A few days later, I handed the first draft of my script to Mr. Renoir at the Killgrewber Theater Company.

 

“What do you think, Mr. Renoir?”

 

“Hmm, well…”

 

Mr. Renoir scrutinized intently at the script I had completed in one burst of inspiration.

 

His unusually calm demeanor, starkly different from his usual intensity, made me a bit anxious.

 

“Is it… not good? Too weak to be a play?”

 

“Hehe, are you kidding? I had a hard time keeping myself from bursting out laughing the entire time I was reading it. This is what a proper farce should be, full of wit and humor. If I were to rate it purely on how much I liked it, I’d give it 25 out of 10.”

 

25 out of 10? What was that supposed to mean?

 

Is he just at an age where he’s addicted to dad jokes?

 

Anyway, if the comedy script made someone laugh, that in itself was a huge success.

 

The question was why Mr. Renoir was still hesitant.

 

“However… I don’t think it’s something we can put on at the Killgrewber Theater Company.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“Yes, you understand, don’t you? You must know the difference between a regular public theater and a private theater like ours, aren’t you?”

 

I understood perfectly.

 

The target audience differed significantly depending on the type of theater.

 

A public theater aims for a diverse audience and broadly accepts customers; anyone, be they noble or commoner, rich or poor, can come to watch the play as long as they pay the entrance fee.

 

On the other hand, a private theater primarily caters to the wealthy and high-status upper class; and since the main customer base is limited, the performances usually align with the cultural tastes of the upper class.

 

Naturally, the masterpieces of Charlie Chaplin that I painstakingly copied could not become the main attraction for a private theater.

 

“Of course, it’s not like the nobles dislike comedy. Everyone enjoys light-hearted and humorous comedies, regardless of age or gender.”

 

Mr. Renoir handed the script back to me, his voice laced with regret.

 

“But unfortunately, it doesn’t quite fit the image of our theater. The Killgrewber built its reputation by putting on serious, solemn religious plays.”

 

“I see… My apologies. It seems my understanding was limited.”

 

Indeed, people can appreciate both serious drama actors and light-hearted comedy actors. But it’s rare for someone to expect a serious drama actor to suddenly perform a comedic role.

 

A theater that had just presented <Admiral Lee> and <Julius Caesar> suddenly putting on a Charlie Chaplin-style slapstick comedy? It would be met with criticism, not praise, that was for sure.

 

“So, Phantom, here’s what I suggest.”

 

Just as I was mulling over this issue, Mr. Renoir, who had crossed his arms, suddenly made an unexpected suggestion.

 

“How about we try to get this play performed at a different theater?”

 

“What?”

 

A contract with a theater other than Killgrewber Theater Company?

 

Considering I’m the playwright Phantom, who wrote two consecutive hits?

 

“Are you serious? Are you sure this won’t be an issue?”

 

“Why? Are you planning to cut ties with us completely?”

 

“Of course not.”

 

Mr. Renoir asked jokingly, a playful smile on his face.

 

I waved my hands frantically, firmly denying any such intention.

 

The Killgrewber Theater Company was a renowned, first-rate theater company in the capital.

Not only were their acting and directing skills exceptional, but their management was transparent, making them easy to work with; they could have easily taken advantage of me, a theater novice, and pocketed the vast sums of money earned from the two hit plays and the hefty imperial sponsorship.

 

But they never did.

 

This alone was reason enough for me to have no intention of severing our ties.

 

“Then it’s settled. I may be a ham, but I’m also an actor who loves theater. While I’m a bit envious to see a rival theater get their hands on a hit play, I would hate to see such a brilliant work go to waste.”

 

Mr. Renoir dusted off his seat and stood up, making a playful remark.

 

He then grabbed up his coat from the hanger and said to me,

 

“Let’s head out together, Phantom. I know a theater perfectly suited for the script you’ve written. They should be able to perform it without any issues.”

 

✧❅✦❅✧

 

“Hmm, what’s this about, Rennois? To think you’d come after so long and then, such a proposal.”

 

Tap—! Tap—!

 

The middle-aged woman tapped her cigarette ash into an ashtray with practiced ease.

 

Isabella, her face etched with wrinkles but still retaining traces of her youthful beauty, greeted us in the lounge.

 

“You want to stage a play by Phantom, the playwright who’s all the rage these days, here at my theater?”

 

“That’s right, Isabella. This is my proposal, not as a competitor, but as a colleague within the same industry.”

 

“Humph.”

 

Puff—! Puff—!

 

Blowing out smoke rings shaped like donuts, Isabella chuckled with her eyes, seeming almost amused as she alternated her gaze between Mr. Rennois and me.

 

Isabella, like Mr. Rennois, was a manager responsible for her own theater troupe. Meaning, Rennois had brought me to ‘Geloroushina,’ the troupe for which she was the overall in-charge.

 

The difference being that Mr. Rennois was still an active actor, whereas Isabella had retired from performing and was focused on training her successors.

 

“Twenty years in theater management and not once have I heard of someone from one company loaning out their playwright to another. Usually, both you and I would be writing the scripts ourselves.”

 

Unlike the luxurious private theater of Killgrewber, Geloroushina very much resembled a typical public theater of the medieval era.

 

The stage was set outdoors with only the bare minimum for screens, and the quality of the seating varied dramatically with the price. The less expensive seats (where one may have to stand to watch) were dirt cheap, while those with a good view commanded a higher price.

 

While it may appear somewhat shabby, it had its own charm, a sense of freedom that the Killgrewber lacked.

 

“Anyway. This means you are the famous playwright Phantom himself, right?”

 

Glancing. Isabella shot me a side-eye, as if she were curious about my masked appearance akin to the Phantom of the Opera from the movies.

 

“But seriously, why does our esteemed Phantom writer need to wear a mask? Tall and with a good build, I bet you’re a handsome man.”

 

“I… suffered severe burns from an acid attack. Regrettably, beneath this mask, there is nothing but a horrific sight that could make one scream.”

 

“My goodness, that’s terrible. As they say, God is cruelly fair.”

 

When I recited the backstory from a movie released in 1943, Isabella looked at me with a touch of pity in her eyes.

 

If I had to describe it, it looked like the gaze one would give to a tragic genius blessed with great fortune and misfortune in equal measure. She seemed to believe that my brilliant talent as a playwright, who wrote one hit after another, came at the price of my appearance.

 

Of course, the face beneath my mask was perfectly fine, so her sympathy was misplaced.

 

“Well. It’s a good proposal for me too. The fame of Admiral Lee and Julius Caesar is well-known here. Rennois, knowing you for over 15 years now, I trust your recommendation.”

 

“Of course. I wouldn’t steer you wrong, Lizzie. You know how it is between us.”

 

“Quiet. You always find a way to sneak in jokes.”

 

Mr. Renoir grinned, throwing playful remarks, and Isabella, though feigning annoyance, responded with a playful smile.

 

They seemed to share a strong bond built over 15 years of knowing each other.

 

That kind of familiarity was probably why Mr. Renoir felt comfortable offering up Phantom’s script.

 

“But are you really okay with this, Phantom? Our troupe’s style is very different from Renoir’s slick, easygoing style, you know?”

 

Isabella glanced at Mr. Renoir, who was still grinning ear to ear, then looked at me with curiosity.

 

She was questioning whether someone who usually handles serious dramas could adapt to this different atmosphere.

 

After all, the more distinct a writer’s style, the harder it was to deviate from it.

 

But as the saying goes, seeing is believing.

 

Mr. Renoir, as if to quell Isabella’s concerns, pushed my script towards her.

 

“Read it and judge for yourself. The first draft is already done.”

 

“What? You came over with a script already written? How thorough.”

 

Isabella, her eyes widening, took the script.

 

She flipped through the pages quickly, her expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

 

Mr. Renoir, like the other theater people I had met, seemed to have a knack for speed-reading lengthy scripts.

 

One minute passed, then two.

 

Isabella’s brown eyes darted back and forth across the pages, scanning the words.

 

“Pfft!”

 

Suddenly, she contorted her face and her shoulders started shaking.

 

Watching her hold the script in one hand and cover her mouth with the other to stifle her laughter was quite a sight.

 

“…It’s been a long time since I laughed just from reading a scene description. I used to make that mistake back when I was a rookie.”

 

After a while, she managed to regain her composure and finish reading.

 

She placed the script gently on the lounge table and said,

 

“Phantom, I thought you were a specialist in serious drama, but you have a knack for comedy too? If this script is any indication, we could start the performance right away.”

 

“Is that so? Thank you, Isabella.”

 

Comedy, along with tragedy, was one of the two fundamental forms of theater, a genre with a long and rich history.

 

When people think of comedy, they often think of lighthearted plots with bright and happy endings.

 

Because of its light nature, comedy historically received less reverence compared to tragedy. However, when discussing satire and entertainment in the history of art, the role of comedy couldn’t be overlooked.

 

And the works of the master Charlie Chaplin, among all comedies, leaned closer to the form of farce.

 

Farce, originating from ancient Greek and Roman primitive plays, was perfected through medieval French traditions into short, humorous comedies. Its most prominent characteristic was its humor, blown up to a level of absurdity and unreality.

 

There was no comedy better suited to this form than Charlie Chaplin’s, which relied primarily on flashy slapstick and outrageous humor.

 

In fact, he was lauded for reviving the archetype  of farce, which was typically performed in marketplaces during the Athenian and Roman eras, on the silver screen.

 

“Alright. We have a deal. Since the script is already completed, there’s no need to wait. I’ll have my team start preparing immediately.”

 

Isabella picked up her pipe again, having made her decision.

 

With a hint of regret in her eyes, she added,

 

“It’s a shame, though. To think our collaboration with such a talented playwright will end with just one work. Renoir, I’m almost jealous to the point of resentment.”

 

“It’s not the end, though?”

 

“…What?”

 

“Come again?”

 

Both actors looked at me in surprise, their timing synchronized as if they shared a deep bond.

 

With a broad smile, I clarified,

 

“There will be many more comedy scripts featuring Chaplin. And they will all be performed at Geloroushina Theatre.”

 

“I-Is that… Is that true, Phantom? A-a-are you saying you’ll continue working with our theater long-term?”

 

Isabella was at a loss for words, her mouth agape and her expression dazed from my sudden declaration.

 

And of course, I meant every word.

 

The script I brought today was just one of many inspired by Charlie Chaplin’s countless films.

 

From his early 15-minute short films to the feature films he made after going to Hollywood…

 

From his early 15-minute short films to the feature films he made after going to Hollywood, I had a treasure trove of works ready to be localized and introduced to this world. <Making a Living>, <The Champion>, <City Lights>, <Modern Times>… the possibilities were endless.

 

With so many of Chaplin’s masterpieces ripe for adaptation, the collaboration was just beginning.

 

— End of Chapter —

 

Author’s Note:

 

Comedies in the medieval era relied more on improvisation than a structured script. 

 

In fact, the 16th-century Italian Commedia dell’arte serves as a prime example of this.

 

Commedia dell’arte actors were only provided with a rough outline and situational context for the play through the script.

 

The empty spaces within the narrative were flexibly filled by the actors with their improvisational performances, including physical comedy known as Lazzi.

 

The characters, too, such as Arlecchino, Pedrolino, and Pantalone, had fixed traits and roles that were traditionally adhered to.

 

Charlie Chaplin is credited with reviving the tradition of farce because he cleverly captured this joyful spontaneity in his performances.