Marcel's Place in Papeete, Tahiti. It is 1932. There is a bar downstage right with stools in front of it. Center stage we have a few chairs and tables, behind which is a rickety staircase leading to a second-floor room hidden by beaded curtains. At rise, the stage is filled with an assortment of South Seas types, mostly French, British and American SERVICEMEN, and a few blowsy WOMEN. They are all drinking and having a jolly old time. MARCEL, the proprietor, is behind the bar. He can be short, fat, tall, slim---it makes absolutely no difference. Downstage left at a table by himself is a wizened little DRUNKEN BUM with a strong cockney accent.

(LT. JIM PEARSOLL enters from the right. He is young, gorgeous, American, depressed and irretrievably stupid. HE plunks himself down at the bar.  FLO, a big-bosomed American postitute sashays toward him.)

(BURLY FRENCH SAILOR, sitting at the bar, leaps up and menaces Jim.)

(FLO shoves the sailor away as THREE ENGLISH TOURISTS enter. ESME and CLARISSE are in their mid-20s, both attractive and dressed in organdy prints with matching floppy hats. COLIN, Clarisse's fiancé, is slim and veddy upperclass. They are a startling contrast to the others.)

(MARCEL hurries from behind the bar to greet the new arrivals and seats them at a table next to the DRUNKEN BUM.)

(BURLY FRENCH SAILOR has taken an immediate shine to Clarisse and approaches the table.)

(BURLY FRENCH SAILOR retreats a few steps back, but continues to stare at her.)

(CLARISSE smiles at the French sailor and surreptitiously waves.)

(JIM suddenly rises with determination, rushes up the staircase and through the beaded curtain. At that moment, ARMAND DUVAL enters. He is tall, vewy Fwench and a trifle sinister. His dressed in white with a white Panama hat.)

(MARCEL leads him to a table downstage left on the other side of the Drunken Bum. As he does, an Oriental at the bar turns around and observes Duval closely. His name is CHANG. Another Oriental, sitting next to him, turns also. His name is WANG. They are clearly up to no good. JIM staggers out from the beaded curtain, stricken with grief. HE pulls out a pistol, shoots himself in the temple, then topples over the balcony. FLO screams. EVERYONE stops.)

(Without any preliminary warning, the orchestra launches into "Mandalay Molly" as the SERVICEMEN and PARONS take up the song from their individual places, eventually moving to form a chorus line stage center.)

Oh, Mandalay Molly!
She's our kind of dolly---
There's no other dame
Who'll set you aflame
Like Mandalay Moll.

Oh, Mandalay Molly!
To love her is folly.
Fall under her spell,
She'll drive you to hell
Or, at least, alcohol.

You can't conceive it---
One kiss and you'll swoon!
 

You won't believe it,
But I'll be nineteen in June.

Oh, Mandalay Molly!
We're so melancholy---
Here is our heart
To sample it,
Trample it,
Then tear it apart!

That is the end,
But what a finale!
For one night of love
With Mandalay Molly!
Our Mandalay Moll!

(THEY go into a rousing dance then return to their previous positions and activities.)

(A drum roll. A bright spotlight falls on the beaded curtains. A few SOLDIERS and SAILORS race to position themselves on the staircase. Silence descends. The atmosphere is fraught with tension and expectation.)

(Step-by-step, inch-by-inch, MOLLY appears from behind the dangling beads. She is every great star who ever became déclassé and wound up singing in a South Seas dive. but if she reminds you of Marlene Dietrich, don't be a bit surprised. SHE begins her song at the top of the stairs, making contact with the SERVICEMEN who are anticipating her.)

Hello, sailor,
Hello, soldier,
I have never met
One I could not handle yet.
The bigger they come,
The harder they get.

In the room upstairs
There's a bed of brass,
And the ceiling bears
One large looking glass.
There's an antique clock there
That doesn't keep time;
There's a door to lock there
And a wall to climb.
In the room upstairs
You can really soar
On two easy chairs
Or the hardwood floor.
There is not much noise there,
Only moaning refrains;
When you see my toys there,
They will blow your brains.
You can rest your head
On my satin spread
And forget your cares---
You will flip your cork, my dear,
In that room upstairs.

In the room upstairs,
The dessert's supreme---
There are prickly pears
And there's whipping cream.
You can stay and lunch there
And possibly sup---
I've got lots to munch there
And to gobble up.
When the shadows fall
You may even be
In my shower stall
Which was built for three.
I've an ancient etching
I think will amaze
Of two Hindus stretching
In some fifty ways.
Once you lay your feet
On that satin sheet,
You can say your prayers---
You will lose your marbles, boy,
In the room upstairs.

(When she reaches Clarisse, who is hypnotized by her, MOLLY bends down and kisses her full on the lips. The ONLOOKERS are stunned. Then SHE makes her way up the stairs, avoiding the lunging arms of the MEN around her. At the top, SHE takes a gardenia from her hair and tosses it to the crowd. TWO SAILORS catch it and begin to fight over it. Soon EVERYONE is breaking chairs, slugging each other, and smashing mirrors, glasses and bottles. ARMAND DUVAL quickly exits up the staircase.)

(ESME rises, but CLARISSE remains in the same position.)

(SHE touches Clarisse's shoulder. CLARISSE falls off the chair in a dead faint of ecstasy.)