Catastrophe Practice (2 page)

It seemed some sort of playwriting might be possible here — the ‘more' that all artists know about being that which is expressed; the form involved with the content. Experiment in the theatre has for so long been about technique — shall the stage be here or there; shall actors enter through auditorium or roof; shall audiences be caressed or pelted. There have been
theatrical companies like churches — and like brothels. But what if all this were taken for granted — life is like that, yes: there are explosions, bodies: queens do, at altars, raise their skirts to awestruck children. And marvels are performed in honour of marvels being meaningless. But still, what is our predicament? We know all this. And by knowing, we have the chance of knowing more. And on a stage, life not only happens but is observed. And this is a scientific age, in which we practise much observation. So what if, in a theatre, we did what in fact human beings do — what distinguishes them from animals. And if in thus watching themselves, human beings recognised themselves — as neither animals nor angels. An actor comes on: he is watched: he watches himself being watched: those who watch, watch him watching. This is a person's predicament — what is an act, what is not: what is ‘true', what is ‘false': not what will happen next, but what is happening now. This is a person's experience of himself; through it, his experience of everything. And being shown this, a member of an audience might indeed recognise himself — might even be encouraged to change — being presented with an experience of — not acting! There might indeed be something alarming here — man as his own myth or totem! But a man has always learned from myths — and from what alarms him. Once myths arose instinctively: they were expressions of complexities that could be held in no better way. Men are now conscious of the way their minds make myths: this itself has become a sort of terror. But there is still the chance — this is the predicament — for men as it were to make myths about myths; and in this, the chance of the ‘new human type' evolving. If a man has the power to observe the controlling patterns of his mind it is here, and not in the patterns, that there is his freedom. The theatre has been accustomed to observe how people behave; what might now be observed is people's observing. A riddle, a sifting, has usually entertained: and a present one, at work on a past, might even seem truthful.

SKYLIGHT
ACKERMAN
HELENA
JUDITH
JASON
ARIEL
JENNY

SCENE:
The terrace of a house on a mountain. On the right (audience's right) is a loggia with a balcony above it. Along the back of the terrace is a balustrade. On the left is a swing sofa. Centre, are two tables with the remains of drink and food. The ground is the rock of the mountain, grey and gnarled like the surface of a brain
.

The backdrop is unlit. Then it becomes pink, like a dawn sky
.

There enters, front left, a boy, Ariel, aged eighteen. He wears a coloured shirt and white trousers. He acts as if he had not expected to find himself on a stage
.

Then he takes up the position of a dancer
.

From behind the loggia comes the sound of 1920s' dance music
.

Ariel breaks his pose and moves to the tables and takes food and eats. He picks up glasses and sniffs at them until he finds one from which he drinks. Then he turns to the loggia, right, and takes up a pose as if alarmed
.

The music stops
.

Ariel relaxes
.

There come on through the loggia Ackerman, a man in his sixties, and Jenny, a girl of seventeen. They wear evening dress. Ackerman walks with a stick, but gives the impression of power. He has his arm round Jenny, who is pretty, but dazed as if on drugs
.

Ackerman sees Ariel: hesitates: then comes with Jenny down the loggia steps to the front of the stage, right. He looks out over the audience
.

Ariel takes food from a table and eats
.

Ackerman speaks as if he were acting from a conventional script, but were finding the business of acting rather ridiculous
.

up, as if in pain
.

Ackerman continues
—

Scorned a safety net. Said it would interfere with their work Great craftsmen. Magnificent physique. There was one called Angelo. I'm not supposed to tell this story. The whole building is said to be a folly — a monument to paranoia —

Ariel has begun to tip-toe towards the swing sofa, left. When Ackerman stops talking, he stops — in the position of a dancer
.

Though why it should be a folly to want to get away from this world, I don't know, in which we have to spend so much of our time —

Ariel has moved on. When Ackerman stops, he stops
.

The work took six years. We were tactful enough not to rest on the seventh —

This time Ariel has not moved
.

Ackerman stands behind Jenny and puts his arms around her
.

I like to think of the building as of the same stone as the mountain. The pale pink rose of the dawn. With no road. Just a lift-shaft like a flower —

He kisses Jenny's neck
.

Ariel raises a foot and holds it as if he had trodden on something and were in pain — or like a dancer
.

Ackerman gazes over Jenny's shoulder at the audience
.

That's where Angelo fell. Two hundred foot to the bottom. The body was never found. An underground river swallows its victims. Stay out late. Be naughty. Little girls are punished —

Ariel has been examining the sole of his foot
.

Ackerman seems to listen: then continues
—

I like to think one could say — I'll give you all the countries of the world. But who would want them. Who would want them! I make motor cars. A cockleshell for Venus. There's room above the loggia —

He waits
.

Then he turns to Ariel
.

Ariel, holding his foot, has raised his head as if he were a statue
.

Ackerman moves towards Ariel with his stick It is as if he were acting anger that Ariel had been mocking him
.

Jenny crouches at the front of the stage and holds her nose as if about to jump over
.

Ackerman turns and looks at Jenny. He acts, somewhat clumsily, as if he is pulled each way between Ariel and Jenny
.

Then Ariel falls, heavily, on to his face on the swing sofa
.

The sofa bounces, and becomes still
.

Jenny stands. She turns and looks at Ariel
.

Ackerman goes to the balustrade at the back and looks over
.

Jenny comes and kneels by Ariel
.

Ackerman looks at the audience. When he speaks it is as if he is trying to get into some contact with the audience
.

What can one get him? Brandy?

Ackerman waits. Then he goes and stands looking down at Ariel and Jenny. He raises the back of Jenny's skirt with his stick
.

They make the stuff in their own backyards.

Dirt gets in —

He looks out at the wings, right
.

It was leaning over the pool one day when it saw its own reflection in the water —

He lowers Jenny's skirt. He has been showing increasing unease. He looks at the audience. Then he seems to try to act again
—

The sun comes up about an hour after first light. Colours the old glaziers knew about.

Softness in hardness —

He turns to the wings, left; then to the loggia, right
.

After a time he shouts as if in desperation
—

Stranger!

It is as if ‘Stranger' were the name of someone off-stage to whom he is calling for help
.

From behind the loggia there starts up again the sound of 1920s' dance music. There is the scratchily recorded noise of a party in progress. Ackerman looks at the audience: smiles; frowns
.

Then he strides off through the loggia
.

The music and the noise of the party cease abruptly — with the sound of a needle being scraped across a record
.

Then there is a faint cry, as from a woman. Ariel half looks up: then lies face downwards on the sofa again
.

The backdrop goes blank Then it flickers. Then a mountain, ringed with clouds, appears. Jenny turns, sitting, with her back against the swing sofa. The seat moves back, so that Jenny is half collapsed
.

She enunciates carefully — as if she is trying to
make a more successful job of acting than Ackerman had done, though not always keeping to a script
.

She sits up cross-legged
.

On a dark night — at the edge of a wood — have you got water and oil?

She opens her mouth and gazes upwards
.

Then she stares at the audience.

I'm a fish. At the bottom of the ocean. Where no light comes. And I see your pearly gates. With heads on spikes. And tongues like streamers. And when it rains they talk. With bloody music —

She stares at the audience
.

Then she says in a matter-of-fact voice
—

They've got dogs down there. One boy got caught on the wire.

She seems to search amongst the audience
.

Was it you? Was it you?

She waits. Then acts
—

My mother thinks this party's heaven.

Twinkle twinkle cow bells.

She stretches her hands out in front of her, as if drugged
.

Then she presses her hands against the ground as if steadying herself in a boat
.

I wasn't going to jump. Or was I —

She slaps at the ground quickly as if something were climbing up to her
.

Get off! There are too many of you!

Then she steadies herself and leans forward, smiling
.

Hullo sun, can you hear me? Can I give you a hand up? I mean you give me a hand up? My slip. My Freudian slip.

She stares at the audience
.

You can use your ears — your eyes —

She closes her eyes
.

Can't you?

After a time there comes on through the loggia Helena, a woman in her fifties. She wears an evening dress. She pauses on the loggia steps, and looks at Ariel and Jenny. Then she takes up an attitude with an arm in front of her breasts like a statue of Venus
.

When she speaks it is as if she were trying to get back to a script; but were soon becoming involved, like the others, in trying to convey some message or attitude that is more urgent
.

She comes to the front of the stage, right, and looks out over the audience
.

I'd hardly spoken to him. He used to bring me gifts. You know — each morning after breakfast —

She stares at the audience
.

Then she moves off along the footlights
.

Of course my husband didn't know. He thinks they're all perfect. They can fly. Just like himself.

She stands by the wings, left, looking out
.

What can one get him, water? That sounds like a plant.

She waits
.

Then she turns to Ariel and Jenny
.

Angy's got a daughter who's on drugs. She once just touched her, and she jumped straight out of the window. She said she was a fish. I said — Why the window? She said — A goldfish.

She turns to the audience
.

I do see, don't you —

She seems to search about amongst the audience
.

One should have a net. Like a tennis ball.

She waits
.

Is it you? Is it you?

Then she moves off round the stage again
.

I have said — No dogs. But he does so adore animals. He's had notices put up. But they just don't read —

She stops by the front of the stage again, watching the audience
.

They like — music.

After a time she puts a hand to her head and sways
.

The sun doesn't get filtered — at this high altitude.

She waits. Then she takes her hand away
.

He's building something half way up. Did you see?

She waits
.

I think it's a tomb —

She looks to the wings, right
.

— Or is it a laboratory?

Then she looks at the audience
.

Are you Angy's daughter?

Then she speaks as if she were questioning the script
.

Isn't that right?

Helena remains staring at the audience. Jenny watches her. They both seem to have stopped acting. After a time Ackerman comes on to the steps of the loggia. He looks at Helena
.