Ad Sense: A Short Play

Cast of Characters 

PRIME MINISTER: mid-40s, White, female 

LEADER OF THE OPPOSITION: older, any race or gender (male pronouns are used in this script)

PRIME MINISTER’S AIDE: mid-20s, Black or South Asian, male 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER: early-30s, White, female 

UNNAMED PERFORMERS: all ages, all races, all genders 

Place 

In Every Canadian Home, and, then, at a hotel in Vancouver 

Time 

1993 and 2024 and 2019 

Notes on Style: 

•  This play is partially based on a scandal in Canadian politics in 1993, when the Progressive-Conservative Party ran a series of ads that appeared to mock the Liberal Party leader Jean Chrétien’s Bell’s palsy. The details are smoothed over here, both to avoid legal trouble, but mainly so that the specifics of the story—the disability of the Leader of the Opposition, the tone of the conversation that ensues, the improvised lines in the ad, and so on—can be molded to the political, social, and cultural contexts of the individual production.

• With the exception of perhaps the Prime Minister herself, every character has a disability. - The Leader of the Opposition’s disability should reflect the casting. Use this as a way of incorporating disabled actors into the dramaturgical process, rather than looking (perhaps really harmfully) for a particular way of “looking disabled.” 

• The Hairdresser’s Daughter suffers from chronic migraines. Perhaps she is having one during the conversation, perhaps she is about to have one, perhaps her latest one disappeared when she walked through the hotel room door. 

•  The Aide has anxiety. 

•  A production should understand the relationships between all these, even if it doesn’t automatically manifest into solidarity. 

• The Leader of the Opposition should never leave the stage, even if he doesn’t hear the conversation.

• Do not automatically assume the PM is telling the Aide the truth and lying to the Hairdresser's Daughter 

• I would suggest resisting the urge to make the Hairdresser herself one of the Unnamed Performers. Just a gut feeling, can’t really explain it.

A line of performers—CANADIANS of every creed, every race, every background, every political sector—watch forward. 

Then: Static. 

Behind the performers, someone—The LEADER OF THE OPPOSITION—is shown, in a way that highlights his disability. 

A performer—perhaps a man, perhaps without a discernible accent, perhaps a normate—speaks (or, if truly needed, lip syncs) the following lines in English (and French, if you can). 

A PERFORMER 

Tell me...does this look like a Prime Minister to you?...Does he understand that his plan to cut military spending will endanger our troops?...How can he believe that you can fix our trade policy by buying some boats?... 

As the first Performer continues, other performers begin to critique The LEADER OF THE OPPOSITION's record. This is somewhat improvised, with lines such as: 

ANOTHER PERFORMER 

The Leader of the Opposition has really lost touch with reality. He’s crazy. 

A THIRD PERFORMER 

I see him as very short-sighted. 

A FOURTH PERFORMER 

Why doesn't he explain his policies when pressed? Doesn’t he understand them?...Does he understand them?

The static still grows. Until: 

A PERFORMER 

It would be a humiliation if he became our leader… This Man...A Prime Minister? 

ALL: 

Not Mine! 

The static grows and grows until it is all encompassing, filling the ears and the bodies of every listener, actor, audience, resident.

It suddenly disappears. All performers—Canadians—gasp in horror and shock. 

And then— 

A hotel room 

Rainfall outside the window. 

An old push button telephone rings and roars as the PRIME MINISTER rises from the line of performers and walks over to her desk. She is prim and proper, not overly fancy but she has clearly taken time to look presentable for precisely no one. 

She hesitates, then picks it up. A momentary relief: the voice is familiar, if not exactly pleased 

PRIME MINISTER 

Good morning, premier, and—yes, I saw them. Apparently after everyone else…no, I mean that, I didn’t see them before…you think I would’ve approved this? You think I would—Premier, I will do everything in my power, but at this time we need to show unity and strength— 

A knock at the door. 

PRIME MINISTER 

I am your Prime Minister, and I will lead…Premier…sir— 

Another knock, more insistent. 

PRIME MINISTER 

We are on the same page here, Premier. We are on the same page, the same team. 

Hard knocks return. 

PRIME MINISTER 

I will have to call you back. I—...Good day, sir. 

The PRIME MINISTER opens the door. A panicky, sweaty young AIDE enters, well dressed and yet disheveled, soaking wet. He speaks with a slight French-Canadian accent that he has worked hard to bury.

AIDE 

So sorry, ma’am, forgot to, forgot my umbrella. It is completely— 

PRIME MINISTER 

No, it’s fine. Thank you for coming. Sorry, I thought you were— 

AIDE 

Oh, right, yes, the campaign director. He sent a fax, said he would give a call later / to discuss the public reaction. 

PRIME MINISTER 

Later? Why not now? 

AIDE 

I don’t know, ma’am, I just…here, you can read it, if you want. 

The AIDE hands the PRIME MINISTER the fax. As she reads, he begins to wring out his shirt still on him. He begins to laugh, a true utter guffaw. 

PRIME MINISTER 

Is there something funny? 

AIDE 

It's just…look at me, right? I'm standing here, in the Prime Minister's hotel room, absolutely soaking wet, it's all very hilarious. And the news and the summit and then the ads— 

PRIME MINISTER 

So you've seen the ads? 

A pause 

AIDE 

...yes…I had to rub my eyes to make sure I knew what I was seeing. And then it ran again. And again and again. I’m sorry, I’m so— 

PRIME MINISTER 

It's been less than 24 hours…what did you think? I only saw them this afternoon, and honestly I don't know what to think.

AIDE 

...you didn't see them before they went out? 

PRIME MINISTER 

What did you think of them? 

AIDE 

(trying to gauge the PRIME MINISTER’s reaction) 

I found them…awful… didn't you? 

PRIME MINISTER 

Yes… 

AIDE 

I couldn't believe it. I genuinely couldn't believe my eyes. I agree with what I was hearing but— but those pictures. And you didn’t know? 

PRIME MINISTER 

The campaign director assured me that they were…no worse than the magazines used. And I repeated that. I should’ve— 

AIDE 

And you hadn’t seen them? 

PRIME MINISTER 

Can we run through my schedule for the next few days? Just for reference. Just so we know what’s coming.

An off-beat 

AIDE 

Okay…okay. 

The following lines are rhythmic. This is routine for them. A dance. 

AIDE 

You have an interview with the editorial board of the Star tomorrow morning, stated goal is to— 

PRIME MINISTER 

Reaffirm our commitment to a new, progressive nation, and lay out economic plans…We’ll have to apologize as well.

AIDE 

Then a television appearance in the afternoon. 

PRIME MINISTER 

Further apologies. Nasty work. 

AIDE 

Dinner with the labor union in the evening. We move east in the morning. Meeting with the party leader in La Vieille Capitale. 

PRIME MINISTER 

See if we can regain some ground there. We can’t just sit here and let separatists— 

A knock at the door 

PRIME MINISTER 

Do me a favor, get the campaign director on the phone. The sooner we get these things off the air, the better.

AIDE moves to leave. The PRIME MINISTER stops him. 

PRIME MINISTER 

Use my phone. He’ll actually answer. 

Another knock at the door. The PRIME MINISTER steadies herself, then opens the door. 

A woman—a HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER—enters. She looks around while the AIDE and the PRIME MINISTER stare at her. 

AIDE 

Good morning? 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

Wow…this is quite the set-up, isn’t it? Quite the abode. 

PRIME MINISTER 

Excuse me?

AIDE 

Do you have an appointment? If you have an appointment, would you mind showing me? We were expecting no— 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

No, not an appointment. Not a visitor, just a friend. A constituent! 

(to PRIME MINISTER) 

You don’t remember me, do you? 

AIDE 

I’m calling security. 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

Call security and I will scream, and trust me, I have lots of practice. 

AIDE 

Already dialing. 

Sharp inhale by the HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER and the rest of the CANADIAN ensemble 

PRIME MINISTER 

No, it’s fine, it’s fine. I’m not quite so…reserved. I have time for my constituents. We should look, MUST BE…approachable and such and— 

(to HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER) 

You do look familiar. Did you perhaps work for a campaign of mine? 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

(after a bit) 

You knew my mother. Suzie Marshall. She worked as a secretary for Social Credit back when that was a thing? / Was more of a thing? 

PRIME MINISTER 

(unclear if the name rang any bells) 

Oh, Marshall, such a hard worker. 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

Back before you left.

PRIME MINISTER 

Ah 

AIDE 

Well, then, you’ve said your thank you’s. Let’s have you— 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

She adored you, you know? It was weird; I thought it was weird for the longest time, but she did. Saw you as one of her. A “western woman.” 

PRIME MINISTER 

It has…always been an honor to represent people like her. People the conservatives, even in our party, would rather forget. Perhaps you can come back with her; I could give my thanks for her support in person. 

AIDE 

(catching on) 

Yes, that sounds nice, I can pencil in a meeting between you and her and the camera team at— 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

No, you see, that’s the thing, that’s the damn thing. She can’t. She had an accident a while back…and she’s so weak now. Barely leaves the house. Barely sees anyone. Can barely stand to be seen. And taking care of her on top of my own headaches is…well— 

PRIME MINISTER 

I’m so sorry to hear that. All the more reason we must fight to— 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

Did you know about the ads? 

A beat. 

PRIME MINISTER 

As I plan to tell the news later today, I— 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

Did you know about them? Did you make them? Did you…did you…

AIDE 

Perhaps I should come back later. 

PRIME MINISTER 

No, stay. 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

(suddenly very stern) 

Right, stay. This is a better political education than you’ll get anywhere else. That’s why you wanted this job, right? For a fucking political education‽ 

A beat. 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

I apologize…that was uncalled for. For you, at least you. Bottom of the totem pole, sunk beneath the cow dung. 

PRIME MINISTER 

I was told that..ads were created that critiqued my primary opponent’s record. His…his background, his ability. 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

His ability? 

PRIME MINISTER 

I was misled. I was told…I’m sorry for the way the ad portrayed the opposition. But I believe what we said, what it said, was cogent. I believe there was a way to make clear just how dangerous— 

The HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER begins to laugh. 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

No. No. There wasn’t. 

PRIME MINISTER 

Excuse me? 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

Some hair just can’t be fixed. 

AIDE 

(under his breath) 

We were told the photo would be no worse than magazine images.

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

And that’s the bar! There it is! No worse than images already seen. That’s the bar! 

PRIME MINISTER 

I sincerely apologize if you feel your trust in us has been misplaced. But I can assure, our commitment to your— 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

My mom used to praise you. Praise you up and down the day. And I let myself almost believe you cared about her. About me. About the miner down the road who can’t walk but can’t get the province to help him. But now we know. Or at least I know. And I have always known. Down to the very root of you all. 

The HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER moves to leave. 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

I mean…my mom used to say. I think she was quoting some book, but I could never find it. She used to say “poverty, what a scarring thing.” 

Like poverty itself, being poor. My grandpa worked in the mines and his back ached until the day he died, and my mom always had chemical burns on her hands, so I always assumed she meant, she was referring to—but now…no, she’s right. Scarring thing, indeed. Thing that scars you, marks you. Thing that removes your figure. Your standing. Your personhood. Your fucking person. Fuck. 

A storm of static wafts through the room. 

PRIME MINISTER 

If…miss…I— 

HAIRDRESSER’S DAUGHTER 

And if you say that about him, what are you saying about us? I mean, we voted for you. At least she did. 

Those aren’t the right words for what I’m trying to say. I’m not saying anyone is… I just…it hurt. It really hurt. And it has driven me crazy since. You have driven me crazy. Moreso than I already am. 

Have a good day.

The Hairdresser’s Daughter opens the door and leaves. As she does, the west wind itself blows through the door, turning the room into a mess. Voices are heard, the eternal cry of needing to be seen and understood and figured made manifest in rancor. 

It ends quickly. 

AIDE 

Ma’am 

The PRIME MINISTER stands there, motionless. 

AIDE 

Ma’am…it’s the campaign director, got him on the line. Doesn’t seem happy about the idea of pulling them. Says our numbers are the best we’ve seen in weeks. The absolute best. We’re gonna win this thing, he says, he just needs to hold on. We just need to hold on. 

A beat. Rabid, ravenous sounds from the ensemble. 

AIDE 

Ma’am…I think you should take it, madam(e). 

A beat. 

The PRIME MINISTER walks over slowly. She reaches for the phone, brings it to her ear. She opens her mouth to speak. 

Static. And something else. Something fainter. 

END OF PLAY