Title: The Three Costanzas and the Zen Mahjong Master
FADE IN:
INT. COSTANZA LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
A mahjong table sits in the middle of the room. The tiles are arranged, but no one knows what to do with them. Seated around the table are FRANK, ESTELLE, and GEORGE COSTANZA—each radiating their own special brand of exasperation. Across from them, perfectly at peace, sits DHARMA THE ZEN MASTER, sipping tea.
FRANK What the hell is this, George? You tell me we’re playing a game, but this isn’t a game! Where’s the dice?! Where’s the cards?! This is just tiles!
ESTELLE I don’t understand a thing! You said it was like rummy! This doesn’t look like rummy! It looks like garbage!
GEORGE I don’t know how it works either! I thought there’d be instructions! Dharma said he’d teach us!
FRANK (to Dharma) Alright, monk! You brought us into this mess—start explaining!
DHARMA Mahjong is not learned. It is understood.
GEORGE Oh no. No, no, no. Not this. Not the riddles! Just tell us how to play!
DHARMA To play is to not play. To win is to let go of winning.
FRANK He’s screwing with us, George!
ESTELLE Oh, I knew it! He’s one of those wise guys! Ohhhh I hate a wise guy!
GEORGE Dharma, for the love of God, give me an actual rule! Just one! ONE RULE!
DHARMA A rule is merely a suggestion. A suggestion is merely a thought. A thought is… nothing.
GEORGE YOU SEE WHAT HE’S DOING?! HE’S MAKING ME CRAZY!
FRANK That’s it! Enough! (he slams the table) We’re playing Costanza Style! House rules! Whoever throws the first tile wins!
(Frank immediately hurls a tile at the wall.)
ESTELLE Frank!
FRANK I WON! I WON MAHJONG!
GEORGE That’s not how you play, Dad!
DHARMA Perhaps it is. Perhaps it is not. Does it matter?
(George looks like he might explode. Estelle starts fanning herself.)
ESTELLE Ohhh, I feel faint. I feel faint, George!
GEORGE loud whisper How is he winning?! How is he winning without even playing?!
DHARMA Because I do not wish to win, I have already won.
FRANK I swear to God, if he says one more thing like that, I’m gonna lose it!
DHARMA Then you have already lost.
FRANK THAT’S IT!
(Frank flips the table. Tiles go flying. Estelle shrieks. George holds his head in his hands. Dharma sips his tea, completely unbothered.)
DHARMA This has been a most enlightening game.
FADE TO BLACK.
SCENE: The Costanza living room. A mahjong set is spread out on the coffee table. Frank, Estelle, and George sit around it, bewildered. Dharma, a serene Zen master, sits cross-legged on the couch, eyes half-closed in deep contemplation.
GEORGE: Alright, so how do we play this thing? Someone explain it to me in plain English!
DHARMA: The tile of destiny is not the tile of past, but only when moon’s shadow is asymmetric in the water may the player know the victory of silence.
ESTELLE: What?!
FRANK: He sounds like my air fryer manual! What the hell does that mean?!
GEORGE: Are we playing mahjong or deciphering ancient prophecy?!
DHARMA: Wisdom arrives in the form of wind, but the foolish hand grasps only at echoes of misplaced bamboo.
ESTELLE: (reading the game instructions) ‘For correct playing of enjoy, sort the stones with the discipline of mountain. To win, be good, but never too good, as the fish of sky will know your intention.’ Who wrote this?!
FRANK: This is worse than assembling that stupid bookshelf from China! ‘To place screw, believe in harmony of structure, or all shall fall to infinite collapse.’ IT COLLAPSED!
GEORGE: (flinging his arms up) THIS IS MADNESS!
DHARMA: The hand that throws away anger finds a dragon’s tail in the river of time.
ESTELLE: OH, SHUT UP!
(Dharma sips tea peacefully while the Costanzas continue shouting.)
FADE TO BLACK.