Murder in the Dark

When I was a film student in the mid 60s I read a translation of Antonin Artaud’s four page play ‘A Spurt of Blood’ (1925) and was gripped by the blunt but poetic directness of this remarkable work. Notwithstanding the author’s preoccupation with a punishing God and his fastidious unease with the sexual activity of women, the playlet is simultaneously pantomimic, florid, grotesque and grave.

The Wikipedia article on ‘A Spurt of Blood’ supplies a synopsis which supports the notion that the show could be a good night out, if a rather brief one. In my own production of the show (see below) we almost burned down the elaborately panelled ceiling of the Royal College’s Gulbenkian Hall when an ‘exploding star’ failed to fall from on high to the stage level. But that’s another story.

The extremity of the play also elicits a sort of delirious laughter in its audiences (as far as I know, Peter Brook (1964, Theatre of Cruelty season at Royal Court Theatre) and myself (1968, Royal College of Art) are the only directors to have mounted full-scale public performances of the work, which was not, it is thought, performed in Artaud’s lifetime), akin to the nervous delight aroused by some horror films – John Carpenter’s ‘The Thing’ (1982) is a fine example of this, as are, in what can only be called the Lynch genre, David Lynch’s ‘Blue Velvet’ (1986) and ‘Twin Peaks’ (1990-91), not to mention the rest of his work apart from the untypically charming ‘Straight Story’ (1999).

Peter Bradshaw, in a re-release preview for The Guardian captures the alarming humour of ‘Blue Velvet’ in a summary of the opening sequence that establishes the director’s mastery of deadpan excess – ‘(Jeffrey’s) capacity for obsessive rapture and scopophilia is unlocked by the bizarre discovery of a severed ear in some waste ground after walking home from the hospital where his dad is recovering from serious spinal injuries.’ The same species of horrified delight can be experienced most recently in the utter melancholic darkness of HBO’s ‘True Detective’ (2014, writer Nick Pizzollato, director Cary Fukunaga), which provokes dread-filled giggling in its rotating passages of philosophy, sociopathy and redneck homicidal occultism.

‘True Detective’ is not devoid of cliché insofar as the obligatory naked, tortured, tattooed, decorated and decaying female corpse is revealed within the first few minutes of Episode 1. Images of the extreme and homicidal abuse of women have become common in ‘dark’ film and TV dramas and have supplanted other lesser darknesses (drug retail and dependency, mainstream murder, police corruption etc) associated with the contemporary thriller genre. The ultimate plot driver now, it seems, is something so foul that it will appal and energise all who choose to endure it.

Certain crimes are deemed ‘unspeakable’ but they do, in fact, frequently prove to be describable both in words and images. Their unspeakableness is a function of the fact that they are, as far as the complainant is concerned, ‘undoable’ – one cannot imagine doing them oneself. (You can see the point of robbing a bank but do you really want to dismember women?) The crimes are not wholly unfamiliar, however. The horror that they provoke is partly comprised of uneasiness about the possibility that the darkness from which they arise is without boundaries. That is, it may reside in oneself, not just in psychopaths. It is possible, therefore, that one could imagine doing those sort of deeds oneself. But one would not do them. And one would not wish to test one’s imagination in order to see if they are imaginable. Because what if you started imagining then you liked what you saw? Unthinkable. But all sorts of cultural products will do it for you instead.

None of this is particularly contentious. Dark films and TV only thrive if they strike a chord, after all. And there’s no doubt that a violent, pervasive misogyny is on the rise. But why is it on the rise? Do we watch these dark programmes because we all somehow became psychos fairly recently? Or has the prevailing economic and political ideology reached the stage of development at which its hitherto obscured internal logic is steadily emerging and finding expression in extreme behaviours? If the latter is the case then the misogyny in dark films and TV is not only a psychiatric articulation but is a product of political formations that marginalise empathy and generate an extensive murderousness.

It can then be argued that the fashionable and apparently fascinating dismemberment of women is ‘successful’ in current fiction partly because it offers a coded indictment and partial analysis not of individual psychopaths but whole social systems. Such an analysis is hard to formulate, we see symptoms easily enough but causes are mysterious – we want to know whodunnit. But it seems to be transpersonal, taking place on a global scale. It would be objectionable to imply that widespread misogyny is no more than a symptom of a grander but less tangible scheme, but perhaps useful at least to make links between economic ideology, alpha masculinity and a hatred of women.

27.05.2015

The Role of Triumphant Post-Industrial Capitalism in the Formation of the Early Twenty-First Century Personality

The script, written in 2004, demonstrates how very quickly certain cultural references become as dated as black and white television despite the passage of only ten years. The reader must imagine, for example, that the term ‘GPS’ was obscure and exotic back then. Mind you, this writer can remember when there was no such thing as bottled water.


An enclosed rectangular performance space was built in the theatre with a gallery running around its perimeter. The audience was seated in the gallery and looked down upon the action.


Part I consists of twelve sets of lines. The lines are spoken one at a time by the three actors one after the other. The characters wear underwear only and are wired into the electricity mains. After each set of lines is delivered the characters get punished for their poor attitudes with electric shocks. The shocks escalate in intensity until the characters know better.


The actors were Gerard Bell, Barney Power and Bernadette Russell, whose abbreviated surnames preface their dialogue lines in Part II.


Part I
1
People don’t want to be doctors.
It’s too difficult.
It takes too long.
People when they get ill must look after themselves.
When you cut yourself you must sew it up with cotton and a clean needle.
If you break your arm you must tie it up tight between two firm sticks.
2
The bridges aren’t particularly safe.
A car went through one last week.
When the bridges break they close them but people still try to get across on them.
Just because one car went through doesn’t mean they’ll all go through.
You can see the hole where one went through so obviously you avoid that hole.
There’s quite a few bridges you can still get across.
3
It’s very hot which is nice.
You can wear just your shirt or plus a light top, a zipper top, all the year.
And there are flowers all the year.
There’s a fair amount of rain but nothing like the cold.
They have cold elsewhere, towards the north.
Most people up there have left anyway.
4
People are in their homes.
Everybody has a computer.
Food is brought round.
Or you can get it in the street.
Sandwiches.
Things to heat up.
5
The films come out at the end of the week.
You can be in them if you want.
Some people like to be in the films and others like the actors to be in them.
If you’re in them you’re not in the story but your face is.
You don’t know what’s going to happen next.
Your face doesn’t see what the actors see, I think.
6
Sometimes people don’t show up.
That’s what it’s like.
Every effort is made to minimise the terrible threats.
We shall not sleep until this business is put to bed.
When something happens you know nothing much will happen for a while.
So you feel better, you shouldn’t but you do.
7
People want to be dentists.
It’s not too hard.
It’s only a small area.
People’s teeth need the work.
They don’t last that long.
They’re like children’s teeth.
8
The zoos are very good.
You have to book in advance.
They have just about everything.
They have birds and a whole range of dogs.
Children love the birds.
They can’t imagine how they fly.
9
If you are lucky then good luck will happen to you from time to time.
If you are unlucky then good luck will happen slightly less to you.
Luckily, most people are lucky.
It could be anything – a gift of unexpected money or a big advantage.
There’s nothing you can do to make it happen.
It will happen to most people sooner or later.
10
There’s not much can be done for you.
Which is why you must live in the city.
In the country you must look after yourself.
There are no doctors or dentists there.
There’s no food there.
There are no animals there.
11
People are starting to move into space.
There’s a lot of it!
I don’t think they know where they’re going.
They’re the lucky ones.
They’ll find somewhere.
Many planets are like ours.
12
The lifespan is about right.
It took some tinkering.
Fifty years is a long time.
More would be nice.
You see some quite old ones sometimes.
The things they remember!


The Bridge
Now that they have changed their attitudes the characters receive their reward – a bottle of wine and clothes and makeup flown down on a table. The reformed characters will groom themselves: the lady will apply makeup and high heels etc and the gentlemen will don stylish jackets and ties etc. This can take as long as it takes.
For this scene all lights, including house lights are brought up.
Music plays over this episode:


Part II
Lights down, to a new state.
BARN And Bouncy was gorgeous!
BERN You call her Bouncy?
BARN Isn’t that how you pronounce it?
BERN (LAUGHS) You monkey!
GERD I preferred her when she was J-Lo.
BERN (LAUGHS)
BARN Same arse.
BERN No! J-Lo is streets ahead.
GERD They both have very good skin.
BERN Gorgeous skin! God, I’d love skin like that!
BARN Do you moisturise?
BERN Do I moisturise!? Come on!
GERD It’s not the cream so much as the water, you know.
BERN Well, yes. The cream is a way of conveying water into the skin. The actual cream is for the surface but it’s the water that plumps the skin up.
BARN I use fragrances.
GERD That’s very different. They de-moisturise.
BARN Really?
BERN Of course – they’ve got alcohol in them. It evaporates and dries the skin.
BARN You can’t win.
GERD You could use a neutral moisturiser. One without fragrance.
BARN I don’t know if I can be bothered.
BERN Guess where we went last night.
BARN The railway station.
BERN No! The new Mac shop.
GERD In Regent Street.
BERN It’s a palace! It’s totally amazing!
GERD It is extraordinary.
BERN I just want everything.
GERD And what did you get?
BARN She got the iPod.
BERN Wha-at?
BARN It’s obvious.
GERD Not the Mini.
BERN Why?
BARN Waste of money. 4 gig. Too small.
BERN But they’re cute!
BARN Girly.
GERD For another fifty quid you can get 10 gig.
BERN What does that mean?
BARN Two thousand songs.
BERN Bloody hell!
GERD Still, they’re good in the gym. Not too heavy.
BERN I know. I’ve been doing yoga with it. Brilliant.
GERD Are you still doing Iyengar?
BERN I’ve moved on to Astanga. It’s awesome.
GERD It seems a bit frantic.
BERN No! Exactly not! It’s in tune with city life, that’s the point – the pace of it.
BARN It’s not restful though, is it?
BERN Well, Cormorant says – he’s my teacher…
BARN Is that his name?
BERN Yeah. Well, it’s his teaching name. His real name is Steve.
BARN Right.
GERD What does he say?
BERN He says it’s like a homeopathic yoga: you treat same with same.
GERD Meaning?
BERN Like city life is full of speed and stress and this goes into your body so you cure it with a speedy practise.
BARN I don’t agree. You should try hot yoga. Really hammers it out of you.
BERN In a sauna?
BARN Can be. You sweat your guts out. But you get fantastic stretches.
GERD You do it?
BARN I went once. Awesome. I have to say it makes you fucking thirsty.
GERD Little herb tea or something?
BARN I have to say, again: a little pint.
BERN Oh!
BARN I was reading, they used to have this drink in the fifties, called the Dog’s Nose. Appalling.
GERD Yes…
BARN A pint, right, with two shots of gin in.
BERN Yuck!
BARN No. Blows your head off.
BERN Barf!
BARN Francis Bacon used to drink it.
BERN Well, there you are. Say no more.
GERD I love his stuff.
BERN He’s done Kate Moss.
GERD That’s Lucien Freud.
BARN Son of the famous.
BERN Is he his son?
GERD Or grandson – can’t remember.
BARN What do you think about all that?
GERD What? Psychoanalysis?
BARN Yeah.
GERD I don’t need it.
BARN I didn’t say you did.
BERN (TO GERD) That’s paranoid.
GERD No. It’s probably fine.
BARN If you’re nuts.
BERN You know what, I think a lot of it’s diet.
BARN There may be nuts in this bar. (HE LAUGHS AT HIS OWN JOKE)
BERN Seriously – all the shit we’re eating. It alters your mood.
GERD Where was it – they fed these prisoners on a low fat and sugar diet and the violence just dropped.
BARN People don’t drink enough water.
GERD Does it change your mood?
BARN It makes you younger.
BERN That’s actually not possible.
BARN I don’t mean literally.
GERD You said it literally.
BARN If you drink two litres a day…
GERD Six glasses.
BARN …you glow.
BERN Glow?
BARN Not literally.
BERN You said glow.
GERD It’s certainly good for the skin.
BARN I prefer to moisturise.
GERD What do you use?
BARN Something with a pleasant smell. I don’t like fragrances.
BERN Why? You can get gorgeous ones.
BARN They dry the skin out. They’re basically alcohol.
GERD Actually aromas can change your mood. You can de-stress with various aroma combinations.
BERN You can get aromatic yoga oil.
GERD Exactly.
BARN George Bush!
BERN Don’t!
BARN What can you say?
GERD Dreadful.
BARN I’ve got some great photos on my phone.
BERN Nothing saucy, I hope.
BARN No. The other night.
GERD Oh dear.
BARN Well might you say that.
BERN What’s he doing?
BARN I’ll show you later. Fascinating stuff.
GERD Oh dear.
BERN God! My friend has this phone from Japan. It’s got GPS on it.
GERD What’s GPS?
BLACKOUT
END.

2005

The Mood Lounge

The playlet was derived from themes in ‘The Tempest’. Allusions may also be detected to the classic science fiction film ‘Forbidden Planet’ (1956), directed by Fred Wilcox and starring, among others, Leslie Nielsen some time prior to his ‘Naked Gun’ (1988) success. In the film a group of astronauts from Earth land on Altair 4 and are entranced by Altaira, the Miranda-like daughter of the Prospero-like autocratic scientist Dr Edward Morbius. Altaira has never met anyone other than her father. One of the most moving speeches from ‘Blade Runner’ (1982) is also the subject of brief homage.


An enclosed rectangular performance space was built in the theatre with a gallery running around its perimeter. The audience was seated in the gallery and looked down upon the action.
All the furniture on stage was rigged so that it could be flown off the ground when required.


MICHAEL is attached to his daughter.
CANDY knows nothing of cocks.
ANDY has not seen a woman in some time.


Scene: An elegant sitting room.
MICHAEL IS SITTING ON AN ARM-CHAIR.
A DOOR BELL RINGS (THE TWO NOTE DING-DONG).
MICHAEL I went to the theatre with a friend the other night. I saw a play, I can’t remember what it was called. Written by somebody quite well known. In the play, a man, played by one of the actors – very good – began talking about his thoughts and feelings on a subject. I can’t remember the subject – it was quite important, quite topical. It may have been a situation, actually, now that I think of it. He was talking about a situation in the play – something to do with how people were treating each other. His observations were very shrewd, very insightful. He described his feelings with equal clarity. He seemed to be exceptionally in touch with them – one could see them playing across the muscles of his face. The speech in which all this took place was very long. The interesting thing was that the man was a gardener. In the play he played a gardener. Not that gardeners are incapable of insight, it’s just that…well. Another odd thing was that he was on his own. He was talking to himself.
ENTER CANDY
CANDY Hello Daddy.
MICHAEL Hello.
CANDY Don’t even ask!
MICHAEL I wasn’t going to.
CANDY I’ve been arranging things.
MICHAEL Somebody has to.
LOUD FOOTSTEPS ARE HEARD OUTSIDE (i.e. IN THE CORRIDOR SURROUNDING THE ROOM)
CANDY I’ve been a bit bored, actually.
MICHAEL How is that possible?
CANDY I don’t know.
MICHAEL To be bored you must have a sense that there is more. You have only known this world of ours. You cannot know that there is more.
CANDY (RELIEVED) Oh, Daddy!
THE DOOR BELL RINGS
MICHAEL There are bulbs to be planted, roses to be dead-headed and many manures to be mixed.
CANDY I have the manure of the cow, the horse and the chicken.
MICHAEL And your leopard Benny.
CANDY Today Benny lay with Richard.
MICHAEL Your chicken.
CANDY Richard pressed himself into the fur of Benny’s proud chest.
MICHAEL Strictly speaking, Richard is a male name…which would tend to make him a cock.
CANDY I know nothing of cocks.
LOUD FOOTSTEPS ARE HEARD OUTSIDE, FROM A DIFFERENT SIDE.
THE DOOR BELL RINGS
MUSIC: AS CANDY SPEAKS WE HEAR THE OPENING OF ‘MEIN HERZ BRENNT’ (RAMMSTEIN) UNDER HER SPEECH.
CANDY Sometimes I experience fleeting sensations of confusion as if warring forces writhed beneath my skin pressing blue serpents up through my flesh. From where do these fevers spring? Are they heralds of some ghastly gusher or is it something sent from up to down me? And if it is to down me then what is up? Have I blotted the book in which rites by rote are written – the directory to which our every enquiry is addressed? Should this be so then these snakes that surge and shudder in my fundament are more venous than I am vain.
AT THE INSTRUMENTAL BREAK [56”] CANDY STOPS SPEAKING AND SCREAMS AS ONE OF THE DOORS BURSTS OPEN, REVEALING ANDY. MUSIC PLAYS TO [1’20”] AS ALL STUDY EACH OTHER. THEN
ANDY I was just passing.
MICHAEL Ciao.
CANDY Daddy! It’s a monkey!
MICHAEL Did you take the stairs?
ANDY I’m afraid I did. Quite a climb.
CANDY What is he saying?
MICHAEL My daughter sees few visitors.
CANDY He is enormous!
ANDY Average, I can assure you.
MICHAEL (to ANDY) She has seen the world only from a great height.
ANDY (to CANDY) You’ve been in space, then?
CANDY I’m sorry?
ANDY You’ve been in space, then?
CANDY I’m sorry?
ANDY You’ve been in space, then?
CANDY (to MICHAEL) Daddy…
MICHAEL She is used only to my voice.
CANDY And the growls of Benny.
MICHAEL Benny is her leopard.
ANDY You have a leopard?
CANDY I’m sorry?
MICHAEL (to CANDY) He asks if you have a leopard.
CANDY Of course I have a leopard.
ANDY Does he bite?
MUSIC: INSTRUMENTAL BREAK [56” – 1’20”]: ‘MEIN HERZ BRENNT’ (RAMMSTEIN) AT FIRST LOUD THEN UNDER NEXT SPEECH.
LIGHTS: SNAP CHANGE TO OVERHEAD SPOT ON CANDY’S HEAD AND SHOULDERS.
ANDY PRODUCES A VIDEO CAMERA CONNECTED TO THE ONSTAGE MONITOR. HE FRAMES A TIGHT SHOT OF CANDY’S HEAD. MICHAEL SLOWLY TURNS THE MONITOR ON ITS WHEELED STAND SO THAT THE AUDIENCE IN THE GALLERY CAN SEE THE IMAGE.
CANDY Does he bite? Does Benny bite? Does Richard peck? Does my pigeon Walter coo? Does my ocelot go out a lot? Do my doves cry? Does my lynx expire? Are my lambs eating from my hand? Would Sultan the dog duck a thrown bone? Is my quiet doe pressing her nose against my arm, her wide eyes reflecting the lights behind my head? Does my duck Daisy die a little every time I say goodbye? When the three suns Thorax, Dido and Calliope slide at dusk beneath the green sands do my soft birds tuck up in the mouth of John my melancholy cougar?
MUSIC: STOPS
LIGHTS: REVERT TO PREVIOUS ‘NORMAL’ STATE.
CAMERA IS PUT ASIDE.
PAUSE IN SILENCE
ANDY I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time like tears in the rain… Time to die.
MICHAEL Andy…
ANDY You know my name…
MICHAEL You were expected.
ANDY I was only passing…I saw a light…Way up…I hadn’t eaten…I hadn’t spoken.
MICHAEL You must have some soup before you go.
CANDY He cannot go!
SHE CLASPS ANDY’S HANDS
My head is in the clouds. Tell me of life down there.
ANDY Down…where?
MICHAEL I recommend the cream of asparagus.
ANDY “And the snows swirled round the galaxies of Asparagan
And I fell to my lot, tumbling to nebulae
As the low light choked.”
CANDY That’s beautiful.
ANDY Nielsen. The last play.
MICHAEL Do you want the soup?
ANDY I seem to have lost my appetite…for food.
MICHAEL TURNS AWAY, TRYING TO CONCEAL HIS IRRITATION.
MICHAEL Perhaps you’d prefer something more solid.
FLYING : ALL THE HEAVY FURNITURE RISES SIX INCHES THEN RETURNS TO THE GROUND. THIS IS ACCOMPANIED BY MUSIC, WHICH STOPS AS THE FLYING STOPS.
CANDY I’m sure, sir, that you’d be most welcome to partake of our hospitality.
ANDY How kind.
ANDY STEPS INTO THE ROOM AND SITS ON THE RECENTLY AIRBORNE SOFA.
CANDY Are you an adventurer?
ANDY I have recently returned from Africa. A group of likeminded individuals decided to examine the place closely. We took a region each. I got the Horn.
CANDY Is it very large?
MICHAEL Nothing grows there.
FLYING: THE COFFEE TABLE JUMPS UP AND DOWN IRRITABLY.
THIS IS ACCOMPANIED BY MUSIC, WHICH STOPS AS THE FLYING STOPS.
ANDY TAKES UP THE VIDEO CAMERA AGAIN AND FRAMES A SHOT OF CANDY’S HEAD AS SHE SPEAKS.
MICHAEL WATCHES HER ON THE MONITOR.
CANDY I know nothing of geography, the diversity of terrains, the colours of skin, the variety of customs and practices, the way in which people much like you might buy food, hail a fellow in the street, open a gift, visit the theatre in order to see acts and scenes, watch fishing boats depart, gaze upon a dying flower, turn away from cruel sports, chuck a child’s chin, debate the pros and cons of this thing and that thing into the night, the cigarettes falling at your shoes.
ANDY But you have your puma Billy.
CANDY He is a leopard.
ANDY Benny.
ANDY CONTINUES FILMING AS MICHAEL WATCHES THE MONITOR.
MICHAEL (TO THE MONITOR) All these things of which you speak – they are details, symptoms, evidence of great engines of pattern.
CANDY No, Daddy!
MICHAEL These boats, these flowers, these…
ANDY Cigarettes.
ANDY TURNS THE CAMERA ON MICHAEL.
GRADUALLY, THROUGHOUT MICHAEL’S SPEECH, THE FURNITURE TAKES TO THE AIR.
MUSIC PLAYS UNDER THE SPEECH.
MICHAEL Can you not see? They float across the merest surface of the real – baubles, tidbits, a cascade of bric à brac jostling to seize the attention that is so very easily seized one wonders why we do not simply dispense with the whole busy charade and instead gaze all day at a great golden ball suspended from a hook in the sky, pausing only to sleep, eat and void ourselves. What would be the difference? You have no inkling of the power that lies on the other side! If you could reach through, just for a moment, if you could sunder the fabric that strikes you as so solid, if you could part the curtains whose designs, you feel, are some clue to some formula that will unlock some tremendous secret that will let you soar above all the other salivating slaves, then what would you find? You do not have within you the strength to withstand what is out there! Your glimpse would be conducted through the flames of your own inexorable immolation! Let us walk with giants now! Let us mingle with the Eternals who step between worlds, collapsing universes as they dance across the sands of time!
BY THIS TIME ALL OF MICHAEL’S FURNITURE IS FLYING UP AND DOWN AND LIGHTS ARE FLASHING HIGH ABOVE THE LOUNGE.
THE CAMERA IS TURNED ON CANDY.
CANDY Daddy! You cannot stop me loving him! I have been yours for too long! I have loved you as a daughter and all that I am has come from you. But now I have tasted worlds beyond the penthouse. I have stepped beyond the law. Andy and I will soon be taking the elevator out of here.
A MASS OF FLOWERS AND FRUIT BEGINS SLOWLY TO DESCEND INTO THE ROOM.
MUSIC: ‘MUTTER’ (RAMMSTEIN). UNDER.
IN THE COURSE OF HER SPEECH CANDY MOVES HER HAND TO HER GROIN AND APPEARS TO CONTROL THE DESCENT OF THE FLOWERS AND FRUIT BY TOUCHING HERSELF.
What you did not realise, Daddy, when you sequestered me here, was that magic and desire are inextricably linked. As I languished in my apartments, naked before the mirror, pondering the exquisite folds of my own body, asking myself why was I thus designed, for what purpose were these recesses granted me, I slowly came to realise that the longer I waited the more intense were the energies that craved expression. Somehow I knew that if I were not to wake up quite beside myself I must find an outlet. This is where you helped me, Daddy, if unwittingly. Your mastery of matter was the clue. But I had no knowledge. Your capacious library of occult arcana was always locked. All I had was my body. Daddy – imagine my surprise when I found that with the gentlest of intimate caresses I too could intervene in the subatomic worlds of the quantum, those ghostly realms of quark and antiquark, where lepton dances with hadron, where all is up, down, charmed and strange. Using an intuitive grasp of contemporary physics I had penetrated the mysteries that conjoin the minute with the mighty. And now – I seize the time! (SHOUTS) That’s enough!
SHE SCREAMS ECSTATICALLY.
A DEAFENING MAROON IS IGNITED.
THE FLOWERS AND FRUIT INSTANTLY STOP DESCENDING.
MICHAEL FALLS TO HIS KNEES.
ANDY The fathers are dead. The prohibitions are as dust. The sons and daughters are free. We may glide where we may. The birds will feed us.
MUSIC: SINGLE POWER CHORD FROM ‘MEIN HERZ BRENNT’.
THE COUPLE CLASPS HANDS.
BLACKOUT.
END.

2005

Romeo, Juliet the Vermette Lift

There must be something we can do with these gadgets, we thought. If we don’t use them we’ve got to find a place to put them. We could put the actors on them and see what happens. We’ll use both of them. What are they called again?


A KEY ONSTAGE APPARATUS IN THIS PLAYLET IS THE VERMETTE LIFT, A PORTABLE HAND-CRANKED WINCH CAPABLE OF LIFTING, IN THE MANNER OF A FORK LIFT, HEAVY LOADS OR PERSONS ON A PLATFORM. IF A PERSON STEPS ONTO THE PLATFORM S/HE MAY BE VERTICALLY LIFTED BY THE EFFORTS OF ANOTHER, WHO WILL OPERATE THE DOUBLE HANDLED CRANK.
THERE ARE TWO LIFTS VISIBLE, ONE EITHER SIDE OF THE STAGE. THE PLATFORM OF THE LIFT ON STAGE RIGHT IS RAISED TO ITS LIMIT, THE OTHER ON STAGE LEFT IS AT FLOOR LEVEL.
A YOUNG WOMAN IS DISCOVERED ON THE STAGE RIGHT LIFT, LIT IN SUCH A WAY THAT SHE SEEMS TO BE FLOATING IN MID AIR. AT THE FOOT OF HER LIFT IS A PAGE, WHO WILL OPERATE THE CRANK WHEN APPROPRIATE.


WOMAN So I said “What do you mean? All I want is for you to tell me the truth is that asking too much? Is it asking too much for someone to want someone to be truthful to them, so that when they say something they know that the person’s not trying to deceive them? Never knowing that is horrible, can you imagine what that’s like? Just hearing all this stuff and it could be just rubbish, just being made up on the spot and you’re supposed to act like this is all fantastic, it’s all so real and at last someone is being open to me, at last after all the lies and pretence, time after time, it’s so tiring, it makes you so sad, will you ever find someone who can just look you in the eye, it’s not asking such a great lot, is it? I mean really, do you think I’m being unreasonable, do you? I mean, do you? Someone who can just look you in the eye, not just to say ‘I love you, I really want you forever,’ not that, I don’t mean that, I don’t need that, I’m just saying, you know, ‘Look me in the eye when you speak to me, don’t shift away, what are you hiding? What do you really want? Do you want me to pretend? Is that what you want? Like “Let’s make it up like in a book or a film? Where she runs across very slowly, in slow motion, and there’s sad uplifting music and his arms are held out and her arms are held out and they’re both laughing both crying – even the way I’m saying it gets you going, it gets me going – and they meet in the middle and the music is going…” I mean, is that what you want? Do you want it like that? I mean, we all probably do, at some level, love at first sight, arms held out, just reading each other’s hearts, no words, just looks and everything you’d thought of they’d thought of and all the things that’d moved them move you, and isn’t that so fantastic, it’s unbelievable, ‘Yes, I had a nervous breakdown too’, ‘Yes, my father had affairs too’, ‘Yes, I lost a dog to a truck on the road’, ‘Yes, I fell on a run, I hit my head, I saw the sand, I looked at the sky, I held my arms out, I…

AT GROUND LEVEL, COMING UP OUT OF OF THE DARK, MAN 1 CRANKS HIMSELF ON THE STAGE LEFT LIFT TO A POINT JUST BELOW THE WOMAN, AS IF HE WERE BELOW HER BALCONY.

MAN1 Bill, that’s Bill Hunt, said, “The man wants the woman but it must not be too fast.” What he meant was you shouldn’t hurry, you’ll regret it, what’s the hurry? There is no hurry. So why hurry? But that’s Bill. He’s a racing driver. Well, he drives at the weekends. He has his own cup – the Bill Hunt Trophy. He’s out near Wisbech. But that’s all very well. The rest of us have to get on with it. I have to. I ask myself “Am I asking too much? Am I looking for something that actually doesn’t exist, actually cannot exist? That can’t be wrong. What could be wrong about that? We’re just talking about standards. If you don’ t have standards you might as well fuck a mud puddle. Which, frankly, now that you mention it, more or less sums up Bill Hunt’s taste. He’d shag a letterbox if there was hair round it. No disrespect. In many ways he’s a lovely bloke. Not that I’m talking about sex all the time. No. I was actually talking about standards. How can you not have them? Are you going to say “I’ll just take it as it comes, weighing up each case on its merits? I’m just open to what happens, me.” Well, excuse me, Mister So Fucking Smart, taking the case on its merits, what are the merits? Eh? Who decides what merits the merits? If you see what I mean. Who is to say, at the end of the day – song lyric there – who is to say, just what it is that this case has got that is so special? Because that’s making standards. People say to me “Victor, you expect too much of the woman. You expect beauty including a great body, a terrific sense of humour, great clothes sense, a taste for fine wines, loves dancing particularly soul and relaxing to Sinatra or Peggy Lee but not averse to bigging it up if the sounds are right, very good at quick delicious snacks, enjoys the cinema, will give a quick blowjob without expecting a lot of buildup, takes it up the arse now and again, not to the detriment of the front way, of course, the front way is where you make babies, after all, and that’s great, I have nothing against that, it’s biology and it’s very impressive, and who knows, one day, if I meet the right person, but there’s no hurry, there’s really no hurry, that’s one thing you have to be very sure about, very sure indeed, you have to get it right because that’s a kiddy you’re talking about, a tiny little child, but no, at the end of the day it’s statistics – at my age, an age women like by the way, not headstrong but still trim, still something you’d like to fondle…

AT THE FOOT OF THE LIFTER BEARING THE WOMAN, A YOUNGER MAN APPEARS

MAN 2 Very fresh, not affected, long walks, headlands, lovely flowers – gorse, vetch, poppy, dog-violet, lovely fabrics – tulle, organza, grosgrain, linen, lovely music – Mendelsohn, Brahms, the Welsh Male Voice Choir, lovely wines – Pouilly, Vouvray, very emotional, fond of cheese, cries in films, excited by contact sports, drawn to animals, protective of young puppies or foals, fond of fragrances, nothing too robust, argument is fine, discussion is probably better, sees the other’s point of view, not defensive, likes the window open, doesn’t mind a fug when the cardigans are wet, a dog, not the smell of dog on clothes, bright not clever clever, the coast in February, subtitles okay but a decent story, Aragorn or Legolas? It’s a tough call, being silent isn’t a problem, a takeway Indian, passionate about human rights, particular about trainers, a special haircut for special occasions, not too bothered, no need to be aggressive, poker, Scrabble, Legolas at the end of the day, not too sure about Damien Hirst, look after your body, you only get one, fond of humour, gorse, spaghetti, Ayrton Senna if possible, agnostic at the end of the day, wouldn’t rule it out wouldn’t rule it in, it’s something you feel…

THE WOMAN AND MAN 2 FALL IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.
MAN 2 A horse goes into a bar…
WOMAN Haha.
MAN 2 The barman says ‘Why the long face?’
WOMAN Hahaha
MAN 2 Hahahaha
WOMAN Hahahahaha
MAN 2 You laugh like water.
WOMAN You laugh like the sea.
MAN 2 Which is water.
WOMAN Yes!
MAN 2 Your breath smells…
WOMAN I hope not!
MAN 2 Hahaha
WOMAN Hahaha
MAN 2 No! I mean…
WOMAN It’s just me!
MAN 2 I thought…
WOMAN No!
MAN 2 You’re direct. You’re straight.
WOMAN You’re honest.
MAN 2 I try to be.
WOMAN You’re quiet.
MAN 2 …like honeysuckle.
WOMAN Is that quiet?
MAN 2 No, your breath.
WOMAN Haha
MAN 2 Hahaha
WOMAN Do you have brothers and sisters?
MAN 2 No.
WOMAN You seem easy though.
MAN 2 I feel easy with you.
WOMAN We haven’t met before, have we?
MAN 2 I think I’d remember.
WOMAN I feel as though I know you.
MAN 2 That’s what I feel.
WOMAN You’ve got an old soul
MAN 2 Old King Cole.
WOMAN What?
MAN 2 Was a merry old soul.
WOMAN I don’t think I know him.
MAN 2 A merry old soul was he.
WOMAN No.
MAN 2 It doesn’t matter.
WOMAN Nothing matters.
MAN 2 Have you had a nervous breakdown?
WOMAN Yes! Have you?
MAN 2 Yes!
WOMAN Are you over it?
MAN 2 Definitely.
WOMAN Do you know why?
MAN 2 Why I’m over it?
WOMAN No!
MAN 2 Haha
WOMAN Hahaha
MAN 2 Family things, I think. My father was having an affair.
WOMAN That’s wonderful!
MAN 2 Yes.
WOMAN What are you thinking?
MAN 2 I was wondering if I could come up.
WOMAN I’d love that.
MAN 2 It could be tricky.
WOMAN It looks tricky.
MAN 2 Don’t go away!
MAN 2 LEAVES THE STAGE RIGHT LIFTER AND WALKS OVER TO THE OTHER LIFTER, WHICH IS STILL OCCUPIED BY MAN 1.
MAN 1 CRANKS HIMSELF DOWN TO GROUND LEVEL.
MAN 2 I wonder if you can help me.
MAN 1 What’s your problem?
MAN 2 I wonder if I could borrow your vehicle.
MAN 1 What for?
MAN 2 I’ve just met a very beautiful woman and I want to get up to her.
MAN 1 I don’t lend my vehicle.
MAN 2 This is exceptional.
MAN 1 Not for me. For you.
MAN 2 I’ll bring it back.
MAN 1 Of course you’ll bring it back. If I was to lend it to you, which I won’t, I wouldn’t say ‘And by the way, don’t bring it back.’
MAN 2 Of course not.
MAN 1 Do you think I’m a cunt?
MAN 2 Certainly not.
MAN1 You think I’m a cunt.
MAN 2 No.
MAN 1 You said ‘I’ll bring it back.’ That’s a cunt talking to a person as if they were a cunt.
MAN 2 Are you calling me a cunt?
MAN 1 I fucking seem to be. I fucking seem to be calling you a cunt that wants to get up a very beautiful woman.
MAN 2 Not get up. Get up to.
MAN 1 You don’t want to fuck her then?
MAN 2 It’s none of your business.
MAN 1 Are you queer?
MAN 2 None of your business.
MAN 1 You’re queer. You’re a fucking poof that wants to get up a woman’s arse.
MAN 2 That’s not queer, is it? That’s normal.
MAN 1 Fucking normal! Up a woman’s fucking arse?
MAN 2 I didn’t say I wanted to.
MAN 1 No. Of course not. Because you’re a fucking nancy boy.
MAN 2 Don’t call me a fucking nancy.
MAN 1 It’s not judgmental. You’ll have to learn to live with it.
MAN 2 Fuck you.
MAN 1 You and who?
MAN 2 Fuck you in the face.
MAN 1 Do you want some?
MAN 2 Try your luck. Try your fucking luck.
MAN 1 You want some, don’t you?
MAN 2 I’ve fucking got some, cunt.
THE YOUNGER MAN PRODUCES A KNIFE AND STABS THE OLDER MAN, ONCE IN THE STOMACH, TWICE IN THE BACK AS HE DOUBLES OVER.
THE WOMAN GROWS ANXIOUS.
WOMAN Beautiful. So beautiful. He’s like a song. I can’t believe it. He’s so beautiful. I never would have thought… I just wasn’t expecting it. He speaks to me. He tells me. His eyes… He looks into me. I melt away. He knows me. What shall we do? Will we kiss? I’m shy. I’m burning. Where is he? What’s he doing? He’s been gone too long. But he told me. He was honest. He looked into me. What did he see? Was I too pleased? Did I laugh too much? Does he mind women who laugh? Was I ugly? Did he see that? Can he see under my eyes? Did he think I was lonely? But I’m not, I’m not! It just doesn’t happen that often. And when it does, you want to laugh because it’s like a song and you know the songs are foolish but you know they’re true, they’re what we feel but we daren’t say. But I wasn’t expecting it and it was a surprise and I was so pleased. Did he see that? Did he not like that? Did he think I’d cling? Did he think I’d turn into something else? All over him? Smothering him? But I don’t want that. It’s just that it’s been so long. You get excited. Perhaps you shouldn’t show it. You shouldn’t show it, idiot! You fool! He saw your shit! He saw your blood! He put his eyes in! He put his hand in! Into my blood! Into my shit! He saw worms! He saw them – writhing, yellow, hissing. He saw my mouth, under my arms. He saw my eyes – like jelly! He feels sick! He’s lifted up a rock and he doesn’t like it! Who would? It’s normal, isn’t it – you step on it. Get out of my way!

SHE PRODUCES A KNIFE AND CUTS HER WRIST. BLOOD RUNS DOWN HER DRESS ALL THE WAY TO THE FLOOR BELOW THE LIFTER PLATFORM. SHE DIES.
THE YOUNGER MAN GETS THE PAGE TO PUSH THE STAGE LEFT LIFTER TOWARDS THE LIFTER BEARING THE WOMAN. WHEN THEY ARE ALIGNED TO HIS SATISFACTION HE GETS THE PAGE TO CRANK HIM UP TO THE LEVEL OF HER BALCONY. WHEN HE ARRIVES AT THAT LEVEL HE IS HORRIFIED TO DISCOVER THAT THE WOMAN IS DEAD.
THE PAGE CRANKS HIM DOWN TO GROUND LEVEL. HE TAKES THE HANDLES OF THE OTHER LIFTER AND CRANKS THE WOMAN TO THE UPPERMOST LIMIT. HER BODY PASSES INTO A BAND OF LIGHT AND SHE SEEMS TO HAVE ENTERED AN UNEARTHLY REALM.

MAN 2 No! No! No! Why? Was it my nerves? Didn’t I seem keen? Was I cold? If only she knew! I wasn’t reserved! I looked straight at her, told her what I felt. I was there, all the time, never wavering. I opened myself. What more can you do? You have to let people know! That can’t be wrong, can it? Am I the only one that does it? Can’t people take it? Are they scared of my passion? What else have I got? What else is there? It’s the only way! I won’t let it stop me. I’m doing what I believe is right. I have principles. I’ll do what I must. I have to. I ask myself “Am I asking too much? Am I looking for something that actually doesn’t exist, actually cannot exist?” That can’t be wrong. What could be wrong about that? We’re just talking about standards. If you don’t have standards you might as well fuck a mud puddle. You’re like a dog that you piss on in the night. A fucking gypsy. No, there are others out there. I know it. Lovely ones. Ones that respect a person that believes in things. If they don’t respect that…well, what can you say? I shit them.

SLOW FADE TO BLACK AS ‘ROLY POLY MAN’ BY DONOVAN PLAYS.

2004

Hey, Girlfriend!

In the cinema films are edited before they get to you. You can’t do anything about it. But what would you do anyway? Editing is a hard thing to criticise. It might be the least criticised aspect of a multi-disciplinary form in which casting, acting, dialogue, good bits, plots and stories, sets and setting, costumes and music tend to receive more attention than lighting, camera movement or sound design. Or hair.

Editing is among the least critiqued because it is premised upon being unobtrusive to the point of invisibility. Its unshowiness depends on seamlessness – transitions from shot to shot should not, on the whole, be readily describable as such. The seamlessness, in turn, encourages the view that the passing of time in a film resembles its passage in everyday reality.

This reality effect is based on a grammar that only exists within films. We know that films are put together in jumbled time – film crews shoot the end of the film on Monday because that’s the only day they can get those particular cars, horses, valleys or actors, then, for similar reasons, they shoot the beginning of the film on Tuesday. The actors quickly get used to this and develop appropriate but peculiar skills. The jumble produces a jumble of shots which, thanks to the grammar and, of course, the script, will be assembled into legible, coherent sequences.

With live television broadcasting, editing is carried out on the hoof. As you watch, sequences are being put together. You can, in this situation, mount small local complaints. You can say out loud “This Jubilee on the river thing, with lots of boats, singularly lacks good shots. These people should go to Film School, or at least watch more films.” Nobody cares that you said this but the point is made: a reality effect that is put together on the hoof will fracture from time to time.

This doesn’t mean that you suddenly see through the effect to a more definitive, hitherto concealed reality beneath. You will, more likely, gIimpse parts of an apparatus that usually serves to maintain the effect that an effect is not being maintained.

Editing is not only a matter of withholding ‘bad’ shots – often editors and directors conclude that something is missing and will have a range of strategies to compensate for this. Which is where tennis comes in.

Television coverage of championship tennis is, we can deduce from the way it is shot, basically flawed. The flaws stem from an impoverishment at the heart of the sport rather than a failure of imagination within the teams who produce the broadcast material. An abiding anxiety about the lack of anxiety evinced by the players is evident in the vocabulary of types of camera shot that typically constitute a sequence of play.

Despite the profusion, in our culture, of fictional narratives depicting struggles between men in which images of women may be absent for the entire duration of the artifact, and the innumerable broadcast instances of team sports coverage in which women are wholly absent for, say, both halves of those games thus structured or for, say, the duration of those comprising a number of successive innings, there is clearly a state of enduring crisis in the broadcasting of tennis that requires regular, radical intervention. The interventions, in the form of a species of camera shot, are radical not because they extend our understanding of the finer technical points of the sport but, instead, function as a narrative implant that, at first glance, has nothing to do with tennis.

In common with the broadcast presentation of most sports, the atmosphere and excitement attendant on tennis tournaments is enhanced by means of crowd shots and coach (or, in other sports, manager) shots, expert commentary and telling detail shots – the umpire conferring with a line judge, the relacing of shoes, the obsessive adjustment of racquet strings, for example. It is difficult, however, to think of a sport in which the girlfriend shot has acquired such importance.

The girlfriend shot caters to anxieties about the possibility that male tennis stars are not heterosexual, not properly socialised and not human. The shot also assuages the fear that tennis is obsolete insofar as all that can be achieved within its terms has been achieved. If the latter is the case then the peaked sport will tip over into a protracted but inevitable death characterised by decadent cultism of the body and baroque embellishment of the microkinesics of technique.

A handful of top tennis players can allay suspicions about their machinic qualities by being likeable in some way. This need not involve acknowledging their errors – displays of regret and irritation may fail to be ‘all too human’ and often suggest instead ‘coding malfunction’ and are therefore probably best suppressed. Likeability may consist in having a pleasant face, like Djokovic, or using a number of different facial expressions – all of which, needless to say, should be related to an event or a state of mind.

Having a girlfriend is tops, obviously. Having a highly focused mother will not appeal to everybody but an attractive girlfriend will solve a number of problems. It also introduces new levels of difficulty, however. While the presence of the girlfriend suggests not only that the millionaire player has a life, inhabits an emotional spectrum that includes the possibility of love and subscribes to the master template for all known relationships, namely heterosexuality, a certain amount of disowned anxiety is projected onto the female companion.

Her function is not merely to lay to rest uneasiness about the possible emotional vacuity of her partner but to fill in the expressive gaps in the partner’s repertoire. Where he does not, if he can help it, react to feelings of tension, trepidation, imminent loss, the vanquishing of a weakling etc, she will throw the emotional shapes on his behalf, thereby rendering legible the humanness of the struggle which otherwise might start to resemble computers playing chess together or an experiment in the command and control of humanoid drone vehicles.

The funny thing is that the girfriends almost invariably succumb to a sort of Stockholm syndrome wherein they appear to feel almost as constrained as their boyfriends. In what may be a bid for consistently ladylike behaviour, the girlfriends, isolated by the cameras every couple of minutes, suppress their faciality to within a few degrees of the range evinced by the partner they are gamely attempting to magnify to a human scale. The gravitational pull of gristly hypermanliness proves irresistible.

Posthumanists with an eye on sport would find the progression from blood to circuitry inevitable and predictable. Meanwhile tennis in its early phase of decay will, despite the assiduous application of the girlfriend shot, tend to the preconditions of mechanised warfare just as gamification – the applying of the principles of video gaming to non-gaming situations – facilitates the development of military drone guidance.

05.12.2013