Eurotrash

Trevor was getting screamed at by his newest employee.

IVANOV: YOU INSUFFERABLE WASTE OF SKIN AND MUCUS!

All Trevor could think was--

This is why you don't hire Europeans.

At least not European directors.

Emma had convinced Trevor that since Lisa's play was a success, Nicholas had secured Alex as the director of his next piece, and Lily had gone off the deep end--he needed to do something significant to draw some attention to himself.

So, they pieced together as much money as they could out of the Minx Theater budget and hired the most notable European director who would schlep his way to Rome, New Hampshire just to do a new play by some playwright who was now locked away for cutting herself and refusing to eat anything but strawberry yogurt.

The play was entitled, appropriately, Cutting Yogurt.

The director went by one name:

Ivanov.

IVANOV: You! Skinny girl, no breasts!
EMMA: Emma.
IVANOV: No breats is your name. You shall be called No Breasts!
EMMA: Sir, you're working in America now and--
TREVOR: Emma, the man is a genius. Let him call you what he wants.
IVANOV: Thank you, Pussyman.

Ivanov had arrived yesterday and within minutes of being inside the theater had made the following demands:

1) That all the entrances and exits be guarded by a man over six feet tall lest the assassins who Ivanov believed were hunting him show up.
2) That the smoke detectors and sprinkler systems be turned off since Ivanov believed fire was life and anything that could destroy fire was death.
3) That chopped up scrap paper be strewn throughout the theater to create a feeling of chaos and disruption.

EMMA: So basically we turned the place into a deathtrap for him.
TREVOR: The greatest honor of my life would be having my death be the result of Ivanov.

Trevor was infatuated with the man ever since he saw his production of Endgame where buckets of gerbils were poured onto the stage and scurried off into the audience sending just about everyone screaming out of the theater.

It was the most influential moment of Trevor's life.

IVANOV: Pussyman!
TREVOR: Yes sir?
IVANOV: I can't work in here. It's too constricting.
EMMA: But we did everything you asked.
IVANOV: You allow No Breasts to speak out of turn, Pussyman?
EMMA: Were you not alive during woman's lib?
IVANOV: Go let your leg hair grow, you feeble thing. Ivanov is working--BUT NOT HERE! Find me another space to rehearse in!

PHONE CALL #1:

LISA: Absolutely not. I am not letting that madman into my theater.
TREVOR: If you do, I'll tell you a secret that you don't know.
LISA: There's nothing I don't know, Trevor.
TREVOR: I'll give you the paintings you didn't get in the divorce.
LISA: You said those paintings were lost on the way to my house.
TREVOR: See, there are things you don't know.
LISA: He's not stepping foot in my theater, Trevor.
TREVOR: Fine. Maybe I'll ask Nicholas.
LISA: HA! Go ahead. Two Napoleon complexes in one place--one of them European--that should be a blast.

PHONE CALL #2:

LILY: I can't, Trevor, I'm sorry.
TREVOR: Lily, please don't make me call Nicholas.
LILY: I'm in rehearsals, Trevor!
TREVOR: Every night?
LILY: And every day. I haven't left this theater in a week!
TREVOR: Where do you shower?
LILY: I don't. Art is dirty.
TREVOR: Lily, I'm working on a play where a girl smears herself in grape jelly and then cuts the words 'Peanut Butter' into her chest, and even I think that's excessive.
LILY: Nicholas says what I do is irrelevant. Well, I'm going to show him relevance like he's never seen.
TREVOR: Or smelled, for that matter.
LILY: I have to go, Trevor. My hour of creative chanting starts in a few minutes.
TREVOR: Good luck with that.

PHONE CALL #3:

NICHOLAS: No.
TREVOR: Nicholas--
NICHOLAS: No.
TREVOR: Nick--
NICHOLAS: No.
TREVOR: Nicky, baby.
NICHOLAS: No. No. No. No.
TREVOR: I'll tell Lisa you stole Alex out from under her.
NICHOLAS: He can have it Mondays, Thursdays, and Fridays.
TREVOR: Nice doing business with you.
NICHOLAS: If he papers the walls with used condoms again--
TREVOR: See you on opening night!

Now that the issue of space was settled, Trevor felt a lot better. He was relaxing in the lighting booth getting high when Emma walked in, presumably to kill his buzz.

EMMA: This was a huge mistake.
TREVOR: You thought it would be a good idea.
EMMA: I'm unthinking that. Can we send him back to Yugoslavia?
TREVOR: Czechoslovakia.
EMMA: Wherever.
TREVOR: Emma--
EMMA: If he keeps calling me No Breasts and telling me to put on a pretty dress, I'm going to call I.N.S., Trevor.
TREVOR: He's a genius.
EMMA: So was Lennon, until somebody shot him. Reflect on that.

And she left.

Trevor felt he could identify with Ivanov. He was also incredibly misunderstood.

Aren't all great artists?