Tearing Down the Fourth Wall

Chapter One – Greetings and Introductions

Old McAuthor wrote a book, E, I, E, I, O

And in this book he broke a wall... E, I, E, I, O

With an adjective here; And a direct object there…

Here a story, there a story; everywhere a short story

Old McAuthor wrote a book… E, I, E, I, O

The large, ominous brick wall loomed over the sidewalk, city, and landscape. The wall loomed with an authority that no man, woman, or child dared challenge, until the book emerged.

The large auditorium was packed with rows and rows of seats. It had two balconies, all stadium seating, and three levels of seating areas. The seats were moderately occupied by men and women of various flavors, shapes, races, colors, and religions. They spoke openly among one another whilst they awaited the shows commencement. A hush suddenly swarmed over the crowds of people as the lighting began dimming. The auditorium was originally built for concerts and stage productions like opera and musicals. The auditorium, however, was not meant for a speaker.

Expensive shoes have never been particularly known for their silent abilities. Bob McFakename used this property to his dramatic advantage, stepping heavily against the wooden stage, pounding echoes out of the aged wood. The crowd stared in awe as Bob stepped past the curtain, toward the single podium on center stage. The paused behind the podium and set his briefcase down; drawing notes from his case and slowly arranging them to delay the dramatic effect. He turned toward the gelatinous mass of faces looking back at him. He cleared his throat, and began projecting his voice, just as his teacher in acting school had taught him. “Good evening, ladies and gentleman, and welcome to the destruction of the fourth wall.” He let this sink in a moment, and then continued, “You may ask, ‘But Mr. McFakename, what is the fourth wall?’” Another pause. “I’ll tell you. The fourth wall is the metaphorical wall separating a story’s events and characters, from the realm outside, that of which the author lives in. A story is but a fictional universe, and the fourth wall is the division between the fictional universe, and the real universe. What I aim to do for you tonight is to break this wall. To tear away its power over all of you, the men and women of the story-world, and let you breathe the cool, calm air of knowledge, and the power that knowledge accompanies.” He waited and peered at the crowd, awaiting their reaction. But alas, no reaction was displayed. Bob grew nervous, pulling at his collar and looking at the audience nervously. Why aren’t they rioting? He thought to himself, wondering where the panic was in the sudden realization that they were not in control of their small, insignificant, fictional lives. He stared at his notes, and hastily drudged himself from his own nervous wreck in progress. “So, without further preamble, watch, as me crumble the fourth wall before you very eyes.”

There’s a beautiful science to the destruction of things. The large, steel ball hung from a large, metal chain was gathering momentum as gravity took its effect on the steel ball. The audience gasped with wonderment and amazement, as the large steel ball whistled through the air above their heads. It had been placed and pinned up there before the show, carefully shrouded in the shadowed area between the lights. Now it was loose and gaining speed. Bob dove to stage left, hitting the old wooden floor with an awkward gasp. The steel ball slammed into the back of the stage with a monumental force. The wall shook, but stood strong. Both Bob and the audience stared with incredulous disbelief as the all, tired brick wall withstood the ram with nothing more than the sound of steel on clay. The steel ball bounded off of the wall in a short rebound, and pressed into the wall a final time before all of its momentum was lost. The great ball of wrecking had lost to the old, tired, but strong fourth wall.

Bob stood up from his corner of the stage and dusted his front off. The stage was covered with dust that had been shaken loose from the impact, but little no pieces of the wall had fallen. Bob moved back to his spot, and prepared himself for the actor’s worst nightmare in a production such as this… He was about to improvise.

“Well folks. As you can clearly see,” he sidestepped and gestured toward the large brick wall, “that the large wall we see before us is clearly more powerful than mere brute force. This wall is powerful and firm, and we cannot remove these from our lives so easily and so simply.” Bob made a show of looking at his watch. “Very well, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll have a brief intermission while we have some stage-hands sweep and re-arrange the stage to prepare for the climax of our show. You’re welcome to stay in your seat, but encouraged to go and get a beverage, as the now loose dust may make the temperature to become uncomfortable in here.” Bob gathered his suit about him and collected his notes into the briefcase and strode offstage, trying not to look too flustered. As soon as he disappeared from the stage, he strode into the office and sat down. The theater’s owner looked tired with age, the wisps of gray hair a tangled mess. He looked toward the wall distantly. “I, too, am surprised the wall did not crumble.” Bob shook his head, “I don’t care about the wall, and I don’t care about this show, I just need some ideas before we lose the audience.”

The aged man looked at his watch, “I know someone who may be able to help…”

The elderly owner picked up the phone, and called the one man he thought could help.

Within minutes, a vibrant van came to a screeching halt into the curb. The doors to the back of the van swung open as Salsa McBand dropped from the vehicle and strode into the McConcertium. They were ushered into the back room quickly to set-up on the newly swept stage. They played softly, checking their instruments' fine tuning before they began. In the main office, Bob, the elderly theater owner, and a new young man sat speaking. Bob bore a look on complete disbelief, while the old entrepreneur was enthralled by the young man's words. The young man was speaking, “And thus, the endevear you've set out is quite the difficult one. Rumor has it though, that for every cliché that is exploited, and new crack appears in the fourth wall. So what I propose doing is simple. We call in a series of my friends, and they will put on sketches for you and your audience. It may be long, but I can guarantee it will not bore your audience.” The old man pondered over this a moment, then turned a gaze toward Bob, prompting his opinion. Bob looked at the young man with a skeptical glance, “Are you sure we can trust this guy? I mean, this is our pride and reputation on the line. If this gig bombs, it could be my career, and you're also liable to lose your theater be-”

“McConcertium,” the old man corrected.

“Whatever. The fact stands, because if this show bombs, then most of the nice members out there will try for refunds, and rumor has that you're on your last legs, old man. One good blow will destroy your theater, or at least it's reputation, thus your income. Thus Kablooie. Thus Hobo.”

The old man pondered Bob's words a moment. Then he turned to the young man again, “This 'rumor' you speak of, how reliable is it?” The young man paused and stared into beyond the old man into another dimension, as if he was peering into the physical manifestation of his mind. He found what he was looking for, and drew his eyes, along with the information, back into focus. “This one's a toss-up. The rumors vary from source to source, and always get wild agreement or rampant resistence.” He paused, taking a breath, slowly gathering his thoughts and advice, “I say go for it. Right now the other options are pretty thin. And even if this turns out bust, the audience should stay entertained long enough for us to pull out a new plan in case of failure.” Bob's mouth was set in stone with a scowl, but nodded slowly, “I can accept that... But if this crashed around us, I'm taking it out of this guy.” He hooked a thumb toward the young man. The young man merely shrugged, and looked toward the old man. The wise gentleman held a gleam in his eyes that reflected the young he had once experienced, “Despite my age, I have enough energy left in me for one last party.” And with that, the man got to his feet and strode out of the room, nimble for his eighty or more years of age. The young man already had a phone to his ear as he sought better reception. Bob was left alone in his office, comtemplating his own demise. He, along with other actors and stage-hands, began to dive blindly into what could be the biggest disaster of all of their careers. Despite his worry, Bob stared at Salsa McBand with a tired smile. Despite the obviously dangerous situation, there was something in his mind that led him onward into new realms of patience toward the project. If all goes well, he thought, praying to the Almighty that if it does, then he can charge extra. And if bank robbers are any indication to the fact, than money is a good motivator. Bob immediately leaned over the desk, scribbling furiously into McConcertium stationary.

The young man's plan was simple. Wear the wall down with as many clichés as he can and then try the wall again. If all goes well, Bob won't even have to go back on stage until the finale, leaving Bob ample time to write notes and speeches. Bob prepared himself for the last moments, and looked at his wallet. He was going to make so much money in overtime...

But if this was going to work, he thought, then it better be epic...