FINGERNAILS BLUE AS FLOWERS

“The American Place Theatre has opened a new, handsome, no-nonsense theatre with a play that can honestly be called superb in an era when superlatives are as common as soot…Fingernails Blue as Flowers recaptures the surreal classicism, the finesse of technique, the powerful humanity and the plain theatrical vitality of [Ribman’s] brilliant earlier work. It is only a one act play, running little more than 40 minutes, but it is worth far more than its time in appreciation. These days, when it seems that almost any novice can win an award, it is essential that our theatre be reminded of what craftsmanship and art really are.” — Martin Gottfried, Women’s Wear Daily

“Ribman never ceases to fascinate… Fingernails is subtle with a macabre fascination dealing surprise like an O. Henry short story…[The] play is brilliant.” — Marjorie Gunner, Outer Critics Circle

Plot: Eugene Naville, a rapacious tycoon in vacuum tubes, arrives on a Jamaican beach to savor his desserts.

Sample Excerpt:

Fingernails Blue As Flowers

NAVILLE

There’s a universe of girls waiting to be loved by boys, Jesse, boys like us. Sprinkled all over the beach in the bright flags of their bathing suits like small tufts of flowers, they make obscene sounds and gestures to gain our attention.

JESSE

Would you like me to invite one of the girls over, Mr. Naville?

NAVILLE

And we sit here watching them grow old and die, their perfect milky legs curdling in the light. Of what use will their beauty be to anyone then? Carpe diem. Carpe diem. Perhaps it is all the same, Jesse: the bulging temple ruins at Karnak tumbling down before we can reach them, the lean brown bodies of Italian girls vanishing into the water at Capri, the stones of Mycenae eaten by rain, the bright pearl of sweat falling from the arm of a Sudanese woman before we can touch it.

JESSE

Would you like me to invite one of the girls over, Mr. Naville?

NAVILLE

Would you do that for me, Jesse?

JESSE

Yes, sir.

NAVILLE

I want them younger and younger each year, Jesse, and why I don’t know. Even in the youngest of them beauty seems already marked with the shadow of impending decay: an arm slightly thickening, the nipple of a breast no longer quite turned upward, a tooth chipped on a piece of soft white bread.