cultural event of the year!
MR ANTROBUS: The sports commentators are unanimous in calling this Superbowl matchup the television show of the century.
MRS ANTROBUS: Don’t be silly darling—you can’t compare that vicarious mush with the thrill of actually being on the scene when someone creates a living work of art. Besides, aren’t you always telling me TV can’t hold a candle to sitting in the stands while two teams of grown men beat their brains out trying to make athletic history?
MR ANTROBUS: That was a theoretical statement. In practical terms do you have any idea what a Superbowl seat costs nowadays?
MRS ANTROBUS: Of course I don’t darling. And, speaking about hard-to-get tickets, I assume you won’t forget to take ours? (Finished with mirror she switches TV off manually.)
MR ANTROBUS: (Switching TV on by remote control as game is about to begin.) Our what, darling?
MRS ANTROBUS: (Switching TV off.) Our tickets, darling.
MR ANTROBUS: (Switching TV on.) What tickets?
MRS ANTROBUS: (Switching TV off.) The tickets I so foolishly told the studio they could send directly to your office!
MR ANTROBUS: (Switching TV on.) It wouldn’t be the first time my personal mail got lost in the administrative shuffle.
MRS ANTROBUS: (Switching TV off.) I’m not in the mood for one of your jokes, George!
MR ANTROBUS: (Switching TV on.) Who’s joking?
MRS ANTROBUS: (Taking poker from hearth.) Well it certainly isn’t me! (Smashes TV with poker and advances toward ANTROBUS with similar intent.)
MR ANTROBUS: (Diving under coffee table.) Holy shit!
MRS ANTROBUS: And now, you chauvinistic sonofabitch, let’s see those goddamm tickets before you suffer the same fate as that fucking football game of yours!
2. INT. 1920-ERA PARLOR OF GERMAN MIDDLECLASS HOUSEHOLD. NIGHT.
(MASKE SEATED, READING NEWSPAPER. HE WEARS OPERA CAPE OVER PERIOD
EVENING CLOTHES. FRAU MASKE ENTERS FROM BEDROOM IN FLAPPER OUTFIT. SHE PRIMPS
AT WALL MIRROR.)
FRAU MASKE: Well, I guess this is as ready as I’ll ever be.
MASKE: You’re sure everything is shipshape underwearwise? We can’t risk another scandal like the one your loose elastic caused on our last theatergoing escapade!
FRAU MASKE: I’ve taken every precaution a woman humanly can against her unmentionables suddenly going south—including the use of a newfangled "lingerie adhesive" our neighbor, fraulein Deuter, was kind enough to lend me.
MASKE: "Fraulein" Deuter, eh? I trust that sexcrazed fruitcake about as much as I do this bloody newspaper!
FRAU MASKE: You’re perfectly free to inspect the state of my undies if it will ease your mind, darling.
MASKE: I’ll tell you what’s troubling my mind more than what is going on under that dress of yours! Depending on which page of this rag you read, attending that infernal play tonight could be construed as an act of political faith in either the bolsheviks or the Nazis!
FRAU MASKE: The same can be said for not going to see it. Nowadays one simply can’t avoid making "ideological" commitments. Look at what happened when Herr Biedermann tried to appease those pyromaniacal extortionists? In the final analysis did it make any difference whether he was burned out of his house and home by a Nazi or an antiNazi goonsquad?
MASKE: (Turning page of newspaper.) Whatever you say dear—
FRAU MASKE: (Putting on coat.) I say we are going to see Private Parts come hell or high water, Theo. If Germany’s politics have become a health hazard, its cultural climate couldn’t be in finer fettle. (Collects purse.) While we still can, let us burn our brief candles to the nub! Now, you’re sure you haven’t lost the tickets?
MASKE: What tickets?
FRAU MASKE: I haven’t got time for your pathetic jokes, Theo. I’m going to the theater with or without you. (Crossing to door of 2nd bedroom.) I’m sure our Jewish lodger wouldn’t mind playing the part of my escort in your stead!
MASKE: (Preventing her knock on door by producing tickets from vest pocket.) Don’t get those famous knickers of yours in a twist my pet! I was only teasing you. (Rising, he shows her headline of newspaper that reads: "BAVARIANS KICKING KIKE ASS!") With the cross they’re making for Mandelstam in Munich he will soon have enough to bear without the additional burden of carrying on an affair with a meshugana shiksa like you! (Tossing paper on chair he offers her his arm.) So my little maneater—shall we go arm-in-arm, or will you force me to carry you piggyback to the site of this theatrical crucifixion I have been condemned to undergo in the name of—my God, I’ve forgotten what the hell it is I am being martyred for! (He has bent over to offer her his back to ride.)
FRAU MASKE: (Mounting MASKE and giving his rump a smart slap.) You naughty horse! If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times nothing turns a woman on so much as having her mind invaded by some jackbooted playwright!
HERR MASKE: (Making horse-noises, carries FRAU MASKE toward front door as she urges him on with imaginary spurs and whip.)
TELECINE 1: EXT. CITY THOROUGHFARE. NIGHT.
Contemporary compact car bearing MR & MRS ANTROBUS is
tracked as it travels on metropolitan street. Camera stops on skyscraper
and pans up to penthouse.
3. INT. PENTHOUSE LIVINGROOM. NIGHT.
(PLAYWRIGHT WEARING CHAUFFEUR’S UNIFORM SITS AT
COFFEETABLE READING TELEPHONEBOOK-SIZE SCRIPT.
FEMALE DRAMA CRITIC ENTERS FROM
BEDROOM WEARING CHIC EVENING GOWN
& EYE MASK. SHE PRIMPS AT WALL
MIRROR NEAR LARGE MODERN PAINTING.)
DRAMA CRITIC: Sorry to keep you waiting, darling. Well, what do you think of Private Parts?
PLAYWRIGHT: (Lifting the mammoth script.) It’s pretty heavy—
DRAMA CRITIC: Seriously, darling—I’m interested in your professional opinion.
PLAYWRIGHT: You’re the drama critic, babe. My credentials as "The Playwright Of The Month" don’t necessarily qualify me to make artistic judgments. If you say it’s a literary masterpiece, that’s good enough for me.
DRAMA CRITIC: What I actually wrote in this morning’s column was, quote—"It remains to be seen whether tonight’s cast of characters can translate this literary masterpiece into the kind of total theatrical warfare its author has mobilized them to wage." unquote.
PLAYWRIGHT: You make it sound as if the audience should wear helmets and gas masks!
DRAMA CRITIC: (Having difficulty fastening necklace.) Damn, damn, damn!
PLAYWRIGHT: (Coming to her assistance.) Easy does it, babe—you’re as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof. (Kisses nape of her neck.) I know you’ve gone out on a very long limb for a guy nobody knows, including you, but—
DRAMA CRITIC: Oh, I know him all right!
PLAYWRIGHT: I meant in the flesh—(Continues working on her neck.)
DRAMA CRITIC: Who cares about "flesh" when every time I read one of those manuscripts he furtively abandons on my doorstep we have a meeting of our minds that couldn’t be more intimate?
PLAYWRIGHT: (Working on her shoulders.) Still—you have to ask yourself how many more of his flops your critical credibility can withstand?
DRAMA CRITIC: (Breaking from Playwright, crossing to script on coffeetable.) Yes. That is the $64 question, isn’t it! And the answer is all too plain—(Picks up script hugging it as if it were a child.) If this little lovechild of ours doesn’t develop into The Great American Hitler Play we have both proclaimed it to be, I’ll end up back on the obituary desk.
PLAYWRIGHT: And if, by some miracle, this evening does end on a triumphant note for you two—what becomes of dear old Dexter?
DRAMA CRITIC: (Putting script down.) If as a drama critic I have consistently argued there should be a place in every theater’s repertoire for your kind of dramaturgy as well as for his, why shouldn’t there be room in my heart for two playwrights?
PLAYWRIGHT: To hell with that "room in my heart" shit! It’s a place in your bed I’m after!
DRAMA CRITIC: I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait until we see what effect tonight’s performance of Private Parts has on my long term sleeping arrangements, darling.
PLAYWRIGHT: Jesus, you make it sound like I’m competing for the affections of a Fair Maiden whose hand I can only win if my rival’s magnum opus turns out to be nothing more than the telephonebook it so closely resembles! In which case, until the Black Knight falls off his high horse, the White Knight must remain in the wings twiddling his literary thumbs—is that the scenario we’re playing tonight?
DRAMA CRITIC: Have I ever denigrated your talent for reducing the most complex plots to the size of a walnut, darling?
PLAYWRIGHT: Alright. I’ll play the odd man out in this trio for the time being, but nothing in the rules prevents me from trying my damndest to cast an evil spell on your plans for a happy ending!
DRAMA CRITIC: If it eases your pain, darling, cast away—but I rather think our triangulated fates have already been decided. And now it only remains for you and I to wend our way theaterward and see what the gods have in store for us.
PLAYWRIGHT: That reminds me—I seem to have misplaced our tickets—
DRAMA CRITIC: Surely you can think of something more original than the "Misplaced Ticket Ploy"! I’m sure the influence I have at the box office could be used to procure me a complimentary seat on an emergency basis.
PLAYWRIGHT: Ah, but you’re forgetting—we’ve deliberately disguised ourselves to avoid being recognized in public!
DRAMA CRITIC: Don’t be silly, darling. This mask and wig of mine can be easily removed. And, if necessary, I won’t stop short of stripping all the way down to my barest essentials in order to prove I am the one lady whose seat for tonight’s show has been most especially reserved for her by its author!
PLAYWRIGHT: Curses! Foiled again! (Helps her on with fur coat.) But you’re not going to blame a guy for trying are you?
DRAMA CRITIC: Of course not.
PLAYWRIGHT: Thanks. And thanks again—
DRAMA CRITIC: Why the "again?"
PLAYWRIGHT: For not mentioning the flaw in my Misplaced Ticket Ploy when you wrote your rave review of The Show Must Not Go On!
DRAMA CRITIC: Frankly, it didn’t occur to me until just now when I found myself actually standing in the shoes of that actress who had no choice but to recite the lines you had so fraudulently written for her to speak! (They EXIT laughing.)
TELECINE 2: EXT. STREET LEADING TO MOVIE STUDIO MAIN GATE. NIGHT.
HERR & FRAU MASKE tracked as they drive vintage Mercedes
into line of cars entering studio main gate. They pull up behind car containing
MR & MRS ANTROBUS. Modern luxury auto bearing
PLAYWRIGHT & DRAMA CRITIC pulls up behind Maske’s
Mercedes.
4. EXT. MOVIE STUDIO MAIN GATE (Universal TransGlobal Productions).
NIGHT.
(GUARD WEARING WEHRMACHT UNIFORM RAPS
ON WINDOW OF ANTROBUS AUTO.
ANTROBUS WINDS HIS WINDOW DOWN.)
GUARD: Karten, bitte.
MR ANTROBUS: What?
GUARD: Parlez-vous Francais?
MR ANTROBUS: Sorry, pal—we’re Americans!
GUARD: Ah! Your tickets please. (Waves them through gate after tickets are shown. MASKES arrive in their car with window down.) Your tickets please.
HERR MASKE: Was?
GUARD: Parlez-vous Francais?
HERR MASKE: Dumkopf! Don’t you know a fellow German when you see one!
GUARD: Karten, bitte. (MASKES are waved on after producing tickets. PLAYWRIGHT & DRAMA CRITIC arrive next. Their window lowers electrically. Guard scrutinizes them.) Don’t tell me! I need the practice guessing. Italian?
PLAYWRIGHT: Bravo!
GUARD: Biglietti per favore. (They are waved on. Guard is immensely pleased with himself.)
TELECINE 3: EXT. CARPARK NEAR STUDIO BACK LOT. NIGHT.
MASKE, PLAYWRIGHT/DRAMA CRITIC & ANTROBUS cars are directed
into adjacent parking spaces by Wehrmacht-attired ATTENDANT.
The 3 couples join crowd of theatergoers walking toward architectural sets
of back lot.
5. EXT. WILD WEST SET. NIGHT.
(MASKES BRING UP REAR OF CROWD
WALKING ALONG WILD WEST AREA OF
BACK LOT STREET. SUDDENLY HE TURNS
TO CAMERA, CROUCHES & DRAWS
IMAGINARY SIXSHOOTER.)
HERR MASKE: Bam! Bam! Bam! Take that, you dirty lowdown varmit!
6. EXT. BACKLOT AIRPORT SET. NIGHT.
( PLAYWRIGHT AND DRAMA CRITIC SEPARATE
FROM CROWD TO EXAMINE ANTIQUE
AIRLINER STANDING NEAR HANGAR.)
DRAMA CRITIC: Do you realize we are standing on the very spot where the most famous film scene of all time was shot?
PLAYWRIGHT: (Ala Humphrey Bogart: ) Yeah, this is where I put you and Laszlo on that last flight to Lisbon —leaving my lovelife in the hands of a Vichy dick and a piano playing Sancho Panza. (Normal voice: ) Christ—I hope those "gods" of yours haven’t cast me to play the real life role of a Rick Blaine tonight!
7. EXT. SOUTHERN MANSION SET. NIGHT.
(MR & MRS ANTROBUS STANDING
ON LAWN OF TARA-LIKE MANSION.)
MRS ANTROBUS: My God, George, catch me—I think I’m going to faint!
MR ANTROBUS: (Catching her.) What’s wrong? Girdle too tight?
MRS ANTROBUS: Don’t you recognize that mansion?
MR. ANTROBUS: The House of Usher?
MRS ANTROBUS: It’s Tara! And it was in that historic doorway Clark Gable uttered his line of lines!
MR ANTROBUS: Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.
TELECINE 4: EXT. STUDIO BACKLOT. NIGHT.
Crowd of theatergoers has entered metropolitan set. They walk past typical
downtown facades (department store, bank, beanery etc). Their destination
is a theater where mobile searchlights send beams into night sky, and large
crowd has gathered under lighted marquee.
8. EXT. THEATER. NIGHT.
( THEATER IS FLANKED BY SANDBAGGED MACHINE GUN AND ANTI-AIRCRAFT BATTERIES
MANNED BY TROOPS WEARING WEHRMACHT UNIFORMS. ADVERTISING SEARCHLIGHTS ARE
CAMOUFLAGED AND BEAR MILITARY MARKINGS. THEATER SHOWS SIGNS OF WAR DAMAGE.
IT HAS ALSO BEEN PLASTERED WITH OFFICIAL THIRD REICH PROCLAMATIONS AND
PROPAGANDA—ALL OF WHICH IS OVERLAIN WITH GRAFFITI; SOME OF IT RELATING
TO PERFORMANCE OF PRIVATE PARTS,i.e., "GOLDBERG LOVES HITLER," "ABANDON ALL
HOPE YE WHO ENTER THIS THEATER!" "DEATH TO ALL DRAMATISTS!"
etc.) "SNEAK PREVIEW" BANNERS
HAVE BEEN USED TO COVER SOME GRAFFITI, AND THESE
WORDS ALSO APPEAR ON THE MARQUEE, SOME OF WHOSE PANELS HAVE BEEN DAMAGED
BY SHRAPNEL. PAVEMENT IS CROWDED WITH PLAYGOERS & MEDIA TEAMS COVERING
PERFORMANCE OF TONIGHT’S PLAY AS MAJOR NEWS EVENT. ALSO PRESENT:
DEMONSTRATORS FROM GROUPS BOTH HOSTILE AND SYMPATHETIC TO THE PLAY, INCLUDING
AMERICAN NAZIS, KLU KLUX KLANSMEN, HARE KRISHNAS, HASSIDIC JEWS,
etc.)
TV REPORTER 1: (To his camera.)—the tension continues to escalate as this audience arrives for what is definitely not your average opening night—
TV REPORTER 2: (To his camera.)—it’s hard to believe this much excitement could be generated by what is, after all, only a cultural event—
TV REPORTER 3: (Tugging at MR ANTROBUS’ arm.) Excuse me, sir—but are you bothered by the way the audience is described in this play as "human guinea pigs"?
MR ANTROBUS: My wife answers questions of that nature.
MRS ANTROBUS: (Fixing hair.) Well I suppose—in one way or another—that is an accurate description of our human condition—isn’t it? I mean, the very nature of art involves us all in a somewhat pornographic relationship. Even the simple act of eyeballing a Modigliani nude or a Picasso etching puts the viewer at the artist’s mercy—intellectually-speaking at least.
TV REPORTER 3: That’s a rather prurient view of culture, isn’t it?
MRS ANTROBUS: I suppose it is. But in the final analysis, aren’t all forms of social intercourse prurient? Even this "innocent" conversation you and I are now having could be construed as bursting with sexual implications of the most sadomasochistic variety—couldn’t it?
TV REPORTER 1: (Interviewing MASKES.) So, you don’t see this play as pro or antiHitler?
HERR MASKE: We came here strictly to be entertained.
TV REPORTER 1: But isn’t that really just another way of saying you don’t believe democracy can ever work in Germany?
9. INT. THEATER LOBBY. NIGHT.
( PLAYGOERS GATHERED AROUND TV MONITORS WATCHING NEWS. INTERVIEW WITH
MASKE ENDS ON TV SCREEN. CUT TO ANCHORS IN STUDIO.)
TV ANCHOR 1: …part of our continuing coverage of what is rapidly developing into the news story of the day—
TV ANCHOR 2: If not the week—
TV ANCHOR 1: Or the month—
TV ANCHOR 2: Or conceivably the entire year!
TV ANCHOR 1: And now for more of what could be the making of theatrical history, we travel by the magic of television to the Federal Courthouse in Los Angeles where a hearing is about to be held on a lastminute suit to stop this evening’s performance of Private Parts.
10. INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE COURTROOM. NIGHT.
( COURTHOUSE CORRIDOR CROWDED WITH MEDIA PERSONS, LAWYERS, WITNESSES,
DEMONSTRATORS, ETC.)
TV REPORTER 4: (To camera.)—as you can see for yourself, the situation in the corridor outside Judge Tracy’s courtroom is pure pandemonium! While we are waiting for the hearing to begin I have with me the distinguished playwright, Mr Arthur Miller—(ARTHUR MILLER moves into shot wearing name on tag affixed to his jacket.) Mr Miller, can you tell us why you are here?
ARTHUR MILLER: I’ve been subpoenaed as an expert witness on the dramaturgical merits of this controversial play.
TV REPORTER 4: Which are?
ARTHUR MILLER: I’m afraid I have to give it an "A" for effort but a very fat "F" for achievement.
DAVID MAMET: (Forcing his way into shot, also wearing name tag.) Oh for Christ’s sake Art, why the fuck don’t you just admit you are letting your mawkish sentimentality blind you to what is a play we all wish we had the balls to write!
NEIL SIMON: (Camera pans to him after he starts to speak.) As a neoChekovian and a Jew I can state categorically you are full of horse manure, Mamet! (Camera pulls back for wide shot of famous playwrights in a group, all wearing name tags.)
GUNTHER GRASS: If you are interested in hearing a German playwright’s metaphysical point of view—
EDWARD ALBEE: Had you Germans taken a moral stand in 1933 we wouldn’t be in this pickle now, Gunther!
MAX FRISCH: How typically American of you to blame every European intellectual for Hitler’s sins!
PETER WEISS: Only your knowledge of history is less than your cultural I.Q.!
T. WILDER: If I might put my 2 cents’ worth in?
TV REPORTER 4: Hold on—didn’t I read about Thornton Wilder dying a few years back?
T. WILDER: A fact proving you should never underestimate the power of a playwright’s imagination! In this case I have resurrected myself to appear on behalf of an author who has persistently flattered me by imitating my own not unrevolutionary style of stagecraft—
SAM SHEPARD: Wait a minute—this isn’t the ghost of Thornton Wilder; it’s Goldberg himself disguised as his own role model! (Pushing & shoving breaks out among playwrights.)
TV REPORTER 4: Gentlemen, please!
11. INT. THEATER LOBBY. NIGHT.
( PLAYGOERS WATCHING END OF PREVIOUS SCENE ON TV MONITOR. NEWS SHOW
CUTS TO REPORTER IN COURTHOUSE INTERVIEWING CONCENTRATION CAMP SURVIVOR WEARING
INMATE’S PAJAMAS.)
TV REPORTER 5: I’m standing here with Mr—
CAMP SURVIVOR: Please! No names! You can use my number if anyone doubts the authenticity of these rags I was issued at Auschwitz in ’43. (Shows serial number tattooed on forearm.)
TV REPORTER 5: I understand you have evidence indicating the author of Private Parts has a Nazi ghost in his closet.
CAMP SURVIVOR: (Taking large glossy photo from envelope.) Here is the photographic proof the world has been waiting to see! (Shows photo with split image of 2 armpits, on which ‘SS’ tattoos appear at points of superimposed arrows.) These identical armpits belong to none other than Karl Emmanuel Schwank—the infamous "Dramaturg of Dachau"—and the playwright who now calls himself—
TV REPORTER 5: Please!!!! No names! (Cut to TV REPORTER 6 in same corridor, with two LAWYERS.)
TV REPORTER 6: Maybe the chief attorneys for each side in this emotional donnybrook can shed some light on the legal issues being pondered by judge Tracy—
ACLU LAWYER: It’s a simple First Amendment case. While personally I think Private Parts stinks to high heaven, it deserves to be seen as the exercise in gross vulgarity it is.
JDL LAWYER: We’re talking about the most fundamental kind of human decency here! Pardon my French, but nothing in the Bill of Rights authorizes any halfbaked playwright to wipe his ass with the U. S. Constitution!
TELECINE 5: INT. COURTHOUSE HALL. NIGHT.
Doors to Tracy’s courtroom open. Crowd waiting outside rushes in.
12. INT. COURTROOM. NIGHT.
( COURTROOM PACKED BEYOND CAPACITY WITH WITNESSES, LAWYERS, MEDIA
PERSONS, DEMONSTRATORS, ETC.)
BAILIFF: Hear ye, Hear ye! All rise for the Honorable Spencer Tracy, Judge of the Federal Court! (All rise as TRACY enters from chambers—footage from ‘Judgment at Nuremburg’ might be used here with dubbing; or Tracy lookalike employed.)
TRACY: A motion has been made by the petitioners in this matter to disqualify me on the ground that I am a parttime playwright—an allegation to which I freely, and proudly, plead guilty. But then, aren’t we all frustrated dramatists? And as such, haven’t we all tried and failed to write our own Great American Hitler Play? Accordingly I deny petitioners’ motion and their suit to enjoin tonight’s performance of Private Parts—with this proviso: That the curtain be delayed for one half-hour to enable this amateur author to get his tail into one of those seats for what promises to be a sensational evening at the theater! (Gavels hearing closed, exits quickly from bench.)
13. INT. COURTROOM HALL. NIGHT.
( COURTROOM OCCUPANTS EXIT NOISILY INTO HALL. CAMERA TRACKS LINE OF
1930-STYLE REPORTERS CALLING IN STORIES ON PUBLIC WALL PHONES.)
REPORTER 1: Copy desk? This is Clancey at the courthouse. Re Private Parts story—"Judge Rules Show Must Go On—"
REPORTER 2: Jewish Defense League calls it: "A victory for global hatemongering"—
REPORTER 3: Free speech is not only alive in Germany, it just gave censorship a swift kick in the ass—
REPORTER 4: Federal judge forced out of dramaturgical closet—
REPORTER 5: Ruling Sets Stage For Star Pick In Hitler Flick!
TELECINE 6: INT. THEATER. NIGHT.
Audience of seated playgoers reading programs, chatting, etc. Periodically
houselights flicker. Over public address system following effects are heard:
(1) squeals and other noises suggesting systemic electrical malfunctions;
(2) backstage conversations; (3) conversations emanating from public lavatories;
(4) snatches of telephonic conversations and radio programs. All of which
indicate something has gone haywire in the public address system. Audience
reacts to snafus with a mixture of amusement, annoyance, bewilderment. Eventually
houselights come down to stay.
End Television Prologue