Opera

ACT ONE (Canmore, Alberta)

Narrator: The scene is Canmore, Alberta, home to North America's largest herd of urban elk who vie with the tourists for the best seats on the coffee patio. Gazing from his window across the mountain valley, Pat McCloskey contemplates his sixtieth year…...

Patrick: Sixty is strange, Bill. I feel unsettled and unfulfilled.

Brother Bill: Everybody feels like that at sixty, Patrick. What's on teevee?

Patrick: I think I have to escape. Discover my true self. Find my unrealised potential. Seek out my inner child.

Brother Bill: Why don't you help me find the TV Guide?

Patrick: Brother, where art thou? Don't you understand that my heart isn't truly here. It's in Italy. The land of great art, fine cooking, lovely music and beautiful women. That's where a man can find his destiny ... express his deepest sentiments ... pursue his fulfilling idyll.

Brother Bill: Idyll? That like American Idyll? Why do you think I'm trying to find the TV Guide?

Patrick: I'm sorry, Bill. It's something I must do. I'm primed, packed and purpose-driven. I wrote directly to the President and I have an interview tomorrow with the Immigration Committee in Rome. So today, I escape this uncertain climate, fly this remote fastness and head for the Med.

Brother Bill: The remote? You found the remote?

Patrick: Don't you care, Bill? I'm leaving right now. Heather will understand.

Brother Bill: Sure she will. I just don't want to be the one to tell her.

Brother: (To 'La Donna e Mobile')

I plead with you bit-ter-ly,

Don't go to I-ta-ly!

Stay here with Heath-er, and

Our Arc-tic weath-er!

Patrick: It's something I just have to do, Bill. Please don't sing again.

Brother Bill: You can still change your mind. The weather's getting better, I know it.

Be wis-er than Hom-er,

Don't roam to Ro-ma,

Sure-ly you'll tan more,

Right here in Can-more!

Patrick: It's no use. I'm sixty years old. I must realize my dreams. I must find out for myself.

Al-i-tal-ia jets me there, with

Tight pants and dye-d hair,

Six-ty’s the time to tear,

I want a big-ger share.

Brother Bill: Come back, Patrick! Heather will be home soon with Chinese food!

For-get old Tu-scan-y

No plane or boat can be

As hip or plea-sant, as

Mac-Don-ald Cre-scent!

Too late. He's gone. There goes the sound effect of his car leaving the driveway.

Sound Effects: Brrrm. Brrrm... Brrrm.

Brother Bill: And the sound of Heather returning.

Sound Effects: Brrrm. Brrrm... Brrrm.

Heather: I'm back. Where was Patrick going in such a hurry?

Brother Bill: He's so easily led. He said he was about to shed being wed and head for the Med.

Heather: If that's what he said, face it: he's dead.

ACT TWO (The Vatican)

Narrator: One day later, the troubled sixty-year-old, looks down from the window of his transatlantic jet and waits patiently for the Sound Effects people to land the plane. (Ahem ...)

Sound Effects: Wheee ... wheeee.....wheeee....

Patrick: That's it down there. The timeless Vatican. St. Peter's Square. Look, stewardess! The Holy See!

Stewardess: No, that's the Mediterranean Sea, signore. That big blue thing. (Stupid Canadian. He's fallen down too many times speed skating!)

Patrick: It doesn't matter. I'm here. And right after I register at Papa Germano’s Pensione ...

Sound Effects: Ching! Ching!

Patrick: ... And take a cab to the Vatican...

Sound Effects: Brrrm... brrrrm ... honk ... honk ...

Patrick: ... I'll be standing in front of the Immigration Committee to be accepted as a true, red-blooded, curly-haired Italian stallion!

Pope Ignatius the Incomprehensible:

Welcome to Italy, Mr. McCloskey. I am the chair-pope-person of your Immigration Committee. Here we have my Holy Self, Ignatius the Incomprehensible (makes blessing sign); the People's Godfather, Don Messawitme ('Ciao!') ; Our Language Examiner, Silencio Silentino (Hand signal); the Grand Chef Parmesano Playtapasta ('Bueno!'); the celebrated diva Clawedia Waysuppi (Kiss noise); and our somewhat unwell Artist Proboscis Da Vinci ('I godda code!').

Patrick: I like your hat. And I'm sorry about the Da Vinci code.

Pope: It says here that you were baptised into the Holy Roman Church. So what is your understanding of redemption?

Patrick: Well, you save all your Air Miles till year-end then trade them on a trip somewhere.

Pope: I don't think you understand. Where will redemption take you?

Patrick: Well, last year, it took Heather and me to Yemen, which is a pretty good deal. And before that, we went to Viet Nam which is a beautiful country ... especially if you like Vietnamese food.

Pope: Let's try again. How do you make Holy Water?

Patrick: That's easy. Take ordinary water and boil the hell out of it.

Pope: Over to you, Don.

Don Messawitme:

Hokay, smart guy. You meet a beautiful Italian girl. How do you put a twinkle in her eye?

Patrick: That's easy. Just shine a flashlight in

her ear.

Parmesano Playtapasta:

Listen up, Mr. Maple Syrup. You say you like to sing. So tell me this: how can you tell if an Italian tenor is out of tune?

Patrick: That's easy. His lips are moving.

Parmesano Playtapasta:

Not so funny, beaver boy. I don't think you even know the difference between a tenor and a lawn mower.

Patrick: Sure I do. You can tune a lawn mower.

Pope: Please, please, gentlemen! Let us not slight our respective nations with unkind banter and painful innuendo. You know what I mean by innuendo, don't you, my son?

Patrick: Sure I do. It's an Italian suppository.

Clawedia Waysuppi:

Enough of this. What's more important, Patrick, is that you know how to impress an Italian lady. How should a man do that?

Patrick: Well, I think he should wine her and dine her ... hug her, comfort her, compliment her, surprise her , hold her, romance her, laugh with her, shop with her, cuddle her ... and generally go to the ends of earth to express his feelings and desires.

Clawedia Waysuppi:

EWonderful. And how can a woman impress an Italian man?

Patrick: That's a no-brainer. Show up naked. And bring wine.

Pope: It never worked for me. This hearing is over. I'll announce our decision tomorrow. Meantime, why don't you all refill your glasses and try to look intelligent while our applicant drives back to Papa Germano’s Pensione ...?

Sound Effects: Brrrm... brrrrm ... honk ... honk ...

Pope: ...taking care, of course, not to run over the pigeons in St. Peter's Square ...

Sound Effects: Coo ... cooo... coo...

Pope: ... and watching out for the tourists ... ...

Sound Effects: Look out! (Screech!)

Heather's voice: You idiot! Where are you from ... Unionville?

ACT Three (Papa Germano’s Pensione)

Narrator: Did you see that? By a strange stroke of fate, the departing Patrick nearly struck the arriving Heather - which, had the near-miss proved fatal, could have made her the dear departed. Fortunately, bad sound effects saved the day - and our heroine now makes her way to the foyer of her husband's hotel.

Sound Effects: Ching! Ching!

Heather: I'd like a room with a view, please.

Concierge: Guests always ask for that - but I can't help you signora. The only DVDs I have left are Rambos One through Three, Godfathers One through Four, Rockys One through Fifteen, and the last fifty-two seasons of Coronation Street.

Heather: You misunderstand. I want a room where I can reinspire my husband with romance, passion and purpose.

Concierge: Not the sports lounge?

Heather: Only in a manner of speaking. Book me in with Patrick McCloskey. The love of my life. Il mio amore. Amore mio.

(Sings to Verse of Torna a Sorrento)

Could-n't wed a Swede or Ros-ki,

Per-sian prince or proud Po-las-ki,

Want-ed no A-las-kan hus-ky,

Just wished to pat my Pat Mc-Closk-ey!

Concierge: Patricio McCloskey? That the guy with the tight pants and the ear-ring? He went out to get gas but he's round the corner at Gabriella’s Pizzeria, checking her toppings.

Heather: (Still to verse of Torna:)

Pat's all I need in a bloke as

He's u-sual-ly in per-fect fo-cus;

Love his looks, his laugh, his lo-cus,

Un-til now, no one has broke us!

Heather and Concierge Together: (Still to verse of Torna)

A-ah me a piz-za tar-ter

Plucks the strings of Pa-trick's heart, ah!

Hea-ther time to play your part, ah,

And wrench the lit-tle wench a-part, ah!

Everyone: (Finish with Chorus of Torna)

A-ah me, a piz-za tart-er

Tear-ing more than bread a-part, ah!

Time to get the Don’s Beret-ta

And show her what it’s gon-na get her.

A-ah me, dear piz-za tart-er

Now is not the time to bart-er

Try to be a lit-tle smart-er

Or you’ll leave here in a cart-uh.

Don’t make us be mean

So-pran-os can tor-men-to

Try to pre-ven-to

This ghast-ly scene.

Heather: Put some chocolates on the pillow. I'll be right back.

ACT THREE (Gabriella Ciccorelli’s Pizzeria)

Gabriella: How can I help you, you cute and curly-headed Canadian?

Patrick: I'm hungry for something hot and spicy.

Gabriella: How about a little Italian chicken on a bed of fresh lettuce?

Patrick: Lettuce? I was thinking of pasta.

Gabriella: Lettuce handle the chicken first and get pasta the other stuff later.

Patrick: I was hoping for some kind of suggestion: perhaps pizza to go.

Gabriella: Pizzeria. Pizza there. It makes no difference to me. Why don't you check out my chicken tenders? I put real cream on my breasts, and my thighs are perfectly browned.

Patrick: Well, it certainly sounds better than Deep Woods Off. That stuff gives me a rash.

Sound Effects: Ching! Ching!

Patrick: Heather! What are you doing here?

Heather: Saving you from yourself, I suspect. What's the story with you and the oven mutt over here?

Patrick: Try to understand, Heather. I'm sixty years old. I'm at a mid-life crisis. As if I'm on some weird kind of railway, always drawn upwards to the unknown. It's as if, in particular, my future is funicular.

Heather: You silly, twisted boy.

(To 'Funiculi, Funicula!')

Pa-trick! Pa-trick! Six-ty is-n't bad.

Three score years and ten you have-n't had.

You've got a house, you've got a wife

With kiss-es al-ways sweet and long,

Quit act-ing I-ta-lian

And I’ll stop this sil-ly song!

Gabriella:

Pa-trick! Pa-trick! Six-ty is so grand!

Three score years an-oth-er ten in hand.

Come live with me in I-tal-y

In ec-stac-y this next de-cade, And your

Straw will be up-stand-ing

When you taste my le-mon-ade!

Gabriella and Heather together:

Pa-trick! Pa-trick! Don't go back and forth!

Choose the sun-ny south or fro-zen north.

Red wine, cold beer, Chi-an-ti, Koo-ken-ay, pick op-er-a or jazz

We all want the grass that's green-er

than our neigh-bour has.

All three AND CHORUS together:

Pa-trick! Pa-trick! What's a guy to do?

Here the Tre-vi foun-tain there the zoo.

Sure, pas-ta is a mas-ter-piece

but think a-head, for good-ness sake:

John Ghi-tan's been bu-sy

and we hear he's baked a cake!

Patrick: You're right, Heather. I've been a fool. I'm taking off this ear ring and I'm coming home.

Heather: The pants, too. They're from my closet, by the look of things.

Patrick: Wait a minute, though! There's a golf cart pulling up outside. That can’t be Tiger this early in the season!

Sound Effects: Braking noises.

Patrick: It's Pope Ignatius the Incomprehensible! What can he want?

Pope: Good news, Patricio! You failed the test but I'm giving you a special dispensation if you can prove to my satisfaction that you have what it takes to be a true Italian.

Patrick: Go ahead, Iggy. I’m ready for it.

Pope: Just answer these easy questions.

Question One: Your parish priest claims he can see a sacred image in his pepperoni pizza. He falls to his knees, clutches his heart and starts speaking in tongues. What do you give him?

Patrick: Probably f8 at a hundred and twenty-five.

Pope: Wrong. The answer is a pizza wheel and a napkin. Question Two: A certain holy man once walked on water. Name that great person and that happy event.

Patrick: Easy. That was me in the Trevi Fountain…nineteen sixty-something.

Pope: Wrong, wrong, wrong – in oh, so many ways. It was you-know-who doing –you-know what. Final question: Name the greatest-ever ruler of men.

Patrick: Got it! The King of Tonga! Five hundred pounds if he was an ounce.

Pope: No, no, no! He’s the one who lies above all. A mighty presence as we speed through life!

Patrick: Of course! You mean Bobo the Porter in the top bunk on the CP rail liner!

Pope: I mean no such person! I’m talking about the one who leads you past the gates of hell to that heavenly place up there. That sacred valley beyond all human understanding.

Patrick: Why didn’t you say so? I didn’t know you were talking about Denali!

Pope: That’s it, Patricio. I give up. I’m putting on my hat agin, returning to the Vatican and you can go home to your cat agin.

Patrick: Well, whatta canna ya do?

Pope: Time to cue the sound effects people, drive out of here, and let you sinners sing something. People, start your engines.

Sound Effects: Brrm ... brrmmm.

Narrator: Please join us in wishing Patrick a Very Happy Birthday and many, many more.

FINALE Everyone (To "That’s Amore")

He's so great,

Hea-ther's mate,

And he's real-ly first rate,

Hap-py Birth-day!

He lik-es I-tal-ian food,

Dis-likes u-gly and crude,

Hap-py Birth-day!

He can sing, ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling

What a bas-so pro-fun-do!

Loves to hike, tip-py tip-py tike, tip-py tip-py tike

On the Rocks out his win-dow.

Takes spec-ta-cu-lar shots

What an eye he has got, like Fel-li-ni!

But the name that de-scribes

Pat’s mir-a-cu-lous vibes

Let’s ex-plain.

If he walks in a room

Be it Rome or Khar-toum

There a friend will be.

‘Cause you see, scuza me,

He’s a walk-ing bag of syn-chro-ni-ci-ty!

(Here, Deborah, Laurel, Johnny, Jay sing La, la, la… join in if you like!)