THE LOVE OF THREE ORANGES by Hillary DePiano BASED ON A SCENARIO BY CARLO GOZZI Prologue (The curtain is already open as the audience enters. The backdrop is a large book with “The Love of Three Oranges” written on the cover. It is closed. A minute after curtain time, the NARRATOR runs onto the stage in distress. The house lights stay on and he wears an ordinary suit and tie as if he isn’t a part of the play at all. His eyes scan the crowd. What to do? He begins, quietly at first, to try to get the audience's attention.) NARRATOR. Ladies and gentlemen! Excuse me! Can I have your attention please? Thank you. I'm sorry, but it seems we have a situ- ation on our hands. You see, right now, all the characters that make up this story are hiding on the other side of these curtains. They know their parts, they're dressed and ready, but still they refuse to come out. And quite honestly it’s because they are scared of you. They're afraid you'll be bored. They suspect you've figured out by now that this is a commedia dell arte play and are edging towards the door. They think youd prefer to watch TV or go to the movies or at least see a play that is new, modern and critically acclaimed, rather than hear a story as old and musty as theirs. ‘You must understand our position! Your tastes are so fickle! A story that always used to be met with huge success is now met with pro- jectile vegetation. We only know that we have hit our mark when we hear you laugh or applaud our efforts and that is all the reward we need. (Beginning to get frustrated:) You want something at once mainstream and edgy, philosophical and scatological, as deep as a poem and as light and fluffy as a piece of buttered popcorn. Something jump- off-the-screen iarge but still able to fit in your pocket. Where do we fit anymore? We've been relegated to history books, our characters out of stock. (Sighs. Resigned:) Maybe you have a point. After all, our story has been told since before any of you were even born and ina world that demands the new and immediate, I suppose our simple old tale can’t compete. (Begins to walk off stage. Downtrodden. Kicks ground. On second thought. Starts back.) But on behalf of all the characters in this story, I swear that we would give our pancreases to win your love and devotion! The other 13