Madame Pompadu

Nice to have this script back. I came up with it from watching an episode of Canada a People's History about the early days of Canada's settlement. A French Canadian aristocrat (whose name escapes me) was said to have dreamed of moving to Paris. Then when her dream came true, she was rejected by her French peers who called her l'Iroquois. I invented a name for her out of the word pompous and this this script is a simple dramatization of how I imagined her Paris reception. It was never about Saturday Night Live's costumes or their fake French accents. Now why did I have to add all this non-humorous text to my comedy script? Haven't those monsters on television already caused me enough trouble with their lack of authoring talent in the last ten to twenty years of my diminishing life? I wonder when I'll have to go back over my blogs to erase unsightly side notes like this from my scripts. In the meantime, I guess the TV wants me to shit on my own work with defensive statements like this around my ownership since they get into trouble when they try to wreck my work unilaterally. When New World aristocrat Madame Pompadu's dream came true of crossing the ocean to live in high society Paris, it wasn't altogether gratifying. (A stunning eighteenth century Versailles banquet. Baroque harpsichord plays in the background.) Doorman: Avec le Chateau de Timbertown, Madame Gennevieve du Pompadu! (Enter Pompadu holding fan.) Madeleine D'Malady: (Waving handkerchief to beckon Pompadu into her circle.) Yoo-hoo! (Pompadu sees the greeting and joins them.) Cousin Gennevieve, you must forgive us for being surprised. We did not hear the ring of your sleigh bells outside. (Derisive titters covered by fans.) Gennevieve Pompadu: Very funny, Cousin Madeleine. In fact I have just come from the gallery. The pastels are lovely this time of year. D'Malady: Yes, and we don't have to worry about our sculptures melting in the spring. (Titters.) Pompadu: Not like the icicles on your heart. But this is a grand affair. Such a fancy hall! D'Malady: Over here we only use the wood for the skeleton of the structure, not the whole thing. We need to do more than just keep out the bears, madame. Pompadu: All but one. D'Malady: And speaking of wildlife, what is the purpose of that creature hanging about your neck? Judging by its fierce expression, it died in protest. Does it not belong on the floor? Pompadu: (Clearing throat) I brought it for a seat cushion. I was not expecting to stand so long. D'Malady: Oh, we do not sit down to eat anymore. Didn't you know? The cook lights a big bonfire and heats up a cauldron of pea soup. He ladles it right into your bowl as you hold it out for him. That is why you need gloves to protect your fingers from burning. (Supportive titters.) Pompadu: Cousin Rosemarie! That is a lovely wig you are wearing. Rosemarie Raisonette: You wish to comment on my hairpiece? What did you call it? A wig? From what remote corner of the desolate middle of nowhere did you pick up that expression? We do not speak Iroquois here, madame. Or do you confuse my hairpiece with one of those ridiculous fur hats you sell? Her cousins might have enjoyed the last laugh that night but none of those snobs would survive the bloody guillotine of the French Revolution.
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© 2007, 2017. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.