Don Quixote to Sancho Panza:
Have you ever seen a play that presents kings, emperors, and pontiffs, knights, ladies, and many other characters? One plays the scoundrel, another the liar, this one the merchant, that one the soldier, another the wise fool, yet another the foolish lover, but when the play is over and they have taken off their costumes, all the actors are equal.
In my screenplay, “The Last Cather,” there is an underlying current that flows from Act I to the end of Act III creating a lens through which I see my character’s commonality amidst all their differences. They are, after all, human, and ultimately all humans are alike.
In my mind’s eye I look beyond the pages to an eternal dénouement where, with costumes and disguises stripped away, the actors on the stage of life appear without the conflicts that formerly defined their lives. Once marred in their roles as antagonists and protagonists in the human drama that was, for instance, the Cathar Wars, the shepherds, bishops, tailors, inquisitors solemnly bow before a great cloud of witnesses and the applause of angels.
Then the hostilities, the betrayals, the noble deeds and fowl, loves and hatreds, are revealed as they really are: A play performed on the stage of time, scripted according to a divine plan directed by the ancient Cather’s “Good and Perfect God.”
The curtain falls, and then begins the only reality that ever was or ever shall be: The time beyond time of which C. S. Lewis writes in “The Last Battle” and that I paraphrase as follows:
At last they were beginning Act One of the Great Screenplay, which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every scene is better than the one before.
Such a vision breathes a bit of empathy and kinship into the players that I never forget as the story unfolds. Each character has his or her moment when the veneer is stripped away and we see them as they shall be seen; as they really were before the twists and turns of fate molded and sealed their roles in the human drama.
I weep just a bit each time I look beyond the portal of time and see my William Belíbaste, the martyr, and Bishop Fournier, the Inquisitor, standing shoulder to shoulder taking their bow. And I never fail to give them their much-deserved applause as I gaze beyond the last page.