Excerpt from “Aaron – Adult (Dramatic)”

Monologues for the Serious Actor by Bob Berry

Excerpt from “Aaron – Adult (Dramatic)”:

Stage Director Reflects on His Past Life

I was an actor long before I became a director. But acting wasn’t my whole life.
I experienced other things but could never get very far from the stage. Something
kept drawing me back. The lure of applause. The glare of white lights. But
regardless of how many times I went out there exposing myself in front of some
unseen audience, I could never get used to forever feeling a foreigner in some
forbidden land, which took me back to childhood. You know … cowboys-and-
Indians stuff.

Excerpt from “Kelly – Adult (Seriocomedic)”

Monologues for the Serious Actor by Bob Berry

Excerpt from “Kelly – Adult (Seriocomedic)”:

A Trucker’s Life

My girlfriend, Sheila, says I am a child trapped in a man’s body. Well, she can
say that all she wants. Little does she know. I drive an eighteen-wheeler five
days a week and have a “girl in every port” as they say. I don’t spend as much
time with each of them as I do with Sheila, but none of these ladies ever said I
was a child trapped in a man’s body. That’s bullshit! I left Detroit the other night,
and I hadn’t yet stopped for gas and coffee. Anita just lit up when I walked into
the truck stop. The first thing out of her mouth was “Ain’t you a sight for sore
eyes!” She has a way of really making a man feel like a man. I spent over an
hour at her place, and she knows I’ll be back in three weeks for more of the
same.

Excerpt from “John – Adult (Seriocomedic)”

Monologues for the Serious Actor by Bob Berry

Excerpt from “John – Adult (Seriocomedic)”:

The Highs and Lows of Being a Grandparent

One day I attended Grandparents’ Day at my granddaughter’s school. As I shuffled
along the hallway filled with youthful chaos, I was stopped suddenly by the
upheld hand of a six- or seven-year-old boy, who loudly asked, “How old are
you?” For a moment, I felt alien and not totally human.

“How old do you think I am?” I replied with a kindly smile.

“Well, you look older than my grandfather. He died when I was little.”
That coming from a six- or seven-year-old.

Excerpt from “Horace – Adult (Seriocomedic)”

Monologues for the Serious Actor by Bob Berry

Excerpt from “Horace – Adult (Seriocomedic)”:

The Great American Novel

I am writing the Great American Novel. My wife thinks I’m nuts, but I am
deadly serious. I quit my job as a computer programmer, so … yeah, it’s a bit of
a gamble. But you only go round once, right? Besides, she is assistant manager
at Walmart, so I know we can stay afloat. No kids. The house will be paid off in
sixteen years. Credit card debt is down to three thousand. Now is the time to do
what I want to do. I mean, I’m forty years old for God’s sake. I may never again
get the inspiration or creative energy to write a friggin’ novel. You know?

Excerpt from “Troy – Adult (Dramatic)”

Monologues for the Serious Actor by Bob Berry

Excerpt from “Troy – Adult (Dramatic)”:

A Duty Done

You shared some things with me. My turn. Don’t like to talk about this, but
since I don’t know you … (Pauses.) After 9/11, I served in a secret branch of the
service in the Middle East. Clandestine stuff. I got the royal treatment because
I could speak five languages. Taught prisoners, interrogated and mentally tortured
them when asked to do so. Jack-of-all-trades, you know? (Laughs.)

There was this one prisoner who was nice and polite and liked to talk.
Mickey. Obviously educated. While I was interrogating him, we gradually
became friends, and I looked forward to our talks. Shared stories of our families.
Baseball. He loved the damned Yankees. And here I was a die-hard Red Sox
fan, so we had some fun. (Laughs.) Some fun …

Excerpt from “Steve – Twenties to Thirties (Dramatic)”

Monologues for the Serious Actor by Bob Berry

Excerpt from “Steve – Twenties to Thirties (Dramatic)”:

Belt-High Fastball

You just want me to talk about myself? Hey, that brings to mind all sorts of wonderful
adjectives! My name is Steve Arnett. I’m into outdoor sports … girls
and … (Pauses.) Outdoor sports. (Very nervous) I was a B+ student in high
school and lettered in baseball and basketball. I acted in a couple of plays. Some
people said I was pretty good

And I was good in baseball. Real good. I played shortstop and had a helluva
arm. Was a tough contact hitter. Used to spray the ball to all fields and was
good enough in my senior year that a San Diego scout came to take a look at me.
Just me, ya know?

Excerpt from “Curt – Adult (Comedic)

Monologues for the Serious Actor by Bob Berry

Excerpt from “Curt – Adult (Comedic)”:

Beware of Jacuzzis

Now, I may not be the brightest guy on the planet—or even in Marion County
for that matter. But I was alarmed at a recent experience I had in an above-average
motel in Bloomington. Now, I have done many things in my life that were
daring and mind-boggling even to me—but this …

You see, in my upper years, I have never been in a Jacuzzi. Never tempted
or cared to, but when offered the only room they had at a lower price with a
Jacuzzi, I said, “Sure.” Live a little. Right? Now unfortunately, in more ways
than one, I was by myself. I thought, “What the heck?” So in my room, I anxiously
turned on the warm water and added a small plastic bottle of an expensive-
smelling mineral-oil bath gel made by some fancy-sounding company from
London, England. I felt like royalty.

Excerpt from “Matt – Adult (Dramatic)”

Monologues for the Serious Actor by Bob Berry

Excerpt from “Matt – Adult (Dramatic)”:

Man Vents His Suppressed Anger upon a Close Acquaintance

God, it’s a beautiful day! I don’t remember it being so warm this early in the
year. And how about those clouds! I think they’re called cumulus—those big,
billowy, puff-ball types. Anyway, they are gorgeous against that azure sky.

Bet you think I’m a poet or something. Well, I’m not. Do appreciate today,
though. Won’t be another day like it. Not for me, at least. I’m going to kill a
man. Yep. I’m going to add one more to the country’s statistics.

(Points to the heavens.) Thanks, Dad, for bringing that German Mauser
home from World War II. It’s going to get some action today. Probably the first
time it has been fired since I had it cleaned eight or nine years ago. I’ve always
meant to shoot it again, and today I get my chance.

Excerpt from “Carl – Adult (Comedic)”

Monologues for the Serious Actor by Bob Berry

Excerpt from “Carl – Adult (Comedic)”:

Exuberant Comic

(Enters.) Hi, everyone! How’s everyone doing? I’m Carl the Cosmic Comic. My
jokes will kill ya! If you have a weak heart, you may want to leave now. This
woman in the front row is already smiling, and I haven’t even started. Hang on,
lady!

Okay. Here goes. What did a drop of water on the bar say to the shot of
whiskey? “Hi there, big shot!” (Laughs.)

Excerpt from “Barry – Adult (Comedic)”

Monologues for the Serious Actor by Bob Berry

Excerpt from “Barry – Adult (Comedic)”:

Imaginary Laughs

My name is Barry. Barry Bohring—B-O-H-R-I-N-G. You can laugh if you like.
I’m used to it. You see, my parents were comedians, but they died … on the
stage in Omaha. I mean, they tanked at the Holiday Inn they were playing. So
they moved to Fargo. That’s about as “far as you can go.” (Laughs.) Get it? Far
as you can go. My parents gave up the stage for trying to raise nicotine-free
tobacco in a ten-by-twenty-foot greenhouse in Fargo. No success so far, but it’s
only been seven years.

My entire family is a bit on the odd side, if you know what I mean. Think
“Barry Bohring” is a hoot? My cousin’s last name is Kospey. First name: Colon.
Colon Kospey.