Stephen Metcalfe Words

Stephen Metcalfe is a playwright, screenwriter, and novelist. His plays have been produced Off-Broadway, regionally and internationally and he has worked for most major production companies in Hollywood.  He is the author of three novels.  THE TRAGIC AGE, was published by St. Martin’s Press in March of 2015. and THE PRACTICAL NAVIGATOR was released by St. Martin’s in August 2016.   His novel, ATTACHMENT PATTERNS, will be released by Austin-Macauley Publishers in late 2022.  He is an Associate Artist at The Old Globe Theatre in San Diego and has taught playwriting and screenwriting at University of California San Diego, San Diego State University and The University of San Diego. — About Stephen Metcalfe


  • Christmas Words

    From the stage play, MR. AND MRS. KLAUS

    Santa Claus enters. KRIS KRINGLE is in full regalia – not the chubby Santa of coke commercials but rather a regal and kingly Father Christmas, a winter warrior in long cape and brocaded vest and crown-like cap.

    KRIS: Well? What do you think?

    MARTHA: You are so handsome.  I’m almost of a mind not let you go.

    KRIS: Ho-ho! Now then! December 24th.  The sleigh is being loaded.  It’s brash is polished, it’s leather shined.  The rain deer have been curried and brushed. I’m dressed and ready to go. Polypropylene. So much for woolen underwear.  It’s been quite a year. It almost did me in. In this modern world of clamoring, clapping, conglomerates that view generosity of spirit as a corporate slogan and little else; in this world where commerce take precedence over charity and profit is more important than people, it has become far too easy to feel that the giving and receiving of a simple Christmas gift is pedestrian. That Christmas is a chore more than a blessing. It was not always like this. In the beginning, Christmas was a candle lit against the gathering darkness.  There were monsters in the world and as the days grew shorter and colder, it was far too easy to hear their cries. The gathering together, the celebration, the sharing, the community of Christmas, was a way of reaffirming hope in the face of that darkness. A way of saying, we are all in this together and if we hold hands, the light will come again. Well, I say now to all for all to hear, that there are still monsters in this world – dragons, yes! – far greater and more powerful than any first imagined.  And it is far too easy to feel resigned and helpless in the face of their fiery breath. I say the need for the spirit of Christmas has never been greater. That in a world where we know too much and believe too little, the ability to pretend that even for a day there is such a thing as Santa Claus is more important than ever before. I am Santa Claus.  Now and forever. But so are you and so are you and so are you.  So are you all. You must be. Each and every day of the year.

    MARTHA: Kris. It’s time.

    KRIS: I could never have done any of this without you.

    MARTHA: I’ll wait up.

    KRIS: Peace on Earth. Good will towards men.


    MARTHA: It’s time now, it’s time!  Can you see him?  He climbs into the sleigh. Like a crimson king, he takes the reigns in hand. His beard is like snow!  The doors open wide and the cold air rushes in.  It’s clear tonight. I see stars.  They are as beautiful as the eyes of God.

    We hear the crack of a whip, then his voice:

    KRIS: Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer, now Vixen, now Comet, now Cupid, now Donner and Blitzen!  To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, now dash away, dash away, dash away all!

    MARTHA: And I heard him exclaim ‘er he drove out of sight.  Happy Christmas to all. And to all a Good night.

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