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Disdained Slumber



(Dim lights reveal a full-sized bed in center stage. A pair of inside-out clothes lay scattered on the stage at the foot of the bed. The sheets are discarded to the edge of the bed off a masculine body. His silhouette makes the figure young, not a day over thirty. Mr. Ledger, at the age of twenty-eight sits, propped up on his right elbow. Although he is shirtless, he is wearing flannel looking pants that start just above the pelvis and run just past his ankles. His left hand rubs vigorously against his flesh. A small dim luminescent light shines on his body to imitate the moon. In the next motion, he looks over to the digital clock that sits on a wooden nightstand. A lamp sits still behind the clock; a glass of a transparent liquid is adjacent to it with three small cylindrical bottles surrounding the glass. His voice is a fair, deep husky, Australian accent.)

It is barely after three in the am? I'd give anything to sleep after four this morning.

(Heath kicks the remaining sheets from his feet and turns to the audience, sitting on the edge of the bed. With elbows on each thigh, be buries his face in his hands, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He clears his throat and stays leaning but rests his forearms on his thighs.)

Why is it I am able to fall into sleep so eagerly, but awake without any sleep at all? My mind continues to run a race that never ends. Should the ending be at my death? I surely do not think so. I should think of the long hours I work, I'd be able to sleep months away.

(Ledger moves his hands up and down the opposite arms as if he was cold, head shifting about, looking around for something that really isn’t there. A sigh emits huskily from his lips, rough enough to where he must clear his throat.)

Matilda, my beloved daughter. So much she holds the beauty of her mother, Michelle. Why would I give such a life to Matilda, where her parents are not married? I only wonder, wonder if this lack of sleep is punishment thus from calling off the engagement with Michelle. However, I felt not that emotion of love, true love.

(Heath's voice becomes tight as if he would cry and looks at the wooden floor of the stage.)

I worry for Matilda’s happiness. I want her to grow up with a healthy mind. I would give her anything. Even on these cold winter nights alone cannot make me forget of the daughter I so love more than anything.

(At first, his facial expressions are seen vaguely. A sadness is drowning in the handsome features of his face. Then, there is a smile, lips curling followed by the baring of some teeth.)

Maybe, it is the acting. Before I played such strong but gentle characters as in “Brokeback Mountain.” I found it difficult at first to capture the stillness of his personality, Ennis. My emotions where eventually stable, but confused with my companion Jack (Jake Gyllenhaal). However, I’ve turned to learn of a darker side to my skills. Becoming The Joker, in “The Dark Knight,” tested how much of a villain I could become. I moved from a civil to an anarchic genre of characters. I was able to produce the bipolar chaos of The Joker’s mind and actions. Playing a sociopath wasn’t only fun, I got to improvise my talents to perfection as well. I played a character without rules, therefore, my talents weren’t too limited. (A small, playfully maniacal chuckle escapes his lips and echoes throughout the room.) Does that mean I have the disorder that proves so well in this antagonist? No, surely not. So, why am I seriously considering this is the reason for my sleep, or lack there of? Having a good time with a character shouldn’t be the cause for my sleepless demise.

(In that moment, that last thought makes Leger stop. The lines in his face that once revealed a playful evil, turned into near anguish and despair. His voice seems to turn with anger, sadness, and distress so abruptly.)

I am so inconclusive to this insomnia that distresses me so. My friends pass by here and there, but nothing seems to change this dreamless sleep. No matter how tired my body feels, my mind pays no attention and runs its' own course.

(Ledger turns to the night table and turns on the lamp sitting behind the digital clock. One by one he opens the small bottle and empties something from each. From the echoing sound to the audience, it sounds like pills. Taking the glass in his left, and scooping the pills with his right. Heath lets the pills fall to the back of his throat and follows to wash them down with the water.)

I guess this is one more try to get some rest. I'm not crossing my fingers and toes, but I hope my faith will pull me through.

(Heath looks about lazily to the audience as if they were only a single blank wall in the darkness. With his left hand, Ledger turns off the lamp. He turns to his side and pulls the covers to his waist as he goes. The lights dim on the bed and his body. The last thing anyone can see before the darkness swallows the stage is Heath rolling to his stomach, face down.)

Sources:

http://us.imdb.com/name/nm0005132/

Author:

Date: Copyright © 1990-2008 IMDb.com, Inc.

http://heathledger.com/

Author: Admin/Uncategorized

Date: Copyright © 2008 All Rights Reserved.

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