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with the Captain.
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    FELIX: Henri! Good!—you’ve decided to come, what a nice surprise. Good morning all!—Have you met Mr. Cheeseboro? Mister Cheeseboro, Mr. Schultz, my cousin.
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    SKIP: We’ve met.
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    HENRI, taking Felix’s elbow—intimately: Felix, I beg you . . . we must talk before you commit to this.
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    FELIX: Later. I have a problem.
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    HENRI: What do you mean?
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    FELIX: Everything is under control . . .
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    HENRI: What are you talking about?
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    But Felix has spotted Emily and is instantly vibrating.
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    FELIX, both open hands toward her: And who is . . . ?
    SKIP: . . . Our director, sir—Emily Shapiro.
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    EMILY: How do you do.
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    FELIX, sweeps his hat off his head, lowering it for an instant, hiding his “enthusiasm”: Wonderful! I hadn’t expected a woman . . .
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    SARAH, at one side with her phone: Why not! I assure you women can film crucifixions as well as anybody else!
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    FELIX: I’m sure, but . . . to Emily, while putting his hat back on . . . . watching them, you know, can make even strong men uncomfortable.
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    EMILY: Oh? . . . Is this something you do fairly often?
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    FELIX, points skyward: That depends on the weather . . .
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    SKIP, warm academic objectivity: Now isn’t that interesting .
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    FELIX: Most of our people are peasants, you see. A shake of the fist . When the crops are good, people are content. Points skyward . But it’s hardly rained for twenty-six months, so there is a certain amount of unrest; we have an old saying, “when the rain stops the crosses sprout.” It is not something we enjoy, I assure you, but there is either order or chaos. Are you taken for dinner?
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    EMILY: I hadn’t thought about it. . . . I hope you won’t mind too much, but I’ve half decided to try to stop this travesty from happening.
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    SKIP: That is not for you to . . . !
    EMILY, over-shouting him: . . . Just so my crew and I—and especially Mr. Cheeseboro—know what to expect—when they’re being nailed up do they like . . . scream ?
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    HENRI: Certainly.
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    EMILY: And for how long?
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    FELIX: Not very; usually they’re given a couple of bottles of tequila beforehand. Incidentally, I particularly admire your haircut.
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    SKIP: But you don’t mean they’re like . . . staggering.
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    HENRI: Of course.
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    FELIX: That is nonsense, Henri. Occasionally they have to be carried to the cross, but . . .
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    SKIP: Well that’s out of the question . . .
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    FELIX: Oh? Why?
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    SKIP: Carrying him up to the cross would be like . . . I don’t know . . . blasphemous in the United States!
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    EMILY: Sounds terrific to me . . . piggyback!
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    SKIP: Now wait, dear . . . !
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    EMILY:. . . Stop calling me “dear,” my name is mud. Miss Mud. Emily Mud. To Felix: I’m sorry, General Whatever, but I’ve lost my brain.
    FELIX: Haha—it’s certainly not noticeable!
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    SKIP: Moving on to screaming, Mr. President—just to reassure our director—I assume it’s important to this man what kind of public impression he makes, right?
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    FELIX: I have no idea; he has refused to say a word since he was caught.
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    SKIP:—But I should think if he is confident that he is about to . . . like meet his father in heaven, you could put it to him as a test of his faith that he not scream on camera. The camera, you see, tends to magnify everything and screaming on camera could easily seem in questionable taste.
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    FELIX: I understand. I will certainly try to discuss it with him.
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    SKIP: He cannot scream on camera, sir; it would destroy the whole effect. And I’m afraid I’ll have to go further—I mean, sir, you have deposited our check, right? I mean as a man of honor . . .
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    FELIX: I will certainly do all I can to convince him not to scream.
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    HENRI, turning Felix by the