Not many know the tales of the Holy Geoffrey, patron of artists and madmen. Let us start with the first.
In the beginning, young Geoffrey was an actor and he was in love. Is there a greater blessing? A greater curse? He and his beloved brought life to the stage of The Swan with their Director. For a time, sweet and brief, they were together on the stage and off of it. But alas, what love does not incur jealousy? And what power is not also temptation? Geoffrey is betrayed by his Love and his Director and it drives him to madness.
In the midst of a performance, the feigned madness of a Danish prince becomes actual madness, and Geoffrey runs away. He flits from bar to darkened yard to lake. He attempts to throttle a swan. An actual swan.
For seven years Saint Geoffrey runs. He puts on plays in black boxes. He defends the right of the obscure, the low-budget and the off-kilter theater. Until.
The Director dies — destroyed by high speed ham. He perishes and transforms: The Director becomes the Ghost. Geoffrey is pulled back into the The Swan with the Ghost at his shoulder, heckling him, directing him and arguing with him as he must put on the play that drove him mad.
Against the machinations of suits, the flash of swords, the shrillness of bad actors and the unsteadiness of his own mind, Saint Geoffrey battles. He perseveres. He prevails.