Found this amongst my files while tidying up and didn't know where to put it..... God’s Favorite Neil Simon Lipton: Amen! Joe: What? Who’s there? Who said that? Lipton: Don’t worry. It’s not what you’re thinking. Joe: Who is it? I can’t see you. Lipton: I can’t see you either. I lost my glasses. Joe: You! The one who tried to break in! It’s you isn’t it? Lipton: Certainly it’s me. Joe: Stay where you are! Don’t move. I could have the police here in two minutes. Lipton: You’re lucky. In my neighborhood you could wait for them all night. Joe: Don’t you try anything funny. Lipton: I’m not here to get laughs. Joe: What do you mean by breaking into my house? Who are you? Lipton: The name is Lipton. Sidney Lipton. Joe: Here. Here’s your glasses. Lipton: Ohh, yes there we are…This is what I call a gorgeous room. What is this, the living room? Joe: Certainly it’s the living room. Lipton: You know what this place reminds me of? Gatsby…Did you see The Great Gatsby? Wasn’t that gorgeous to look at? Lousy picture, but beautiful sets— Joe: Is that why you broke in here? To discuss movies with me? Lipton: Certainly not. I’m here on business. Very important business. Joe: What business? Lipton: My business is not the kind of business you think, and I’m not like everyone else. I love the chair. I don’t fall in love easily, but I am in love with this chair. Just for curiosity, what did you pay? Three thousand? Thirty-four hundred? Am I being pushy? Joe: I don’t remember what I paid for chairs. Is that what you are? An antique dealer? Lipton: Antiques? No. Antiquity, perhaps. Joe: What does that mean? Lipton: What does anything mean? Joe: What do you mean by “What does anything mean?” Lipton: What is meant by meaning? What is the meaning of “meant”? What is real or unreal? What is here, what is there? What the hell are we talking about? I don’t know. Joe: I can’t make you out. You’re not a burglar, that I can tell. Lipton: A burglar? No. An antique dealer? No. But who am I? What am I? Why am I here? That’s the mystery, isn’t it? God, I love a good mystery. Did you see Chinatown? Jack Nicholson, Faye Dunaway? They cut his nose, he wore a bandaid for two hours. Three-fifty a ticket to see a man with a slit nose, where do they get the nerve? A nice picture, but I can see slit noses for free at Mount Sinai— Joe: If you don’t tell me who you are, it’s not your nose that’s going to get split. Lipton: Ah ah, you’re losing patience aren’t you? Mustn’t lost patience. All in good time. Patience, Joe, Patience. Joe: What do you know about me? Lipton: I know a lot and I know nothing. Yet to know nothing is to know everything…Why do I say things like that? What does that mean? I have cramps in the head. Did you ever get cramps in the head? Joe: A lunatic! A lunatic wandered into my house from the snow. Why do I answer you? Why do I bother talking to you? Lipton: Curiosity! There is something curious about me, you’ve got to admit…All right, enough chitchat, enough fiddle-faddle, enough fencing with each other. Let’s get down to brass tacks, Joe Benjamin. Let’s discuss the reason of the mysterious midnight visit of this most curious and somewhat sinister figure standing in front of you. Why, at this house, on this night, in this year, in this city, in this house, on this rug, in these shoes, do I, Sidney Leonard Lipton stand before you? WHAT BUSINESS DO WE, STRANGERS TILL NOT FIVE MINUTES AGO, HAVE UNTO EACH OTHER? Joe: A travel agent? Is that what you are? A travel agent? Lipton: You have no imagination! I am trying to jazz this up. What do I have to do to tell you who I am? Think Joe, Think! Joe: I think you’re a nut, that’s what I think, and I get the feeling something funny is going on here. You’re not who you pretend to be at all, are you? Lipton: Aha! Getting somewhere, getting warm… Joe: This is all an act. A game. Something is up. Somebody sent you didn’t they? Lipton: Hot! Getting hot! Joe: Somebody sent you to get something from me! Lipton: Hotter! Hotter! Boiling hotter! Joe: Somebody important who knows me sent you to get something that I have that has enormous value. Lipton: Boiling! Roasting, burning, boiling! August fifteenth through the twentieth—scorching. Joe: My bible! Lipton: Cold. Freezing cold. Winter. A room for two in Toronto. Joe: What is it? Lipton: Hey! Hey hey hey! Calm! Calm please. Take it easy. Let’s not break our blood vessels. Let’s behave ourselves. The last think I want is for you to get sick. I mean, you are in good health, aren’t you? Joe: Thank God! Lipton: Hot! Boiling hot! Getting hot again! Joe: What? Good health? Lipton: Cold. Joe: Thank God? Lipton: HOT! HOT AS A PISTOL! THE FOURTH OF JULY! Joe: What are you saying? You’re driving me crazy with these stupid games. Lipton: Temper, temper. What a nervous disposition. And I was told you were such a patient, wonderful man. Joe: Who told you? Lipton: He did. Joe: Who’s he? Lipton: He! Him! Capital “H”, small “I” small “m”…Do I have to spell it out for you? Oh, I just did didn’t I? Went on and on about you. Crazy about you. I’ll tell you the truth, you’re his favorite. Out of everyone. I don’t just mean this neighborhood, I mean EVERYONE! Yes, you Joe Benjamin are considered to be His absolute favorite. Am I getting through to you at all? Joe: Then who are you? Lipton: I’m one of God’s messengers. Joe: You’re a messenger from god? Lipton: Important documents only; no packages. Joe: So have you actually seen god? Lipton: I didn’t actually see him. I heard him. Joe: He spoke to you? Lipton: He blessed me. Joe: God blessed you? Lipton: I sneezed and God blessed me. Joe: So what’s the message from God that you were sent to tell me? Lipton: Oh. It’s not from God, it’s from the other one. Joe: What other one? Lipton: You know…the other one. From downstairs…Mr. Nasty…Bad, bad Leroy Brown…Oh for God’s sakes do I have to spell everything out for you? Satan! Lucifer! The Devil all right? I can’t believe this conversation, I feel like I’m on Sesame street. Joe: The Devil? Lipton: Would you like to know what the devil looks like? Robert Redford, I swear on my mother’s grave. Gorgeous. The man is gorgeous. Blond hair, little bend on the nose— Joe: I’ve wasted enough time with you…I’m calling the police. Lipton: Put down the phone. I’ll tell you everything.
I love that play Mr Simon even mentioned once, in the introduction to his second volume of collected works, that no amount of success can compare to the feeling he had when, after the opening performance of God's Favorite, a seventy year-old woman, arthritic and walker-bound, struggled toward the stage after the show to greet him, and tsked and said, "Mr Simon ... how dare you!" thanx, Tiassa Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
