All great art is political. Even the most fantastical works of fiction often have roots in humanity’s overarching problems and existential battlegrounds, in that way mirroring our world. And once upon a time, fascism was an easy target of universal disdain and hatred given, well, its hatred of so many and its desire to control the populace for nefarious ends. Which is why there is a lot of art with a staunchly anti-fascist message, which lends itself to fantastic audition material for parts that call for hopeful leadership, passionate dismantling of bullying, and emotional complexity.
And while you may not be performing these monologues at the Kennedy Center anytime soon, there will undoubtedly be an increase in works that speak blistering truth to power, in times when it is most dangerous to do so. Unsure where to start? Allow this selection of decidedly anti-fascist monologues from film, television, and theater to guide and inspire you.
“The Great Dictator”
Few speeches speak more directly to the problems with fascism—namely, its eradication of humanity in the name of unfeeling greed. Addressed directly to camera, Charlie Chaplin’s iconic speech is a fervent plea for bravery in the face of fear, love in the face of hate, and community in the face of individuality.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be an emperor. That’s not my business. I don’t want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone, if possible. Jew, Gentile, black man, white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each other’s happiness, not by each other’s misery. We don’t want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone. And the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way. Greed has poisoned men’s souls, has barricaded the world with hate. Has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical. Our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.… The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in men, cries out for universal brotherhood, for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world—millions of despairing men, women, and little children—victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people. To those who can hear me, I say, do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed…the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish! Soldiers! Don’t give yourselves to brutes! Men who despise you—enslave you—who regiment your lives! Tell you what to do, what to think, and what to feel! Who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle! Use you as cannon fodder! Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men! Machine men, with machine minds, and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts! You don’t hate! Only the unloved hate—the unloved and the unnatural! Soldiers! Don’t fight for slavery! Fight for liberty!”
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Al Pacino’s speech in Martin Brest’s drama may not be directly about attacking a dictator, but it also isn’t not about that, either. See, the Baird School operates with a slightly fascist ideology, which is essentially to reward those who betray any student who doesn’t follow orders. Pacino’s character, a blind former colonel named Frank Slade, comes to defend one student’s honor at a disciplinary hearing, and delivers this blistering speech:
“No. I'm just gettin' warmed up. Now I don't know who went to this place—William Howard Taft, William Jennings Bryant, William Tell. Whoever. Their spirit is dead—if they ever had gone—it's gone. You're building a rat ship here. A vessel for seagoing snitches. And if you think you're preparing these minnows for manhood you better think again. Because I say you are killing the very spirit this institution proclaims it instills. What a sham! What kind of show are you guys puttin' on here today. I mean, the only class in this act is sittin' next to me. And I’m here to tell you, this boy's soul is intact. It is non-negotiable. You know how I know? Because someone here—I'm not gonna say who—offered to buy it. Only Charlie here wasn't selling.
Out of order, I'll show you out of order! You don't know what out of order is, Mr.Trask! I'd show you but I'm too old, I'm too tired, and I'm too fuckin' blind. If I were the man I was five years ago, I'd take a flame-thrower to this place. Out of order, who the hell do you think you're talking to? I've been around, you know? There was a time I could see. And I have seen boys like these, younger than these, their arms torn out, their legs ripped off. But there isn't nothin' like the sight of an amputated spirit; there is no prosthetic for that. You think you're merely sending this splendid foot soldier back home to Oregon with his tail between his legs, but I say that you are executing his soul. And why? Because he's not a Baird man. Baird men, you hurt this boy, you're going to be Baird bums, the lot of ya. And Harry, Jimmy, Trent, wherever you are out there, fuck you too.
I'm not finished! Now as I came in here, I heard those words…cradle of leadership. Well, when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall. And it has fallen here; it has fallen! Makers of men, creators of leaders, be careful what kind of leaders you're producing here. I don't know if Charlie's silence here today is right or wrong; I'm not a judge or jury. But I can tell you this: he won't sell anybody out to buy his future! And that, my friends, is called integrity, that's called courage. Now that's the stuff leaders should be made of. (pause) Now, I have come to the crossroads in my life. I always knew what the right path was. Without exception, I knew. But I never took it. You know why? It was too damn hard. Now here's Charlie; he's come to the crossroads. He has chosen a path. It's the right path. It's a path made of principle that leads to character. Let him continue on his journey. You hold this boy's future in your hands, committee! It's a valuable future. Believe me! Don't destroy it. Protect it. Embrace it. It's gonna make you proud one day. I promise you.”
“Jojo Rabbit”
A short but powerful monologue from Elsa (Thomasin McKenzie), the young Jewish girl Jojo’s mother is hiding in their home, is the perfect takedown of the powerful rhetoric and propaganda that people are told about otherized groups. It’s the ideal monologue to represent a strong, fearless young woman.
“Break free. Break free, great Aryan. There are no weak Jews. I am descended from those who wrestle angels and kill giants. We were chosen by God. You were chosen by a pathetic little man who can’t even grow a full mustache. Stronger race, huh?”
“V for Vendetta”
Though this selection is perhaps slightly more pro-anarchy than anti-fascist, those kinds of sentiments do have a lot of overlap. This monologue from V (Hugo Weaving) is a takedown of what really drives humans to roll over or even gladly welcome fascism into their lives: fear—whether it’s fear of the unknown, fear of accountability, or fear of trying and failing—and apathy. V is an unassuming power, and the calmness in the delivery showcases a different sort of anger—one that is no less effective than the louder sort. It’s the perfect monologue for an actor hoping to showcase quiet charisma.
“Good evening, London. Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of everyday routine—the security of the familiar, the tranquillity of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration, thereby those important events of the past usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, a celebration of a nice holiday, I thought we could mark this November the 5th, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat. There are of course those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now, orders are being shouted into telephones, and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well, certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic you turned to the now high chancellor, Adam Sutler. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent. Last night I sought to end that silence. Last night I destroyed the Old Bailey, to remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than 400 years ago a great citizen wished to embed the 5th of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words, they are perspectives. So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you, then I would suggest you allow the 5th of November to pass unmarked. But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me one year from tonight, outside the gates of Parliament, and together we shall give them a 5th of November that shall never, ever be forgot.”
“The Way We Were”
This Barbra Streisand classic is filled with anti-fascist sentiment and leftist ideology wrapped up in an ill-fated love story between two very different people: one political, one not. In this scene, Katie Morosky (Streisand) is fighting with the love of her life, Hubbell (Robert Redford), about how much we need to stand up for our principles.
“I’m not telling off the world, Hubbell. I’m just standing up for something I believe in. Doesn’t it make you angry, listening to Bissinger ridicule those men? Calling them martyrs just because they have guts, which he doesn’t? To fight for their principles, to fight for their bill of rights, his bill of rights, and yours?… We never will if people aren’t willing to take a stand for what’s right!”
“Les Miserables”
In this scene, Marius points out the French king’s hypocrisy. He’s fed up with the conditions the French people have found themselves in as the rich and powerful take more and more from the working classes. A rallying cry against tyranny, Marius’ speech is a powerful, emotional strike against the heart of governments that work to protect the rich at the expense of everyone else.
“We can't strike. Why not? Because it's against the law to strike! The king has declared that everything is a crime. Writing is a crime. Two weeks ago, the police destroyed the Galaty, the worker's newspaper. They smashed the press. They burned over two thousand newspapers but that didn't satisfy the king. Three days ago at a student meeting, a peaceful meeting, soldiers broke it up and arrested two of my friends. Writing, talking, going to class, speaking out is a crime. Being poor is a crime. Being poor is the worst crime of all. And if you commit any of these crimes, you are condemned for life. Our government has no pity, no mercy, no forgiveness. And there's no work for us. And because there's no work, our children are starving. Tell me: why are we powerless to save the people that we love? All of you know why. Tell me—why? The king betrayed us. We were promised the vote. Do we have it? Do we have the vote? Where is the republic our fathers died for? It's here my brothers. It lives here in our heads. But most of all, best of all, it's here in our hearts. Our hearts—we are the Republic!”
“Grapes of Wrath”
Tom Joad and his family have been through hell thanks to the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl. After killing the man who murdered preacher-turned-organizer Jim Casy, Tom knows he has to flee to keep his family safe. In trying to reassure his mother about his future (and theirs), Tom gives us a monologue that speaks to the power of people in the face of fascism.
“Well, maybe it's like Casy says. A fella ain't got a soul of his own—just a little piece of a big soul, the one big soul that belongs to everybody.… Then it don't matter. I'll be all around in the dark. I'll be everywhere—wherever you can look. Wherever there's a fight so hungry people can eat, I'll be there. Wherever there's a cop beatin' up a guy, I'll be there. I'll be in the way guys yell when they're mad. I'll be in the way kids laugh when they're hungry and they know supper's ready. And when the people are eatin' the stuff they raise, and livin' in the houses they build, I'll be there, too.”
“It Can’t Happen Here”
Sinclair Lewis’s novel-turned-play (initially adapted by Lewis and John C. Moffitt) features a blistering takedown of fascism in America and how easily it can—and does—play into our government’s machinations. In an adaptation from Tony Taccone and Bennett Cohen, journalist Doremus Jessup writes a searing tirade against their president, Buzz Windrip, for the local paper, admonishing the wannabe dictator for stoking the flames of fear in the name of control. It’s a fantastic monologue for anyone looking to showcase character growth in the name of bravely standing up for what is right.
“Mr. President: As I sit and write this, a darkness like no other descends on my hometown. The air, once light with promise, is now thick with fear. The currency of grace that once moved freely through the daily discourse of our citizenry has evaporated; replaced by an acrimony so vicious as to destroy our very humanity. There is no peace to soothe our suffering, no trust to restore our faith, no empathy to inspire generosity. There is only the disease of despair and the dull ache of survival. We lie in our beds at night, Mr. President, afraid of sleep, afraid of what our dreams of tomorrow will bring. You, sir, are to blame for this. You and your ever-growing legion of Minute Men, those mercenary pirates who stand ready for your every new command to terrorize us. They roam the streets like drunken bullies, happy to intimidate anyone unlucky enough to cross their path, and hungry to beat up anyone who objects. The possibility of murder makes them giddy, and they yearn for the day when that final atrocity becomes legal. They are your henchmen, your hounds, and you bear full responsibility for every action they take and every crime they commit. I myself have waited far too long to speak out publicly against your assault on our democracy. Whether it be from comfort or apathy or pure cowardice, whether my vision was compromised by class allegiance or intellectual rigidity, I could not see what, in fact, was happening. Like some poor penitent, I kept waiting for some miracle that might restore us to sanity. But as the days have gone by, the memory of our past history, of America’s democratic legacy of civility, compromise, and respect for the fundamental rights of every person, has, like my hometown, receded into darkness. I reject you as my President, Mr. Windrip. I reject you as the man who represents the United States of America. May God look after your soul.”
“Babylon 5”
Sci-fi and fantasy have always been fantastic tools for dressing down fascism. “Babylon 5” did exactly that on the Season 2 episode “The Long, Twilight Struggle,” written by J. Michael Straczynski. A shell-shocked G’Kar (Andreas Katsulas) gives an impassioned but extremely measured speech about how his people, the Narn, will continue to rise up against their oppressors, the Centauri. It’s another example of the quiet, understated power that can take the wind right out of a fascist’s sails.
“No dictator, no invader can hold an imprisoned population by force of arms forever. There is no greater power in the universe than the need for freedom. Against that power, governments and tyrants and armies cannot stand. The Centauri learned this lesson once, we will teach it to them again. Though it take a thousand years, we will be free.”
“Andor”
Spoilers ahead for “Andor”
This speech from Maarva Andor (Fiona Shaw) against the Empire is powerful, stirring, and deeply, emotionally evocative—because Maarva’s got nothing left to lose: She died in an earlier part of “Andor,” and her posthumous transmission here is fueled with weary knowledge and her regret about not fighting sooner or standing up when it was harder to do. It’s a powerful, fiery monologue that builds, perfect for anyone hoping to showcase a bit of leadership.
“My name is Maarva Carassi Andor. I'm honored to stand before you, honored to be a Daughter of Ferrix, and honored to be worthy of the stone. Strange; feel as if I can see you. I was 6, I think, the first time I touched a funerary stone, heard our music, felt our history—holding my sister's hand as we walked all the way from Fountain Square. Where you stand now I've been more times than I can remember. I always wanted to be lifted. I was always eager, always waiting to be inspired. I remember every time it happened, every time the dead lifted me with their truth. And now I'm dead, and I yearn to lift you—not because I want to shine or even be remembered. It's because I want you to go on. I want Ferrix to continue. In my waning hours, that's what comforts me most. But I fear for you. We've been sleeping. We've had each other and Ferrix, our work, our days—we had each other and they left us alone. We kept the trade lanes open and they left us alone. We took their money and ignored them; we kept their engines turning and the moment they pulled away, we forgot them, because we had each other. We had Ferrix, but we were sleeping. I've been sleeping. I've been turning away from a truth I wanted not to face. There is a wound that won't heal at the center of the Galaxy, there is a darkness reaching like rust into every—into everything around us. We let it grow and now it's here. It's here and it's not visiting anymore—it wants to stay. The Empire is a disease that thrives in darkness; it is never more alive than when we sleep. It's easy for the dead to tell you to fight and maybe it's true; maybe fighting is useless; perhaps it's too late, but I'll tell you this. If I could do it again, I'd wake up early and be fighting these bastards. From the start. Fight the Empire!”