Interview of the century...
Scene 1: Center Stage
Our protagonists are understandably nervous. Neither of them have met before, and either side of the stage they constantly fidget. In the absence of Molotov and Goebbels there are no directions to bark, no orders to dictate.
In the centre of the stage are two leather armchairs, one red, one black, facing each other. A blue lectern between them completes an ensemble of furniture to form a tripartate. These are the only props, all bathed in spotlights. The audience has been instructed not to applaud once the historical figures walk on stage.
Our host and adjudicator for the evening is Sir Winston Churchill, but this has been kept as a secret from the audience. There are whispers and rumours resonating throughout the auditorium in expectation as to who this third person might be. This is the opening night, nobody could possibly know.
As the lights dim above the audience, and the spotlights are extinguished, a silence borne of anticipation descends like a curtain.
In the darkness, a familiar voice poses a question:
"Shall we begin?"
A deafening cheer resonates throughout Pais Arena. Seats slap back into their upright position as people stand and applaud. Darkness still abounds but gradually a halo of light emerges on stage, and as it brightens, the portly figure of the greatest statesman in recent history is revealed.
Wearing a black trilby hat with matching suit, he stands behind the lectern. His face is concealed in shadow. Slowly his ragged features are illuminated as he settles his gaze upon the expectant audience, which promotes an awed silence. He grips the sides of the lectern.
"When I was a boy, I dreamed of nothing but war."
An outburst of nervous laughter is quickly swallowed up by deafening silence.
A pensive Churchill surveys the audience before a smile tugs at his fleshy lips
"One might conclude that my dreams came true."
A mighty roar erupts but Churchill thrusts his arms into the air and slowly lowers them. Like a volume dial the crowd responds and silence soon descends.
"Dreams are either fantasy or nightmare. One man's fantasy is another man's nightmare, or vice versa. Before we leave here tonight I am confident this will become self evident, but I must issue a warning to you all. Regardless of where your sympathies may lie, before this night is through, you may come to question your core beliefs.There are powerful personas on display tonight, and they are relics of an age that beggars belief. Still, propaganda does not discriminate between hate and faith. It will distort with equal discretion."
He pauses for a moment, regarding the the two armchairs. His furrowed forehead seems to be held up by the bushy eyebrows responsible for holding up such lofty thoughts
"Is one of us expected to stand during these proceedings?"
Scene 2: Left Wing
I need vodka
He has never felt so sober. His ailing sight is often a blessing but tonight it is a curse. His nemesis is within reach
but he cannot see him. Fuck Hitler! Time and again he squirms away without repercussion.
He sees Churchill is as fat and pompous as ever. How he loves a crowd! Countless times he has fantasized inverting that two fingered V and shoving that cigar where the sun doesn’t shine, fully lit. Smoke that!
Scene 3: Right Wing
I would kill for a strudel!
But for Goering, that flatulent peacock, this night would be mine! That Aryan traitor, Churchill, porcine and pugnacious, stands centre stage like the King of Cocks!