The landing pad
Act One:
Selma, the 'sensual witch,' accidentally casts a spell that leaves Beowulf and his trusty band of men frozen in magical ice until the end of time. The spell must have a few fissures, though, because when a twenty-first century scientist discovers the frozen fifth century warriors while hunting frozen primordial woolly mammoth, a lot of wacky hi-jinks ensue.
For example, the ice is cut into blocks (one warrior per block) and flown to a museum in California in a temperature-controlled jet plane. But amidst all this careful planning something goes comically amiss. For further example, the airplane accidentally drops its dark age payload directly over my back yard in North Oakland. Since I only have a cement slab behind my house instead of nice, bourgeois grass, there is nothing to cushion the magical blocks of ice from unmagically shattering upon impact. Because I mistake the loud noises for gun shots, I don't bother to get up right away. But once I finish my lunch and look out the window, Beowulf and his trusty band are fully thawed and milling about the yard in a confused manner.
I immediately assess the situation. I am pretty sure that the apparent leader of the group is the same man who showed up at my door several months ago, rudely interrupting my Sunday morning with his sullen stare and tangled hair demanding that I unhand my cat, MC,GB. I step outside and approach Beowulf carefully, using clever tactics to trick him into affirming his identity.
Me: Are you Beowulf?
Beowulf: Yes.
Me: Our washer-dryer unit is broken. We're going to need you and your men to carry it down the back stairs if you want to stay with us.
Beowulf: It's a deal.
Then we all break out the jazz hands as Beowulf sings powerfully:
Where aaaa-am I?
All I know is I was frozen in the snow!
Where aaaa-am I?
All I know is that I've got to get back home!
Etcetera. Curtain. More to come.
Selma, the 'sensual witch,' accidentally casts a spell that leaves Beowulf and his trusty band of men frozen in magical ice until the end of time. The spell must have a few fissures, though, because when a twenty-first century scientist discovers the frozen fifth century warriors while hunting frozen primordial woolly mammoth, a lot of wacky hi-jinks ensue.
For example, the ice is cut into blocks (one warrior per block) and flown to a museum in California in a temperature-controlled jet plane. But amidst all this careful planning something goes comically amiss. For further example, the airplane accidentally drops its dark age payload directly over my back yard in North Oakland. Since I only have a cement slab behind my house instead of nice, bourgeois grass, there is nothing to cushion the magical blocks of ice from unmagically shattering upon impact. Because I mistake the loud noises for gun shots, I don't bother to get up right away. But once I finish my lunch and look out the window, Beowulf and his trusty band are fully thawed and milling about the yard in a confused manner.
I immediately assess the situation. I am pretty sure that the apparent leader of the group is the same man who showed up at my door several months ago, rudely interrupting my Sunday morning with his sullen stare and tangled hair demanding that I unhand my cat, MC,GB. I step outside and approach Beowulf carefully, using clever tactics to trick him into affirming his identity.
Me: Are you Beowulf?
Beowulf: Yes.
Me: Our washer-dryer unit is broken. We're going to need you and your men to carry it down the back stairs if you want to stay with us.
Beowulf: It's a deal.
Then we all break out the jazz hands as Beowulf sings powerfully:
Where aaaa-am I?
All I know is I was frozen in the snow!
Where aaaa-am I?
All I know is that I've got to get back home!
Etcetera. Curtain. More to come.
