INSPECTION, INSPECTION Character Name: Jack Stark
How will you portray the inspector? Get creative! YOU, ACCORDING TO JACK
OR
HOW JACK'S EGO IS PRETTY SURE YOU'LL SEE HIM
"Hey kid, look at me when I'm talkin' to you."
There was no malice in the Inspector's voice, but he spoke --no,
mumbled out of the corner of his mouth-- with an undeniable sense of authority. Here was a man who knew what he was about, and who seemed to have a pretty good idea about
you too.
It is impossible not to meet his penetrative stare, even though you'd rather look anywhere else in the world. You haven't done anything wrong, but the way he's leering at you makes it feel as though you have.
The Inspector stole a moment to straighten the lapel of his overcoat. He took a drag of his cigar, and seemed to lose him self in thought.
When he speaks, it is without emotion. Unless suspicion counts.
"I had my people do some checking up on you," there is an accent on his voice, but his words are never clear enough for you to really tell
where it comes from.
The beads of sweat pooling on your forehead aren't all from the heat of the lamp under which you sit. You're sick to your stomach with nerves, even though your innocent of this crime. But you can't shake the feeling, or the trepidation, that this man's somehow discovered you wet the bed until you were nine.
For a long moment neither you nor he say a word. The silence that stretches between you is cruel. Then, suddenly, he speaks, and slams his fist passionately againt the table;
"Where were
you the night of the murder?"
You know better than to lie to him.
---
WHAT REALLY HAPPENED
Anyone in the audience whose seen Casablanca thinks Jack looks remarkably like Humphrey Bogart in his grey overcoat and matching tie. The fedora he wears is much too big for his head. He has to pull on the back every now and again to keep it from falling over his eyes.
There's no doubt about this boy's passion for acting, but whether or not he has talent for anything other than showing off remains dubious. It is difficult to pinpoint the precise nature of the accent he's employed-- is it Irish? French? Japanese?
Nobody has the heart to ask Jack, who is so obviously proud of himself for using one at all.
And the cigar? He pilfered that from his mother's stash. It is not lit, because Jack doesn't smoke.
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