Last week I got the idea for a play about a woman tattooed like a snake–not with a snake, you understand, but like a snake. So her skin, her arms and legs and torso, looked like snakeskin. Not her face, but the rest of her body.
She dances in a plexiglass box, like in a go-go club of the sixties, or really upscale or tacky strip clubs in 2012. A narrow box, about 7 ft. tall and 24″ square… like a clear coffin on end.
“Seems to be something everyone can agree on. Us, in there.” LIFE, “Find Your Happy Place.”
But there’s a film noir element about this too. She shows up outside the cage in sort of post-WWII women’s suits and dresses, with handbags and gloves and high-heeled shoes… and the tattoo… and does the noir femme fatale thing. Or innocent victim thing. Or both.
So there’s gotta be a guy, down on his luck, hard-edged but with a code, who falls hard. He’s either a bum or a patsy. And rain.
“But what if it’s… just a tattoo?”