by Luis Rivera
As his fellow artistes mourn his death, a beloved circus clown witnesses his own funeral.
A Clown's Funeral
a short film
By Luis Rivera
INT. A CIRCUS RING
The Roustabout and the Tramp Clown are seen, mourning. The Strongman and the Juggler enter.
This is no time for alegria. A tragedy has occured.
Fischietto is dead.
Ah! The poor unfortunate soul.
All cry in a exaggerated manner. The Ringmaster enters.
What brings you lot here?
Don't you know that a tragic moment has happened? Fischietto is dead! At least pay some respect to the grieving party.
The group head for a bed where the Dead Clown.
Here lies the corpse.
Ah! He looks wonderful.
Hello, my dear friends. I bid you welcome to my funeral.
Fischietto?! You are alive!
How can I be alive? It's my funeral.
How can you be dead when you're walking and talking?
Show some respect. It's my funeral.
Here is the will.
I, Fischietto Jackson, sound mind and body, hereby give my harmonica, my costume, my props and my money to all my friends. Divide them among you.
The White Clown enters.
Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to witness the dearly departed in memoriam. Being his partner, I did all that I could to teach him some manners. I slap him across the face to get my point across. He made civilians laugh and made his own family cry. While I played classical music on my violin, he interrupted the proceedings by playing popular song on his harmonica. No matter what I do to discipline him, he did the same spiel that he always did. If nothing else, I hereby rest my case.
The Disk-jockey plays a dirge.
Maestro! Play something lively for a change.
The Disk-jockey plays an upbeat song.
Silencio! Silencio! This is supposed to be a funeral!
The Disk-jockey resumes the dirge.